A/N: Firstly, I'd like to again say a HUGE thank you to everyone who's reviewed and enjoyed this story so far – I appreciate it so much. Thank you! Obviously, having started this a long time ago, this scenario is now AU. I hope that won't impact on your enjoyment of it at all, I've decided to just plough on with how I initially envisaged this, so no series 2 spoilers have been accounted for.

Secondly, I've just been away for nearly 2 weeks devoid of internet access. I've been able to read but not post, so I just want to say I've hugely enjoyed all the M/M fics popping up - I will be leaving proper reviews once I've recovered from travelling but in the meantime, I've loved them, and I give you this offering (I've been quite prolific writing!)

Finally, just a small reminder that the Highclere Awards are currently at the voting stage – thank you SO much for any nominations of my fics, I was absolutely thrilled and surprised to see some there! It means so much to me!

And with that, I leave you to enjoy the chapter – it snowballed somewhat, I must say, but I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 3

Frustration. Simmering frustration, remorse, anger, shame, guilt, but most of all frustration, chased around Matthew's mind as he sat in bitter silence, his fist clenched on the table and lips pressed into a hard-set line as he replayed their conversation over and over. He got angrier and angrier as he thought about what she had said, what he had said, what he hadn't said, what he could've said, what he should've said… An embittered soldier he might be, now, but that was no excuse at all to have taken it out on her, not when he… The rest of the family, he cared not what they thought of him or his silence, but Mary…

Gradually, his frustration at himself cooled into disappointment. Oh, she may have said all the wrong things but he had hardly been any better, had hardly given her any opportunity for decent conversation and then had blamed her when she had failed. No, it wasn't fair. None of it was fair, but… His disappointment turned slowly to determination. He had been an unreasonable fool; he must at least attempt to make some amends. No, it was not even that he must; he wanted to. A heavy sigh left his lips and he looked up, scanning the room. He twisted a little, then finally saw a passing nurse and caught her eye, smiling gratefully as she approached.

"Good afternoon, Captain Crawley," she greeted him with an overly sweet smile. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Yes, please. I'm quite well, but – could I trouble you for a pen and paper?"

"Oh," the young nurse seemed slightly surprised by his request, but nevertheless fished immediately in her apron pocket. "Of course, here you are."

"Thank you." A distracted smile passed over Matthew's face. He motioned her to wait for a moment as he bent and hastily scribbled something onto the small sheet. The nurse clasped her hands patiently in front of her. After a moment Matthew folded the paper carefully, then turned to look up at her. "I… don't suppose you'd have an idea where Carson, the butler, might be?"

"I imagine he'd be in his pantry, Sir. He often is, this time of the day."

"Ah. In that case – would it be any trouble for you to please give this to him, and ask him to pass it along to Lady Mary? If you have no more pressing matters to attend to, of course."

"Not at all, Captain Crawley," she smiled sweetly as she took the paper and pen from him. "I'll do as you've asked right away."

"Thank you."

It took some time for Carson to find Lady Mary. She had not fled to the drawing room, converted from one of the gallery guest bedrooms. He didn't generally like to trouble the ladies in their bedchambers, but, having exhausted all other possibilities, he succumbed to try. The idea of a note from Captain Crawley to Lady Mary was most intriguing and, while it was not in Carson's nature to wonder too deeply about the intimate affairs of the family, he could not help but harbour some small hope that this was a promising sign, even after so much time and upheaval.

He tapped lightly but firmly on her door, and was rewarded by a small, quiet voice admitting him entrance.

Mary looked up as the door swung open a little, and could not help a small sigh of relief as she saw Carson appear, rather than one of her family. She felt humiliated enough following her encounter with Matthew, and the thought of her family knowing of it was unbearable; for pry they surely would.

"Ah, Carson," she braved a smile. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry to trouble you, my Lady," Carson's deep voice rumbled in comforting familiarity as he stepped just inside the door. Mary shook her head dismissively with a smile, bidding him enter further. Carson held his hand out, a small piece of folded paper between his large fingers. "I've been asked to pass this on to you – I understand it is from Captain Crawley."

"Oh, I see." Mary hid her surprise as best she could, as though to receive a note from Matthew was the most commonplace thing in the world. As she reached out to take it, her one allowance to the little jump of her heart was to clutch nervously at her skirt with her free hand.

"Thank you, Carson." She smiled a small, tight smile, the flutter of excitement protesting against the indignation she still felt at Matthew's manner.

