You have all been very kind to me! I'm so very taken with these characters and have enjoyed telling this side of their story. I have one last chapter (actually) after this and then will move on to other stories about them, because there can never be too much to write about Matthew & Mary. The third series is so exciting, I hope you're all enjoying. This chapter went pretty in depth with Mary's thoughts on the issues mentioned initially and that might bore some people but it was interesting to write about. Cheers!

Autumn 1918

Autumn marked the return of Sir Richard, Lavinia, one 'Patrick Crawley' (better yet, Peter Gordon), and the proposition of Haxby – All of which left Mary with high emotions and her head splitting in two.

Mary dismissed quite quickly any notion that Patrick Crawley had survived the Titantic disaster in 1912 and was sitting in their house, a burned and and recovering soldier. It was too much to even consider, especially as Matthew beat himself up over it, convinced this should be Patrick Crawley, rightful heir to Downton, for it would better for them all. Really, she was horrified that after all the family went through they had to contend with this – A man they had dead and buried, said their goodbyes to years before, was supposed to be among them? Years spent with amnesia in Canada? It was too convenient, and the revelation of Peter Gordon proved it for Mary. She supposed Edith mourned Patrick more than she did because she had true love for him but sentiments for her sister weren't going to convince her to even begin to believe this was their Patrick Crawley.

Of course she wished for her cousin to still be alive but it was cruel to resurrect a dead man and pour salt into the wounds of his family during a war and their own tragedy. An iron fist was best in this sort of situation and when the man disappeared without another word, she was satisfied and relieved.

Thinking of Patrick was difficult for Mary in any way, for she knew she disregarded him and did not feel his death as painfully as the others but for her entire life, Patrick was such an emblem of all she would lose. The fact they would, indeed, eventually marry was settled when they were much, much too young and growing up with him as a cousin made it even more difficult. Mary had been robbed of a childhood with Patrick and was forced to regard him as the boy who would become her husband, and inherit her home and it angered her. Her identity was taken from her at a tender age and she lost her self-worth along with it – Patrick was the one who mattered because he was the boy and Mary, the eldest, the girl, meant nothing except for marriage. She must not lose Downton for the family so she must marry Patrick and that was that.

She very much resented Patrick Crawley every year afterwards and he spent more time at Downton with Edith and Mary had no jealousy over it, just sick that she was in this strange arrangement when so clearly her sister wished to be – There could have been actual love for them there.

Mary had not much recovered herself when Matthew came along, another man inheriting what she always dreamt to be her's but the older she got, the more mature she handled it – Taking matters into her own hands and the like. If she really thought of it, the idea of Lavinia in her place as Countess of Grantham made her physically ill. There were only so many times, she thought, that she could lose her home but alas! The relationship with Matthew proved otherwise.

But, Mary did not think about it selfishly, and did not think about Patrick for she could not bear the bitter resentment mingling with guilt – for she had felt free when that engagement had ended, as free as someone like her could, and how despicable was she? She was free from the engagement just because her cousins had died. She hated herself for thinking as she did.

So, along with that, November marked the end of the Great War. The First World War of the two Mary would know in her lifetime.

It meant a return to life as they knew it, their home would be big and empty once again, as the soldiers packed up and went on, carrying their own haunts. But it also meant change. The world would change, that was what war brought on and it was a plunge into the great unknown – what would remain, what would fall away in the light of death and debt.

Putting their lives back together around the jagged scar that war left on the nation would not be easy and no one came out the other side unchanged.

It meant personal change for Mary, too. With war ending, there would be – well – her wedding. It was the only date she had committed to. It would mean leaving life at Downton, the home she would spill her blood for, and going to Haxby.

Haxby belonged to the Russells, she knew them her whole life...and they were gone...and it was empty. Their son Billy died in the war and it was the end of life as they knew it, so it was the end of Haxby as they knew it. Mary could not help but marvel that it could have been her family, could have been the Crawley's...Matthew could have died, anything could have happened, they could have lost Downton. They could have, as Carlisle put it, given up, too.

But now Haxby would be Mary's home, she agreed to it passively, supposing she and Richard had to live somewhere and he was satisfied with that (he should not have been, he should have seen the discomfort written all over her).

