Hey friends! Here's another chapter for, another which I happen to be really fond of. Not long after starting to write this fic, I went to a conference on international development, while concurrently taking a French class on sustainability and intercultural communication. A lot of stuff from the conference and class eventually became a part of this fic- this chapter in particular.
I have just few chapters left to write before I'm finished writing- I can hardly believe this journey is finishing up. (No worries there is loads of drama left to go- just you wait).
July passed curiously for Mary and Matthew.
After his night in the hospital, Matthew spent the rest of the week in London. The pain slowly subsided from is head. He tried to make it up to Mary by caring for her. Even if it just meant making her soup (despite the fact she insisted she had no appetite), stroking her hair while she slept (and she slept a lot), and helping her in the shower (well maybe she didn't need help in shower, but well, Matthew didn't mind helping). They laughed at the headlines that followed that week, Fashion Icon Mary Crawley Caught In Lounge Clothes, and, Crawley Hospital Conspiracy: Why Were Both Mary and Matthew Caught at a London Hospital This Week? They slept side by side in Mary's bed, with comforting kisses on her forehead, her cheek, her hair, anywhere but her lips.
"I'm sorry," Mary said, snuggled into his arms, "It took us forever to make love and we finally did and it was so so lovely. But now we can't again."
"Shhh," Matthew said, "We've plenty of time for that. Just get rest now, Mary. You'll be better soon."
At the end of the week they went back to Paris together. Mary leaned on his shoulder on the EuroStar. She was wearing big sunglasses, a grey hooded jumper with the hood up, and soft black leggings (which made him impatient to get to her Paris flat where he might be able to let his hands rove over them). She slept the whole way there.
They woke up the next morning, where they grimaced at, Mary Crawley Still Looking Frumpy as She Travels to France and rolled their eyes at Is Puffy Faced Mary Crawley a Sign of Crawley Pregnancy? Is it the baby Matthew or Tonys? Matthew fumbled through some basic French to procure her some pastries and make her a cappuccino. She still wasn't eating very much, but was making small improvements each day. They spent day cuddled on her couch alternating between Audrey Hepburn and Captain American movies. Mary researched flights to Burundi on her phone. Matthew researched therapists in New York on his. She eventually fell asleep and he carried her to bed, curling beside her.
He flew home on Sunday morning. Mary started going back to work again, just a few hours every day. She said despite the fact that she was tired and aching, she could still get things done, even if it was just planning the details of their upcoming trip and working on plans for the upcoming design.
Matthew fell back into his routine in New York. Turns out, missing three weeks in a row for the World Health Organization was something that wasn't exactly smiled on. He wasn't sure how he was going to manage a trip to Burundi and Sybil's wedding. But that could be figured out later. For now, he had lots of work to do to catch up. Plus, there was the issue of finding a therapist.
"Hmmm what do you think of this one?" Asked Sybil, as she swallowed the piece of cake. "I think it's my favorite so far."
"Was that the Earl Grey one?" Larry verified.
"Yes, with the lavender frosting," Sybil said, nodding happily, "It's so unique and delicious."
"It's tasty, dear, of course it is," Larry said, "But it's a bit exotic. I think the guests would prefer something simpler. Maybe a vanilla and buttercream. Or a chocolate marble."
"I suppose," Sybil sighed, "But isn't it our wedding? Shouldn't we have whatever damn cake we wish?"
Larry sighed, "See Sybil, this is why I'm glad you didn't get that internship. You think about yourself a tad too much to be a public servant. Even if it is the cake is what you want, you have to think about the greater good. Just as if you are a policy maker, you must think of the constituents, not just yourself."
Sybil put down her sample plate in a clatter, anger suddenly tracing her face, "Is that what you think?"
"No offense, dear," He began.
"Larry we aren't talking about politics right now, we are talking about cake for our wedding," Sybil said, her voice sharp, "It's rude of you to use this as an opportunity to what- say that I'm inadequate at politics? You've been saying that enough recently. If not, we can look at the internship that I didn't get as proof enough."
