A/N: I was actually going to post this tomorrow but I realized that this chapter was getting really really long and it wasn't even close to being all of the ground I wanted to cover, so I started cutting things left and right. But after awhile, when I reread the abridged version, I decided, whatever, I'll put everything back in and cut it into several separate chapters. I don't think anyone is going to be too annoyed that I didn't stick to my usual schedule.

Picking up the Pieces (Part 1)

March 11th, 1918

Accounts of Mary Crawley

Mary had planned for the day, almost excessively. She knew exactly what she was going wear, how she wanted her hair done, when she was going to arrive, how she was going to greet him, and what she would say. She wanted to be glad to see him but not overzealous, she wanted to look beautiful but not intimidating, she wanted to speak openly with him but not to burden him with what happened in the last few months.

Cora was still worried but Mary felt prepared. She had cried all that she could cry and had finally slept off the last the last of remnants of her insomnia. She looked healthy and calm and confident. What a difference a week and a half can make. And indeed that's how long Cora kept stalling her daughter. Mary wanted to see him immediately after Robert and Cora revealed that Matthew was actually alive and recovering at the hospital, but they refused.

After many hours of debate and argument, they had finally calmed Mary down and convinced (bullied) her into waiting, waiting until she was emotionally ready to confront Matthew after her turbulent months of turmoil and grief. Initially, they said they would take her in three days time. But when the day came, Cora insisted that they defer another day, and another, and yet still another. Before long it had been a week.

Things reached a critical point when the arguments over dinner started to get heated.

"All I'm saying is that Matthew's condition is still very severe and I don't think that it would be good for either you or him to see each other at this particular moment," Cora said as calmly and as quietly as she could.

"But you've seen him," Mary protested.

"Yes, and it was very hard for me. I can't imagine how you'll take it," Cora replied.

"Mama, I know all about his wounds," Mary said dismissively, "can you please stop trying to shield me from the world. I see wounded and disfigured officers everyday, they live in our house."

"Yes but you don't know any of them personally, not like you know Matthew," Cora replied, "it's a very different thing."

"Mama, I've seen them," Mary stated.

"See what?" Cora asked.

"His wounds," Mary inadvertently confessed, "The one his right arm where he took a bullet, the gashes on his sides, the burns that he has all over."

The dinner table fell silent. Violet's spoon fell right out of her hand and landed with a tiny splash into her soup dish.

"When did you see them?" Cora asked, voicing everyone's astonishment.

"Last summer, when he came to visit with that general," Mary confessed as she rolled her eyes, perhaps trying to belittle the information that she had just revealed.

The silence at the table continued for a bit longer as she could plainly see that her family had but one question but were far too polite to ask.

"Yes, that's why Lavinia and I fell out," Mary said in a laboured and disinterested tone.

"But why were you-" Cora began.

"Does it really matter now? I mean really, Mama. After all that has happened in the last few months, are those details what really stick out to you?" Mary went on.

"Well, I still think it is a bad idea," Cora said again, although Mary could clearly hear her mother's convictions soften, "are you sure can go see him and not have another episode?"

Mary rolled her eyes and let out a subtle sigh, "well I can't promise that I won't tear up, I won't lie about that but I promise I won't slit my throat if that's what you're worried about."

Violet dropped her spoon in shock again at those last few words.

Mary stood just outside the front entrance of Downton waiting for her motor to arrive. It was early for her but the hospital staff and servants were already busy at work, shuffling in and out of the house, moving crates and receiving deliveries that were too large for the side entrance. Since Downton's conversion into a convalescent home for officers, traffic in front of the house had increased dramatically. She wondered if this is what it felt like to wait for at a bus stop.

She stared towards the blue sky, it was an unseasonably warm day for so early in the spring but she could see the clouds off in the distance. Nice weather never seemed to last long these days. But she was prepared, she had with her an umbrella. She was more prepared for this day than any other in her life.

However prepared she was, she didn't notice the man that had come to stand beside her.

"Good morning, Lady Mary," he said politely.

Startled a little, she turned to look at him. He was wearing a dark blue uniform with a white barracks cap tucked up his arm. His skin was of a darker complexion and his hair was black with a slight curl. He looked familiar.

"Hello," Mary replied politely if not a bit apprehensively.

"I hope you are feeling well," he asked.

"Yes, quite well," Mary answered with a little bit of a blush. She knew exactly what he meant.

"How are you hands?" he asked.

She looked down at them and curled in her knuckles.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be so presumptuous," he said as if retracting his previous query.

"No, it's quite alright. It's not much a secret is it?" Mary said with a relieved sigh, "They're fine. They are marked now, who knows if they will ever heal properly, but they are functional."

"I'm sure, they are as beautiful as ever," he remarked with a friendly smile.

Mary smiled back, politely.

"I wasn't aware we catered naval officers here," Mark said.

"Oh, I don't think you do, the Army would never allow it," he replied quickly, "but I was on leave in Yorkshire and I thought I would visit a few friends."

"That's very nice of you," Mary commented.

"I hope so," he answered with a nod, "is it usually this busy? Feels like we've been waiting for our motors for ages."

"I wouldn't know, I haven't gotten out much lately," Mary said with a nervous smile.

It took him a second to register her meaning.

"Oh, of course not, it was stupid of me…" his voice trailed off.

"It's quite alright, I'd rather people not treat me like I'm made of glass," Mary remarked.

He nodded in agreement but didn't return another comment. He merely looked down at his shoes. Eventually a motor came around but it turned out to be his. Which was frustrating because it felt like she had been waiting for hers much longer than he had. The chauffeur opened the door for the naval officer. He looked over at Mary and gave her a consoling smile.

