He was back.

There had been a part of him longing for this all the time that he was away. He knew that it was irrational, and he should have dreaded going back, but he felt a loyalty to his men that could not be shaken.

The mud was soaking through his boots and his socks were already entirely wet. He had been back in the trenches for a grand total of three hours. Perhaps his desire to come back had been fueled by his lack of sleep here. Now that he was well rested, having spent the last two months in warm beds rather than trying to block out explosions in a cold dugout, he could remember the horror of the place, and it made him shudder.

But he was here. He had to be here for his men. Five that he knew well had died since he left. He supposed that wasn't as bad as it could have been, but he quietly mourned each one of them while continuing on with his work. Seven more had been sent back home wounded. and when given any time, he would sit in the dugout and silently pray for them, that they might survive. Not only that they might survive, but that they might not be so badly injured. There was nothing soldiers feared more than going home completely broken. Most would rather die instead.

"Lieutenant Crawley!" Captain Roth, his commanding officer, walked toward him, a grim look on his face. Matthew had never seen him without that grim look, but he supposed that it was appropriate. "Good to see you back."

Matthew nodded and took the captain's proffered hand. "It's good to be back, sir."

"Is it really so good?" Roth asked coldly.

"I felt disloyal," Matthew explained. "I should be here, fighting, while I was at home. And I was trying to reconcile myself with it the whole time I was there. It's just so different, I'm not exactly sure how to manage. But I needed to be here with the men, as well."

Roth sighed and patted Matthew on the back. "Someday, that strict loyalty of yours is going to bring you down."

"Is it so bad to be loyal to my men? In Greece, a hero was someone who put his men above himself."

"And here in France, it's every man for himself, Crawley. Put all those heroic notions away. You've been out here more than six months, I thought you would have figured that out by now."

Matthew didn't respond, instead glaring at his soaking boots.

"You've heard the reports, I assume?"

"The gassing at Ypres? Simply awful. If they havea weapon like that, who knows what they can do?"

Roth stood up straight. "Don't think like that, Crawley. The strategists have a plan."

"I certainly hope so, sir," Matthew replied, saluting, and turning away from Captain Roth.

Sybil wrung her hands over the basin, and wiped them on the fresh white towel. "Nurse Adler?" she asked, as one of the older nurses, who had been working at the hospital since she was a child, came into the room.

"Yes, Lady Sybil?" she replied.

"Just Nurse Crawley, please," Sybil corrected, trying not to roll her eyes. Nurse Adler still thought that she was the little girl who came in with a broken elbow from climbing a tree. She had told Patrick that she could climb higher than him. She was right, naturally, but she ended up suffering with the proof.

"Of course," Nurse Adler replied, her tone implying that she would go on with calling Sybil by the same name. "What was it that you wanted?"

"Just an assignment."

"You're early," Nurse Adler observed, squinting. "You're a whole hour early. Why?"

"I woke up. I couldn't go back to sleep, so I thought I could be useful down here. But I can wait if your schedule is so perfect that it cannot be changed."

Nurse Adler stepped toward Sybil. "Look, I know you think that you're being wonderful and a perfect selfless paragon, and you love to show that off, but please don't. We have jobs to do here."

"And I want to help," Sybil replied, with determination. "Is there anyone I can help with?"

"If there's anyone you're capable of helping," Nurse Adler replied, with a biting hesitance. "I suppose you could bring them their breakfasts along with their pain medications." She waved her hand over in the direction of the beds. "Their dosages are on the charts at the end of their beds."

"I know," Sybil replied forcefully.

"There's no need to get angry with me!" Nurse Adler defended. "I only want to help a new nurse."

Sybil swept past her. "Thank you. I can find my own way, though, even if I am the helpless daughter of an earl."

As she prepared breakfast trays with small cups of medication, she silently fumed. She had felt some of this at the nursing college, the reverse snobbery where they would say that because Sybil had never worked a day in her life, she wasn't capable of nursing well now. Why should a person be defined by where she was born?

She knew she was being irrational. Others suffered much more from the class system than she did.

Still, a part of her hated the enormous privilege that had guided her life. There was no escaping it. Never would she be allowed to do things for herself. And even when she was trying to do everything that she could to help, she was thought of as needing help herself.

There was one way to escape that...

No, it was no good thinking drastic thoughts. Especially not now, when surrounded by the sick and dying. They were all suffering far worse than she was, and she was complaining about her privilege?