With trembling hands, she folded it open. Something about it seemed so personal; to think so was probably silly, she imagined, but still she could not help the small thrill she felt as she thought of him writing it to her… But then, she reminded herself sharply, he had behaved abominably to her.

It read:

I'm sorry. I'm terribly sorry. I would very much like to get outside for a little while – if you still wished to.

Matthew

Mary stared at the note for a moment or two, lips parted slightly, finding herself strangely transfixed by the sight of his handwriting, the thought of his hand guiding the pen, forming the letters, thinking of her as he wrote… The simple beauty of his script and the message, conveying so much in so few words. She almost had to shake herself out of her reverie, fully aware of how ridiculous it was to be so affected by a single line from Matthew.

"Shall I give him any reply, my Lady?" Carson dutifully wondered.

"No – no, thank you, Carson." The only reply might have been that she would be down presently, of course she still wished to – but that small, stubborn part of her mind felt it only fair to make him wait for a response. She didn't want to seem too eager, after all.

"Very well, my Lady."

Carson dipped his head respectfully and left Mary to her thoughts. As soon as the door was closed behind him she stood, paced a while, clutched the note to her chest, trying to steady her breathing. How was she still so affected by him? How, after so long, after the way they had treated each other? Matthew, Matthew… The mere thought of him made her slightly breathless. She wondered – the tone of his note had seemed so sincere, apologetic, earnest – no. She must not let her thoughts stray there, must hope for nothing, there was too much between them now, surely…

Having donned more appropriate shoes, a hat and a light jacket, she walked gracefully across the hall to the library doorway. It took only a moment for him to look up. Mary smiled at the almost imperceptible change in his demeanour as he noticed her, the way his eyes brightened, his lips twitched into a smile, shoulders straightening as he sat up just a little higher. She raised a lace-gloved hand in greeting, waiting patiently as he made his way across the room to her; frowning a little as she observed his slight struggle to manoeuvre his unwieldy wheelchair through the crowded room.

By the time he reached her, clearly in some pain through the exertion, Mary wondered if perhaps she should have offered to help – it was so difficult! She would never want to patronise him, but to see him struggle… It was impossible. Her hands twisted nervously in front of her, perhaps it had been a mistake; perhaps it had been a mistake to talk to him at all, that first day even…

"Hello again," she smiled tentatively.

"Hello," Matthew did his best to mask his pain. "Thank you," he said, meeting her eyes sincerely, "for giving me another chance. I was dreadfully rude, it wasn't fair."

"Yes, you were!" Mary's eyes twinkled as she rebuked him, unable to disguise the fondness in her voice. Already, it seemed easier, the wall of silence between them broken, each having made a silent promise to themselves that they would not let stubbornness or pride hold their tongues, this time.

"Yes… Sorry. I don't suppose we could start again?"

Mary's smile grew a little wider, hopeful at his attitude. In many ways, it felt as though they really were starting again. Not just this conversation, this day, but… from the beginning. They were both different people now to who they'd been three years ago, and these new people, though connected to those two young fools in love by a spark through time, needed to get to know one another afresh.

"Why ever not?"

She hesitated a moment, smile faltering a fraction as she gestured vaguely towards the back of his chair. "I – don't know if you'd –"

"Yes, please – if you wouldn't mind. Thank you."

Mary nodded briskly at his shy, grateful smile, pursing her lips as she went to stand behind him. She'd never pushed a wheelchair before, of course she hadn't, had never had reason to. It couldn't be so hard. She'd seen other people do it, and it looked perfectly straightforward in any case. Flexing her fingers slightly, she grasped the heavy wooden handle at the back and pushed gently, finding it required considerably more effort than she had anticipated. As she struggled to ease it down the slight step out on to the gravelled driveway – apologising hastily to Matthew as she felt it bump uncomfortably, heard his quiet gasp of pain and his dutiful reassurances – she was desperately grateful that at least, this way, he could not see her face.

Once outside, Mary soon found her stride, becoming quickly used to the weight of it and learning how to guide it. She felt a strange, quiet pride at Matthew's forbearance of it, and an appreciation of the fact that he was putting his trust in her in this manner. It felt strangely intimate… She tried not to dwell on the thought.

After progressing for a while in a comfortable silence, both quietly savouring the silent presence of the other and the welcome freshness of the air, Mary eventually spoke. She felt a strange security in the fact that she could only see the back of his head and shoulders, and just occasionally his cheek if he turned his head enough. It was easier like this.

