They hold hands on the train, as if unable to let each other go.
Mary looks down at their fingers, laced tightly together, her smaller hand dwarfed by Matthew's long and slender one, and thinks back to the moment she woke up in the field dressing station, Matthew's face slack in sleep on the cot next to her, but their hands just like that – holding tight and not letting go.
She remembers what happened earlier too. She shies away from the nightmarish memories of the dugout collapsing all around her, of Andy pushing her down under him and especially the awful one of realising he is dead , that she has once again a dead man lying on top of her and cannot push him off her, that she's going to die like that – no, she does not want to recall any of that ever again. But she remembers that brief moment when she opened her eyes and noticed Matthew staring at her with desperation and hope and she knew, even as she was sliding back into unconsciousness, that she was safe , that he saved her, and that he will not let anything else happen to her, even though she could hear the shells still falling and exploding around and was aware that there was nothing he could truly do to protect either of them from it.
And yet he did. She woke up in the field dressing station and looked at his sleeping face, and their entwined hands, and she knew he somehow did, that it was thanks to him that she was alive, that they both were. It took her befuddled brain a moment longer to register with concern that his head was covered in bandages.
In her memory, exhausted looking Captain Summers stumbles over to their cots and shakes his head looking down at them as Matthew slowly wakes up, obviously groggy from morphine.
"You two look a mess," he says disapprovingly. "I talked with your doctor, Crawley. He said he sewed you up enough that whatever you have inside your head should stay there, but with the banging your head got, you should take it away from the guns for some time. You're being sent to Blighty for convalescence. You too, Lady Mary."
"Why are you talking with the doctor about it?" asks Matthew, blinking with confusion. "Shouldn't Major Rogers confirm all of it?"
"He cannot, since he's dead," answers Summers curtly, his voice and face void of emotion. "You're talking to Acting Major Summers and your new commanding officer, at least for now. I'm the highest ranking officer left standing around here, so they just handed me the command until they figure out what to do."
Mary tries to comprehend it and fails. After half a year in this hell that France has become she cannot believe she is really going home and Matthew with her.
It finally registers that the only reasons Matthew is going as well is because he is injured enough to need time and peace to recover and she looks at him in alarm, once again looking at the bandages thickly covering his head and neck. He notices her distress and squeezes her hand in reassurance.
"It's nothing serious," he says when exhausted looking Summers saunters off to speak to the other wounded both from the dugout collapse and the later attack. "I was hit by some shrapnel, but I've only got some gashes and a concussion to show for it. I'll be alright, I have no idea why they even bother to send me back home; not that I'm complaining about it of course. But my darling, how do you feel?"
Mary suspects that he is rather underplaying his injuries; she can see how careful he is to keep his head as still as possible, as if the slightest movement could result in pain – and probably does. She decides to trust that he would not outright lie about any danger of him dying from them, so she focuses on his question.
How is she, really?
It's harder to answer that it should be. Mary can tell that her whole body aches and her head feels filled with cotton, her mind sluggish and muddled. She can breathe easily now though, which is a huge improvement over the last time she remembers being awake.
"Alright, I guess," she says, but she can hear her voice is lacking conviction and that Matthew doesn't believe her answer either.
They are both transported to the hospital later that day and Mary gets the confirmation of her long-held suspicions that travelling in the back of her ambulance over the uneven roads simply cannot be comfortable. She barely restrains a hiss of pain every time a bump or a swerve of the car aggravates her bruises. Matthew does groan several times, his poor head jostled in a way which must be excruciating for somebody with his injuries.
The look on Sybil's face when she sees them both among the wounded is pure horror, quickly replaced by determination and then relief when the doctor she's assisting confirms that neither of them is seriously hurt. He concurs with the decision to send them to England though.
"If it were just the shrapnel wounds, Captain Crawley, we would keep you here until they're healed," he says. "But the concussion can be dangerous or leave long term problems if neglected. You do need some time of peace and quiet, and we will need you in top shape in the spring."
He walks over to Mary.
"As for you, Lady Mary, you're very lucky for somebody who was buried in a collapsing dugout. There does not seem to be any lasting damage from lack of air – most likely thanks to the gasmask Captain Crawley has said you had on – and there are no injuries from the things falling on you other than some deep bruising. It will take several weeks to heal properly – the bruises are extensive – but my recommendation is basically the same as to Captain Crawley, lots of rest and relaxation. Warm bath with salts and application of ointments should ease the pain."
