A/N: Thank you so much for reading and for the lovely reviews! And don't worry— I promise that this will be last chapter where Mary is completely insufferable!


Come Alive

Chapter Eighteen

The silence was deafening. For a several moments, no one was able to say anything. Mary's eyes flitted between the unfortunate trio that had intruded upon them. Thomas exuding something between discomfort and astonishment whereas Bertie looked as if he was hoping a hole would open up in the floor and swallow him.

But Edith... Edith looked as if she had been betrayed. Her hands were clenched, lips parted slightly as she bisected her attentions between Tom and Mary. It was her reaction that Mary was most afraid for, and it was evident to Mary that she had every reason to dread what her sister would have to say.

"Well," Edith said, finally breaking the silence and speaking directly to Mary, daggers in her gaze. "I suppose I know now why you were so upset over the phone."

Mary's eyes dropped to the floor, stomach churning. They'd been caught out... everyone knew.

"Edith—" began Tom, but he was cut off by her sister.

"I can't believe this! What on Earth has been going on?" Mary didn't dare look up, too afraid to see the inevitable look of disgust on her sister's face. "I would have thought better from you, Tom!"

That remark caused Mary's head to snap up right away. "What's that supposed to mean?" She demanded, on the defensive.

Before the fight could escalate further, Bertie jumped in. "Edith, perhaps we should go." He wrapped an arm around her waist. "I think it would be best if we could have a few moments apart— and then maybe we could discuss it later, once we've all calmed down."

"I think that would be best," Tom agreed before Mary could say anything— though what she would have said, Mary had no clue. She was rendered speechless— her worst fear had finally come true. She glanced over to Thomas, half hoping to find some sympathy, but instead finding a cold glare.

"Later, then." Bertie nodded, a nervous smile on his lips. He gently attempted to steer Edith along. "Let's go, Edith—"

"I really—" Edith began, before pausing, gaze flitting back and forth between Tom and Mary before she pursed her lips and stalked out, leaving Bertie behind and forcing him to hasten his gait.

"If you don't mind, I think I'll dismiss myself," Thomas said, breaking the awkward silence that sprung up in the wake of Edith and Bertie's departure. Mary was rooted to her spot, staring at the empty space occupied only moments ago by her sister.

"Of course," Tom said, not sounding as horrified or as shocked as he ought to be. "And I'm sorry, Thomas, that you've been— well, what I mean is—"

"That's Mr. Barrow to you." Mary didn't even need to glance over to see Thomas shooting a scorching glare Tom's way, but when she did it was as blistering as she imagined it would be. His slam of the door seemed to echo throughout the library.

Tom took a step towards her, hand outstretched, but she moved back. "Don't."

His hand lowered. She didn't dare look at him, unable and unwilling to look him in the eyes just now. "Mary—"

"No." It was all she could say. She knew this— this folly of theirs would be her downfall, deep down, but she never imagined it would happen so soon. She took another step back, eyes still glued to the floor. "Please— just don't. Not right now."

Tom took several steps back, an expression of hurt marring his features, but Mary could hardly bring herself to muster the sympathy in her own panicked state. "I know— I know it wasn't—"

"I need to be alone." The words fell out of her mouth before she even thought through it properly. Without sparing a glance his way, Mary was racing out of the bedroom, rushing to the servant's stairwell. It was blessedly vacant of another soul as Mary ran up the stairs, heart in her throat. She couldn't bear dealing with Edith, not now, and she doubted she would be able to summon enough strength to stop herself from crying.

When Mary reached her bedroom, she thought it would help. Instead, she felt more terrified and more alone than ever.

They had been found out.

Bertie and Edith knew about her and Tom.

Thomas knew about her and Tom.

And everybody hated her for it.

The tears came quickly. Mary collapses onto her bed, folding her body into a fetal position and letting the tears fall. Her life as she knew it was now over. Edith and Thomas would never look at her the same way... she was almost positive what little respect Bertie had for her had probably diminished as well.

Oh, God, what were Mama and Papa going to think? And what about Granny and Isobel?

Mary regretted not breaking things off when she still had the chance. It would have been a clearer end; the family would have never known and they could have slipped back into their lives as they had been before. Or better yet, they could have never started it in the first place.