"I wasn't saying you are inadequate, just that you have a lot to learn," Larry offered, "Growth mindset, honey. Maybe if you take the time to learn from me, you might have a chance at an internship in a year or two."
Sybil rolled her eyes, "Thank you wise mentor. Maybe one day I'll be as great as you."
"Don't be like this," Larry said.
"Like what? A thinking person?" Sybil snapped.
"Just calm down," Larry said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "This escalated too quickly."
Then Larry's phone started ringing. He picked it up and walked it over to the side of the bakery to take the call. Sybil nibbled on the piece of vanilla and buttercream cake, frowning at how terribly ordinary it tasted.
This wasn't the first time that Larry had said something like this. There was a part of her that knew she should just call it off. She was increasingly tired of him. However, the spiteful part of her was fighting back. Mary, Matthew, and Tom all disapproved of her upcoming wedding. She knew they looked down on her. She knew that they didn't want her to marry Larry, that she was too young. The fact that no one respected that she knew her own mind, no one trusted that she was capable- it made her want to enter into the marriage regardless.
"It was the caterer," Larry said, "They say they may have to cancel."
"Might have to cancel?" Sybil repeated, "What could be more important than the Crawley-Grey wedding?"
"Apparently the American Embassy wants to book them for an event," Larry explained. "Can we get your father to offer them more money?"
"I suspect that was what their threat was after in the first place," Sybil frowned, "But yes, I'm sure we can offer more. Father's money seems to be like a solution to most problems."
Larry chuckled, "And do you think it will work?"
"It worked for Mary and Matthew," Sybil said, under her breath.
"What do you mean?" Larry questioned, his eyebrows shooting up.
"Hmm, oh, well, it's a secret," Sybil prefaced, glancing around the empty bakery for lurking ears, but the baker had stepped outside for a smoke "But you are soon to be bone of my bone or whatever."
"I think it's flesh of my flesh," Larry said.
"Whatever. Will you keep it secret?" Sybil prompted.
"Of course, dear, do you not trust me?" Larry said.
"I do, dear," She replied, touching his hand. Even if they had their differences, she trusted her fiancé. "Only just that Father originally paid Matthew to pretend to date Mary, to improve her public image. They're in love now, so it's all fine- Crawley money solves all problems."
Maybe it can solve ours, she added mentally.
"Really?" Larry gasped, "They seemed so in love in Wimbledon. Who'd have thought that?"
"They are, now," Sybil explained, "But at first they couldn't stand each other. I think it's quite romantic."
"It's something alright," Larry laughed.
"Hmm, well now that I've paid in you Crawley family secrets, can we get the wedding cake I want?"
"Gwen?"
"Who are you?" Gwen said, opening her door.
She was dressed her pajamas, her hair balanced in an orange bun on top of her head. She was definitely not expecting company, especially not a cute, well-dressed man with an Irish accent, who despite these admirable qualities was- in fact- a total stranger.
"I'm a friend of Sybils," The man said, "I'm Tom."
"I've never heard of a Tom," Gwen said, racking her memory. He looked a hair too old to have gone to college with them. Maybe he was a childhood friend she had never met.
"Sybil and I are recent friends," Tom said, "If we are even that."
"So you aren't Sybil's friend?" Gwen repeated.
"Listen, do you think that Sybil should marry that congressman bozo?" Tom asked bluntly.
"I mean she's my best friend, and I get to be a bridesmaid, I'm going to stand by her regardless," Gwen said defensively, but then paused, allowing herself to be honest with the complete stranger, "But yeah, she deserves way better than political scumbag."
"I thought you might agree with me," Tom said, "I need your help."
"Look, whatever your plan is, I can't help too much," Gwen said, "In case you haven't noticed I'm a bit ill. I had mono, then it turned into tonseilitus, then I got my tonsels removed. It's been a long summer."
"Listen you don't need to even leave your room," Tom said, "You are good at hacking right?"
Gwen let her face break out into a devious grin, and opened the door to let Tom in, "Come on in."