So here they are a week later, on the train bound for Downton, and Sybil is with them. As soon as it has been confirmed that they are both going to England, she applied for leave and managed to wrangle it.
"I need to keep an eye on you two," she says sternly, but Mary can see the fear in her eyes and knows how badly shaken Sybil is by what nearly happened. "Neither of you makes a good patient. And I could use a proper bath too."
Recalling Sybil's words as she looks at her now, seated opposite her, Mary starts thinking about their welcome at home and looks at her sister suspiciously.
"You have not told anyone at home that I was injured, have you?"
Sybil huffs in irritation, but nods, while Matthew looks at them questioningly.
"Why wouldn't you tell them?" he asks, bewildered. His own injury is of course no secret since he is being sent to Downton as a patient, but Mary is not part of the Army. She's been told to go home to rest and recover, and thus relieved from her volunteering duties until she's well, but there would be no telegrams from the War Office to announce anything about it to her family. He does not understand why she would like to keep it a secret though.
Mary rolls her eyes.
"Isn't it obvious?" she snaps. "Can't you imagine what kind of fuss they would all make? The less they know the better."
"So you're just going to pretend that you're on leave, like Sybil, and hide everything from them?" asks Matthew incredulously and nearly groans when she responds with a firm nod. He looks at Sybil in mute application to make her sister see reason, but she just shrugs.
"I tried," she says, clearly exasperated. "There's no talking sense into her and she threatened all kinds of things if I say anything. Since she promised to listen to the doctors and rest, I agreed. But she will not lie to Doctor Clarkson if she knows what's good for her."
The last sentence is said with a glower directed at Mary who rolls her eyes again.
"I'm perfectly alright," she insists impatiently.
But Matthew feels her hand trembling slightly in his and does not believe her in the slightest.
xxx
Edith is waiting for them at the train station.
"Are we still without a chauffeur?" grumbles Mary as Sybil throws herself in Edith's arms. "Don't I risk my life every day as it is?"
"You were not complaining about my driving when I was teaching you how to do it!" chides Edith as she goes to hug Mary as well. Mary allows it and even returns the hug, although she stiffens when it aggravates her bruises. "And of course we have a chauffeur by now, but I missed you both so much!"
"It's a miracle they even accepted me with such a teacher," she says but realises she is smiling. She thinks the war must have gotten into her head if she finds herself happy to see Edith of all people.
Edith greets Matthew as well and soon they are on the way to hospital where Matthew's wounds are to be evaluated before it is confirmed whether he stays there or goes straight into the convalescence home. They all decide to wait for him, even though he protests he can just walk to Downton if he is deemed well enough which he fully expects. The gashes on his head and neck are painful and make any movement, especially turning or bowing his head difficult, and he still gets terrible headaches and bouts of nausea, but he is hardly going to drop down from a walk.
"A long walk," says Sybil sternly. "I highly doubt Doctor Clarkson is going to approve of such ideas. We will wait, it's not a problem."
Since Mary and Edith agree, Matthew is outvoted completely.
Thankfully it does not take long for Doctor Clarkson to see to him, and while he tut tuts over the wounds, he also admits they were properly stitched and are healing very nicely. He warns Matthew that a concussion is not a condition to be treated lightly and that he is supposed to rest and take it easy for the next three weeks if he does not want to have some long term side effects from it.
"And you two?" he asks Sybil and Mary after he releases Matthew from his. "Any injuries to report?"
"None," answers Mary firmly, earning herself a glare from Sybil and Matthew both. Sybil opens her mouth to refute that blatant lie but acquiesces with a huff when Mary looks sharply in the direction of Edith.
"None for me either, but I think Mary wanted to talk with you about her hay fever," she says pointedly.
"In the beginning of February?" asks Clarkson with surprise.
"Yes," answers Sybil. "So she is prepared for the spring ahead. Come, Edith, we can wait outside, it's quite stifling in here."
She leaves, dragging Edith out, with a look promising Mary that she will learn if she lies to the doctor and there will be consequences.
"Very well," says Mary, knowing that further resistance is futile, especially since Matthew is still there and is also looking at her pointedly. "There are some bruises which you should probably see."
"And she needed oxygen treatment," adds Matthew.
Clarkson stares at them in surprise then invites Mary to his office, his face grim.
xxx
"What has the doctor said?" asks Matthew as soon as Mary is out. He glares at her when she predictably rolls her eyes.
"The same what the doctors in France said," she answers, caving in with clear reluctance and exasperation. "That I'm alright, just bruised, underweight and in need of some good food and good sleep. Which I am going to get, so you and Sybil can stop your hovering."
