Six
.
From: Crawley, Matthew (J. Bates, MP)
Sent: Tuesday, 24 July 9.17 AM
To: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Subject: No place like home
Day 2 back in the office after last week's political road show – I'd forgotten the simple joy it is having a staff around that can bring you a cup of tea.
Hope you've got a bit more colour back in your cheeks this morning; I'm still not convinced you were 100% yesterday.
.
From: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Sent: Tuesday, 24 July 9.24 AM
To: Crawley, Matthew (J. Bates, MP)
Subject: Re: No place like home
Grown a little too familiar with the perks of power, Matthew? And here I thought you were one of the nice ones around here.
Also – I'm just fine, you really need to stop worrying so much, it's not an attractive trait for an otherwise very attractive person. Stopping by my flat on a weekend to check up on me was just about enough – all this hovering at work is making me nervous.
I don't do all that resting, recovering, sitting around and doing nothing nonsense, you should know that.
.
From: Crawley, Matthew (J. Bates, MP)
Sent: Tuesday, 24 July 9.31 AM
To: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Subject: Re: No place like home
I just don't want to end up on a bathroom floor somewhere holding back your hair again. It's very nice hair, but all that vomit is rather unappealing.
Don't you get all up in arms about me coming by on Sunday – I would suggest you had a very good time watching telly with me in the end up.
.
From: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Sent: Tuesday, 24 July 9.38 AM
To: Crawley, Matthew (J. Bates, MP)
Subject: Re: No place like home
Maybe I did. Doesn't make your mothering any less annoying.
.
From: Crawley, Matthew (J. Bates, MP)
Sent: Tuesday, 24 July 9.42 AM
To: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Subject: Re: No place like home
Maybe, eh? You don't fool me, Miss Crawley.
You doing the usual dinner thing tonight with Westminster staff?
.
From: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Sent: Tuesday, 24 July 9.47 AM
To: Crawley, Matthew (J. Bates, MP)
Subject: Re: No place like home
It's The Hon. Miss Mary Crawley to you. I'll have you know my father is a Lord.
The standard invite has come around for dinner tonight but I can't really be arsed making nice to all the usual faces. I think I'll take advantage of my supposed sickness while I can and make my excuses.
.
From: Crawley, Matthew (J. Bates, MP)
Sent: Tuesday, 24 July 9.58 AM
To: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Subject: Re: No place like home
So you're sick when it suits you then? That's not very honourable, The Honourable Miss Crawley.
It's a shame, because if you weren't up for the staffer's dinner I was going to suggest we do something to ourselves, but if you're too ill...
.
From: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Sent: Tuesday, 24 July 10.07 AM
To: Crawley, Matthew (J. Bates, MP)
Subject: Re: No place like home
Stop being ridiculous Matthew.
Where were you thinking for dinner?
.
It doesn't really occur to Matthew until part way through the main course that he and Mary have never actually been out to eat just the two of them before their meal that evening. They may have gone to group dinners, attended political events together and even eaten take out in front of their respective televisions, but never before have they found themselves at a table for two in the corner, laughing over a bottle of wine and a shared starter.
He has to admit, it's quite a good time.
He's taken her to a little restaurant not far from the Parliament but still tucked away enough that it's remained relatively unknown. He'd found it almost by accident back in a time when he'd had little to do with Mary or her usual crowd and has been pleased for the chance to return.
What's better, he finds, is just how impressed Mary has been with his choice.
"You've done well," she smiles, "I would never have known this place was here."
"It's quite the novelty being able to show you something about Westminster. Usually you're the one stuck showing me everything."
"I wouldn't say stuck – I certainly don't offer a comprehensive orientation to all new staff that find themselves at the Palace of Westminster."
"Just the really important ones?" he chances.
A slow grin, "Just you actually."
They've been... flirting – for the lack of any other term – like this since they left Newcastle the week before. It's easy, it seems to happen almost accidentally and he can't help but encourage it just a little, if only to prolong the buzz it gives him each and every time.
It's probably the exact reason he shouldn't be letting it happen, but Matthew has all but resigned himself to all the mistakes he's about to make. There's something about her laid bare as she was in Newcastle and as eager as she is to spend time with him now that tends to drown out his better and more sensible angels, leaving him happily resigned to her company and their comfortable repartee.
He lets the moment go on a while longer, a content sort of feeling fizzing through him as they can't quite look away from each other.
He has to remind himself sometimes, of all those reasons that pulled them apart the first time – all the reasons Mary gave him and the ones he's sure she didn't – they're all still reasons and they're all still there between them.
Eventually, trying to focus himself on something a little more reasoned, he brings himself to ask, "So I hear all was not quite as it appeared with the whole defence issue last week; something about that Sarah O'Brien and another one of her schemes?"
Mary rolls her eyes in that way Matthew's sure she must have worked hard to perfect, "Turns out that all the fuss was kicked up not because of the MPs that actually cared about the increased spending, but because O'Brien wanted something out of Carson and it seemed to be the fastest way to get it."
"How does that work exactly?"
"She knew that tensions were running high enough that's she'd be able to unite the dissenters and cause a big enough stir, forcing Carson to pay her some attention."
"And she was the one that talked them all down once – presumably – she got whatever it was that she wanted?"
