A/N: I'd just like to say a quick thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter! Your feedback and encouragement means more than you know. :)

Also, enormous thanks goes to Willa Dedalus for being a wonderful support and sounding board for all my ideas. Thank you!

Last Time:

"I'll just go and see if a first floor bedroom can be arranged for us, dear. I had thought a suite on the second floor would be alright now, but I wouldn't want you to strain yourself after the exertion of the trip. I'm sure something can be worked out."

"I hate for you to go through such trouble for me," Matthew protested weakly, his brow creasing with concern and displeasure with himself for being such a burden to her. "I'm sure I'll manage somehow."

"Matthew," Mary responded softly, her brow arching in a gentle reproach, "I can clearly see you're stiff as a board. I don't mind, you know."

"I know." His voice was little more than a whisper, but its deep tones caressed Mary's ears, making her smile widen. "Come here," Matthew spoke with a bit more volume, holding out a hand in her direction. Mary strode slowly towards him, taking his teacup and placing it back on the tray before allowing him to pull her down beside him again. His arms went around her waist, and his mouth covered hers, forcing her lips open, drinking her in.

"You're an incredible woman, Mary Crawley. I do love you, so terribly much."

"I know you do," Mary teased gently, reaching up for a final, soft kiss before rising again.

Chapter 2

It was just over an hour later that Mary made her way back to the little parlor where she'd left Matthew with a book and a plate of lemon biscuits to attend to arrangements for a first floor bedroom for them. A smug little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she imagined Matthew's reaction to what she'd done. She was rather pleased with the arrangement herself.

When she reached the parlor, she gently pushed open the door and was greeted with the sound of a soft snore. Matthew had fallen asleep with his chin resting on his chest, his open book still in his hand. The trip had truly exhausted him, Mary realized with a sharp pang of remorse that she hadn't foreseen the possible problem with the bedroom situation earlier. Matthew had improved greatly in the past month, but his body was still healing.

Approaching slowly so as not to startle him, she spoke his name softly, then with increased volume when he stirred but didn't fully waken. At last, he blinked and straightened up, immediately reaching with one hand to rub the back of his neck. He grinned sheepishly up at Mary, prompting an answering fond smile of her own.

"Have you got it all sorted?" he asked, still blinking away the affects of his impromptu nap.

"As a matter of fact, I have," Mary answered proudly. "And, now that we have a bed, perhaps we should get you into it."

"That does sound rather lovely." Matthew reached for his stick and braced himself to rise. As there was no one there to see, Mary didn't hesitate to offer her assistance, taking a hold of his arm and pulling carefully as he slowly rose to his feet with a groan.

She kept her arm looped through his as they made their way out into the grand hallway, making slow, careful progress towards the east wing of the large house. Matthew's expression grew more and more skeptical as they went on, as Mary's grew ever more smug.

"I hadn't thought there would be any bedrooms in this part of the house," he mused aloud.

"There aren't, technically," Mary answered. "Actually, there aren't any downstairs bedrooms at all. I've had to be a bit...creative."

"Intriguing," Matthew responded, his eyes fixed on the large double doors at the end of the corridor. "Mary, are you taking me where I think you're taking me?"

"I don't know," she said coyly. "But we're almost there, darling. Just a few more steps."

Matthew shook his head in complete disbelief as Mary threw open the double doors to reveal their grand new bedroom.

"The ballroom," he breathed in amazement as he surveyed their elegant surroundings. "Mary Crawley, you never cease to astound me. Would one of the drawing rooms not have sufficed?"

"But, darling, we might need to use the drawing rooms. The ballroom is the only downstairs room that sits completely useless for most of the year. I thought it a perfect solution."

Mary was, indeed, proud of what she saw as a stroke of genius on her part. She'd had a couple of the footmen bring down the furniture from one of the bedrooms, situating things fairly close to the doors so that Matthew wouldn't have too far to walk. The large canopy bed was massive enough not to get lost in the high-ceilinged room, and she'd had a little seating area, complete with a table big enough for two to dine intimately, arranged in front of the grand fireplace. Two large wardrobes containing their clothing were placed opposite the bed, between the tall floor-to-ceiling windows that flooded the room with the light of the afternoon sun. In one corner, there were several changing screens sectioning off a portion of the room. She drew Matthew's attention to these, explaining that this area would serve as their makeshift washroom.

"There's a toilet just a few doors down that we can use, but I've had a copper bathtub and wash basin brought in here. They'll have to be filled the old-fashioned way, I'm afraid, but we'll manage."

"I dare say we will," Matthew stated simply, amused by her obvious pride in her creative solution. "It's a bedroom fit for a king."

"Only the best for my husband," Mary teased back, sliding her hands under his lapels as her tongue darted out to wet her lips. She hadn't necessarily intended it as a seductive gesture, but Matthew took it as such. His short nap had boosted his energy level enough for him to contemplate other uses for the massive bed besides simple rest.

Several minutes later, Mary propped her chin up on his chest to look down at him where he lay under her, their legs deliciously intertwined beneath the silk sheets.

"Well, did my hair survive?" she asked cheekily.

"Almost," Matthew answered as he tucked one escaped tendril behind her ear.

Mary smiled affectionately at him before leaning down to indulge in a few lazy kisses as she waited for strength to return to her legs.

"Now this feels like a honeymoon," Matthew whispered against her lips, his hands, which had wandered under the hem of her chemise to lightly stroke her bare bottom, rapidly bringing on a return of her earlier need.

