The next, gloomy day, Shrimpie's car arrives to take them to the hospital for Matthew's appointment. The chauffeur pulls up in front of the house and they get in the car, travel along the bumpy roads for several miles, and arrive in a pleasant, bustling town. The car pulls in front of a tall, probably once stately, but somewhat dilapidated looking building near the town's center.
Dr. Warren's office is one on the ground floor, and the receptionist ushers Mary, Matthew, and Isobel into a waiting room. Isobel absently pages through a newspaper, and Matthew watches intently. He has not read the news since they came to Scotland, and while he hates hearing about war, he needs to know how it is going.
"Mother," he whispers. There is no good reason for him to whisper but it just seems more appropriate in the waiting room setting. "What's going on in the war? And... how did Amiens turn out?"
Isobel looks up at him and her face pulls into a sort of half smile. "We won at Amiens decisively," she says evenly.
She expects Matthew to be happy at this news, but instead he frowns. "I got a letter from my commanding officer, just before we came here. He didn't mention the victory at all. He just talked about how many men they lost out there."
"Matthew..."
"I'm glad we're winning, of course I am. It's nice to know that I didn't fight and lose myself for nothing, but I can't help but wonder if any of this is worth it."
Mary places a hand on his uninjured knee. "That's the shellshock speaking."
"No..." Matthew says, quietly by adamantly. "It isn't." He looks away from his mother and Mary as much as he can. "I thought about a lot of this out there in the trenches. Wondering whether it was worth it to kill men just like me; fathers, sons, brothers, friends...they all belonged to someone. And they could just have easily taken my life as I took theirs. And we were shooting at each other for what? A land dispute? Nationalism? I didn't even know what I was fighting for, to be honest. But I couldn't say any of that, not out loud. I was an officer, a goddamn officer, and I was supposed to inspire these other men to go die for those same unclear reasons. I couldn't let them know that I didn't know what I was fighting for."
Mary stares at him with sad eyes. "But you fought, just like you were supposed to. And you came back to us."
"But was that what I was supposed to do? It all seems so futile now that I look back... it was just following orders."
"Which was the right thing to do in the situation," Mary assures him.
He presses his lips together and stares at the floor, unresponsive. Finally he turns away and murmurs, "I'm not sure it was."
The nurse mercifully saves Matthew from his dark thoughts by coming into the room and calling his name. "Are you ready to come back, Captain Crawley?" she asks.
Isobel helps him up and he follows the nurse out of the room.
Mary and Isobel remain behind.
"How do you think he'll manage when the war is over?" Mary asks. "Will it be better or worse?"
"I couldn't tell you," Isobel replies, "but hopefully better."
Matthew's words repeat themselves over and over in Mary's mind. I can't help but wonder if any of this was worth it. I didn't even know what I was fighting for. I'm not sure I was doing the right thing. And it reminds Mary of something else she has heard repeated over and over again. I deserve this. I deserve this. I deserve this.
It angers her because she knows Matthew doesn't deserve any of this, and she would give anything to stop this if she could. It surprises her, but the more she thinks about it, the truer it rings. Here she is, in the middle of Scotland, escaping from Downton and what she deserves; and it's to help him.
There's something satisfactory, or at least there would be, about suffering through the judgment and the glances at home, because she at least could have faced her mistake. She realizes she looks like a coward, and she is as good as admitting that she slept with Kemal Pamuk (and possibly killed him intentionally, although she doesn't seem to remember that bit), but she doesn't care. Because being up here, being here for Matthew, that is not cowardice.
It may look cowardly to be here and it may cause more struggles within society about the Pamuk case but she realizes that she is healing. For so long, Pamuk left an open wound on her heart and soul that never quite healed, try as she might to ignore it and bandage it. That night with Matthew... it finally tore the bandage off and while it was painful, she can feel it healing. She is healing.
If Matthew can help her, she certainly can help him.
There is resolve in her expression and her thoughts. She is here for him, and she will help him through his darkest thoughts, and as the war draws to a close she will draw him away from it.
Matthew will be okay.
She'll make sure of it.
The nurse comes out with a chart and a concerned expression on her pinched face. "You're Captain Crawley's family, correct?"
Isobel nods and holds out her hand. "Isobel Crawley, his mother. And this is Lady Mary Crawley."
"You're his wife?"
Mary tries to conceal her blush. "No, his cousin."
"Sorry," the nurse replies brusquely. She doesn't seem to care for her job, and her expression is dull as she begins to speak. "Dr. Warren wanted me to speak to you before he lets Captain Crawley go."
Isobel presses her lips together. "What is it?"
"The x-ray on his leg showed signs of healing but not as much as we would hope at this stage. The damage to the muscle from the bullet is also slow to repair, and his patellar tendon was nearly completely torn. Mrs. Crawley, Dr. Warren informs me you're also a nurse, so you should understand why this will be so difficult."
Isobel's eyes are blank, but she nods.
"In a few months, it should be healed enough for him to walk on, but it won't ever quite be the same, I'm afraid."
"Dr. Clarkson expected as much," Isobel whispers.
"Dr. Warren also advises that you not inform Captain Crawley of this; he appears to be rather... fragile. Which brings me to the other subject. Dr. Warren, as I'm sure he's told you, is no psychiatrist, but even the least experienced of medical professionals can see madness where it occurs. He says he admires your efforts to try and help Captain Crawley, but he'd like you to consider, perhaps... an asylum."