After a bite of her food, Mary nods, "It's a shaky fix, but you do what it takes."
He's surprised, "That really works?"
A shrug, "Sometimes. All the talk of revolt went away when we wanted it to and after we'd paid our price, but to be fair, there are still a lot of people fairly unhappy with the legislation. Like I said – it's a shaky sort of fix but Strallan's working on it all before the vote next week."
"You must think I'm terribly green to still be surprised that this is how it all goes," he admits, if a touch self-consciously.
"I don't think you're green." And then she looks him over warmly, "I like that you're not jaded by it all. It reminds me of good things. It gives me... hope."
"Hope?"
"Hope that politics isn't just full of idiots and the self-interested."
"So you don't think I'm an idiot then?"
Her response is serious, "I've never called you an idiot and I've never thought anything of the sort."
"From Mary Crawley, I imagine that's high praise," he's flattered.
"You know, Anna said that to me once – the first time I met you. We spoke about what happened after that first meeting and she seemed to think I was being unusually nice in my assessment of your abilities."
"Really?" Matthew finds it all hard to imagine. Everything from those months seems so very far away.
Her words are frank – cool but genuine, "Really. But you haven't let me down yet."
There's a big part of him that likes that she's back to being the detached and controlled Mary that she so often shows the world – it makes what she's saying all the more real.
To her, it's just a fact.
Mary is good with facts.
The dinner goes on – they laugh and talk and smile through a dessert and they linger until the restaurant is all but empty, late enough that he's not keen on putting her in a cab alone when they finally stumble onto the street. He rides with her to her flat, wavering as she goes to get out of the car and eventually doing what he's told when she tells him not to get out.
"I'll be fine. You can watch me get in the door if you like."
"If you're sure."
She gives him this coy sort of smile that would suggest that that's not entirely the case.
"Goodnight Matthew."
The cab door closes.
.
She's running through messages with Daisy the following afternoon after a long morning of meetings when it happens.
Edith.
"Your sister rang twice while you were gone. She wanted to talk to you as soon as possible."
"Edith always wants to talk to me as soon as possible." She heaves a sigh and dismisses Daisy back to her desk.
For a brief moment, she considers leaving the message and getting on with her day – a whole ocean of distance between them means she ought to be able to feign ignorance of the whole issue well enough – but in the end she figures it's probably worth just getting it over with (ripping the bandaid off Edith would call it in some of her most affected moments) rather than have it hanging over her the rest of the day.
She'll just keep calling after all.
Quickly checking the clock and working out the time difference, Mary dials the number with no small amount of apprehension.
"Hello?"
Oh lord; it's the fake accent that gets her.
"It's Mary; I got your message."
"Well this is a first – I wasn't expecting a call back from you until at least tomorrow."
Her little jab doesn't even come close to leaving a sting.
"Oh you know me, work is always so busy. I called as soon as I had a spare moment because I knew it ought to be important."
Mary grits her teeth through a smile.
"Yes, it's always you and your work. If you keep working as much as you do you'll never have time to actually live your life."
"I live my life!"
"Oh yes? Do you have a boyfriend I don't know about? Met any nice men lately?"
Straight into the heavy conversation apparently.
"I'm fine Edith; I meet lots of nice men doing what I do."
"Ha. Oh really?" Her sister doesn't sound convinced.
"I do."
"Name one. Name one person that you've met in your little political bubble who's not a fool or a complete sleaze."
"I can name plenty, Edith, but nothing I can say will mean anything to you."
"Won't it?"
"It won't."
"Try me."
Urgh.
She's tempting fate by bringing it up but then, by this stage, she'll do anything to make her point, "There's a new guy, he's working for one of the MPs that joined up with us after the latest sex scandal – he's just one of a number of people I have come across at work who are neither of those things."
Mary has always been very good at making the truth go a rather long way.
"...What's his name?"
In the background, she can hear Edith telling a small child to quieten down.
She takes advantage of the brief break in the conversation and tries to move things along, "Honestly Edith, this can't be why you called. Is there something you need, seeing as it was so urgent?"
"I want to know this person's name first."
"Matthew. Are you happy? Now, what do you want?"
"Matthew is it? Who does he work for?"
"Seriously, Edith..." It's a low warning.
"Fine. Fine, I suppose I can prod you more about it when I'm back in England – that's why I called."
Oh great.
"You're coming back to England?"
"With Mama. She mentioned to me that she was making the trip back and thought I should come along. I thought it was a terrific idea!"
The fake American accent wouldn't be quite so ridiculous if Edith still didn't talk like a Malborough-educated, Knightsbridge-frequenting English rose.
"Are you bringing the kids?" she asks with some trepidation.
"Of course!" she exclaims in what Mary can only describe as her smug mommy voice, "I could hardly leave the poor angels here with Buck. He'll be working far too much for that."
Edith had moved to America to take up a position at her mother's company some years before. Perpetually unlucky in love and perhaps more than a little heartbroken over the death of a sister and the stinging rejection of one Patrick Gordon, she'd jumped at the chance for a change of scene.
She'd lasted just six months in the job, resigning to get married to one of the most plainly American men Mary has ever come across and to 'focus on starting a family'.
Her four children (four very American children – three rowdy boys and a prissy little girl) had followed in rapid succession and these days, Edith spends her time devoted to her children's every need, passionately advocating for 'family' causes and writing a blog which appears to have the sole purpose of being judgemental about other mothers.
