A/N: So it's a miracle. Yes, this is a chapter after many, many months. In a nutshell, I have two relatives dying, I moved, and started a new job. Then I moved again. But I promise that I will finish this so if you are still with me, I am still with you. I had to reread the entire thing to remember all the tiny details so you may want to reread parts of it as well...If anything, reread the last chapter (42) because this is continuing straight from that. Thanks for your patience. I have missed this community and these characters. Which I don't own. But the story is all in my head.

Chapter Forty Three

He stays–longer than he normally would if she still slept in the red room at Downton. There are less servants here at the Dowager's and it isn't such an obstacle course to sneak back out so he stays because he loves her and every moment is something precious, to keep and turn over in his mind over and over again, and he stays because he reacted so poorly and selfishly earlier in the day.

Matthew cups her cheek in his hand. "I'm sorry," he repeats.

Mary turns to snuggle against him. Her voice is muffled by his throat. He can feel her breath, words vibrating against his skin. "It's all right."

Her reaction shocks him a little and he runs his hands over her back, pulling her a little closer. "But I was so...at my office. I should have been there for you. I just...I don't want secrets between us and I was so focused on that–" He presses a kiss to her hair. "I should have held you and told you how happy I was. I should have told you everything will be fine. Wonderful, even."

She leans back in his arms and looks at him in the dark. "Are you?" she asks. "Will it be?"

"Yes," he replies, clutching her shoulders a bit desperately. "Yes."

She closes her eyes. He doesn't know what she is thinking and this remains the most difficult part for him. But then she tells him. And that is a gift, something he has hoped and hoped for–she tells him.

"I'm scared," she whispers. "Not about getting married. I was scared about that but then when I found about–" She swallows. "The baby...that was so much bigger. We can't make mistakes with each other anymore, Matthew. Because, well, it isn't just us anymore..."

"Mary."

"But I wasn't even scared over that because I knew...I knew we would both understand things have changed but...I'm so terrified to be happy. It's one more thing for me to lose and Matthew, I can't lose anymore." She shifts slightly away from him with this admission, perhaps thinking of Mack or just the what the aftermath of Mack's death felt like. Perhaps startled by her own admission or only aware that this is something Matthew cannot promise away. There can be no promises here, not about this.

"Mary." He squeezes her hand. "I love you."

"I know you do," she whispers back with a resignation. "But that's–"

"What? That's what?" he replies. His thumb runs over the tiny bones in her hands, rubbing them through her skin.

"That doesn't make me feel better," she cries, squeezing her eyes shut. "That doesn't guarantee that everything will work out or...that I won't lose this baby." She finally says the words. She gasps out the last part as if her throat did not want to release them.

For a moment, silence hangs between them, something heavy but not oppressive. It protects them both from hurting one another with the wrong words.

His hands move back to her face. "You lost the other baby because of the accident. You know that. Deep down."

Her eyes remain closed. "I know that. But my heart..."

He swallows. "All I want to do is promise you that everything will be all right, that in a few months we will be holding our son and daughter. But I know–after everything you've been through, even though most likely we will be holding our son or daughter, I can't make you that promise. I won't because...I'm trying to understand how this all must feel for you and it must be very difficult. And I'm so sorry. Not sorry for the baby...Sorry that you've been hurt so badly and so often that you're afraid to be happy over this."

She moves into his arms so quickly it startles him. "But I am happy," she whispers against his neck. "That's what scares me. That is what has always scared me since I left for America the very first time. The thought of being happy for a moment and having it ripped away."

His heart sinks over this reminder even as he is sternly reminding himself that their past cannot be something they never speak of because without it, they wouldn't be there. But then he feels her hand against his heart, stroking for a moment before it moves to the buttons of his shirt. She presses open mouthed kisses against his neck. "I love you," she whispers against his lips before she kisses him and he treasures this–these moments when she gives the words so freely to him. He forgets the rest in the aftermath of her kiss, as she pulls his shirt from his pants and pushes it off his shoulders. Her hands find the skin beneath his undershirt and then move to the button of his trousers.

She goes on kissing him and something is rising from deep inside him as his own hands find the hem of her nightgown and drag it up over her hips and breasts. He leans away from her lips. "Give me your hands," he tells her. She does, completely willing and he brings them up over her head with one hand, as the nightgown goes over her head and then up and off her arms. He rolls on top of her, settling between the juncture of her thighs. She arches against him, to feel her arousal against her own. Now both of his hands are raised with her hands in his over their heads, fingers interlaced, squeezing so bone rubs against bone. "Matthew," she pants. "Now, now."

He lets go of her hands–which remain limp above her head–to remove his undershirt completely, push his trousers completely off and pull off her under things. When he enters her, she hisses and this time, she takes his hands and raises them above her head. He sets the pace achingly slow, so slow she is restless, pushing her hips against his.

His lips find her collarbone, dragging toward her breast as he moves slowly inside her. "Matthew," she murmurs, the wanting in her voice palpable so she is nearly begging.

Against the side of her breast, he whispers, "I want this to last forever." In a moment of clarity, before the feeling of her body claims him again, he realizes he is scared too. And that this is all right, perhaps even right. And that as long as they are together, things will work out. It has taken them both so long to understand this.

