And I'm back! So remember how the last chapter ended with a big "DUN! DUN! DUN!" moment, where Sir Richard was aiming his gun at Matthew, and then turned it on Anna, and Anna fired a shot? And that chapter ended where *apparently* Sir Richard was aiming at a Walker "all along" ;oP and Anna hit *someone* but it wasn't identified as to *who* that someone was? REMEMBER ALL THAT?

Well, now you'll learn who it was ;oP THIS IS MY CONTRIBUTION to M/M Celebration Day :o) I hope you fans of the Mary/Matthew ship who read this story are happy with it; I'm sure it's not as ship-tastic as you would like, but there be DRAMA in these here paragraphs, and like any ship, you must sail the dark waters of angst to make the drama worth it in the end, amiright? Anyway, I hope EVERYONE, regardless of who you ship, enjoys this chapter! And please, please, please share with me your thoughts, I do love hearing from folks! THANK YOU!

Chapter Thirty-Seven

"Desperation"

Mary was out the door long before any of the others.

There were not many occasions since she was a little girl that people could say that they had witnessed Lady Mary Crawley running, but today could be one of them. And to simply call it "running" seemed like such an understatement.

Lady Mary was flying.

Robert was right on her heels, though he was panting in an effort to keep up with his daughter. "What…what happened!?" he demanded as he drew closer. He had heard the gunshot in the distance, and even though he had been informed that a hunting party had been assembled, his mind couldn't simply dismiss the sound as being nothing. Something had happened…and his eyes widened in horror as he realized that yes, his intuition had been right.

"Oh no," he whispered, as he watched Evelyn Napier and Larry Grey haul the wounded man out of the car. "No, no, this cannot be…"

Mary was already there, looking ready to push one of the men aside, but she seemed to realize how foolish such an act would be, especially since they were trying to help the man get into the house, so stopped herself from doing so (just barely). She turned her head towards the doorway and shouted, "CARSON!" and the butler appeared, looking just as horrified as everyone else who had gathered at the door to see what was the matter.

Being a butler, especially a butler to such a large house as Downton Abbey, one had to be like a General, and so when as soon as he heard Lady Mary's cry, his back stiffened and he began barking orders, "the red room; NOW!"

Supporting the wounded man as best they could, their arms wrapped around his waist, his arms flung over their shoulders, both Evelyn and Larry grunted as they bore most of the man's weight and urged him to move his legs as best he could, though the man was in a delirious state, his eyes rolling back and his face ashen and gray and covered in sweat, while blood oozed through the make-shift bandage that had put hastily put on back in the woods.

Edith appeared in the doorway then, her hand flying to cover her mouth and her face paling as she took in the sight. "What happened!?"

"No time for that!" Mary snapped, rushing ahead and shoving her sister aside to make room for Evelyn and Larry. "This way!" she told them, leading them in the direction to where Carson had gone.

Edith was trembling from where she stood, watching as the two three men passed with frightened eyes. She turned to her father then, as if hoping he could provide some sort of comfort or explanation to what was going on. But Robert looked just as dumbfounded and afraid as he watched their retreating figures, his body moving numbly and slowly as he reentered the house.

"We were in the woods," a voice spoke then, drawing both Edith and Robert's attention back to present. They turned and looked at Lavinia, who was clutching what looked like a bloodstained jacket to her body…though it was not hers. "We were in the woods," she repeated again. "And…and I was with both Capt. Napier and Lt. Grey…stalking a deer, a stag…and…and…and then we heard a gun fire, and then screaming…"

She staggered suddenly, and Robert reached out to steady the woman. "Was it Walkers?" he asked, fear ripping through him at the thought.

Lavinia, her eyes still fixed on the retreating men, silently nodded.

She let out a gasp as she was suddenly seized about the shoulders by the Earl of Grantham, who was all but shaking her as he demanded to know, "did they bite him? DID THEY BITE HIM!?"