And non-mothers. (Mary would know.)
And really anyone doing anything in a manner she deems 'unworthy'.
Yes, Edith Ryan (née Crawley) seems to really enjoy her fulfilling life filled with children and judging people.
"Oh wonderful," Mary responds flatly. "You'll be staying at the Big House with Papa?"
"And Mama," Edith makes a point to add. She continues pointedly, "I trust that you'll make some time to come and see us all?"
"Of course I will. Papa mentioned throwing a dinner for Mama's return – there's that at least. How long are you here for?"
"A week and a half."
"Send the dates to my assistant – I'll pencil it in."
"Mmm, your assistant and I are getting to know each other well," Edith attempts a last swipe at Mary's career choices. "I'm surprised this one's lasted quite so long."
"Daisy may be a little... soft, but she's effective."
"If that's what you want to call it."
Their call wraps up not long after and once free, Mary slumps back into her chair, taking a deep breath.
Edith is coming.
Edith is coming to no doubt poke and prod her about her love life and life choices, somewhere amidst the circus that is the Crawley family all brought together in one place.
And here Mary though the Americans had a thing against cruel and unusual punishment.
.
"Just come in for a moment," Mary opens her front door ushers Matthew inside, "I'll grab that briefing book for you and I'll call for a taxi."
It's late on a Friday evening and after drinks with British Airways for MPs and staff, both Mary and Matthew have taken advantage of a lift back to her flat on offer from one of her friends.
Though Mary makes a point of not attending too many of the glorified parliamentary piss ups that she's invited to in any given month, tonight's is one she does her best to go to each time it comes around – if only for the free flight upgrades she can wrangle down the line with the right amount of well-placed charm at BA's bi-annual drinks.
Possibly not the most honourable thing she'll do each year, but a reality in her line of work nonetheless.
Throwing her jacket over the back of her sofa, she heads into her bedroom to look for the book she's promised Matthew.
When she returns, she asks, "Did you eat much at that thing?"
"Not really. Finger food is hardly filling."
"I was going to order some-" She catches herself; she was going to order some Chinese from Ellen's but she decides she might be better off letting that one slide, "-Japanese, if you wanted to stick around to eat something."
The question itself is an absent one; she doesn't think much of asking him to stay because somehow – and very quickly – Matthew has become that sort of friend whose time she takes for granted. She doesn't have many people in her life she considers this way (Anna among one of the few) but something's changed since Newcastle and she can't be anything but glad for it.
Matthew smiles, "Why not?"
"I think I have a menu in the drawer, I'll get it for you to have a look."
She fishes it out for him and phones in an order once they've both made their choices. Hungry and a little worn down from the week, Mary is grateful when it arrives quickly and they both forgo her table, planting themselves wearily on her couch to eat.
"I'm surprised you don't have some glamorous plans for your Friday evening," Matthew points out cheekily, "Can't imagine there's much excitement to stay in and eating take away with me."
He says things like this from time to time – as though he somehow believes that when he's not around, she leads a life of glamour and luxury. The truth is that she works far too hard and far too much to have time for any of the sorts of things the girls she grew up with – the type of girls she's sure Matthew must be imagining – get up to.
She gave up on all that and on all those types of people many years ago and she's never looked back.
"You overestimate my capacity for excitement. I assure you that not only is my down time comparatively dull, eating with you like this will be quite the highlight of an otherwise quiet weekend."
He laughs, "Well that puts me under even more pressure then; I better show you a good time."
"You're doing just fine." Mary takes another bite of her food before asking as casually as she can manage, "You're the one I would have thought ought to have exciting Friday night plans."
He scoffs, "Hardly."
"What about Lavinia?"
A shrug, "It's not a big deal. I'll see her later in the weekend."
"So no plans tonight then?" Mary treads carefully.
"No plans."
With each question and answer, a seriousness has crept into the space between them.
Unsure of what to say next, Mary returns to her food and lets the silence hang a little longer.
"We've talked about this before. Sort of," Matthew begins tentatively.
Mary can only give him a questioning look.
"I think... I think Lavinia is good for me." He takes a steadying breath and continues on, carefully dancing around the issue that is now heavy between them, "Nothing has changed here. You had reasons that seemed to be pretty powerful and I'm trying to respect those."
And there it is.
His words take the wind out of her momentarily.
"It's true that the reasons are still there..." She struggles, "But maybe they don't matter quite as much anymore."
It's dangerous – so very, very dangerous to be thinking and speaking this way and yet Mary isn't sure would have it another way.
She knows what it is to have distance between them and she knows now what it is to fall asleep and wake up beside him. Her reasons are strong but this is beginning to seem stronger.
"Do they matter... enough?" Matthew asks tentatively.
It's a hard question to answer, though the importance of it is not lost on her. The trouble, she finds, is that it's never been just about her – it's Matthew that will get stuck with her mess if she allows this to continue.
"Sometimes I think they do."
"And what about the rest of the time?"
She tries to explain, still dancing around the edges of her fears, "I don't want you to... suffer for getting involved with me."
"What if I don't care?" he asks confidently before pressing her further, "How will I suffer any more for that – for being... closer, than I would as we are now?"
He has a good point.
