"Are you sure we should go so far from the house? It's rather dark out," Mary says, as they slowly amble along a gravel path. Matthew's pace is slow but steady, and he shows no signs of stopping.
"The further we are, the better we'll see the stars," Matthew replies. "We have the path, we'll find our way back."
New Year's Eve is clear and beautiful; the day had been sunny and the night sky is full of stars. Mary had been just about ready to prepare herself for bed—she found herself quite domestic now, in bed before eleven and up before nine—but Matthew had insisted that they go outside and look at the stars when he had noticed the brightness and clarity of the night sky. "Is this where we're to ring in the new year?" Mary asks, as he continues walking, determined although he does not know exactly where he is headed.
"I did bring along my watch," Matthew replies with a smirk, reaching into his coat pocket. Even in the dimness, Mary can see the light on this face which seems so recent, as if this last month or so he has become a new man. Nothing is perfect and it might not ever be, but things are better. His ghosts still linger near, but they no longer occupy his soul. His smile grows larger as he pulls a flask out of his pocket. "I also got Daisy to smuggle us some champagne, because there is truly no other civilized way to celebrate the new year."
Mary snatches the flask from him and opens it to sniff before taking a small sip. "I must say, you've good taste. Or perhaps Daisy does."
Matthew takes it back from her with a soft laugh. "Can't have you drinking all of it before midnight."
"No, that wouldn't do. How long do we have until midnight?"
"About an hour," Matthew replies, squinting in the darkness. "But just over this next hill there's a lovely little valley with a stream and a footbridge and a little park bench- I was thinking it might be nice to stop there."
Mary looks behind them, the light of the house no longer visible, and then takes a critical glance at Matthew's feet as they travel along the path. "As long as you're confident you'll be able to get back," she says, concern permeating her joking words.
"I'll manage," he says, leaning heavily on his stick as the path begins to go up an incline. "If I'm to be the lord of a great estate, I'd better figure out how."
Mary has learned not to say anything to comments like this, for inevitably he will grow frustrated if she attempts to point out any disability on his part. She instead watches patiently as he struggles up the incline, dutifully following behind.
At the top of the rise, Mary understands what Matthew was talking about; even in the dark, she could sense the idyllic nature of the valley. "How did you know about this?" Mary asks, as they follow the path down toward a rushing stream.
"I went on a walk with Mother, when you were out buying my Christmas gift. It seemed such a shame that I barely had a chance to explore such a beautiful place while we were here," Matthew explains.
Mary smiles as he leads them toward a bench perched at the edge of the stream. "You've got a surprise or two in you, haven't you?"
He grins at her. "I try." As they sit, he glances around. "It's so peaceful here." Peace seems strange to him; he has not truly felt peace for four years. And yet, though his heart still seems to be at war, here he can almost imagine feeling peace.
"And in three days, we go back," Mary says, her tone mournful as she gazes out over the darkened hills, then bringing her eyes up to the sky.
Yes, they were officially going back. Isobel had gone into town to purchase their train tickets for the day before, and Anna had been tasked with packing up all of their things. It was time for all of them, but Mary still hesitated strongly prior to agreeing to the move, and Matthew, upon seeing her reluctance, almost changed his mind, believing her reluctance was for his sake. But they were going home.
"We can't wait forever," he says with a sigh. "If only we could. But I cannot avoid reality forever."
"Is this not reality? Sometimes I feel as if I've been living between two worlds- between Downton and here- and I must say I like it much better here," Mary says. "Who is to say that this world is the wrong one for us?"
Matthew takes another glance up at the sky. "I understand." He sighs and leans forward, clasping his hands together in thought. "I've lived in so many distinct worlds in the last several years that I have no idea where I belong."
Mary grasps his hand but says nothing.
"My life in Manchester was so different from my life at Downton, and yet that could not even come close to preparing me for how different my life on the front was, and now I'm here and yet again nothing is the same… and now I've lived in four worlds that are so different and I'm not sure which one I'm going back to. Physically I'll be in Downton's world but I'm certainly not the same person; I can't go back to that life. Will it always be that my body is in Downton and my mind is at the front?" He shakes his head and stares at his feet. "I don't know if I can…"
"I'm afraid you'll find yourself in a new world," Mary replies. "And I hope that you will find it to be the right place. I know you will, because as much as you've struggled, you've also grown. And I know you'll be ready to go back to Downton and take your place as heir and do what you know is right, because after everything you've seen you want to make your little corner of the world a better place. Your new world will be what you make it to be."