Richard was also grooming Carson for a move to Haxby with them and it was the one thing that strengthened her wavering confidence in a new life – Oh good, she thought, Carson. A piece of home, someone she loved. It was appropriate to want someone you loved moving with you, was it not? Her conscience raged at the thought – Carlisle! Carlisle is the one you are supposed to love in this move.

The more days she spent with Matthew, the more she was certain she didn't have to marry Sir Richard. For how easy it was to be alone with Matthew and she didn't think she would miss out on life as a married woman – To sit with him the rest of her days seemed a fine exchange, for he would never have her again, so they could stew in their misery single but together.

She told Matthew one day, after Richard had taken her to Haxby, that she didn't have to marry him and in the lifetime before his war injury Matthew may have agreed (he had once asked her just why she was with Carlisle, pleaded for an explanation of secrets). But he was adamant that day that she did have to marry Richard and if he was threatening those chances he would go away and never see her again. He had nothing to share, nothing to give and it saddened her but quieted the constant internal conflict. She had said it, Matthew had denied it, and so she went along with Richard.

When he showed up for a visit with Lavinia in tow – at the knowledge of no one but her mother (and Mary smelled conspiracy all over it) – she was upset. And Richard knew that she was, and it was not for Matthew's benefit! It was not because he asked for it, not even because Lavinia had. It was Richard, selfish, controlling Richard hoping to grease the wheels for himself and no one else.

Truly, Matthew broke off with Lavinia because he loathed himself, a man with deadened legs could offer a woman nothing, he thought, and it was self-pity at it's most extreme. He was being noble but also frustrating. It was good that Lavinia came back, Mary knew, but she still resented Richard for hauling her up there – Mary felt like she was caring for Matthew very well. Of course that was the problem for Richard and her Mama! A crippled man shouldn't bring out the best in her and take up most of her time. Matthew was Matthew but he had nothing to offer, they all thought, including himself of course. Mary thought she was the only one fighting in his corner.

Perhaps Mary would be sympathetic, or even glad for it, if either of the two had been in contact or were desperate for the other but she was angry. Oh it was all well and good if Matthew and Lavinia could repair what had been lost but the heart of it was Carlisle manipulating the people around him - manipulating her loved ones because he did not trust her and he held power over her.

Certainly, she was at fault, she should have froze Matthew out when Carlisle was around but it would have been dishonest – it would have been cruel and dishonest but once upon a time she would have done so. If Matthew had not been injured, near death, and constantly on the corners of her mind she would have moved on and she would have seized Carlisle for the social opportunity their marriage would be for her. She hated it but she was softer now and she could not build her walls back up quick enough.

"Suppose he doesn't want her back, have you thought of that?" After dinner she and Carlisle walking through the hallways, quipping quickly to each other.

"He needs someone to look after him,-"

"Yes, but,-"

"And you'll be too busy with our new life, won't you." It was almost a challenge, for her to back down in the moment.

"Look, I know you're used to having your own way,-" She began with little patience but he grasped her arm, hard enough to startle her, and guided her against a beam. The intimidation she often saw in him was right in her face then and she didn't let her fear invade her features but her neck was tense, flexing as she controlled her breath.

"Yes, I am and I'll say something now I hope I won't have to repeat – If you think you can jilt me or in some way set me aside, I tell you now you have given me the power to destroy you and don't think I won't use it." He slackened his grip but stayed in her face, not letting her move and when he spoke next his tone was less severe, more the wicked businessman and less the threatening negotiator.

"I want to be a good husband, and for you to be happy but don't ever cross me. Do you understand? Never." Carlisle, his face tight and perspiration slick at his temples, kissed her and Mary simply allowed it, too stunned to throw him off, too smart to even consider it. "Absolutely never."

She bade him goodnight not long after and when he had gone upstairs, for the hour wasn't particularly early!, Mary went to find Matthew and did so in the small library, where they had gathered after dinner, with Lavinia and her Papa.

Mary was furious and scared, her limbs weak.

"Oh Papa, have you not had enough yet?" Her voice was nearly shrill and her joke fell flat on the two Crawley men, who had similar expressions as they looked over to her (their shared genes meant they shared chins as well as charming concern).

"Mary, you're still up. Where's Carlisle?"

