Isobel, unsurprisingly, is not pleased when Mary and Matthew finally arrive home. As soon as she hears the car pull up the drive, she runs out the door. "Where were you?" she asks, as the car doors have hardly opened. "I was worried sick, I thought you had driven off the road and were lying in some ditch somewhere and..."

Mary comes quickly around to Matthew's side of the car to stand by him as he gets out. "I'm sorry, Isobel, for not telling you, but..."

"We went to a beach. To see the ocean," Matthew says stiffly. "It was something... I needed to do."

Isobel sighs. "And why did you not think to inform me of this?"

Matthew doesn't have a good reason. He looks to Mary, but she rolls her eyes and shoots a glare back to him. Finally he stutters "I... I wasn't sure what you would think, and I didn't want to have to explain myself. So we just left, after my physio appointment."

"Well, I wish I had not been terrified for the last few hours, but I hope your little excursion proved helpful at least," Isobel says pointedly, beginning to walk towards the house.

Matthew smiles and looks at Mary. "It did, actually. It was quite helpful. I needed to be outdoors, and I needed to see the ocean and just... be."

Isobel turns around, the sarcasm and annoyance dropping from her face. Matthew seems so peaceful, so calm, so... normal. She can't complain too much about whatever he was out doing, because it seems to have helped. "I'm grateful for that," she admits.

"Do you want to talk about what we discussed at all, Matthew?" Mary asks. She puts a hand behind his back as he slowly makes his way down the gravel path, trying to walk as well as he can.

"We probably should," he says, as he lifts himself up the few steps at the front of the house. "Mother, Mary and I talked about a few things that you certainly should hear about. Should we go discuss in the library?"

Isobel's eyes widen, but she nods.

Upon seeing Isobel's face, Matthew almost laughs. "Oh, Mother, it's nothing bad, nothing at all. In fact, it may even be good." He makes his way through the library door and sits down in an armchair, pulling an ottoman closer to prop his leg on, breathing a sigh of relief. Mary and Isobel follow him in, and he waves for them to sit down. "Now I know we can't stay here indefinitely. We all have lives and responsibilities and duties back at Downton. And Mary and I discussed this, and I think I will be ready to go back. Not for Christmas, I'm afraid; that would be a rather overwhelming time to be there. But in the New Year."

Isobel gets up and moves to where Matthew is seated to grip his hand. "You're sure about this?"

"Well, nothing's set in stone and perhaps as the date approaches, I may change my mind, but... I do think I want to go back sooner rather than later."

She smiles tightly and pats his hand. "Whenever you are ready, we will go back."

That night, Mary doesn't even wait for Matthew to request her presence, neither by words or by his cries in the night. She simply pads over to his room and seats herself on the bed next to him. Naturally, he doesn't protest; instead he turns to her and smiles.

"At this point you hardly need to bother with a bedroom, since you're in here so much," Matthew says.

Mary rewards his comment with a laugh, before her smile fades and she looks past him, staring into the dark of the bedroom. "You know... when we go back, we won't be able to do this. I'm not going to be able to be in your room... in fact, we'll be at separate houses."

"That will be difficult," he admits. "I suppose at some point I'll have to practice being alone again."

"I suppose so," Mary says. Her hands idly grasp at the covers, as her gaze turns toward the ceiling.

"Mary?"

"Hmm?"

He swallows thickly, turning his head to look at her silhouette in the darkness. "Do you want to go back?"

"It doesn't matter all that much to me."

"Mary, tell me the truth," he continues firmly. "You can't protect me forever."

She doesn't move or respond, her gaze still fixed.

He sighs in frustration. "Mary. This isn't entirely about me. This can't be. I don't want it to be. If you want to stay longer, then just say something."

She shifts to her side, facing him. "Of course I want to stay longer," she whispers, her hand reaching out to touch his. "It's beautiful here, and so peaceful. No one cares about my scandal, no one cares about social convention. I can be with you. Why would I want to leave a place like this? But I know we have to. Downton is our home, and we must go back eventually. And I'm so proud and glad that you feel as if you're ready to leave this perfect little world we have. I know you're right, and I certainly won't stand in the way of that. It may not be what my heart tells me to do, but it's what logic demands. And I know it'll be for the best in the long run."

Matthew's eyes fill, from an equally full heart. "See, that's what makes me wonder if I'm making the right choice. But I need to let you and Mother live your lives, and unfortunately the real world implores all of us to join it again."

"Is this not the real world?"

He doesn't look at her. "Sometimes... I wonder. I fear that when we go back, you'll realize that nothing that happened here was really of any consequence. That... anything between us, was just a dream, a short break from reality, nothing more."

"Oh Matthew, how could you think that?"

"How could I not?" He raises his voice, before realizing the late hour. "Mary... how could you want this, want us, want me? I don't understand it logically, and while I'm grateful because I love you desperately, I'm afraid that this is all in my head. Considering lately I'm quite good at tricking myself into believing I'm somewhere that I'm not, or having conversations with people who are dead, or..."