His hips start to speed up just a bit as he raises his head to see her face. Her eyes are closed, her breath coming out in gulps. "Open your eyes," he demands and she does. "I love you." He squeezes her hands, their chests rubbing against one another, as he quickens the pace he already set.

"Still?" she gasps.

He kisses her, his forehead pressed against hers as he begins to lose control a bit. "Still." His whisper is harsh with desire. "Always have. Always shall."

Her legs come up around her hips, her heels urging him on against his lower back. "Now," she repeats before she cries out, her hands squeezing his own spastically before going limp.

"Again," he promises when after a moment when she is able to languidly blink up at him.

"I can't," she tells him in a hushed voice.

He lets go of her hands to drag his own down her body, his fingers finding her nipples. She lets out another low moan. "We can. We are are," he reminds her. Licking the skin between her breasts and finds the saltiness of their shared sweat. His hands go to her hips, his forehead against hers as they both concentrate fully on the feeling rising between them. It rushes over both of them at once, surprising them both with its strength, pulling them under the tide of love and desire and affection. They try to muffle the sounds of the groans and loud moans but it's nearly impossible as he thrusts inside of her for the last time.

He can barely breathe and her own breath is hurried, as if she she just ran a long distance. His head rests in the curve of her shoulder, just above her heart and after a moment, he feels her hand in hair, brushing the sweaty mess away from his forehead. He doesn't think he will ever be able to leave this spot or that he will ever want to. She starts to speak but then stops before a word leaves her mouth. He angles his head to look at her while her beautiful hands go on brushing lazily through his hair. "What?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

She shakes her head and he watches her throat swallow.

"I can't say it. It will hurt us both."

"Mary," he asks. No more secrets. Not ever again.

Her voice is small and a bit sad. "I want to ask you to stay. But I know you cannot. And you know you cannot. So it will just hurt us both if I ask you to stay."

He wants to say: ask me to stay because he has never heard such loveliness from her before, the confession of needing of him in such a simple way. But that will hurt the both of them too because he cannot stay. "I'll stay until you fall asleep."

She gives him a half smile, eyes still closed, fingers still in his hair. "Then I won't sleep."

"You will," he promises. "You're almost asleep now. We've worn each other out." He both feels and hears her sigh. "And tomorrow I'll go see your father and Travers and after the banns are read, we will be married. And then I will stay. You won't ever have to even ask me too."

"Do you promise?" Her words come haltingly. She is completely relaxed and nearly asleep, just as he predicted. Her fingers slow in his hair and eventually stop altogether.

He kisses her shoulder. "I promise."

When her breath is even, he begins the painful enterprise of disentangling their limbs. It is an awful process, as if he is tearing parts of himself. It makes him ache because there is nothing he would like more than to stay and he wonders how they existed for so many years apart, without even this. They are lucky that this is how the story will end for them–together–even though they are not quite there yet.

The next day he does as he promised. First, he sees Travers who is a bit shocked over the turn of events and yet, like most people, not at all surprised–as most people will be. He promises to read the banns and agrees to marry them in three weeks. To Matthew, this seems like much too long but the banns must be read and Travers discussion of his first marriage and divorce, that because Lavinia committed adultery (because this is the story the world believes), he will agree to marry them in a church. The future earl is gracious and thankful and aching inside over the prospect of three weeks of not being able to stay next to her through the night, knowing it is what they both want, knowing it is what they both, in fact, need.

He goes to Robert next, not to ask but to tell him the plans. Cora catches him on his way out, blissfully unaware of the problems with the estate and the drama with Robert and happy tears sparkle in her eyes. She asks after Mary, over why she is staying with the Dowager. "You'll have to ask Lord Grantham," Matthew tells her disentangling from her motherly embrace. There are some battles he prefers not to fight.

"I think I'll wait to ask that," Cora says. "Because you see, I'm so dreadfully happy right this moment." And Matthew realizes Cora is not as clueless as she sometimes appears. She doesn't know the details but she knows her husband well enough to know something is wrong. She is his wife but she is also Mary's mother. "Will you ask Mary if the two of you can come to dinner tomorrow? And your mother too, of course?" Her voice is tremulous and he is unable to turn away from her request. "After all, we have so much to celebrate."

He agrees there is much to celebrate but he knows Mary won't consider dinner with her father much of a celebration. Still, this is his future mother-in-law and Mary's mother so Matthew can only murmur, "I'll ask. We'll see."

"You're a we," Cora chirps. "Finally."

Finally.

"Soon," he agrees and cannot help the grin that winds itself around his face. They certainly were a we last night but in three weeks it will be official.

"Do you know how long I've wished for this?" she asks, clasping her hands to her chest.

It hits him then. He will marry Mary in less than a month. "Not as long as I have," he replies and he cannot help smiling. He should go to Mary and tell her the plans. It's been only hours since they parted but it feels like much longer.

He should go to her. Just the fact that he can go to her is still something magical.

So he goes to her, a spring in his step, a flower he picks for her in his pocket. And the world, for this moment in time, is just as it should be.

If you're still here, will you a girl a solid and let me know. What do you think? I so hope this chapter fits in with the others after all this time. (It's been so long since I wrote a sex scene haha) but is this Mary and Matthew's happy ending? Is it finally happening? Love you all. xxxxxx