You may get tired of me thanking all of you for your wonderful notes and most appreciated reviews each week, but please indulge me and allow me to do it yet again! I read every one with a smile on my face. You touch my heart weekly. :)

Once again to my three angels who give me their time, thoughts and feedback each week: R. Grace, On either side the river lie and La Donna Ingenua...I really owe you all so much! Sending hugs and chocolate.

I'm going to give you an alert a week ahead of time. Next week's chapter will post on schedule, but there will be a two week hiatus between Chapters 22 and 23. School resumes for this teacher, and a musical theater production for which I am directing music goes up for production. Between the two, I will have next to no writing time until the show is over. So sorry, but life does sometimes take center-stage. (As we all know.)

Meanwhile, I do believe we left off in a lake...

Ch 21

"What brought you back to England?"

Charles mulled the question thoughtfully, drawing the warmth that was Mary closer to him as they sat on his veranda watching the sun continually sink closer to the tree tops.

"I mean, I know that you returned to care for your aunt," she continued, speaking her questions into his shoulder, "but was that the only reason?"

"That's not reason enough?" he returned, a part of him unwilling to disturb the utter perfection of this moment to discuss his past.

"It is if it's truly your only motivation," she tossed back, pushing herself up just enough to look at him.

He had to kiss her then, the proximity of her lips to his own giving him no choice in the matter. He fingers whispered across his cheekbones as their mouths drew apart.

He wanted to freeze this moment forever.

"It was what finally spurred me to do it," he admitted, resuming his tracing of lazy circles upon her shoulder. "I suppose I also felt liberated by the death of my father."

"That's a rather sad statement," she observed, concern etching her brows. "That the death of your father would be liberating."

"It is quite sad," he agreed readily, drawing her as close to him as he could. "But there is really no other honest way of putting it, unfortunately."

"Did you form no bond at all with him?" she ventured, looking at him in concern. "Not in all of your time together in India?"

She felt his laugh more than she heard it, the complete lack mirth answering her question soundly.

"My father did not form bonds, Mary," he stated with a sigh. "Not with me, not my mother, not even his sister." He pursed his lips together slightly, turning his face back to the sunset as he continued.

"Do you know that he did not stand up for her at all? When she told him what had happened to her? When she begged him to speak to their father and take her side?"

Mary knew immediately of what he spoke, a shiver running down her legs at the thought of having no one in your corner after...

Thank God she had had Anna.

"He was the first to condemn her," he remarked, shaking his head at the man who had given him life. "He was certainly not without sin, but was more than eager to cast the first stone."

"I'm sorry," she offered, the only words she could manage for such a situation.

"His own sister, Mary," he continued, staring at hues of burnt orange and pink crisscrossing the sky. "When she had been violated by his friend, when she needed him so badly."

"It's no wonder you had a difficult time with him," Mary conceded quietly, resting her hand upon his chest as her eyes took him in. "That would be difficult to forgive."

"I'm not sure he ever quite forgave me, either, to be honest" he mused, exhaling with force.

"What on earth did you do to need his forgiveness?" she questioned, completely unprepared for the answer she received.

"I stole one of his horses."

The look of unadulterated shock upon her face was nearly comical, spurring him on to explain before she even asked.

"I left the estate, you see," he began. "I couldn't stand to stay there one more minute, and he told me that if I left, he would cut me off without a cent. So, one night, I snuck out, and I took one of his prize stallions with me."

"Did you sell him?" she inquired, still having a difficult time reconciling the man she had come to know with the facts he was sharing.

"For a fairly decent sum, actually," he confessed, one hand trailing gently up and down her back.

"And that's when you went to Bombay," she surmised, fitting the blocks of information together quickly before they could become disjointed. "When you fought those men."

He nodded in confirmation, turning his full attention towards her as he watched what he had just revealed filter inside. She brought her gaze back to his, eyeing him steadily as she formulated a question that made his stomach sink.

"Why would he cut you off in the first place, if you were his only heir?"

He squeezed her hand, staring into eyes he only hoped would continue to look upon him with such trust.

"Because I nearly killed him once," Charles breathed, the words reaching her ears but not quite filtering into her mind.

