Hey pals! Thanks for your patience, as I realize I'm a bit late in posting this chapter. I've had a lot of computer trouble/wifi trouble/power outages recently- all of which make writing difficult. I also was trying to wait until I finished Chapter 18... but then 18 became so long that it turned into 2 chapters... so I figured I might as well post :) Today also my first day I've had off work in a month, so it was wonderful to spend it editing this chapter and drinking warm beverages!

Also thanks for all the really, truly lovely comments on the last chapter. I'm really glad that you all are enjoying this story so far :) Apollo888 told me that Mdocks has started her own handbag line... so maybe she reads this fic. If you're out there reading Michelle- You are queen and I love you!

Chapter 14: Phase Fourteen- Begin to Heal

Mary woke up to an empty bed. She rolled onto Matthew's side of the bed, which felt cold, though it carried his scent. She found her phone tucked under a pillow and took it out to look at the time. It was early afternoon. How had she slept so long? There was also a text from Matthew:

Darling. I hated leaving without saying goodbye, but I also hated to wake you when you were sleeping so peacefully. I have my meeting this morning, then I'm flying back to New York. I'll call you when I get home. Thank you for last night. I stand by what I said the other night- you are the most precious gift my life has been given. I'm grateful for each moment we have together.

Mary smiled at the text as she climbed out bed. She staggered for a moment, realizing that she had awful headache. Telling herself that she wasn't allowed to get back into bed, no matter how terrible she felt, Mary snatched her dressing gown from the door and made her way to the kitchen. The cook had left with the rest of the guests, back to New York to make dinners for father.

That was fine for Mary, after a week of entertaining she was craving solitude. Mary was the sort of person who didn't believe in introverts or extroverts. She believed that balance was the key. Too much alone time and she was slipping into loneliness, too much socializing and she was an exhausted mess.

She put grounds into the cappuccino maker and began hunting in the cupboards for Advil that hadn't yet expired. She filled a glass with water and swallowed the pill. It struck her how dry her throat was. She'd been tipsy for a few moments the night before, but not drunk, so she knew it wasn't a hang over. Maybe the house was dry this time of year? She thought as she drained the glass.

When Mary settled on the couch with her cappuccino, opening her tablet to sort through e-mails, her thoughts settled on how lovely the night before had been. Matthew was a very good lover. It wasn't that she expected him to not be, but she didn't really know what sort of experiences he had outside of Lavinia. (She reminded herself to ask about that soon. She figured they were on a close enough level to discuss the exes of their younger selves.) Matthew's real talent had come from his tenderness. Mary had "had sex" lots of times in her life, but she never felt like someone truly made love to her till now. She never felt cherished during it in the precise way that Matthew had made her feel. Matthew was special. She wasn't letting go of him.

She started making her way through e-mails. She had a EuroStar ticket for that evening to get back to Paris, but for now she needed to start making plans to get back to work. The atelier was in good hands. Phillipa and Ivy would make sure that her studio thrived while she was away.

Currently, Mary was focused on developing her plans with Matthew's charity. She and Matthew had worked to develop an business plan for her bags, so the money would contribute in an effective way to communities that needed them. Matthew had thought that it might be right to have the money go back to the clinic in Burundi that he had gotten ill at, the unspoken connotation that it was where Lavinia had gotten ill as well. After all, he'd created his charity in her memory. Mary thought that seemed like a good use for it. After deciding that, Mary had had a new insight of her own. She wanted to work with artists in Burundi so that the bags reflected part of the country she was helping. It took little work to find an artisan group in the capital of Bujumbura. The group taught people from all walks of life to make beautiful art, textiles, and fashion products. They also sold them in town, teaching merchandising and entrepreneurial skills to the students. The whole project was led by a woman from Bujumbura who had worked a model, then a designer in New York and London fashion industries. Mary had reached out to contact her and so far she seemed pretty open for collaboration. Mary was loosely planning to go meet her in person and visit the artisan school later this month. She hadn't pitched the plan to Matthew yet and was very unsure what he would think of it. She knew the anxiety that lingered when he thought about that time in his life. She wondered if he would feel comfortable with her going back to the place that haunted his nightmares. She decided to cross that bridge again when they came to it.

