M/M, the morning after. I thought this would take me a lot longer to write, but it ended up coming quite easily, so here's an update sooner than I was expecting to post one. The next chapter will be Sybil and the big "reveal."

PS. shana rose has posted her own The Holiday-based fic with Anna and Bates instead of Matthew and Mary. It's called A Downton Holiday, so check it out.

Matthew

Matthew had had only two encounters that he would call one night stands. The first was a rather unfortunate one during his gap year with an American girl who was doing a "semester abroad" in Barcelona. He met her on a night out there with his cousin as the two of them were traveling across Spain on their way to the Festival de San Fermin in Pamplona to run with the bulls. (Matthew had no actual intention of doing that, but he was humoring his cousin and did very much enjoy seeing the Spanish countryside.)

Drunk from too much red wine, Matthew and the girl—he was embarrassed by the fact that he did not remember her name—stumbled into her dormitory and very awkwardly started to kiss and remove their clothing. They didn't actually get to the sex because the wine got to be a bit too much for the girl, and she proceeded to get sick all over the floor. Matthew re-dressed himself and her, got her a tonic, tucked her into bed and walked back to his hostel, only to find that his cousin had been more successful in his attempts at bedding someone. Matthew was forced to spend the rest of the night sipping hot chocolate at a 24-hour café next door.

A year later, Matthew would make the mistake of sharing this encounter with his new friend Tom, who had not taken a gap year and was eager to learn what those who did got up to. It was a mistake because from then on, anytime a new girl would approach Tom to flirt with him and Matthew happened to be present, Tom would jokingly turn to Matthew and ask, "Shall I take her to Barcelona?" And girls approaching Tom to flirt happened rather often.

The second time, there was sex, though that did not make the encounter any less unfortunate. The woman, Elaine Smith, was a partner at his law practice. He didn't know her well when she sat next to him one evening at a pub many of his coworkers frequented afterhours. She had just broken up with her boyfriend, she'd told him, and was in dreadful need of something—someone—that would help her take her mind off things. He was still new in Dublin and did not yet have many friends outside of those Tom had introduced him to, so he stayed talking with her late. At the end of the evening, she offered him a ride home but took her to her own place instead. Things had gone pleasantly enough, but the next day, when he went to her office to say hello, he found her and her boyfriend less than clothed and very much in the process of getting back together.

That afternoon, he met Lavinia Swire.

She had come to the office that day with her father, who was updating his will after having sold his business to a competitor and come into a great deal of money in the process. As they were leaving, Mr. Swire stopped to go to the loo and slipped and broke his wrist on the way in. Matthew was there by coincidence and helped him get back up, escorting him, with Lavinia's help, back to their car. The day after that, she called to thank him and to ask him to dinner.

It occurred to Matthew now, as he was lying on Sybil's guest bed next to a sleeping Mary, that that was the only other time in his life a woman had made the first move with him. Looking over at Mary now, he still wasn't sure what to make of last night or her sudden proposition. It had been nice, though. Quite nice.

She was lying asleep with her back to him. Her hair, which had been in a delicate, precarious knot on the side of her neck the night before was loose, and he could see now that it was longer than he had realized. He turned to the night table, where there was a picture of her with Sybil. He could see the resemblance and thought both beautiful, but from their hair to their clothing to the way they smiled, what felt uninhibited and natural about Sybil was very much controlled and refined in Mary.

Two words, he thought, that I would not use to describe her in bed.

He brought his hand to his face to restrain a laugh. What about last night hadn't been a surprise?

"What's so funny?"

He turned and there she was, perfectly calm, perfectly awake. Perfectly beautiful.

"Nothing."

They both laid there, looking at the ceiling for a long moment.

Is there something one is supposed to say?

"Look, I—"

"I don't—"

He had to laugh at the awkwardness and laugh again when he caught her, out of the corner of his eye, rolling her eyes. She, it seemed, had no patience for awkwardness.

"Go ahead," he said.

"No, you go," she insisted.

"Well, I was going to say that I don't do this often, so I'm not quite sure what the next step is. And I also realize that saying you don't do this often is what people say, but nevertheless, it's true in my case."

"Well, I've never done it at all."

Matthew's heart leapt to his throat. Surely, she didn't mean . . .

"Please don't tell me this was your first time," he said, unable to keep at least some alarm from his voice.

"What? God, I'm not a virgin—not that that's any of your business. I meant that I've never slept with someone I'd just met. So I have no insight as to our current predicament."

Matthew let out a sigh of relief, which, for whatever reason, made her laugh.