Then they hit her, and she pushed herself up, staring at him in a wordless plea for an explanation.

"The day after Rashmi and Rashmika died," he began, concentrating fully on not dropping his eyes from hers. "I was half-drunk, you understand, but I still should have had more control."

"What happened?" she finally asked, the slightest stroke of her fingers edging him further.

The darkness that always accompanied the memories threatened him, edging its way around the unspeakable serenity to which he now clung.

"He told me that one day I would realize just how lucky I was that they were now out of my life," he uttered, his gaze dropping of its own accord. "That I had no business marrying a girl like that in the first place, and he would have never allowed his estate to pass to a half-blood, anyway. I lost it."

She closed her eyes, aching for the void in his life that should have never been created.

"I hit him, Mary. Hard."

Dear God.

The sun cast a reddish tint across his hair, beckoning her to touch it…to keep him here with her where his past could do him no harm. That this gentle man could ever hurt anyone was unfathomable, but she knew he spoke only the truth. Loving her was already costing him, the pain of his confession so evident in the lines of his face.

"I never truly hated anyone until that moment," he admitted, his sincerity punctuated by a slight tremor in his hand. "It terrified me. I knew then that I had to leave."

Her body shuddered once in response, pushing her even further into his form.

"It's alright," she soothed other words escaping her as the full extent of what he was sharing continued to unfurl. But it wasn't alright, she knew. This was a part of him still broken, never properly mended but patched together as best as he could manage on his own.

"Ajit stopped me," he muttered, seeing her nod that gave him permission to continue. "Without him and Ishana, I don't know if I would have survived those days right after…"

Arms embraced him, holding him in a manner that held no judgment. He could not fathom it, just why she remained here with him when she could obviously command any man she so desired. His arms gathered her close, his overwhelming need for this woman almost frightening.

Charles shook his head, still unable look clearly into the murky waters of those days that had rolled by in a self-induced fog. People had appeared no more than phantasmal figures, contorted shaped against the black backdrop of his grief. Only a few faces stuck out to him, his father unfazed by his son's loss and pain…Rashmi's sister asking if he had chosen a name for his daughter she could write in remembrance…Ajit bringing him inside when he had laid down inebriated in the throes of a monsoon, praying he would drown in the tumult. He could recall the incessant ticking of the clock in his bedroom, a pain so cutting that he was certain he bled…

The overpowering need to hit and demolish.

"Grief is indeed an ugly thing, Mary," he finally voiced, staring at the utter beauty before him as he etched her features into his mind.

"I broke a music box, just after Matthew's funeral," she admitted quietly, her confession washing over him like velvet. "I just had to throw something, and it was there."

He actually did chuckle this time, kissing her forehead lightly.

"I destroyed my piano."

He couldn't help but laugh at her expression, wondering if he had ever seen her eyes quite that owl-like.

"I think you win," she offered softly.

"I know I win," he replied, his eyes leaving her little room to doubt his true meaning. She crawled atop him, laying body to body as her mouth claimed his. Her lips took in the ugliness just confessed, digesting the black void of his past as her tongue probed him deeply. Fingertips whisked away harshness, swirling the colors of his life together in an artistry that matched the glory of the evening sky.

"I'm not afraid of your sharp edges, Charles," she mused, her breath caressing his lips as their noses touched softly.

"I'm glad," he breathed, smiling even more as her thumb traced his dimple. "I'm so very glad."

She burrowed into his side, her head resting on his shoulder as they watched the retreating elements of day in silence. Crickets had already taken up their evensong, accentuated arhythmically by frogs lingering near the lake. He realized slowly that she slept, the steadiness of her breathing on his neck a gift he knew he did not deserve. His drew the forgotten blanket up over her, the covering shoved down until it had engulfed only her feet. How well she fit him, completed him, made him happy in a manner he believed had been forever buried with his wife.

"I love you, Mary," he whispered into her hair, inhaling the faint scent of lavender carried by the breeze he would now forever associate with her. And he sat there, holding her in utter contentment until the final flecks of gold left the horizon.

Mary's feet drug towards the car, the thoughts of returning to a home full of guests after the serenity of the afternoon nearly maddening. She breathed the air deeply, filling her lungs greedily as if she could store it for later use.

