A/N: Ok, so I did want to step away from the fluff briefly! This idea struck me on the way to work on Friday. Huge thanks to Silverduck for giving it a lot of polish! Hope you enjoy :)

How to Say Goodbye?

He really would have rather been anywhere else in the world but here. Anywhere at all. Even out in France already. Oh, he'd be there soon enough, and the prospect (if he was brutally honest) terrified him to high heaven. But still, at this precise moment, he would rather be there than here.

Here was luncheon up at the big house, to bid him farewell. In the morning he would be boarding a train along with goodness knows how many other fresh soldiers, ready to serve their country and do their duty in the war. He hadn't quite decided yet whether it was more foolish or noble; he was not naive, and knew the risks. But he had had to do something, and this seemed the best option of any. Lord Grantham had not been happy about it, but had reluctantly understood. Matthew was simply not able to stay, not after the turmoil of the last month or so.

Of course, they could not let him just leave... No, it couldn't be that simple. He had to attend a farewell luncheon; he had insisted upon dining alone with his mother that evening, so at least he had been spared the awkward formality of dinner with them. And, he supposed, he was duty-bound to accept. After all Lord and Lady Grantham had done for him, it would be unthinkable really to refuse the invitation.

And so, he found himself sitting uncomfortably under their scrutinising gaze, trying his hardest to simply eat his lunch without a great deal of fuss. Mary sat across the table from him and it was taking all his willpower to not look at her. He couldn't bear to. Every so often he swore he could feel her eyes upon him, and it made his heart pound and his skin burn. Everything to do with her just hurt him too much still. He needed to go and drive it out of him, forget about her, loosen this terrible hold she had over him. He was only thankful that she had not really spoken while he had been there; he had not been forced to look her in the eyes, look at her cold, beautiful face, and attempt to speak to her. For he could never say to her what was truly in his heart; he wasn't even sure he knew himself any more. Yet any flippant pleasantries would somehow only be even worse. Desperately trying to rid his mind of her, he concentrated all his efforts on smiling politely and getting through the luncheon with as little bother as possible. Could they let him do that? No.

His eyes flicked up from his plate as Sybil addressed him.

"Are you frightened, Matthew?" Her innocent, inquisitive voice asking that terrible question made his food stick in his throat. Up until then, they had stuck to inane, safe topics such as where he'd likely be posted, did he know anyone else joining, how long would his training take, and other such matters. He had been dreading anyone asking him this. The question made it too real. "It's just that" - she continued as she saw him pause uncomfortably - "I know how sensible you are, and I cannot imagine you blundering into a war with such a heroic notion that you will crush all opposition and that everything will be 'blood and glory', and all that. I know you must have considered the risks, and surely I think any sensible person would be intimidated!"

"Sybil..." Cora warned her youngest daughter gently, not missing Matthew's hesitation. Mary had also not missed it; and though she thought Sybil was unthinking to force him to admit such a thing, she was curious to hear his response. He had seemed so blasé about the whole thing so far and she had suspected it was just a front. She imagined that she would have acted the same. She was certainly frightened; terrified, in fact. She had already experienced pain worse than she thought she could bear as he had walked away from her at the garden party, when he spoke of returning to Manchester. But to throw himself into a war, to take himself to France to fight? The prospect of her beloved Matthew (for he was beloved to her, she knew that now) fighting, shooting, killing, was too much for her to bear. The prospect that this afternoon, this very luncheon, may be the last time she ever set eyes on him. It was absolutely unbearable, and she could not deal with it under the enquiring eyes of her family, knowing they were watching her every reaction to his every move. She felt as though by remaining silent, she had buried her soul – and in a way she hoped it might stay buried. It might make the hurt less. The effort of it was causing her to grip her cutlery until her knuckles were white.

"No no, of course that is a reasonable thing to wonder," Matthew nodded at Cora reassuringly, though he realised his hands were shaking. His breath caught slightly in his throat as he prepared himself to answer, fixing Sybil squarely with a sincere and honest gaze. "Yes, I am," he answered simply. Everyone in the room seemed to hold their breaths, stunned but not really surprised by his straightforward answer. Mary's heart broke for him, undone by his honesty. "Of course I am," his desperately tried to quell the tremor in his voice; "it is a war. I know that there's a chance I won't return. I know that it isn't going to be pleasant. I don't expect it to be. But," he said, recovering control over his tone, "it is something I must do." Sadly, he smiled. "Why should I shy away from the duty when so many aren't? Why should I leave something so important to others, to fight my battles for me?" The expression had never rung so true.