She was halfway through reading the e-mail when she felt herself drifting off. Her headache had yet to lull and her throat was killing her. Mary put her cappuccino on the coffee table and curled into a ball to sleep.

Matthew felt lonely from the moment he arrived at Murray Hill. He always felt funny when he flew back to America. It was as if so much time had passed, but when he looked at the clock it was none at all. His day felt so long, yet in actuality it was only 7PM.

Had it really been just the night before that he'd made love to Mary? He'd kept replaying it as he let his eyes flutter shut on the flight. Mary had been splendid, agile and flexible. It came as no surprise that she was detail-oriented in the more intimate part of her life as well- not a hair out of place on her body (not that'd have mind if there was, but he found it very Mary that'd she'd been precise about even that), each kiss and gentle nip well placed, her touches gentle where they needed to be, the wimpers and moans she made only encouraged him more. He'd been mad for her regardless, but now that he knew about this wonderful side of her, he was already dreaming of when he could see her next.

He grabbed his phone and picked it up to call Mary. He knew that she would be getting back to Paris around 10PM, while it was nearly 1AM there now, he figured that she was likely still awake. After all, he'd promised a call as soon as he got home.

"Hello?" She said, a few moments later, answering the phone. Her voice was groggy.

"Sorry, love, did I wake you?" He asked lightly, letting a laugh slip into his voice, "Did last night tire you out?"

Mary responded, "What time is it?"

"It's probably nearly 1 in the morning, I'd suppose," Matthew asked.

"My phone says midnight," Mary replied.

"Aren't you in Paris?" Matthew asked, "It definitely should be 1AM there."

There was a pause, "No, I'm in London."

"Did you miss your train? What happened?" Matthew asked, confused at to what exactly was going on.

"Oh shit. The train," Mary exclaimed, "Seems I slept through it."

"Have you been asleep this whole time?" Matthew said, his stomach churning with worry.

"No, no," Mary said, "I woke up in the afternoon, had a cappuccino, did some e-mails- but then- I was so tired so I just decided to take a nap. I should have thought to set an alarm."

"Mary, this isn't good," Matthew said.

"It's fine. I'll buy another EuroStar ticket," Mary told him.

"And you aren't feeling bad in other ways?" Matthew pressed.

He felt silly, if not obnoxious, continuing to question her like this. But he needed facts. He needed to know exactly what was wrong. She couldn't be sick.

"I thought the house was awfully dry, but on second thought I might be getting a cold. I have a really sore throat, and a headache," Mary commented.

Matthew could feel the panicky feeling returning all over him. He sunk into the couch, ready to let his head drop between his knees if necessary.

"Are you okay?" Mary asked him back, "God, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you anything. You are probably freaking out, aren't you?"

"No, no," He lied, "Mary, I'm okay. Let's just worry about you."

"I probably just have a cold. We hung out in a lot of crowds. I promise, you don't have to worry over me," Mary told him.

"Easier said than done," Matthew said through gritted teeth, unable to describe the way that her illness would cling to him now. He wouldn't be able to think of anything else until she was better.

"Listen, I'm going to go back to sleep. Call me when you wake up tomorrow. I'm sure I'll feel right as rain then," Mary told him. "Really, darling, relax. Watch that show we like, drink some of the nice scotch you have, breathe deeply- then rest."

Matthew knew it wouldn't be easy, but he didn't know how he could expect Mary to do anything else for him. He knew that if she knew how worked up he had suddenly become, she'd been rubbing soothing strokes down his back, kissing his hair- in the way they comforted each other. She couldn't help that she was sick, and on the other side the ocean.

"Okay, yeah, that's a good idea," Matthew sighed, "I'll call you when I wake up."

"Yes, good plan, Good night Matthew," Mary said, her voice already half exhumed in sleep.

Once she hung up, Matthew began to meticulously unpack. Indulging himself in sorting out dirty and clean clothes was without a doubt soothing. He fired up Netflix on his TV and followed Mary's instructions to watch a good comedy that would clear his head. Within an hour, jetlag kicked in and he found himself curled up in bed.

