Mary respected Matthew more and more each passing day. Their relationship grew stronger as he went to great lengths to get the rest of the family to accept Tom as part of the family. The two men had become close, like brothers. Mary had become more accepting of things she normally wouldn't have before, since she'd been engaged to Matthew. A real proper one, as she called it, even though he hadn't been able to go down on one knee.

He was a true gentleman. Anna told her there wasn't many of them to find these days. He stood by her even through her 'cold jealous moods" Even after they had a sort of falling out over the uncertainty of their future, over things they won't be able to control.

But there was one thing she felt that was still getting in the way.

Patrick's letter.

She had been putting it off and putting it off. She tried to think as if it were his personal diary, his thoughts of sorts. You wouldn't want to read someone's private thoughts.

This was no diary or journal. They were left for her and her eyes only. She supposed she had been afraid of what it would say, what he would think of her. Most of all, of what he really had to say about Matthew, what he had thought of him.

He would want her to read it. She shook her head, before sitting down, preparing to open it, letter opener in hand.

She wasn't doing this for Patrick. She was doing this to for herself and Matthew, to put the past behind so they could live their lives, married, happily ever after. But could they truly?

Seeing Patrick's writing came to a shock to her. The words seemed jumbled, not because it take awhile to focus, catching snatches of words and trying to make sense of them. His scrawl looked untidy compared to Matthew's elegant penmanship. A smile briefly pulled at the corner of her lips. She used to wonder if he had to train himself to write that neatly.

My dear, Mary

If you are reading this, this means I am no longer among the living. I know you have questions, why I never sent word that I survived the sinking.

I couldn't face your father after I have let him down. You can only guess why. I never wanted the title. I feel all that will change after the war. Social status won't matter as much as it once did. Here, there is no social divide. We all die the same here. But enough about death.

I know that your next question will be asking is if I ever loved you. The answer is yes, just not in the way I should have, as much as I should have. I believe cousin Matthew is more suitable and more deserving of you than I ever was. My dear, Matthew, wait till you meet him. I know by now you obviously have but what I meant to say was try to get to know him, give him a chance. He's tall, handsome, and had the Crawley blonde hair and blue eyes, very intelligent man, (a lawyer! Upper middle class.) and stubbornly independent as you.

You will fight each other at first but I know it is right. I think very highly of him. I entrusted this letter to another close friend to give to Matthew upon my death, and will give it to you.

If didn't receive this immediately after my death and if Matthew never told you about me, please don't be angry with him. I had asked him not to. If there's anyone to be angry at, it's me. I was the one who sought him out, hoping he'd take my place. Then I got to know him. I sent him to you, to help you, your father and the future of Downton. It all wouldn't matter to him either, but he will do it for you, as I should have done, known it will be done out of love.

I have also enclosed a letter for him. I will not say much more.

And Mary, be a good girl.

Love him.

She sat, starting at the fireplace, letter still in her hand. She did not know how to react or what to think. She was relieved she didn't have time to think about as Matthew entered the library.

"I still had difficulty trying to read it." She told him. "I was thinking as if were his diary, his own private thoughts. If you were to stumble upon a loved one's journal, would be compelled to read it?"

"I would have to say no. I have written so much about what I was feeling "in the moment" that I would never want my loved ones to read because it could be misconstrued or taken out of context."

"He also left a letter for you."

"No. I don't want to read it."

That same fear that she had, she realized was gripping him. He couldn't bring himself to read Patrick's words anymore than she first had. Was it quilt? Did he still blame himself of think himself responsible for his friends death. For William's? It was war. Everyone had died. Boys, she and Edith and Sybil had grown up with. That's just how it was. But she couldn't convince him of that. He still wouldn't talk to her how he had died. He wasn't the only one that had been affected by this. Many others had returned, well worse off than him. It had not only affected those who fought. She wouldn't discuss it with him now. She knew he wouldn't hear of it. She let him ramble on. He was distracting himself.

"I recall a night at my grandmother's house when I was probably no older than thirteen. Her house was full of old treasures, so I was prone to snooping in her closets and behind closed doors. One night I uncovered a box of my mother's old letters. I thought my parents we're put on this earth just to feed and clothe me. I was certain their lives were quite perfect, contended in the joys of carrying out their parental duties. I never imagined they had private thoughts or complex feelings so why would I not have read their letters. Once I started reading, I immediately wished I hadn't. Not because the letters contained anything scandalous, but because they clued me into a reality my parents had clearly shielded me from. Bills, the stress."