"He's turned in." She sat on the settee beside Lavinia, the fire popping and cracking warmly, her Papa in a chair and Matthew in his own.

Mary took a steadying breath, nearly dissolving behind her gloved hands for a moment to blink back tears but she felt calmer in the comfortable room, light not too bright and fire not too hot.

"Are you cross with him?"

"We've had a row, would it be us otherwise?" Mary's smile to her father was bright but he still frowned, concerned.

"Oh darling."

"It's fine. You two carry on, Lavinia and I should catch up." Neither looked particularly convinced but struck up their conversation as Mary turned to the strawberry-haired girl. She wore a cream-coloured dress that draped around her body and she looked very romantic washed in the firelight, Mary thought kindly.

"Sir Richard isn't easy to handle, is he?"

Mary and Lavinia shared a look, Mary acknowledging that Lavinia knew too well the heavy blows Richard could deal.

"No but that's his nature, I suppose. He loses his temper but tries not to go too far." Mary looked down and spoke quietly.

"Well, I hope that's the case. But what am I saying, of anyone you can put him in his place, I'm sure."

Mary was aware of the slight twinge on her arm where his grasp had been.

"I do my best!"

Lavinia sipped the wine in her hand and Mary wished she had some to steady her nerves.

"Are you glad to be back?" Mary asked and Lavinia bit her lip.

"I am but I'm worried now that you've been rowing – What was I thinking, sir Richard extending the invitation and not your parents, oh I'm sorry if I'm unwelcome,-"

Mary touched Lavinia's arm, shaking her head.

"No. You're very welcome. He can be controlling, is all. Matthew and all of us are very happy to have you."

Lavinia looked placated but unconvinced (as she should), though she took it no further. It was clear she had doubts over showing up with Carlisle during dinner but was overwhelmed at the promise of seeing Matthew again and Mary couldn't dispute actual love – someone might as well have it, even if she did not.

"You took quite good care of him, I gather. I hope I can measure up."

"And exceed, I'm sure! I know you would have done just the same had Matthew not,-"

"Mary, don't belittle it – you looked after him for months, I can't begin to thank you enough..." Lavinia looked at her very pointedly and then looked to Matthew, engrossed in conversation with her Papa, and then back to Mary.

Her gaze was tender upon Matthew and Mary felt her broken feelings harden again, a bit annoyed with Lavinia's suggestive glance, and Mary would have no more of it – No more being laid out, exposed, that night. Richard had left her feeling powerless and she didn't want Lavinia to think she wasn't in control of herself.

"He's family. Crawley's stick together." Her tone was cool again and she watched the fire so she wouldn't have to watch Lavinia's expression.

"Of course."

Carson entered, announcing Branson was ready to deliver Lavinia back to Crawley House (Mary felt slightly bad she hadn't thought to invite Lavinia to stay there but it couldn't be looked at as rude, simply their house was full to burst).

Lavinia bade Mary goodnight, bent down to Matthew and she kissed his cheek, a few shared whispers between them, and then Robert and Carson escorted her out.

And it was the two of them again.

Mary's head lolled over, resting against her shoulder as she focused on the leaping flames. Matthew's chair creaked as he wheeled away from it and turned to face her, shadows from the fire dancing across his face.

"An evening of surprises, I think." His deep voice drew her eyes and his were pale in the dark room.

"Good ones though, yes? Are you happy to see her?"

"I – I don't think I have much say in it. Lavinia's emboldened, here to stay and won't take a refusal from me."

"Hmm? And would you refuse her? Of course not, Matthew. Be glad she's here."

"I am, so very glad, I just wish it was on my own terms..." His jaw was tight and the ever-present issue of Richard lingered.

"You're happy she's here but not happy he brought her." Mary stated and scooted along the settee so she was closer to his chair – against her better judgement – and he glowered a bit, the grumpy Matthew she was familiar with over the months of recovery returning.

"He behaves as if we're players in a game, I think. Entirely careless, how could he have known, what if no one accepted her back..."

"Well, we'd never be like that but you're right to be wary, he had no business – He thinks he can control the universe. No one's proved him otherwise, though." No one had proved him otherwise including Mary herself.

Mary reached for his snifter of brandy, emboldened as he claimed Lavinia to be, and he handed it off, watching with pressed lips as the remnants slid into her mouth.

