He still isn't the same the rest of the day. He doesn't smile, and his sentences are generally comprised of single word answers.

Isobel watches as Mary tends to him, not demanding conversation or explanation, but simply being by his side, silently supporting him. She had watched as she roused him out of his flashback gently; not entirely with success, but well enough that he is back with them. And she had watched as Mary and Matthew exchanged comments about books. They seemed so much like they had been before the war, and that restores to Isobel hope that she has been losing.

Isobel has known for a long time, if she admits it to herself, that they love each other. She had been doubtful of Mary when Matthew first proposed, and thought her doubts vindicated when Mary did not accept the proposal. However, when Matthew came from war, first with his fiancee on his arm and later, completely broken, she observed a very different Mary. She was surprised to see how kind Mary was to Lavinia, and how supportive she was of Matthew, even after their less than ideal split.

Now, Isobel is even more impressed. She has known ever since she saw Mary care for him at the hospital, but there is no doubt in her mind now. Mary and Matthew love each other.

Her only concern is...do they know that?

They seem to know it, subconsciously.

They just haven't shown it.

Isobel thinks back over the past few weeks. It always struck her as odd and maybe a little worrisome that they shared a room several times... That would be considered completely inappropriate were Matthew not so hurt, and even then, the arrangement is not ideal. But they did say that Mary didn't actually sleep in his room.

Although... Isobel thinks back to that morning Matthew contracted the infection. Mary had come down the stairs in nothing but her nightgown. She could have simply walked into Matthew's room after waking up, but in that case she would have at least put her dressing gown on. Isobel thinks that perhaps Mary did not keep her word that last night...

She had been so distracted by worry for Matthew that she hadn't even considered it.

What should she do? Should she force them to stay in their separate rooms? Of course, that would be the right thing to do in terms of propriety, and she doesn't want to put either of them at risk by allowing them to potentially be found in such a compromising situation, but she also knows that Matthew is telling the truth-that he sleeps much better with Mary by his side.

It doesn't matter at the moment, of course. But it is something she must consider,

She lets her gaze fall back on Mary, and smiles slightly.

Mary seems to sense Isobel's look, and turns around. "You should go back to the house; you should get a real night's sleep," she says softly.

"It's only going to be two more nights here," Isobel replies.

It's hard to tell, but Mary looks almost disappointed that Isobel will not leave. If anything, that confirms Isobel's suspicions.

"I do need to stay here," Isobel continues, and truthfully, that is how she feels. She needs to make sure that Matthew doesn't slip again. The last time she left him awake and alone... she shudders to think of it. While the fear that he will attempt to take his life again is slowly fading away, it still haunts Isobel's dreams far more than she will ever admit. And if she's honest, it helps to be in the same room as him when she's sleeping, because she can wake up from a horrible nightmare where he went through with it and can see that he is still there, alive, with her.

Mary nods reluctantly. "I would say you do need a good night's sleep in a real bed, but I understand your hesitation."

Isobel smiles. "I'm sure you do."

He opens his eyes. The hospital room should be empty, or at least nearly so, but it is full, people milling about, talking loudly. He can't make out any of their faces, but all of them feel vaguely familiar.

It is the same way with their words. He can tell they are talking about him, and he can tell that it is negative, and yet he has no idea what they are saying. This makes him stressed. Why do they all hate him so? He can give a laundry list of reasons why he hates himself, but he cannot comprehend what issues they would have.

The voices do not let up; they talk relentlessly. Matthew tries to raise his voice to interrupt, but he finds there is not much left. He tries to wave to get their attention, but he is too exhausted to move, and weighed down by something, although he cannot see anything physical weighing him down. The room is so claustrophobic. So many people are milling about, and Matthew wants to panic, but he cannot.

Finally, a face turns to him, and he recognizes it.

William.

Matthew tries to reach out for his friend, but William won't meet eyes with him. He simply casts a look of derision.

Matthew tries to ask questions, but the words will not come.

Finally, William addresses him.

"Look at you, still alive," he sneers. "First the war tried to kill you, then you tried to kill yourself, then this infection tried to kill you, and yet here you are. Lucky man. Even though you would rather be dead, you're still on earth. Wonder how it would feel."

"William, I'm..." Matthew manages to get out.

"You're quite the miracle, really. See all these people? They're astounded by you. You killed them all. You've been so close to death so many times, and yet you're still alive. Despite all the people you've killed. Interesting, isn't it? They all think so. Of course, they're not too happy about it. They don't think you deserve it."

"I know I don't..."

William disappears and reappears on the other side of the bed. "No! You don't deserve it! So why are you taking it, then? Why didn't you end it?"

"Mary," he whispers.

"Oh yes, Mary. The beautiful, incredible woman who somehow loves you. Somehow, she loves a murderer, a coward. She's got quite awful taste, wouldn't you agree?" William laughs, but it is so much colder than William's laugh was. "You don't deserve her; as scandalized as her reputation is, she is still so much better than you."

Matthew looks down. "I know she is, and I'm so lucky to be loved by her."

