December 17: Let It Snow (Love)

Pairing: Mary/Matthew

Rating: K

Several days had gone by, and as the New York air grew grey and cold, every new bulletin seemed to announce the incoming snow. Even with the shitshows happening elsewhere in the world, it seemed that the city was bracing for winter weather like it was to be the storm of the century.

"You see the photos of New York looking like the North Pole, but after five minutes it turns into a slushy grey mess, thanks to all our taxis," Martha was telling Matthew over breakfast. "Yet every year when it comes it turns out to be a big deal."

"My mother told me they've been having heavy snowfall around Downton," Matthew said.

"We almost always do," Mary shrugged, slapping blackberry spread on her toast. "Sometimes, though, it doesn't come until after New Years.'"

"Ironic, considering you live nearly as far away as the Russian tundra," Martha quipped.

Matthew cleared his throat. "I'm at least glad I got to walk around the city with Mary before the snow comes in. Unfortunately, I won't be able to join in on any plans the two of you have, as I'll have to go to the conference that I was sent here to attend this afternoon."

Mary's heart sank a bit. "I forgot that you were sent here on business."

Matthew smiled reassuringly at Mary. "It's alright. I'm glad that I got to come early to spend some time with you. And don't worry: I have free time tomorrow as well and then the day before I leave."

"Ah, so you won't be abandoning us completely," Mary said.

"She's bored to death with me," Martha said in a half whisper.

"I can keep myself entertained, thank you very much," Mary insisted.

"Sure looks like it," Martha said.

Mary rolled her eyes. "Well, if Matthew's not with me, and if you," she said towards Grandmama, "don't need me for anything, I can finish up some Christmas shopping."

"Have you even started?" Grandmama said.

"Grandmama, if you are going to give me your input without my sanction, you can forget about me helping you to trim the tree."

"That's fine with me. I've heard Sybil did a bang-up job decorating Downton, I could easily airlift her over here," Grandmama said.

"I'll have to figure out a way to do my shopping for the both of you, without you looking over my shoulder," Matthew said. "Although I'm not very good at knowing what other people like."

"No one is, and those who do lose the ability at Christmas," Martha said. "But I have to object to you buying any gifts for me, you shouldn't be putting yourself through that kind of trouble."

"I'll buy something for you anyway," Matthew said. "You've been so hospitable, allowing me to stay here on such short notice."

"Oh Matthew, I could let everybody with Crawley lineage stay here for the holidays," Martha said.

Mary set off early, alone, for the endless shops of the avenues. As she passed store windows displaying animatronic nutcrackers and dancing sugar-plum fairies, she wondered who to get what Christmas gifts. Shopping for her family and close friends was easy, and since she was aware of their eagerness to have items sold from opulent department stores. Of course, she had the cash, but lacked the insight on 'good gifts.' This was the problem of Christmas: it was supposed to be about peace on earth and good will toward men, but what it truly came down to was 'is this gift good enough?' Commercialism was a crucial part of the Christmas season, and New York certainly wasn't lacking in it.

While Mary browsed the shops, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with everybody else, she thought about what to get Anna. Considering the hardships she had faced in the past year, Anna was remarkably strong, and Mary wanted to give her something truly special, something beautiful. She had to be careful, though, about not buying anything too expensive, more for her own sake than Anna's. She was always attentive to the fact that she had more pocket money than most people, and had always given and received accordingly, but still she suffered a guilt complex due to the fact that Anna was a hardworking middle-class woman who was accustomed to having a lot of money to spend.

Why is it not acceptable to simply ask what people want for Christmas? Does it always have to be a surprise? Mary pondered. After all, children tell Santa Claus exactly what they want, even if they ask for ridiculous toys or horses.

Casting her doubts aside, Mary did the best she could in buying clothing and books and whatnot for her family, arranging to have them sent to Downton by the twenty-fifth. For Sybil, she had found an elegant leather jacket fit for the family rebel; Edith was going to get a pale pink evening dress (which, to Mary, fit perfectly with Edith's current relationship status); Papa was going to receive a set of books that John Bates let slip that he might like, although judging from the synopsis they were snooze-worthy; for Mama, a set of silk scarves.

After a short break and a long mulling-over, Mary decided to try and find a necklace for Anna, something simple but elegant. Anna seldom dressed classy, but having something nice that she could wear everyday might help her to look in the mirror and smile a bit more. Mary had to contact Grandmama to find an appropriate jewelry store (anything but Cartier, Grandmama had specified), but in a smaller scale store she found a suitable chain of blue stones. Mary hoped she would be able to return to England soon so she could see Anna smiling as she wore it.

As the sky began to paint the streets with reflections of orange and pink, Mary felt satisfied with the gifts she was giving. She had finished finding Christmas presents for everyone on her list, which wasn't a terribly long list. Except for one.

There was no question of her giving a gift to Matthew; after all, the past few days had been spent together, and Mary was certain that there was not a single bad feeling between him and her. She was forced to admit, however, that she did know for anyone like Matthew, since she had never known anyone else like him.

She cared enough to want to give something that showed she put some thought into his gift, but nothing that required a whole different level of intimacy – neither of them needed anything like that. However, she was only versed in knowing what sort of things family and childhood friends liked. She was clueless as to what was an acceptable gift for a man who was more or less a good friend. She tried to remember what she had given him in years past, but those gifts were probably suggested by her mother. This season, she would think of something herself, something that she would have no qualms about presenting to Matthew before he departed back to England.