Matthew arrived back in Paris that weekend to check on Mary. He found her nestled on the chez lounge sipping a cappuccino, her laptop and Daisy sitting next her. Her hair was neatly braided. Her face was still puffy; making her usually wide eyes look tiny. She was wearing a light pink tank top and flowing patterned pants. It was still comfortable, but had a more meticulous Mary Crawley detailed style to it than her outfits from the week before did. And she was awake, which was definitely an improvement on her health.
"Good morning, darling," He said, letting himself in.
"Hey you," She said, looking up from her drink and computer. She put her coffee down and reached out to him for a hug. He crossed the space to her, letting her wrap her arms around his waist and put her head on his stomach. In turn, he let his arms fold around her.
"How are we feeling today?" He asked.
"Marginally less miserable?" Mary offered.
"You look a bit better," He acknowledged, rubbing his hand over her hair.
August 26th 1982 6:30 evening
"My throat hurts a bit less, but I've still a headache and I'm so tired," Mary said, burrowing closer into him, "But the doctor says I'll be tired for months after, so I suppose that's not going anywhere."
"And no kisses still?" Matthew said, sadly.
"No kisses, indeed," Mary said glumly, "Not for a month or so?"
"So around Sybil's wedding, I would suppose then," Matthew said, thinking of how terribly long that would be to wait.
"That's probably safe," Mary agreed, "Mono is tricky. It's a virus so I could technically give it to you anytime. Or you might have it already and not know it. But hey, you're the one who is good at all these medical things."
Mary scooted over a bit, so that Matthew could settle beside her, his arms still wrapped around her. Mary leaned her back against his chest, her hands resting over his.
"I'm not sure if that's true, just law really," Matthew said, gently nuzzling his head into her hair. The tight braid felt smooth against his skin. He felt a tingle of nerves in veering the subject this way, but he had to tell her. "I should tell you about some medical things."
"What is it?" Mary asked, her face stitched suddenly with worry.
"Nothing bad, well, kinda," Mattthew said, running his hands up her arms for a moment, "It's just that I took your advice and found a therapist in New York."
"Did you?" Mary asked leaning back further so that she could look up at him with a grin. "I'm really proud of you. I know it took some courage, but taking care of yourself is important."
Matthew nodded, pursing his lips together, hesitant to keep telling her.
"What is it?" She asked, reaching for her hand up to his face to run her finger along the bit of scruff that'd collected along his jawline. It soothed him enough to open up.
"Well, she referred me to a psychiatrist as well," Matthew admitted.
"Oh?" Mary said, her voice light.
"They prescribed a medication for anxiety," Matthew explained.
"That's good," Mary said, her voice full of positivity.
"Is it?" Matthew replied, his brow furrowing.
"Yes, Matthew, you've had these worries since you were a boy. It's haunted your whole life. You said it made your brain feel sick. It's okay to take medicine when you are sick," Mary told him.
"So you won't-" he paused, still hesitant about this, "You don't think less for me for this?"
Mary turned in his arms to face him, her hands coming to rest on his cheeks.
"Think less of you? How could I?" Her beautiful face was wrinkled with concern, "You are one of the bravest people I know. You've been through so many hardships, lost loved ones, been terribly ill yourself, and yet you never stop striving to make the would a better place. You never stop imagining a world that is better than it is today. I am so lucky to know you, much less, treasure you. There truly isn't much you could do to have me think less of you.
She wrapped her arms around him, pulling herself into a close embrace, and felt all the worry inside him dissipate.
"You too, Mary," He whispered, "I will never think less of you."
"Damn," Mary said, a trace of laughter in her voice, "I wish I could kiss you now."
Matthew laughed, "I wish I could kiss you too, darling. But soon, soon, we will."
He pressed a kiss into her hair, "Now what shall we do? Have you left your apartment recently?"
Mary made a soft grumble, the vibration tingling against his chest.
"Right, so, then let's get you some fresh air. That's important you know," She looked up at him with a hint of a glare, "Then maybe some Berthillion? What? It will help your throat. I've never seen Mary Crawley to deny Berthillion."