"I'm sorry, Matthew, for earlier. I know the things I said were insensitive and unthinking. I suppose it isn't any excuse that I find it difficult. What have I to find difficult, compared to –" She trailed off into a humourless chuckle of disappointment at herself. "I simply can't imagine. I'm sorry."

Matthew was silent a moment. His body tensed fractionally, just for a second, and Mary could just see his fingers tighten slightly in silent agitation. She held her breath, hoping desperately that she had not simply caused him more offence… Oh, it was impossible.

"Of course you can't imagine," his voice rang with bitterness. "Nor should you! It's unthinkable, it's unspeakable." He was silent a moment longer, before suddenly seeming to soften, his shoulders relaxing again. "Do not wish that you could imagine, Mary, or understand." Another pause. Mary waited, reluctant to press him now that he was talking more freely, to risk closing him off again. "I would never insult you with anything less than the truth, but the truth is… I… I can't." His voice had dropped, lower, softer.

"Oh, Matthew." There were no other words, nothing at all she could say. It did make her uncomfortable to think of, though she could never admit that to him. It was unthinkable. She bit her lip gently in thought, then spoke quietly. "I shall also not insult you with anything less than the truth, and say… that I can't deny being glad that you're out of it. Though of course I never would have wished you injured, but –" Oh, it was coming out all wrong again. She sighed in quiet frustration, almost glad that she could not see the look on his face at her unthinking words. "It's comforting to know that you're safe now. I'm sorry if that's selfish of me."

"A little, perhaps." Matthew said it kindly, turning his head as much as he could so that she could just see the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Though –" his voice dropped even lower, even softer. "It's nice to know that my safety is cared about." He did not add the thought at the back of his mind, especially by you; though he hoped she might guess his meaning.

"Of course it is!"

Mary said this perhaps a little more brusquely than she meant, suddenly afraid that her words had revealed more than she'd intended. Afraid at how open they were being, afraid at what the conversation was leading towards, afraid of her own feelings and the strength of them and of his feelings that she could only guess at.

Silence settled once more, heavy with a mutual awareness of something, something that neither was quite ready to admit to yet. It was too soon, their truce too delicate, too tentative.

After a while, Mary broke the silence once more. She longed just to talk with him, about anything, nothing, his voice seeming like the most precious water after three year's drought of it. Hoping it was a safe, neutral topic, she broached something that had been on her mind these last few days.

"Matthew?"

"Yes?"

Mary hesitated a moment, unwilling to ask such a sensitive question but equally determined to show that she was not afraid of it.

"What will you do when you're fit again? I suppose they'll send you back out, but –"

Matthew was silent a moment, taken aback by the question, that she had thought of it even, that she cared about his future beyond this. The unspoken assurance that she believed he had a future beyond this, her use of when, not if, making his heart jump a little. Knowing that she couldn't see, he allowed a tentative smile to play on his lips before he sobered once more to answer.

"I don't know, truthfully," he responded with a gentle shrug. If he was honest, his future looked bleak no matter which way he looked at it. His voice became flat, almost sullen. "Depending on how well the legs heal… Chances are I could get assigned to officer training, remaining in England. Or, if I did get posted back out, I might get stuck on messenger duties, between trench lines and such. At least I'd get a motorcycle for that," he chuckled wryly, then sighed heavily. "Who knows, the whole damned thing could be over before I'm fit. God knows! Either way – however long it takes – I just don't know that my legs could ever be strong enough to get me back to the front line fighting, no matter how much I might –"

He trailed off suddenly, as though he had let slip something shameful, not missing Mary's quiet gasp of realisation – too late, too late he had stopped.

"You… want to be there. Not just there, but… Fighting?" She was almost whispering, almost reluctant to say the words aloud. Matthew shifted uncomfortably, so aware of her eyes on the back of his neck.