"You're rather lucky all around aren't you. And taking advantage of it, rather than being brave and owning up to what you've done. If you took the punishment you've managed to evade thrice, you..."

"STOP!" Matthew yells, gaining the strength in his arms to cover his ears. "I will not listen to this!"

"You should," William says, simply growing louder. "It's your only chance at redemption."

Matthew shakes his head vehemently. "No! No! I refuse to accept that! I will live, and I will live for your memory, William, because you did save my life, and for that I am very grateful, and what sort of gratitude would killing myself be? But then again, you aren't William!"

"You noticed," William says, suddenly morphing into a bigger, bulkier man. "How observant. Your skills are improving."

Matthew's heart seems to beat faster; he doesn't know what is going on.

But a firm hand on his shoulder seems to bring him back.

He opens his eyes, breathing heavily, drenched in a cold sweat. Mary is standing over him, her hair loose, her eyes frantic. "Matthew!" she whispers. "Were you having a nightmare?"

He is disoriented, but he nods. "Bad one..." he says.

"Back in the trenches?"

He shakes his head and pushes himself to sit up in bed. "No, it happened in here..."

"Can you talk about it?"

"Give me a moment."

Mary nods and sits on the edge of the bed, putting a soft hand on top of his. "Whenever you're ready."

He looks into her eyes, breathes deeply, and parts his lips. "I was in here, and there were people who I had killed just walking around in here, and then William was talking to me and telling me that I was a coward for not killing myself, but..."

"But what?" Mary asks, after a long pause.

"I think I won. A little bit."

"What do you mean by that?"

He presses his lips together and looks away from her. Maybe he sounds stupid, but he does feel like this is important. "In my dream, I recognized that William would never say those things. And I realized that killing myself would be such a dishonor to what he did for me, no matter what he said in the dream," he says.

Mary sits silently for a moment, then breaks into a smile. "That's wonderful, Matthew, really. That gives me a lot of hope."

He gazes at her, but doesn't tell her about the end of the dream before he woke up. She doesn't need to hear every detail of his nightmares.

"Sorry for waking you," he says, pushing himself back under the covers.

"No, don't worry about it. Are you going to be able to go back to sleep?"

Matthew nods.

"Good," she whispers. "Well, good night."

He smiles after her as she moves back across the room to the chair she is sleeping in. "Good night."

Physical therapy starts bright and early the next morning. Matthew isn't in the best of moods; while he was able to fall asleep after his nightmare, the sleep was fitful and he doesn't feel very rested when he wakes up.

A young woman comes in at nine, to greet a barely awake Matthew. "Morning!" she says, in an excessively cheery voice with a heavy Scottish accent. She is very slight, with a curly mass of blonde hair atop her head.

Matthew sits up straighter and groans. "Are you here to take me to therapy?" he questions. He doesn't sound too excited about the prospect.

"Yes!" She flashes another grin that is really far too wide at him, and pulls up a wheelchair. "I know it's early, but this is really the best time to do it. It will wake you up! Now, can you get in yourself or do you need help?"

"I could walk there," Matthew says with derision.

"I'm sure you could, but it's a long way across the building and then we've got to go across the grounds and to an outbuilding and Dr. Robinson wants you to be as rested as possible before you start," she says, pulling the covers aside.

Matthew sighs and carefully transfers himself into the chair. The young woman begins to push him out, and Mary makes to follow. "I'm sorry," the woman says. "Dr. Robinson requests that only patients be present for sessions unless he specifically gives permission for family to attend."

Mary looks a little bit put out, and Matthew slightly lost, but they nod their assent.

The woman begins to push him along the corridor, chatting excitedly. "I forgot to introduce myself! I'm Grace Jones, I'm Dr. Robinson's assistant. I was a nurse here but the administration said that while I had a strong work ethic, I got far too attached to patients so they were going to ask me to leave but then I asked if I could be of assistance in any way since I really do love working here and I wanted to stay on and Dr. Robinson agreed to take me on since he needed his assistant. His old one got called up to fight. He was a little hesitant to take on a woman, but I've been told I'm very bright, so I think it's working out." Her words come out as one big, excited jumble. "And you? I didn't get your name, I was just told a room number."

There is a pause before Matthew sullenly responds, "Matthew Crawley."

"Nice to meet you, Matthew," Grace says. "You're not from around here, are you? You don't sound like it, anyway."

"No, I'm not. I'm originally from Manchester," he responds. He doesn't really want to speak with her, but he supposes he must endure it, or face even further scrutiny.

"Oh, I went to Manchester once! It was on my way through to London, because I did my nurse's training in London. Now that was an adventure. But I didn't like Manchester. It was too dirty and smelly." She wrinkles her nose and turns down a hallway. "London was slightly cleaner, although there's nothing like the country. So if you're originally from Manchester, why are you here now?"

Matthew sighs and turns back to look at her. He hates talking to someone standing behind him. "I moved to a little village in Yorkshire a few years before the war but then I went off and fought and when I came back there I really needed somewhere quieter, somewhere far away, so my mother and my cousin and I came up to this place."