Mary rolled on her back, tears still streaming down her face. She wondered what her life would have been like if she had simply put aside her feelings and married Henry Talbot. Would her life have been easier? Would she have been happier, even though he was a mere spark compared to Matthew's conflagration? Would it have been enough to keep her warm?

And that was the trouble— Tom was. Tom wasn't the same as Matthew in the slightest, but he had changed her life as irrevocably as Matthew had. He'd gone from the chauffeur to her brother-in-law to her best friend to her lover in the blink of an eye. He'd started out as someone who drove her around to dress fitting and Granny's for tea and now she had slept in the same bed as him each night.

When had it all changed? Where was the moment where things were altered so completely? Mary strained back as far as she could but there was no moment that she could pinpoint. Everything blurred together.

A dull, painful throbbing had begun in Mary's temples and she reached for her pillow, burying her face and content to hide from the world for as long as possible.


Two hours had passed before Mary was willing to emerge from the solace of her room. Truth be told, she didn't want to leave, but the four walls of her bedroom were starting to feel confining and there was little do but page through books that she couldn't concentrate on.

Still, Mary wasn't ready to face Edith yet... or Tom. So with light steps, Mary moved through the hallways until she came to the staff stairwell and closed the door behind her.

She didn't really know who she was seeking out— maybe Anna, with her infinite wisdom and never-ending kindness— but Mary knew at some point she would need to face Thomas.

When Mary reached the bottom of the stairwell, she spied into the servant's hall. Andy was seated at the table, polishing the silver. One of the hall boys was helping him out, but otherwise the room was empty. Stepping lightly, Mary walked down the hallway, not wanting to draw anyone's attention.

As Mary approached the boot room, she heard voices. Two distinct voices, to be precise. "—never seen him like this," Jimmy said, a sigh in his voice. Mary held her breath. "I tried to explain myself, but—"

"Just give him some time," Anna offered helpfully. Mary heard the sound of something being set down on a table. "I'm sure that's all he'll need. Just some time and space."

"I feel so bloody useless," Jimmy professed. "I mean— I came here because— because Lady Mary said that... oh, never mind." She heard a thudding sound, like a foot coming into contact with a table leg.

"You can tell me if you want to, Jimmy. I won't tell anyone else."

He let out a sigh. "It's just— well, she said Thomas needed a friend. She said he'd gone through a rough time since I'd been gone and she thought I could help him." He paced the room. "But I feel like I ruined all that now! He's mad I was keeping things from him! I just— well, it wasn't my secret to tell, and I didn't want to upset anyone but now I have! What's the point in me even being here if he doesn't even want me an— as a friend anymore? How can I help him?"

"Jimmy, you just being here is helping Thomas," Anna insisted, and Mary heard her footsteps cross the room. "He was in a dark place for a while and none of us could see it. Before then, I think we all thought he didn't care about us. That he didn't care about Downton. But we see him now for what he really is." There was a pause before she concluded, "But you always have, Jimmy. I don't know what happened when you were here before but you've always been his best friend. And now that you're back home, he's happier than I've seen him in ages."

There was a long, stagnant silence. "What sort of dark place?"

"I think you'd better ask him about that."

Good thinking, Anna, Mary thought.

There was a choked noise. "Oh, Jimmy," she heard Anna say, just as he let out a sob.

Figuring now was the best time to go, Mary resumed her gait, walking past the boot room quickly. Mary caught a glimpse of Anna with her arms wrapped around Jimmy, almost maternally, as he cried into her shoulder. They were both too distracted to notice her slipping by.

When she finally reached Thomas's door, Mary figured there was no sense in prolonging this purgatory. It was time to face her judgement. She rapped thrice on the door before hearing a, "Come in."

Thomas was hunched over his desk, pen in hand and staring at his ledger. Once she entered the room, his gaze seemed to darken. "Is there anything you require, milady?" He asked, impersonal and formal as he sat up straight in his chair.

Her mind was a blank, hurt overriding her sensibilities. What could she say? I'm so sorry that you walked in on me kissing my dead sister's husband, won't happen again? It was too trite— but a regular apology should do it, shouldn't it? But when she opened her mouth, she instead said, "Jimmy is crying."

That snapped Thomas out of it. "What?" His eyes flickered towards the door and she knew he was probably half ready to tear through the house.