"I wish we didn't have to leave just yet," she admitted, smiling up at him as he assisted her into the car.

"So do I," Charles replied, kissing her hand soundly before shutting the door.

The journey back to Downton commenced quietly, and she sat as closely to him as the automobile would safely allow. Her nap on the veranda left her a bit groggy and warm all over, a rather delicious combination that made her body want to melt into his. They had shared so much over the course of the day that words seemed unnecessary under the circumstances, the sound of the car's engine and their breathing filling the space nicely.

Was he driving at a slower pace than he had this morning? The notion made her smile as she silently took in the stars beginning to dot the sky. She wished the trip home were longer.

Mr. Barrow met them upon their return, the moonlight's glow becoming threatened by clouds moving across its surface. She felt girlish, wanting to sneak around the corner to play in the dark rather than walk into the big house and assume her identity. When was the last time she really noticed the cricket song here at Downton, Mary wondered, standing quietly a moment to take it in before such small details would be taken from her.

When was the last time anything had felt this good?

The door flew open before any of them reached it, Isobel moving briskly into the night air with a medical bag in hand.

"Mr. Blake," Mrs. Crawley called out, "I saw you pull up and wondered if you might do me a favor."

Mary felt his body start in surprise, but his reply was even and direct.

"Of course, Mrs. Crawley. What is it you need?"

"I must get to the Bates's home as soon as possible," the older woman answered, noting the look of concern on Mary's face. "Anna has gone into labor."

"Is Dr. Clarkson on his way?" Mary questioned, concern for Mrs. Bates drowning out every other thought in her head.

Isobel paused, shrugging her shoulders unconsciously.

"Dr. Clarkson is nearly an hour away tending to a more difficult birth," Isobel replied, watching her daughter-in-law's eyes round quickly. "I'm afraid it's up to me and Nurse Jennings."

"Then I'll help you," Mary offered, the words out of her mouth before she had fully thought them through. She was completely unsure of what she could actually do to assist, but determined to be on hand to ensure that nothing went wrong.

As if she possessed that sort of power.

"I could use another pair of hands," Isobel admitted, eyeing Mary with precision. "But are you certain you are up to this, Mary? You don't have to be, you know."

Both sets of eyes looked at her, attempting to see into her in order to ascertain if she were ready for the task at hand. Mary straightened her spine, fighting down nerves that threatened her resolve as she looked back to her son's grandmother.

"Yes, I do," Mary spoke, clenching her hands imperceptibly as she swallowed down her fear. "This is Anna."

This was Anna.

Charles had not said a word, but she sensed his apprehension, avoiding his eyes lest his concern be her undoing.

"Alright, then," Isobel agreed, grasping one of Mary's hands and giving it a squeeze. "Shall we be off?"

Mary nodded before she could change her mind, night air and crickets forced aside as the specter of childbirth at Downton engulfed her in a fog.

"Barrow, please inform my parents of both my and Mr. Blake's whereabouts," Mary ordered calmly, climbing into the car after her mother-in-law. She kept reminding herself that giving birth was a daily occurrence, that Anna should be in no real danger, that she and Bates would be blessed by a healthy infant and raise that child happily together. But this was Downton, and no matter what other mantra she repeated until it rang in her head, certain thoughts kept trumping her reason.

Another baby. One year later.

Oh, God.

They arrived rather quickly, Isobel's sharp knock answered quickly by Mr. Bates himself. Heavy lines of concern wore on his features, the smile of welcome he attempted not quite reaching his eyes as he motioned them inside.

"Thank you for coming, Mrs. Crawley," Bates stated evenly, walking her in the direction of Anna's whereabouts. "Lady Mary, Mr. Blake, I was not expecting you."

His confusion was palpable, such an expression on the dependably stoic man hitting home the seriousness of the situation.

"Lady Mary will be assisting me," Isobel chimed in, laying a hand of reassurance on the arm of the prospective father. "I thought her presence might bring some comfort to Mrs. Bates."

John nodded in agreement, smiling at Mary as he stated, "I'm sure Anna will be most glad of your company, my lady."

