A/N: I'm being very impatient. I've decided to split ATiL's 2x07 into two parts, and have gotten so excited about the part I've already written that I can't wait to post it! Ultimately I'd like this chapter and the next to be thought of as two complementary parts, but they do stand alone.

To continue! Yes. I'm having a very hectic couple of weeks with work, so I wanted to get this out there, and... if I'm feeling generous... (I will be. I'm determined) Part 2 will follow on Monday, concluding 2x07. The twist will appear in part 2, so consider this chapter to be... whetting your appetite. Is that alright? I do hope so!

Thank you so much for your continuing support. Your reviews make me smile so much, and I'm continually thrilled by your responses in whatever form they come. Thank you. And thanks as ever to EOlivet who is an absolute star! This fic would not have happened without her. At all.

Onwards, then! And things are starting to look up!

Chapter Twenty-Five

The months following the end of the war were hectic with change. The very air, and atmosphere, felt changed. When Christmas came around, it was celebrated with more joy and goodwill than for all the years of the conflict – it no longer hung over them like a shadow. Perhaps inevitably, though, there was still some sort of heaviness about it. The war may have been over, but its effects lingered and were felt. The present, and the future, was changed by it. Things could not be as they once were… Perhaps they never would be able to.

Gradually, the soldiers and beds were moved out of the house – it became a home again, much to the delight of the Earl and Countess. To Matthew, it felt as though now he must return to real life. Of course, he was aware that things couldn't stay as they were forever – he couldn't live his life at the Abbey with his family, at least not until the proper time – he knew eventually he'd have to think about how to live, like this. He could not remain a perpetual convalescent… particularly now the convalescents were gone.

But more than all that was changing. Or, at least – he hoped it was. Perhaps. He still wasn't sure. Just sometimes… there was a shiver, a tingling, a something, in his legs. Only a memory of a feeling, Clarkson told him when he mentioned it… His back was broken, he knew that, he understood it, that he wouldn't recover. But… he did keep feeling it, or – he thought he did, at least. While Clarkson still cast doubt, though, he couldn't bear to really hope. Hope was damned useless.

Though gradually… the shivers grew a little stronger, a little more frequent, a little more… potent. One evening after dinner, his mind wandered as the ladies talked of changing fashions. No, the war hadn't even left that alone; not that he cared very much for that sort of thing now. And then Robert brought up the idea of value. Before the war, he believed his life had some… Well, where did that leave Matthew? If the Earl of Grantham, the perfectly healthy and functioning and agile Earl of Grantham with an entire estate to maintain and run felt that his life lacked value, what worth could Matthew possibly ascribe to himself?

Thank heavens for Mary to change the subject. Darling Mary, how she understood him…

"Have you seen the boy's haircuts the women are wearing in Paris?"

He loved her so much in that moment, that he just about forgot their entire family in the room as his lip quirked into a gentle smirk.

"I hope you won't try that, darling – I'm not sure how feminine it is…" he teased.

All she did was tilt her head a little, raise her eyebrow… and he felt it, and it shocked him so much that it forced a sharp intake of breath. That familiar flutter – only very faint – but very definitely there whisper of heat.

"I might! After all I'm not sure how feminine I am," she cut back, her voice low in response to him. There was a light in her eyes – had he surprised her? He'd surprised himself; he hadn't – flirted with her, not consciously, for so many months… Was that what he was doing now?

He swallowed. "Very, I'm pleased to say."

She was always that. So feminine, so elegant, so alluring, so… Mary. Whatever he felt, or didn't feel, in the depths of his being for her… she was always that.

Quietly, he kept a mental track of it. Where he felt something, how often, how long the feeling lasted… But he kept it to himself. It wasn't worth it, to hope.

At least, that was what he believed.