"I was coming down here to speak to you when I overheard him talking to Anna," Mary continued, not certain why she was doing this. It had nothing to do with their rift, not really— but it was solid proof that Jimmy really did care. "He's upset because you were angry with him earlier. He wants to help you, Thomas."

There was a moment of concern— obviously for Jimmy— but in a moment, that all vanished. "I don't know if you really should be lecturing me on personal relationships," Thomas sneered, rising to his feet.

Mary couldn't deny that the remark stung. "I suppose I deserve that."

"Can I ask you something?" Before Mary could reply, Thomas demanded, "Did you think about Lady Sybil at all? Or we you only ever thinking about yourself?"

It felt as if something had cleaved her in half just then. His words echoed the things she'd been telling herself for weeks. "Of course I have," she said in a whisper, her eyes growing teary. She had to blink rapidly to keep them contained. "I think of Sybil constantly. And Matthew."

Thomas was silent, his injured hand resting on the desk. After a moment, he asked, "It wasn't the first time that's happened, has it? What I saw in the library?"

Mary shook her head, unable to speak. It was as painful and as dreadful as she had feared this moment would be.

"How long, then?"

A sharp, nasty voice in her head reminded her that Thomas was her servant and that she didn't have to answer to him. Mary ignored it. "It's hard to say... but since New Year, I suppose." That was when things were laid out, when things were concrete.

Thomas nodded, lips drawn into a fine line. "Why?"

"Why what?"

Thomas fixed her with a glare. "Why him?" He took a step back from the desk, saying, "I've worked here for years and I've seen all the men who flock here just because of you. Tony Gillingham, Evelyn Napier," he listed off, numbering each name with his fingers, "Charles Blake, Henry Talbot... and these are just the one's who have been here since Mr. Crawley died. Why him?"

There were a number of reasons why, all of them boiling down being not what Mary wanted. She could dissect each of these relationships and explain why they hadn't worked or how these men fell short of her expectations, but for the life of her, she couldn't answer his real question: Why Tom?

"He's— he's my best friend," she began, feebly and without confidence.

Thomas let out a snort before saying, "That's funny. I don't kiss my best friend." The smirk that had fixed itself on his face was no more when Mary arched an eyebrow and he quickly amended, "Well, not anymore."

Sensing the mood had lightened slightly, she felt less pressure and a need for candor. "I don't know. I'm not sure why it happened and I'm not sure how, either. I just know that— that when I'm with Tom... he understands." She met Thomas's eyes. "He knows what it's like, what I've gone through. Our lives are nearly identical in some ways. But—" she felt a lump in her throat, "— he makes things easier. I don't feel..."

Thomas waited, quiet until the silence stretched out for ten seconds. "You don't feel what?"

"I don't feel so alone." The tears were at the surface now. She valiantly battled them back but she knew it was senseless to fight the war. "I can forget how alone I feel."

Gone were Thomas's sneers and snide remarks. He leaned against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. After a moment or so, he asked, "Then why hide that?"

Mary wasn't expecting that response. A tear fell down her cheek as she jerked her head up. "What?"

"If that's how you feel, why would you bother hiding that?" Thomas challenged. He raised his eyebrows. "I take it Lord and Lady Grantham have no idea?"

Mary shook her head. "Nobody knew about us. Not until today."

"So I suppose that's my point," Thomas mused aloud. "If you feel that way, then why bother hiding it?" He uncrossed his ankles. "If— if I didn't have to worry about prison, I wouldn't hide how I felt. If I could tell the world who I was and who I loved—" his voice stuttered before he continued, "— I wouldn't keep it a secret." When Mary remained silent, mulling over his words, he asked, "Do you love him?"

The mere thought of the word sent an electric shock through her body. "No!" She cried out immediately, horrified. "Not like that!" She insisted— after all, Tom was still her friend, her— her brother-in-law... Her heart pounded in her chest, as if she was in the midst of pulling off a heist to steal the Crown Jewels.

Thomas nodded. "So I think you know what you have to do now, don't you?"

"You think I should end it."

Thomas shrugged. "It doesn't matter what I think. It's your life. I'm just a servant."

Mary shook her head. "You're wrong. You aren't just a servant. You're my friend, Thomas." Thomas seemed embarrassed by her words but he couldn't stop the small smile from forming.