"NO!" Lavinia gasped, wrenching herself free from Robert's grasp. "No," she repeated, her voice softer, and her head shaking to emphasize her words. "He…he had already been shot before they attacked."

Edith gasped and looked up at her father, but Robert was searching for answers elsewhere, his eyes now fixed on the two figures that had yet to enter the house.

He released Lavinia then, and she staggered forward, but managed to catch herself before tripping completely. However, if she were bothered by it, she didn't show it. Instead she followed where the others had gone, while Edith watched her father turn to the remaining two, his frightened face searching for answers that he hoped they could provide.

"Anna…" Robert moved towards the head housemaid, who still remained in the car she had traveled in…her arms wrapped securely around herself, and…and she seemed to be rocking back and forth, as she stared straight ahead. "Anna?" Robert repeated, but there was no answer, just silent rocking.

"She's in shock," the other figure spoke, answering Robert's unspoken question in regards to the housemaid.

"W-w-why?" Robert stammered, looking to his last hope for answers in whatever it was that had happened in the woods. "Lavinia said something about…him being shot…before Walkers attacked?"

The man in front of him sighed and shook his head. "A Walker came upon us; I saw the creature first, but didn't want to cause panic, let alone draw any more attention to ourselves should another be out there. So I aimed my gun…but…" he paused and glanced at the car where Anna continued to rock. "But…she fired at me."

"What!?" Robert looked back at the other man in disbelief. "Anna fired at you!? But…that doesn't make any sense!? WHY would she do that!?"

Sir Richard Carlisle shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not sure. I saw the Walker, and I lifted my pistol and aimed at it, but suddenly she had her gun aimed at me…and but mere seconds after I fired at the Walker, she fired at me. I was able to get out of the way, as you can see," he explained with a light-hearted chuckle. "But only just barely. But…sadly, Capt. Crawley…" his words trailed off and he lowered his head, shaking it as one would do upon hearing sad news.

As for Robert and Edith, they were staring back at Sir Richard in absolute shock as the realization of what he had just said settled over them.

"Are you saying…" Robert looked at Anna, and then stepped closer to Sir Richard so he could speak softer. "Are you saying that Anna shot Matthew!?"

Sir Richard sighed and glanced at the shell-shocked housemaid, before turning back and looking at Robert with a confirming gaze.

"But…but that doesn't make sense!" Edith defended, suddenly feeling protective of the housemaid. While Mary was the one whom Anna was close to, Anna had always shown her kindness and a willingness to listen, especially after that horrible garden party, when for many nights she wept over her lost opportunity with Sir Anthony.

"I'm not saying it makes 'sense'," Sir Richard sighed. "But…that is what happened. She fired her gun, and the bullet hit Capt. Crawley," he glanced ahead, in the direction where Matthew had been led away. "And now his life hangs in the balance."

Robert stiffened at this, and turned to his daughter. "Edith, help Anna into the house," he instructed, before moving past her, walking briskly away from them…and the house.

"Wait, Papa, where are you going!?" Edith demanded.

"The garage!" he shouted. "I need to find Branson!"

Edith's brow furrowed. "Branson? Why? Whatever for?"

Robert didn't answer her.

Sir Richard pursed his lips. "I don't think you'll find him there!" he called out. "Before we left on our hunt, we found that the Renault was gone."

Robert froze at this information. He turned and looked at Sir Richard with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Gone?" he repeated, before turning and advancing upon the newspaperman. "Gone where!?"

Again, Sir Richard shrugged his shoulders. "We weren't sure…though Capt. Crawley had muttered something about suspecting it may have something to do with the man's missing brother?"

Robert's eyes widened at this news, but instead of turning back towards the house, he continued moving towards the garage, his pace quickening, desperate to see if what the newspaperman said was true.

As for Edith, she continued to follow, her brow furrowed with confusion. What in heaven's name did her father need Branson for?