"Hear hear, Matthew. Well spoken indeed," Robert dipped his head to Matthew. His respect for the young man seemed to grow with each passing day. "That's an incredibly sensible attitude to have."

"Well, we all know that Matthew is entirely sensible," murmured Violet, in a rare display of praise for her son's heir. "It is all the other men I am concerned about! I only hope we can trust these other blundering young enthusiastic fools to not simply dash in and hurl themselves at the enemy's feet!" She chuckled dryly at her own words, raising a smile from Matthew.

"If only it were an army full of Matthews!" Sybil exclaimed. "Yet we shall have to make do with only the one – you'll have to uphold Britain's honour, I think, Matthew!"

"I can only promise to do my best," Matthew laughed, encouraged slightly by the family's confidence in him. Mary stared at her plate, a small smile gracing her lips as she heard him laugh. Oh, how she would miss that laugh... Everything about him! Her smile dropped as her worries piled fresh into her mind. "Anyway," he continued. "You forget I shall be at least several months completing my training, so I'm afraid they shall just have to make do until then. I cannot see the army falling apart without me; they seem to have managed well enough 'til now! My heroism shall have to wait." His tone was clearly flippant; he hated the idea that anyone should think him a hero. Detesting both their pity and their sympathy, and driven to irritation by their fears (for why should they be afraid? It was for him to go through!), his forced humour at least served to drive the pitying look from their eyes.

As the conversation continued, Mary was not listening anymore; Matthew only cursorily so. She wanted his reassurance, and he would have wanted to reassure her had he known, but they could not speak. Not to each other, not here, not like this. The wall of bitterness and regret between them was still too great.

He did not stay for long once they had retired to the drawing room, after the meal had finished. Quickly making his excuses of affairs to finalise before leaving, he said his goodbyes. He could not do so individually – that would mean facing Mary – and so he only shook Robert's hand warmly, with a clasp on the shoulder.

"Look after yourself, Matthew," the earl smiled fondly at him. "I'm sure you'll get on very well. And please do let your mother know that she is welcome here whenever she wishes."

"Thank you, Sir. I'll write to let you know how I get along," Matthew smiled warmly back before turning to nod a goodbye to the ladies. "Goodbye, Cousin Cora, Cousin Violet, thank you for everything. Goodbye Edith, Sybil." Smiling at each of them in turn, he left the most difficult to last. Suddenly, he didn't care anymore what the others saw, or what they thought. He met her eyes squarely, and was taken aback to see the look of despair in them. He swallowed hard, his voice catching against his will. "Goodbye, Mary."

Mary took a shuddering breath as he gazed at her with such intensity that her heart fluttered in her chest. She stared at him, memorising every feature, every inch of his handsome face. He stared back, a lump forming in his throat as he prayed that this would not be the last time he saw her. Then he turned and left.

In the hallway, Carson handed him his hat.

"Goodbye, Mr Crawley," the butler ventured. "All of the staff wish you the very best of luck, and we look forward to your safe return."

"Why thank you, Carson." Matthew paused, dipping his head in acknowledgement. "That's very kind of you to say. I look forward to that too, I assure you!"

With a heavy heart, he turned and opened the door to leave.

In the drawing room, Mary drifted to the window, clutching at her necklace. She could barely breathe. He was leaving, he was really going, and might never come back. Terrible images of him lying horrifically injured, or worse, barraged her mind unbearably. Her family had started chattering again, but she did not listen. Her heart pounded in her ears, and all she could think of was his face and his goodbye, and she had simply stood and stared. Her breathing became ragged, a desperation rising in her as she thought of him walking out of her life. Staring out of the window, she saw him emerge from the front entrance and make his way down the long driveway. She stared after him, at his proud back as he grew smaller, the distance between them increasing and stretching. For several long moments she froze; then she could bear it no longer.

Panic swept through her chest and, without further thought, she flew out of the room. She did not care about her family's stares after her, there was but one pressing need in her mind. She could not let him leave, not like this. This could not be it.

Pausing for nothing, she ran out of the front door. He was too far away... All thought of propriety left her, nothing mattered but him. She clenched her fists, leaned forwards and yelled.