He had also discovered what his grandmother had really thought of him and his mother, that they were a disappointment, that her son had deserved better, even after his father's death. His mother had been desperate and had asked her for money. What have you ever done for my son? A marriage with nothing to show for, a loveless marriage in the end. How could that have been? They managed to get by, soon after Eleanor's passing. She most had left them some income after all. He had referred to her as that after a while, in his anger and disbelief but over the years the blow had softened and he remember that she hadn't been unkind him. But he did not want to uncover so much to Mary. She'd just feel sorry for him. "Here I thought she was blissfully happy, just counting down the days until she could drop another 100 pounds because I needed new books or a back to school wardrobe. In reality my mother was just an adult with adult problems, but my thirteen-year-old brain had no context for grown-up reality. Your grieving brain may have difficulty putting your loved one's feelings and emotions into context and they are not around to help you understand. Your loved one may have said bad, sad or mad things in the heat of the moment. Just remember, many people only journal long enough to get through the hard times or they only write to their Aunt Sally when their desperate and really need help."

"I think I would feel compelled to read it. Might I be hurt by some "in the moment" feelings? Sure but I think, the benefits would outweigh that risk." He wasn't giving off any recognizable emotions, "But this is not his journal. He left it for you."

"I said no." He became very defensive about his feelings, sometimes he couldn't tell what he was feeling. Had he always been that way?

"Are you that terrified of what he thought of you?"

If he couldn't talk to her about his inner most fears, the war, and what had affected him so, the things he had listed off that night in the drawing room, she doubted he had seen, couldn't be honest with her about any of it for once, and they could argue over something so trivial as this...how would it be like when they were actually married?

The wedding was in a few days.

She waited for him to respond. He just looked around the room, gave her a side glance, before he excited the room.

Matthew came up to see her after talking with Tom. Mary tried giving excuses for him not to see her. She wasn't dressed. It was bad luck before the wedding. If there was to be a wedding.

"Of course, there will be a wedding. Darling, I refuse to quarrel over things we cannot change. I will do all that I can to ensure Downton but who knows what the future will bring. "

"That's what Anna said."

"And she's right. Times are changing and they're going to keep changing. We must change with them. But whatever happens we will have each other, it's you and me now."

"Oh darling, I am so glad you think that way. But must we always end up fighting?"

"I'm sure we'll fight about a lot of things, about money, about Downton, even about how we rear out children." He couldn't help but smile at the thought.

"Then shouldn't we accept it? Matthew, I've been thinking," She put her palm against the door, as if she'd be able to touch him, feel him there. "if we can argue over something as fundamental as this, then shouldn't we brave it and walk away now?"

"No." He said softly.

"It's not because you're afraid of calling it off? Because I'm not."

"No. It was something Tom said."

"Tom?"

"That I would never be happy with anyone else as long as you walked the earth. Which is true. And I think you feel the same way about me."

Mary realized that she did. And was at the same utterly frightened but had never been so sure.

"Can I kiss you?" He sounded closer to the door now. "Because I very much need to." He needs to know that this was real.

"No. It's bad luck to look at me." It had nothing to do with bad luck. She didn't want him to see her face that would betray her emotions. She very much needed to kiss him to.

"What about if I close my eyes and you do too?"

"Alright, but you mustn't cheat." She closed her eyes, hearing the door squeak open. She followed the scent of him, reaching out her hand, touching his chest. Then her hand traveled up to his face, her fingers tracing his lips. They hovered there before she planted a kiss.

She opened her eyes to see that he had kept his promise.

The church bells rang, the villagers cheered as they excited the church, tossing white petals at them.

They climbed into the horse drawn carriage.

They were the most beautiful couple they had seen in years.

It was something out of a fairy tale. A fairy tale to last all eternity. It was a wedding fit for a Queen, exactly how Mary felt. Matthew better treat her as such.