"All the same, it has to be your decision," he emphasized again, drumming his fingertips against the top of his desk. After a pause, he said, "I don't dislike Mr. Branson. I treated him badly in the past but he gave me a chance to redeem myself when I was his valet. He's a good man... but in my eyes he's still Lady Sybil's husband." Mary felt her mouth go dry. "I'd have a hard time accepting any woman who tried to replace her. Even if it was you." Thomas met her eyes. "I would try, if that's what would make you happy. But based on what you've told me..." he trailed off.

Mary studied the floor. "I just— I don't want to upset him. I think he's more invested in this than I am." Even as she said it, she knew she was lying— Tom did care more than she did.

"You aren't doing him any favors by leading him on," Thomas pointed out. "If it isn't meant to be, you need to end it. Before anyone really gets hurt."

He was right. Mary let out a shaky sigh. "Thank you, Thomas. I needed someone to talk some sense into me," she said, certain of what needed to happen, but her voice wavering all the same.


After concluding her conversation with Thomas, Mary found that she needed a breath of fresh air. She left through the door in the servant's hall that lead to the courtyard, only stopping to say hello to a pink nosed Jimmy who was mending a button on one of Tom's dinner jackets at the table. From the courtyard she ventured to the lawn, where she was greeted by a soft zephyr and lush green grass.

Mary's feet lead her across the estate she loved, the familiar sight's numbing her mind from the reality she faced. Soon, Mary found herself at the temple of Diana, stepping in between the ionic pillars to gaze at Downton.

As much as she pained to admit it, Thomas had been right. Mary had allowed things to progress further than they really should have and now she would suffer the consequences... or rather, her and Tom would.

Mary cursed herself. How could she have been so foolish? What her and Tom had before this whole torrid affair was something invaluable— and she had destroyed it. And what for? Her desires of the flesh? One would have thought that she would have learned from her previous mistakes. History had proved these things never ended well for her and yet she had ignored her knowledge for the comfort of Tom's arms and a few nights of bliss... and the euphoria of his kisses...

Mary paused. There was nothing more to this... was there? She thought back to Thomas's question: Do you love him? She'd recoiled upon hearing it but... did she? Did she love him... like that?

The same reflexive voice that had caused her to shout "No!" was incurring the same response inside her mind, but Mary forced herself dwell upon it.

She enjoyed spending time with Tom; in fact, nearly all her happiest moments of the past few months were spent in his company. She was attracted to him— she found herself transfixed by his vibrant blue eyes, his smooth chest, the sound of his voice in her ear... but most importantly, she felt something with him that she had never felt around anyone else. He understood her; he knew her and yet he didn't hate her. It was like a part of her soul had been returned to her.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. When had things changed? This wasn't how it had always been— he had been their chauffeur for a start, someone she had barely given a second thought to, the next moment he was a member of their family. A wrinkle appeared in her brow as she thought back to his first visit back to Downton after he and Sybil had married: uncomfortable, defensive, and practically an outsider. But in the months that followed Sybil's death, he'd found his place amongst them all. Sybbie has helped bridge the gap between him and Papa but even before her birth, Mary had felt this need to help him assimilate to a new way of life— their life.

Nonsense, she scolded herself. She hadn't been thinking about Tom in that light, not when Matthew was living and breathing beside her. But after his death... when had it happened? Was it during long walks around the estate to learn all she needed to know in order to run Downton by his side? Had it happened in between her romances with Tony and Charles or was it sometime after the dust had settled? She'd missed him terribly during his time in Boston, heart aching each time she remembered he was away. His absence had been more than just a lack of a barrier between her and Edith— it had been its own form of torture. There was no one she could whisper sly remarks to, no one who could appreciate anecdotes from her childhood with the same amount of mirth, or impart advice into George's upbringing. She'd been her own island.

His return to Downton had meant things were finally right again, finally the way things ought to be. Home finally felt like home once more.

But what with Henry in the picture, life had grown too chaotic. She'd enjoyed her brief fling but Henry was too adventurous for her.

If she had stayed with him and been able to put her grief aside, she would have been doomed to a marriage with a man who loved the thing she feared most. Even if he had given up racing for her sake, the thing that had been responsible for Matthew's untimely demise would have still dominated a part of her life.