"I suppose that's true," Mary said, "Besides, at least my outfit is better today. Maybe someone will take a photo of us and it will negate the whole 'Mary Crawley Pregnancy' conspiracy or whatever. My father wasn't too keen on that one."
"Did he say something?" Matthew asked.
"Just a notorious Robert Crawley CEO e-mail," Mary said. "I instagramed a picture of the cup of tea you made me with 'Thanks so much MatthewCrawley for taking care of me while I'm sick. #fuckyoumono' But I think I still need to do a little more."
"So a stroll in the park et un peu de la glace, then?" Matthew proposed.
"Look at you and your French," Mary teased, as he helped her up.
She scooped up Daisy and put her in her cage, before adding, "But when we get back, we are cuddling and sleeping."
"That's fine by me," Matthew said, putting his arm around her.
Less than an hour later, Mary was happily carrying a cornet of frambois-à-la-rose as they crossed the parvis of Notre Dame. Matthew was asking her about the plans for Sybil's wedding was going.
"It's good," Mary said, "She's picked the cake this week. She told me it's going to be a earl grey cake, very sophisticated. They had a problem with the caterer, but I think it's sorted. The decorator and florist are all accounted for. The wedding party is accounted for. Invitations sent. It's getting rather close."
"She invited my mother," Matthew said, "which is kind of her. She invited Tom too."
"Did she?" Mary remarked, "I thought there was some tension between them at Wimbledon."
"I thought so too," Matthew admitted, "I don't think Tom approves of Larry as a match for Sybil."
"Tell him to join the club," Mary laughed.
"He told me that's going to try to convince her out of it," Matthew told her.
"Well best of luck to him then," Mary said, "I've tried. She's stubborn."
"I'm coming to see it as a Crawley sister trait," Matthew noted.
"Probably," Mary smiled, happy at how nice it was to have someone that knew the details of her personality. "Besides, there are good things about Sybil's wedding. I just bought my dress for it."
"Because you're the maid of honor, correct?" Matthew asked.
"Right," Mary said, "Gwen and Rose are bridesmaids. It'll be nice."
Mary wondered if she should tell him about the dress. Sybil had decided to take a page out of Princess Kate's book and do the wedding party in white. While their dresses were understated, Mary couldn't deny that she looked like a bride in the long white dress when she looked in the mirror. She wondered what Matthew would think of her in it. Would it scare him? Or would it make him think about a future with her?
Mary thought of the words she'd said a week or so before, "I can see our relationship lasting, well, a really long time." She could see them having some sort of future. She wasn't sure what that looked like. She wasn't positive that it meant a white dress in any sort of immediate future, but maybe one day. All of a sudden, the wedding conversation seemed overwhelming.
They were crossing over the left bank. Mary had a brief flashback to their first weekend in Paris. That evening where they walked in these very same places, but everything was so different. There was so much that lingered unspoken between them that night, but today they were free of it. They could hold hands and press kisses into each other's hair without weird confusion of unspoken feelings and sky-high walls.
Thinking of that moment, and wanting to suddenly change the subject, she offered, "Shall we pop in Shakespeare and Company?"
"If you are up to it," Matthew said, rubbing his hand over her back.
"Sure, but then after right to the cuddling and sleeping bit," Mary laughed.
They made their was into the bookstore. They were awkwardly stopped by some American tourists who asked to take selfies with them. Mary and Matthew obliged, mostly out of Mary's desire to get a healthier picture of herself out there.
Once they were inside, they sifted their way through the bookshelves. Mary picked out a few classics she hadn't read yet and decided to buy them. She knew that she'd have a good amount of time to read coming up between recovering from mono and flying to Burundi in a few weeks.
Matthew appeared beside her, holding La Dame Aux Camelias.
"I thought I'd give your favorite book a try," Matthew said.
"You don't have to," Mary said, "Especially if it makes things harder for you."
"Aren't we all about facing our fears these days, Mary?" He said, "I'll be fine."
Mary kissed his cheek, "If you say so, darling."