She's let it get this far.
"I don't know. I don't have any answers for you other than to say that I won't- I can't let what happened before happen again."
Matthew holds her gaze meaningfully, "Last time, you pushed me away."
Staring at her hands, she repeats herself, "And I can't let it happen again."
The tension between them is palpable and unable to relax back into their evening together, Matthew goes to leave not much later.
"Thanks for dinner," he fumbles, standing in front of the door.
"It's fine."
"I'll... see you." His arm goes out, seemingly as some kind of awkward wave, but it hovers there as it brushes by where Mary is standing.
She steps closer.
"Goodbye Matthew."
He pulls her in just a fraction with his extended arm and kisses her briefly on the temple. Though heavy with meaning, it's an innocent sort of kiss and is over as soon as it began.
Matthew steps through her door and leaves.
.
Nothing.
Silence.
Six days later and Matthew Crawley has dropped off the map.
Mary is beginning to worry.
She'd sent him a text message on Saturday – a carefully crafted, cautiously timed text message that had gone unanswered and left her with a nagging concern through Sunday. On Monday she'd flicked off an even more nonchalant email but again there had been no reply despite her Westminster spies confirming he had been in his office each day this week as normal.
Yes, with everything from the last night she saw him fresh on her mind, the uncomfortable itch of worry is starting to make itself known.
She doesn't like it.
With the silence now creeping into a gloomy August Thursday, Matthew never having reached out to her of his own accord, she's done her best to throw herself into work and as the morning draws on, she finds herself huddled off camera with Anna while Carson gives a press conference.
Giving her a rundown of the day in hushed tones Anna remarks, "I'm still getting the odd question from journos about Carson and Carlisle and this supposed rift between them. They clearly think there's something to it."
Mary is incredulous, "What, because Carlisle got bored and left the cabinet tour early?"
"Supposedly."
She scoffs, "Carson has never liked Carlisle."
Not from the moment he strong-armed himself into the Chief of Staff position, leaving Carson with little recourse.
Still, they try to make the best of it.
"We try not to make that too obvious to the press," Anna points out wryly.
"I know; it's just, why does it have to be that that tips them off? That had nothing to do with Carson and everything to do with Carlisle's misguided vanity. He got bored; he didn't like being without his creature comforts in London."
"That's what I'll be telling them. Perhaps dressed up so it's a little more... palatable." She smirks.
"You always were good at that."
Anna continues, "The other one I keep getting is this vote tonight. Are you sure it's locked down?"
"Anthony Strallan hasn't flagged any concerns as yet. After what happened in Leeds it's always going to get some extra attention."
"I know. It's just... this seems a little different. Keep an eye out."
Mary nods, but isn't too concerned. Sarah O'Brien knows when she's got a good deal.
There's only a brief pause before Anna asks, "So I've covered everything else – am I allowed to ask about Matthew now?"
Mary sighs, "No word."
"Still nothing?"
"Absolutely nothing."
They've gone over this before, but still Anna asks again, "And there's not something you said...?"
"We did talk about... things. But it was in such vague terms, there's nothing that should have prompted a reaction quite like this."
"Do you think he got spooked?" she tries.
"I don't see why; he's still with Lavinia and he seemed pretty set on that. Nothing's going to change."
Anna tips her head, "It's very odd."
"You're telling me."
Things wrap up at the conference only a few minutes later and after slogging through a handful of meetings, Mary spends the afternoon in her office. With the rise of the House postponed in an attempt to get their defence bill through before the end of the parliamentary sitting week, she's settled in for a long night.
She doesn't realise just how long until there's a knock at her door.
"Miss Crawley?" Her assistant pokes her head through the door.
"Yes Daisy?"
"There's someone here to see you. He doesn't have an appointment but it seems... urgent."
This catches her attention.
Daisy seems to pick up on her sudden interest, "It's not Matthew Crawley."
Oh.
"Then who?"
"Mr Strallan."
"Anthony Strallan? What on earth is he doing here?"
"He says that he can't find Mr Carlisle," Daisy explains a little urgently, "And that you're probably the only one that can help him anyway."
Mary rolls her eyes, "Send him in then."
When he steps through the door, Mary begins to worry. He looks nervous, jittery and more than a little alarmed.
The vote.
Oh shit.
"What on earth is the matter, Anthony?"
"I can't do it." He twists on the spot uncomfortably, "I... I can't do it."
"Do what exactly?"
Maybe it's not as bad as it looks.
"I can't get the numbers for the vote tonight. There's a group of them... and they're going to cross the floor."
Apparently, it's exactly as bad as it looks.
"What?" Mary is aghast. "You said everything would be fine."
"Well I didn't so much say. It was more a case of letting you believe..."
She shakes off Strallan's utterly ridiculous suggestion, "How bad is it?"
"Forty five. Maybe fifty."
"Fifty MPs voting with the other side?"
"Yes."
"It was thirty two weeks ago! And that was a worst case."
Strallan stumbles, "It's an avalanche. The rebellion two weeks ago – it got them started on something."
"I thought we shut it all down? I thought when we bought off O'Brien that things were sorted?"
"She did what she could..." Strallan desperately reaches to justify his failure, "I don't think Ms O'Brien knows what she created. She put a stop to it temporarily, but by doing what she did, she united them – they're together now and they're organised. Their issue is front page news."