"Yes," he eventually shrugged, wishing for the first time since they had come out that she could see his face, understand what he meant. He had reached the summit of his silence and tipped over, words and justifications spilling out all at once. "I'm sorry, I know it makes you uncomfortable, but… You see, I have to feel useful, Mary, you know me well enough to know that. I have to be doing something, and… Fighting is what I have been doing. For three years. And while I've accepted this, for now, the thought of serving again but not being at the front, where I should be, standing by the men I should be standing by and letting them do the fighting I should be doing – I can't, Mary, it wouldn't feel right. It wouldn't feel right to be sitting at the back, hearing it all go on but unable to do anything, and… I know this isn't what you want to hear, Mary, and God you mustn't tell my mother, but – I'm used to it now. With that having been my life for three years, it has come to feel strangely… right, even though it isn't; of course it isn't, but… At least I could do something there but now these damned legs –"

All at once his agitated energy seemed to leave him, and his voice died on his lips with a final, bitter thump of his fist to the arm of his hated chair. His chest and shoulders rose and fell heavily with each tormented breath, and his cheeks flamed with shame for how he felt and how he had done exactly what he wished never to do and burdened Mary with the truth of his tortured soul. It was perverse, it was wrong, to finally be safe and away from harm and to want to be back there.

Mary had listened with increasing alarm to Matthew's outpouring. Part of her felt as though she should feel angry, angry at his ungratefulness for being safe, angry at his harmful desires, angry at his selfishness to think of what he wanted but to show no care for those who cared for him… But she felt none of this, only a deep-seated sorrow at his despair and frustration, a concern borne of love that the broken soldier in the wheelchair before her wanted nothing more than to serve but was unable to; and that he was hurting in ways that she could not imagine but there was nothing she could do.

She had wondered how it had been so easy before, but now it happened again, even without thought. Words could do nothing, there were no words, yet her whole being cried out to reassure him somehow. Instinctively one hand moved from its grip on his wheelchair and grasped his shoulder, a firm, comforting, reassuring squeeze to let him know that she understood, that it was alright, that she was here.

She had forgotten the severity of his injuries beyond his legs.

As she squeezed his shoulder, fingers pressing down on the soft, still scarred flesh between his shoulder and neck that had been torn by a fiercely splintered roof beam, Matthew hissed sharply at the wave of pain that rippled down right through him, his entire body stiffening in protest.

Mary gasped, horrified at her own unthinking action, but as her hand went to jerk instinctively away she found she could not move it. It was already covered by Matthew's own.

"Matthew –"

"It's alright," he assured her through gritted teeth, then, in a more normal voice; "It's alright."

He didn't know, really, why he was still holding her hand. It had been instinct, his sharp reflexes kicking in impulsively. As soon as he'd felt it, even through the pain, he'd reached for her. And now, he just… didn't let go. It seemed so simple. He gripped her fingers for security as he forced his body to relax once more, then, once settled, simply held on. His grip softened and he smiled when her hand stayed there, yielding to his unspoken wish.

Though Mary was finding it difficult to manoeuvre the wheelchair one-handed, she didn't care. Matthew held her hand still, his arm twisted (surely uncomfortably) up to do so. She smiled as their fingers gently entwined, interlinked, playing and stroking over their palms in a strange, wondering dance. It felt so natural, so right… Speech seemed strangely unnecessary. There immediately seemed a silent understanding between them, once that first shock had passed, that this was alright, and it drove all dark thoughts away.

Until Matthew realised, startling himself slightly, that he had entirely no right to hold her hand at all. His life may have been effectively on hold for three years, but he sometimes struggled to remember that the same was not true of everyone. It had been three years, surely… What right on earth had he to presume that she was still free? How could he simply expect to pick up where they had left off? Feeling a mild sense of disgust at himself, he reluctantly tugged his hand away to clench twisting in his lap.

Of course, Mary thought sorrowfully, as his fingers slipped through her grasp. Of course he had realised the absurdity of it. It was impossible, impossible to imagine he could've forgotten the hurt she'd caused him. Berating herself for allowing that glimmer of hope to shine too brightly, she renewed her grip on his wheelchair and pushed with a greater determination, until his quiet, gentle voice broke into her thoughts.

"I'm sorry, Mary, I never asked. We've spoken too much of myself and my pitiful lot. What – what is your… situation, now?"

Mary expelled a soft sigh as she realised what he was asking her, feeling a sense of almost shame at the irony that he believed his lot in life to be pitiful. When she spoke, it was with a wry smile and forced brightness.

"I'm afraid it is as you see it, Matthew! My – situation – is really dreadfully dull. I have neither the inclination nor the fortitude to do as my sisters have and aid the war effort in any sort of physical way – you know I am a selfish creature. I've tried to do my part in helping my mother arrange charity events, and such; but I'm sorry to say that is it."

Matthew smiled. She had not changed so much, then. That pleased him, somehow.

"You shouldn't underestimate the worth of such ventures, Mary," he said sincerely. "They do more good than you probably know, believe me."