Robert reached the garage and stared into the empty space where the Renault used to be. No…no, he couldn't have…he wouldn't have! He tried to think of excuses for the car to be missing, excuses that didn't involve the chauffeur being gone, but those excuses weighed little when compared to the obvious facts, the largest of which was that when the hunting party returned, Branson hadn't been there to see them. And he wasn't with them either, apparently.

"Papa?" Edith panted, coming up beside him. She also looked into the garage and a small gasp escaped her lips as she took in the same sight her father had seen. No…no, he couldn't have…he wouldn't have! While the Irishman hadn't made her any promises that yes, he would take her with him when he left for York, Edith couldn't help but feel as if she had been abandoned…and once again, left to fend for herself.

She turned and looked up at her father, who was still staring off into the empty garage. "Papa…" she tugged on his shoulder to get his attention back. "Papa, why do you need Branson?"

Robert blinked, and then shook his head, before moving away from his daughter. "Go back to Anna," he instructed again, pointing back to where they had come from. "Go help her inside."

"But Papa—"

"Do as you are told, Edith!" Robert sternly warned, before turning on his heel and moving back towards the house without another glance. Even though he knew, deep down, he wouldn't find the Irishman inside, he still felt compelled to look.

As for Edith, she remained where she stood, watching her father's retreating figure, feeling extremely confused…and uneasy. Something wasn't right; her father was keeping something…just like earlier, when she had come across him in the East Wing, and instead of telling her where her mother's room was, insisting that she give him the letter she had written, insisting that he would deliver it, before once again forbidding her and anyone else, from entering that side of the house.

This was more than just wanting to keep all of them safe from Spanish Flu.

Her father had a secret, and somehow, his desperation to find Branson was connected to it. But why? She didn't know.

…But she was going to find out.

Six years ago, before the War had started, if someone had asked Lady Mary Crawley if could ever imagine herself in a sickroom, sitting on the edge of a bed, her hands coated in another man's blood, while she did everything she could to tend to the bleeding gentleman…she would have thought you absolutely, utterly mad. And so would anyone else, if they had been asked to envision Lady Mary doing those things.

…And yet here she was, doing exactly that.

Mary was not a complete stranger to nursing, though by no means was she anything like her youngest sister. Both she and Edith had done their part at the convalescent home, mainly in the form of talking to the officers, trying to lift their spirits, with the occasional opportunity to mop at their brows, lift glasses of water to their lips, and possibly assist one of the hospital staff if needs be. But nothing like this. Not even when everything began to crumble around them, and it became obvious that the world had gone to hell, not even then, had she found herself in such a situation as she was in now, doing everything she could, from a physical, mental, and emotional level to keep another man alive.

"Where are those linens!?" Mary demanded, the rag to which she held against Matthew's wound soaked through.

"Right here, milady!" Mrs. Hughes assured, entering the room with the very items in question.

Mary quickly took one of the fresh linens and quickly replaced the soiled cloth she had been using. Matthew grimaced and groaned in pain, which caused Mary to grimace, especially when she saw his eyes roll back and flutter, as if he were going to pass out again.

"Matthew!" she called to him, summoning every ounce of sternness that she contained. "Matthew, keep your eyes open! Stay awake!"

He groaned and seemed to move his head, as if he were trying to nod. Mary took another fresh rag and brought it up to his brow, doing what she could to mop the sweat that was pooled there. His brow was on fire, and yet the rest of him felt cold and clammy.

"He needs a surgeon," Evelyn murmured from just over her shoulder.

Mary gritted her teeth. "Well we don't have one!" she snapped, her patience extremely thin. Carson had gone to fetch Dr. Clarkson, but couldn't find the man, despite going to the room that Mrs. Hughes had told him she had previously prepared.

"But that makes no sense!" Mrs. Hughes had declared. "You must have gone to the wrong room!"

"I didn't!" Carson muttered. "I went precisely where you told me to go, Mrs. Hughes, and I'm telling you, the room was empty!"