He nods and brings himself to smile at her. "And you'll be going back to a new world too. Because despite what others have said, you know who you are and what you believe, and those who shun you for your trauma are not worth your time."
She laughs softly at that. "I think we seem to tell each other what we ourselves need to believe."
"Perhaps that is why we are so good for each other," Matthew says.
"We are good for each other, aren't we?" he responds. "I don't know what I would have done without you this whole time; really, without you I don't think I'd be here today."
Mary's thoughts quickly race back to the most terrifying day of her life, but she does not dwell. She cannot, for he is by her side and the worst did not come to pass. "And I'm not sure what I would have done without you, how I would have faced the scandal alone. Although I'm afraid I haven't faced the brunt of it yet."
"You will weather the storm," he replies. "You're a stormbraver, Mary. And I've never seen a finer one."
She rests her head on his shoulder. "We are good for each other," she whispers. "Except when we're both too stubborn and then cause ourselves years of struggle and pain apart."
"We won't make that mistake again," he says, trying not to reflect on everything that went wrong before. "Whatever struggle and pain we go through, we'll be together in it. Because that makes all the difference."
After taking a moment, Mary turns to him again. "What time is it?"
"Are you just after the champagne?" Matthew jokes, taking a glance at his watch.
Mary laughs. "No, of course not. In fact, I was hoping that the new year would begin soon because there's something I want to do as we begin 1919."
"Really? Because there's also something I'm desperate to do."
A shared smirk reveals that their plans are identical.
"We're in luck," Matthew says, checking the watch again, "because we've just a minute until midnight."
He puts his arm around her and they both stare at the hands of the watch in the moonlight. As the second hand creeps closer to midnight, both silently count down under their breath, anticipation lighting their faces.
Midnight approaches and as church bells far off in the distance ring to mark the new year, their sound carried on a whipping wind through the valley, two people, having suffered terribly in 1918, begin the new year with something far more pleasant; their lips and their hearts becoming one.
The champagne is all but forgotten.
The room is nearly bare; all of Matthew's items are neatly packed away and stacked downstairs. Nothing but the bed, the nightstand, and the empty wardrobe remains.
He stands in the center of the room and glances around, taking in a deep breath. How strange that it is his last night here, his last night after everything that he has experienced in this place. He hardly felt so sentimental upon leaving his childhood bedroom in Manchester, and he could blame any number of things for the intensity of his feeling. But he was not unjustified; he had nearly lost his life in here and yet in the same room had seen it begin again, he had mourned so much loss and yet found love within these four walls, and he had started to heal, if only by steps, as he lay in the bed that was just the right size for two.
He hears footsteps behind him but does not turn, for he knows who is approaching. As a loving arm comes around his waist, he smiles to see the face next to him.
"Our last night," Mary says softly, glancing around the room in a similar fashion. "I don't suppose you're too eager to practice being apart."
"How could I pass up one last night with you?" Matthew asks softly. "You'd better shut the door."
Mary laughs and moves toward the door, cracked open slightly. "Your mother won't approve."
"She'll understand. Or more likely, pretend not to notice," Matthew replies, a smirk pulling up at the edges of his mouth. "And anyway, we won't do anything too scandalous. We'll have to wait until we're married for that."
Mary moves back towards him. Sometimes, she doesn't know how long she can wait to be married to him, but in another way, the idea of true intimacy terrifies her after Pamuk. And if he is not ready, she is not ready, and they will both be better off for waiting.
But that does not mean that she isn't pained by the idea of this being their final night together for a long while.
"Well then, are we ready for sleep?" she asks, trying to put on a brave face, not allowing her true feelings and regrets to show.
"For bed, perhaps," Matthew says. "Not sleep. Not yet."
Mary raises an eyebrow. "You're bold tonight."
"We may only have tonight for a long while," he replies. "My boldness can therefore be excused."
She puts an arm around his waist, supporting him as they move closer to the bed; he looks worn out from his final therapy session earlier in the day. She barely breathes, the simple intimacy so staggering. He sits on the edge of the bed, and she perches beside him, not quite ready to break their connection.
"I hate to leave," he says quietly. "I've finally found my self in a place that's… better at least, if not even good. And who knows… when I go home, it may all go downhill. I'm not sure if I can deal with the people or the reminders of what I had before or what I must do." He closes his eyes and shakes his head. He laughs, but it is hesitant and unconvincing. "Maybe I should have thought of this before… maybe I might have sought to stay a little longer."