"What have you got there?" Matthew asked.
"Mmm, just some Edith Wharton," Mary said, showing him the paperbacks.
"Speaking of Ediths," Matthew said, "Have you seen this?"
He nods at a new poster hanging above the cash register.
Coming this Fall. Edith Crawley's The Marchioness.
"Did you know she was writing a new book?" Matthew asked.
Mary shook her head. "Like I said, she doesn't really communicate with me much."
"Well, it's sensational that's she'd publishing another book," Matthew said, "My mother will be overjoyed."
"Does it say what it's about?" Mary wondered.
"Hmm," Matthew said, craning his neck to read the description, "Lady Elizabeth Hightower was the daughter of an Earl, a social butterfly, and ready to become a fine lady in a fine household- until a horrendous scandal ruined her. Years later, Lady Elizabeth Hightower has found love for the first time in Albert James. But her romance hinges on the fact that Albert doesn't know Elizabeth's secret."
"Curious," Mary said, "That sounds weirdly familiar. Daughter of a rich man, ruined by scandal, in love with a man that is far too good for her- do you think Edith is writing about us?"
"But you don't talk to her much- how could she know?" Matthew said, "Perhaps she reads your tabloids. Or just stalks your instagram."
"True," Mary said, stepping up to pay, "It's still curious."
It was two weeks later that they flew from Paris to Amsterdam, to Niarobi, to Kigali, to Bujumbura. Mary had prepared for the trip extensively. Apart from just arranging meetings with the artist group, she'd spent a long time reading up on the history of Burundi. It had been victim to a brutal civil war, which had been bad for economy, for tourism, for health. Mary had also borrowed several books from Matthew about working in the developing world. She wanted to learn all she could. Most importantly, she didn't want to sweep in like some sort of white savior figure trying to change the world. She wanted to work with the people there so that her contribution could make a sustainable difference.
They arrived in the morning, but after hours and hours of traveling, Mary insisted they rest at the hotel before doing anything.
"Are you sure you are up to doing more?" Matthew asked, as he stroked her hair, laying beside her in bed, Mary drifting in and out of a nap, "You are still recovering from mono. It's really okay if you get more rest, darling."
"No, no," Mary said, "I have a meeting this afternoon to start setting things up. Can't cancel."
She raised herself from her bed and headed to the bathroom. A half hour later, she was dressed in a summer dress, her hair in a bun, and her feet neatly tucked into practical brown flats. She wasn't exactly sure how to dress for these things.
"You look great," Matthew said, "You can hardly tell you have a nasty virus and have just been travelling for almost an entire day."
Mary rolled her eyes, but he got off the bed to settle his arms around her waist.
"I mean it, darling, you're beautiful," Matthew said. "Now let's go start our project."
So they launched into a busy few days. Mary and the center's director, Elise, got on instantly. Mary was happy to discover they both spoke French and English, they both had mutual friends in the industry, and they both had a similar vision for the project. The bag they would make would have a colorful bit of fabric that wove through it, the textiles based on artistic traditions in Burundi. They'd also be making little wooden charms to dangle off the bags, one shaped like Mary's logo and one in the shape of an animal native to Burundi.
After a few days of finalizing the designs, Mary got to meet more of artisans working at the center. She had them teach her their different techniques. She was completely baffled by the wood carvers, and couldn't even imagine to understand how they did it.
Bujumbura was a fascinating, abet often troubling. It had been a French colony, which was evident in the wide boulevards and brief appearances from an architectural style that might be described as Hauseman-esque if you squinted. On their second day, they found a pastry shop that rivaled anything she'd had in Paris. There was a natural beauty around them as well- mountains, palm trees, and Lake Tanganyika.
Yet so much of it was unsettling to Mary. The city was almost frozen in time, as violence had held the country back from developing. The windows had bars on them. Then there was poverty. It wasn't as if Mary hadn't known it existed, but until then she'd always had the choice to not really allow herself to think about it. Now she was here and she saw it and there was no turning back.