"Matthew!" His name tore out of her throat, somewhere between a sob and a scream.

He heard. He froze, his gut churning. It was only after a moment's pause that he dared to turn around. He waited.

Mary almost sobbed as he turned; a silent acceptance for her to go to him. She walked quickly, not quite daring to actually run as she would wish. He watched her come towards him, his face impassive, yet his heart pounding as she drew closer and he saw the anguish in her features. His breath caught in his throat as she drew closer.

"Matthew," she gasped, reaching him finally. Her eyes flicked wildly over his face. Now that she had his attention she hardly knew what to say. Matthew's eyes narrowed. Why had she come after him? Several unbearably long seconds passed. As she did not appear to be forthcoming, he ventured to say what was on his mind.

"You didn't say goodbye."

Mary's face dropped further, her eyes closing briefly in shame.

"I'm sorry, Matthew. I... I couldn't. I didn't know what to say. I don't!" A sob rose in her throat. How could she possibly have said goodbye to him, what words could possibly be adequate between them?

"Then why have you followed me?" He frowned, every contradictory feeling she invoked in him coming flooding to the surface. His voice was colder than he meant it to be, but he didn't dare betray any of himself to her, not after what had passed between them before. She had hurt him too cruelly. He wished with all his heart that it was not so hard to leave her. That he did not love her so much still that he did not care about leaving Downton, only her. He waited with baited breath, as she seemed to compose herself.

"I couldn't let you leave like that, Matthew." His apparent impassivity made her heart ache. She could not bear him to leave feeling so cold towards her, not without making him know that... that what? She didn't really know herself. "Please... Don't let's part like this." As she gazed imploringly at him, he smiled ruefully.

"You know that I leave with nothing but the very best wishes for you, Mary." His voice shook slightly as he spoke, his heart bursting.

"Oh for pity's sake, Matthew!" Mary suddenly cried, something snapping within her. That was even worse! "It is not your wishes that I want! Don't you understand?" She flung her arms in frustration, causing his mouth to open slightly in surprise at her outburst. "I only want..." What did she want? His love? His forgiveness? His reassurances? One word seemed to encompass it all. "You."

Matthew's heart stopped in his chest as her simple utterance hit him. She spoke the word with a strange mixture of defiance and resignation, seeming to wilt suddenly as soon as it left her lips, praying he'd understand. She stared at him hopefully, not even knowing what response she expected.

"Why are you telling me this now?" He frowned despairingly at her. He understood her sentiment, sure enough, but why must she utter it as he left to fight in a bloody war? Was she so cruel intentionally? Did she purposefully think of how best to injure him?

"Because I'm a fool!" She cried suddenly, her voice rising in wild desperation at her own idiocy and the madness of the situation. Gazing at him, trying to convey all she could not say, she added, "And I never seem to realise, until it is too late, just how very much I love you!"

As the words slipped out without her intent and she realised what she had said, her brows rose in something akin to horror.

Matthew suddenly couldn't breathe, staring at her wildly in shock as her words sank in. He knew. He knew that she truly did love him. The world around him seemed to stop as he met her eyes in an intense flash of understanding, and all of a sudden nothing else mattered at all. Before he knew what was happening, he was kissing her, fiercely clutching her to him in desperation. Mary whimpered softly as she fell willingly against him, squeezing her eyes firmly shut to stop her tears. She responded with a desperate need, clawing at his shoulders. Reaching a hand up, she snatched off his hat, granting her other hand the freedom to twist into his hair, trapping his lips to hers.

His heart was pounding so fiercely he was sure she must be able to feel it. He gasped as she clutched at his hair; his body yearning for her with such raw desire that it made him shudder against her. Kissing her furiously, fiercely, he poured his very soul into the kiss. All his love, all his fear, all his regret, all his hope. And he could sense that she knew it, and was doing the same. In that unbelievable, precious moment, he suddenly realised the depth of her feeling, even though he didn't understand it.

It was the sweetest, bitterest thing, making his heart soar and break all at once. Trembling with fear and need, he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and crushed her to him, terrified that if he let go, that would be it. His hand slipped up to the back of her head, his fingers delving into her hair, uncaring that it would spoil the careful perfection of her hairstyle. The sensation caused her to gasp against his lips, eliciting a quiet moan of passion low in his throat. They lingered in their embrace, neither wanting it to end; the quiet desperation and fear of his departure driving them on. Mary felt utterly undone; she did not care a fig that they were still in full view of the drawing room window. Nothing else mattered but the man in her arms; that she loved him and that he knew it.

