A/N: Sorry about the wait for this chapter! Thanksgiving week was very busy so I didn't get a chance to do any writing until this week. Big things are starting to happen for our darlings. Enjoy! :)

Chapter 38

There were no dinner guests at the Abbey that night, so Mary saw no reason not to take her favored seat beside her husband. She glanced discreetly at him from the corner of her eye, always on the look-out for any sign of his possible recovery. Once, he stared too long into his wine glass, and she allowed her hand to wander over to rest on his thigh. She watched knowingly as he blinked rapidly before placing his hand over hers. He turned to her briefly, flashing a little crooked grin that made her heart falter, though she could see the confusion warring with the love in his eyes.

Claiming fatigue, she excused herself to retire a bit early that night, and, as expected, Matthew followed shortly after.

"You're not really fatigued, are you?" he asked, one eyebrow cocked suggestively, as she emerged from behind the screen after Bates had left. Mary only rolled her eyes in response and slid in beside him. Her eyes lingered on the drawer in which she had secreted the book and the letter, but her thoughts were soon diverted as she felt his hands pulling her to him.

He attacked her lips eagerly that night, his hands almost rending her nightgown in a near-desperate attempt to find bare skin. She allowed herself to get lost in his passion, wondering at the intensity of it. He had been wonderfully, overwhelmingly passionate since their declarations of love. At the time, she had attributed his new-found assertiveness to their new openness, but perhaps it was yet another sign that feeling and function were returning to his lower half.

As she leaned over him to return his kiss, a fierce surge of hope rose within her. For the first time since she'd heard the news, she desperately wanted it to be true. More than anything, she wanted the opportunity to return to him even half the pleasure he gave her. Her hands began to tremble at the thought that, perhaps, very soon...

Afterwords, she briefly considered trying to tell him, but it seemed wrong to spoil the moment. She basked in the unsullied afterglow of her their passion until she drifted into a contented slumber.

Mary awoke the next morning feeling disappointed that she hadn't felt Matthew's legs move in his sleep again. Of course, she had slept rather deeply after the succession of sleepless nights following the first incident; perhaps she'd simply missed it. Matthew's eyes fluttered open as Anna entered with the tray. He smiled and greeted Mary with their usual morning kiss before waiting patiently for Mary to don her dressing gown so that he could call for Bates, who always waited just outside the door when Anna awakened them.

"Matthew," Mary gently got his attention just as Bates entered.

"Yes, darling?"

"There's...something we need to discuss later. Perhaps we can have a picnic luncheon on the lawn, if the weather holds."

"Sounds fine to me," he answered cheerfully, leaning close to kiss her cheek lightly before patiently allowing Bates to lift him into his chair.

As she picked intermittently at her breakfast, Mary reread the letter from Sir John. It wasn't flowery or overly optimistic; simply straightforward and clinical. Somehow, she suspected Matthew would appreciate that. There were certain symptoms that Mary could easily attribute Matthew's strange silences to, but she couldn't be certain until he confirmed them himself. The spasms, though, she could attest to.

That bewildering mix of hope, joy, and trepidation rose up strongly inside her again, and she put the letter aside. Her heart clenched as she pictured Matthew reading it, so many conflicting emotions flashing across his boyish features in an instant. Which one would he settle on? Would he remain hopeful or skeptical? Would be refuse to accept hope? Surely, if he were experiencing the sensations and shooting pains Sir John described, he would be glad of an explanation. Despite the hope such things portended, she hated to think of him in pain.

After dressing, Mary made her way out into the front hall in time to witness the first truckload of recovering officers leaving Downton for the train station. She sighed and pressed her hands to the little flutter in her belly. The officers were leaving; Matthew's uniforms had been packed away. Now his horrific injury might also soon be behind them for good. The war was truly, finally, ending.

The air was chilly, but dry, and the sun's muted rays peeking out from between the sparse clouds made the outdoors bearable enough for Mary and Matthew to escape the house for a while. Some of the officers had departed, but there was still a large enough number left in the Abbey that solitude for the serious conversation they needed to have was difficult to come by. Puck trotted beside them as quickly as he could on his stubby legs, having been displaced from his usual seat on Matthew's lap by the picnic basket Mrs. Patmore had packed for them. Mary hoped a bottle of wine was among the contents. She could feel the stiffness of Sir John's letter inside her coat pocket, and her heart began to race.

Both Isobel's and Dr. Clarkson's admonishments rang in her ears. What if the doctor was correct? Could they soon be faced with another setback? But Isobel was absolutely right. Matthew deserved to know, and she had promised him - no more secrets. She had made the right decision; all that remained was to carry it out.

Reassured of her path and firm in her conviction, Mary managed a small, genuine smile for Matthew as she stopped their progress under a shady oak and took the basket from him. She spread the blanket on the ground at his feet and arranged herself on it, demurely tucking her skirt around her ankles out of habit, though it was only the two of them so far from the house. She opened the basket and pulled out the contents one by one, swallowing a groan of dismay as she discovered apple cider rather than the desired wine.

They ate mostly in silence, each so lost in their own thoughts that they failed to take note of the other's preoccupation. Matthew consumed his sandwiches and lemon biscuits almost without tasting them. His mind had been occupied, since leaving Mary that morning, with a pressing need to confide in his wife. He'd wanted to shield her from disappointment, but he knew she wondered at his strange behavior. He could hardly blame her. It wasn't fair of him to continue keeping these...strange occurrences a secret. Besides, his need to unburden himself to someone was reaching a breaking point. Once, his mother would have been his confidant of choice, but he had Mary now. A part of him hoped that, in speaking his concerns aloud, he could somehow banish them from his thoughts. If his imagination was truly playing cruel tricks on him, then perhaps acknowledging it would make it disappear the way the monsters under his childhood bed vanished as soon as the lamp was lit.

