It is nice, Mary has to admit, to be out of the sterile, bright confines of the hospital. She steps out of the car and is happy to see Anna open the door.

"Anna! Could you possibly draw me a bath?" she asks. "I feel like I haven't washed myself for days."

Anna nods, then inquires, "How is Mr. Crawley?"

Mary shakes her head. "No one will tell me anything, but from what I can gather, not so good. It was hard to tear myself away, Isobel practically forced me to come here."

"We've all been praying for him, back here," Anna says earnestly. "While I'm drawing your bath, you might want to see, there's a package on the table for Mr. Crawley. You might want to see what's in there, considering..."

Anna doesn't fill in the rest, but Mary understands. What happened with the last package.

"Yes, of course. Thank you, Anna."

Mary enters the dining room and sees a small box, with a letter on top of it, again from Major Hawthorn.

Crawley,

Somebody, I'm not sure who, brought this back into the trench. They weren't sure what to do with it, but obviously, the rest of the men who have been around for a while immediately recognized it as yours. We knew how important it was to you, so I made sure to send it to you as soon as possible, although I doubt it will come with your other things. But the important thing is that it gets back to you. You called it your good luck charm, and I certainly hope its return will bring you luck in your recovery. God bless you, Crawley.

Hawthorn

Mary is incredibly curious as to what is in the package. Surely it couldn't be the dog, Matthew wouldn't have held on to that little thing...

She opens the box.

She comes face to face with her favorite childhood toy.

Her eyes fill as she turns it over and over again. It has clearly been cleaned, crudely, but still, cleaned. And without a scratch. Just as she asked him too.

But he had not come back without a scratch.

Mary blinks back tears as she thinks of him, fighting for his life.

She has to bring the dog back to him.

She calls Shrimpie's chauffeur on the phone and arranges to be picked up and driven to the hospital at the earliest possible hour of the morning.

She doesn't let go of the dog all night. She needs some of its strength before giving it to Matthew.

Mary is up and ready when it is still dark out, and Shrimpie's car comes rumbling up the driveway. The little dog is in her hand, and her grip on it is iron. She will not let go.

She gets in the car and requests that the chauffeur drive to the hospital as fast as possible. This is, of course, a very bumpy ride, but Mary can't bring herself to care. She just needs to be by Matthew's side as fast as possible.

She doesn't even bother speaking to anyone who greets her at the hospital door, instead rushing straight to Matthew's room. Isobel is asleep in the chair in his room when she arrives there, and Matthew, too is asleep, although his sleep is clearly not peaceful. Mary tiptoes in, hoping not to disturb either of them. She puts a gentle hand to Matthew's forehead, and grimaces to realize that his fever is still high. She glances back at Isobel to ensure that she is still asleep, and gently presses a kiss to his forehead, and slips the dog into his hand. "Without a scratch," she whispers, holding onto his hand.

Everything is quiet, silent, and Mary holds onto his hand for much longer than necessary, not wanting to let go for fear that he might slip away from her.

"You're back early," she hears from behind her. Mary panics when she turns around and sees Isobel awake. Did Isobel hear her? Did Isobel see her kiss him?

Isobel gives no indication of any of this, however. Instead, she gets up slowly from the chair and looks at her son, her eyes sad. "He hasn't improved."

"He just needs a few more hours," Mary says. What is she saying? She has no medical expertise; no one at the hospital will listen to her. But she knows, she just knows, and the dog will do its job and no way can she allow them to take away his leg when she knows he will get better. "Don't let them amputate. Not yet."

Isobel sighs and puts a hand on Mary's shoulder. "Mary, I know this is hard, but this may be the only way to save his life. And if we don't do it soon, he could die from it. And I'm not ready to lose my son..."

Mary hears the fear in Isobel's voice, and her heart clenches at the thought of losing Matthew. But she is right, she knows for sure, and they can't do this. Not yet.

"Give him a few more hours," Mary begs.

"Mary, I'm sorry, but you're not in a position to determine that."

Mary looks at the floor. Her reasoning is stupid, she knows, but the dog will bring him through. "When I went back to the house yesterday, there was a package there containing a little dog. My dog. I gave it to Matthew for luck, he lost it during that last battle, but his commanding officer found it and sent it back. I brought it to him today, and I know it sounds stupid but you need to give it a chance. I told him to bring it back without a scratch and he did. If only he had come back without a scratch..."

Isobel's eyes grow even sadder, which Mary almost didn't believe was possible. "I hope you're right."

"I hope so too," Mary says.