"We will stop hovering when we see that you're actually listening to the doctors," says Matthew, not giving an inch. Mary's stubbornness has been driving him mad for days now. It doesn't help that every time she blithely insists she is fine and nothing happened he has flashbacks to digging her out from the collapsed dugout. The visions of her lying still and barely breathing are haunting him constantly whether he is awake or asleep as it is.
Some of his distress must show on his face or in his eyes, because Mary's expression softens and she grasps his hand.
"I'm truly alright, Matthew. You don't need to worry."
But he does worry. He worries terribly about her and he doesn't think he is going to be able to stop until she looks less tired, less thin, less haunted. Until she looks more like the formidable and perfect Lady Mary Crawley he has first fallen in love with.
But he only nods.
"Let's go. Edith must be getting impatient, especially since she doesn't know what's happened."
Mary gives him a stern look.
"And she won't know what's happened, and neither will anybody else at home. I don't have the strength to deal with the fuss right now, especially when there's no need for it because I'm perfectly fine."
As Matthew follows Mary out of the hospital, he thinks grimly that this exasperating woman is going to be the death of him yet.
xxx
Since they stopped at the hospital first and it was unclear how long it will take them, there is no full receiving line for them, but somebody must have been looking out for them through the window, because Lord and Lady Grantham are out of the door before the car fully stops. There are exclamations of joy and concern, Sybil's hair and Mary's uniform, as well as girls' thin figures commented upon. Then they are led to the small library for tea, manoeuvring through the great hall filled with tables and recovering soldiers. Their bags are given to the servants to carry upstairs, their coats and hats handed to Carson, who looks at Mary with a mix of pride and worry. She smiles at him while she greets him warmly, determined to show him that the worry is entirely unnecessary. Yet as soon as they are both divested of their coats, her hand grasps Matthew's as if out of its own volition.
Mary notices the way both her parents and servants are eyeing her uniform. They all got long used to seeing Sybil and Matthew in theirs, but it is the first time they see her in one and she thinks drily that the contrast between it and Lady Mary Crawley's normal looks must be rather shocking. It's only Sybil's short hair which stops her from being the only object of stares in the room.
In truth, if she had something suitable to dress into instead, she would have done that. But when she left in August, she did not pack winter clothes, and by the time the cold weather came, she learnt that her luxurious coats and furs would simply not work in the conditions she was facing so she didn't send for any. But it meant that her uniform, with its heavy, shapeless coat and long sturdy boots has been the only warm attire she had on hand and as much as she has gotten used to wearing it over the months, she feels exposed and awkward entering her home in it. It does not seem to belong here, for all the people in uniforms surrounding her, including her own father, and somehow she feels as if she doesn't belong here either. Not anymore.
That feeling annoys her when she realises it. How can she not belong at Downton, the one place on Earth she has always felt was hers , even though it was not supposed to be? And yet, she cannot get rid of the thought that the woman who left this house in August is not the same woman who is entering it now in February. Somehow, somewhere, despite her determination that the whole escapade is temporary and she is going to go back to her old, normal life as soon as it is all done, she has changed. She cannot put her finger on what has changed exactly, but she has .
While her parents and Edith are maintaining most of the conversation by updating them on what has been happening at Downton, Mary thinks idly about all the things Lady Mary Crawley could never have even imagined doing and yet she has somehow done them all in recent months. Living without servants or a proper bathroom. Preparing her own meals and keeping her house clean. Seeing all kinds of grisly injuries without blinking an eye. Driving through the kind of mud she could not even imagine existing, while the shells exploded nearby. Spending a night in Matthew's arms (alright, she did imagine this one – but the reality was very different from her daydreams. For a start, in her imagination neither of them was freezing and the bed was bigger).
And then, there have been other things.
Seeing the man she loved nearly killed.
Killing a man to save him.
Nearly dying herself.
Maybe it has been enough to irrevocably change a person.
If she only could figure out who she has changed into .
xxx
Matthew sits in the small library next to Mary and does what he always does while on leave – his best to appear normal.
In some ways it's easier now than it was on his last leave. He doesn't have to also pretend that he is not in love with Mary. They are engaged now, everybody knows and approves, and he is allowed to sit by her and hold her hand and it feels fantastic.