Unfortunately, even if she did have a clue, she would have no time to find it, as it was getting dark quickly, and she was feeling exhaustion hitting her finally. Dead on her feet, she hailed a taxi and, with relief, reentered her grandmother's apartment a few minutes later.

"Hello Mary," Matthew said, watching Mary trudge through the foyer. He cringed as he saw Mary practically limping toward him.

"You're walking like a zombie," he noted. Mary gave a joking sneer.

"When did you back?" she asked.

"Just a few minutes ago," Matthew answered. "And I'm glad you're back so I could ask you in person … if —"

"What?"

Matthew looked embarrassed, a side to him that Mary did not see often nowadays. "Well, I was wondering … I want to take you out to dinner. Just you and me."

Mary stood rock still, hiding shaking fingers. "I … I see."

"If that's reasonable for you, I mean," Matthew added quickly. "If you're too tired —"

"I'm not!" Mary said instantly. "I promise, I can still walk."

A shade of relief came over Matthew. "Very well, then. Let's go in a few minutes. You should change into some more comfortable shoes."

The boots she was wearing had a slight heel, and after walking about in them for hours, Mary was more than perfectly content to rip them off her legs and slip on something that did not have a heel. She considered a change of clothes, and found a better out-for-dinner top and jacket. Not that Matthew cared how pretty she looked. When all was said and done, no one could tell Mary that she was going out on a date.

"I asked your grandmother for a good place to go," Matthew said. "There's one not too far away, but your grandmother was not sure if she had taken you there before."

"It's fine," Mary said, buttoning her coat.

"And I don't care how large the bill gets, I'm paying for it," Matthew decided.

Mary tried to relax in the taxi ride, with Matthew sitting beside her, hardly a foot away. She wondered what brought this on, why he was treating her to a night out. She shook the word date out of her mind and resigned to the possibility that he was doing something nice for a friend.

She cleared her throat, hoping to start a conversation to alleviate the silence in the back seat of the taxi. "So, how was your day?" she began.

Matthew rubbed his forehead with the back of a finger. "Dull. I won't tell you the details of it; I'll only bore you to tears. If I realized how dreary these things could be, I would have insisted to my boss to keep me in England."

"Even if you weren't able to come to New York?" inquired Mary.

Matthew contemplated her words. "Well … I suppose just seeing you makes it worthwhile."

Oh. My. God. Mary's thinking capacity seemed to freeze over. Matthew seemed to sense how awkward he had just made matters, and promptly shut his mouth closed.

The restaurant was one that Mary had been to before, and it was one that she enjoyed very much. She didn't mention that, however, thinking that might spoil whatever mood Matthew was trying to keep. They were seated by a large window, where far below were horse carriages from Central Park, across every surface were coloured lights strung, and small people dotted on the street, hoping to find some way to reach home quickly.

"Have you gotten used to life in the city yet?" Matthew asked Mary.

Mary paused, searching for a viable answer. "To an extent," she conceded. "New York is far different from any other place. Everything happens at top speed, in excess. London is a quiet hamlet compared to this metropolis."

Matthew nodded, and Mary was pleased he agreed with her. "I always thought of New York as an entirely separate country, or like a place out of a sci-fi film," he said. "When you announced you were coming here to stay, I felt like you'd be moving to another planet. Only for a minute, obviously," he added.

"I'm not on another planet," Mary said, allowing only a hint of sadness to filter through her words, "but I am an ocean away from everyone I know."

"At least we aren't living in an era when you wouldn't hear back from your family for weeks if you sent them mail and such," Matthew said.

"I'm glad for that," Mary acknowledged. "Although I try not to distract myself by emailing family often. When I first came it, it was easier to forget that there's life elsewhere. I just don't like to think about it."

She had hit a rough nerve. Slowly and solemnly, Matthew nodded, but he remained silent, even though Mary could tell he had something to say to what she had just confessed. Something about Richard Carlisle, maybe. But she did not want to hear about it, and she'd be damned if Carlisle could ruin a pleasant evening while he was on another continent. She took a lengthy sip of wine to avoid continuing the subject. As she swallowed the alcohol, she detected a subtle movement through the corner of her eye, and she turned towards the window.

"Matthew, I think it's snowing," she said, motioning towards the window.

Matthew peered out to the cityscape, watching the small snowflakes fall steadily like feathers. "You're right. I guess the weathermen were right for once."

"It looks so nice," Mary said wistfully. She rested her head on her fist, feeling a sense of peace wash over her at last. She was consumed with fatigue from the day's endeavors (to say nothing of the condition of her feet), but she was glad she had taken Matthew's offer to spend a night along with him.

The two of them gazed at the falling snow as it came down heavier, bringing white onto the black streets. It reminded Mary of home, of the great white tundra that Downton was probably in the middle of already. The fresh snow caused a tinge of homesickness, only a small feeling, but with Matthew sitting with her, watching winter come at last to the city, she did not feel lacking in comforting vibes.

"I have missed you," Matthew told her after some silence. "Quite a lot, in fact."

"So have I," Mary said, not caring a single bit how he perceived that. She did not say a single word as Matthew's hand moved inexorably closer to her own, his fingertips just touching hers.