"I hope he's worth it," he said to her in a solemn manner, "The scars, I hope he appreciates what they mean."

She was rather taken aback by the words. She wore an expression of shock for a moment before she regain her usual composure.

"Well, I don't intend for him to ever know," Mary replied, politely rebuffing his suggestion.

"Well then, he must really be something special," he replied.

"What is your name?" Mary asked.

"Anthony Foyle," he replied with a knowing smirk.

That name rang a bell with Mary but she couldn't quite place it.

"Do I kn-" Mary began.

"Yes you do." he said cutting her off before he got into the vehicle.

The sky had darkened considerably by the time Mary and Anna had reached the hospital. It was funny in its own way, when she approached the familiar masonry of the old cottage hospital, thoughts of their first meeting sprang forth into her mind. The way she disdained to look at him when Isobel was made Chairman, the way he seemed to be making every effort to make up for the rude comment he had inadvertently made upon her entrance. He was in love with her at first sight and must've known it. In fact, there was a part of her, that she hated to acknowledge now, that savoured his desire. She tormented him with it. She had toyed with him from the very beginning, playing hot and cold with him until he was as confused as a puppy. How she wish should could go back and slap some sense into that girl.

They made their way into the courtyard. That's where she saw him. He was sitting there on a chair, next to another couple of officers on a stone bench who were playing chess with one another. Matthew was reading. He was always reading. He held the book in one hand while nursing a cigarette with the other. His hair had grown long, much longer than she had ever seen it before. It was shaggy and tangled. He had a white bandage across his cheek and she could see a few scabs and scratch marks visible on his neck. He wore his uniform the way she had only seen in the photos from the front, unbuttoned and loose. His jacket was draped over his shoulders, he didn't even wear a tie.

She didn't even notice until the tear had already made its way half way down her cheek. By then, her breathing had quickened and deepened. Unable to do anything other than take deep heaving breaths, she quickly retreated backwards and out of the courtyard. Even the sight of him, as if he were an apparition, come back from the dead to haunt her. She planted herself against the stone wall and frantically shook her head.

"I can't… I can't…" Mary whispered out as her voice broke.

Anna rushed to her side and held Mary's hand.

"Yes, you can," Anna said calmly, "he's right there. He's alive and he's waiting for you."

"No…" Mary pleaded as her expression broke. All of that calm preparation, all of the things she planned to say, gone, completely destroyed by the mere sight of him, "it hurts… Anna, it hurts."

"So does regret, milady," Anna replied, "and regret lasts much longer. And he's waiting to see you, he wants to see you."

"But what if he doesn't? What if he hates me?" Mary asked through her tears.

"How could he possibly?" Anna asked rhetorically.

She was patient with Mary but she wouldn't let her leave today without meeting him They had delayed long enough already, and she knew that if Mary could just push through this painful moment that all else would be well in the long run. If Mary ran away now, she would regret it for the rest of her life. Anna held Mary until her tears stopped and then cleaned her up. With a big smile, Anna sent Mary back into the courtyard.

Her approach was slow but steady. She absorbed everything, the sounds of the birds in the trees, the ambient chatter of the other officers, the click of her heels against the stone pathway, the faint sounds of the stormclouds rolling in. Her hands were shaking despite her best efforst to still them.

And then he looked up.

With those crystal blue eyes, he looked up. With those crystal blue eyes, he pierced her heart. His met hers and she froze. Mid-stride, she stopped. She waited, with an expression of desperate want on her face, oh she couldn't hide it and what was the point, even if she could? Why bother coming at all if she wasn't going to be truthful with him?

He put his book down and put out his cigarette and he got up. He got up. He placed a crutch underneath each arm and hobbled his way across the remaining distance that separated them. It had been seven months and twenty-four days since they last saw each other.

And in that time, Matthew had gone to battle, fell in battle, slipped into coma, been resurrected, Mary had lashed out, grieved, and tried to take her own life.

What could they say to each other? What words were there to possibly express the torrent of emotions and tribulations that each had carried. Mary's breath shook as she struggled to contain herself but the look she could not rid herself of. That she could not hide.

"I'm sorry."

He said simply.

Slap.

With all of her might and all of her weight, she slapped him across the cheek, causing him to drop one of his crutches. He remained where her slapped and sent him for a moment, his hair obscuring his eyes, all for the better. He didn't want her to see the expression of pain and anguish that he currently bore. He deserved that. He deserved far more than that.

"Don't ever apologize to me again," Mary said sternly. It took all of her to remain as taciturn as she did.

He straightened his back and turned to look at her again. His expression was steady, but his eyes betrayed him. She could see the glimmering sheen of moisture that hung to his pupils. For a moment, she understood his unimaginable, indescribably pain. All of the regret, all of the suffering, all of the rage, all of the sorrow, without words, made plainly clear. She understood, because she felt the exact same things.

She lunged forward, quickly and without warning, her hands cradled his face as she locked lips with him. She kissed him, dearly and desperately. She kissed him as her tears began to flow uncontrollably, rolling from her cheek to his, staining him as if to intertwine their mutual sorrow. Perhaps, then, they could bare it all together.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she broke the kiss and gently exhaled. She looked upon his face. It was still and stoic. But there was a new expression in his eyes, fear.

"Matthew?" she whispered tenderly.

He pushed forward, this time his lips to hers and replied to her tenderness with what was left of his aggression. His free arm wrapped around her waist as he leaned her back. She surrendered to him completely. It was the kiss she had wanted for so long. This was the one. This kiss, she would commit to memory forever and always.

They could faintly hear the cheering and applause of the officers and nurses in the background but neither of them paid much attention to it. This was far more important. This was the most important.