Chapter 8

Matthew's eyes were haunted. "I did this, didn't I?" He grabbed Mary's injured hand. She was stunned, unable to speak. She only nodded.

He shuddered. He had begun remembering what had happened to him in the surgery that morning, coming back to him in bits and scraps of memory made fuzzy by his pain. He was in too much agony at the time to be thinking clearly, but the memory of when he hurt Mary was crystal clear.

It was the worst part of the surgery, the pain making him wish he had died in the trenches. Mary's hand had kept him in the present. He had squeezed it as the bone was pushed back into his arm, and felt the distinctive crunch of her bone under his hand. It would have been imperceptible to others, but he had spent two years in the army. He had had broken other men's bones, and done far worse to them as well. As the memory of her fingers snapping in his hand filled his mind, so did other memories. They were older, from his time in France. His fist shattering a German- another human being's - jaw. His knife slitting a man's throat.

He closed his eyes against the barrage of visions of the war. When he opened them again, he forced himself into the present, on Mary. "Mary. I am so terribly sorry. I would never intentionally do anything, and I mean anything, to hurt you." There was an awkward moment of silence, the first one between them in a long time. It was long enough for Matthew's visions of war to return, and he shuddered.

Mary panicked. She felt him slipping away from her. His eyes grew more distant and looked haunted, his jaw tensed, his good hand clenched and unclenched. "How about if we read, Matthew?" He didn't seem to hear her. "Matthew?"

"You know, Mary, I do seem to be feeling a bit tired," he said, snapping out of his haze. "I was wondering if I might be able to sleep for a bit?"

She plastered a smile across her face, trying to hide her growing worry. "Of course, Matthew."

"It is almost dinnertime, Mary. You should dine with the others. I'm sure they're anxious to see you…"

"Matthew," she said, "I don't want to leave you all alone."

"I won't care, I'll be asleep." He snapped. She looked wounded. He tried to soften his tone, "And, I'll have Mother for company."

She reluctantly stood from her chair. "Are you really sure, Matthew?"

"Quite." He forced a smile. She was turning to leave when his hand shot up, catching her arm. "And Mary- I see the circles under your eyes. It might help you to have a night's sleep in your own room…" She nodded. He watched her graceful figure disappear through the door.

Mary finally had a bath, the first one in days. She had to smile. She must have smelled quite terrible to Matthew. Anna dressed her in her red dress. She smiled. Matthew's favorite. Anna slipped a silver flower into her hair. She smiled. It was the one she wore the night Matthew proposed.

Mary could hardly pay attention during dinner. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Matthew, and how distant he has seemed. The only part of dinner conversation she took part in was when she was asked questions about how Matthew was faring. After dinner was finished, she quickly excused herself up to her room. Anna helped her dress for bed silently, and braided her hair. Mary slid into bed, surprised at how tired she was, Matthew still on her mind. Though her bed felt wonderful, she still would've preferred to be with him. Her last thoughts before she drifted off were of the innocent boy she had loved before the war.

Mary had only been asleep for what fell like a few moments when she was woken by the sound of Anna opening her door and hurrying to her side. Anna gently shook her. "Milady, milady, wake up!" Mary opened one eye.

"What is it?"

"Milady, it's Mr. Crawley."

As soon as she heard that, Mary was out of bed, stepping into her slippers. Anna quickly handed her a dressing gown and Mary ran out of the room as she pulled it on. She sprinted through the halls and rooms to Matthew's room, bursting through the door. She couldn't see Matthew through the several nurses who surrounded him. Isobel looked up. "Mary!" Isobel's tone told Mary all she needed to know as she hurried to Matthew's bedside.

What she saw when she was at Matthew's side made her feel like a knife was driven straight through her heart.

Matthew writhed on the bed; his eyes open but not seeing what was around him. They focused and unfocused, darting from left to right. His lips moved, shouting silently. He was not having a nightmare, as she had prayed, but an episode of shell shock. She had seen it before on other soldiers – he was hallucinating, that he was back on the battlefield. His distress was clear on his face. She looked up at all of the nurses. "All of you leave us, please. Nurse O'Malley, if you would be so kind as to contact Dr. Clarkson and tell him what is happening and to please come immediately." Nurse O'Malley nodded, and she hurried out of the room, the other nurses following her closely.

Mary then turned back to Matthew. Matthew's face was red, tears streaming down. His muscles twitched and contracted. Mary couldn't make out the words he was mouthing, though she guessed they were orders to his comrades. His breathing was hard and fast, dangerously close to hyperventilating and his body jerked erratically Mary bent over him, determined. Whatever sort of waking nightmare he was in, she was going to pull him out of it. She motioned to Isobel, who pinned down Matthew's arms to keep him from hurting himself.

Mary began firmly patting the side of Matthew's face. "Matthew, Matthew. You're at Downton. You're safe. Matthew." His movements began to slow slightly. She put her hands on the sides of his face, her chocolate eyes baring themselves into his unfocused blue. "Matthew. Matthew. Snap out of it. Wake up." She did not make any more progress with him as she continued to shake and speak to him. She looked to Isobel for advice, who looked helpless for the first time Mary had ever seen.

Mary turned back to Matthew, dismayed. Matthew's torment continued and worsened; scenes more disturbing than Mary could possibly imagine playing before his eyes. She didn't want him to suffer for one more second. In a final moment of desperation, she leaned down, firmly planting her lips between his eyes.

To Mary and Isobel's complete amazement, Matthew began to calm at the touch of her lips, His arms stopped thrashing so much and the muscles that had been straining in his hallucination began to relax. Mary, wanting to speed the process, slid her lips down, firmly pressing her mouth to his. His mouth went slack under hers, and his eyes began to focus. As Mary felt him emerge from his hallucination, she couldn't help the tears that began streaming down her face. "Oh, Matthew," she cried. At first he was confused, but the realization of what just happened dawned on him. He weakly lifted up his thumb to her face, wiping away the tears that streamed down it. He couldn't stop his own tears, and Mary gently laid down next to him, nuzzling her face into his neck. He wrapped his good arm around her, and they cried together.

Isobel was immensely relieved that her son was out of his fits, but also was very uncomfortable, feeling like an intruder on the immensely private moment between Matthew and Mary. Dr. Clarkson's appearance in the doorway was a welcome reprieve, ad Isobel immediately stood and crossed the room to him. She began to fill him in on what had just occurred with Matthew.

Mary suddenly felt extremely fatigued, and could sense that Matthew was as well. She began to stand to move into the cot next to his, but he tightened his arm around her. "Please," was all he said and Mary's heart softened, she laid back down, pressing her lips to his hairline before they both drifted off.