He waited for her, in his chair, until she would walk down the aisle (over six months he switched from the crutches to a stick, just in time for their wedding) so he would not be tired out. He didn't want to be worn out for the honeymoon. He wondered if he could do what was expected. He felt himself flush. Doctor Jacobson said there should be no reason why he can't, since he had regained mobility and continence, perform his 'manly duties', as Jacobson humiliatingly put it. But it could prove difficult. He couldn't worry about that now. He was getting married.

He couldn't wait till her father handed her to him. He half turned when they were halfway up to the alter. The sight of her was breathtaking and he didn't even raise her veil yet. He didn't really get the meaning of it other than it was a symbol of purity. Many would argue if they knew.

She was pure to him, in this moment. He lifted it as the Reverend's cue. He wanted to kiss her right then and there but that came later.

The ceremony started. He barely heard his words, as he repeated after the Reverend. Then it was Mary's turn.

She turned to him to speak. He was like a fairy tale prince. In this moment he was perfect. You couldn't tell that he had been in a war, tormented by it. It had all seemed to fall away. There was hope that they could put this chapter behind them, move on from it. The dark and terrible memory of loss and war would soon belong in the past and remain there.

He had turned out not to be a sea monster but Perseus himself, her handsome prince.

She longed up and touch his face but not here. That had to come later. She wanted to get lost in him, lost in each other.

They remembered saying each other's names,

"I, Matthew Reginald Crawley."

"I, Mary Josephine Crawley."

And then I do.

The long wait was over. Just like that, they were married.

They were off to their honeymoon at Gretna Green in Scotland. They would spend the whole week there. Generations of Crawley's honeymooned there and were conceived there.

Mary was hardly one for blushing, but she felt her cheeks flush. She had done this before. But not quite like this. This was different. This was Matthew. It wouldn't be out of lust, it would be out of love.

It was more than psychical. They were giving themselves to each other with heart, mind and soul. He belonged to her and she to him. They were well matched.

As he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his brow knitted together in frustration.

"What's wrong? What is it? I wasn't too rough on you, was I?" She teased.

"I was just wondering..." He paused, trying to think of the best way to say it. "if I was worth waiting for. If I was alright?"

"You were more than alright." She really couldn't compare it to anything. Pamuk hadn't had a chance to finish before he... She willed herself not to shudder at the thought. She hadn't dared bring that up.

"I didn't please you." He said it flatly, hiding his embarrassment.

"Darling, you were fine. Besides, we'll have more than enough time to practice."

"God, I hope so!" He kissed her before turning over on his side, his back facing her.

The sheet slightly slid off his shoulders, revealing his bare back. She moved closer touching the road map of scars, tracing them with her fingers.

"Mmm." He groaned, flinching.

"Does it hurt?"

"Mmm, no. Does it disgust you?"

"No."

"Good." He turned back to her, touching her face inventively, smoothing her hair, "you are my first wife and my last. I'm afraid you're stuck with me." He kissed her goodnight.

When she woke, she found he was not in bed. He probably hadn't slept there all night for his side of the bed was cold. She found him on the sofa downstairs. His body was ridged. He was starting to mutter in his sleep. It sounded like a name. William. Then, "No. Patrick!" The muttering turned into shouting.

"Matthew. Matthew, it's alright. You're here, in Scotland."

"No. Get away from me. Don't come near me."

"Matthew, it's me, Mary." He seemed to snap out of it. "It's alright. You're here with me."

They just stared at each other in silence.

Over the next few days, the nightmares seemed to lessen, when he was lying in bed, close to her. Feeling her closeness seemed to keep them at bay.

"Are you alright? Still working hard, I see." He was hunched over his papers, already back to work, doing his lawyer business, as Mary called it. They had not been back from their honeymoon almost twenty-four hours. She sensed this would become his routine. He would focus on his duties at Downton. She was still observing his strange habits, and she had a lot of that to observe and take some getting used to. They had been used to being alone for so long.

"I want to get up to date before I go back into the office." Papa had gotten him his job back at a law office in the village, much to Matthew's dismay. He was very comfortable doing business at Downton so he would not have to travel to London occasionally, when it was needed. Almost two years, and it was still very hard and tiring on him sometimes. His back injury would flare up, especially on dreary, cold and rainy days, which was most days in London.

She saw he was going over the ledgers, recording the finances and transactions of Downton and it's various estates and holdings.

"Can you make any sense of it?" She asked. She had always been good with numbers, a natural in her tutoring days, even an interest. She had never said anything about it because it wasn't expected of her.