"Are you awake now?" Matthew asked, as Mary folded herself onto the couch, receiver balanced on her shoulder and a steaming mug of tea in her hands.

"Yes," Mary laughed, "I've called out of work though. I'm going to stay in London until this cold passes."

"Are you sure that you have a cold?" Matthew asked, his voice serious.

"I mean I don't feel nauseous," Mary said, "Honestly, I don't even feel that bad. Just tired, and my throat hurts, and a headache, and now that I mention it- my face is rather puffy."

"Hmm," Matthew said, "I think you should go to the doctors."

"Why? I've loads a tea and an enormous tub of Marks and Spencer's chicken soup and some cough drops. It's all the medicine I need," Mary told him.

"Are you sure, Mary?" He asked.

"Yes, I'm positive," She said, "Now go to work."

Mary hated lying to Matthew. She had realized the night before that talking to Matthew about illness was only going to send him into a fit of nerves. The truth was, Mary felt miserable. She was insanely tired and her time spent awake was brutal. She had taken some more medicine for her headache, which was starting to kick in. She gave up on work e-mails, after calling Phillipa and telling her how awful she felt. Mary pulled up the Netflix app on her iPad and settled into watching another episode of the show Matthew had got her hooked on.

Being dutiful, Matthew followed Mary's directions. He dressed for work, suit, tie, and a thermos of coffee. He exited the apartment ran promptly into a man in a black suit standing there.

"Sorry," Matthew murmured, walking past him.

"Wait! Are you Mr. Matthew Crawley?" Asked the man, turning towards him.

Matthew flinched. This was it, he supposed, the paparazzi had discovered him. While they'd always hounded him when he was with Mary, they hadn't yet ventured to his apartment. He supposed that his antics over the weekend had warranted it. He just needed to get out of there before they could get anything from him.

"Sorry, no comment," Matthew said, walking faster.

"No, wait," The man shouted after him, "I'm sent from Robert Crawley, CEO."

Matthew turned slowly, completely confused.

"Robert mentioned to you that he was sending a gift?" The man asked.

Matthew slowly nodded.

"This is it," the man said, gesturing to a particularly nice car parked outside of the apartment.

Matthew gapped. He sent a car?

Matthew hadn't driven since he lived in Manchester, which was ages ago. Once he'd started uni his summers had been spent abroad where it wasn't legal for him to drive. Then he'd moved to New York where he'd no need for it. Matthew wasn't even sure he knew how to drive anymore, much less on the wrong side of the road. And driving down busy New York City street was not the place he wanted to figure out if he remembered.

"Right, yes, well, maybe take it back? I don't exactly have need for it," Matthew explained.

The man laughed, "Robert Crawley, CEO, mentioned that you might try to deny it. But he told me I must insist you accept it."

"No, no, you can't be serious," Matthew protested.

"Here are the keys," The man said, "Enjoy."

Matthew was completely baffled by this development. He frowned, twirling the keys in his hands as he watched the man walk away. What was he going to do with a car? He walked over to parking meter it was parked at and fed it all the change in his wallet. Hopefully that would tide him over until work was over when he could deal with that predicament.

He headed back towards work. He was grateful that he lived a few block from the UN that he could walk to work. The subway was packed during the morning rush hour, at least managed to miss that. Which was part of why this car thing was so stupid- it wasn't even practical for him to drive to work. He plugged his headphones into his phone and turning on his pre-made walking to work playlist. He was hoping if he blasted the music loud enough that he'd forget that his girlfriend was ill and that he had acquired a car that he didn't know what to do with. Then he was powerwalking through the city, sipping coffee from his thermos, and letting his day begin.

His morning was full of busy meetings, a conference call to Geneva, and a bit of writing. The afternoon was worse however. Things were slow, which led Matthew to only fester in his worries. It seemed like every time he tried to direct his thoughts to other things, his fears about Mary returned without abate. So when Tom asked if he was up to hit after work, he whole-heartedly agreed. Maybe tennis would keep his mind off Mary, and it would give him more time to figure out what to do about the car.

He met Tom at the outdoor courts they favored when the weather was good. They were miraculously empty. After a brief warm up, they ventured into a set. After two or three games, it was evident that they're playing was rubbish.