"But his Lordship said—"

"It doesn't matter!" Mary shouted over the both of them, though in truth that was a lie. It did matter, a great deal. While she was worried for her mother, Matthew could possibly be bleeding to death, though they were doing everything they could to keep that from happening.

Mary had then sent the housekeeper on a mission to gather clean linens and any other sort of medical supplies that they could use, particularly morphine, which they had brought back to help Bates. Oh poor Matthew, he was in so much pain. The task didn't take long to complete, but it felt better to have someone doing something! But there was only so much that could be done…

The sound of hurried footsteps brought everyone's attention back to the doorway. Mary lifted her eyes, holding her breath as Larry Grey appeared, looking out of breath from the task she had sent him on earlier. "Well!?"

He shook his head. "I…I can't find her…" he panted.

First Dr. Clarkson, now Sybil? Good heavens, were they to have NO ONE with any medical training around?

"Did you check downstairs? The kitchens? The store cupboard?" Mrs. Hughes asked.

Larry nodded. "I checked all those places—"

"Did you check the garage?" Mary asked through gritted teeth. Of all the times for her sister to go and flirt with that bloody chauffeur—

Larry frowned. "The garage?"

"Yes," Mary muttered. "Check it, as well as the orchards; she often gardens there near…" her voice trailed off, not wanting to dwell on what was out there, certainly not while Matthew was hanging on by several weak, desperate threads. "Just check it…as well as the chauffeur's cottage!"

"Milady!" Carson gasped, looking horrified at the possibility of what Mary was suggesting, but she ignored the butler's shock.

"I'll go and do that," Larry assured, before turning on his heel…and proceeding to bump into one of his companions. "Charles!"

"Charles!?" Evelyn's eyes flew to the door, widening as he gazed upon their missing companion. "Good God man, where have you been!?"

Charles Bryant was too busy staring at Matthew and the chaos that surrounded him to acknowledge Evelyn's question. "What happened?"

Evelyn ground his teeth. "Capt. Crawley was shot while we were hunting."

Maj. Bryant finally turned to Evelyn with wide, surprised eyes. "Hunting?"

"Yes!" Evelyn hissed. "And we could have used you, but you were nowhere to be found! And now a man may die and it's all your fault!"

"WHAT!?" Maj. Bryant gasped, looking at Evelyn as if the man had completely lost his mind. "How is it 'my fault'?" he demanded.

"PLEASE!" Mary's voice practically roared over the rest. She glared up at Evelyn, more upset that he would even suggest what she was desperately trying to deny. "If you insist on having this conversation, then leave the room!"

Evelyn's face darkened and he lowered his eyes. "I apologize," he murmured, taking a step back, however he did lift his eyes one more time to those of Maj. Bryant, his gaze telling the man that this conversation was far from over.

Another sound came from the corridor, and everyone turned to look, gasping with even more surprise at the figure that stood…rather lopsidedly…in the doorway.

"MR. BATES!" Mrs. Hughes gasped, moving quickly to the man's side. "What are you doing out of bed!? HOW did you—"

Bates winced, the pain shooting through his leg as he awkwardly stood in the doorway, leaning a bulk of his weight against its frame. "I…I heard so much commotion…and then…something about Capt. Crawley being shot?"

Mrs. Hughes, however, was far too concerned with the fact that man was out of bed, rather than bothering to pay attention to any of his questions. "You shouldn't be up! Dr. Clarkson hasn't given you any sort of permission to be walking about! You're still healing—"

"On the contrary Mrs. Hughes, I think it's time that I do get out of that bed and try putting some strength back in my leg," the valet grunted, trying his hardest not to show any pain, though it was damn near impossible. Rather, leaning heavily on his cane, he hobbled over towards the bed where Matthew lay, looking down at the fallen captain with deep concern. "Where was he shot?"