"I think I'm starting to familiarize myself with the format." A format that was bit troubling indeed. With Robert's bullheadedness, it would be almost impossible for him to budge. He hardly looked up; his face furrowed.

Mary wondered why he looked so morose. Most of the time, that's just his resting face, she reminded herself.

"I've brought lemon slices and honey for the tea. You know how prone to colds you are." He smiled at her comment. She put them beside the tray of tea. She did not mean to interrupt him during his work, her father hadn't wanted to be interrupted. She and Sybil would sneak in on him and nanny would chase them out. They needed to explore their boundaries. He didn't seem to mind her presence. "It's warmer now, with the fire." She stated but he was not looking in her direction.

"Are we still going to look at the flat in Ripon tomorrow? It's just the right size. It has four bedrooms." He said without looking up from his work.

"Four?"

"We can have Tom and Sybil and your father to stay, the fourth bedroom I can use as an office."

"What about a nursery?"

"If I can give you children."

"There will be. " She said to him, assuredly.

"I love you so much."

"I know you do." She could still not say it back. Did he do something to make her upset or make her angry? She announced she was going to go out riding before she took her leave.

"Moving?" Robert had wondered when this topic would come up. He hadn't expected it to be so soon. It had been tradition for the heir and his family to live outside the home, at Downton Place, until he received the Earldom. But they had had to sell it. A small part of him had hoped that they would stay here, living at the estate.

"Matthew and I discussed it before the wedding. " Mary didn't give him a chance to reply, or most likely protest. "We'll be moving to Ripon."

"Wouldn't that be hard on Matthew?" He was genuinely concerned but was also looking for an excuse for them to stay. He had lost his wife, barley even two years ago. He couldn't lose his daughter.

"We'll have a live in nurse and Matthew can work from home. We can have you and the family come visit and we'll write and call, and we can come down to the estate on Christmas Holiday. The flat we looked at has a lift." She took a sip of tea to hide her nervousness. She felt a bit guilty for not having had told him.

"What if it were to break down?" He was more worried about Matthew's mind breaking down. Although, that surely should have happened long before now, shouldn't it have? The boy had a strong-willed mind. And he was making progress. He could start to move on from the war. But could he truly put it behind him? And the ramifications from his injury would make it difficult on him and Mary and their marriage. He still needed care. Here they had all the help they could possibly need.

"The floor we'll be on doesn't have many stairs." The landlord had been willing to accommodate, and relocate them to a different flat if the stairs became too much. He had been sympathetic, as he was a veteran himself. He had served in the South African war. Mary had half expected Matthew to tire of it but he was surprisingly grateful, speaking to the man as if they were old friends.

His wife had died very young, and both his sons were killed in the war. He had a daughter that lived far away but never contacted him. He had spoken to Mary about this, whilst Matthew went to check the flat out for himself. She got to talking with the Landlord, Mr. Lake, well he did.

She reminded him of his daughter, back in simpler times. She wondered if Matthew would become like him. No. He would always have family to care for him, even at times when he wanted to close himself off. Maybe she was projecting. And she couldn't help notice the parallels between the Landlord and her father. That was when Matthew had called her away.

"I want you to be happy for us, Papa."

"I am, my darling girl, I am."

Mary and Matthew discussed it, later that day. She asked him what he had thought of the flat and if he'd come to a decision.

"I don't think it's the right place for us." He said.

No place is right for us. Mary angrily thought but she didn't want to start an argument. "I talked to Papa about it."

"What does he think about it?"

"He's alright with it, I suppose. Though we don't really need his permission."

Matthew just sat in silent reply, his arms folded to a point his elbows were resting on the arms of his wheelchair, (he often did so as he had nowhere else to put them) hands resting on his stomach, his fingers intertwined. "I think we should keep looking." He stated after a moment.

"I'm sure if we go back and check out the other units..."

"We'll look somewhere else. I can't be around someone like that Mary." Mr. Lake had been genuine, he had no doubt. He'd just be another reminder, and he didn't want the old man projecting one of his dead sons on to him. She gazed at him, with a look that said, how did you know? "Thin walls." He replied with a faint smile, picking up his glass and taking a drink. "I'd like to stay here a little longer, if that's alright with you. No need to be in a hurry."