Matthew swallowed as she did.

"Are you quite fine?" And he picked up on her dark mood, her cold, settled features.

"We're moving to Haxby. Isn't that just like him? Of course we need a home and he thinks it should be close to here but he thought nothing of taking me there. Their son died in the war and that's all I can think, it's all I can feel. It's a grand place but everything I loved about it as a child is gone. Won't I live my whole life with the ghosts of a family doomed in my rooms? He sees a vast opportunity, to put his things and buy even more – I see how shattered they must be, how hard it will be to build the place back up..."

"But that's a marriage, that's a home – yours and his...Build your...your life..."

"Oh Matthew! What a pitiful argument, convince me a bit better, please." Mary smiled and dangled the snifter from her fingertips, teasing.

He laughed weakly, too.

"I can't, I suppose. I wish he wasn't so hard on you."

"Mmm. Everything will look better in the morning, Mama's motto."

"Quite right." She noticed his breath was hard, and she felt the guilt of laying her troubles on him.

"You mustn't listen to me, though, as I'm always saying."

"Mary."

She sighed and he touched her arm at her elbow, not unlike Richard had earlier but the touch meant something much different coming from Matthew – she wished they could stop all contact because when would she ever not compare him to Matthew? She conceded if anything was Richard's downfall it was Matthew Crawley. She would be all Richard's if it weren't for him.

Mary did not cry or squeeze her eyes shut or sob but she did bow her head, accepting the proffered moment to collect herself, hiding her trembling chin from him.

After a short minute - "Will you take me to my room? I could use your help, I can't wheel so well in this stiff jacket."

He looked so smart in his formal dinner wear and she smiled at him, still so Matthew even attached to the chair. And she knew he was asking for her sake, not his – it would be just as easy to ring for Bates but Matthew seemed to think he could give her this, could comfort her somehow by needing her help and asking for it so pitifully, his best puppy-dog eyes in place.

She smiled cheekily, small lines pulling at her eyes and enhancing how genuine it was.

"Of course."

Robert met them in the hallway and stood by, bidding them both goodnight, which perhaps wasn't wholly normal. He normally would scoff and tell Mary to ring for Bates. Mary thought his eyes were shining a bit in the light, wetter than normal, emotional over something or the other. She figured she was right, that Richard and her mother were in cahoots to get Lavinia back and Mary away from Matthew and that her father didn't approve, touched was he by the gentle change in his daughter. They were dual souls, she thought, and tried not to think of how desperate it must look – Mary and Matthew hanging on to something so damaged and beyond their control.

Matthew had tugged his bow tie off by the time they reached his room and Mary had flicked the small lamp on.

"I don't miss this, I must say," he tugged his collar. "Wool uniform over stiff suit any day." He undid the top button and looked relieved at the freedom from constraint.

The bed was already turned down and Mary folded his tie up, placing it in a drawer.

"Would you help me with this bloody thing?" There was an irritated urgency in his voice as he shrugged his shoulders, trying to shed the coat, clearly uncomfortable with the material stretched across his back.

Mary stood behind and slid it from his shoulders, down his arms and then Matthew moved his back forward off the chair so she could tug it out from there.

"Thank you, dearly." He said with a groan and often Matthew's exasperation was just beneath the surface and she was sympathetic with his frustrations. She believed, too, that he would hide them better from Lavinia than he did from her and he would boil over if that was the case. He murmured quiet curses under his breath as he plucked open the buttons of the shirt.

He rubbed the back of his neck firmly and Mary watched, still behind him, and when his own hand moved she placed her fingertips there, so gently that Matthew thought he was mistaken at the touch.

She combed her fingers through the thick, blonde hair at the base of his neck, very soft and slowly, hardly moving at all, just wriggling against the strands there.

Mary hummed a nameless, soothing tune and tickled the skin of his neck, hot and clammy from his collar. Her other hand gripped the handle of the wheelchair, for fear she would do something more impulsive. She could only remember that, when she was young (very young, when she was unafraid to look weak), her mother would stroke her hair when she was upset until she fell asleep or her fiery temper eased.

Matthew was tense, his neck and shoulders knotted, and he inhaled sharply at her touch.

His head lolled slightly after a moment, and he breathed slow and deep.