"How do you see these things, Matthew?" Mary asked. That afternoon they had walked through a poorer part of town. It had haunted Mary since. The drawn faces of tired women carrying baskets too big for them. The dirty feet of children. The way that bugs had clung to the eyes of animals. She knew that their were nice part of Burundi, that the people who lived here had lives that were complex and dynamic as her own- but there were part of being here that broke her heart. "How do you see things and just keep on living?"
They were sitting at a beach side bar, sharing a pizza and beers, a perfectly blue pool in front of them, beyond that an expanse of beach, then water that might have looked like something from a tropical island in the Caribbean instead of the middle of Burundi. It was easy to forget here. It was easy to think that they were on a holiday for pleasure. It was easy to think that not far from here was true suffering.
Matthew took a long sip of beer, "I guess I realized that I needed to do everything I could to help. After I came back from Peru, then Uganda, I knew that I was interested in vulnerable people. I was already interested in the legal side of medicine. So that's why I wanted to work for the World Health Organization. I figured it was the best way to use the skills I have to make a difference."
"I just wish I could find some way to make a difference like that," Mary said.
"I think you already are," Matthew said. "This line is going to help people start paying attention to the problems that are happening here. It's going to help people affected by disease here. It's going to help the artisans who will benefit from this partnership."
"Right," Mary said, "But then the line is over? What happens? I keep making handbags that fit rich people's pets and cost more than a year of college tuition."
"That's up to you, Mary," Matthew said, "But I have to believe it's never too late to live the life you want to live."
Mary bit her lip. It was true. Their relationship, if anything, could attest to that. But what did it look like? Her skills set was in fashion design. She didn't see herself inclined to become a lawyer or a doctor or something that would be directly useful in the way that Matthew was. But this world of development was still interesting to her, transformative for her. She didn't want to go back to meaningless handbag lines. She wanted to keep finding ways for her world of fashion and the developing world to collide.
"It's rather warm tonight," Matthew said, "Do you fancy a swim before we head back to our room?"
"Sure," Mary said.
They got up from where they were sitting to make for the pool. She peeled off her sundress, revealing her black bikini. Matthew's arm wrapped around her from behind, his soft t-shirt against her back.
"If only you didn't have mono," He whispered.
"Soon, I'll be better," Mary said, "It's not long till Sybil's wedding."
"Thank goodness for that," Matthew agreed, as Mary turned in arms to take off his shirt.
He put a quick peck on her forehead before jumping into the pool, part of the splash drenching Mary.
She giggled and jumped in after him. For a moment she was submerged underwater, before she floated to the surface. She burst forth and started looking around for him. He was standing now at the far side of the pool, watching the sunset over the water
His hair glowed gold in the evening sun. He looked something like an angel. She paddled over to his side.
I love him.
She wasn't sure where the words came from, but she couldn't deny it wasn't the first time they had appeared in hear head. She loved Matthew Crawley. She loved his smile, his hair, the way he said her name, and the look in his eyes when he talked about changing the world. She loved the way he looked when he was asleep, the way he kissed her hair, and the way he held her through every hard moment. She loved the world she entered with him. It was a world that believed in hope, change, and that anyone could make a difference. She loved him. She loved him. Mary Crawley loved Matthew Crawley.
She wanted to shout it, but she didn't. She didn't know how to tell him. He had left her up to setting the pace of the relationship, but she didn't know if that applied to emotional things as well. She didn't know when or where someone was supposed drop the three little words. She had never been a relationship like that before, the kind where you say "I love you."
"Penny for your thoughts, love?" He asked, as she took her place at his side, his wet arm wrapping around her.
Tell him. TELL HIM.
"Just how lovely the sunset is," Mary said, "And how much I wish I could kiss you."
At the end of the week, they took a day trip to the famous Karera Falls. It had been Matthew's idea. They'd finished all their work. Mary and Elise had finalized all their plans and collaborations. In a day, Mary and Matthew would be heading back to their lives in Paris and New York. There was a bit of Mary that was sad about it. She saw herself growing here. But she had this feeling that she would be back.