While he wheeled himself into the library (Mary's hands resting naturally on the back of his chair, still) a few days later, having dressed for dinner, he was puzzling over it again. Last night as Mary had slipped into bed beside him, her leg had hooked over his, her hand brushing down over his hip without thought, and he physically shivered at the faint heat of arousal her touch caused. She'd thought him cold, and held him tighter; how torturous it had been to keep himself from her! For the first time in months he'd wanted – really, really wanted – a closer sort of embrace, and the effort to restrain had been tremendous. He couldn't let her think… he couldn't let her hope… But that troubled him, it troubled him very much.

"Oh, look darling –" Her own distraction was thankfully great enough to cause his own, and he glanced up. "The girls must have been in here earlier, Catherine's left her doll."

Mary walked over to the chair where the doll lay, half-hidden, under a cushion. Picking it up, she patted its hat fondly back into shape. "I'll take it up now, or she'll miss it when she wakes up."

Matthew's lip quirked wryly, his eyes twinkling at his wife.

"Quite right, my dear. I suppose I'll wait here..."

She was too busy rewarding his humour with an indulgent, teasing smile to notice the small footstool in her path; Matthew himself seeing it just a moment too late as her foot caught – "Look out!" he called, pushing up to reach desperately for her flung-out arm as she toppled forward.

Mary gasped sharply as she fell, and again as she felt Matthew's strong hand close around her arm, steadying her and stopping her from falling. With her other braced against the mantelpiece (the doll had fallen helplessly to the floor) she regained her balance, breathing heavily.

"Gracious, that was a near thing!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "Thank you, darling…" her words died on her lips as she turned to him, her expression slackening into disbelief. "Good Lord, Matthew –"

In truth, he hadn't even realised until he saw her face, and her shocked glance down. It hadn't even registered that he was – he was – standing.

He looked down. At his own two feet, on the ground, holding himself up. Then back up at Mary, his eyes wide and lips parted in amazement. He still clutched her arm – terrified to let go now, if he should stumble – his heart was hammering and bursting in his chest. He was standing. That meant… That meant – God, he couldn't even begin to consider everything that that meant!

"My God," he whispered tremulously, slowly reaching his other hand to Mary as well. They clung to each other, breathless and speechless with happiness as their faces began to light with pure, inexpressible joy.

Mary couldn't speak. She felt as though her face would break apart from her smile, it was too much, and all she could eventually do was kiss him.

She laughed as she kissed him, her smile beaming against his lips as his arms came fully around her. She felt his laughter bubble up, reverberating through her as they held each other in delight. Their kiss went on, deepened, and they swayed against each other – though this brought Mary jolting back to earth with a shock.

"You must sit down!" she exclaimed, her eyes flying over his face and him. "My darling – don't tire yourself!"

It took Matthew a moment – he was standing, he didn't want to sit down! – but finally he nodded, and with Mary's help eased back down into his chair.

"I imagine this'll give everyone quite the shock," he laughed breathlessly.

"We must tell them! And – I'll have Carson telephone for Doctor Clarkson – I'll go now. Oh, Matthew!"

She bent and kissed him again – gasping as his hand slipped around the back of her neck for one fleeting, taunting moment – and dashed out of the library, Catherine's doll in hand.

The term elation would not even begin to describe the atmosphere among the Crawley family that evening. Where there had been darkness in Matthew's future, now there was hope, and brightness, and light. It was too much to think of and yet he could think of nothing else. Robert pumped his arm enthusiastically, brimming with happiness at the simple, yet incredible sight of his young heir and son-in-law standing in front of him (before Matthew was hastily ushered back into his chair by the over-protective ladies).

Clarkson arrived soon, with Violet and Isobel, who hugged her son tearfully. Even the Dowager Countess clasped his hand tightly for a moment, her eyes shining fondly before she resumed her usual composure. They listened, on edge, as the doctor explained the very likely true nature of Matthew's injury. Spinal shock… Not broken. He would recover. He would have a – normal life. Nothing could dampen the beautiful promise of those words – not Mary's brief flash of indignation at the secrecy; oh Matthew understood her anger but he couldn't blame Clarkson, really – not the fact that he'd carry a bruise on his spine for the rest of his life; what could he care for that? – nothing.

