Hi Everyone! Thank you each and ever review/follow/fave- they mean so much to me. I really like this chapter and I'm hoping you will too. TW the Pamuk incident comes up in this chapter, so just keep an eye out for that.
Chapter 8: Phase Eight- Chat on the Bench
Mary ran across the terrace to the lounger where Matthew was had fallen asleep. His eyes were still closed, seemingly asleep, but he was thrashing and moaning as if trapped in a terror of his own kind.
All of her worries about where they stood, their romantic future, were slashed and replaced by a real horror for what might be happening.
She ran to his side, knowing there was probably some sort of protocol for dealing with things like this. Where were probably calming ways to wake someone in this state, but she didn't want to waste a minute looking them up on her phone, when what she wanted so desperately was to help him. She didn't want him stuck in this night terror for a moment longer.
She knelt beside him, taking his shoulders under her palms and shaking him. His shirt, still the one he wore at dinner, was damp with sweat.
"Matthew, Matthew, darling, please wake up," She said, trying to keep her voice from breaking, "Come back to me."
His breath came out in huge pants and he twisted under her hands, his voice calling out.
"Please darling," she said, shaking him more vigorously.
He took a few shaky but calmer breaths. She watched his eyes blink open and she let her own breath, which she hadn't been aware she was holding in until now.
"Lavinia?" He asked, between blinks, searching her face.
Her heart broke even more. One of her hands moved to run through his hair, slick with sweat. She took his hand with the other.
"Mary," She told him, lifting his hand to her heart.
Where had he been in his dream that he would mistake her for Lavinia?
She watched recognition flash over his face and he shook his head, trying to rid it of sleep, "No, of course, you're Mary. I'm sorry."
"It's okay," she said, sitting beside him, her hands still working through his hair to sooth him. "Can I get you a glass of water?"
He nodded, "That would be good."
She quickly went into the kitchenette and filled a glass. She hurried back out to the terrace. Matthew was sitting up now, but had buried his face in his hands.
"Here you are," Mary said and Matthew looked up weakly. He took the glass and took a timid sip. She sat down hesitantly next to him.
"That's kind of you," He responded. "You can go back to bed now."
Mary felt her eyebrows crinkle in concern.
"No, Matthew, I'll stay up with you till you feel better," She told him.
"It's fine," He said, more forcefully than before, taking a huge gulp of water, before saying softer, "I can just watch Netflix to keep my mind off it. That's what I usually do."
Mary pictured him, alone in his own apartment, shaking in the night, trying to keep his mind off his terrors. She felt her eyes prickle at the thought. For someone who always seemed so together and so strong, he was carrying such heavy burdens secretly.
"Do these happen a lot?" Mary asked.
"Maybe once a week or so," Matthew said.
She couldn't imagine him going through this each week, so traumatized and hurt, of whatever he was dreaming of.
"Does anyone know?" She asked.
He gulped more water, before admitting, "No."
"Not even your mother?"
"Not even her. I wanted to tell her, but she worried so much about me when I was recovering from the illness, that I couldn't tell her," Matthew sighed, his face contorted with grief, "I couldn't tell her that I was broken and sick and damaged in a way that wouldn't be fixed."
Mary let her arms wrap Matthew's torso. He closed his eyes, as she rested her head on his shoulder.
"Oh Mary," He said, "I'm sorry for you having to see this. It's rather embarrassing."
"No," she said soothingly, the words surprising her as they poured forth, "Don't worry about it. I'm here for these things."
They stayed there for a moment more in silence, her arms still around him. She knew that she couldn't do it anymore. She couldn't protect them by denying her feelings. She couldn't draw lines between their real and fake relationship anymore. If they were going to get through this, it would have to be with support and love for each other.
"What do you say," Mary suggested, "You go take a shower, change into something more comfortable and we'll take a walk. Getting out of the hotel will help. No one will notice us at this time of night and we can probably see sunrise together."
Matthew smiled at her, wrapping his arm around her back to give her a little squeeze and nuzzle his head against hers.
"That sounds good," He said, turning to put a kiss in her hair before he got up, "Thank you, Mary."
She wasn't sure if he was thanking her for helping him through his episode, or for the opening of her heart.