Every instinct within Mary wishes he had as well, but she knows what she has to say, for his sake, and perhaps for her own. "We may never truly feel ready, but what is life if we stay stagnant forever?"
He nods. "Passive healing is not what either of us need in the end, is it?"
"No," Mary says. "I think we've learned conclusively that it is not."
Silence lingers between them, a mournful, unsure silence. They both feel the weight of the uncertainty of the future hanging over them. Matthew to go back to a world that is so similar yet looks so unfamiliar through war-torn eyes, and Mary to a society that she knew so well that views her with judgment, whether warranted or not. Unspoken trepidation imprisons them in stillness.
It is Matthew who breaks the silence.
"Do you know what, there's something else I regret to leave."
Mary takes his hand in hers and squeezes it. "What's that?"
"I won't be able to kiss you whenever I like," he says, moving his head so that his face is nearly touching hers.
"Well, let's make the most of tonight then," she whispers, her voice low and seductive. "Give us a night to remember, and maybe it will be enough to make it through."
He grins and kisses her cheek. "I like the sound of that."
Mary opens her eyes to a dark bedroom, but the stillness and quiet is no more. Outside, a thunderous storm rages. She silently counts the seconds from each flash of lightning to the subsequent roll of thunder. The seconds are fewer and fewer, and Mary's anxiety grows.
Her anxiety is not for herself, of course, although she has forever become tense upon hearing a clap of thunder. But she fears for Matthew, that the weather outside will transport his mind far away, to a place where he would rather not be. She would hate for that mar their last night in Scotland, but she knows of little she can do to stop it.
He stirs, but does not yet awaken. Mary, almost unconsciously, scoots her body closer to him, closer to him than ever allowed before. As he starts to writhe, on the edge of a waking nightmare, she wraps her arms around him, enveloping him entirely in her embrace, her body pressed against his, two entities of tension naturally seeking relief in each other.
"Shh…" Her breath floats above him, the sound carried like a mite of dust on the air, meant to soothe but not wake. "It's alright, I'm here."
Her eyes have adjusted to the darkness enough that she can see the second that he opens his eyes suddenly, abruptly, with a start that is almost frightening. She nearly jerks out of her comforting position but manages to restrain her reflexes to keep her body calm, even if her mind is anything but. Years of emotional training, it seems, have found some use.
"Shh…" she whispers again, slightly louder. "Matthew, it's alright, I'm here."
He doesn't say anything intelligible, instead just moaning, which frightens Mary more. She pulls him tighter, something she did not even realize was possible before. "You're here. You're home. Nothing will hurt you now."
She expects him to wake at any moment as the storm intensifies and the thunder continues to roll. He whimpers, trying to pull away from her grasp in his sleepy state, but she does not let go.
"Matthew," she says, in the most calm tone she can muster, for it seems to be the only thing that can calm him, even temporarily. "It's perfectly alright. You're here, at home, with the people who love you. Matthew, you're so loved, so…" she hesitates, unsure of how to continue on. He is calmer now, but still struggles against her, still caught in his dream. But he closes his eyes again, and the line between asleep and awake is not so razor thin.
But she only can think of one more thing to say, and she isn't sure if she can say it, not sure if she can take that step. He has said it before to her, a few times, but the words do not form in her mouth quite so easily, for to say those three words is a commitment, a promise that she is not certain she can keep. Mary is not normally one to express herself through words; when she does, the meaning is overwhelming.
His eyes open again, the brief calming slipping further and further away. He starts to move in ways that Mary is not sure she'll be able to prevent, and fright begins to overtake her. "Matthew, Matthew," she whispers, her voice faltering under the pretense of calm, "Matthew, I…" and before she knows it, because she knows nothing else to say, the words that she so feared suddenly roll off her tongue. "I love you."
The thunder still rolls out the window, but in an instant, he calms, as if the nightmare has dissipated, as if the skies were clear.
He closes his eyes, and while maybe not relaxed, he seems to fall back into a steady sleep, uninterrupted by whatever horrors his mind had conjured up. Mary's arms were still held tightly around him, but she began to relax as well.
As relaxed as she could be, of course, when she had to scrunch up her face to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall from her eyes. Mary hates to cry, for it seems so unlike her, but this time, being here in Scotland and having to watch some of the most frightening things of her life, has made her cry more than she could have ever imagined. And now, now that there is no danger to him, now that she knows they will be able to make a life together, despite everything, despite their brokenness… she does not know how to process this feeling. Hence the tears that will not leave her alone.