He couldn't stop grinning. He grinned through dinner, at the simple delight of sitting in a proper chair at the table; the familiar, hard solidness of it under him. He grinned as they joked at the prospect of him having a cane. He didn't care. He grinned at the thought of his daughters seeing him the next morning, and how they would react. He grinned until his cheeks ached from it. His mind raced, he couldn't take it in, he was happy. He was going to have a normal life. All those things he thought, believed, he'd never do again… Everything suddenly seemed possible.

As they ate, he allowed his gaze to linger on his wife. Darling Mary, she looked happy. Happier than she had done at all in the months since he'd come back a broken man. It made his heart sing; for he'd been so painfully aware of the toll he was taking on her. Though she would never admit it, would never allow him to know what kind of pain she felt, he knew that he had hurt her. And he admired her, for how wonderfully strong she'd been. He could hardly imagine how strong; so strong it had only made him feel weaker in the face of it. But oh, how he loved her for it. And suddenly he couldn't keep it in any longer.

"I – want to tell you all something," he cleared his throat to gather the attention of the family, who all looked at him expectantly, Mary smiling serenely as she held his hand. He moistened his lips and spoke with enormous feeling. "As you know, during this – well, I think I can say horrible – time… My dear Mary has proved to be the most marvellous person."

"Hear, hear!" Robert beamed. Mary blushed, her smile trembling with emotion at her husband's heartfelt words.

Matthew grinned and carried on. "Now I, I know it hardly needs saying. But she has done so much – for me, and always still for our dear girls – more, I think, than any of us can realise. And it – can't have been easy, not when I've been such a – misery –"

"Oh, Matthew –"

"No, darling, I mean it. You've been – wonderful. Simply wonderful. And I want everyone to know that, and how much I appreciate everything you've given, and done. I only wish I could ever make it up to you. Thank you, my darling."

A quiet hush fell over the table, as they all observed the adoration with which the young couple gazed at each other. Matthew was absolutely right; they'd all seen it. She was devoted to him, utterly devoted; that much would have been obvious to even the blindest fool.

"To Mary, then," Sybil impulsively held up her glass, brimming with happiness and pride at her sister, who she knew would only ever have donned a nursing apron for one man in the world. "And Matthew's health. To Mary and Matthew."

The toast was readily taken up with cheers and smiles.

And no-one was honestly surprised, when Matthew claimed quite soon after dinner to be done in (all that unbridled joy was really quite exhausting), and glanced at Mary in a silent request to help him back to their room.

As they slipped out, once beyond the earshot of the rest of the family, Matthew caught Carson's eye while he held the door for them.

"Carson?" He held a hand up for Mary to stop, and she waited calmly.

"Yes, Sir?"

Matthew took a breath. "Would you – kindly tell Bates, and Anna as well, that Lady Mary and I will be quite alright for this evening? We'll – ring, if we do need anything. But not to expect it."

He practically felt Mary's blush behind him, as her fingertips skimmed lightly across his shoulder and the back of his neck. Carson simply raised an eyebrow; nothing but that and the gentle glint in his eye betraying any sort of reaction to Matthew's request.

"Of course, Mr. Crawley." The butler smiled warmly. "And might I tell you how very pleased I – and all of the staff – are, at the splendid news. We're very glad."

"Thank you; I do appreciate that. You're very kind," Matthew returned. Carson simply inclined his head respectfully, a sort of pride and fondness lighting his eyes as he watched the two of them make their way across the hall, and down the corridor.

They didn't speak until they were through the door, a breathless quiet hanging between them. Once inside, Mary walked around to face her husband, her eyes bright and hands clasping gently in front of her. When she spoke, her voice was low and tremulous. She moistened her lips, which suddenly seemed to be intolerably dry. Matthew watched her.

"Do you –" she started, then had to begin again, taking another step towards him. "Matthew, do you think –"

"I don't know," he breathed in a rush, his own voice shaking with anticipation and wonder. He couldn't stop staring at her. "I don't know yet. But – I think – I'm quite ready to find out."