But it's not long before he realises that he is not doing it quite right. Robert, Cora, Cousin Violet, even Carson, are all staring at him and Mary with a mix of surprise and disapproval. It finally dawns on Matthew that he is sitting too close to his fiancée, their shoulders and hips touching, and that their hands seem to never let each other go. They restrained themselves from kissing in the presence of others – which means, he thinks surly, that they haven't kissed in weeks – but they are still too close, bordering on inappropriate although not quite crossing the line. He is very aware, however, that they would have never sat like that before the war. Not with other people around.
But he needs to be close to her, needs to feel her close. He finds he needs constant reassurance that she is alright, that she is alive . In truth, he is afraid to let her out of his sight. Last time he did, she nearly died.
Hospital has been torture, because of course they put Mary in a different room than they put Matthew; him with the other wounded officers and her in a room intended for female civilian casualties who unfortunately are not uncommon with the German bombings of French towns, especially the ones housing military bases like theirs. But neither of them has been seriously hurt and they could leave their beds, so they often did, either visiting each other or meeting in the corridor and appropriating one of the convent's high arched windows as their bench. They were holding hands there too, but somehow it seemed natural there, while here, at Downton, it's suddenly jarring. Not to Matthew, and he thinks not to Mary either, but it's becoming increasingly obvious that it is for others.
Well, tough. As long as Mary is alright with it, he is going to keep her close. He's very well aware than in meagre three weeks he is going back to France and will have to get used to her absence. He hopes that by then he will calm enough to be able to stand it.
He keeps glancing at Mary out of the corner of his eye as he dutifully tries to follow the conversation among his cousins. She is barely speaking, in fact she seems to be miles away. His fingers caress her hand discreetly and she squeezes them in thanks, her lips lifting briefly in a half-smile, so he concludes with relief that she's not entirely lost in her own mind.
He's still concerned though. He doesn't want to put a name on his concern, but he cannot help wondering if non-combatants can also suffer from shellshock.
xxx
Mary takes off her clothes in front of Anna without a second thought - a habit of being dressed and undressed by or in front of the servants so ingrained that even months of doing it by herself haven't managed to undo it - and only startles when she hears her horrified gasp.
"Milady! Whatever has happened to you?"
Mary frowns, for a moment mystified what distressed her maid so - and then she looks down on her body, bruised black and blue, and remembers.
"Oh," she says weakly. "That. Well, I fell. And then a man fell on me, and then the ceiling and lots of earth fell upon us both."
She frowns again when Anna's horrified expression does not leave her face.
"But I'm alright," she snaps impatiently. "Captain Crawley got me out and there is nothing truly wrong with me. Although a bath sounds heavenly. I haven't had a proper one since August."
That seems to shake Anna out of it, and she looks at Mary with determination.
"Then you will get one right away, milady," she says, adding a generous handful of salts to the steaming water.
Mary is about to get in when she hesitates. As much as she hates mentioning it - or thinking about it, for that matter - she owes Anna a warning.
"Anna, there might be lice," she says plainly. Her hair has been treated with the delousing powder in the hospital, but there might still be some survivors left. She releases the tension she hasn't even realised was gripping her when Anna just nods and says in a matter-of-factly voice that she is going to fetch a tight toothed comb.
Mary finally steps into the bathtub and sinks into the hot water with a groan. It feels heavenly.
It also feels heavenly to let Anna take care of her. She washes Mary's hair - three times, using delousing powder first and then different scented shampoos and oils - then combs it out carefully, first to get rid of any pests then just to brush them into glossy perfection. She rubs an ointment carefully onto each of Mary's numerous bruises and helps her dress into one of her most comfortable evening dresses – the black one which Mary remembers wearing at the concert when she saw Matthew for the first time since he volunteered, with Lavinia on his arm – before she starts working on arranging her hair. When Mary adds jewellery and applies her perfume, she looks into the mirror and is startled to see herself looking as if nothing ever happened. She looks like herself, like Lady Mary Crawley, and yet she has never felt less like her.
xxx
She nearly cries when she sees Matthew waiting for her at the top of the stairs. It takes everything she has not to run and throw herself into his arms. She doesn't know what on Earth is wrong with her, with her emotions so all over the place she seems to be swinging from one to another, but she knows, she just knows, that Matthew makes it better. She feels more grounded with him, surer of who she is. She takes his offered arm and although her hand rests on it very lightly somehow she feels like this is the only thing holding her upright.
"Darling, are you alright?" he asks with evident concern and she rolls her eyes, telling herself to start acting normal. She is hardly going to confess that she feels like she is going to go into hysterics for no reason at all.