Though he felt as though he could close his eyes and be asleep in a matter of moments, Matthew couldn't help but wish to thoroughly satisfy his wife. Gently, he nudged her upwards, directing her with a firm grip of her hips to place one knee on either side of his head, bringing her in reach of his fingers and tongue.

Mary gripped the headboard in anticipation, the aftershocks of her former pleasure still coursing through her, making the pressure of his lips and tongue on her most sensitive spot almost unbearable. She bit her lip and held on as long as she could, knowing that the moment she looked down to see his blond head between her thighs, she'd come completely undone. And the knowledge that they were doing...this in the same room in which they'd danced too close together all those years ago...It was almost too much. The need for release warred with her desire to prolong the moment, to savor each second of his intimate touch and the knowledge of where they were. It felt deliciously naughty and forbidden, as if their former selves where watching from just beyond the bed where they had once danced together, passion simmering between them as if they had somehow known how wonderful it would be - what they would one day share.

At last, she collapsed quivering in his arms. Propping herself up on her elbow, she traced his glistening lips with her fingertips before leaning down to brush her mouth lightly over his. She didn't fail to take notice of the way his fine lashes parted only half way as she pulled back.

"I should let you sleep," she observed, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

"You mean I haven't worn you our sufficiently to induce you to nap with me?" Matthew whined playfully. "I see I'll have to redouble my efforts."

"Really, darling, I should get up," Mary chastised gently, swatting his hands away. "I promised Aunt Rosimund I'd walk down and visit after we were settled."

At this, Matthew reluctantly released her, resigning himself to remaining in the big, empty, unfamiliar bed alone for the time being, though he was sure he'd rest much more contentedly with her in his arms. He tugged his underpants back up and watched as Mary briefly disappeared behind the screens into their little makeshift washroom before pulling on her discarded knickers and slipping into her dress. She leaned over to allow him to assist her with the side zip, and he took advantage of the opportunity to tug her down for one last kiss before looking on lovingly as she checked her appearance in the mirror and left the room.

St. Thomas' Hospital reminded Matthew so much of his father, he almost expected to see him around every corner and in every long hallway. The thought was strangely comforting, much in the way his father's old notes in the margins of his physiotherapy text had been.

Matthew wondered, if his father could see him now, would he be proud of him: of his son, the invalid, who desperately wanted his life back - to be able to continue in his chosen career; to be the husband and (God willing) father that had been modeled for him by his own? He hoped so. God, he hoped so, and it was this hope that drove him to grit his teeth and bear up under the pain that each movement and palpation caused, forcing himself to do one more repetition - to hold on for one more breath - until he was finally released into his wife's care.

"So, how did it go?" Mary asked, her smile determinately bright as she immediately noticed Matthew's grimace.

"Well, I suppose," he answered through gritted teeth.

Sensing his need to focus on his careful steps for the moment, Mary took his arm and held her curiosity until they were seated in the car.

"It was kind of your aunt to let us use her car and chauffeur," Matthew observed as he shifted uncomfortably in the leather seat. It was impossible sit in any position that didn't cause discomfort, and he hoped Mary would understand and simply make inane small talk with him until they reached the house. He needed the distraction.

"She asked me to bring you 'round for dinner, but I can see I'll have to send your regrets. The only place you're going is straight to bed."

Matthew sighed and directed his gaze at the passing scenery, realizing that being allowed to suffer in silence was the best he could hope for.

"How did your therapy go? Did the doctor say anything?"

Matthew huffed impatiently, his endurance rapidly reaching its limit as they went over a small bump in the road and his back pinched painfully.

"It went fine. The doctor said the first days are always hard as range of motion is regained and long-disused muscles are worked."

Her mouth opened to speak, but he quickly interrupted her, his patience at its breaking point.

"Yes, I'm in a great deal of pain. Yes, that's normal. No, I don't want to talk about it any more. Would you, for God's sake, please just leave me alone."

He closed his eyes, covering them with his hand as he mentally berated himself for his outburst. Mary didn't deserve his tempter, but he was just so bloody tired and uncomfortable. To top it all off, a pounding headache was immanent. He could feel the pressure mounting behind his temples. His pulse pounded against his skull and the sunlight was becoming increasingly unbearable.

He glanced over at Mary to see her looking at him with an expression of mixed reproach and pity, as if she couldn't decide whether to rebuff him or embrace him.

"I'm sorry," he muttered weakly before closing his eyes again, trying his best to ignore the pain that only seemed to grow with the effort.

When they arrived back at Grantham House, Matthew was tremendously grateful that Moseley had accompanied them to London. It was easier not to feel he had to be strong in front of some unknown servant who might speak of his weakness to others. Moseley gently and efficiently helped him undress and slide carefully into bed, saying only, "slowly, sir. That's the way." Mary hadn't accompanied him to their grand bedroom after they arrived. He supposed he'd angered her with his harsh words, so it was undoubtedly no more than he deserved. But, oh, how he longed for her soothing touch.

"Thank you, Moseley. You may go."

His eyes flew open at the sound of her voice, so blessedly welcome despite the throbbing behind his ears. She still didn't look completely thrilled with him, but her brow wrinkled with concern as she approached the side of the bed, a glass of amber-colored liquid cradled in her hands. He spoke her name, but she shushed him, leaning over him to gently lift his head enough to encourage him to drink. It was a strong concoction of brandy and something else he couldn't name. Her hand felt pleasantly cool where it pressed against his forehead as a blessed lethargy descended.

Thanks for reading!