Mary pressed her lips into a trembling smile and nodded, quickly. Matthew's smile back was breathless. "Come here, my darling…"

She could have sobbed with happiness from the low, emotional depth of his tone alone. Slowly, she came to him, knelt, lay her hands softly against his chest and kissed him… Her hands smoothed from his chest, to his shoulders, down over his arms as his hands clasped around her elbows, bringing her closer. Heavy silence lay over them, broken only by their light gasps, their lips, the quiet whisper of hands over fabric and skin. Mary eased Matthew's jacket off, then his waistcoat, pulling gently on his bow-tie till it slipped from his neck, and her kisses trailed from his lips, to his jaw, to his throat as he gasped and his fingers dipped into her hair. She felt the pins ease out, one by one, her hair falling softly around her shoulders. And Matthew was doing it, Matthew; he was here and the war was over and he was alright, not just alive but alright, and everything seemed right for the first time in many, many, many months.

And then it suddenly hit her, that this was it. He was here, he was healthy, and he never had to go away again. This was it, now. For the first time ever in their marriage, in their relationship, in their love – there was nothing, nothing at all that stood in their way.

It was too much to take in, and she pulled back, gazing tearfully at Matthew even as she smiled. Her hands rose to his face, his shirt was half-undone, he was so handsome and hers and –

"I love you," she whispered. It was too much. It was all she could say.

Matthew only nodded, understanding all the things she could not express. He tenderly stroked her hair back from her face, feeling his body tremble and pulse with desire from the heat of her kiss, her hands, and he loved her. He was flooded with feelings, sensations, deep-rooted and instinctive and carnal and passionate, insurmountable love over all of them, that he hadn't felt in months and had believed he would never feel again.

It was too much.

"Darling, I –" he whispered, heavily, meeting her gaze with fevered, glittering eyes. "Help me – the bed, please –"

"Mm," she nodded, kissed him again – he moaned into her mouth, clutched at her wrists – then held him steadily as he rose to his feet. Together they managed to shuffle the few steps to the bed, Matthew trying to remember how to use the muscles, before he sank gratefully down onto the edge of it. That was better.

His hands rested softly on Mary's hips, and slowly, he turned her around. There… His hands worked, trembling in anticipation, to free her dress, then her corset; the garments slipping to the floor in pools of silk and cotton at her feet. Her skin… Her beautiful, freckled skin, warm under his palms, so familiar…

"Do you know," he breathed gently, "it's funny…" He leant forward and pressed a kiss to the small of her back, his fingers dipping into the silk of her underwear, slipping it down as his kisses followed… He murmured against her skin, his breath hot and trembling. "We've gone without – this – for so much longer, while I was away… But doesn't it feel like it's been far longer than any of that?"

Mary shivered at the feel of his lips there, heat curling through her.

"It does," she gasped, her hands crossing in front of her to clasp over his on her hips. "But I'm –" His tongue flicked suddenly and she drew in a sharp breath. "I'm so glad, darling –"

"I know," he murmured deeply. "God, so am I."

He felt Mary tremble under his hands as he eased down her stockings, as far as he could manage from sitting on the bed – oh, but he watched her as she finished with dark eyes, his breath quickening in his chest. Gently, he turned her to face him, pulling her forward as he pressed hot, open kisses to her abdomen, his arms curling around her as he eased up, up to her breasts and God, he'd forgotten how sweet they were, how sweet she was… She whimpered, her hand twisting in his thick, golden hair, arousal stirring so strongly in her she felt almost faint. He lavished her with attention, with love, his soft hum of satisfaction thrumming against her as his arms tightened, and her arms tightened, and they clung to each other with his lips around her breast as she swayed weakly against him.

And he needed her. He wanted her, he craved her… He craved her with a stronger desire than perhaps he had ever felt. It certainly felt that way. God, that they might never have been able to do this… He needed the affirmation that only she could give him. He needed her to make things right again. With a soft groan, he teased one last flick of his tongue against her breast, and glanced up with pleading eyes. "Mary…" he whispered weakly.