"You're going to put me to sleep." He murmured, letting his head fall forward so she could slide her hands over his neck more easily. Featherlight touches, not meant as a rub, just a caress.

Mary was very warm as she touched him but it was better to do so without his eyes on her, they made her feelings all the more intense, their azure blue so penetrating – they would just confirm how very out of line she was, how very attached they were. They'd never admit it, really, even if they did behave this way with no one else around...they were determined it would all end soon and so what did it matter.

It would all end soon, so it mattered none, Mary reassured herself as she ran her fingers up into his hair, scratching his scalp lightly. She'd seen him through, from near-death to...to about to be married again. She'd been along for the healing journey and it was allowable, she thought, that she feel attachment at seeing him piece back together.

"That's the point, it is quite late."

He grunted his agreement, his shoulders relaxing, his shirt loose around them as it hung open at the front.

Mary took a quivering breath. It was taking a liberty, she knew, touching him like this, enjoying him like this, comforting herself just by being around him. It made her hardened heart thaw to feel his skin beneath her fingertips and he seemed so sensitized to her touch, little shivers quaking through him. Mary was digging her own grave, simply unable to stay away from him.

And she was strong! Mary was never a weak woman, taking things in stride and into her own hands, but her armour was cracking and she put on a brave face for anyone else but around him...she was someone else (or perhaps more herself). She the strong Lady Mary hardly recognized herself anymore and it was unfair to feel so, so many things for one person (the wrong person, too).

She withdrew her hands from his mussed hair and squeezed his shoulders to signal she was done. They were broad and strong, and bore the weight of the world, she knew.

"Mmm." Matthew mumbled and she smiled, taking it as a thanks of sorts.

"Shall I ring for Bates?" She went around the other side of the bed to do so but Matthew looked up and shrugged.

"I think we can manage, truthfully. Mother's helped me with it once – you just kneel from that side and I'll,-" He wheeled the chair to the side of the bed, adjusted to his liking. "Just pull myself up if you take this arm."

She did as he said, pulling her dress up so her knees were unrestricted and climbed onto the bed, kneeling over and slinging his arm around her shoulders, bearing some of his weight. He gripped the wheelchair with his other hand and in sync they each did their job and he slid his bottom from the chair onto the edge of the bed. Mary steadied him and clambered from the mattress, her cheeks flushing being in his personal space in such a way, and went back around the other side, each of them lifting a leg up from the floor.

"Aha!" Mary smiled, clapping her hands together, pleased with their resourcefulness. "We did manage." He was getting much stronger, his upper body building as it needed to and she was glad to see so.

Matthew grinned, although wearily, his hair positively rumpled from her earlier ministrations. She felt very tall just then, watching him tug his dress shirt off and she knew she should leave (for good).

"Don't you need Bates for your pajamas?" She frowned slightly, sounding silly.

Matthew laughed at her confusion.

"I've got my temperature back, actually, so I don't mind just an undershirt,-"

"What of your trousers?"

"I can get those off,-"

"But you can't lift to get the pajamas on,-"

"Mary,-"

"You'll sleep in your shorts?" A question and an exclamation all in one and she was very Lady Mary with her eyebrows high and her hands clasped daintily at her front.

"You look scandalized!" He teased, his eyebrows raised as well, and tossed his shirt over the back of the wheelchair, fixing the sleeves of the t-shirt he wore beneath. They were so quick, back and forth, light-hearted then suddenly serious. They were so immersed when just minutes before they had been surrounded by their other halves - How was it that they could forget of Lavinia and Richard as soon as Matthew was in her sight?

"Right. I will leave you to it then." How does one say goodnight after something so ideally, intimately domestic?

"It will be hard for me...to have Lavinia in your place." They both looked uncomfortable with his phrasing and he shook his head, aware of what it suggested. "What I mean is – helping me, instead of you."

Mary nodded, her throat dry, the words catching.

"I would say you're silly but I believe you – You hardly let me help at all at first."

"I didn't even realize I'd changed my mind on that, you were just persistent."

"Yes, well – She will be wonderful, Matthew. And it's her rightful place."

"I know. It's just...a man's private shame. I'm...I'm used to you."

"Me too. We're too used to each other, aren't we?"