"Well, I suppose I'll be flattered by your assumptions regarding my virtue," she said, making them both laugh and releasing whatever tension lingered between them. It didn't answer the question, however, of what happens now.

"It's funny," she continued after a moment, "This will make me sound old fashioned, but thinking about it, I don't believe I've slept with someone I didn't dance with first."

"Oh. Did that affect things at all?"

"I'm not sure . . ." She looked at him for a long moment, Matthew thought with a look that suggested she wanted to say more, but instead, she turned back toward the ceiling. "What time is it, anyway?"

He turned to the night table again. "It's 11 a.m."

"WHAT?" She quickly rolled over to his side and propped herself up on her elbow, the better to look at the clock herself. She was practically on top of him, unfazed by the sudden proximity. "Ugh. I haven't slept this late in years."

He watched her to see if she, too, had just noticed, in their sudden proximity, that they were still naked.

"I should probably be off," she said, moving back to her side of the bed to get up.

I guess that's that, then.

Matthew likewise turned to get up, and they both silently and discretely slipped their underwear back on, on their respective sides of the bed.

"I'm going to wash up," Mary said, without looking at him, but as she reached the doorway, she turned back to him with a soft smile. "Thank you, by the way, for taking me down off the ledge."

He smiled back at her. "It was my pleasure."

Hearing the shower go off, Matthew laid back down on the bed and thought about how very different this was from how he had expected his first time with a woman after Lavinia's death to go. What he had assumed would happen, of course, was sex as the natural progression of a relationship that would have been marked by a series of "firsts." First date since Lavinia. First kiss since Lavinia. First gift. First fight. On and on it would have gone until the first time since Lavinia, each first like a tiny nail slowly picking away at a scab, ever so painfully, until it was gone. Instead of that, last night, Mary had simply ripped the Band-Aid clean off. And this morning, Matthew found that where that Band-Aid had been, the scab was gone. The wound was healed.

Here was a one night stand, then, that Matthew would remember fondly. If that's what it had to be.

Hearing the water stop, he stood up, quickly found some sweats and a T-shirt and headed over to the living room to give Mary some privacy.

He thought about what he might do today and settled on a walk around Sybil's neighborhood to look for a newspaper and somewhere to have dinner. When he'd arranged the swap with her, he hadn't really thought long about what he would do once in London. He wasn't really one to see the sights, but he didn't want to stay cooped up all day either. He was working very hard not to show it outwardly, but the longer the morning went, the more Mary's presence, even in the next room, was rattling him. He wasn't sure he could think about anything else until she left—but he also didn't want her to leave.

About 15 minutes later, Mary walked out into the living room looking polished and smart wearing a dark red blouse and blue trousers. Nothing in her dress or demeanor suggested now that she'd had anything but a perfect night. Matthew suddenly felt very inadequate in his sweats.

"I should be glad that this is it between us," he said, trying his hand at informality with her. "If the task were to be seen with you in public, I'm not sure I would pass muster."

"Don't sell yourself short," she said with a wry smile. "I've a feeling you clean up very well."

She approached him, and he was about to offer his hand for a parting shake when she surprised him by stepping up to him and very softly kissing his cheek. She stepped away and looked at him with something in her eyes he couldn't quite place.

As she walked to the door, he thought, Was it wistfulness?

"Mary."

She turned, her demeanor still warm, but whatever he thought he had seen in her eyes was gone.

"Do you have a favorite restaurant in the neighborhood? I need some ideas for dinner tonight. I'm not much of a cook."

"Jasper's. It's Italian, about six blocks from here. The food isn't the best in town, but the tiramisu and the wine list are both excellent. I must warn you, though, it's a formal dining room so you'll have to do better than that." She pointed at his current duds.

He laughed and replied, "That's all right. I never travel without a suit."

Mary raised her eyebrows. "Well, good. Would that every man were as thoughtful about their dress."

He smiled inwardly, happy to have impressed her. Oh, just go on.

"You know, if you wanted to, you could join me."

She hesitated. "I don't know, Matthew. I had a lovely time last night, but I'm not sure it's a good idea."

"And if I promise there will be no Turks present?"

She laughed and said, "Then you'll have an easy time getting home."

She looked at him with a genuine smile again. The one he'd seen last night just before, and he knew now, as then, that she was giving him something special.

"Good luck to you, Matthew." With that she left.

Matthew dropped his chin to his chest and smiled ruefully to himself. He ambled over to the sofa and plopped down with a big sigh. After a moment, he sat up to pick up his mobile from the coffee table and typed out a text to Tom.

"I went to Barcelona."

He laughed, then deleted it.