Note: I still don't own Downton Abbey. I also don't own the song featured in this prompt.
You readers are lovely. Thank you so much.
Prompt: Lullaby
Midnight always finds Matthew Crawley alone in their bed.
The ritual began the night after his wife and son went home from the hospital. Before, he thought his son – George – only demanded his mother's attention for feeding, and that Mary has attachment issues after bearing the son they almost never had. They could have easily let the nurse maid attend to their son's needs, but his wife could be relentless when she wants to. To deprive her of the chance to bond with their son would be futile.
He followed the familiar path to their son's nursery, the connecting door from the master's suit left open. His bare feet, cushioned by the carpeted floor, carried him to his family, guided by the sweet, familiar voice that he would never tire to hear.
Someone within my heart to build a throne-
Matthew leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed against his chest. He watched as Mary held their little boy against her bosom, heads of brown against the other. Hers cascaded around them like a waterfall; Matthew's hands ached to part them for a full view.
He was transported to a night three years ago, during a concert for the wounded soldiers who were brought to Downton Abbey. He remembered being guided by the same voice that floated from the partly open door of the library, ringing against the emptiness of the hall. He did not anticipate Mary – sweet, darling Mary with heart so bountiful in her masked indifference – leading the crowd. Warmth engulfed him the moment his eyes laid on her that night, sweeping the coldness of the trenches to the recesses of his mind. Even with their distance, she was able to quench his fears. It didn't matter that she was not his or he was not hers then.
That was their night. That is their song.
If you were the only girl in the world-
"And I were the only boy," he joined, closing the space between him and his family.
Mary looked up, eyes wide and glinting in happiness.
I would say such wonderful things to you-
"There would be such wonderful things to do," They sang together, filling the lines they were unable to sing the time they performed in front of family and friends. They finished the song with a flourish, with Matthew bowing and Mary curtsying back.
"Edith was right. It does sound better with a man for some of the parts," Mary mused, placing a tender kiss on their son's forehead. Carefully, she placed him back to his crib, fussing over the covers and ensuring that he's tucked in for the night.
They watched as George's abdomen rose and fall with every breath, pink lips parted and face a picture of peace. Matthew reached for Mary's hand, raising it to his lips.
"It's the only song he falls asleep listening to," Mary remarked.
"A very significant song for a special boy. How fitting," Matthew smiled. Mary reached her free hand to his face, her thumb brushing the scars he acquired from the war.
"We're so blessed, darling. Unbelievably blessed."
Matthew almost cringed, remembering how they almost lost this chance. The young Matthew would have pondered on a life he would have shared with Lavinia and the existence Mary would have journeyed beside Richard Carlisle. On the earlier days of their marriage, it almost felt surreal to feel Mary's slender form against him, her face accented by the morning light. In his nightmares, he would wake up in a place where he was left forgotten in the war, in a place without Mary.
He can never be without her.
"And we deserve it," Matthew replied. "I believe we deserve every bit of happiness we have received."
Just like during their wedding night, Mary captured his lips as he carried her back to their bed.