Tom loved cars as well; he also loved Downton, their family, his daughter, politics... so much of Henry's identity had been tied to his daring career. But Mary knew multiple facets of Tom: the chauffeur, the revolutionary, the friend, the lover, her partner...

Mary let out a sigh, closing her eyes and leaning the back of her head against the pillar. She remembered their first fateful kiss, clear in her mind as it had been the day it happened. How had a declaration regarding her lack of desire to marry again resulted in all this?


Mary was in the midst of climbing up the grand staircase when she heard Bertie's voice call out to her. "Glad I caught you," he said, half jogging down the steps as she froze on the first the landing. There was no judgement in his eyes, but Mary couldn't help but feel wary. God, what must he think of her? At this rate, Bertie was probably glad that he lived at Brancaster and far away from Mary with her kissing Tom and ruining engagements out of spite. "Edith's calmed down a bit now. I think she's ready sit down and talk things over properly."

Mary felt as if her insides were ice. Oh, God... she wasn't prepared for this. Not yet. "I understand," she said, ignoring her personal feelings, "but I really think I must speak to Tom first, before we all try to..." she trailed off.

Bertie nodded fervently. "Yes, of course! I suppose you would..." He cleared his throat. "I suppose I feel sort of silly now, not noticing it before." He let out a nervous chuckle.

Mary's eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"I mean... It seems so obvious. Now." Bertie offered her a smile. "You two. You and Tom."

"I would have thought it the exact opposite," Mary said, confused as to how he had arrived at this conjecture... and whether or not it had been terribly obvious to plenty of others. Her mind strayed to Anna, who had no doubt picked up onto something...

"Oh, dear. I'm afraid I'm not explaining myself properly," Bertie stammered. "What I mean to say is— well, plenty of great loves come from friendship. That's how it was for my parents." He offered her a small smile. "They went to the same school when they were children and by the time they were adults, they'd fallen in love."

Mary gave him what she hoped was a polite smile. It was a nice story, but unfortunately Bertie was misinterpreting things— though, given what he had witnessed only a few hours prior, it was hardly a wonder.

"I think it's nice," he continued, oblivious to Mary's discomfort. "That you two have found love again with one another."

There was that word again: Love. Mary couldn't help but feel lightheaded when he said it. It wasn't love—

"I know never had a chance to know Matthew... or Sybil, sadly," Bertie said, dropping his head. "But Edith's told me about them and how wonderful they were... and how devastated you and Tom were after they passed on. But to know that you each pulled through it and found a partner in someone you can confide in... well, that's really quite lovely, isn't it?" Bertie offered her another smile. "It might take Edith a bit of time to adjust to everything but— well, no matter what anyone else in this family thinks, I'll support you two."

Mary couldn't believe what she was hearing. Was he mad or just incredibly kind? And... could they really—

But her conversation with Thomas had made things clear. She didn't love Tom in that way and it was unfair to continue on this path. So she said, "Thank you, Bertie. That's— that's very kind of you to say. Do you know where I might find Tom?"

"He might be in his bedroom. I caught him earlier and we had a chat. I told him I was about to find you, actually."

"Thank you," Mary said again and walked down the hallway. She weaved through the familiar halls before coming to the bachelor's corridors. You're doing the right thing, she reminded herself, before stopping in front of Tom's door.

Mary held her breath before knocking three times against the door. There was a finality to the gesture— she would never do this ever again. It was the end of an era, really. "Come in!"

She twisted the door knob, finding Tom standing by the window. When he caught sight of her, he smiled. Her heart ached at the sight. "I was wondering when you'd be here," he murmured as she closed the door behind her. For whatever reason, Mary found herself unable to tear her eyes away from him. "I saw you walk back up to the house. I figured sooner or later you'd be here."

Mary didn't know how to respond to that. However, the moment he stepped too close to her, his hand stretching out to clasp hers, she backed away. Tom froze, lips parted, hand still in the air. "We need to talk."

Tom's hand fell as he swallowed, diverting his gaze to the floor. "I suppose we do."

Mary inhaled deeply as Tom took his seat on the edge of his bed. He gestured toward the empty space beside him, but she shook her head. You can do this, Mary told herself. You have to do this.

"Tom," she began, "these last few months have been... they've meant a lot to me. I won't deny it." And how could she deny it? "But we both knew this day coming... I wish it hadn't happened this way, but it's time to end this." She didn't dare look at him, instead staring down at her shaking hands. "We can explain to Edith and Bertie that they caught us in a moment of weakness but that it shan't happen again and hopefully we can move on with our lives as it was before."