When Dr. Warren comes around and inspects Matthew, offering yet another one of his frowns that has become so familiar to Mary and Isobel, he says that it is very likely amputation would be necessary today. Isobel asks him to go through his rounds before fully deciding. The doctor does not seem happy with this arrangement, but eventually concedes.

To Isobel's surprise, Matthew's fever begins to go down. Afterwards, Mary claims it went down from the moment the dog touched his hand. She isn't sure of this at all, of course, but she likes to think she's right.

As Matthew's fever falls, his sleep goes from fitful to peaceful, and he seems to finally relax. Finally.

And Mary finally breathes.

Every few minutes, Isobel puts her hand on Matthew's forehead again. She can't quite believe it. Every time, she fears that the reprieve is short and his fever will go up again. But it stays down, and with every touch, Isobel seems to calm.

Mary touches the little dog a few times, offering silent thanks that he is okay.

Dr. Warren comes back, to a silent but calm room.

"It's gone down," Isobel says, her voice breathy and her eyes filling. "It might be gone by now."

Dr. Warren doesn't do a good job of hiding his surprise. "Really?" he says. He touches Matthew's forehead, then takes his temperature with a thermometer. "Indeed, he's very nearly back to normal now."

"Does that mean the infection is gone?" Mary asks. She hasn't realized it, but she's holding onto the dog which is still in Matthew's hand.

The doctor purses his lips. "For the moment, it would appear the body has overwhelmed it. However, it could easily crop up again within the next few days. And he will be very weak. He's not in the clear yet."

But for all the doctor's dark talk, Mary is assured that he will get better.

She sits in a chair by his side for the hours it takes him to wake up. Her hand touches him the whole time, and her eyes rarely leave his peaceful face. It is so nice to see it peaceful. Sure, it is aged and scarred and there seems to still be tension in his features even as he sleeps, but his face is so much more peaceful than it is when he is awake.

He will wake, she assures herself. But the thought of this scares her. The last time she talked to Matthew, really talked to Matthew, was that night before he got ill. The night after he attempted to kill himself. The night they realized... there is still love.

How do they deal with his suicide attempt now? Mary is sure, had he not gotten ill, that the few days after she found him would be difficult emotionally, having to sort through what led him to that point. But those few days are gone now, missing time, and she isn't sure where to start again. They need to talk about it, of course. She has not mentioned it to Dr. Warren, and neither has Isobel. They had not discussed it, but both silently agreed that Dr. Warren would hurt Matthew more than help him if he found out.

But now Matthew has to recover again, both physically and mentally.

Mary shudders to think how difficult it will be for him.

She feels a twitch by her hand, waking her from her thoughts. She stares at his face more intently than even before, and she sees his eyes begin to flutter.

A grin fills her face, growing as he opens his eyes.

There is too much light, he realizes as he tries to open his eyes. Too much light, and he can't quite handle that yet. He isn't used to it.

He keeps his eyes closed. His limbs feel heavy, as if weighed down by something, and of course there is still an intense pain in his leg, although it is not as bad as he remembers. He feels something in his hand, and he squeezes it, unsure of what it is. The touch does little to help, except he realizes that there is something besides the object. There is another human hand.

He can hear the hum of activity outside his room, but immediately around him is completely quiet. Peaceful. And for the first time waking up, he prefers the quiet to the loud he got so used to at the front. Even the weight on his limbs is making him feel peaceful. He is warmand cozy, but not sweaty like he has been for the last few days.

He has been so long in a state of war; this is peace.

Even without opening his eyes, he can sense her presence. Mary is there, by his side. He can feel her warmth, the silkiness of her skin touching him. He can smell her too. She is not wearing any perfume, but there is a scent that is distinctively Mary, slightly floral, very homey. He lets a smile fill his face at the peace he feels.

He is tired, exhausted really, but he wills himself to slowly open his eyes.

Mary's eyes meet his as they open, and she has to hide her gasp of delight. For so long she has been worried, and here he is, really, truly awake. It is all she can do to keep herself from kissing him. But Isobel is in the room.

"Matthew!" she whispers, running a hand through his hair.

He blinks up at her, focusing his eyes, unable to speak for a moment. Slowly, he opens his mouth. His voice is rough and his throat is sore, the infection has taken a lot out of him and he hasn't had a proper drink for a while. But he says her name. "Mary. What... happened?"

"Your leg got infected. Badly," Mary says, not taking her eyes off him. "You've been unconscious for... six days? I think. It's been a bit of a blur. They were thinking they might have to amputate your leg, but it seems to have gone away."