"Do you think it's because we've watched Atticus play and now we know we can't compare?" Matthew wondered, sitting on the bench beside the court.

"That or we've got some women problems," Tom offered.

"Abandon this for pints?" Matthew suggested.

"That sounds grand," Tom agreed, shoving his racket into his tennis bag.

They wandered a few blocks down to an Irish pub they had been to before. After grabbing drinks, they settled themselves at a table near the front.

"Wait," Matthew said, taking a sip, then swiping his tongue over his lips to collect the froth, "Tom, you don't have a girlfriend. How can you have women problems?"

"Ah, true, well, about that, I'm a bit head over heels for Mary's sister," Tom admitted with a blush.

This admission didn't come as a surprise to Matthew. He had noticed the way that Tom had mentioned Sybil's beauty the first time he'd met the Crawley sisters. He remembered the way that Tom had always asked him to say hi to Sybil or asked about her especially. It was enough that Matthew had thought to rope Tom into the plot to get Sybil to her interview. In the last few weeks, Matthew had certainly seen a starry look in Tom's eyes when he looked at Sybil. But Matthew had thought it was nothing more than a schoolboy crush.

"Oh God," Matthew said, realizing that Mary's phrases were eeking into his vocabulary, "Well, out with it all then."

Matthew listened as Tom explained that he'd had feeling for Sybil from the moment he saw her. He said they had a very casual friendship- just texting and occasional calls. Then when the "DC incident" had taken place, there had seemed as if there was something between them. Then nothing.

"I told myself I was going to let her go," Tom said, "But I can't stand the fact that someone has kind and feisty as her is going to end up as the trophy wife was that idiot Larry Grey."

"Mary's concerned about it too," Matthew told him, "We just don't know what to do about it."

"But you think I should do something right?" Tom insisted.

"Well, if you can, I'm sure it would be worth it," Matthew said, "But it rather seems like her mind is made up."

"There is something terribly fishy about the whole mugging incident in DC. And have you heard the things that he says to her? It's shit, really."

"I'm not arguing with you," Matthew said.

"What if I investigated it further, I told myself I wouldn't, but honestly, do you think she'd listen to reason if I sorted out the facts?" Tom broached.

"I suppose I would say to try anything you can," Matthew offered.

"Right, well, I just might," Tom admitted, "Anyway, what's wrong with Mary that's worrying you? The pair of you seemed to be floating on cloud nine at Wimbledon. I know your relationship started with a bribe, but everyone with two eyes can see that you are meant for each other."

"Thank Tom," Matthew said, "I couldn't be happier with my relationship with Mary. Truly. She's spectacular."

"Really?" Tom said with a smirk.

"No, honestly, she's everything," Matthew said, "She's not the problem."

"What's the problem then?" Tom asked, his eyebrows switching to confusion as he took a huge gulp of beer.

"She's sick," Matthew said, the pain of this situation apparent in this statement.

"With what?" Tom said, his voice concerned, "Is it serious?"

"She's says it just a cold," Matthew said.

Tom chuckled, "A cold? Ha! Matthew you are making this sound like she has a terminal disease. She'll be fine."

Matthew realized at that moment how little anyone outside of Mary knew about his psyche. Tom didn't realize the way that any illness to him now sounded like a death sentence. In fact, Tom saying "terminal disease" was enough to send him into a full on panic attack. He was already breathing faster. He felt warm and a bit dizzy. Dammit, he didn't want Tom or anyone really, to know how messed up he was. He was slowly losing control of this situation.

"Matthew?" Tom asked. "Are you alright? Did I say something wrong?"

Matthew put his hands on the table, trying to stabilize himself.

"Oh shit," Tom said, finally putting it all together, "This is really serious for you."

"I just feel so helpless," Matthew said through shaky breaths, "With Lavinia, I was so helpless- sick, far away. I just- I just know it will be fine, but it kind of feels like my world is falling apart. It feels like it's happening all over again."

Tom got up for a moment and returned from the bar with a glass of water. He patted Matthew's back lightly.

"Look," Tom said, "If it's bothering you so much mate, why don't you just go there?"