But he offered her an escape. And she would gladly take it immediately if there weren't so many other problems with it. She couldn't use him, not just as an escape. If she married him just go get out of the aristocracy, that would breed bitterness between them, and she could not stand for that. But if she loved him, that would be a different story.

Did she? The question rolled over and over in her mind as she made her rounds to the soldiers, offering each one a compassionate smile, but her thoughts directed elsewhere. Did she really love Tom Branson? Or, if she didn't now, could she?

Matthew sat against the trench wall, his knees pulled up to his chest, absolutely exhausted from the fighting earlier in the day. He had mostly been trying to avoid bombardment, as well as encouraging his men to do the same. Now it was quiet, except for the ring of far away gunshots that made him shudder. He was relatively safe right now. Other people were not.

He pulled himself up to his feet, still crouching low so that no German would see him and shoot him. There had been one killed that way in the afternoon. A stretcher bearer, holding a cigarette and trying to stay calm as he carried a nearly dead man back to the trench.

That stretcher bearer had died. The other one had been Thomas Barrow, of all people.

Matthew had not expected that the former footman would be serving in the army. He didn't seem the type to sacrifice himself. But what a twist of irony that their battalions should be fighting side by side.

He nodded to all the men who sat, not caring about the mud, under the shadow of the wall. Most were smoking, some were choking down rations, some writing letters, and some simply staring blankly ahead. Sometimes there was nothing else to be done.

As he passed through more of the maze, he saw a head poke out of a small dugout. It was Thomas Barrow.

"Would you like some tea, sir?" he asked. For once, the 'sir' was not mocking or biting, simply respectful.

Matthew nodded and slipped into the tiny dugout. "This is rather cozy."

"Better than being completely exposed to the elements, I'd say," Thomas replied, pouring some weak but steaming tea into a tin cup. "Here you are."

Matthew took a sip and breathed a sigh of relief. It was perfectly awful, if he was to tell the truth; the tea was extremely weak, and it was low quality in the first place, but considering where he was, nothing had tasted better. "Thank you for that."

"What an odd place to entertain the future Earl of Grantham," Thomas said flippantly. "Who would have thought we'd have ended up here?"

"Who indeed," Matthew repeated. "But that's war for you. War distinguishes between the things that matter and the things that don't."

Thomas nodded, a haunted look in his icy eyes. "I didn't sign up for this, you know."

"I wondered. You don't seem like the sort to go off right away. Not that you're an awful person for that or anything but..."

"I'm not offended, because you're right. I wouldn't have signed up to come out here. In fact, I tried to get in with the Medical Corps, but they sent me out here. And all I want is to go home. Do you think there's ever a chance they'll send me back to work maybe near Downton?"

Matthew took another sip of the tea. "You'd have to get out of active service. The only way to do that, really, is to get wounded, since they want every man on the front that they can get. But intentionally wounding yourself wouldn't do you any good either; they'll shoot you for cowardice."

"That sounds pretty stupid," Thomas replied. He bit his lip, remembering who he was talking to.

"Maybe," Matthew replied, giving Thomas a small smile. "Kill off any man who has a normal reaction to war? That's not going to help your numbers. But they want discipline, and that's what they have to do."

"Well, thank you for that," Thomas said, pushing away from the box that served as a table.

"Thank you," Matthew replied. "I miss real tea out here, it's very much a treat when I get it."

Thomas saluted, and Matthew saluted him back, and they parted.

Matthew went to lean against a trench wall again, glancing up at the sky. The stars were clear, only obscured by the light of lanterns. It was something he hadn't really seen before, living in a city. There was little beauty in this desolate wasteland, but there were some things worth appreciating.

A shot rang out, making Matthew jump out of his reverie. Without thinking, he ran toward the sound, and saw Thomas lying on the ground with blood pouring out of his hand. A lighter was right next to him.

He had gone and hurt himself, just as Matthew had warned him not to. Matthew glanced around, breathing a sigh of relief that he was the first one there.

He didn't approve of what Thomas did. But a part of him understood. And he couldn't let a man die for having feelings. It wasn't right that an army would kill its own men. So he made a split second decision that he would save a life.

Matthew pulled a cigarette out of his pocket; he rarely smoked but occasionally found it relaxing, especially post battle. He placed it right next to Thomas's other hand. People were beginning to rush toward him now.

"What happened?" asked one of the privates.