Fifteen minutes later, he was dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans. Mary was sitting in the living area. She had changed out of her pajamas, which Matthew found unfortunate. She had looked like a dream when she woke him from his nightmare- her dark hair spilling out of her bun, wisps on her pale shoulders, the dark straps of her silk camisole balancing on the tip of them. She had been simply angelic.
Now she was dressed in a floral thing, that wasn't quite a dress, and Matthew thought he might have heard it called a romper, but he didn't know much about women's clothing. She had a jean jacket over it. Her black handbag was draped over her shoulder and he could see Daisy twitching inside. She put on a pair of sunglasses and her black sunhat as they left the room.
"Here I got you this hat," Mary said giving him a rather hip looking hat and Rayband sunglasses, "And these glasses. You've been seen with me enough that people are going to start to recognize you. It's all well if we need that sort thing, but if we want a quiet moment between us, it's best to try to go incognito."
He put them on as they waited for the lift to arrive.
She took his hand in the elevator, leaning her head on his shoulder. He wasn't sure when the soft intimacy between them had returned, or the reason (though he suspected his nightmare had a lot to do with it), but he was happy for it. If it even meant a chance of her opening her heart, of removing the icy barrier they had both constructed from between them- it would be a true blessing.
They emerged into the lobby, which was nearly empty at 5am. There were a few people returning from late nights out, swaying on their feet as they trod across the marble floors. There were a few others with coffee cups and blurry eyes, likely grunts in the industry, already running errands for someone higher up. As they walked outside, he noticed it was the same. The paparazzi that had seemed to hound celebrities the day before were sparse in the wee hours of the morning, and Matthew was happy for it.
They walked along la Croisette, still dark in the inky early morning. He spotted a couple lying on the beach together, asleep under the stars. He squeezed Mary's hand and nodded at them. Her face wrinkled in uncertainty, before giving way to a laugh. They wandered past the main drag, past the glamorous marina, to a smaller park. It looked out over the sea, but it was totally empty. It was evidently less bourgeois than the Croisette was. There were a few fishermen leaving for the morning with rods in hand. An occasional runner or biker came by, but essentially they had the park to themselves.
They settled on a bench looking out over the Riviera. Matthew was sitting and Mary's legs were drapped over his lap, his arm curled to wrap around her side. She snuggled into him.
"So are you going to tell me what you were dreaming of," Mary prompted, taking off her hat to rest her head on his shoulder.
"Must I?" He frowned, biting at his lip.
"No," Mary said, "You honestly don't have to tell me anything. But if you want to, I'll listen."
He stayed silent for a few moments. The birds around them were waking up, singing into darkness.
He didn't want to tell her anything. She had hurt him. He had trusted her with his feelings and she had let him down. But maybe it wasn't that. Maybe it wasn't manipulation, but self-preservation. Wasn't that what he was trying to do now? By not being friends? Save himself from pain. It was so stupid. They weren't saving each other from any pain.
Trusting her with these secrets might be a start.
"Sometimes I dream of being ill," Matthew said. "Do you remember in Central Park a few weeks ago? When I got sort of dizzy?"
He paused his throat felt scratchy, as if a lump as stuck in it. It was so, so hard to talk about this.
"When I mentioned La Dame Aux Camelias?" Mary nodded, "I remember it."
"I'm not sure you know how much you know," Matthew said, "It was in the press a bit because Lavinia's career, so you must have heard scads, but I was quite sick. And so was Lavinia."
He took a deep breath and let a shaky one out.
"Hey," Mary said, her voice soft, "We don't have to talk about this if it is upsetting you."
"No, we should," Matthew said, "I haven't told anyone about all of this and I think I probably should."
"When I was nine, my father got very sick and died," Matthew began, "From then, I was terrified, if not haunted, by the idea of illness. I would spend hours up late at night, unable to sleep imagining all sorts of awful diseases that could happen to me. My mother enrolled me in therapy eventually, which helped. Eventually, maybe at the beginning of secondary school, I decided to become a doctor. It gave me sense of purpose, as if I could have control over this awful fear if I had control over sickness itself. But it turned out I was rubbish at science. I didn't have the marks to study medicine, but I was rather good at politics and government so I went after that instead."