"And you – the Government's Chief Whip – can't do anything about it?"
"I've tried. I can't... I can't."
Mary looks at the clock, "Well there's still some time before the vote-"
He cuts her off, "No you don't understand. I'm here to warn you that my next stop is to see Carson. I'm- I'm going to hand in my resignation."
"You're resigning as Whip?" Her disbelief is clear.
"I feel I must."
"Can't we just-"
Again, Strallan interrupts, "It's too late. You can't stop this. Now I really must go."
She can only watch in horror as he turns on his heels and basically runs from her office – an awkward walk-jog as he escapes the building entirely without looking back.
Well, fuck.
.
Rumours swirl about Coalition Whip's resignation
In a surprising twist in the defence spending saga, Westminster has been abuzz this evening with the rumour that Coalition Chief Whip Anthony Strallan has resigned his post after failing to secure the numbers needed to pass an appropriations bill during an extended sitting of the House of Commons expected to continue late into tonight.
It was first suggested two weeks ago that some Coalition MPs – and in particular, a large number of Liberal Democrats – were planning to cross the floor on a bill that will see funding to the armed forces increased by billions over the next two years. While at the time, the MPs involved were quick to deny any such intention, the suggestion that Anthony Strallan has now stepped down has reignited theories that the bill is about to fall over...
.
When he taps on the open door, he can see exactly what Anna was talking about.
It's Mary Crawley as he's never seen her before.
Surrounded by chaos – phones ringing, papers everywhere, at least three support staff pushing past him to move in and out of her office at high speed – Mary looks frantic. Her usually well put together appearance has been replaced with something much more haphazard, hair flying everywhere and sleeves long since rolled up, and she's yelling into a phone like her life depends on it.
Her eyes flicker upward in his direction and she stops in her tracks.
"Think about it Napier – okay? I'll be ringing you back in twenty minutes."
When she hangs up, she literally throws the phone from her hands, before turning her attentions to Matthew.
"Where the hell have you been?"
Oh dear.
He's in trouble.
"Look, I'm sorry-"
"Sorry?"
"I'm sorry about this week," he finishes. "I know how it must have looked but it's not what you think."
"Oh yes? And what do I think?" She eyes him off angrily.
"That I was avoiding you."
"You were avoiding me. I texted! I emailed!"
"I know. I was just... taking some space," Matthew tries to explain.
"Why?"
So he says it.
"I broke up with Lavinia."
The chaos around them – the deafening noise and the flurry of people coming in and out – seems to fall away.
For a long moment, she just stands there.
Eventually, "...Why?"
Matthew shakes his head, "Not here. Not... now."
There's too much behind it. Too much he's not sure he can explain with all these people buzzing around.
Measuring him up, she asks, " So... later?"
He gives her a half smile – a hopeful sort of smile – but doesn't directly respond. Instead he remarks, "Anna told me you'd gone into meltdown over here. Apparently she was right."
"You spoke to Anna?"
"She's been calling all evening – wouldn't leave me alone until I answered. I, ah, think she hoped I would be able to talk you down."
Mary rolls her eyes, "She's being dramatic."
"Things do look pretty... manic in here," he tries to be diplomatic about it all.
"We're looking at 50 MPs crossing the floor, there's no Whip, no Whip's staff, his deputies-" her tirade is interrupted by a correction, "– now his former deputies, I suppose – have no idea what's going on and we have about two hours to win them all back, lest Carson be faced with yet another crisis to his leadership."
"So Strallan's properly gone?" he asks.
"He's gone. We're trying to keep it quiet to stop the press from making things worse, but you've seen how well that's worked out."
"What happened?"
She explains tiredly, "O'Brien created a monster when she brought them all together for her own selfish reasons – apparently they decided to continue on without her. Strallan quit when it all got too hard."
He processes this information, "Christ."
"Yes; Christ. Without a Whip it's our office that's stuck trying to salvage the situation. We're doing everything we can but I don't know if we're going to make it over the line."
"The vote's in two hours you say?"
She nods.
"Well how can I help?"
.
8.30pm – One hour, thirty minutes to the vote
"If you want Carson to even think about campaigning in your constituency come the next election..."
Mary's voice, all but shouting down the other line overlaps with his own.
"You know, the paperwork for the development is on Bates' desk right now for ministerial approval. You also know how strongly he feels about this bill, what with him being ex-military..."
(He's discussed the bill with Bates briefly. Matthew's sure he won't mind that he's taking advantage his position in order to get the vote through.
He'd all but advised him to do exactly the same thing when he'd called him into action not fifteen minutes before.)
He can hear triumph in Mary's tone, "Oh, so you are thinking of voting our way tonight when the defence bill comes up...?"
.
8.45pm – One hour, fifteen minutes to the vote
"Barrow, I'm glad to finally get you on the phone."
"They said it was urgent."
He's a little too casual for Mary's liking. "Of course it's urgent – I left several messages."
Still casual, "You've got some trouble in the Commons?"
"It's a disaster, Thomas. We're going to lose the vote."
"What can I do to help?"
"I know you're close with Sarah O'Brien."
"...When it suits me."
Mary can almost taste the smirk behind his words.
"Well I need it to suit you for at least five minutes this evening. I need you to call her."