Matthew bent down and picked the cigarette up. His eyes drifted toward the lighter on the other side. "I think he was trying to light a cigarette. Bloody stupid man probably held his hands up too high," he answered. "Get a medic, someone, so we can bind up his hand."

The rest of the small crowd that had gathered left, and Matthew was left to stand by Thomas.

Thomas was gradually growing weaker, probably due to pain and blood loss, but Matthew could read his lips as he said two works.

"Thank you."

Mary met Sybil on the stairs. She could see the weariness in the steps of her sister. "Sybil? Are you alright?" she asked, as they went up together.

"Yes, of course," Sybil replied, her words coming out in a rush. "Why wouldn't I be fine?"

Mary squinted her eyes as they reached the top. "You look absolutely exhausted. Are you sure that you're alright?"

"Nursing is tiring."

"I believe it, but there's something else, isn't there."

Sybil brushed past Mary with a heavy sigh. "Look, there's absolutely nothing wrong. I'm just tired from running around the hospital all day. It's a good kind of tired though. And now I just want to sleep."

"I don't believe you," Mary said sternly, grabbing Sybil's wrist. "Come on, come into my room."

Sybil groaned as she followed Mary into her bedroom. "Why are you so worried about this?"

"I know something is bothering you," Mary said, "And I want to know what so that we can make it stop. I just want you to be happy, darling."

"Nursing is harder than I expected," Sybil admitted, sinking down into Mary's armchair. "And it's not really the medical part that's so hard. It's really the other people."

"The soldiers?"

"No, most of them are fine. Or I guess as fine as it's possible for them to be. But it's the other nurses I have trouble with."

Mary frowned. "Why? Shouldn't they respect you? You've done your training, just the same as them."

"Maybe they should respect me," Sybil muttered, "but they don't. There's one nurse, Nurse Adler, who persists in calling me Lady Sybil, although I've asked to be called Nurse Crawley because of course I don't want to breed discord. She's worked at the hospital since I was a little girl, and I don't think se really realizes that I'm actually qualified to work and help there. She's very snobbish about it."

"Well, to be fair, out of respect, she should call you Lady Sybil," Mary pointed out.

"I don't want that! I don't want to be treated differently because I was born into a rich family."

Mary reached for her sister's hand. "Is she treating you badly?"

"Not badly, per say, but she doesn't seem to trust me. And she's very condescending. I'm sure it's just because she still views me as a little girl, but..."

A sigh fell from Mary's lips. "You are too sweet and trusting, Sybil. I would guess that she doesn't like the aristocracy very much, and she especially doesn't like aristocratic girls infringing on her job, trying to make themselves look good."

"But I'm not doing it to make myself look good! I'm doing it to help the men, because I really care about them!"

"You know that, and I know that, but this nurse doesn't know that."

Sybil leaned back in the deep chair. "I've tried to show her. It isn't just her, although she's the worst of them. Nobody thinks that I'm qualified, and they favor the other new nurses over me, although we've had the exact same amount of experience. And it's probably selfish of me to complain about this when my goal is really to help injured, dying men, but no one is going to let me help if they think I'm just in it for myself."

"Show them how sweet and selfless you are, then," Mary advised.

"How, though? I got to the hospital an hour early yesterday and Nurse Adler got mad at me. She said I was 'trying to look selfless' when in fact I just couldn't sleep."

"Just keep working as you are, then, and something will break through, I know it will. Because you're an incredible girl, darling, and an incredible nurse, and anyone who doesn't see that is looking through a veil of snobbery."

Sybil smiled. "And this is coming from one of the biggest snobs out there," she teased.

Mary ave her sister an indignant look, but her tone of voice belied her amusement. "Yes, I suppose I have good grounds on which to make that judgment."

"Sometimes I hate the privilege though. Maybe it's selfish when others have so little, but I would gladly trade with them."

"The grass is always greener on the other side," Mary warned.

Sybil ignored her. "I want to do things for myself, without a stupid title that I have for no reason beyond genetics. But there are very few ways to rid myself of that stigma."

Mary's eyes widened. "Sybil... What are you thinking?"

"If I tell you a secret, do you promise not to tell a soul?"

"I suppose, yes... You're making me very concerned."

Sybil's face contorted with intensity. "No, you really have to mean it. You can't tell anyone. Not Mama, not Papa, not Anna, not Matthew... Especially not Matthew. So do you promise that you won't tell a soul."

"I promise!" Mary pronounced."What is it, though?"