"You shouldn't pander to me, Matthew!" Mary laughed dryly. She was aware, though, that he was trying to make her feel better about it, and that made her heart a little lighter. "I don't deserve it, I'm sure."

She realised then that they had completed a full circuit of the abbey, including the colourful walled garden, quite without realising. Her gaze shifted to the open doorway. It signalled an end to things. They had been talking so easily out here, like this. It seemed to Mary that if they were to return inside this would somehow all be lost. Reluctant to lose it just yet, praying that Matthew wouldn't mind (being unaware that his mind was similarly engaged), she turned instead towards the spreading boughs of the Cedar of Lebanon just beyond the corner of the house, and to the little bench beneath it.

Approaching it, a small smile played across her lips. They seemed to have shared so much here. It was where she came when she missed him, and it seemed fitting now to sit here with him again, with him real, now, beside her, rather than simply a phantom of her memory. Frowning, she stopped in front of it a moment with pursed lips, then broke into action at Matthew's slight, pointed cough. With some effort she turned herself and Matthew's wheelchair around, shuffling awkwardly backwards to bring it into line with the bench, heaving a most unladylike sigh as she finally arranged it (and Matthew) next to it. Then, wiping her hands purposefully, she stepped around in front of him to perch gracefully on the end of the bench, raising her eyebrows triumphantly at him as she did so.

"Thank you," he said quietly, smirking only a little despite his genuine appreciation for her efforts.

For a moment, they simply sat and smiled at each other. It seemed a strange pleasure now, after having just communicated so much without seeing the other's face. Matthew's gaze was so warm, so meaningful and sincere that the intensity of it suddenly made Mary shiver and her eyes dropped to her lap. Her skin was prickling, not uncomfortably, under his eyes, and she laughed nervously to shift the atmosphere.

"As you see then, Matthew, I'm hardly suited to nursing!"

"Nonsense," he chuckled softly. "Well, I consider you'd perhaps make as good a nurse as I do a patient…" Matthew thought he'd let Mary decide for herself whether or not that was a compliment. Really, though, the very fact of her obvious discomfort around soldiers and wounds only made her willingness – desire, even – to be near him all the more meaningful.

Looking at Matthew now, Mary suddenly remembered that she had not fully answered him. She had known, of course, what was behind his query of her 'situation', had understood then why he had suddenly withdrawn his hand. Her pulse raced a little faster at the thought that he wanted to know, and what that meant. She took a breath, steeling herself and fixing her eyes onto the deep blueness of his.

"And in other regards," she breezed, hoping that he would follow; "my situation is, again, as you see. I remain at Downton, under the care of my parents still." Unmarried. She hoped that was obvious. Her smiled brightened and she shrugged noncommittally, suddenly afraid of having been too obvious (though that seemed silly, really, when her intention was to make him see). "After all, what suitors have there been for me, with all Britain's finest having dashed off to France!" As Matthew's eyes widened slightly and his lips parted, Mary felt horribly callous. After everything he'd been through, he didn't deserve her flippancy, not now. She wriggled slightly on the bench, settling a more serious gaze on him. "So no, Matthew. To answer your question – no. I am… quite free." She shook her head gently and smiled, her smile growing wider as she saw comprehension dawn gradually upon him.

"Ah," he breathed, understanding her unspoken invitation. "Mary…" He swallowed heavily, unable to articulate any words beyond her treasured name.

As his hand reached once more for hers, Mary's heart pounded, feeling his fingers close around hers, that gentle pressure that urged her to shuffle that fraction closer to him. Her head was in a spin, so was his; they seemed to be in a bubble of surreality that was beyond all rational thought. That pull, that bond, that spark, as fresh and as strong now as it ever had been. There was no past, there was no future, there was only this beautiful present and him, and her, and the ever closing distance between them, as though it had been closing for weeks, as though fate had planned it when he had first put pen to paper, when the shell had fallen, when the train had brought him here, when she had sought him out, then again, and then now… The distance of miles closed to mere inches, smaller and smaller as their warm breath mingled between them and their eyes drifted closed…

It seemed inevitable, and in many ways it was. It was not a conscious decision; it seemed merely the natural course of things, so perfectly and utterly right as finally… they shared that first, soft, tender kiss. Their lips brushed, so gently, that first touch proving the most perfect fulfilment of every secretly harboured desire of the past three years. Though every pore of Matthew's body ached with the pain of stretching to reach her, he didn't care, being almost glad of the pain as it served as a thrilling reminder that this was not merely a dream of his tortured mind. It was real, she was real, this was real. Everything he had seen, everything he'd done, everything he'd suffered, all paled. Every moment of hell had been worth it to return to her and the sweetness of her kiss.