She swallowed, and nodded, understanding him instinctively. Her body burned with passion, with emotion, with adoration. She slipped his shirt from his torso, knelt again, cast aside his belt with shaking fingers and worked at his trousers, hardly daring to breathe. She could feel him watching her, and it only made her work faster… Matthew breathlessly raised himself enough to allow her to undress him entirely, and… there.

Almost hesitantly, he reached out and traced his fingers over her cheek. His body flamed under her gaze as if it was the first time she'd seen him. In many ways, it felt as though it was. This was their first time, their first time after the darkness of these terrible, despairing months. However they'd tried to pretend to themselves… Doing this, now; they knew that a pretence was all it would ever have been.

"Darling," she breathed, her palms sliding up his thighs.

It felt as though they were at a brink, or a precipice. Matthew swallowed heavily, feeling his chest rise and fall as he trembled under her touch.

"My darling, will you –" He paused, wet his lips. This was it, he prayed so desperately… "Will you – touch me?" he gasped, breathless and dizzy with hope and desire.

Mary made only a wordless sound in response, low in her throat, feeling herself flush hot with his boldness as her fingers sought to answer him. He groaned immediately, head tilting back in unrestrained pleasure as he felt… His body responded instinctively, blood raced through him, it was memory, impulse, touch as she stroked him, gripped him, curled her fingers around and – up, and down in a teasing, scintillating caress. Another groan, louder, his hands fisting into the sheets at his side as he remembered and felt and shuddered, heat spearing through him as her… lips closed over him, her mouth open and hot and wet and he could feel it. A strangled gasp this time, his breaths deep and shuddering, he'd forgotten or tried not to think and this was glorious and all at once it was too much.

They could do this. They could be together, properly together, there was no doubt left. With Mary's help, Matthew shuffled back properly onto the bed, allowing hastily propped pillows to support his back as Mary straddled him, kissing him, tongue teasing into his mouth as hands grasped and stroked and she sank down, holding his shoulders, down… There. Their barely restrained moans mingled in the heated air as her body took him in, welcomed him, her legs curled awkwardly around his hips as they clung to each other, Mary beginning that slow, rhythmic rock against him.

Though Matthew could make no movement in response (how he longed to thrust his hips up against her; his body ached to but the muscles would not), he cradled her in his arms, kissed her, whispered his adoration to her as her movements stoked fire that pervaded every fibre of his soul. His lips trailed to her neck… dropping softly along her shoulder, before his back curled, hers arched in response as they dropped further to her breasts… Her hips jerked wildly against him, a raw cry of pleasure breaking from her lips and spearing through the still air.

They were together, complete, wrapped in a perfect union of body and mind as they made love, every touch and sensation all the more precious for their appreciation of it. They had been prepared for a life without this, had accepted it, and now they were reclaiming the life they were supposed to have, together. They reclaimed it with passion, with fervour, a sense of desperate gratitude colouring every movement, every touch. Their groans rose and blended together, piercing the night, sweat quickly slicking over their bodies with their ardour. Seconds, moments, hours… They couldn't tell, they didn't care. They were together, and then they really were, as thrusts turned to jerks turned to shudders, control slipping and ecstasy soaring. Their cries were loud and raw and desperate as they broke in each other's arms, a fire storming through them with such strength that it ached before it dissipated, slowly and sweetly, leaving them clinging to each other in breathless pleasure.

They couldn't speak; no words could do justice to their love. Cooling, damp skin pressed together, their cheeks flushed, hair damp against their foreheads. Mary's head sank to Matthew's shoulder as his arms wrapped fully around her, pressing countless soft kisses to the top of her head. And when she sobbed quietly against his chest, he knew that this time they were only tears of gratitude and happiness, as he felt a hot tear slide down his own cheek with love for her.

TBC

A/N: Thank you ever so much for reading. Sorry to leave it there, I hope you'll forgive me! Much more to come in Part 2 (very soon, all being well!). :P I very much hope that you enjoyed it, and would love to know your thoughts! Thank you!