"Mary, I..." he began falteringly.

"What is it?" Mary asked, putting down her half-eaten sandwich to give him her full attention.

"Well, it's just that...And I know this will seem...odd, but I've recently had some...very strange...sensations." He broke off again, laughing humorlessly at himself at the thought of just how idiotic what he was about to say would surely sound. "I can't imagine what it could mean. Perhaps I...jarred something. I don't know."

"Oh, Matthew," Mary breathed in relief at the opening he had given her. She was almost surprised that her hands were steady as she withdrew the letter, turning the stiff stationary over in her fingers. "Funny that you should mention it because...I have something to show you."

Matthew's brow wrinkled as he stared down at her in concern.

"Mary, what is it?"

"It's a letter from Sir John Coates," she continued calmly. "Dr. Clarkson gave it to me only yesterday. It...Well, perhaps you should just read it. I'll probably only confuse you if I try to explain."

She placed the letter in his hands, watching as his tongue darted out to wet his lips and his nimble fingers withdrew the sheets of paper from the envelope and unfolded them.

"Dr. Clarkson," Matthew read, "after further contemplation of my observations in Captain Crawley's case, I have compared these findings to those of past cases, and have come to the conclusion that..."

Matthew stopped reading suddenly, blinking rapidly as if to clear his vision of an imaginary obstruction. He snatched the envelope from where he had placed it on his lap and quickly scanned the front of it.

"This letter was postmarked November the 5th," he breathed in surprise. "But you said Clarkson gave it to you only yesterday?"

"That's right," Mary answered, nodding towards the letter to encourage him to continue reading.

After several minutes of reading and rereading the letter, Matthew sighed wearily and placed the papers in his lap. He raked his fingers through his hair several times, his mouth hanging open in consternation as he tried to find the words - any words.

"Matthew," Mary spoke softly, placing her hand on his arm, "I know this is all very sudden and...confusing, but...well, it does explain some things. Those sensations you mentioned...Sir John describes something similar."

"Similar, yes," Matthew responded, his voice tense with threatening emotion. "But I was also told to expect phantom feelings - things that weren't real, only my imagination. It could still be that."

"This is different, Matthew. I know it is because I've seen a change in you," Mary shot back, sitting up a little straighter on the ground. "And...there's something else."

Matthew's eyes grew wide with a look that bordered dangerously on alarm. "What else?"

Again, Mary experienced a moment of doubt as she cast about in her thoughts for the right words to communicate what, only the previous morning, had been thought to be impossible.

"Twice this week, I felt your...your leg...twitch, or sort of spasm, while we were in bed."

At his disbelieving stare she quickly added, "I know I didn't imagine it, so don't you dare say that I did."

Matthew blinked rapidly again and swallowed audibly, his mind at war between processing this new information and shutting down entirely.

"Why don't we try something," Mary suggested, rising to her knees in readiness to tackle the task she'd just decided upon. "Close your eyes."

When Matthew only stared blankly at her, she reaffirmed, "close your eyes. Just... trust me."

Obediently, Matthew allowed his eyes to drift closed. "Now what?" he asked, confused, but trusting, as she had asked him to be.

"I want you, without peeking, to place your hand over mine." She placed one hand lightly on his right knee, her fingers caressing only very slightly as she watched his face for any sign of recognition. "Keep your eyes closed. Now, can you touch my hand?"

Matthew's brow furrowed. "Mary, I don't understand..." His eyes fluttered, and Mary was quick to reprimand him.

"Don't open them. Here..." She moved her hand slightly higher, onto the softer flesh of his thigh, and squeezed so firmly her fingers shook with the effort. To her relief, Matthew's lips parted in a little gasp. He felt it. "Now, place your hand over mine."

Matthew's hand trembled as he raised it from its place on the arm of his chair, almost afraid to hope that what he felt on his thigh was truly Mary's touch. Oh, how he had desired it! And now it was, possibly, hopefully, real. But what if he were wrong? What if his hand reached out and found only empty air? More heartache; more disappointment. But what if...?

It was only a slight thing. Just a hint of warmth and some dancing pin-pricks covering an area very easily the size of her feminine hand. He took one final, steadying breath before placing his hand firmly over hers. Simultaneous gasps of relief and awe filled the crisp air, and Matthew's eyes opened to reaffirm what his other senses already told him.

He had felt something! And it was real!

The evidence was unmistakably there before his eyes.

"You see, darling?" Mary laughed, a joyful smile lighting up her face, stealing Matthew's breath as it always did. Nothing, no matter how significant, would ever trump his wife's beauty for him. "You really are getting better!"

As if to reaffirm the truth of her words, a wave of tingles radiated from his lower back all the way down to his toes, making him grimace in discomfort. Never in his whole life had he been so pleased to be uncomfortable.

"Perhaps...It does seem..." he spoke falteringly, unable to find adequate words. "Oh, darling, does this mean...that we might...have children?"

Mary felt a rare blush warm her face as the thought truly took form in her mind for the first time since she'd heard the news. Soon, they might not only be lovers, but parents also. The thought made her strangely uneasy. There had almost been too many revelations for her to process. She could only imagine the effect such musings would have on Matthew if she allowed him to dwell on them for too long.

"It's far too early to think about that now. You have to get better first," she spoke cooly, glancing away for a moment to let her blush subside. "And I know you will," she added after a brief pause, turning her hand over to lace her fingers with his.

He knows! :D

If you have a moment, I'd love to know your thoughts on the chapter and on how Matthew will react after everything has a chance to sink in. Thanks for reading!