It was the strangest thing- Matthew was standing. The sensation was simultaneously familiar, yet horrifyingly distant. He's been in that chair a long time, but here he was. Standing again, at last!
He walked to the window and looked out on the world of Downton Abbey. The sun was shining and he could see a gentle breeze rustling the distant trees. He put his hand on the glass, like a child looking into a toyshop, he could feel the warmth of the day radiating through. That briefly struck him as odd, since last he recalled there had been a pre-winter chill hanging over Yorkshire. It was put out of his mind when he spotted a young woman walking across the yard. A willowy woman with a black cloud of hair. Mary.
The run down the stairs (he was running!) and across the lawn went by in a blur, it seemed less than seconds before he was walking up to Mary, who seemed to not notice him approaching. She was wearing a dark red evening dress he'd frequently seen her wear during his first couple of years living near Downton. Matthew never thought to question that Mary was in a dinner dress while outside in the middle of the day, with the sun still high in the sky. He felt an overwhelming love for her, as if nothing ill had ever passed between them. The garden party had never happened. He stood still for a moment, just watching her as she stood there unguarded, for once not forcing control over her own emotions. He'd never seen her wear such an expression before, as though she were unsure if she was gloriously happy or tragically miserable.
Suddenly, and seemingly out of nowhere, the Turkish diplomat named Mr. Pamuk walked up to Mary, pushed her hair away and leaned down to kiss her neck. She didn't react to his embrace, but the drop in Matthew's heart felt similar to the shock of adrenalin he felt his first night on the front, the shells falling like rain all around him. He thought he was going to die then and he thought the same now.
"Mary!" Matthew's shout echoed across the yard, though he hadn't felt his mouth move and there seemed to be no air in his lungs. She turned suddenly to look at him, shock and surprise in her eyes.
"Matthew? Matthew, what are you doing here? Is something wrong?" she asked quietly and clearly concerned.
"Mary," Matthew sputtered, "You must stop this, it will ruin everything, " his voice full of emotion as if he was holding back sobs and shouts.
"What on earth are you talking about?" she asked, one eyebrow slightly cocked in a quizzical expression.
"With Mr. Pamuk!" he gestured angrily towards the man still nuzzling her neck, his voice breaking off in frustration and he spun around and yelled nonsensically into the sky.
"Matthew," Mary said gently, placing her hand on his shoulder. He hesitantly turned around to see the scene had changed. She wasn't wearing that red dress after all, he must've been mistaken, because now she was wearing a simple blue cotton frock.
"Matthew," she said again, "There's no one here. It's just us."
He stared into her eyes desperately, as if asking her a question, asking her "is it true?" Mary stared back unflinching, saying back to him with her gaze
"I promise, I swear, it is just us. It always has been and it always will be." He seemed to understand her meaning and his face flooded with relief.
Without a second more hesitation he kissed her. As she kissed him back it seemed to him that all the tension built up between them over these long years, all the hurt and longing was released in their passion. Matthew's hands were on her neck and her lower back, trying to pull her into him, desperate for them to become one entity, Mary, in turn, was pulling her body into his with equal desire, her hands buried in his hair. His body responded in a way it hadn't for months, in a way he never expected it to again, except the need he felt now was greater than anything he'd felt before and beyond all of his expectations. Their clothes seemed to magically disappear, their bodies writhing in the cool, soft grass. Matthew felt as if Mary's hands were exploring every inch of his body at once, exhilarating him to no end. He felt he could disappear into the never-ending softness of her milky white skin. Her body reached up to meet his every touch and her nipples were hard, begging for his mouth to suck and bite them.
As Matthew slowly began to enter Mary their world came to a stand-still and they could only stare into each other's eyes until finally Matthew gave a firm thrust to enter her fully, making her tilt her head back and moan. As their slow, sensual lovemaking continued Matthew buried his face in the dark mess of Mary's hair. She whispered, "I love you," is desperate gasps of pleasure.
And then Matthew woke up.