They arrived to the falls to see that they were empty. They walked hand in hand to approach them. Stream after stream of water were flowing over the rock face. Mary had been to Niagara Falls with Anna as a small road trip their freshman trip of college. These falls were totally different. They weren't as tall, but there was immense artistry in the way the rivets of water flowed in different directions.
They stared in silence at the falls. The guide who had driven them there from Bujumbura, stood far away, giving them the privacy to take in the falls.
Just the two of them, before a formidable force of nature.
"Lavinia and I were supposed to go here," Matthew said.
It was the first time Matthew had spoken of her and their ill-fated trip since they'd arrived.
"We were supposed to come here our last day in Burundi," Matthew told her.
She squeezed his hand as they looked up at the falls.
"Lavinia never got to see this," He whispered, his voice going a little hoarse.
She knew he was holding back tears. She leaned on his shoulder.
"You know that you can always talk about her to me," Mary told him, "I promised I won't get jealous."
Mary was genuinely curious about the woman who had shaped Matthew's life so deeply.
"Thank you for that," Matthew said, "She was top-notch. She was pretty and a good singer, but she had this pure heart of gold. She was constantly kind and brave and giving. People like that are hard to find today."
Mary thought of herself, with sharp edges, a prickly exterior, and a guarded heart. She was no Lavinia Swire. She knew that Matthew cared for her, but she imagined that Lavinia was a marvel in her own right.
"She never caused a moment of pain in her life and she didn't deserve it in her own," Matthew told her. "I am grateful that my painful life has led me to you Mary, but I wish that Lavinia could have seen this waterfall. I wish didn't have to- to go through what she did."
He was crying now. Not loose tears, but hearty sobs. Mary was grateful that the guide had given them space. She gathered Matthew in her arms, her head fitting in the crevice of his neck.
"She's here, Matthew," Mary whispered, "I believe it. I bet when she passed, she got to see all of the world. I bet she came here and I bet she is here now. She's always going to be with you. She's watching over you."
Mary believed it thoroughly.
Matthew sobbed into her hair.
She didn't mind.
He took a shaky breath in and out, trying to calm himself from crying. "She's happy for us. I have to know she is. She would give her love."
Now Mary was beginning to cry too. Tears welled up in her eyes for a woman she'd never known. But she could feel her generosity in Matthew's memories. She hoped that in time he'd share more with her. Mary wanted to know how they fell in love, how Matthew proposed.
"When you care for me, it doesn't mean you love her any less," Mary said, "You know that, right? She'll always be part of you."
Matthew pulled back and Mary looked up to his face. It was pained and tearstained. Her hands moved to cup his cheeks, her thumbs smoothing over the remaining tears. She loved him for his vulnerability. She loved him. It was ringing in her head again.
I love him.
She couldn't tell him that right after he cried about his dead financée. That would be probably the most tactless thing she could do.
Yet she couldn't stop it. The words tumbled from her lips on her own accord.
"I love you," She said, her voice vaguely strangled by tears, "You must know how much I love you. I can't believe I just said that. It's not the right time. I shouldn't have said anything. But I don't care. I need to say. I'm glad it's out of my mouth. I love you."
Then Matthew, with residual tears in his eyes, began to kiss Mary so thoroughly she nearly toppled backwards if it wasn't for his strong, protective arms holding her close. His full lips molded around her own, each movement full of a mix of eagerness and desperation. She hadn't expected this reaction from him.
When she recovered from being dazed by his lips, she realized that Matthew shouldn't be kissing her at all. Her hands went to his arms and she pushed him back.
"Stop, you can't catch mono," Mary said, both dizzy and giddy, "This is a bad idea and your immune system and you've got to stop."
"I really don't care if I catch mono," Matthew laughed, dipping his head back to kiss her some more.
"And Mary?" He said, between kisses.
"Hmm?" She hummed into his lips, giving up on preserving his health.
"I love you too," He said, before moving to kiss her neck.
This last scene is the only time I cried so far while writing this fic (and then again while editing it). I hope you liked it! Reviews make me smile :)