His stomach drops as he looks down at his injured leg, but it is still there, splinted tightly. He begins to reach up towards Mary but something is holding his arm in place. He begins to panic. "Mary, what is..."

She presses her lips together and frowns. "You were flailing around quite a bit. I think you had some bad dreams while you had the fever. Anyway, they didn't want you hurting yourself or anyone else. But you're alright now. I'll take them off. Dr. Warren might not be happy with me, but you're not going to hurt anyone."

He smiles as she gently removes the restraints. "The dog..." he says, squeezing his hand around it.

"Hawthorn sent it. I went back to the house last night, and it was there. He said he hoped it would bring you luck in your recovery. I think it did."

Matthew blinks and looks up at her. "You should have it," he says, softly. He holds it up, although it seems to be a lot of effort for him to do so. "I've had it for far too long."

"No, you need to keep it," Mary replies, touching his arm and bringing it down onto the bed. "I think you could still use a little bit of luck."

Dr. Warren visits again that evening, while Matthew is still awake. "Well, Mr. Crawley," he says, checking on the wound which seems to be clear of any infection, "you are a very lucky man."

Matthew presses his lips together in a tight smile. He is exhausted, which seems absolutely ridiculous considering he has barely been awake for the last week, but he is exhausted all the same. "I suppose I have been rather lucky." He turns his eyes to Mary and her heart beats faster as she realizes what all he is speaking of.

"Provided the infection doesn't come back, you should be in the clear. I don't want you getting up at all for a few days, but I'll organize an x-ray to see how your leg has healed. It's been three months since your initial injury, hasn't it? It may be time to get you up and about again."

This makes Matthew really smile. "Thank you, doctor."

"Of course, before we can do that, you need to rebuild your strength. I'm assuming you're feeling quite exhausted."

"I am..." he replies.

"Well, rest plenty in the next few days, and hopefully the infection will not come back," Dr. Warren says. He begins to walk out the door, then turns to Matthew. "You really are a very lucky man. I was certain we would have to amputate your leg, and afraid that you might die. And yet here you are."

"I think I have a lot to live for," Matthew says softly, turning his eyes to Mary.

Mary can't stop thinking about that sentence. I think I have a lot to live for. It is music to her ears, and it gives her such a sense of relief. But she needs to talk to him, assure herself that his sentiment is real. That he does have a lot to live for.

Isobel and Mary had made a silent pact to not mention the suicide attempt to Dr. Warren at all, and they hadn't. But even once Dr. Warren leaves, Mary still doesn't feel comfortable really talking honestly to Matthew with Isobel still in the room. When Isobel chooses to go back to the house to get refreshed from the days spent anxiously in the hospital, Mary sees her chance.

She doesn't bother with a chair, instead sitting on the edge of his bed, close, so close to him.

"You said you have a lot to live for. I hope that's true," she says. The words are still in her mind, and there is hope blossoming.

"If I've survived this pretty much unscathed, then I think something is trying to say that this life is worth living. Even though it's hard, even though I still feel so broken and like such a burden, I figure, considering I'm still here maybe there's something left for me in this life."

Mary pats his hand. "It's worth it."

"I hope so."

She tries to smile at him, but there is a sob in the back of her throat that is holding her back. She is happy, of course, but so emotionally overwhelmed from the last week. "You... put your mother and I through an awful lot this week," she says. "Please, don't get so close to death again."

"Did you really think I was going to die?" he asks. His eyes are wide with worry.

"You were so feverish, so ill. I didn't really know how bad it was, but it looked terrible and I could barely leave the room for fear of you slipping away. And you were so delirious, calling out, it seemed like your nightmares were the worst they'd ever been. So of course I was terrified that you were going to die."

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. "And then I know I terrified you with ...what happened before."

"Are you ready to talk about it?" Mary asks. She hates pushing him, but they can't ignore what happened forever.

"I've been kind of out of it for the last week," he says, trying to force a laugh. "But... I will be. Soon, I think. Because now I have hope for life ahead."

Mary grins and takes his hand in hers, rubbing her thumb in gentle circles around it. "Where did you find that hope?"

"You."

It is all Mary can do to keep from kissing him. She knows that is not what he needs; Dr. Warren has warned them that he is still delicate and prone to reinfection, and cleanliness standards must be kept. Kissing is not to those cleanliness standards, she is sure.

But she will kiss him again, she assures herself. Because from now one, she's going to keep being his hope.

And in a way, he will be hers.

The plan was to publish this yesterday, but was down all day so here we are today. Thanks for being amazing readers and sticking with this fic! Reviews make a writer's heart happy.