"What?" Matthew said, taking a huge sip of water.

"Fly to London. Lasses are into that, the whole taking care of you while you're sick thing," Tom suggested, "She'll think it's cute. You'll get- some piece of mind. Maybe?"

Matthew grinned, "That's actually an excellent idea. I might be able to make the last flight of the day if I leave right now. What do you think?"

"It's definitely possible," Tom nodded, "Just go for it. I'm sure her dad will pay you back for the ticket. You can work from the London office, or remotely, if need be. You've nothing keeping you here- go to your lady."

"Thanks for that," Matthew said, impressed by Tom's advice, "I think I will."

Matthew stood up to make for the door. He patted his coat, making sure that his passport and wallet were inside. He'd have everything he needed to make for the airport. No clothes, but he could buy some in London. Then his hands brushed over some car keys. Right, that blasted car.

"Actually, Tom, I do need your help with one thing," Matthew said, spinning the keys around his finger, "Do you happen to know how to drive on this side of the road?"

A few hours after Mary hung up with Matthew, common sense came over her and she realized she needed to go to the doctors. A few more hours and a mononucleosis diagnosis later, she was back in her house- still miserable- but at least she knew why.

She's been confused at first as to where the disease had come from. Wasn't it a kissing disease? She certainly hadn't been kissing anyone but Matthew, and she would have noticed if he'd been feeling this lousy. Then she remembered that Sybil's friend Gwen had been sick with mono all summer. In a small flash, Mary remembered lending Gwen some lipstick while at Cannes. Dammit Gwen.

She fixed herself a cup of tea, then promptly realized that the very concept of tea made her gag. Loss of appetite, the brochure had read. It made sense looking back- the tiredness, the sore throat, the headaches. She poured out the tea and made herself a hot chocolate instead because apparently she could stomach that instead.

Four to six weeks, Mary repeated to herself, as she put marshmallows in her cocoa. The doctor said she would feel ill for four to six weeks. Then she'd still be tired for months longer than that. This hopefully meant that she'd feel better in time for the wedding, but she wouldn't be able to be as present to it if she was this exhausted. Then there was Matthew to deal with. They'd just finally come together, now she was going to have to keep him at arms length till she was less sickly. That was likely the most crushingly awful part about this whole thing.

When she finished her cup of cocoa, she headed to her room for a hot shower to get off all the germs from the doctors office. When she was done, she changed into her favorite t-shirt made out of the softest grey fabric with "Cornell" written across in faded red letters. She put on a pair of soft jogger pants and decided to let her hair drip-dry. She took another Advil for the headaches, then crawled in bed. She thought it might be smart to text an update to Matthew before sinking into the abyss, but she didn't want to worry him more. So she reached instead for a book on her nightstand, but fell asleep before she could turn a page.

Mary wasn't sure what time it was when she heard the doorbell ringing. She might have slept for ages or for a half hour. It really all felt the same to her at this point. She stumbled out of her room, making her way downstairs.

She prayed to God it wasn't a pap. Her hair had almost certainly dried in all different directions. She was wearing no make up. She was dressed in her comfiest of clothes. She was in no place to answer questions or be seen as a half asleep mess.

She clicked on the intercom, "Who is it?"

"Mary, Mary, is that you?"

"Matthew? What are you doing here?" Mary asked, blinking away sleep to make sense of it. She hadn't been expecting him today, but maybe she had forgotten something in her illness.

"Just let me in first," Matthew said,

"Oh right," Mary replied, opening the door for him.

There he was at her doorstep. He was oddly dressed in athletic clothes and trainers. His blond hair was particularly floppy and damp under the rain of a summer storm. But he was somehow and unexpectedly here. His expression was one of pure relief.

She couldn't blame him. She knew what he'd been through with Lavinia. She knew how tightly wound his anxiety was. If this was what he needed to not worry, she understood. However, he couldn't be there.

"God, it's so good to see you," Matthew said.

She was immediately enveloped in his arms, the pair of them wrapping around her waist to pull her flush against him. For a moment she relished in the safety and comfort of his embrace. Then he lowered his head, angling for a kiss.