"Oh? And what do you want me to say to her?"
"I don't care how you do it, but I need you to make sure she isn't working some agenda here," Mary's tone does not allow for protest, "She was the one that kicked all of this off in the first place and while she's assured me now that she's done everything to fix her mistake, I'd feel lot better if you were able to confirm that for me."
A pause.
"What's in it for me?" he asks cheekily.
"I just won you an election Thomas, and if you want me to win you any more, I would suggest you do your bit. I know you have your eye on a Commons seat in four years and you'll be amazed how time flies."
The pointed warning behind her words is clear.
"Leave it with me."
.
8.50pm – One hour, ten minutes to the vote
Matthew has never spent a great deal of time in the many bars within the Houses of Parliament and until this evening, that had only ever seemed like a good thing.
Feigning confidence, he slides into the Strangers' Bar – one of the few still open late into a Thursday evening – and searches out his man. It doesn't take long.
"Mr Murray."
Mary said he would be here. Of course she was right.
The man turns, "I'm sorry – who are you?"
He extends a hand, "I'm Matthew Crawley. I thought you might like to talk about the vote tonight."
.
8.50pm – One hour, ten minutes to the vote
Knowing their schedule well, Mary is not disappointed when she arrives at the restaurant.
From neighbouring constituencies well outside of London, the pair of MPs she's looking for are as thick as thieves and as expected, out for their usual dinner at a Westminster Italian before they're due to return for the vote.
Through the window, she's almost perversely glad to see more than one bottle of wine on their table. Hitching her skirt (just a small amount, of course) and reapplying lipstick, she steps into the restaurant with a smile firmly fixed to her face.
.
9.30pm – Thirty minutes to the vote
Matthew takes a sip from the glass – the whiskey is far stronger a drink than he's accustomed to but he's fairly sure that he doesn't let it show. It's not his first obligatory beverage of the evening.
"The soldiers over there believe in what they're doing. There already is a date for them to be withdrawn and they're working toward that very productively."
When it had first been suggested, Matthew hadn't been sure how well he'd be able to work the 'soldier' angle but sitting here now, he finds himself believing in his own words.
"You were there, you say?"
"I was. I did several tours."
He sees Molesley, another name on Mary's list he's been sent to win over with his impassioned tales from the trenches, consider this carefully.
"So you agree, do you? You think they should get the money?"
"Of course I do. And here's why I think you should be with me on this one..."
.
9.40pm – Twenty minutes to the vote
Her phone rings.
"Mary, it's Barrow."
She forces a smile into her voice. About bloody time. "Thanks for getting back to me."
"It's not O'Brien."
"You're sure?"
"She doesn't want to let on, but she's shaken. She really didn't intend for it to get this far."
Mary sighs, "I was beginning to hope it was her. I was beginning to hope there was some way to stop this."
"You haven't been able to reign things in?"
"I can't tell. We're trying – just about everyone inside the PM's office and even a few that aren't are spread out across the city trying to talk things down – I haven't been able to stop long enough to take stock of it all."
"Well I hope it works out for you."
"Yeah, thanks."
She doesn't give him the chance to say anything more and hangs up with a frustrated jab to her phone.
.
9.55pm – Five minutes to the vote
Having ticked each of the names of his list of people to see – as satisfied as he can be with the outcome of his first proper turn at wheeling and dealing in Westminster – Matthew races back to Mary's office, wanting to be there with the rest of the Prime Minister's staff to watch the vote.
When he arrives, he's far from surprised to find a crowd gathering around the TV though Mary is nowhere to be found.
Chatting to various staffers in between their final frantic phone calls, Matthew watches the door, waiting for each person that steps through to be the familiar face he's expecting.
As the minutes slip away, she still doesn't appear.
There's a buzz about the place as without Mary and without any real way of knowing how successful they've been at convincing their many detractors to fall back into line, there's a real amount of suspense about how the vote is going to go. One way or another, the outcome is far from assured.
With less than a couple of minutes to go, he dials Mary's number – it's busy on the first few tries but when he finally gets through, she doesn't answer.
He finds Anna across the room, "Have you seen Mary? Do you know where she is?"
Anna shakes her head, "I was just about to ask you."
"I can't even get her on the phone."
"Neither can I."
They're interrupted by shouts from the crowd around them.
On the TV and on the floor of the Parliament, the Chancellor is on her feet. It's about to begin.
.
***HANSARD***
The Speaker resumed the Chair.
Bill reported, without amendment.
Third Reading
10.02pm
The Chancellor of the Exchequer (Mrs Beryl Patmore): I beg to move that the Bill be now read the Third time.
In recent days, this Bill has been the subject of great public attention and media scrutiny. Despite all that has been said, I believe that this Bill is necessary, I believe it is appropriate and I believe that it is the right thing to do by the thousands of British troops posted overseas.
Since our funding arrangements for Britain's defence force were reviewed earlier this year, it has become evidently clear that...
.
Bone tired, brain scrambled and the adrenaline long since worn off, Matthew can think of nothing more than crawling into bed and sleeping for hours on end until he rounds the last corner to his flat.
But as he turns into the corridor and as he sees the form propped against his door, hugging a bottle of champagne, the notion of sleep is quickly forgotten.
"What are you doing here?"
Mary shrugs, "Waiting for you."