Eventually, the raw desperation began to subside, and they calmed to quieter, softer, tender intimacies. Sighing gently, his chest heaving with exertion and passion, Matthew clasped her face between his hands and kissed her once more. Her eyes still closed against the world, Mary sensed him beginning to pull away. She protested with another lingering, tender press of her lips to his. Biting back a sob, she leaned her forehead weakly against his shoulder. Matthew held her tightly against him, leaning his cheek upon her head, his breath still coming in ragged gasps. After several moments of shared, silent acknowledgement, Mary whispered quietly.

"I don't want you to go."

"You know that I must," he replied, his voice low and raw with emotion.

"Please come back to me..." Her voice trembled into his shoulder.

"I can't promise you that, Mary; only that I'll do my very best to." Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head before gently easing her away from him. Clasping her arms still, he looked deeply into her eyes. "You've given me a reason to fight; something to come back to. Thank you."

"Matthew," she blinked away her threatening tears as her voice caught in her throat. Oh, how she loved him, but he still did not understand. "Before, when I could not accept you – there is still something that you don't –"

"Hush." He pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. "Mary... This is enough. Please don't take it away from me now." He knew now that she loved him, that she must have had some other reason, but he didn't want to ruin their last moments together. "Whatever it is that you have to say to me on that score, write to me of it and I will try to understand. But not now."

She nodded, kissing his finger where it lay softly against her lips. He smiled, removing his hand to her cheek and absently stroking his thumb across it. Their eyes locked for several silent moments, conveying all that they could not say.

"I must go, Mary." He eventually broke the sweet silence.

Desperate panic swelled once more in her breast. She could not bear for him to leave! Clutching his arms, she broke into a quiet sob, not hiding her tears this time.

"How can I say goodbye to you? I cannot, Matthew!"

Bitterly, he pressed his lips into a smile.

"This shall have to serve well enough."

And he kissed her again, firmly and sweetly, opening his mouth to her and allowing the kiss to deepen for one wonderful, brief, bittersweet moment. Reluctantly he pulled back, granting himself one last series of tender, fleeting kisses as he could not bear each to be the last, before forcing himself to step away from her completely, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Goodbye, Mary."

"Goodbye Matthew," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He stood for a moment longer, committing everything about her to his memory, before he turned and walked away. He did not look back once; he could not. Mary stood and looked after him, silent sobs racking her body, until he had walked out of sight. She immediately began to pray that he would return safely; she would not let up in that prayer until the moment he walked back down that drive, whenever that may be.

Eventually, once he was well out of sight, she returned to the house. She immediately dashed to her bedchamber, unable to face the undoubtedly raised eyebrows of her family just yet. She was unable to rid herself of the stirring fear that twisted inside her every time she thought of him at war. What would it be like out there? What would happen to him? Could he really stay safe and return to her?

Eight months later

Deafening crashes splintered through the air as he ran, mud flying up everywhere as shells fell around him. He stumbled, his foot sliding into a warm mess that might once have been a man. Fighting back the urge to vomit, he recovered his balance and continued on. Desperately trying to focus on reaching the trench some twenty metres away, he repeated her name in his mind like a mantra, as if it might block out the horror around him. It was a habit he had soon come to rely upon; the thought of her calming him, sharpening his resolve to not give in.

Amongst the sound of explosions shattering the air, a shot rang out behind him. Staggering forwards, he cried out as blinding pain suddenly seared through his back. He gasped as pain ripped through him again; another bullet tearing through his flesh. His legs gave way and he fell, hitting the mud with an undignified thud. The booms and crashes began to fade. Mary. The only things in his consciousness were the searing agony and her face, the memory of her parting kiss. He latched onto it. Mary. He squeezed his eyes shut, gasping against the pain, desperately trying instead to focus upon how her lips had felt against his, remembering that bliss. Soon though, even that faded along with everything else, as his world dimmed, and he became engulfed by darkness and silence.

Fin

A/N: Thank you for reading :) Reviews of course are always massively appreciated! (And next I'm continuing with fluff, honest. Now that this is out of my system!)