"And Mr. Blake can keep you company so you don't drive yourself mad," Mrs. Crawley continued, her smile just a bit too bright to be genuine. "The waiting process is always so terribly difficult for the man, you know. It's best not to go it alone."

Mary's heart suddenly plummeted as she realized what Charles was about to endure. He would be here, helplessly awaiting news of a birth while watching another man look forward to meeting his child. Her eyes gripped his in a slight panic, his eyes so full of a myriad of emotions they appeared almost multi-colored.

"That is most kind of you, Mr. Blake," Bates returned.

Mary noted a slight tremble in her mother-in-law's hand, the fact that this could not be easy for Isobel either hitting her with renewed force. Yes, Isobel had delivered her fair share of babies over the course of a year, but none here. None associated with Downton. None assisted by the very woman who had given birth to her grandson just over a year ago.

She caught her eye quickly, the flash of understanding instantaneous as a loud moan from Anna beckoned them towards the door. Their hands locked for a moment—an acknowledgement, a reassurance shared between women whose hearts bore matching scars.

"Are you certain about this, Mary?" Isobel questioned, her glance straying from the door panel to the deep eyes of her daughter-in-law.

"No," Mary admitted softly, dropping her chin a moment in thought. "But I'm not leaving."

Her hand was squeezed, her statement approved as they entered the bedroom where Anna awaited them.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Mary demanded upon seeing Anna walking the perimeter of the room, an arm clasped in tight possession around her middle.

"I can't lay down just yet," Anna replied between breaths, laying one hand upon the wall as Mary rushed to her side. "It feels better to keep moving."

Mary looked to Isobel, the question written plainly on her features as the older woman nodded calmly.

"It's perfectly alright, Mary," Mrs. Crawley assured her. "Some women swear that staying in motion both shortens and eases their labor. There's no harm in allowing Mrs. Bates to walk as long as she is able."

Mary looked to Anna's smiling face, stray golden hairs from her braid clinging stubbornly to the damp skin of her face.

"Alright," Mary acquiesced, feeling horribly unsuited to be in the room. "But you must let me help you."

She took Anna's arm upon her own, following the pace set by the expectant mother as they roamed the room's length together.

"It's really good of you to be here," Anna confided as they approached the furthest corner. "I know this can't be easy."

God, no—this was not easy.

"You've seen me through so much, Anna," she breathed, the corners of her mouth twitching delicately as she tightened her grip. "More so than some members of my own family. How could I not be here for you?"

A contraction hit her then, and the pressure the smaller woman exerted on Mary's arm took her by surprise.

"Do you need to lie down?" Marry inquired hastily, looking to Isobel even as her words were directed towards Anna.

"Not yet," Mrs. Bates answered before anyone attempted to do it for her. "It's passed now."

But the woman's body betrayed her, her legs tipping back as an odd expression crossed her features.

"What happened?" Mary implored, moving so she was standing directly in front of Anna as she grasped her other arm to keep her upright.

"I'm not sure," Mrs. Bates replied, shaking her head in confusion. "It felt like the baby just got heavier."

"He's moving down the birth canal," Isobel explained gently, crossing the room to the other women. "It might be a good time to get you settled now, dear. The pressure is only going to increase from here on out."

Anna nodded, an air of nervousness rippling across Mary's skin as she sought desperately for anything to do.

"Can I get you some water?" she offered, wanting to escape the room yet afraid of leaving for even a minute.

"I already have a pitcher for all of us," the nurse responded, looking directly to Mary. "I believe we are in for a long night, my lady."

Mary stood beside the bed, taking two steps back as those more knowledgeable hovered over Anna protectively. She clasped nervous hands together, keeping her eyes planted upon her surroundings lest her mind wander too freely. A harsh cry ripped her from her musings, pushing Mary's feet to the foot of the bed in haste as she stared helplessly at Anna's contorted face.

It was Sybil then, her sister's body seizing repeatedly as her mother and Tom tried through tears to pull her physically back to them. Then it became her, screaming loudly to swallow back the black terror she felt bringing her son into the world alone. Mary shook her head, shutting her eyes in an attempt to halt the cacophony of chaos as she gripped the bedpost.