Pulling up in front of his door, he holds out a hand and helps her up from the mat. Almost distracted, she doesn't step away once she's on her feet, instead lingering just a little too close as he looks her over.
"Where were you? Everyone was looking for you back at your office."
Utterly spent, she gives him a wistful smile, "I couldn't do it, I couldn't watch."
"Did you... know?"
"Of course I did. I had to wait for the vote for it to be certain, but it all got to a point..."
She leaves it there.
And then they just look at each other for a long moment.
It's done. It's over.
And they lost.
"I'm so sorry, Mary."
Quietly, tiredly, "I know."
"We all tried everything we could."
"I know."
Matthew tries to make her see, "Even you. There wasn't a single thing more you could have done."
Her eyes are cast down at the floor and she doesn't respond.
"Why don't you come inside? You look like you need a drink."
She's still standing close enough that he can physically turn her back to the door in his arms. One hand resting on her hip, Matthew unlocks his flat and ushers her inside.
Stepping over the threshold but still holding her close by, he asks, "Did you want your champagne there or something a little stronger?
She tips her head to give him a small smile with a meaning he can't quite read, "The champagne is fine."
"I'll get some glasses," but seeing her like this, he doesn't want to step away just yet. Brushing a hand down her arm, he asks, "I should ask though; why the bubbly?"
"I got it in between stops tonight. I was given it by someone who thought I might have something to celebrate by the night's end."
"Well sod it – sod them all; you can still drink whatever you want. Who cares that we didn't win it – it's pretty much just fancy fizzy wine and convention dictates that we get good and drunk after such a hard fought loss."
Mary laughs darkly, "As nice as that sounds, I'm sure there are a lot of people that care." She rubs her face and tells him all too calmly, "I'll probably have to resign."
This, finally, is enough for him to step back.
Dashing around to face her, Matthew is aghast, "No! No, this isn't on you."
She still seems worryingly unaffected by the idea, "That doesn't really matter – someone has to roll for what happened."
"It does matter! Of course it does! What about Carlisle – where was he tonight? You could hardly go before him."
"Oh he was around; his idea of persuasion is slightly less palatable and probably slightly more illegal, so he kept himself well enough away from the office," she gives him a knowing, unimpressed sort of look. "But don't worry, he'll make sure there's a way to pin it all back into me."
"Well, regardless, Strallan's resigned; he rolled, isn't that enough?"
Lips purse, "We'll see."
"Have you even spoken to Carson about any of it?"
Mary's head shakes, "A little before the vote took place. He's called a few times afterward, but I can't face that either. I messaged him to say we'd talk about it tomorrow."
Matthew feels a little better knowing that her talk of resignation hasn't gotten to Carson's ears just yet.
He's (she's) still got time.
Wavering for a moment, he eventually allows himself to ask tentatively, "So you couldn't face the crowd in your office, you can't face Carson but you're okay coming here to see me?"
"Well, you did promise you'd answer my question later. I came to get my answer." Mary seems to fall back on a quiet confidence now as they drift away from talk of work and politics.
"What question?"
"...Why you and Lavinia broke up."
Matthew feels as though he's supposed to be caught out by this – surprised somehow – but from the moment he helped her to her feet in the hall there's been a feeling of recklessness, the air between them charged and rich with friction just waiting for one small spark...
He's not surprised. He's not unprepared.
"You really want to know?"
"I do."
"Even if you can't not know it, once I've told you?"
"Especially if that's the case." She urges him, "Matthew..."
"How about I get you your drink first?"
"And after the drink?"
Finally, he nods. This has to be done. "We'll talk."
He takes the reprieve while he can get it and retreats to the open living area. The buzz running through him isn't a nervous feeling as much as it is a sort of constant anticipation but he appreciates a moment to breathe all the same.
Something about tonight feels like it's been a long time coming.
This time, he's ready.
.
She doesn't sit, so much as she perches by his kitchen counter, waiting for him to return with her drink. The thrill of dread that had settled in her stomach after the vote has been replaced by something much warmer – the dull ache is still there somewhere but she knows that she made the right decision to come.
This is what she needs.
"You were exceptional tonight, you know," he tells her as he turns back and hands her a glass, "No one could doubt that you knew what you were doing."
Be that as it may, Matthew's words only remind her of how it all ended.
Her self-deprecating sarcasm is obvious, "Shame I couldn't make it go my way then."
He looks at her almost sadly and he takes stock of her with a long glance.
"You carry the world on your shoulders, Mary. Not every problem is your own."
It's not what she was expecting.
This sense of responsibility – her determination to carry this alone – it cuts to the heart of who she is but still Matthew sees through that.
She's never had anyone who could do that before.
"Is that really what you think?"
"It's really what most people who were there tonight will think."
"I'm glad you were there," she offers, "You didn't need to help or to do all those things you did, but you were there and you truly gave everything you could."
"I wouldn't have let it be any other way."
"Well... thank you. So very much."
"You're welcome."
For a moment, there is peace.
Eventually he begins, "About Lavinia...-"
She interrupts, "You don't have to tell me. I've probably asked quite enough of you for one day."
"No, it's okay. I think I want to tell you."
It seems so much to ask, that Matthew bare his secrets when she won't do the same, but in the moment she can't bring herself to feel bad. Nothing can make her feel bad.