"That's clever of you," Mary said, brushing a hand through his head. Her touch felt so good and he so desperately hoped she wouldn't retreat again. This tiny bit of hope was giving him the power to tell his awful story.
"So I tried to combat illness that way instead," Matthew explained, "I studied law, went into global health politics because I figured that way I could still have power over disease. I spent all my time off volunteering at clinics in the developing world. I don't have a medical background, but I'd try to help in whatever ways I could. It was all a way of managing this fear that I was always afraid would consume me if I didn't do everything I could to thwart it."
"Darling," Mary hushed, placing a kiss on a cheek. He realized in her kissing it that there had been a tear there. Mary truly was an angel.
"If I just kept working hard, it would all be fine," Matthew said, "That's what I told myself. When Lavinia came into my life, that didn't change. I fit her in during my crazy work schedule and she agreed to come on aid trips with me. It was lovely to be with someone who cared about the world as much as I do. I really truly loved her. She had a big heart and a beautiful voice and joyful smile. I was so lucky to have her."
He let out a sniffle. It was so terribly embarrassing to be crying in front of Mary, especially when he wasn't totally sure where they stood.
"So anyway, we both decided to take a holiday together," Matthew said, "We went to Burundi to help out at a clinic. The weather was warm, the there was lots of sunshine. It was a good trip and I was feeling more in control of my fears than ever. A few days into the trip, there were people coming into the clinic with some unique symptoms. I started doing research and working with doctors to figure out what it was and what sort of supplies WHO could get in to help. I wasn't really concerned about catching it- I've been vaccinated for practically every awful disease out there.
"But then I started feeling a little bit ill. I figured it was my body getting used to a new country or maybe too much heat and sunshine. I decided to take a day off to recuperate. I told Lavinia to enjoy the day and do something fun, but she insisted on taking care of me. She stayed snuggled up with me in our room all day. The second day, I got really bad, I started with this horrid fever and that's when everything goes really fuzzy. I heard later that I was flown to Atlanta. Lavinia was taken to Bethseda. I don't even remember when I saw her last. I just remember that I felt like I was dying, being attached to machines. When it finally abated, I found out that she was dead. And honestly I wanted to die too. I had utterly failed at the only thing I wanted to do with my life. I just wanted to keep people safe from disease and illness, but I had killed the woman I loved in doing it."
Matthew broke off, his voice so ridden with grief. Mary took face in her hands.
"It wasn't your fault," Mary said firmly, "You didn't know what was wrong."
"But I did," He said, shaking himself free of her hands, running his own through is hair. He hated to talk about this. "I killed her. It's my fault."
"No, you didn't," Mary said, "You can't do this to yourself."
"That's what my mother and Tom and Lavinia's father said," Matthew told her, "They all told me that they didn't blame me. So I pretend for them that I am okay. But I don't think I have forgiven myself."
"That's okay," Mary said, taking his hands in hers, "It takes a long time to get over something traumatic." Then in a softer voice, "Trust me, I know from experience."
Her hands were cold and felt soothing against his own. He sniffled again.
"What happened after?" Mary said, "The disease? Sorry to ask, if that is sensitive."
"Not much longer after I got sick, scientists figured out what it was and started a campaign to treat it. The outbreak was a huge concern, you probably heard about it on TV. I wasn't able to do that much for it because I was recovering. I took two months off of work. I had lost tons of weight and I was really weak," Matthew explained, "It's kind of funny. If you saw pictures of me before, I was rather doughy. I had this baby fat around my face. Lavinia and my mother would dote on it, but I was always a bit embarrassed by it. After the illness, it was all gone. Probably some metaphor about really growing up. I'm not sure. I've been working out a lot since then, thinking maybe that if I felt like I had control over my body, I'd feel like I had control over something. That I was still fighting disease. But the truth is, I haven't recovered. Some days are better than others. I still have these dreams. Even when I'm with you and I'm so happy, I have these dreams that I'm sick again and I'm trapped and I can't save Lavinia. It's like my mind is still sick from it. And I'm not sure if I can cure it."
"Oh Matthew," Mary said and he realized that she was crying with him, their bodies shaking together. "Recovery takes a really long time. If something affects you so profoundly and changes your life like that- of course it is going to disturb you for a long time."
There was knowingness to her voice that was both comforting, but also terrifying- what had she been through? He prompted, "It sounds like you are speaking from experience?"