"Perfectly," she answers in carefully composed voice. "How are you?"
She looks him over. His head and neck are freshly bandaged which gives him a gruesome appearance, and he holds himself unnaturally straight, careful to avoid any unnecessary movement of his head or neck, but he is dressed immaculately in his mess kit and his hair is styled. He looks like what he is, a wounded hero. Definitely not like he is hiding a borderline breakdown like she is.
"I've been better," he says drily. "I hope nobody will be too offended if I neglect to bow tonight."
He reaches into his pocket and pulls a small black box.
"Before we go down, I have something for you. Something which I should have given you ages ago and I don't mean last December."
Mary's breath catches as with a quick glance for permission Matthew slowly removes her left glove and proceeds to slide a ring onto her finger. It's a small but perfect round diamond, surrounded by smaller diamonds like flower petals, set in white gold, and it fits perfectly. Mary feels tears gathering in her eyes and blinks before they have a chance to fall.
"When did you get it?" she asks, remembering him saying that he has had the ring for a long time.
Matthew smiles ruefully.
"The morning after Sybil's ball."
Mary has to blink away her tears again.
"Why haven't you given it to Lavinia after everything that happened after?" she asks quietly.
"I couldn't. This ring is and has always been yours," he answers plainly. "Besides, it wouldn't have suited her, just like hers wouldn't have suited you."
Mary thinks about it, picturing Lavinia's ring in her mind. It was yellow gold, with a small but perfect stone, dainty and pretty like the woman who wore it. But yes, Matthew is right. She likes her ring much better than she would have liked Lavinia's. It's elegant and beautiful as she knows she can be.
"Why haven't you sold or thrown it away then?" she can't help but wonder though. "Either when you were most angry at me or when you thought you were going to marry her?"
Matthew rubs his thumb over the ring on her finger.
"I couldn't force myself to," he gives her another rueful smile. "I'm afraid your fiancé is a sentimental fool at heart."
Mary looks around to ascertain that they are alone and kisses him quickly.
"My fiancé," she says against his lips. "Can be a fool alright, but he is wonderful."
xxx
The dinner is barely started before the first moment of tension arises.
"You look like you caught typhoid fever, but I guess it is a fashionable look nowadays," comments Violet disapprovingly, eyeing Sybil's short hair.
"Not typhoid, Granny. Lice," answers Sybil sweetly, immediately silencing all conversation at the table.
"Darling, must you mention such things?" asks Cora faintly.
"I'm sorry, Mama. I will try to remember this is one of the unmentionable topics."
Mary feels like she wants to scream. If lice, as disgusting pests as they are, are unmentionable, then what about all the other things Sybil or she or Matthew have to deal with there, so many of them so much worse than lice? It's only Matthew's gaze catching hers, and the slight shake of his head, which stops her from saying something bitter and cutting which would show them how out of touch they all are with what is happening in France and Belgium. She exhales sharply but listens to him. He's right, she most probably would regret such an outburst later.
It would feel good in the moment though. Very good.
She wonders how Matthew has managed to stand it for years, at every one of his leaves, and how much she herself made him want to scream with her ignorance.
Matthew catches her after dinner, before the ladies go through, and squeezes her hand.
"It is maddening when you're just back in," he says quietly. "But try not to bite anyone's head off. How are they to know?"
"How can they ever know if they don't let us speak?"
"Do you really want them to know? To have a more accurate picture in their heads when they lie in bed and worry about you?"
Mary considers it for a long moment. She does and she doesn't. She's rather afraid that if they knew more about it all, there would be an unholy war to keep her and Sybil home, and she is no hurry to open that can of worms. On the other hand though... the ignorance, which at least partially must be deliberate on some lever, truly is maddening. How can they not know? How can they pretend that life is going on as normal? How can they care about who is serving them at dinner?
She tries to go back to the times less than a year ago, when she herself had no idea what the war was truly like. To the time when she was clinging to any semblance of normalcy and hated any reminders that everything was changed. She knows she was thinking and feeling like that, that she was avoiding anything connected with the war like the plague, but she cannot fathom now how she was able to justify it to herself. The war is there, whether people acknowledge it or not, and it's monstrous. She doesn't think anybody should be forced to join the war effort, in any form, but they should accept both that it's going on and that there is nothing glorious about it.