For one beautiful moment, Mary found herself trapped, hypnotised by the utter bliss of Matthew's soft, eager lips melding to hers. He intoxicated her; the heady scent of him, so familiar and comforting, the warmth of his skin…

It encompassed her, and invoked such a flood of memories, so strong, so overpowering… and along with them, that memory, the memory of why it had all gone so wrong.

The spell was broken. Without warning Mary stiffened and pulled away, eyes wide with shame. She wanted to cry for having been so stupid. Already he was staring at her, questioning, wondering, apologising… Oh, how could she have been so foolish! To allow herself to care again, to allow him to see it, to allow herself to fall so deeply… She stood up sharply, tugging at her skirt to straighten it.

"Dear me, Matthew, how silly of me – in full view of the driveway, what on earth were we thinking!" The meaningless words tumbled out, breathlessly, not allowing him a chance to explain or justify or apologise for what they had been doing.

"Mary –"

"Come!" She carried blithely on, moving briskly back behind him and resuming her grasp on his wheelchair. "Let's carry on a while, this is proving good exercise I think, and I'm sure they shan't miss you for a while longer. Shall we –"

"Mary!" Matthew shouted this time, his strong, commanding voice causing hers to die in her throat. He softened immediately, already regretting using that tone with her, but… His eyes drifted closed. What a fool he had been to imagine, to hope… He had caught her in a spell, of course it had only taken a moment for her to remember what he was. How could he possibly have thought…

"Mary," his voice was quieter now, trembling slightly. "Don't… Don't torture yourself like this, please. Just take me back inside. I'm sorry – I'm sorry to have taken advantage of your care and –"

"Oh Matthew –" She could already see where his train of thought lay and he was wrong, oh so terribly wrong…

"– and I know that I had no right to presume that –"

"Matthew –"

"Let me finish, Mary, for God's sake! It's… It's perfectly alright. I'd never expect you to – I'd never expect anything of you. Not like this. I know it would be unthinkable, I'm hardly the man I was back then, and even then you didn't… God, Mary, I'm sorry. I understand." No, he could never hold it against her. Why on earth would she want to be with him like this? He was a fool to have clung to the past.

"No, Matthew, you don't." Her voice was low and determined, the words hissed out sharply behind his ear as she continued to drive him away from the house, away from prying eyes and ears.

He had to understand. He had to. This could go on no longer. It would be easy, he couldn't even see her, all she had to do was say the words. Just say them. Words came out of her lips every day, all the time, these were no different. And at least, now, she would be spared the look on his face when she told him. Yes, it was easier this way. She had to take this chance, especially now, could not let him continue to think so terribly of her… Well, it was a different kind of terrible. The truth, she would have to deal with, but she could not bear that he should think she would not love him like this.

When no immediate explanation seemed to be forthcoming, Matthew shifted uncomfortably in rising confusion and irritation.

"Mary, I've said I'm sorry, let's just put it behind us –"

"Not this time, Matthew."

Say it. Say it.

"What on earth –"

Say it!

She stared over his shoulder at the ground ahead of them, unseeing, unfeeling.

"I had a lover."

There. It was out. Mary expelled a deep breath as she felt the weight lift from her shoulders, the heaviness of repressed guilt swiftly replaced by the churning fear of his reaction. She walked faster.

"What?" Matthew spluttered in disbelief, face twisting in incomprehension. His mind raced. "Who… When?" So many emotions flooded through him that he couldn't process them, couldn't think, could hardly even breathe.

"Pamuk. Kemal Pamuk. The Turkish –"

"Yes I know who he was," Matthew bit out, gut clenching, every thread of pain caused by the stiffening of his body dulling in comparison to the growing ache in his heart. "I don't –"

"The night he stayed, he and Evelyn Napier, the night he –" Hands gripping tighter, feet walking faster.

Matthew's tight, agitated voice suddenly cut across her.

"For God's sake, Mary, stop!"

TBC

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Apologies for any errors or OOC-ness, I've not had the chance to get this beta-ed so I'm afraid it's all me. As always I'd love to know what you thought, reviews are absolutely lovely and I'd hugely appreciate any feedback!

Thank you!