She cries in relief. She cries in joy. She cries in fear of what is coming next. She cries for their pain and their brokenness. She cries as a release of everything she has felt over the last few months, the pain, the fear, the moments where everything seemed so bleak, as well as the moments where everything went right. Her heart is so full of so many feelings, and an era of those emotions is coming to an end; the release is natural.
She trains her eyes upon Matthew, and through her blurry vision she watches as his chest rises and falls, sighing with relief every time he takes in another breath. How easily he could have not been here today; three times, Mary thinks, that he might have left this world. And yet he is still by her side.
She sobs softly while he snores, her arms still wrapped around him. She interlaces one of her hands with his and squeezes it, feeling for the comfort of his pulse.
As hard as they are, Mary will miss these nights in his bed, at the height of impropriety but also the height of love. And as her tears begin to dry, she realizes that despite the agony of parts of these months, she would not trade Scotland for the world. She can't imagine a better way for both of them to be allowed to heal.
The thunderstorm dissipates and Mary slips into a light slumber, her fingertips still feeling for his pulse, feeling his broken heart mesh with hers, to beat as one whole.
The morning that they leave is misty and cold but the rain has held off so that the roads will not be too rough, or so Matthew hopes. He remembers how difficult the ride here was, how lost he was in his thoughts, the pounding headache that his mind and the bumps in the road brought on. No, he would not want to repeat a journey like that.
The chauffeur offers to help Matthew into the car but he adamantly refuses. He ought to have come this far at least, in all these months, to be able to get in the car on his own. He places his stick on the seat, presses his hand against the inside of the door frame, and manages to hoist himself up on his good leg, if somewhat unsteadily, until he is seated. This is an excellent turn of events, he thinks, for he aims to spite his physical limitations. The healing of his body aids in the healing of his soul.
Mary climbs in on the other side of the car, not so reluctant to accept the chauffeur's helping hand. Matthew smiles at her as she joins him. "Ready to go?" he asks gently, reaching for her hand as she slides next to him. They will not be able to be so obvious when they are back at Downton, for no one there could understand all that has transpired in the last few months. They will have to slowly bring the family around to their relationship; not that they wouldn't be supportive, of course, but Robert in particular does not deal well with changes which come out of the blue. So they will have to show restraint, at least at the start.
They have not even left and Matthew already misses the freedom of Scotland.
"I'm not sure I'll ever be ready," Mary says.
He closes his eyes and reflects on what his gut has already told him. Even though he has come such a long way since they day they arrived, he is not sure he's ready to return to civilian life. He's been so sheltered from probing questions, from lack of understanding, even from the general noise at Downton, any of which could be difficult to handle. Matthew can't say if he's prepared for the tests that face him. "I'm… not sure if I will either," he says quietly, as the chauffeur begins the drive down the long gravel driveway. "But what I've found, through all of this, is that home is where the people who you love are; if you're by my side, I think I'll be home."
Mary smiles softly and squeezes his hand. "Do you remember what happened last night during the thunderstorm?" she asked.
"No, I don't," he replies. "I'm not sure I even knew there was a thunderstorm." The significance of this is not lost on him; he can hardly believe he slept through a thunderstorm and did not wake up, nor remembered any nightmare he might have had.
This seems to delight and relieve Mary in equal measure. "You almost woke up, but you didn't. You found your peace. You found your home."
Mary's language may be cryptic, but Matthew understands her perfectly. "You are my home," he says, his eyes somewhere between bright and teary.
"You are my home," Mary repeats, four words she wasn't sure how to say added to the previous three. Matthew might not have remembered what she said the night before, but Mary felt as if they were somehow renewed. "I love you," she thinks to herself, and he smiles at her in return, as if sensing her sentiment.
The old, creaky house is smaller and smaller behind them until it finally disappears into the countryside.
This fic is not dead! I apologize for the fact that it's actually been forever since I last updated; my hope to update every two weeks was hit hard by college and also by the fact that I had posted everything I'd written and I'm a very intermittent writer. But I finally managed it, and I hope you enjoy the chapter! Thanks for sticking with it if you're still around. Hopefully the next chapter won't take another six months, but honestly, with the craziness of my life (all very exciting things, but very busy), it may. But the good news is I believe there will be two more chapters of this fic, and I know what I want them to be, so rest assured that this fic will not die without a satisfying ending. Again, thanks for reading! Please leave a review if you can; nothing is more encouraging to a writer!