"Your cousin?"

"The younger woman in my room..."

Grace's eyes widen. "Oh! I thought she was your wife! I'm glad I didn't say anything about that, that would have been embarrassing."

Matthew can almost bring himself to laugh.

They have come across the grounds of the hospital; the day is peaceful, although cold. They enter a small building and wait.

Grace stops in front of a door, knocks, and gets no reply. "He's not ready yet," she says, coming in front of Matthew. "Why did you move to Yorkshire, then? That's a change from Manchester?"

He raises his eyebrows and looks away. "Well... that's a long story."

"We have time," she began, but just then the door opened and a young man hobbled out on his one leg. Matthew tries not to look away in fright, but sometimes the reminders of war were so blatant.

"I suppose I'll see you later," Grace says, as Matthew is pushed in by the doctor, who he hardly noticed as he was caught up in the other soldier. "It was nice to meet you, Matthew!"

The doctor takes him into a large room with a lot of strange and somewhat frightening looking equipment. "I apologize if Grace overwhelmed you, she's quite the character. But she does the work and does it well and without complaining, which is so difficult to find in this generation."

Matthew presses his mouth in a straight line. "It was refreshing, actually."

"Good," the doctor says. "I'm Dr. Robinson. And you are?"

"Matthew Crawley," he replies, his voice soft.

Dr. Robinson proffers a hand and Matthew shakes it, trying to give a decent handshake but feeling a sudden wave of fatigue overcome him that makes it difficult.

"Dr. Warren has briefed me on your injury, and you've got quite a bit of work ahead of you, I'm afraid. But we'll see how today goes, and after that we'll figure out some sort of routine."

Matthew nods. There are too many thoughts in his mind but he tries to push them back and focus. He misses being able to focus intently; he doubts he could ever really work again. But he pushes that thought back too.

Dr. Robinson first instructs him to sit on an elevated table, letting his legs dangle down. The temporary splint is removed from his injured leg and the doctor feels it with his hands, carefully, pausing around the place where the bullet hit. He purses his lips, and then feels along Matthew's knee. The whole process is uncomfortable to Matthew, who squirms at the idea of being touched. Except... except for Mary's touch.

"Will you bend your knee for me?" Dr. Robinson asks.

Matthew tries his best to comply, but his knee is very stiff and it hurts to bend. He finally gives up and shakes his head.

"Unsurprising, considering how torn up the ligament was," Dr. Robinson says, in a matter of fact tone. "We're going to have to work on that."

Matthew nods, but he hates how Dr. Robinson says 'work on' as if his injury is a moral shortcoming. He knows he could be misconstruing things, and perhaps it is simply a natural distrust of doctors (being the son of a doctor, he knows well that medicine cannot do everything) but he does not like Dr. Robinson much more than he likes Dr. Warren.

He is sick of being the patient, really. But he knows he must endure it, or he'll be much worse off in the long run.

"Alright. I'll have a few exercises for you do with that knee but let's see how it'll bear your weight," Dr. Robinson says, reaching out a hand to help Matthew off of the table. He hands Matthew a pair of crutches and leads him over to a set of parallel bars across the room. "I know you've been getting around with crutches, but as you try to put your weight on your other leg, you need a little more stability."

Matthew doesn't respond, but he positions himself between the bars.

"Now put down your left leg, and put as much weight on it as you can without really hurting it."

Matthew follows instructions but he has hardly shifted his weight when he starts wincing. Clearly, he's in bad shape.

Dr. Robinson does not look pleased. "Well, it's a start," he says. "Try it again."

This time, Matthew can manage a few seconds of almost normal weight-bearing, but it hurts and he is clenching his teeth and trying not to cry out in pain.

The doctor lays a hand on Matthew's arm. "It's alright, you can stop now."

Matthew breathes a sigh of relief.

The doctor instructs him to sit in a chair and has him do several other tedious, painful exercises, before observing, "You're not very talkative, are you, Captain Crawley?"

"I suppose not."

"Dr. Warren tells me you've had a hard time coming back. Well, I've seen lots of men like you, and what I can tell you is that I've found that exercise in the best remedy for that. Once they put their mind to something, once they focus on healing, everything comes together and that disturbance is gone."

This theory seems irreparably stupid, but Matthew doesn't say that. "I've never really been one to exercise for the sake of exercising," he says instead. It sounds like the right thing to say, and it is true, he has never been much of a sportsman.

"Never really cared too much about your look, eh?" the doctor jokes, his Scottish accent pronounced. He pulls Matthew's leg out and pushes it back, a painful movement.

"No," Matthew says, trying not to clench his teeth in pain and frustration. "I just did the best I could."

"Of course you did. There's men out there who will exercise for hours just to look good for the ladies, but I suppose you're not that type. Do you have a special girl, though?"

Matthew pauses, and turns away. "I don't think I can say."

"No? Well, more's the mystery, Captain Crawley."

Huge thanks to everyone who has been reading, and especially those of you who fave, follow, and review! Reviews especially are like sunshine!