She places a hand on his wrist to still him. "This is real. Completely real. And it will remain the same once we are back at Downton."

"Do you promise?" His voice is so soft, so vulnerable, so youthful sounding. Mary draws in a sharp breath, her heart breaking for his pain.

"I promise."

The clouds soon turn to violent rain, and the dirt roads surrounding the house turn to mud. Isobel sets down the phone, discouraged, and comes into the library where Matthew is sitting, waiting to be taken to physio. "The chauffeur can't come, the roads are too bad," she says, pressing her lips together. "He says he'll try to come out for your next appointment, but if the rain doesn't let up, he still might not be able to."

Matthew puts down the book he was reading and sighs. "Alright. I guess I'll call the hospital and let them know I won't be there."

"You want to do that?" Isobel says, raising her eyebrows.

He shrugs and grabs his crutches to begin to heave himself off of the couch. "It's my appointment. At some point I've got to stop letting you do everything for me."

What he says shouldn't be offensive. It's not wrong either, really. But Isobel feels her stomach drop as he says it. Maybe, someday, he won't need her at all. That's a good thing, but Isobel feels hurt nonetheless.

It isn't Matthew's fault, she reasons. It's her own desperate need to be needed. As devastating as the war has been, it's given her a new sort of purpose. And she is almost hesitant to lose that, even if it means that he is getting better.

She almost lost him... now she is afraid that she will lose him.

To lose him to independence would not be so bad. But her heart aches to think that someday, she will not be needed anymore. Not by him, not when he has a wife to love him and care for him.

For she is certain that his growing closeness with Mary will lead to something more.

He comes back in from the telephone, a slight smirk on his face. "They've rescheduled today's appointment to next Tuesday, so I'll have an extra next week if I can handle it. Hopefully the roads should be better by then."

As he gently lowers himself to the sofa, Isobel pads over to him slowly. "I'm proud of you."

"I made a phone call," he says, shrugging. He lets a few minutes of silence pass before sighing, "I suppose I couldn't have done that a month, maybe even a week ago."

Isobel smiles and rubs him hand. "You're getting better."

"Usually, I struggle to believe that. And while this seems a relatively minor improvement, I'm inclined to agree that yes, I am getting better," he replies.

The rain still lashed against the windows late into the afternoon. Bored and tired, Matthew had gone upstairs for a nap, while Isobel was puttering around downstairs, writing letters, reading, and tidying up what little there was. She hasn't seen Mary since luncheon, either. Perhaps she, too, is taking a nap.

It has been three hours since Matthew went upstairs, and Isobel begins to wonder if he really has been sleeping this whole time. She might not have thought about it if she had not been so bored, but with the rain keeping them housebound, there seemed to be little of interest to do. Perhaps it was better, that Matthew had suggested going back soon. Back at Downton, at least, she will have other things to distract her.

Her curiosity gets the better of her, and she ascends the stairs with less of a sense of determination than a sense of resignation, that perhaps it is her duty to check on her son.

His door is mostly closed, but through a slight crack, Isobel can witness what is occurring inside. This immediately comforts her; they are not trying to hide from her. And what she sees comforts her even further.

Matthew stands just a few feet from Mary, leaning heavily on a cane, an implement he had just begun to use in his last few therapy sessions. His steps are slow and he grimaces with each one, but nonetheless, he takes steps, real steps, towards Mary. With each step he takes forward, she takes a step back, and in this way Matthew is nearly across the room in a few minutes. It is slow going, for sure, but it is much better than it has been, and Isobel can see this on his face. He looks exhausted and in pain when he finally reaches Mary, but a wide grin spreads across his face as he drops the cane and puts his hands in Mary's.

"Look at you!" she says joyously, pulling his hands to her chest in excitement. "I knew you would make it."

He closes his eyes in relief. "It's a shame I can't have you as my therapist," he says, laughing. "Much more encouraging than Dr. Robinson."

"Yes, I'm sure kisses from Dr. Robinson would not be nearly as enticing," Mary jokes, as she moves with him slowly to the nearby bed and helps him sit down.

"No, not nearly," he replies as he tugs on her arm, guiding her to sit very close to him on the edge of the bed. "Now, about that enticement you offered..."

"You're saying the joy of your success in recovery today was not enough?" she says, raising an eyebrow.

"Hmm... I'm afraid I'm much more interested in other things at the moment," he murmurs, taking a hand to gently place on her cheek.

Isobel turns away from the door. She has seen enough. She has seen enough to know that her son is happier and healthier because Mary is with him, but she also figures that they would not want her to intrude on their private moment.

He will be alright. They will alright. And it is best not to intrude on something that is taking a good turn.

Thanks for sticking with this story! Sorry my updates have been a little more inconsistent, my writing schedule can be a little erratic lately but I'm trying my best to keep up. Reviews are wonderful and helpful. Thanks again!