"Anna," she voiced deliberately, Isobel shooting her a quick look of concern.

"Yes…it's Anna," Mrs. Crawley whispered, her words targeting the lost, pale young woman standing directly behind her.

"Anna," Mary repeated silently to herself, her lips moving slightly at the effort.

Anna—a woman who would pull through this unscathed, who would not suffer a loss in the midst of life.

Anna—who would raise her child alongside her husband, not forced into a macabre juggling act balancing life's greatest joy with death's gravest blow.

Anna—not Sybil..not her.

Anna.

He had honestly thought the most difficult time of their day was over, confessed and absorbed on the back terrace of Rufforth Hall as Mary heard the worst of him without reproach. Her reaction had stunned him, her daring kiss and simple acceptance humbling him to a measure that had left him quite raw. She had traced lines of grace across his body, wrapped forgiveness around a soul with arms that held him close. He was a man who rarely opened himself for inspection, but he had exposed himself fully, knowing she had the right to reject him utterly. But she continually allowed him in, baring her own private shame and guilt to him which did nothing but make her more beautiful in his eyes.

Mary Crawley had seen and accepted his worst, and for a moment he dared hope that the darkness of those days of grief had possibly left him forever.

But this…this…

This incessant pounding was becoming more and more difficult to contain.

He chained his treacherous mind to their time at the lake, bonded wayward thoughts to their walk, their kisses, touches and gasps that taught him to hope in a manner he had not allowed himself to do in what seemed a lifetime. But a door continually cracked open, allowing a draft of past failures and blinding pain to creep in uninvited.

Worry deepened the etchings on Mr. Bates's face, the concern of a man who could do nothing for his wife but wait and pray infusing every corner of the room. It was unfair that men should feel the need to protect the women they loved with such fervor yet be denied any role in saving them from this one miraculous act.

The act of giving life that all too often proved too much for too many.

A cry from the bedroom brought both men to their feet, and Charles attempted a smile of reassurance, feeling horribly inadequate in the role assigned to him by Mrs. Crawley. Words usually came to him easily, but he had none now. Now…when this man before him could use some in the worst way.

"It will be alright," Charles managed, internally berating himself that the only phrase he could offer was one both men understood to be completely hollow. There were no guarantees at times like this.

None at all.

How light his steps had seemed as he rushed to her family's home, so anxious to see her, to get her home, to care for her before their child finally arrived. Everything had seemed possible, the life he wanted finally there before him. But he was met by the tears of a sister, overcome by a wafting sense of death that blocked him from stepping inside, greeted by the brutal shove of a father pushing him, away from his wife, away from his daughter…

Forbidding him access to them even in death.

You killed her! Carrying your cursed child killed my daughter!

His mind had screamed in denial, his feet trying to push past the man to prove him wrong. But cold reality could not be denied, slaying all that was good and beautiful inside of him and tossing it lifelessly into a cavern that still had the power to debilitate.

He had killed her. His love had ultimately killed his wife.

And Mary thought she was cursed.

"You look as though you have a lot on your mind," Mr. Bates stated, handing Charles a cup of tea. "Be careful, it's stronger than it looks."

The aroma of whiskey tickled his nose, bringing a small smile to his face as he indulged in a sip that warmed him thoroughly.

"Nurse Jennings was kind enough to brew a pot earlier," John explained, taking a seat as he invited Charles to do the same.

"But you thought it was lacking something," Charles mused, receiving a slight nod from the other man in confirmation. "You fixed it well, Mr. Bates."

The natural noises of labor rocked the room again, John's eyes locking on the door separating him from his wife as he exhaled purposefully.

"It's not fair, is it? That women should have to endure so much pain to bring new life into the world?"

Charles could only stare at the man, Mr. Bates's words mirroring the churning in his own mind to perfection.

"No," Charles returned quietly, staring into his tea as if a solution could be found in its steam. "Not at all."

Mr. Bates leaned forward, clearly mulling something over in his mind.

"I understand you have been through some difficult times yourself, Mr. Blake," John uttered, his statement met with an expression of surprise that hadn't the strength of denial. "You need not feel obliged to stay here if this is too difficult for you. I'll see to it that Lady Mary and Mrs. Crawley return to Downton safely."