There's no time to tell it all to Matthew – Mama is calling her over and she knows that Papa is eager to talk with Matthew without the women present – but she thinks she really would like to hear his opinion later, when they are alone. He has been dealing with it for years; how does he do it? For now though she squeezes his hand gratefully and follows Mama to the small library.
xxx
Matthew's eyes linger on Mary as she leaves the dining room, his brow furrowed with concern. He knows how jarring a leave is, how hard it is to act normal and adjust to customs and circumstances one grows completely alienated from at the front – yes, he knows it very well. He worries though that there is something else wrong with Mary, something deeper, but he is not given an opportunity to investigate it further before Robert is calling him over to enjoy port and cigars together.
Matthew accepts the cigar, but he drinks sparingly, his head starting to ache something fierce. He wonders how long he needs to stay for politeness' sake before he can go up to the most luxurious bedroom he has ever occupied in his life and try its extremely inviting double bed.
Robert looks hesitant for a moment, but then ploughs on, his eyes serious.
"How did you get injured, Matthew?" he asks, eyeing the bandages on Matthew's head and neck.
Matthew startles, his mind immediately going back to the desperate digging among the shellfire. When he clenches his fists, he thinks he can feel the dirt on them.
"Shrapnel," he says curtly. "Just some gashes on my head and neck, and a concussion from the blow. I have been assured it's all going to heal quickly, but I'm not going to complain about being sent here while I'm waiting for it to happen."
Robert nods and thankfully does not prod any further.
"We're very happy to have you here, you must know that. You will of course stay in one of the upstairs bedrooms, in the family wing in fact."
Matthew's eyebrows rise in surprise.
"Family wing? But there's surely no need, I could..."
"Nonsense, my boy," interrupts Robert. "You're not only my cousin and heir anymore, you're going to be my son soon. It's my greatest pleasure to treat you accordingly."
Matthew can't do anything else than accept the offer. In all truth, he is touched by the gesture. He likes and respects Robert – came to love him, really – and he cannot be indifferent to the fact that Mary's father is looking at him and his relationship with her in such benevolent way after everything Matthew did wrong.
"I am aware that what I know about your and Mary's affairs is just a tip of an iceberg," says Robert as if in answer to Matthew's thoughts. "But I am truly so very pleased you two managed to overcome your differences. Looking at you tonight it has been so obvious to me – and everybody else, I think – that you two belong together."
"It took as much longer than it should have," admits Matthew ruefully. "But we are both overjoyed to be together finally. I do love Mary, Robert. I will do everything in my power to make her happy, if only I manage to get through this war in one piece."
"You are going to wait for the end of the war then?"
"Yes. My leaves are rarely planned with a long notice and it would be hard to organise a wedding Mary deserves on a short one."
Robert nods, but with visible reluctance.
"It's very sensible, of course, but I cannot help being impatient. Probably because, as you yourself put it, it took you two much longer than it should have. I nearly lost hope in the meantime."
Matthew looks at him in surprise.
"You only nearly lost hope for our marriage? While I was engaged to someone else and Mary nearly so?"
Robert laughs.
"I am a stubborn man," he answers with a grin. "And meeting that Carlisle only made me wish for a match between you and Mary more ."
xxx
The conversation in the small library is not at all easier to bear than it has been in the dining room. There is some more bemoaning regarding Sybil's hair, but then it moves swiftly to Mary's engagement.
"Are you ready to publish the engagement announcement soon? We could arrange for the photograph of you two taken before Matthew goes back, but it would be good to know when he is going to stop wearing all those bandages first. I don't think either of you would like him to look so gruesome in such a happy announcement," says Cora, oblivious to how close Mary comes to yelling at her that Matthew wouldn't need any gruesome bandages if he didn't bother to rescue her daughter from much more gruesome death . It's only Mary's determination to keep the whole thing from the family at all cost which makes her hold her tongue.
"I think most of them will be able to be removed after a week or so," says Sybil instead. "The gashes are shallow and thankfully healing well."
"Good!" exclaims Cora with satisfaction. "Then I will arrange for the photographer to come in a week and a half, just to be on the safe side. But what should we do about the wedding date?"
"Unless you have a crystal ball and are able to tell when the war will end, we are not going to give one," says Mary harshly. She's not sure what's happening with her – she should be delighted to discuss her engagement and wedding to Matthew, shouldn't she? – but she is tired and aching and cross, and she just wants to go to bed and be alone for a while. She's sure it would have been beneficial for everybody if she did.
Unfortunately, Cora is too used to Mary's temper and harsh tongue to pay much heed to it or be deterred from her chosen topic of conversation.
"So you are determined to wait until the war is finished?"