Mary sniffled and swallowed, he watched her struggle for words.
"Hey, you don't have to tell me," He said softly, now letting his hands stroke her hair.
"No," she said, brushing a tear from her face, "I told you the other day that you didn't understand me. It's not fair to tell you that we can't be together because you don't understand me, but not give you that chance."
"Mary," He said, pressing his forehead to the crown of her head, "It's okay."
"I want you to understand, Matthew," She said, her voice firmer now.
"I told you that very first date that I wanted to get to know the real Mary," Matthew told her, letting his voice trickle into her ear. "And I do. That hasn't changed."
"I don't really know where to start. Maybe with Carlisle? You know that TV host on Good Morning New York. I'm not really sure why I dated him really. I think I might have just been bored to be very honest. Well I dumped him and he's had this vendetta against me since, which is why the past few months of headlines have been particularly hideous."
"Mary," Matthew said, "Tom told me a long time ago that your headlines weren't true. And we talked about it a bit after Hamilton. You must know that I've never been judging you based on those."
Mary nodded, her head moving under his forehead.
"The first scandal was pretty tame," Mary said, "It was stupid what the press said, 'Mary Crawley turns Duke Gay' or whatever. The truth was that he just wanted to be with Thomas and we broke up. It happens. Whatever, we split on good terms. I'm not even upset about it.
"But God, Matthew, the second one, it fucking destroyed me."
"Oh Mary," He said back, his heartbreaking at the break her voice.
"That elevator and those pictures," Mary said, the words coming out in sob. He could hardly understand her, "I can hardly speak of it, really. Pamuk he- I never asked for that. I told him not to-"
"He assaulted you?" Matthew clarified, already anticipating the answer.
Mary nodded, tucking her head into his neck. He felt her wet, sloppy tears against his skin. He would give anything, do anything, to take this away from her. She was so kind, so smart, so beautiful. For anyone touch this lovely woman without permission, to take advantage or try to take gain from her- everything inside him shattered. He let both his arms wrap around her and held her tightly.
"So those pictures?" He asked, "Those were taken without your permission?"
She nodded into his neck. He couldn't stand it, that there were men sitting around in their basements oogling her, getting off to grainy images of her breasts. They didn't have the right. And he couldn't protect her from it. It was already happening and those pictures would never be gone. He was suddenly beginning to understand why Mary had been so guarded, why she had kept him at arms length even if she did have feelings for him.
"And then Tony," she said, her voice ragged.
"Mary, darling, you don't have to keep talking if this is hurting you. I'm sure I understand enough already," He said, running a hand up and down her back.
She shook her head, lifting her head to brush tears from her eyes, "So I went to Bali to try to recover from everything and escape the paparazzi and find some peace. I would call my therapist and meditate and hike in the woods and lie on the beach. It was beautiful and perfect. But Tony- Tony was the best part. He was so kind and he listened to me talk about my problems. He told me all these wonderful things and I really, really trusted him. So when one thing led to another, we slept together, and I was so happy because I felt like he was fixing everything that Pamuk broke. He never told me he was married. He never told me he was Lord Gillingham. He was just Tony. God I don't even know if I knew his last name. So when the pap caught us kissing and the news broke- everything in me shattered."
"Oh Mary, I'm so sorry," Matthew hushed, running his hand through the hair in the middle of her back, stroking soothingly.
"It was like he was the stitches holding me together and when he hurt me, it was like everything ripped," Mary confessed, "but then I was back in New York and my parents were setting me up with you. I hardly had time to breath before I was being pushed at another man."
"I'm so sorry," Matthew said, "I am so sorry that anyone failed to see you for the capable, intelligent, valuable woman that you are. I'm so sorry they saw you as less than the wonder you are, because Mary you are so so much more than those men will ever amount to. But you don't need me to say this. I hope you see the value that you are on your own. I hope so badly. God, I'm so sorry for all of it Mary."
"It's not your fault," She rasped.
"Then let me apologize for something that is. I'm sorry for everything I said about us not being friends. It's not fair that everyone has manipulated your life. This, our relationship, fake, real, whatever it is, that's up to you."