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Bates," Charles returned, taking another fortifying sip. "But if the women have the strength to make their way through this, then surely I can manage, as well."

John nodded in silence, leaning back slightly as he eyed his unexpected guest.

"Why don't you tell me about it? It might help us both."

The unexpected summons uncurled his spine, forcing Charles to sit up straighter.

"Believe me, Mr. Bates, the last story you want to hear right now is mine."

"I don't know about that," John offered, his brow creasing slightly. "Sometimes the difficulties of others can take our minds off of our own."

Charles exhaled loudly, leaning towards the other man as he took in his measure.

"It's not pretty tale, Mr. Bates," he warned, the momentary silence relatively unnerving to both of them.

"Neither is my life, Mr. Blake," John admitted, making the other man smile ruefully. "And let me assure you—even though I may hear quite a bit, I say very little."

Charles stared at his companion, the renewal of cries from the birthing room twitching the lines of his face.

"I have no trouble believing that."

John Bates was practically begging for a distraction while he offered him a momentary release form his own hurt in the process. Another sip of the warming brew slid easily down his throat, and Charles savored the dulling sensation that targeted acute pain just enough.

He then told him everything.

"You're getting so close," Isobel encouraged, her face peering up from the foot of the bed. "You are fully dilated, my dear, and the baby is in proper position."

Mary held Anna's hand fast, the woman's utter exhaustion palpable as she rested upon her pillow in a brief moment of respite.

"Did you hear, Anna?" Mary breathed in her ear. "The baby will be here shortly. It's almost over."

Anna could only nod in return, lacking the energy to even formulate a smile as another contraction gripped her. Mary helped hold up her sweat-drenched body, supporting her back as Isobel commanded the proceedings.

"Push now, Anna. That's it. It's time to deliver your baby."

A cry of determination rent the room, and Mary very nearly called out with her, the memories of birthing pains freshly tilled.

"I can see the head," Isobel beamed. "A few more pushes should do it."

"I don't know if I can," Anna sobbed, bone-weary exhaustion claiming every inch of her. Each breath was an effort, Mary remembered, every muscle worn and stretched, joints distended at such odd angles. All to accommodate the passage to life.

"Yes—you can," Mary instructed, holding her even more determinedly. "You can do this Anna. You're almost there."

Mrs. Bates nodded wearily, her face clenching together as another contraction contorted her abdomen.

"Now," Isobel called out, Anna raising up in determination as her face reddened with effort. Mary pushed her forward, holding her tightly as Anna's body trembled.

"The head is out," Mrs. Crawley beamed, smiling up at them as a bead of sweat dripped from her face. "Your baby is almost here!"

"My baby," Anna whimpered, gathering strength from beyond herself as she prepared for the next onslaught. She clasped Mary's hand tightly.

"Yes," Mary agreed, smiling at the wave of high emotion she suddenly rode. "Your baby. Don't stop now, Anna."

"Come on, Mrs. Bates," Nurse Jennings chimed in. "You're doing just fine."

The next wave hit, nearly pushing her from the bed as Mary rushed to support her, not even noticing the iron vice on her arm as Anna keened in determination. Mary saw Isobel move quickly, pulling a wrinkled, pink form from between weary thighs, somehow not bothered by the blood that came with it. Nurse Jennings quickly severed the cord as Isobel stimulated the infant, forcing the babe to draw its first air into tiny lungs.

"It's a girl."

Welling tears blinded her, the most welcome music of a child's cry lightening the room even more so than if drapes had been cast aside. Time meant nothing just now, the presence of Anna's new daughter cocooning them all in this private haven. The baby was cleaned, bundled in fresh linens and laid upon her mother's waiting chest. Was there anything so perfect, so beautiful and content as this mother and daughter existing in a world created only for them, a world no ugliness should ever be allowed to taint?

Opaque eyes blinked open for the first time, finding the face of her mother instinctively. Mary backed away slowly, not wanting to intrude on an inherently sacred moment. How radiant Anna was, the fatigue and ecstasy of delivering a healthy child quickly replacing the memories of the struggle it took to bring her out of hiding.

