And then, all of a sudden, before she properly knew what had happened, he had come back.
One day she herself quietly back into Crawley House, knowing that it was Molesley's day off, not expecting to find anyone waiting for her at all. She dropped her bag as she saw who was sitting in the armchair in her sitting room. It hit the floor, but she just stood there in shock, not heading it.
He looked worn, still handsome of course, but tired, weary, but he stood swiftly when he saw that she could not move, reaching down to pick up her bag for her. He was clean as well, she saw; as an officer he has obviously been given the facility to wash himself before he travelled. He placed it gently on the chair beside them when her hands did not reach out to take it back.
They were close, ever so close to one another. She could feel the presence of his body beside her without having to touch him, there seemed to be something powerful pulling them towards each other. She could hear the sound of his breathing. She took in his appearance once more, her eyes flicking over him from this closer angle. He was still wearing the red cross of a medic on the arm of his battle tunic, and the sight of it was a great relief.
His lips had formed a smile at the sight of her, but her hesitation seemed to dishearten him a little. She needed to know that it was alright for her to touch him, that he did not have any small wounds where she might hurt him by accident. She needed to know that he still wanted her to touch him after what he'd been through. But he seemed to understand.
"It's alright," he whispered, leaning in a little closer, and then, "I'm here."
The first thing she did was touch his arm tenderly, over his medic's armband. Her eyes fell shut slowly as their lips met and he kissed her soundly. His arms wrapped around her and she sighed happily, he was very much here, he was real, he was real; she could feel him beneath her fingers, he was so much more than he had been in her desperate dreams, with the lightest touches he was was enforcing his reality so strongly, and it overwhelmed her. Her lips opened, welcoming him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her hands tangling in his hair.
"Richard-..." she moaned against his lips, "Love you," she told him between kisses.
"I love you so much as well," he whispered to her, resting his forehead on hers, holding on to her waist, "The thought of you kept me alive."
"I'll tell that to the family when I explain to them why I'm living with a dead man," she quipped.
He smiled, kissing her again, before asking, "Living with you?"
"Yes," she whispered, "Nothing will persuade me to part from you. Until you have too-..."
"I didn't tell you," he cut her off, "I've been granted indefinite leave from my regiment," he told her softly, "They've transferred me back to a hospital in Britain."
"Where?" she breathed.
"Downton Village," he replied.
"Oh Richard!"
She threw her arms around him once more, burying her face in his neck, planting kisses on every inch of skin she could reach.
"Come to bed with me," she whispered.
He stiffened a little.
"I thought we sho-..."
"Richard, I'm tired of waiting," she told him, "I don't care that we aren't married. Bed, now."
"No," he stopped her, "I mean, don't you want to talk about what happened? About what I did?"
She looked at him clearly.
"Can it wait?" she asked him gently, "Can I hear it in an hour, or in the morning after you've slept?" Her hand touched his, and she kissed him again softly. "I want to do this now," she told him, "I want to show you that it won't matter to me what happened out there, I will still love you. I love you and will love you regardless of what you did in France, I realised that when you were gone. I realise that terrible things happen in a war, I'm glad just to have you," she touched his face with her fingertips, "So will you come to bed with me, and make love, and tell me in the morning? Is that something you can do?"
He met her eyes. Nodded. Took her hand, and followed her.
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