For a moment there was silence. Matthew wondered if Mary was thinking it over, calculating exactly what their relationship would be. The past moments had been sweet and he knew there was a softness between them. But Mary had been through so much, so recently- she couldn't just pack up her pain and start dating him. He had been callous to expect that of her.
"But that's the thing," Mary whispered, "I don't want to be friends either."
"It's okay, then," Matthew said, "We can just ignore each other and take pictures if-"
"No, Matthew, I don't want to be friends- because I want more than that," she said, her voice just over a whisper, "I really like you. You are really smart and you care so much about the world. I just- I've had trouble trusting people recently. And I'm sorry if you've been hurt by that."
"Don't apologize for that or anything, Mary," he said.
"I was keeping you away to keep us from getting hurt, my heart, your reputation," Mary admitted, "But I think if I've realized anything in the past few days, it's that it's hurting us so much more to do this."
"I agree," He said, kissing her forehead.
"And if anything we need, it's less pain in our lives," Mary admitted, "I'm not asking you to fix me. You can't do that. Tony couldn't. No one can fix our pain. But we can work through our hurt together. We can support each through it. And maybe that will be a start."
Matthew held her as tight as he could. She was so splendid, so thoughtful, so courageous.
"I like that a lot," He told her, loosening his arms to look at her.
She sniffled, her tears abating.
"You'll let you set the pace. I want you to feel safe. I want you to know you can trust me," Matthew said, "So you decide what's next."
"Thank you for that," she said.
She looked up at him, their eyes finally making full contact. She reached up to cup his cheek in her hand. Then finally she kissed him, the reply he had been longing for since they kissed in the Luxembourg Gardens. She did care for him. She had feelings for him. She was ready to try this. Even if it wasn't going to be perfect, even if they were going to be healing from unspeakable grief by each others sides, it was better than being apart.
"Thank you," He said, when she pulled away, her face still lingering close to his, her hand moving from his check and into his hair.
"Look," she said, nodding towards the riveria where dawn was peeking over the water, casting orange light over the water, "The sun is rising."
"It's rather lovely," He said.
"Incredibly so."
They stayed there, looking at the water, as the sun rose higher and higher. There was a peace between them had hadn't existed in so long and they both wanted to linger in- this feeling that everything would actually be alright. The park began to show more signs of movement- people out for morning jogs, bicycles weaving down paths, dogs out for before work walks. No matter how long they wanted to stay there, the world around them was awakening.
"We should go," She said, "People are going to start noticing us and it will make our day so much complicated. Besides, I think I want to rest a little bit, I know I'm going to have a long afternoon getting ready and tonight will be quite long."
"I've got to meet Atticus for tennis at 10:30," He explained, "So if we head back now, I'll be able to maybe sleep for a couple of hours first."
"Let's do that then," She said, placing her hat on her head. She stood up and offered her hand him. He took it and stood, walking back towards the hotel.
It was nearly 7AM and the Croisette was now milling with industry people. There were filming equipment being lugged around, random men in suits walking with a purpose, and the occasional familiar famous face headed to an interview.
They went back up to their suite, keeping their hats and sunglasses on until they reached their own space.
"Mary," He said, "I'm going to take quick nap. I'll just be on the couch here."
"Nonsense," she said, not letting go of his hand and tugging him towards the bedroom, "Come sleep in the bed."
He was wordless as he followed her into the room. She collapsed on the bed, not bothering to change. He sat on the edge of the bed, wondering what to do. She tugged on his hand again. He pushed his shoes off of his feet and swung his legs around to lay beside her. She reach out and pulled him close.
He felt his body curve around hers, ignoring the weird discomfort of lying on a bed in his clothes, with no blanket, in the early morning. But sleep was already tugging at the corner of his eyes, pulling him under. He fell asleep to the smell of Mary's shampoo and the quiet comfort of her warmth under his arms. He had a weird certainty that there would be no nightmares during that small nap.
Mary woke up to late morning sunshine cascading in the window. Hadn't Matthew fallen asleep beside her? She sat up in a moment of panic, looking around the room. Had his nightmares returned?
