Author's Note: Cn4

Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey - I don't even want to watch it at this point.

• {God's Will} •

Mary sat with her face towards the window, as she had done for the past six months. By now, she had learned to repress her mind, so that no thought or feeling troubled her body. A novel heroine would fear the cold emptiness of her soul; but Mary met it with the same dumb acceptance she had everything since his death.

Down the hall, she heard a baby's cry. It was too small and shrill to be Sibyl's, who had learned that crying was much less effective than speaking; it was George, then. Mary's George - Matthew's George.

"Don't cry," Mary heard a voice, probably Anna, say. A handkerchief fell on Mary's lap, but she didn't touch it.

"I know what you went through with Bates," Mary said, her voice wavering, "but at least you knew he was safe. You could always hope for a better time when you could be together again; and you weren't powerless. You had a job, you worked to free Bates. I can do nothing - because my husband is dead."

"Mary-"

"No! Why can't any of you understand that I just want to be left alone - Mother, Edith, and George can offer me no comfort! Let me mourn... God knows it's all I have."

"But, surely Tom could be some company for you. You shouldn't be totally alone."

"Why are you all so insistent on pushing me on Tom? I'm not his responsiblity."

"But he could-"

"Have none of you noticed that he never offered me his condolences? That he was the sole person to spare me the useless, 'it will be alrights'? He knows that it will never - could never - be alright! He will never stop mourning Sibyl. And I will never stop mourning Matthew."

"But, darling, what if I ask you to?"

Mary's heart slammed into her ribcage, sending a shot of nausea into her stomach. She looked over her shoulder and screamed, standing up only to release another howl. Matthew's hand flew to her mouth as he gestured wildly with his free hand to calm her. Mary bit his palm, screaming louder as his hand recoiled.

"Damn, Mary! That hurt!"

"Shut up!" Mary shrieked, grabbing the jar on her dressing table and slamming it over Matthew's head. He fell to his knees, clutching his temple, and Mary sprinted over him, eyes set on the door. Her hand grasped the knob, and she exclaimed, "You'll die for daring to impersonate Lord Grantham's son-in-law - I'll see you hung!"

The door slammed shut. "That would be a hard price to pay," Matthew said, his tone very serious, "if I were not Robert's son-in-law."

"Go away!" Mary fell back from the door, tripping on her dress and sitting down hard in a chair. Her head hit the wall, but she barely noticed the pain. The emotions she had exiled so long ago had surrounded the icy gates of her soul, tempting it open with battering rams of fear. "Please... I have nothing to give you... I am nothing, I can share nothing... I'd rather you kill me than touch Matthew's wife."

The man with Matthew's face stood still, staring at her through Matthew's blue eyes. A tear had slid down his face, and slowly rolled down his cheek and off his chin. "My darling," he said, his voice broken, "I never... I have hurt you so much?"

Mary said nothing, her own tears flooding down her face.

"Mary," the man said, getting on one knee before her, "please, don't wish for death. However easier it might be for you... think of those it would hurt. When I was wounded, and watched you day after day waste your time with a cripple like me, I prayed I would die. I wanted to set you free - just as I wanted to free Lavinia from her obligation to me. But I recovered, and Lavinia died. I couldn't understand it at the time, but now- No, I still don't understand.

"All I know, Mary, that I am here, seeing you again."

"Matthew died," Mary said.

"So he did. But... Surely you believe in Heaven?"

"...I pray it exists."

"Good. Then... Do you believe in Purgatory."

"The... Catholic concept?"

"It's not a dirty word." For a moment, the man smirked, and Mary's heart was again jottled. She had often leaned over at meals to whisper a quip into her partner's ear, and always she was rewarded with that mischievous smirk. It was horribly wonderful to see it again.

"Catholics," Matthew explained, "believe that real people go to purgatory to be purged through trials, so as to be fit for Heaven. But, I am speaking of purgatory as a sort of... waiting room, if you will. Where people like us - dead, and alive - must wait for the purging of the real world."

Mary shook her head, letting her watery gaze drop to her lap. "I don't understand. I can't-"

Matthew caught her hand, clasping it between his own. His palms were warm and sweaty, a sign of nervousness - and life.

"Mary, my darling, I died and left this world for good six months ago. But my spirit lived on, and was called to a new world, where I was given the chance to make a new existence for us. Downton is there, and I have prepared it - with Sibyl's help - so it can be our home. Of course, the servants may not want to stay, but so what? At least we'll have each other-"

Mary placed a hand on his chest, instantly quieting him. "Tell me now," she said, without tear or shiver, "and answer with more sincerity then ever before, or else my soul shall go out: are you Matthew Crawley?"

"I am."

And Mary jumped from her chair and kissed him. He wrapped his arms about her waist, tightening his hold as the moments dragged on. Mary's eyes closed, and she let the gates within her fall, letting loose the love,and hope she had hidden for so long come into the sun and flourish under the warmth of Matthew's embrace.

Suddenly, it was over.

Mary awoke to find herself back in her bed, her head on her pillow. She was still dressed in her black dress and sweater, her hair was done and still smelled of spray, and she could taste the mint candy she had eaten while Anna was still dressing her.

She slowly turned her head, her heart beating wildly. Beside her lay an empty, cold spot on the mattress, as it had for the past three months. Emotion clutched her throat, making her gag on her own gasps.

"Darling, are you alright?"

Mary sat straight up. Matthew was standing at the foot of the bed, watching her with worry in his bright, blue eyes. He wore an odd white robe - not a bathrobe, but some kind of cloak, like angels wore in glass frames - and in his arms was George, breathing soft, sleepy sighs.

"Oh Matthew," Mary said, whining miserably, "I've had a terrible dream-"

"A nightmare, my darling; but it's all over now. No one may take you from me, again."

"You won't go away?"

Matthew looked out the window, a broad smile growing on his face. Mary followed his gaze, noticing the foreign landscape and large city where their rolling greens and little village should have been. Matthew laughed shortly.

"My darling, if our adoring fans won't stop my going away again, you can be sure God will."

Ending Note: This probably didn't make as much sense to you as it does to me. But... I hope you still enjoyed, and are thankful not only for the fine country of America, but also for our imaginations - as long as we pretend, Matthew and Mary are together forever, WHATEVER a certain actor did. *not blaming... trying not to blame*