Hello, everyone! Sorry I've been away longer than usual. It's been busy with college essays due and trying to keep up with my NaNoWriMo novel, as well as the other distractions of real life. Plus, I found this chapter needed some more time, because it was a lot of sorting through emotions as well, especially for Mary. I hope I did it justice. This story now also takes place after Episode 4 in Season One also, with the famous handshake heart-to-heart moment. Alright, on with the show!

Matthew lay awake staring at the ceiling, watching it shifts from the deep crimson pallor of the night, where the darkness swallowed all their words and thoughts, to the cool, lustless greyish blush. He felt Mary's side of the mattress shift. After the debacle last night, he didn't dare to turn his head. She hadn't acknowledged his presence since, well, it happened, and he had so thoroughly botched the aftermath, he wasn't sure where in their relationship they stood… if they had any relationship at all, that was. Still, really, had it been too much to expect a kiss, or at least some words of endearment, after what they had experienced together? He was certain he wasn't the only one who felt the passion between them; she had initiated it after all! He had offered himself to her as a warm body initially. Maybe that's all he was to her…

"Here are your things, Mr. Crawley," Mary said woodenly, breaking him out of his thoughts. He rolled over to where she held his coat and shirt in her arms. Despite offering them to him, she refused to make eye contact with him… or even look at him, really.

"So I'm back to Mr. Crawley again, am I? You had no problem calling me Matthew last night," he commented, trying and failing to keep the hurt and annoyance out of his voice.

"Please Cousin Matthew, take your things so I can ring for Anna and be on my way down to breakfast!" she thrust his garments at him, and although he placed his hands on them, he did not fully grasp them. Mary turned to glare at him, and he returned her gaze steadfastly. Their eyes locked, not moving even to notice the contours of his bare torso in the morning night, or all the exposed freckles over her shoulders; rather, they maintained their steady focus on each other, the clothes between them, their fingertips just barely brushing.

"Mary, that's not what I meant. I could live with you ignoring me before, but now that's impossible after last night. You may not think me a gentleman, but I have morals too, and what we… what happened… I don't just… I wouldn't just do that with anybody, and I would hope you wouldn't simply believe I could walk away from that. In return, I at least expect the same courtesy."

"What courtesy? You do realize there's no social protocol, no rules, explaining how to act after what we did, for there's no space in propriety for us to act that way in the first place!" Mary argued back.

"I know! I may be middle class, but I know this isn't normal activity… which is why I thought- I at least, hoped, this was something special. That's the only reason I proceeded. Perhaps I was wrong, although I dearly hope I was not gravely mistaken. In any case, Mary, all I'm asking is that we at least talk about this."

"Fine, Matthew, I promise we can discuss this, but not now! There isn't time."

In the end, it was the use of his name that hit him in the heart, and the fact that she promised. Mary Crawley was a lady.

Mary Crawley wouldn't lie to him.

Especially not in these circumstances, because, even if she was doing her best to avoid it, he was damned certain there was something between them, that she cared about him. After all, she had put her hands on him, and encouraged him.

And so he left her room, he let her go, even as he held tightly on to her promise with no thought of ever letting go, not until they had sorted this out into something real.

Mary, on the other hand, was content to avoid Matthew as long as possible. She didn't want to lie to him; but more than that, she didn't want to have said talk with him. After all, how on earth could she be expected to divulge and explain her feelings to him- the object of her possible affections- when she couldn't even sort them out for herself?

Anna entered and helped her dress for the day, and if the maid noticed that her mistress seemed rather preoccupied, she had learned better than to comment. By the time the extravagant process was finished, Mary deemed that enough time had elapsed for a certain cousin to be well on his way home, and the coast clear for breakfast.

She entered the room, her practiced mask of emotions in place, even as she seated herself at the table silently. Her father sat curtained behind his newspaper, and Sybil was busy devouring her eggs. Thankfully, Edith must have eaten already, for she was not present. As predicted, there was no Matthew in sight- but just when she thought she was safe, Sybil started.

"Mary, you just missed Cousin Matthew!" her perky voice rang out, far too exuberant for this early.

"What a shame," Mary lamented, rolling her eyes. "What on earth was he doing here at this time?"

"Apparently he was studying the accounts last night after dinner, and fell asleep in the library," Robert answered, lowering his newspaper enough that Mary could see the proud beam on her face.

"More likely he was drunk and passed out," she almost retorted, but then bit back her response. No matter how much her father's unreserved adoration of the new heir sickened her, it was worth putting up with if it meant he looked no further into the matter of why Matthew was really here. Even if it meant letting one or two good knocks slide. Somehow, however, Mary found that her heart really wasn't in the biting responses anyway. As much as she couldn't stand her father's reverence for Matthew, she also found herself less willing to put him down, especially after last night…

Oh dear. She was going soft. Mary wasn't sure what this meant. Daylight had failed to dissolve all of her convoluted wishes, as she had hoped it would; rather, the ponderings of the previous night remained fresh in her mind… as did the memory of the glorious feel of his body worshipping hers.