Mary looked up at her father's valet, and quickly moved her hand, revealing the bullet wound, before immediately bringing it back to press down over his chest.

John Bates winced at the sight. While it had been a great many years since his war days, he knew all about bullet wounds, and which ones could be fatal. Some wounds were practically instantaneous; others drew out the agony, making death feel like a welcome mercy. From what he could see, Capt. Crawley had been hit somewhere just below his collarbone on his right side. The good news, of course, was that it was nowhere near his heart. The bad news, especially based on the man's wheezing breaths, was that one of his lungs may have been damaged. The man could be bleeding internally.

"Exit wound?" he asked, lifting his eyes to Capt. Napier, who was standing just over Lady Mary's shoulder.

Evelyn looked back at Bates and shook his head. "I didn't see one," he murmured, though in all fairness, he hadn't really taken the time to examine Capt. Crawley's body, just doing everything he could to get the man out of that forest and back to the house and to this room.

Bates' frown deepened. "The bullet might be lodged inside then," he murmured, voicing what Mary feared. She was no medical expert, but even she knew that wasn't good. Where is Dr. Clarkson!? Where is Sybil!?

"Thomas."

Mary looked up at Bates, confusion etched across her pale face. "W-w-what?" she stammered, swallowing the tears that had been filling her throat.

"Thomas," Bates repeated. "Get Thomas; he's a medic, he helped me with my leg, and no doubt he saw his fair share of bullet wounds."

Good heavens, she hadn't thought about Thomas! Yes, of course! "Carson—!"

"I'll bring him myself, milady," the butler reassured, turning and going quickly to do just that.

Mary looked back at Matthew, one hand still pressing down on his chest, the other still mopping at his brow. "Stay awake," she told him, her voice soft but urgent. "We're getting you help; Thomas will know what to do," she told him, not caring if that was true or not. She quite frankly didn't know how much of an expert Thomas was when it came to these sorts of things, but what Bates said was true, the man was a medic, and he knew far more than the rest of them about how to tend and care for the wounded. And until they could find either her sister or Dr. Clarkson, the former footman would have to do.

"Anna…?"

Mary looked up at Bates again and saw the valet's eyes fill with concern, as if he realized now that the head housemaid wasn't among their gathered group.

"Where's Anna?" he asked again, turning and looking at Mrs. Hughes, and then back at Capt. Napier. "She said she was going hunting with you, where—"

"She was still in the car when I last saw her..." Evelyn explained, his voice trailing off as memories from the scene he, Larry, and Miss Swire had come upon back in the woods, returned: Capt. Crawley lying on the ground, blood oozing from his chest, Sir Richard also on the ground, holding both a pistol and a rifle in his hands, and Anna…

She was on her knees, hovering over Capt. Crawley's body, tears streaming down her face and mumbling the words over and over, "no, no, no, I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to!"

Bates turned back to Mrs. Hughes, who understood the plea in their depths before he even spoke. "I'll find her and bring her to your room," she assured, stepping forward and encouraging the man to lean against her smaller frame. "But you need to get off that leg and back into bed!"

Bates attempted to protest, but the housekeeper wouldn't hear any of it. He allowed the woman to help him back, mainly because he was utterly exhausted from standing that long and feared that his good leg would give out beneath him. While they left, Mary turned back to Evelyn, looking up at her friend and smiling softly, knowing that she could depend on the man to help. "Can you find Miss Swire?" she asked. As much as it pained her to consider, there was a strong part of Mary that felt that Lavinia Swire should be sitting there as well, beside Matthew while all this was going on. After all, had it not been for Lavinia and her father, Matthew may not even be here. And it was quite obvious that they were both…close. "Find her and bring her here?" she lowered her eyes, feeling rather sheepish, an emotion that she didn't often feel, but one that was coursing through her now as she admitted her shortcomings. "She's probably better equipped at this sort of thing than I am," she murmured, attempting to smile to make light of the situation, though in all honesty, it hurt to smile. Everything hurt—because Matthew was hurt.