She glanced at Tom, hoping for resigned agreement. He was always so reasonableness and surely he would be able to see things her way... but instead she found him leaned forward, hands together in front of his mouth, muscles tense. "So that's it?" He asked, looking up at her. "You're giving up on us?"

Us. The simple word took Mary by surprise. She hadn't thought of them as an us. "We need to be sensible, Tom," she replied levelly. "You saw how Edith was. We cannot risk upsetting the family."

Tom rose to his feet. "Will you stop thinking about everyone else for a moment? It doesn't matter what Edith thinks, or any other member of this family! What do you want to do, Mary?"

"It doesn't matter what I want!" Mary cried out. "This about more than just you and I! We are in charge of running Downton and certain things are expected of us!"

"How is this about more than us, Mary?" There it was again— that us. He took a step closer towards her, cheeks pink. "The problem is that you care so much about what other people think that you won't allow yourself to be happy! You'd rather be miserable your entirely life as long as everyone thought you were perfect!"

"I'm not miserable—" Mary began, only to be cut off by Tom.

"And you aren't perfect, either." The words would have sounded harsh if he hadn't followed them up with, "And neither am I. If anyone expects us to be, they're fools because we aren't meant to be. We are human beings, Mary. And we have every right to be happy, even if it means we upset some people along the way."

"So am I supposed to— supposed to be selfish?" Her voice had started to waver, driven breathless by his speech. "To do whatever I please, and damn the consequences? Because anytime I've done that, you've been cross with me, and rightly so." She turned sideways, unable to face him as she continued, "Do you know how many times I have ruined Edith's life because I did whatever I wished? And now that we are finally on good terms, you want me to do the same thing all over again and make her hate me?"

"Edith's life won't be ruined because we are together!" Tom exclaimed, marching so that he was facing her again. "This isn't the same thing as ruining her engagement and you know it! We've done nothing wrong except care about each other! What is so wrong about that?"

Things were boiling over. "What do you mean what is wrong with that? Have you forgotten that you were married to my sister?" Mary demanded.

As true as it was, Mary half regretted saying it when Tom froze up. She watched as his lips pressed into a thin line as he breathed deep. After a pregnant silence, he said, "You know I haven't. I loved Sybil very much."

"Then you'll know why we could never carry on."

"This isn't about Sybil— and it isn't about Matthew, either," Tom added, the mere mention of his name feeling like a dagger to the chest. It was a low blow, but she supposed she had already dealt one to Tom. "It's about you and me."

Mary felt like beating her head against a wall. "What does it matter? We had our fun, but you cannot honestly tell we were ever going to last!" Her words were half pleading, even though she feared his answer would be different, "The best thing we can do is accept it and try and carry on with our lives!"

Mary knew her suspicions were correct when she saw Tom's face. She might as well have struck him by the look of incredulity. She was reminded of that morning in London, when she had said their night together was a mistake... the way he had begged her... "So that's all this has been to you? Fun?" The last word was somewhere between despair and a sneer. He turned around, pacing the floor. Mary felt horrid. "Well, you could have fooled me."

A traitorous part of her brain wanted to sooth the wounds she had just inflicted upon him. "Tom... I care about you. Very much. And I... for whatever reason, I've felt myself drawn to you. But the truth is that I cannot carry on with this—" she struggled to find the right word before settling on, "—this charade any longer. It isn't fair to you or me."

Tom paused where he stood, fixing his eyes on the back wall. He didn't move an inch. Mary waited for him to speak but when he remained silent, she continued, "Someday, you'll meet a lovely woman and you'll bring her back to Downton to be your wife. And if we keep this up any longer, that shall never happen." She ignored the pinpricks behind her eyes, trying to stop herself from recalling Edith's words over the telephone.

"And where will you be?" She wasn't expecting his question. "When I'm bringing this wife of mine to Downton?"

"Here. Managing the estate." All alone.

"No husband?"

"I told you that I didn't want to marry again," she reminded him gently, trying to ignore the pain those words brought her now. When she had made her resolution, she had been living in a fantasy land where Tom would never stray far from them and she wouldn't have to worry about being by herself... come to think of it, Edith had still been at Downton at the time. But now she would be doomed to a life of solitude, save for the presence of Mama and Papa and George. Even Thomas had Jimmy now, in some capacity.

