A/N: Thank you all for your support and love. Some major things continue to be a challenge for myself and my family but I was excited to write this chapter. What a long, arduous journey Matthew and Mary have been on. They've both fallen from grace in a lot of ways and I think you'll see in this chapter, that they both changed and grew without one another. And yet...And yet...Thanks to LaLa Kate for a preread of the very beginning and your constant support. And to Piper Holmes for reasons. Thank you all, new and old, for reading.
Chapter Thirty
Mary brushes her lips over Cate's dark hair, her eyes watching Matthew, as Sybil leans down to pick up Abby. "Were they all right? Did everything go...?"
"Sybil," Mary murmurs across the top of the baby's fuzzy head. It's as if Sybil woke her from a dream; she nearly starts a little but manages to remain constant in rocking, for Cate's sake. "Everything went splendidly. We'll be fine tomorrow, I promise. And it's only a half day you'll be trying. And now..." Mary grins at Matthew. She feels like a young girl. She feels like the girl who sat on the bench beside him and she wonders if he is the boy who once asked: if you like a good argument, we should see more of one another... "I'll have help. The numbers will be more even."
"Oh," Sybil crows a little as Abby wakes in her arms. Admittedly, since her stay began, it is strange to see Sybil in the role as wife, mother, and keeper of the home. She is so unlike Cora, so active in everything she does. It isn't a regimen she runs, but a home, that is lived in, with children who spill things and hidden kisses with her husband in the pantry. And because Sybil is wife and mother, she knows things that Mary doesn't. In a way, she usurps Mary (though neither would ever admit it), as the eldest daughter. Mary does not have any wisdom to give when it comes to parenting; she has no experience. But as she runs her nose lightly against Cate's cheek, she admits that the warmth of a baby is intoxicating and Declan's antics are hilarious. She likes being an aunt. And surprisingly, she likes being here. Most importantly, she likes herself here. In Ireland. How strange. "I could never ask Matthew to watch the children with you–"
"What else is he going to do, Sybil?" Mary asks, winking at Matthew, who cannot seem to keep his eyes off her after all. If you like a good argument. They were so young and fresh and new to the world. They did not yet know how much a heart could hurt, how hard life could be. Their youth had nothing to do with class or money or titles but the simple fact that they could still give their hearts freely, without strings or baggage or real fear.
"Don't get me started on all this. We're in the middle of looking for a bigger house and you're sleeping in Declan's room and now where will we put Matthew?" Sybil explains, looking a bit harried, directing her gaze at her husband.
"I'm so sorry," Matthew begins to apologize. "I could get a hotel–"
"Now, stop it, Matthew," Sybil interrupts. "It's lovely that you're here. And it's just lovely–" There is more bite in her tone now as she turns to her husband. "That Tom chose this time to invite you. And since he chose it, he can figure out where you'll sleep."
"Didn't I say I didn't invite–" But Tom stops quickly, realizing he is caught. "The couch is perfect. I'll even make it up for him so you don't have to."
"How nice of you." She pauses and lets out a sigh. "The couch, Tom? The future Earl of Grantham is going to sleep on our second hand couch?" Sybil whispers hastily as Abby begins to cry and she sways to soothe her at the same time addresses Tom. Then upon realizing what she said, Sybil starts to laugh.
"Really, it doesn't matter," Matthew insists. "The couch is fine." His eyes meet Mary's again. They smile at one another again.
When did they create a code? She thinks he knows what she is saying. She thinks she knows his reply. She raises an eyebrow and he tips his chin towards her, slightly.
"It's a fine couch, it is," Tom continues. "Sybil, you love that couch. In fact, we've snuggled up on it a time or two and you never–"
"Mary," Sybil murmurs. "Tell me it's hormones. Tell me I don't actually want to kill my husband."
"It's a momentary lapse," Mary tells her as directed, while trying not to laugh and jiggle the baby. She glances at Matthew and it could be years ago, the two of them laughing into napkins while Sir Anthony cried: Good, God. Salt! "I'm sure it will go away in a minute or two."
She knows the years between then and now, matter; she knows the people they met and loved and lost, matter. For so long, she fought so that everyone would remember the lost at every moment, every second. But now, she cannot call them back. There is spell cast in the room and Mary is not afraid anymore. She is not afraid at all.
In fact, she is curious.
"Well, Jesus, I hope so," Tom says, rubbing the ear his wife pinched. "I've got to sleep in the same bed as her, don't I? Since the couch will be taken and all."
Mary stands from the rocking chair and walks to Matthew. She lifts her shoulder a bit so he can see Cate's sleeping face. "This is Cate. She is very sweet...when she wants to be. Cate, this is Cousin Matthew."
