A/N: Hello, there. Thank you for all the reviews. I really appreciate them all. Since most of them are predictions, it's super hard for me to answer them. I am the girl who tells someone if I buy them a present. Not only that but I tell the person what I bought them. So I would cave. I would cave so easily and tell you how this fairytale (hahahaha) is going to end...or not so much how it is going to end (because we know that) but how we will get there.) Finally, despite my family situation, if you're up for a quicker ride, so am I...I am going to try really hard to update more often. Really. I will do my best.

P.S. Also, you might want to check out EtsyDOTcom/shop/StraightMugging for Downton goodies.

Chapter Thirty Four

Mary is aware that an uneasy peace settles over the Branson household and that she is responsible for the uneasiness of it. She tries to be aware of the fact that this is but a moment in time with Matthew, that this cannot last forever, that he must return to Downton Abbey and that she...must decide what to do next. Finally, she is aware of Matthew's increasing uneasiness whenever they are together.

"We shouldn't," he whispers into her hair while she tucks herself into his side on the couch. Her fingers creep along his stomach, finding the space between fabric and button and brushing the skin of his there with the pad of her finger.

"Matthew." She turns in his arms, leans up and presses her lips to his.

"God, Mary." His hand tangles in her hair while he moans into her mouth. "We can't."

"Why can't we?" she whispers, pressing open mouthed kisses along the underside of his jaw.

"What if you get pregnant?" he says as if it is obvious. She jerks as if he's slapped her but continues to hide her face beneath Matthew's chin. "You'll have to marry me. And I know that you don't want to. And that will kill me–" He stops and starts over again. "That's hardly a good beginning to any marriage."

There is a small gap of silence before she continues to kiss the underside of his jaw. "I don't want to talk about marriage. In fact, I don't want to talk at all."

"That's part of the problem." She leans forward and he catches her shoulders to stop her. "Mary, it's a very real possibility–"

"Matthew," she whispers into his skin and she feels him shiver. But then he is standing up, grasping her hand and pulling her down the hallway to her room. "What are you doing?"

"Walking you to your door," he murmurs as to not wake the rest of the household. And she knows he chooses his timing wisely so she cannot raise her voice at his next words. "I have to go home, Mary."

She looks at him, wide eyed, pressing her lips together. A part of her wants to beg him to stay. But Lady Mary would never beg. "What do you want me to say?" she asks, as calmly as she can.

"I want you to say you'll come with me."

She shakes her head. Her mouth wants to quiver but she firms her lips and her resolve. "I can't," she replies, a bit more helplessly than she would like. "I don't want to go back to that life, Matthew. I don't want to be the daughter in my father's house."

"It wouldn't have to be that way." He takes her elbows in his hands and embraces her.

"That's not true," she murmurs into his shoulder, her fingers knotted into his pajamas. "You know that's not true."

"It doesn't have to be true. Not if we–"

She kisses him before he can complete his thought, afraid of what he might say. For as strong and as independent she learned to be in the last year and a half, she's never been so afraid as when she is with Matthew. There is a constant pain in her gut, as if she is waiting for people to jump out and scream surprise and not a good type of surprise either. "You know we would never be able to be together this way at Downton."

He cups her face. She feels him read her skin and expression, as if it is made of words, as if it is book. He knows she is afraid. "Maybe that's the point. But regardless, I have to go back. I have two tickets for three days from now."

"Three days from now but I can't. I just can't–"

They both hear Declan stirring on his cot in their shared room and without thinking Mary takes Matthew's hand and brings him into the room with her. "Auntie Mary?" Declan says groggily, rubbing his eyes. "I had a bad dream."

"Oh, poor little man," she croons, leaning down to pick him up, his sweaty head finding the crook of her neck before he sees Matthew.

"Uncle Cousin Matthew. I had a bad dream," Declan repeats, even more pitifully. "Sometimes, when I have a bad dream, Auntie Mary lets me sweep with her."

"She does?" Matthew smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners and for a reason Mary chooses not to address, her heart aches.

Declan nods.

"All right," Mary murmurs. "Let's get all warm and cozy in the bed. Maybe Uncle Cousin Matthew will stay with us..." She looks at him. "And sleep."

So the three of them cuddle into the bed and Mary brushes Declan's hair off his forehead, the boy between them, while Matthew's arm, around the two of them, tightens around her shoulders, his hand stroking her shoulder. She knows what he is thinking. The thought is so loud in the room she cannot escape it, probably because she is thinking it too.

We could have this.

We could have this.

Mary bites her lip. She cannot explain to him or to Sybil who eyes her as if she is the dumbest woman in the world, that she is terrified to lose again. Mary knows herself. She is nothing if not a survivor and she knows she would never survive another loss. She has to keep some part of her heart safe because if she doesn't, she will be lost completely, swept away by grief completely. And how does she explain that to Matthew? Matthew, who would only say something logical like: and what if you lost me now? Wouldn't that hurt?

And then she would cry out, Of course it would but you don't understand what it's like to be married to someone you love, to be with them all the time, to sleep and wake with them–

Matthew would interrupt her, of course: isn't that what we've been doing?

She would start to tremble. Oh, you don't understand. It's not. I knew that if I woke earlier than expected, I would find Mackenzie's little hairs from shaving. The maid hadn't cleaned yet. I knew he liked a brandy before bed or a book. If it was a book, it meant he was in the mood to turn his mind off, that something had gone wrong at work that day. He would never drink in his pajamas unless we were celebrating something. He would let me have a sip and I would grimace and make him laugh but he always offered me a sip and I always took one, putting my lips where his were. We had sides of the bed; I always slept on the right. He was always hot in the night and threw the covers off so I had double. I knew the exact weight of his arm. I knew–

Then she would have to stop because she would have already hurt Matthew badly enough. She would summarize then: I didn't just mourn Mack, Matthew. I had to mourn each of those little things, things I would have never known or missed if we weren't married. We don't know those things about each other yet and if we did. Oh, I couldn't–I could never...

She's had this imaginary conversation with herself and Matthew more times than she can count but slowly she remembers the little boy in her arms, Declan, how is breath smells a bit like damp socks when he is sleeping, and Matthew's fingers, stroking her shoulder. He presses a kiss to her hair.

We could have this, he says silently.

She squeezes her eyes shut. Oh, if only we could!

"Mary," Matthew whispers when he is sure Declan is asleep. "I–"

"I know you do, Matthew." There is a lump in her throat. She doesn't want him to tell her he loves her because her resolve will start to crumble. She must protect herself.

"Then there's nothing else I can say is there?" he replies before slipping from the bed. He tucks the blanket around Declan and again, the same expression from before lights his face–the smile, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes.

Oh, she doesn't want to think of Matthew as a father because he will have to be a father to another woman's children and that hurts too. But she reminds herself, this pain is nowhere near what the pain of losing him as the father of her own children. "Matthew." His name is the only apology she can give him.

He shakes his head, pained. "I leave in three days," he reminds her. "There's a ticket for you, if you want it. And you know there is nothing more than I would like but for you to take it."

She sits up a little and Declan doesn't stir. "Even if I do take it, it won't mean I'm coming back with you, only that I'm coming back."

"If our time together here has proved anything, it's that I'll take what I can get from you, Mary." He leans down and presses a kiss to her forehead. He whispers the rest against her skin, near her lips, "And always hope for more."

A/N: EEE. What do you think is going to happen?