"We are," confirms Mary firmly. "It would not be in good taste to have a huge wedding during the wartime, never mind that significant number of potential male guests would be unable to attend. Besides, we can't even say if both Matthew and I would manage to get leave at the same time."
Cora capitulates to those arguments.
To Mary's surprise, Granny stays mostly out of it, but it soon becomes apparent that this is because she has a different target in mind.
"So, Sybil, Mary managed to get engaged at the front, but what about you? Have you met anybody special in France?"
Sybil's eyes flash defiantly as she answers, her voice overly sweet again.
"No, Granny. I haven't met anybody special in France."
Mary hears the word Sybil has stressed and sends her a quick warning glance. The last thing they need is for Sybil to drop her bomb now.
"Really? With all those young men you're nursing back to health?"
"They are usually too hurt for such trivial things," says Sybil impatiently. "And those who aren't are rarely serious. They flirt gladly but are gone within days. So close to the front we do not keep patients long. We either wait until they are stable enough for transportation or treat light injuries which allow to send the men right back within days."
"Pity. I've had endless crushes at your age," says Granny, but Mary can see she is watching Sybil like a hawk. She clearly does suspect something, although Mary hopes it is nowhere near the truth. She still thinks they are in desperate need of distraction.
"Do you have a crush, Edith?" she asks, sending her an apologetic look for throwing her under a bus. Her head aches and using Edith to get Granny's attention from Sybil is the only idea she has. "There is a whole lot of officers here and if nothing has changed, you probably know all of them well."
Edith blushes and glares at Mary resentfully.
"No. I am making sure they are comfortable here, not hunting for a husband!"
"One doesn't have to exclude the other," mutters Granny, allowing herself to be distracted by her exasperation with Edith. "At least then something good would have come out of this whole business with turning Downton into a convalescent home."
xxx
Matthew has never before spent the night in such a luxurious bedroom. The room is spacious, the walls are deeply green, the fire in the fireplace by the bed is crackling merrily, the bed extremely comfortable and the sheets heavenly soft. And yet, despite all those comforts, Matthew can't sleep.
Oh, he tried. Of course he tried and, in his honest exhaustion, initially succeeded. Only to be tortured in his sleep by visions of digging desperately through the mound marking the collapsed field ambulance dugout just to find Mary dead, and being woken up by his own screams as the result.
He sits up on the edge of the bed, unable to stay lying in it with his heart still racing, his breaths quick and ragged, his mind still full of despair and terror. He wants to see Mary, he wants to touch her, to convince himself that it truly was just a nightmare and he did manage to save her, that she is alright. But it's the middle of the night and Mary is asleep in her own bedroom, wherever that is in this enormous house. He tells himself that he is going to see Mary in the morning, at breakfast, and anyway he knows that she is physically perfectly alright, if rather shaken by her ghastly experience, but it doesn't work.
He needs to see Mary.
xxx
Mary can't sleep either.
Being back here, in her bedroom, brought shade of Pamuk lying dead and staring at her back to her mind, to mix it with more recent memories of Andy's weight and sightless eyes in nearly the same position. After she wakes up from the third dream in which she is desperately trying to push one of them off her, only for the ceiling to collapse on her instead, she gives up on sleep entirely. But sitting in her bed, with the light on, is not enough to calm her down. She still feels as if the walls of her room are going to close on her any moment. She briefly considers getting dressed and going out into the freezing night, just to feel the abundance of fresh air around her, as far from the suffocating staleness of the dugout as possible, but then she gets an even more insane idea.
She could go to Matthew instead.
This is such a bad idea. Incredibly, obviously, stupidly bad idea, in fact, but she cannot stop thinking about it. It's not going to end at all well, she knows - having a man in her bedroom has nearly ruined her life for years and yet here she is, seriously considering sneaking into a man's bedroom and that is potentially even worse. And yet, and yet...
She needs Matthew.
Desperately, irrationally, wildly. She needs him or she knows she is going to break down completely and she doesn't know if she is going to be able to get herself together if she does.
She needs him.
The ever-diminishing rational part of her brain is yelling at her to stop, to think , but Mary is beyond caring. She gets up and reaches for her robe and a shawl. Matthew, as a member of the family, never mind the heir, has been of course given one of the upstairs bedrooms, and she knows from Anna that due to bachelors' corridor being full with other patients, he has been placed in the family's wing, just few doors from her own room, really. She won't have to walk far which lessens the risk that she will be seen.