"Uncle Cousin Matthew," Declan declares from the doorway. He removed his shirt from church all on his own and wears a kind of cape, bare chested and all, quite a feat for the little boy.
"God help us," Sybil cries, her face to the heavens. "Tom, will you please do something about your son. While I do something about feeding your daughters."
"Don't know how they all became mine all of a sudden," Tom murmurs under his breath. "It's not like we both didn't–"
"Stop!" Sybil pinches his side this time.
But Mary and Matthew and Cate are in their own little world. "Hello, Cate," he whispers. "You're very beautiful. You look just like your mama."
And Mary hears his words in their secret language: you look just like your Aunt Mary and your Aunt Mary is as beautiful as I remember.
"Mummy," Mary corrects. "Or mam. But Sybil doesn't like that one because it reminds her of her of her mother-in-law."
"Well she certainly looks like a Crawley," Matthew says and Mary is aware that in showcasing the baby's angelic sleeping face, she's leaned into him. When she glances up, she takes inventory of his throat, his adam's apple, his lips, his nose, his eyes, the blond hair in need of a cut. She wants to touch him casually, on the back of the hand, the shoulder. She wants him to touch her casually too–a brush across the hip, fingertips skating across her jaw. It's so strange to want these things she's never truly had and yet she yearns for them so specifically she nearly raises herself on her tiptoes to be even nearer to him.
Her Mama always said: Mary, curiosity killed the cat. And Mary would reply: but I don't even like cats. I prefer dogs, Mama.
She feels the same need in him. It's a kind of energy between the two of them, the same as when they danced, the show that flopped so long ago, when she could of been a magnet, pushed and pulled whatever way he wished her to go. The cold and careful Mary Crawley, so in control of every movement, from the tips of her fingers to her eyebrow, but unable to deny him a dance, unable to resist when he pulls her closer, unable to resist kissing him, tasting him, however briefly. But it is different now. She can tell. He is just as affected as she is (and perhaps he always was, perhaps she was too afraid to feel both of their desires at once) and she wants him to take her in his arms, baby and all. She wants him to trace the shell of her ear with his finger while she holds Cate and then to take her face in his hands and kiss her, slowly and thoroughly. These wants are so specific they would scare her if she couldn't hear Tom and Sybil play fighting around them.
Blinking widely, she meets his eye and she knows he can read her every thought and for the first time in so long, she does not care. She has nothing left to hide from him, no desire or need to keep covered. It's laughable really, to realize how simple it is. They are both adults. They both want one another, have wanted one another for years. Maybe, hopefully, here in Ireland they can do something about it. She will do something about it.
Cate yawns, her fisted hands rising off of Mary's shoulder. Matthew takes one of her little hands in his. "So you're awake then?" he whispers to the baby.
"Looks like she is," Mary replies softly.
Tom makes up the couch for Matthew and Sybil and Tom retire to their room, shared with the twins who still enjoy an occasional midnight feeding. Mary shares with Declan, which she enjoys immensely. His cot is small and he is nearly growing out of it. Sometimes she wakes and finds his feet are through the bars. But he sleeps like the dead, snores even, so after counting minutes silently in her head, she slides from her bed. The floor is cold against her feet. She is aware of this. She is aware of herself, of the hair she braided herself, of her high necked, sleeveless nightgown. She knows what she is doing and a part of her knows that he is waiting for her.
She makes it to the couch. He is turned on his side, facing the couch. She can barely make out his face in the dark so maybe she will surprise him after all. The couch is nearly as wide as her bed, and she slides next to him, on top of the sheets, body curled against his.
"Mary," he whispers. He never slept. She can tell. He did wait. He starts to turn a bit but she drapes her arm around his waist and tightens her grip.
"Don't," she pleads. "I just–" She struggles to explain herself. "I want things to be different. I don't want any ghosts between us so for tonight, I just want to cuddle against you for awhile. Just that for tonight because–"
"All right, Mary," he replies, taking her hand in his and pressing it to his beating heart.
She closes her eyes and gulps. Her feet rub against one another. "I don't know how to explain it except only that I want things–" She pauses and slips her feet beneath the covers to press against his warm calves. He hisses a bit but does not move away. "I want you," she admits. "But I want you. And...well it's like getting into a cool pool. Just a little bit at a time."
"I want you too." His reply makes her stomach drop appealingly. "However way is best for you."
"I just want to sleep beside you for awhile," she tells him, asks him, really.
He squeezes her hand. His heart beats. "So let's sleep."
There is no time to exchange glances or talk about what happened while watching the three children the next day. She left him when dawn began to come through the windows and when the household woke, she woke in her own bed. And then worked harder than ever before watching the children with Matthew. Suddenly Sybil came home and pressed them all to her face as if she had not seen them in years.