"Well don't despair. Papa invited him again for dinner tonight, since Cousin Isobel still won't be back."

"Oh did he?" Mary responded, inwardly panicking. Normally, Matthew visited once, maybe twice a week. Barring any chance bumping-intos in the village, Mary had supposed she had at least a good two or three days to formulate a response to him. Instead, she had meager hours. Even when Cousin Isobel isn't here she manages to be a nuisance, she thought bitterly, rising quickly from the table. If Matthew was coming tonight, she needed all the time she could get to formulate a strategy.

-
Somehow, Matthew had managed to slip out of Mary's room and down to the level of the library without being seen. He was finally caught by Thomas, who gave a rather disapproving look at his dishevelled hair and crumpled suit pants, but nevertheless unctuously invited Matthew to the dining room for breakfast.

Matthew had managed to refuse breakfast, but indulged Lord Grantham a cup of tea, as he hastily explained that he had fallen asleep while slaving away at estate business. Robert positively glowed at this statement.

"I'm glad that you're finally developing a fondness for it."

Or for your daughter, Matthew thought, plastering an overly-exuberant smile on his face.

"Yes, well, as much as I'd like to stay, I had best be off to work."

"Wait!" Robert called, even though Matthew had barely scooted his chair out. "Is Isobel still away?"
"Yes, I believe she will be for the remainder of the week, at least," Matthew said, frowning hesitantly.

"Why don't you come stay with us? It makes no sense for you to be all alone when you have family right here. And we'd love to have you!"

"I couldn't-" Matthew started to say, thinking of the extra time it would take him to get to work each day, but then a larger idea popped into his mind. "Why, yes, thank you. I'd like that very much." After all, knowing Mary, he would probably need all the time he could get to pin her down.

"Splendid!" Robert exclaimed.

Unbeknownst to the other, Matthew and Mary spent the day much in the same way: planning, at every possible moment, how their conversation would go. Matthew had already listed several opportunities he might fix to get her alone for it: could Mary help me find a book in the library? Could she please assist me; I've forgotten the way to my room? I think I'd fancy a ride, would Mary care to accompany me?

Mary, on the other hand, had contrived methods to thwart almost all of his attempts; most of these involved delegating any tasks he requested of her to a servant instead. It might, however, be trickier to elude him if her parents were around, so she'd have to simply maintain a distance, just to be safe.

Matthew believed his question pretty straight-forward: Did that- and do I- mean anything at all to you, or were you just amusing yourself again with me?

Mary, however, sighed heavily at the multitude of confusing answers to this.

Did Matthew Crawley mean anything to her?

She used to want him to mean nothing. The man who walked into her life and took everything from her- he could never be nothing, but she desperately wished otherwise. Therefore, she directed that something into hatred.

But now?

Begrudging the joy it brought her, she admitted, they were friends. Or at least, he was a friend to her. She wasn't quite certain she had been a very good friend to him. Something dropped uncomfortably in her stomach at the unpleasant thought, and it irked her slightly. Since when had Lady Mary Crawley ever needed friends?

Since her father had thrown her over.

Since her mother had given up hope on her.

Since a stranger from a foreign land had forced himself into her life, her room, ripped away her innocence, and died on top of her.

Then suddenly, a bright, smiling face, happy to see her, hadn't seemed quite so undesirable. Then it had started to feel nice to think that at least someone was fighting for her- the one person she had least expected, the one who had the most to lose. Then it had been comforting to feel a warm palm in her hand, and an earnest look in unbelievably blue eyes, and hear someone say to her that she meant a "very great deal."

Then it hadn't seemed so appalling to have this person hold her, his arms around her for that night and every night, and keep her safe, and make her feel special.

Indeed, Matthew Crawley suddenly seemed like a very good person to have in her life, after all.

Too good, in fact.

That was the problem.

He was always so honest; and, as her own mother had more or less intoned, Mary was a contemptible liar. Just look how she had led him astray last night. She would ruin him, as she had ruined herself.

Staying out of his life was the best the most caring thing she could possible do for him, and she owed him that at least.

These two never make things easy for anyone, do they? Poor Mary. I don't share her views about her "being ruined" and all that, but most assuredly such thoughts would have plagued her at the time. And I felt bad abusing Matthew like that... but that's what keeps the story going, I suppose. Let me know what you thought. I love getting your reviews! I'll definitely update next week, if not sooner. Next up, the dinner. Meanwhile I'll go eat mine. Too bad Matthew Crawley won't be there...