The air is charged and the look that passes between them is heavy. It feels like time.
And so he explains, carefully, "That night, what you said... It's not so much about what you said – the idea of us – as it was so much about how it made me feel."
He's touching her again, innocently enough, a hand on her arm as she leans in closer still.
She has to ask, "How did it make you feel?"
"I felt... whole," Matthew offers her a slow smile, "There had been something missing that I couldn't have explained until that moment, but it was then I knew..."
She sidles closer, his arm able to curl round her as she comes, "I know what that feels like."
"Do you?" he asks on a breath.
"Without doubt."
Eventually, a long and heavy moment later, he continues, "Well, that was when I knew I couldn't let it go on. Once I knew I couldn't pretend any longer."
"So you broke up?"
He seems resolved, "We broke up."
Mary closes the very last bit of distance, "Why disappear then? Why ignore my messages and my emails? Were you unhappy?"
"No. It's not that," he's quick to dispel the idea, "It felt cheap; if it was just a case of going from one to the other then I couldn't escape the feeling I'd done us all a disservice. It had been about more than that, so it seemed the right thing to do."
"What about now?" Her voice is low and throaty, "Do we still need to take some space?"
He looks her up and down, inching in even more until they're standing all but pressed together, both unable to escape the moment heavy around them, and he smiles, "I think it's far too late for all of that."
His meaning is clear; any notion of keeping their distance is long gone now.
Her hand curls on his chest as an arm snakes around her waist.
"This isn't..." he grapples for words, "This isn't just you being reckless somehow, doing something irrational because of what happened tonight?"
"No," she breathes.
"You're not going to run away on me again? I don't think I could take it."
Again, "No."
Just as he'd said, it's too late and she's too far gone for that.
There is no part of her to remind her why this might not be a good idea. This is too much more than that.
He kisses her, carefully and sweetly at first but as it seems to sink in that she has no intention of leaving, it grows more forceful.
Before she has time to adjust, he has her pushed up against his kitchen counter. Without breaking away from her mouth, one of his hands goes out to boost her onto the flat surface and her legs make way for him automatically. One hitches around his waist and something within her catches fire when his hand brushes down it.
This is really happening.
She has one hand in his hair and another draws over his face, a light caress on his cheek drawing a low moan from the back of his throat.
He pulls away slowly, their foreheads still pressed together when he asks, "We're really doing this?"
"We're doing this."
He kisses her again and she gets caught up in his confidence, throwing her head back as his lips dance down to her neck and humming with contentment.
"We should move," he says before another kiss, "From here."
"Mmm," she manages – the best agreement she can muster.
She's still wrapped around him when he begins to step back from his counter and she moves off with him, her feet eventually finding the ground again but not before he's been able to guide her some way across his flat to the next room. Feeling bold, she tugs his shirt free and blindly starts to pry apart the buttons while he retaliates by groping for the zipper of her fitted black business dress.
She laughs – a light and musical sort of laugh that is foreign even to her own ears, "Careful, this was an expensive dress. The zip catches."
After one more chaste kiss, he turns her around and tantalizingly slowly undoes the zip, leaving her weak-kneed with yet another kiss to the back of her exposed neck.
As they cross over into his bedroom, she steps out of the dress and turns back to face him.
He pauses. "You are..."
When his words trail off in a reverent sort of daze, she closes in on him again and finishes with his shirt buttons. At her impatient tug, he seems more than happy for her to pull it away, throwing it in the same direction as her dress.
"You're gorgeous," he finishes once they're pressed together once again, his hand running over her cheek.
"Thank you." Her face draws in towards his with a quiet smile, his compliment sending a thrill through her veins.
Her heart races and blood is thundering in her ears but she knows that this is about much more than getting swept away in the moment. They both know full well what they're doing.
A quiet intimacy passes between them as their faces hover where they are, just centimetres apart, taking each other in.
It doesn't matter, Mary decides, she'll find a way, she'll make this work.
It has to work.
She wraps her arms around him, just to feel him pressed in against her and again, more slowly this time, Matthew brushes a slow kiss over her lips.
With his help, and with fumbling urgency and haste, his trousers go next before Mary reaches around to make quick work of her bra. Far from feeling self-conscious, his answering groan gives her a heady empowering feeling, enough to see her strip away her underwear standing assuredly before him.
"God, Mary..." He can't keep his hands off her.
It's not long before they end up on his bed, sheets fisted out of the way by impatient hands that also roam between them over bare bodies, exploring and discovering. She tugs impatiently at the edges of his boxers and when they're hurriedly kicked away, they finally take a long moment apart, breathing each other in and measuring the enormity of what's to come.
His body is over hers on the bed and he's pressed along the length of her in the most deliciously intimate way. She brushes her hand up his chest and reminds him quietly, "I want this. I want you."
"As I want you. But... not just tonight."
She nods once. "Not just tonight."
They come together, both unable to stop the low moans that follow and the exquisite friction between them as he moves, carefully at first, but with any notion of gentleness lost as something catches fire between them.
Her arms are around him, desperately seeking purchase, trying to anchor herself when sensation takes over and she can think of nothing but this moment that has her in its grasp, nothing but Matthew, nothing but them...
And as they fall over the edge, blinding perfect calm.
Completeness.
.