Now, again, Mary finds herself in her bed, Declan snoring. She makes her way to Matthew. Again, he is turned away from her. Again, she slips in beside him, this time, all beneath his sheets and blanket.
"I was waiting for you," he admits in a hushed voice when she slides her arm over his waist. "I thought tonight would never come. Mary, I...Can I–" He starts to turn beneath her arm and she doesn't stop him this time; she doesn't tighten her arms. The tip of his nose brushes hers and then he does it more specifically, nuzzling against her cheek and she smiles. When he breathes she inhales it. His eyes are so blue in the dark. He lifts a hand and pushes the wisps of hair off of her face. He touches her, he looks at her as if he learning her anew. He smiles too. His hand falls to her waist to match her own position. "Would it be all right–" he asks.
She doesn't know where he gets his patience. "Yes, please."
He kisses her, turning his head just slighting and pressing his lips to Mary's smiling ones. She feels his hand clutch the material at her waist. She feels like everything inside her is tightening along with her nightgown. Her toes curl. She presses nearer to him and sighs. Both of them open their mouths, just the slightest bit, questioning at the same time, and they both answer. He pulls her top lip into his mouth. She moans, slides her hand up his back. She starts to lift her leg, to press their torsos together but she remembers the promise to herself and drops it back into place.
Tonight, they are only kissing.
His tongue finds its way into her mouth and she touches lightly it with her own. Her teeth nip at his bottom lip. Their kisses start off slow in discovery and grow with intensity. He pulls away. "Mary, I–" She presses forward to silence him with a kiss and he agrees. His hand at her waist is pulling her closer, just as it did as they danced so long ago. Her body follows where he leads, just as it did before. But this time, no one will interrupt them. This time they are all grown up. Her lips are swollen but she can't stop kissing him and it appears he can't stop kissing her. He takes a break to press frantic kisses to the corner of one side of her mouth, then down her jaw, to her neck. His open mouth against her neck draws a moan out of her. "Shhh." His word vibrates against her skin.
His hand starts to wander aimlessly and she makes a sound in her throat when his lips find hers again. She forces herself to pull away, to touch his hair with her fingertips. "I think...Tonight. We kissed."
"We kissed," he admits.
"I liked it," she replies brazenly, nuzzling her forehead to his. "I'd like to do more than kiss you."
"Tomorrow," he tells her and she sighs in relief. He understands. To build something new and strong, they must go slow. She wants to learn the touch of his hand on her hip, the nibble of his teeth at her jaw. There is deliberation. "Where?" he asks.
"What do you mean, where?" she whispers.
He sucks on her neck and she moans, long and deep in her throat, until his hand covers her mouth. "That," he says. "I'm going to make you do that again. Tomorrow night. Louder and more often."
Her stomach drops to her toes but nothing shows on her face. "So you're worried Tom and Sybil will hear?" She presses tiny kisses to his jaw and then down his neck, over his adam's apple, to the vee in his pajamas and he groans.
"A bit," he admits.
"My room."
He shakes his head immediately, making her laugh. "No. Declan sleeps in the room with you."
"Yes." Mary smiles. "But he sleeps like the dead. I've dropped books. Sybil and Tom screamed at each other. He doesn't wake up."
"But he'll be there," Matthew says, kissing her chin, as if it is obvious.
"But he won't be awake. He won't know what is happening," Mary replies. He shakes his head. "Well, do you have any ideas?"
He smiles in the dark. "I guess I'll have to look around tomorrow."
"I guess you will." She looks into his eyes. She is here and aware. "Will you kiss me goodnight?"
He does and her eyes roll back in her head and her toes curl. She cannot breathe and she doesn't want to. She feels the intensity of his desire for her through his lips. He wants her. She wants him. It can be that simple.
She promises herself: it will be that simple.
She turns in his arms. He curls around her, this time his arm is around her waist. She can feel his desire at her back but she knows there is nothing to be done about it tonight. It almost makes her feel guilty but he kisses her head and snuggles into her and seems so content that she pretends they are in a boat, in the middle of the ocean, where it is warm and the water is the color of his eyes. The waves rock them to sleep, like children. She falls asleep thinking of the sun.
When she wakes, because of that sun coming in through the curtain, she knows she must leave him. She doesn't want to.
She tells herself the first lie: this is still simple.
A/N: I would adore your thoughts. Just so you know, for the next chapter, I am changing the rating to M. That doesn't mean that next chapter is when "it" happens or if "it" happens. It only means that I don't want to give anything away by rating it M so you know that it's "the" chapter. Anyway, like I said, in the midst of a really insane life, I would adore your thoughts.