He let out a laugh at that— a mirthless one. It sounded almost more like a cry. "That's right. You did."

"Do you understand now?" Mary pleaded. A part of her was relieved that he wasn't looking at her, knowing she would see nothing but his pain, but she also wanted to ensure he understood what was happening.

He turned around slowly, a myriad of emotions playing out, too complex and complicated for her to begin identifying. "If that's how you felt this whole time, then why bothering carrying on with this charade, as you call it?"

How could she answer him when she was confused herself? "I don't know!" She found herself exclaiming, already upset with herself for reacting so largely— especially when his question was a perfectly rational one. Why had she done this? It was the question that she had kept avoiding for months now. Frustrated and searching for someone else to blame, she demanded, "Why did you pursue things when I told you how I felt?"

"You were the one who kissed me on New Year's, Mary!" Tom said, his voice finally reaching a louder volume. "I thought that you must have changed your mind!"

"But why me?" Why her, of all people? She was far from a saint, she didn't want to get married, and she was his sister-in-law... why not Laura Edmunds, Edith's pretty editor, who had clearly been mad about him? What about Miss Bunting— she had been perfectly awful but Tom had liked her company. Why would he pick her, the cold and careful Lady Mary, of all people? "Do I remind you of her? Of Sybil?"

Tom didn't even hesitate before exclaiming, "No!"

"Then why me?"

The room grew silent for a moment. Mary half thought he wouldn't answer. Then, quietly, he said, "Because you're one of the strongest women I've ever met. Because you are clever, so clever that you could run Downton blindfolded with your hands behind your back. Even though it's hard for you, you do what you can to be the best possible mother for George. You learned how to drive a car, even though it scared you, because you were so determined to conquer your fear."

Mary felt uncomfortable under his praise. It was one thing for gentlemen to fawn over her for her looks— that was something that was familiar— but instead he praised her mind and her spirit.

"You don't eat the crusts on your toast and sneak them to Tiaa when you think no one is looking," said Tom, not losing a beat. "You can be so... so nasty sometimes, but it isn't who you really are. The real Mary has a big heart, even though she'll never admit it. You can be so unbelievably kind and gentle when you want to be. And you're my best friend."

Her mouth was dry. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Because I'm in love with you!" Mary was certain she had misheard. Surely... he couldn't have said that. But Mary realized shortly that she hadn't misheard when Tom, stunned and looking frightened, said yet again, "I'm in love with you, Mary. I have been for a while now. For years, if I'm being honest."

That's not possible, she thought, but she was speechless. Out of all the things she had considered, somehow that was the last thing on her mind. Tom look terrified beyond words but still stood there, unwavering. A conversation from so long ago floated through her mind.

Why are you interfering?

Because I love you and I want you to be happy!

"Then why were you determined to marry me off to Henry Talbot all those months ago?" Mary countered, feeling as if she had uncovered something. What he was saying was impossible, it couldn't be true...

"Because I figured you would never even consider us a possibility!" Tom cried out. "And I didn't want you to be miserable the rest of your life!"

None of this made any sense. Mary felt as if the room had tipped itself on an axis, spinning wildly out of control. Tom, somehow oblivious to her plight, continued, "When I left Downton for Boston, I did it because of you. I thought— I was certain you would never feel the same way I do. I knew you were looking to marry again, what with Tony Gillingham and Charles Blake... so I thought I would be happier if I could get away. But I was miserable, Mary. There was only one other time in my life where I felt so low."

He didn't need to say what that worst time had been. She had been present for that, watching as he roamed the halls with that dead look in his eyes, cradling baby Sybbie in his arms.

"But I couldn't do it," he continued, oblivious to her horror over this situation. "It was killing me, Mary. I came back because I realized that even though it would hurt to see you happy with someone else, it was far better than not seeing you at all."

She was speechless for maybe the first time of her life. What his was saying made no sense and yet added clarity at the same time. His abrupt return, his misguided attempts and earnest insistence upon Henry Talbot as a way to prevent her from being lonely...