"No, Matthew, stop," She said, pushing him away.

"What's wrong?" He said, stepping back his face changing from relief to confusion.

"You can't be here," She said firmly.

"If it's just a cold-" He began, his face crinkling in worry, as if his world was shattering.

"It's not a cold," Mary told him.

She watched his vision cloud with anxiety, as if he suddenly couldn't see her or anything.

"Do you need to sit?" She offered.

"Mary," his voice was raspy already, "Mary, what do you have?"

He was swaying a bit. Mary reached out a hand to steady him.

She was about to reply, "Mono," when he began to fall. Chances are, she wouldn't have been able to catch him on a good day, much less when she felt like a sick weakling. She lunged forward to catch him, but he slipped her arms and hit the floor with a thud.

Panic was rolling over Matthew before he opened his eyes. He knew that smell- the antiseptic one that made him gag. Matthew opened his eyes to an artificially light world.

"No," He whispered, feeling disoriented, "No."

It had all been a dream, hadn't it? He was still in the hospital, still sick. Lavinia was dying. Mary had been a dream, hadn't she? Their two months together an illusion made by his fever-ridden mind. It made sense, only such intense illness could allow him to make up an illusion like dating Mary Crawley. Because how else could he explain the fact that he was back in the hospital?

As he fought against the panic and disorientation, he began to notice details that marked this place as different. In Atlanta, he'd been put in quarantined room for those with highly contagious, highly dangerous diseases. The doctors had seemed cryptically futuristic, dressed in hasmat suits that rendered them unhuman. There had been machines whirling, all intent to keep him alive.

But now, it was silent, abet for distant chatter in a different room. Turning his head to one side, wincing at the intense pain, he saw that he was in a single room. He watched doctors and nurses mill by outside, dressed in normal doctor clothes. There was no quarantine, no hasmat suits. He couldn't be in Atlanta.

He slowly turned his head to the opposite direction and saw her. She was tucked into an armchair, still wearing the loose black pants, a faded Cornell t-shirt, her hair in a knot on the top of her head. Her eyes were closed in sleep.

Mary. She was real. Of course, she was real.

All of a sudden, he felt silly that for a moment he had thought she was a dream. He tried to remember what had happened to land them here.

Then it hit him in a whirl of memories- Mary's sickness, his conversation with Tom, that damn car, the flight here, showing up on Mary's doorstep. As he recovered each one, the old fear began to cling to him. Mary was sick. Mary didn't have a cold. She could have the disease. She could leave him like Lavinia did.

He reached over to touch her hand.

"Mary," He whispered.

He felt a wave of relief as she opened her eyes. She startled at seeing him awake.

"Matthew," She said instantly, "How are you feeling? Is your head alright?"

He felt confusion wash over him. If Mary was sick, why was she asking how he was feeling? But now that he mentioned it, his head ached terribly.

"Hmm, head hurts," He moaned.

"Thought so," Mary said, "Sorry, it's all my fault. I'll call for the doctor."

Matthew was still stuck on her, her sickness.

"We should call a doctor for you, darling," He said, "To make you better."

"Don't worry about me," Mary said, pressing a button to call the doctor.

"But you can't have the disease," Matthew said weakly.

"What disease?" Mary said, reaching down to run her hand through his hair soothingly. It felt so good, her touch.

"The one I had, the one Lavinia had," Matthew explained, as if it wasn't obvious.

"Oh that. Darling, no, I don't have it."

"No?" He asked.

"I have mononucleosis, Matthew," Mary said.

"You do?"

"Yes, which is partly why I couldn't catch you when you collapsed, which is why you probably have a mild concussion now," Mary told him, "Sorry about that again, by the way."

"Ah, there we are," the doctor said, coming in to the room, "How are you feeling Mr. Crawley?"

He watched as Mary sat back while the doctor began some routine tests to see the extent of his concussion.

"You seem fine, but we'd like to hold you overnight for observations," The doctor explained, "Head injuries are funny and we just want to ensure you are fine."

Matthew nodded, wincing at the movement.

"We're going to give you some painkillers for your head, so let us know if it gets worse," the doctor said, "Or if you feel nauseous."