"That's probably fair to say." He patted the bed beside where he lay propped up by the pillows, almost as a gesture to confirm the statement – too attached. In her mind her legs carried her quickly out of the room but in reality they stumbled forward until she sank down beside him and they gazed at each other.

"War will be over soon." She said, her voice like honey, her lips dry and sticking together.

"Back to normal, they say. Nothing will be as it was again, I don't think."

Mary twirled the beads on her necklace, feeling the effects of the night – her hair combs were coming loose, there was a dull throb in her head from arguing and wine, and her cheeks burned with sleepiness.

"I don't really know what to hope for anymore," Mary said quietly, at a loss. "I don't know what is coming."

Matthew covered her hand with his own and she looked up, dropping her necklace back against her throat and smiled at him, her cheeks hurting, eyes stinging – to laugh or to cry?, her emotions tore at her.

"Great things are on the way for you, that's my one prediction."

"What were you and Papa talking about tonight?"

"He was gauging my reaction on Lavinia's arrival, I think. He feared that her return was for your sake, not mine – Sir Richard and Cousin Cora think I'm detrimental to you and I can't say I disagree."

"Well I do."

"No matter, I'm Lavinia's burden now and even if I have been damaging to you – you've not been that to me." Matthew squeezed her hand gently and Mary smiled sadly, her emotions tender. How could he talk so easily of these things when she felt like running the opposite direction of it all? You've not been that to me – no, she had been good for him, is what he was saying and she hardly believed it. She made it harder for both of them to move on. She supposed it was easy for him to talk and hold her hand as he did because she was securely engaged and that was important for Matthew – at least he could be around her more easily knowing Richard was her life plan and it seemed to give him a certain amount of leeway, it was strange. He wasn't scared off at the fact of her engagement, instead heartened by it, testing the limits but at least glad there were limits.

A knock came to the half-closed door and they both looked over, not withdrawing their hands from the other. It was a harmless enough gesture (and also quite a necessary one in the moment, containing their emotions through the slight contact) and it turned out to only be Robert.

"Mary, my darling," Her father smiled and Mary's lips quirked, wondering what was on his mind. "You must be so very tired."

"I am and I can also take a hint," She winked charmingly at the Crawley men and stood, smoothing her dress. "Goodnight dears." After quiet words to Matthew, Robert followed behind her down the hall.

"Mary, a moment," She turned back to her father and saw the familiar concern in his face. "You've been a backbone for him when none of the rest of us knew how and thank God for that. I just worry about how Carlisle reacts to all of this."

"Not favourably, as I'm sure you can imagine. If you're going to tell me to stay away from Matthew, I'm well aware of the opinion. And I will – Lavinia's here again and next step is to marry Richard, isn't it?"

Mary very much hoped what she said was true. If she believed it passionately enough maybe something would grow from it.

"It seems so very unfair that you've been a help to Matthew these last months but you can't find success in your engagement as he will have. It'll all come up roses for him and Lavinia while you...go off with Carlisle."

"Coming up roses! Papa, he's crippled. Their relationship may be sweeter but it's no less laden with problems than my own with Richard. We're all on our own paths."

"I only hope, so dearly Mary, that your path is the right one. With Carlisle." So sincere was he that she thought of what it would mean to tell him – everything – Pamuk, her feelings for Matthew, her fear of life with Sir Richard. She believed her father must think she was mad or at the very least, not a decent person, to choose to go along with Richard.

And there was the same fear when she considered telling it all – She wasn't there yet. Not now, not when Lavinia was back and Richard that very night threatened Mary's downfall if she threw him over. No, things must remain as they were, although she felt her noose tightening – either outcome wasn't going to be easy, was it? She thought marrying Richard would be blessed and save her from the Pamuk scandal – but never did she think being in this relationship would hurt as much of herself as Pamuk dying in her bed did. She was in pieces no matter the outcome.

"It simply has to be. Now please go on supporting Matthew because he needs it." She kissed her father's cheek and went to bed.

Afterwards, out of her long dress and jewels, Mary soaked in a bath Anna drew, and sank beneath the surface of the water until it covered her face and she held her breath until it was painful, eyes wide, unblinking and vision blurred by the warm water surrounding her – Oh, Mary thought, if this is drowning, then this is my life – I am drowning in my life, they feel so the same.