"Right. I quite agree." She responded with a smile. She watched him, frowning. Here he is, putting up his walls again. She had thought she had been the master of that. What did he not want her to see? What was he keeping from her?

Saying nothing more, he took out a cigar and lit it. His silence would signal that he wanted to be alone.

She came up and soothed his shoulder before she left the room. Once she was gone he unlocked the roll down top of his desk, where he had put Patrick's letter. It wasn't there. He checked the other slots but drew up nothing. Where could he have misplaced it?

The subject came up again, as he was getting ready for bed. Changing clothes was still a chore. Pajamas were easier. He rarely needed any assistance with those. He needed to be sitting or lying down to put his clothes on. He'd lose his balance if he tried it standing up. He had to move his body and his gait differently, using his upper mostly, as his lower didn't function like it used to, to make up for the function certain muscles no longer had. Which meant he often got tired easily, and he would sometimes have to use the chair the rest of the day or lay in bed. But he wasn't complaining. He had come this far, which had been thought to be impossible. And he had only begun using the stick a few weeks ago.

"I also was planning on looking into a smaller estate, with less stairs. Not as grand as here. I was thinking of Carson coming to work for us. But I don't think he would."

"Since Carson would open his veins for you." He finished buttoning his nightshirt and then put on his robe, before he went off to use the bathroom. As he returned, drawing the belt tightly, he saw that she was sitting up in bed, her hair down, a letter in one hand, a glass of wine in the other. He was tempted to give her a kiss, maybe even do more. Then he saw the envelope. Patrick's writing.

"You've read it." He tried to grab the letter from her but she moved it away from his reach. He wasn't angry that she had somehow had gotten into his desk and taken it. He had wanted to read it alone. But as she started to read it out loud to him, the sinking feeling in his stomach eased. Perhaps it was for the best, that she was here with him.

"Dear Matthew, if this finds its way to you, do not feel guilt or regret for whatever fate has befallen me, and know that it is with my blessing and my intent that you be happy. I could not think of such an honorable man to take my place. I will say nothing more for you know how I hate goodbye's, other than to be happy.

Godspeed, my dearest friend

She choked up on the last words but he hadn't noticed. She looked up as he collapsed back into the chair, in the corner of the room, near his side of the bed. She saw his wall begin to crumble. Her own eyes begin to tear up, sharing his pain and anguish.

It hit him in shock waves as she finished. It was out there, it was done. Patrick's final words, his final say, it was suddenly all...final.

His hand shot up to cover his face. He didn't want her to see him this way. He tried to stop it but he couldn't. He couldn't stop the flood of tears, as he thought of his fallen friends, their clear smiling faces.

She saw that his body was shaking. She shot up from the bed, and knelt down in front of him, trying to move his hands away. "Please, don't..." Don't hide from me. Let me see you.

He took his hands away as if he had read her thoughts.

"I didn't cry..." He hadn't cried for him when he'd received the news. He never cried for any of his fallen comrades. He had never been able to properly grieve. "For any of them."

She sat on his lap, holding him, soothing the back of his head, hiding her own face from him.

"That's it. You can let it go now. Let it all out."

The crying stopped.

"Now we can start to heal." She said.

He nodded.

"My darling, Mary, what would I do without you?"

"What would I do without you?"

He raised his head. He had never thought that she could love him in that same capacity. Of course she did. How could he ever think that? One could not live without the other.

He looked at her with wide eyes, always so impossibly blue. They weren't filled with fear and torment, she usually saw in his eyes. They were filled with love, and needing. "Can you kiss me? I very much need you to."

She did.

AN: I couldn't quite leave this story alone. So, I'm trying to get this to where it's the best it can be. It just keeps nagging at me. These are missing moments, in between scenes of For Ever and Ever, if you will. I was going for a one shot theme chapters. This probably won't be the last one (Chapter. Hopefully it won't be for this universe) I know the last part I covered is the scene from my For Ever and Ever series but expanded on with Mary and Matthew's point of view. I dislike writing in first person, so I changed that one chapter in For Ever and Ever that has it. A lot has been fixed and changed in that story as well, with more depth and detail, as I want it to be the best it can be too. I want to thank all of your reviews. They help me come up with ideas, re-sparking my love for this series that is Downton Abbey, and inspire me to be a better writer.