A/N: I'm glad to see there are others out there who are intrigued by the potential fate of a toy dog. And thank you to all who have left kind reviews and thoughtful comments; in the words of Mrs. Hughes, feedback is "very highly valued" by this author.

3. Transition

Mary has known for quite some time that Matthew will make an excellent earl. In a few quiet moments, she has even wondered if he will be better as an earl than she will be as a countess (though it wouldn't be by much, of course). There is a younger version of herself, lingering in a shadowy back corner of her mind, that is absolutely appalled at such thoughts. That younger Mary was much more snobbish and much less in love with Matthew Crawley than the current incarnation.

Current Mary is fairly certain that's not a coincidence.

It's funny, she thinks, surveying the boxes surrounding her in the dressing room, in that way things are funny when they are not funny at all. Before, when she considered their future, it was with pride and confidence—they would move into the big house, and Matthew would be a brilliant earl, and she would be his brilliant countess, and they would raise their children in her childhood home, and Downton would flourish. This is what she has been groomed for, prepared for, and she once thought she knew what it meant. It is doubly upsetting, then, to realize that she appears to have spent much of her life understanding what would happen without actually understanding what would happen.

Even Crawley House seems so dear to her now, despite how small and plain it had felt upon her arrival as a bride. It will always be the place they had started their life together: their bedroom, where they had learned so many fascinating things about each other; the room across the hall, which had been their nursery; the study, where they had talked and argued and laughed, for hours and hours, giddy from the simple joy that no one could ever again tell them it was improper to spend so much time alone together. They had been happy here.

What will happen, now that they must leave, now that they will spend each day as Earl and Countess of Grantham? What will it be like, inhabiting a future in which Robert Crawley is not available for support and advice?

Why does it feel as if she is burying so much more than her father? (Isn't that loss great enough on its own?)

She is off-balance, misaligned, her equilibrium gone. One sad event has set off a cascade of changes all at once, and now everything is slipping past her and she just wants it to stop for awhile, or at least slow down so she can think properly. Or maybe so she can stop thinking altogether.

Just for awhile.

She can't even recall why she is in this room. She is looking for something that has already been packed—that must be it—why else would she be here? If only she could remember what it is or why she needs it...she must focus. Her eyes rove around the room, hoping for inspiration, when she sees it: sitting innocuously in an open box, surrounded by stockings, it is not the ambiguous thing she came here for, but something altogether more precious. It is her good luck charm—the little stuffed dog she had given to Matthew in what seems like another life. He must have had it stashed away in a drawer this whole time. Her original purpose abandoned, she moves toward the box and picks up the old toy.

And finally, blessedly, everything around her stands still.

She remembers another time when she'd been off-balance, unsure, unsteady. The whole world had gone mad, and she'd been swept away in the current and yet stuck on the shore: incapable of escaping the insanity but powerless to do anything about it.

Yes, she decides, as she absentmindedly turns the little dog over and over in her hands, powerless is a good word to describe how she'd felt then. Unable to affect the outcome of the war, unable to protect those she cared for, unable even to fix the mess she'd made of her own life. Relegated to praying and wishing and hoping that the man she loved would come home alive, knowing that she would lose him even if he did. Resigned to a future of paying for her past.

She hears footsteps in the hallway and looks up just as Matthew enters the room. "Ah, Mary, there you are. Your mother wants—" His words hang in the air, his message apparently forgotten as he notices what she is holding in her hands. Then he begins rambling, clumsy phrases about how he was going to give it back to her or why he kept it or something of that nature, but she is not paying much attention to his words. She is captivated by his face, his eyes, the expression that is so familiar to her because she sees it when she looks in the mirror. He seems a little...lost. Off-balance, off-center, just as she is. How could she have missed it before?

But she is not powerless this time, she realizes, tightening her grip on her old good luck charm, the ghost of a smile on her lips. She couldn't help him in the trenches, but she can help him through this transition, and their world will steady itself again. This is what she has been groomed for, prepared for, and she will make her father proud.

"Matthew, you are going to be a brilliant earl," she says suddenly, cutting into whatever he is still saying about promises and mementos and who knows what else.

"So you see, I...uh, what?" It takes him a few seconds to catch up, and not being privy to her thoughts, he is understandably confused by her interruption.

"You are going to be splendid at this, I know it. I've known it for quite some time, really. Since before the war, if you can believe it." He still looks a bit baffled, so she continues, "I was just thinking that I've never properly told you. So now I have."

"Um...thank you," he says, and she can tell it is heartfelt, despite his surprise at the turn in the conversation. "And...uh, you are going to be splendid, too," he adds.

Mary raises her eyebrows and lifts her chin. "Of course I am," she replies in her haughtiest voice, the one she hasn't used with him in years.

He gives a short laugh and shakes his head good-naturedly, having recognized her response for what it truly is. She smiles at him, a full-fledged smile now, and something intangible snaps back into place.

Balancing is getting easier again.