Many thanks to lovepurplemustaches for the prompt to continue this drabble: What happens to Matthew and Mary after they get off the train in Paris? (Also posted on Tumblr.)
Enjoy!
Part Two
She opened one eye, trying to block out the sun as the porter knocked on doors, rousing unconscious travelers as the train neared the station in Paris. Her cheek was pressed to Matthew's chest, his fingers tangled with hers, his snoring filling the small room.
"Matthew," Mary whispered, giving his shoulder a shake. "Matthew wake up."
His eyes opened. "Is it time for breakfast?" he murmured his fingers wiggling against hers.
"Twenty minutes to Paris," she said, sitting up at his side.
"No, come back to bed," he complained, reaching out to brush his hand across her side, the sensation sending a thrill through her. She smiled, leaning down to kiss him quickly.
"Up you get," she insisted, combing her fingers through his hair. "Then breakfast."
"Fine, you win," Matthew replied. "I already won last night."
"Excuse me, I think I'm the one who won all those rounds of Gin," she corrected, grabbing a clean pair of underwear from her bag, which lay next to Matthew's.
He laughed, coming to her side, arms encircling her. "That's not what I meant," he replied, pressing his lips to her forehead.
"What did you—oh. Oh," she said slowly, feeling a little silly at her delayed reaction. "You're a dirty boy, Matthew Crawley."
Matthew planted a look of mock surprise on his face. "I showered last night!"
"Fifteen minutes to Paris!" the porter's voice came through the door, alternating in French and English.
"We need to get dressed," she said, pulling on her under things.
"Oh, come on, it is Paris," Matthew teased, giving her a smirk before finding clothes to wear.
…
"Stop fiddling with that camera," Mary said, rolling her eyes as she finished the coffee Matthew had bought when they got off the train.
"I'm not fiddling, I'm photographing. There's a difference," Matthew retorted, bringing the camera to his face and snapping a few of Mary.
"Don't take pictures of me," she complained halfheartedly, shoving his hand away.
"I'm not taking them of you, the Eiffel Tower is right behind you," he replied, smirking.
"Yeah, about a mile behind me," she snorted, throwing the empty coffee cup into the rubbish bin.
A woman passed by, stopping to ask Matthew a question in French. He responded and Mary lifted an eyebrow as he handed his camera over to her before coming to Mary's side.
"You speak French?" she asked, looking up at him in awe.
He laughed, circling his arm around her waist. "Oui. But smile now, for the camera, love."
Mary turned her head, a dazed smile on her face as the woman took picture after picture of them, the clicking over the camera hardly audible over the buzzing in her head. At one point, Matthew pressed a kiss into her hair and Mary felt so strange, her entire body tingling from Matthew's touch as his fingers grazed against the skin beneath the hem of her shirt.
Smiling, the woman handed the camera back, speaking to Matthew again before waving goodbye and heading off.
"What did she say to you?" Mary asked as Matthew pulled away, a smile still on his stupidly handsome face.
"That we're, uh, a beautiful couple," he said, cheeks turning pink.
"A couple?" she questioned, unable to stop herself from smiling. They began to walk down the pavement together, a small gap between their bodies. "Interesting. Although I think to be a couple, we'd have to go on a date."
"You mean last night wasn't a date?" Matthew teased, bumping his shoulder into hers.
"Not exactly," Mary replied, blushing slightly. "The only thing you asked was to share my room. I think generally people go places on dates."
He laughed. "We traveled across France. I'm pretty sure that's going somewhere."
"Yeah, we went a lot of places last night I've never gone with a man I hardly know before," she retorted.
Matthew reached over and took her hand, lacing their fingers together. "Oh, come off it, we've known each other for two months, at least. We spent an entire day together in Madrid. I honestly can't remember the last time I've been this comfortable with someone," he said.
Mary smiled, a sensation of warmth spreading from where their palms met. "Nor I," she admitted, relishing in the grin on Matthew's face at her words.
Matthew stopped walking, pulling her close. "So, you've got a little crush on me?" he teased.
Mary scoffed. "Shut up."
"Just admit it, come on," he begged, leaning his forehead against hers.
"I'll admit no such thing, Crawley," she replied, her attempts at flirting wavering under his gaze. "In fact, I barely like you at all."
He laughed, bringing his lips to hers. "You're adorable," he murmured, hooking his arms around her waist, his fingers lacing together at the small of her back.
"How much longer am I going to have to put up with you?" she quipped, gliding her fingers through his hair.
"Dunno," Matthew whispered, his nose touching hers. "I haven't had a solid travel plan in weeks."
"So you were following me?" she asked, abashed.
"I swear, it was fate, not me," Matthew replied. "After Barcelona, I figured I would just go whichever way the wind blew—what the hell—and if, by chance, I happened to run into you again, well, I wasn't going to mind."
Mary suppressed a smile, her heart skipping a few beats. God, she should not be falling for him, not her. "You certainly know what a girl likes to hear," she murmured.
"Me? Nah, I'm hopeless, Mary. You just make everything easier. God, you're just so—"
"Easy?" she prompted.
"I was going to say inviting," he retorted, kissing her again, his lips lingering longer than before. "So, I never asked—what's sent you on this whirlwind trip across Europe? Are you on the lam?"
Her smile faltered. "Perks of being an Earl's daughter I suppose—you can do whatever you bloody want as long as you kick and scream enough."
Matthew watched her, taking her hand again as they walked. "My, I never would have pegged you for nobility," he said carefully, voice still light. "Running away from responsibilities, are you?"
She shrugged, pulling her hand out of his and quickening her pace. She got about fifteen feet before Matthew caught up, his hands grasping hers and pulling her to him.
"Shit, I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he said, tucking a strand of hair behind Mary's ear. "I just—"
"Have a crush on me?" she countered, her previous spark lessened. "I'm…I'm just not quite ready to talk about it."
"Alright," he agreed with a nod, eyes filled with concern Mary couldn't entirely account for.
She pulled away, but took his hand, startling Matthew as they moved forward. "So, how long are you going to follow me around?" she questioned, giving him a small smile.
"Forever."