"No," Isobel says flatly.
The nurse rolls her eyes. "It's not as bad as you might think," she says, her Scottish accent coming out thick. "There's a few just for soldiers, and there's been some success."
"You're not giving my son electrical shocks, or cutting part of his brain out, or beating him until he can hardly respond and then saying he's better. Because none of that will make him better."
The nurse sighs. "Mrs. Crawley, with all due respect, I'm not sure you understand how dire your son's condition is. If you're not careful, he might hurt himself, or he might hurt you. Asylums are much better equipped to deal with that sort of thing."
"With all due respect, I am also a nurse and I happen to know my son better than any doctor. I know Matthew is still with us, I see him in there quite often. Just glimpses, usually, but sometimes there's more, and I'm reassured that my son is still there. No doctor, psychiatrist or otherwise, can convince me that Matthew is mad. Because he isn't. Not truly. Just damaged, and damage can heal over time."
Mary looks on, biting her lip anxiously as the nurse and Isobel stare each other down. Finally, the nurse relents. "Very well, I shall tell Dr. Warren you chose to ignore his suggestion. We will release Captain Crawley to you in a few minutes."
Isobel turns to Mary after the nurse leaves. "Does Dr. Warren really think..."
"I suppose so. Matthew... must have broken down," Mary says softly.
Matthew comes back into the waiting room looking just as gloomy as when he arrived, perhaps even worse.
Isobel asks him how it was, just casually, but he refuses to answer.
He doesn't say a word as the car travels toward the house. He simply stares out the window with his lips pressed together in a thin line. Completely silent.
When they get to the house, he takes a seat in a chair by a window in the library and places his book open in his lap, but does not read it. He stares out the window sullenly instead.
Isobel and Mary sit with him in his silence for a while, but after about an hour Isobel taps Mary on the wrist and they leave the room. "Let him be for now," Isobel says.
Mary agrees initially, but the waiting is hard. She spends perhaps an hour pacing around the house before deciding to go back into the library.
To her surprise, Matthew speaks.
His voice is so soft she doesn't hear it at first, she doesn't pay attention, but when she looks up she can see that he is trying to speak, whether to her or to nothing in particular. He stares out the window intently.
"I... I blew up on Dr. Warren today," he says softly, in a way that makes Mary wonder how the man sitting before her could ever have fought in a war and killed other human beings. His shellshock makes total sense considering the juxtaposition of who he is and what war is.
Mary doesn't say anything, but she moves closer to him. She touches his hand gently, imploring him to go on.
"He just reminds me of... There was this one commanding officer, I can't remember his name or his rank for the life of me, but he mostly sat behind a desk during the war and occasionally summoned lower officers to Paris to report and get orders and things like that. I know he was doing his job, but he was an arse."
Mary almost laughs; Matthew isn't one to use even the most mild of profanities, especially unapologetically, so she can imagine how much of an arse this officer was.
"One time, I was sent up to Paris in the middle of winter by the major over me to bring back plans and also to ask for further aid, specifically socks."
"Socks?" Mary interjects, if only to prove that she is intently listening.
Matthew seems to appreciate this, and he nods. "Yes, socks. Most men had an awful case of trenchfoot, and all of our socks were disgusting and filthy and cold and miserable. So socks were always a godsend, but this officer was disdainful of the request. He said, 'you're here to bring plans that will eventually save our country, not to shop at Selfridge's'. Of course, he was sitting behind a desk in a pristine office, well protected from the wind and rain roaring outside. And his socks were perfectly dry."
"So what did you do?"
"I took the plans and left," Matthew replies simply. "There was no point in arguing with him, he would continue to be an arse. I had some money with me, I went and bought socks for the men in my unit before going back."
He is too good, Mary thinks in admiration.
"Anyway, Dr. Warren reminded me of him, and all that pent up anger decided it was going to come out and so I spent a good portion of the time screaming at him... I thought he was the officer a few times, and even when I didn't, I was so angry that it didn't matter. I might have hurt him, if I was more mobile."
"And that's why the nurse suggested an asylum?"
Matthew's head snaps up and his eyes grow stormy. "Is that what they want to do with me?"
Mary stares at her feet, unable to look him in the eyes. "The nurse suggested it. Your mother was emphatically against it."
"I can't go to one of those places," he says, his voice dangerously low. "I know I'm unstable and broken and a burden and it's probably selfish of me to be so against it but I can't go to one of those. I've heard what they do there, and it's awful."
"I know it is, and you're not being sent to one of them."
Matthew is so, so vulnerable, almost close to tears, and seems so small and thin surrounded by pillows in the large armchair, his injured leg propped up. "I know I'm broken and maybe I am dangerous sometimes, but I can't... Despite everything, I still can think for myself and I don't want anyone to take that away from me."
"No one will," Mary whispers, placing a hand on his before she can even think about it. "I won't let them."
There is a silence between them, but neither moves their hand; both revel in the touch that seems so innocent yet brings them both together.
"I don't know how to fix things with Dr. Warren," Matthew says. "Both times I've met him have ended with me shouting at him."
"Let him do the orthopedic things, and we'll ask him to stay out of the shellshock business. We'll find you a psychiatrist who actually knows what they're talking about. We'll get you help, Matthew."
"You are help," he replies.
A few days off the usual schedule, but here we are! Thanks for your support, and if you could review it would make me very happy and inspired!