The doctor handed him some pills and some water, Matthew downed them both quickly.

"The doctor said you were dehydrated and hadn't eaten recently. You must not have eaten or had water on the flight?" Mary said, "That's probably why it was easier for you to have a massive anxiety attack. But I think they IVed you some liquids or something. I don't know I was mostly asleep."

She was asleep because she had mono. Not anything life threatening, but not anything very fun either.

"God, Mary, I'm so sorry," He said, "You are the one who is really sick and here you are at the hospital, taking care of me."

"Well, I didn't have much of a choice, did I?" Mary said, a smile in her voice. He was so grateful that she was amused rather than furious, as she deserved to be. "Luckily being Mary and Matthew Crawley gets you a more private room, because honestly if I was caught in public looking this frumpy and with my face so puffy, then we'd have a real scandal on our hands."

Matthew chuckled, then paused, looking at her swollen face and tired eyes. His tone more serious now, "You should go home. You need rest and herbal teas and Advil. And I'm not sure what else- I don't know that much about mono."

"I hope you never learn," Mary said, "It's quite miserable. I'm pretty sure if I keep my eyes open much longer they'll cease to exist."

"We can't have that," Matthew said, reaching for her hand, "Your eyes are quite lovely."

He held it in his own, turning it softly.

"Before I go," Mary said, "I think we need to discuss this."

"What?" He asked.

"What happened this morning," She said, "We can talk more about when you feel better. But Matthew. I'm going to get sick in life. I'm going to get common colds and stomach bugs and heaven knows what else- but I can't be taking you to the hospital every time I feel ill. Plus, your immune system is weaker because of the disease you had. Being at the hospital, being around me- it's only making you susceptible for worse things. I can see our relationship lasting, well, a really long time. But in order to do that, we need to deal with this."

"How?" Matthew asked. Everything Mary said was true. He felt ashamed that this dark monster of anxiety was causing him to disappoint Mary, was causing him to let her down.

"When we started really dating, we promised that we wouldn't fix each other, that we'd heal alongside each other. No matter how many kisses I give you (not that you get any until I'm done with this mononucleosis business), it's not going to fix this anxiety you have. I know because I have anxiety issues too. And I go to a therapist for it. It's not anything to be ashamed of. Honestly, almost everyone in the spotlight has one in order to deal with the pressure. It's his job to figure out why I had trouble with intimacy and help me work through it. I think you need to start seeing someone to talk about your anxiety. I know you did when you were little, but it's okay to see a therapist now too. You told me a few weeks ago that you felt like your mind was sick. If someone's sick, they need to get better. They'll help you get better."

"Maybe," He said, frowning.

"Matthew, when I'm better, I want to go to Burundi to meet the artisans I've been working with. I want to learn about their lives and the fabrics and patterns they use and how we can work together to actually make a sustainable difference in their lives. I've been reading stuff about development you sent me, and other things I found on my own. I don't want to touch people's lives in superficial ways, but for this project to enact changes they want and need to flourish. I want to go to Burundi and I want you to come with me. You need to conquer this anxiety so we can help even more people."

Frankly the idea of going back to Burundi was terrifying to Matthew. But at the same time, he was amazingly proud of Mary for want to dive into the lives of the people he cared about. He was admired the fact that she wanted approach their new endeavor by learning from the people. He admired how she wanted to help people, not as a rich, white savior type, but as someone ready to be humbled by people with talents that mirrored her own. As much as he wanted to shrink from her suggestion, he knew it was brilliant. She was brilliant. He was determined to let her dreams flesh out.

He put a kiss on the palm of her hand and then lifted it to his cheek.

"Mary, if that will help us with our project together, then I will," He said.

He watched a smile grace her face. He realized that the painkillers were making him sleepy. His eyelids all of a sudden felt heavy.

"You're tired, aren't you?" She said softly.

Matthew let out a hum, leaning into her hand.

"Go home now Mary," He said, his voice slow with exhaustion, "I'll be here in the morning."

"Okay, I'll see you then darling," She said, "I'd kiss you goodbye, but well-"

"Goodnight Mary."

And there we are. Reviews make me smile :) Hope you all are having a nice week!