"Tom... Tom Branson, he proposed to me."

Complete silence.

Mary couldn't think of anything to respond with. Finally she came up with, "Tom Branson? The chauffeur?"

"How many other Tom Bransons do we know?"

"No need to be impertinent, darling, I'm just trying to understand. The chauffeur asked you to marry him." She didn't speak for a few moments. "When was this?"

"When he dropped me off at the college in York," Sybil admitted quietly.

Mary narrowed her eyes. "And what exactly did you tell him?"

"I told him that I'm engaged, of course. He told me that I should break it off with Matthew, especially since it wasn't a marriage by choice, but I couldn't break Matthew's heart. Not now. Especially not now, when any heartbreak might send him into recklessness."

She couldn't tell Sybil. Although it might be a relief. But if she told Sybil, about how she and Matthew had kissed on that warm spring day, Sybil would take it as permission to marry the chauffeur. The chauffeur, of all people! No, she definitely couldn't tell Sybil. But a part of her heart filled with relief. Was there hope for her and Matthew after all?"

She focused herself back on the situation at hand. "Do you love him? Do you love the chauffeur, Sybil?"

"I don't know!" Sybil threw her hands in the air. "I think so..."

Matthew buttoned up his suit jacket as Captain Roth came storming in. "Apparently, you got involved with another regiment. You were the first one of the scene at the injury of one of their medical men?"

He looked up at the tall captain, who was stooping just to fit in the dugout, with wide eyes. "Yes, I was."

"Did you know the man prior to that night?"

"Yes, he was a footman at the estate which I am set to inherit. We had tea shortly before the injury occurred. He said he was going out for a smoke, and then I heard gunshots. I went out, and the cigarette and lighter were by his hands. I believe that he was trying to light his cigarette, but his hands were up a little bit too high and the Germans saw the flame."

Roth narrowed his eyes. "It looked an awful lot like a blighty."

"Unfortunately, injuries like that often do. I hope they don't pester Corporal Barrow about it too much, because he definitely already regrets his stupid mistake."

"I hope you aren't defending the poor bastard."

Matthew held his chin up high. "I'm telling you what happened, and telling you what I hope won't happen. Nothing more, nothing less."

"You're a curious man, Crawley." Roth took a glance at his pocket watch. "Five minutes."

Over the top. Three words every man dreaded. And for Matthew's regiment, they would come true in five minutes.

He saluted as Captain Roth left. He certainly didn't condone Thomas's actions, but a part of him understood as well. No one could suffer through this hell without losing a part of themselves. And he didn't want Barrow to be killed for having human feelings.

Matthew stepped out of the dugout, stooping so that his head would not poke out above the trench. He leaned against the wall, next to a ladder, and listened as Captain Roth made a speech. If he was honest, he wasn't really listening. His heart was beating too loudly in his ears to hear anything except the shrill tone of a whistles as it blew.

All the soldiers scrambled up the ladders and ran over the muddy ground, shooting, trying to push the Germans back.

Everything was a blur. Matthew couldn't remember what he was doing or why he was doing it; al he knew was that he had to stay alive. And survival was his only thought. As they ran as quickly as they could through the all consuming mud, there was nothing else to be thought of.

The Germans bit back, and before Matthew knew it, they were running back to the trenches. He followed with the crowd, but just before he was about to slide back into the trenches on his side, he noticed a figure, maybe fifty or so meters away, lying in the mud, groaning in pain. It was Captain Roth.

Without thinking, he ran over toward Captain Roth, not caring of the consequences. He didn't hear the cries of "Crawley, what the hell are you doing?". The sound of survival had not been drowned out. But survival wasn't just for him. Survival was for all of them, and all of them deserved life. And although Matthew didn't particularly like Captain Roth, he still deserved to live. All of them did. Matthew would be damned if he didn't try his hardest to make sure that everyone had that chance.

When he reached Roth, he slung the man over his shoulder and struggled back to the trench. There were several close calls-a bullet very nearly took off his ear at one point-but he made it back to the trench with Roth still alive. He handed Roth's beaten body down to the men, and slipped in after him.

"What was that?" asked one of the privates.

"I don't know," Matthew replied. "But I do know that I couldn't let him die."

"Well, it was incredibly stupid," the sergeant said. "But it was incredibly brave."

Thanks to all who have read and reviewed! Seriously, reviews are amazing and so encouraging, so it would be awesome if you took a minute or two to tell me your thoughts? Thank you!