"I'm not so sure about that," Evelyn murmured, his eyes soft as he looked back at Mary, and a brief sadness could be seen in them, one that often came to his eyes when he thought about Lady Mary Crawley and "what might have been". Still, as he had done in the past, so too would he continue to push aside his own hopes and desires, and do all that he could right now to help his friend. "I'll go and find her," he promised, allowing himself to reach out and touch Mary's shoulder, just briefly as a sign of reassurance, before leaving the room to carry out his task.

Maj. Bryant was the only other person left in the room, and he clearly did not look very comfortable with the situation. So he swallowed, bowed his head, mumbled, "milady", to her, before leaving the room himself, to do who knows what, and quite frankly, she didn't care.

She looked down at Matthew, the hand that had been mopping his brow stilling to carefully, gently, turn his face towards her, before lifting her fingers to run across his cheek. "Matthew…Matthew, can you hear me?"

It was so hard to tell how "aware" he was; his eyes looked glassy, his pupils unfocused, and yet he continued to groan and blink and part his lips as if to speak, though no words were coming out.

"You can't keep doing this to me," Mary muttered, the emotion bubbling up in her throat once more. "You can't keep putting your life at risk…" She paused and sucked in a breath, trying to desperately keep herself from breaking down and sobbing. "I lost you once…I thought you were dead. But you came back to me…you came back to me…and you've kept coming back…" she leaned closer, her hand cupping his cheek. "So don't you see? You're not allowed to leave me—not then and not now." The tears she had been trying to keep at bay were now flowing down her cheeks quite freely, but she was beyond caring at this point. "I refuse to let you go," she told him, her voice full of stubborn determination. "I will not allow it, do you understand?" She swore she heard him make some sort of sound, something that resembled her name, though it was hard to tell, and quite frankly, it could all be her own wishful imagining. But she clung to that hope that he did understand, that he was aware of both her and what she was saying.

She leaned forward again, her brow touching his. "Stay with me, Matthew," she whispered, her lips hovering close to his. "Stay with me…always."

The sound that seemed to come from his throat was like that of a pleasured moan, as with the gentlest touch, her lips brushed against his, lingering just long enough to pour out the love that still resided in her heart for this man; love that had never truly gone away.

"Nnnnnnnnn…" he moaned as she lifted her head. Her lips moved to his fevered brow, and she gently kissed him there while bathing him in her tears.

The sounds of approaching footsteps drew Mary away, and provided her with enough time to quickly wipe at her face, just before Carson appeared, with Thomas in tow.

The footman looked most reluctant.

"Thomas," Mary addressed, her haughty, commanding, Crawley tone emerging once more. "No doubt you've heard that Capt. Crawley was shot. Bates thinks the bullet might be still lodged inside, and no one has seen Dr. Clarkson, or my sister. So it is up to you to help him."

Her voice was as rigid as her posture, and there was no room for question in her words. She would not allow doubt to enter this room.

Thomas swallowed, and glanced at the butler who was glowering back at him and blocking his escape from the room. He gritted his teeth, partially at Mr. Carson for bringing him there, partially at Mr. Bates for suggesting his name, partially at Dr. Clarkson for being absent, and especially at Capt. Crawley for getting shot in the first place and leaving him to fix this mess. He was already on thin ice, and if he botched this up, he might as well climb the Abbey's highest tower and throw himself off.

…Of course, if he by some miracle not only helped Capt. Crawley but managed to save the future earl's life…well, that would mean that they would owe him.

And such a trump card could be quite handy, especially in such times as these.

"Mr. Carson," Thomas murmured, turning to look at the other man as if he were beneath him, something that Charles Carson did recognize and that caused him to bristle. "I'll be needing hot water, soap, towels, and…" he glanced at the supplies that were already gathered, inwardly grimacing at what he may have to do. "And possibly…a needle and thread."