"Mary," Tom said, now pleadingly. "I know you must feel the same way. You're fighting it, and I—" he gulped, "—I understand why. I know it's not conventional and some might not think it proper, but loving each other isn't wrong. Just stop thinking about everyone else—" he crossed the room, holding out his hand for her to take, "—and I promise we can brave whatever comes."

The room was silent and still but inside Mary's head, everything was screaming. Panicked and overwhelmed, her gaze darted from Tom's hand to his eyes and back again. Each time she met his eyes, all she saw was his own resolve fading, more and more disheartened the longer she remained quiet. At long last, she managed to choke out, "I can't," before promptly turned around, feet leading her to the door.

"Wait! Mary!"

She didn't stop, racing down the stairs as fast as her legs could carry her. It was strange, to think she was fleeing her own house, but Mary wasn't even able to think. Instinct lead her down the stairs, even as Tom called after her, and she raced outside.

Mary ran to the garage, where Pratt was busy looking under the hood of Papa's Renault. "Lady Mary!" He exclaimed upon spotting her, resurfacing from the bowels of the vehicle. "Do you require me to take you somewhere?"

"No, that's alright, Pratt," she found herself saying, eyes roving over all the cars housed within the confines of the garage. "I can drive myself."

Less than a minute later, Mary was pulling out of the garage in the Sunbeam. Her nerves were shot but she needed to leave her— maybe only just for an hour or two— but she needed to regain her composure away from the prying eyes of everyone in the Abbey. Before she reached the end of the driveway, she spotted Tom in the rear view mirror stepping outside. She accelerated immediately, kicking up gravel as she did so and determined to put more distance between them. Even if he wanted to follow her in another one of the cars, she could have a head start.

When she reached the gates, Mary hesitantly turned in the direction of the village. Perhaps she could order herself a pint at the Grantham Arms to clear her head...

Golly, had that all really happened? Had Tom confessed his love for her? Now that she was removed from the situation, it was all the more mystifying to her. Mary had figured that he was... well, more invested in this than she was, but she had never stopped to consider that it might have been love.

And how could she have? As far as Mary was aware, he had wanted her to marry Henry Talbot. If it hadn't been for her putting her foot down and telling Granny how she really felt, perhaps she might've been Mrs. Henry Talbot. And then (if what Tom was saying was true), he would have been forced to watch her have Henry's babies and dote upon him and all that... just so he could be certain she wouldn't be as lonely and as sad as he was.

Mary pursed her lips. Tom was far more selfless than her if that was what he truly felt. For heaven's sakes, she was the one crying her eyes out at the mere suggestion he might leave them to find a wife.

Or... was she upset about him leaving them, or him leaving her?

Nonsense, thought Mary, turning as she reached a curve. She had already established earlier with Thomas that she was notin love... after all, what she had with Tom was nothing like being with Matthew.

But Mary's mind began to wander. Tom had said she bore no resemblance to Sybil in his mind, that his feelings were unique. Granny had said, all those months ago, that she would never love anyone again like she had loved Matthew... but that didn't necessarily mean she couldn't grow to love another.

It was mad— ludicrous, even— but Mary allowed herself to entertain the possibility. Just for a moment. What would it be like, had she surrendered to him, damned all the consequences? Bertie would be on her side— no, their side, even if no one else was.

But even if she did— and she wasn't even certain if she was— was she even worthy? Tom had been willing to sacrifice a lifetime's worth of happiness to ensure she wasn't lonely... he was kind and gentle, not brusque and cold like herself. He wasn't a snob, he didn't believe in following the rules— he was so unlike her in every way. How could he see anything good in her when she couldn't find anything good in herself?

He cannot possibly feel that way, thought Mary, blinking rapidly. Whatever Tom felt, it couldn't be that. It seemed impossible to her. All those things he'd said...

Before Mary could contemplate any further, something black and white moved across the road. It was a small Dalmatian puppy, ambling to the other side of the road before it stopped in the middle to scratch its floppy ear. "Spot, no!" A little girl with ribbons in her hair ran into the road as well, chasing after him, oblivious or uncaring that Mary was approaching them. There was no time to brake; only time to crank the wheel. The Sunbeam lurched forward towards a large oak tree and Mary heard a scream before the front of the car hit it with a sickening crunch. She lurched forward, dimly aware of the sound of broken glass and a pain in her arm before everything faded into darkness.


A/N: She's okay, I promise!