She walked into the living room. He wasn't there. She jogged to the terrace and he wasn't there either. She frowned, heading back to the bedroom to grab her phone. Then she saw his flannel shirt folded in the corner of the room. Of course, he was gone- he was playing tennis with Atticus. Comforted, Mary headed to shower. As the hot water beckoned her awake, she remembered more of the events of this morning- his nightmare, their tear soaked conversation on the bench, and the warmth between them. She waited to see if she was going to regret it, but she didn't. She felt good about her and Matthew. They were finally in a place of peace and happiness.
After toweling off her hair, she wrapped herself in a robe and padded out onto the terrace. She rung room service for a cappuccino and pastries. She was flicking through her phone, reading an article about Rose's film. In it she would be playing a Russian princess forced to flee the country during the revolution. The film itself was getting mixed reviews, but Rose's reviews were strong. She was proud of her little cousin.
"New E-Mail from Robert Crawley, CEO," flicked across the top of her screen.
Mary,
Sybil has informed me that you reported that things are going badly between you and Matthew. As I have told you before, it is of the upmost importance that you and Matthew get along. Good headlines about the Crawley's makes our company perform better. We need Matthew's image to improve your image, as we both know it is still something of a spectacle. Like I said before, if at all possible, make him fall in love with you. I know that you don't care for him, but if he can care for you- it will make the whole thing more authentic. Please do this as soon as you can!
Sincerely,
Robert Crawley, CEO
Too late, Mary smirked at it, I'm already actually in love with him. Her father's plan hadn't worked, or maybe it had truly, in a way that she wasn't ever expecting it to.
She heard the door of the suite open from inside. She quickly switched out of the e-mail application and opened Instagram.
"There are you darling," Matthew said, arriving at the door to the terrace. He was dressed in a white tennis polo and black shorts. Beads of sweat were still clinging to hair. She could faint outline of muscles under his damp shirt. He was lean, as he explained from his illness the year before, but he had evidently worked to gain back muscle.
"How was tennis?" Mary asked, offering him the basket of pastries.
He selected a pain au chocolat and took a huge bite of it. "Exhausting. Though I know that I hardly made a difference to Atticus's practice regime."
"He's terribly kind to Rose to put off his practice for a few days for her," Mary commented.
"He really cares about her, doesn't he?" Mathew said.
"Yes," Mary said, "I wouldn't be surprised if they got married in the next year. They are very good for each other."
"They are rather young," Matthew remarked.
"True, but they make each other into their best selves," Mary said.
"That's a good thing in a relationship," Matthew said, tossing the rest of the pastry in his mouth.
"I'm going to take a shower," he said. He placed a chocolately peck on her lips before turning towards the bedroom. Mary reached out and captured his hand, tugging him back for a moment.
"My hair and make up crew is getting here soon," Mary said, so I'll probably be absorbed in that for the afternoon. "Though I'd rather be with you. There is a tux for you in the closet, because I wasn't sure if you'd bring your own."
"Thank you, Mary," He said, squeezing her hand.
He lingered in the door for a moment longer, shaking his head "I didn't dream this all, right? This is real? You like me?"
Mary laughed, "Yes, of course, now go get ready!"
Several hours and a whirlwind later, they were standing on the red carpet, a loud speaker announcing their names. Matthew hesitated for a moment in the limo, all of a sudden feeling very Hugh Grant in Notting Hill staring after his dazzling, famous girlfriend. Was that a word one would use to describe them now? Yes. After that morning's conversation, he felt safe thinking it. Mary was his girlfriend.
Mary had stepped out first, so he watched her from inside. Her dark hair was pilled into an exquisite bun. She had a tiara of light silver flowers around her head, making her look ethereal. She was wearing a light blue dress. It had a high neck and ruffles flowing down like water. She had silvery heels that made her just an inch or two shorter than him. In her hands was a light blue clutch of her own design.
"No Daisy tonight?" Matthew had asked, noticing the small rabbit hoping around her cage before they left.
"You'll be with me," Mary said with a smile, "I won't need her."
Matthew stepped out behind her and offered her his arm. She leaned up to put a kiss on mouth, before tugging him forward to the red carpet where an army of cameras were waiting.
"Just smile," she whispered into his ear after the kiss, "And welcome to your new life."
There is that solid communication that I know you've all been anxious for! I hope you enjoyed it. I know I'm utter crap at replying to reviews- but reading them is always one of my favorite things and I can't wait to hear what you think :)