Then it all engulfed her…George's smell when he was first placed in her arms, the beautiful weight of him held so close to her ribs, the texture of the soft down of his hair. That moment when his eyes fixed upon her…the eyes of his father so clearly blue from birth. It had been the oddest yet most beautiful sensation of her life, the feeling of her son drawing life from her in so many ways.

Before her beauty burned to ashes.

"Will you hold her, Mary?" Isobel interrupted, cradling the now content infant in her arms. "Anna would like you to take her to meet her father while we get her cleaned up."

"Of course," she managed, bearing the new life delicately as the baby squirmed in close. She drew the child to her cheek, placing a soft kiss on a head sorely lacking in hair. A small hand stretched towards her cheek, the utter innocence of it all making her knees unsteady as she moved towards the door.

They were on their feet in an instant, Mary unable to keep the smile from her face as she watched Bates become younger before her very eyes. Lines of concern morphed into those framing a smile as she kept moving forward, placing the pink bundle in her father's sheltering arms.

"Meet your daughter," Mary voiced quietly, unable to look at Charles as the words left her mouth. His face would break the thin veneer gluing her together, and that could not happen…not now…not here. She trained her eyes on John Bates, wiping a tear at his expression that could only be described as reverent wonder.

"Is Anna well?" he asked, heavy emotion weighing down his voice as he looked to Mary for assurance.

"She is perfect," she answered in haste, daring to touch the man's arm gently. "Absolutely perfect."

He nodded softly, his attention once again fully engaged by the sleeping infant in his arms. Isobel came to fetch him, to unite this new family for the first time as she led him through the house to the bedroom. It was just as it should be…just how it always should be.

Once the door clicked shut behind them, the quaking began.

Her arms were the first to feel it, but her entire upper torso responded instantly. It was as if she were chilled, but her skin was perfectly warm as the tremor followed a marked trail down her legs. Strong arms were about her immediately, thrusting a teacup into shaking hands as he commanded her to drink.

She guzzled the tea greedily, welcoming the harsh burn in her larynx as it both sedated and revived her.

"Get me out of here," she whispered urgently, being moved in the direction of the door before the last word had left her mouth. Her vision tunneled to the exit, a weight in her temples pushing her forward at an accelerated rate until she burst into the fresh air of night.

She stood there, just breathing in and out in no particular rhythm as she had with Anna…as she had with George.

"Let's go, Mary," Charles commanded softly, steering her into his car with no protest. She stared back at the house, closing her eyes in a benediction for the new family as her heart rent asunder yet again.

It was all so unfair.

They rode in utter silence, words just too difficult, too dangerous, too much to comprehend. She embraced herself tightly, rubbing her arms in an attempt to ward of the aftershocks of tremors that threatened to rattle her yet again. She stared straight ahead, knowing she could not yet look at him. His eyes would unravel her, open a floodgate of emotion on the brink of spilling over.

But she could not be without him. Not now.

They arrived back at Downton in complete darkness, making their way silently into a sleeping household as quietly as they could. She grasped his arm with an intensity she knew must be akin to how Anna had held hers, but he made no move to escape it. He led her wordlessly up the stairs, guiding her to her bedroom door as he finally turned her body in his direction.

"Are you alright now?" Charles whispered, ending their self-imposed silence as he tilted his head until she had no choice but to break her resolve and gaze up at him.

He stood before her in pieces, held together by sheer will…just like her.

It was too much.

Mary could only shake her head, greedily absorbing his warmth as he drew her firmly to his chest. His embrace was a balm, the one measure of sheer relief she had been granted since returning from Rufforth Hall just hours ago. This was what she needed, what would mend her, what would pour healing into both of their bleeding souls.

She drew back slowly, clasping one of his hands firmly within her own as her other moved to the doorknob. She felt its click of release, nudging the door open ever so slowly as the faint light of a small lamp left burning painted intertwined shadows across the floor.

Mary looked at him intently, speaking clearly without voicing a sound as her pulse pounded incessantly in her ears. She then stepped into the confines of her bedroom, leading Charles inside with her as the door shut soundly behind them.

Please refrain from egging my house...that's all I ask. :)

Thoughts, anyone?