It is still an idiotic risk to take, she thinks, but she opens her door quietly and, after a quick glance to make sure there is nobody around, she walks quickly to the green bedroom, where she enters without knocking.
She finds Matthew wide awake and, judging by his haggard appearance as he sits on the bed with his head in his hands and tracks of tears on his face, dealing with demons of his own.
His eyes widen in shock at her presence in his bedroom.
"Mary!" he hisses. "What on Earth are you doing here?"
"I need you," she answers simply and she hates how much her voice is shaking. She's hugging herself tightly, even though she is not cold, the fire in Matthew's room well stocked and still going strongly. "I tried to sleep but..."
She can't say more – the very last thing she wants to do is to think back to her dreams or the feeling of the walls closing in on her – but thankfully Matthew seems to understand all too well what she cannot say. His look is full of concern and compassion as he gets up from the bed and walks over to her to pull her into an embrace.
"Nightmares are the worst," he says hoarsely. "The absolute worst."
"You had one too, didn't you?" asks Mary against his chest and feels him shudder.
"Yes."
He doesn't offer an explanation what he was dreaming about, but Mary is alright with it. She doesn't want to share the details of her own either. She relaxes further into his arms, her own unfolding from her body and hugging Matthew back instead.
"As nice as it is to see you, you shouldn't be here," says Matthew, but his arms tighten around her as if unwilling to let her go. "Somebody may catch us and there would be hell to pay."
"I know," acknowledges Mary miserably. "I know."
But she is not leaving his embrace and he is not releasing her either.
"God, Mary," he finally says, his voice still rough and hoarse. "I thought I was going to lose you. I was terrified."
Now it's Mary's turn to shudder. She doesn't want to remember the sparks or the ceiling collapsing or Andy's dead weight on her. She would give anything to forget it all.
She thinks instead of the sight of blue eyes in a dirty face, lit by the light of dawn and exploding shells. That memory she does want to keep. That perfect moment of feeling safe .
"You rescued me, Matthew," she says fiercely. "I opened my eyes and you were there and I knew I was going to be alright."
His arms tighten even more.
"But you so very nearly weren't," he whispers. "And every time I close my eyes..."
He doesn't finish but he doesn't have to. She can guess the rest easy enough.
"Could I stay here a bit longer?" she asks desperately. "I think we could both sleep better if the other is nearby."
"There's nothing I would want to do more. But darling, it's really not a good idea."
"My room is just two doors down from yours," says Mary stubbornly. "I will sneak back without anybody noticing. We just have to set the alarm on your clock so it will wake me before Daisy comes to tend to the fire. Nobody is going to come here until she does."
Matthew does look awfully tempted, but also wary.
"What if somebody is awake when you leave?"
"As long as they won't see me coming out of your room we'll be fine. I will say I needed to go to the water closet."
The temptation to hold her while he falls asleep turns out to be too much for Matthew's reason to fight it. He gestures for Mary to get into the bed.
She does it, removing her robe and shawl first, leaving her in just her nightgown. It's a modest one, made of soft cotton and not revealing much, but Matthew swallows when he sees her in it and then again when he feels her body against his as they hug. It's the closest he has ever been to her, their previous night together spent in several layers of thick clothing.
For several minutes, they both believe they are going to be good about it. They enjoy their closeness and slowly calm from their individual nightmares. They don't talk much, but they touch. And though initially their touches are comforting in nature – Matthew slowly stroking Mary's head and back, Mary caressing Matthew's face – they are gradually changing as they go from fear and need to comfort and be comforted to more heated desires.
First, Matthew's head turns slightly, careful not to aggravate his wounds, and his lips capture Mary's palm, kissing it. When she gasps, it's natural for him to pull her closer and kiss the gasp from her lips. The kiss goes on long, gaining heat and spreading it through their bodies, slowly setting them on fire as their hands roam, exploring and learning. Mary's lips repeat the trail Matthew's made along her neck in France and before that, long ago, in the garden of Grantham House, by kissing his. They curve into a smirk hearing his breath stutter as she's doing it, and then she's gasping herself because Matthew's hand reaches shyly for her breast, his thumb going over her nipple. Even with the barrier of her nightgown between his hand and her body, his touch makes her tremble in the most delicious manner. She hardly knows what to do with this feeling, except to bite lightly into Matthew's shoulder, earning another gasp from him.
Matthew is not able to think any better than Mary is. His brain's whole remaining capacity is focussed on the fact that he is touching Mary's breasts, that he is finally learning their shape and feel, even if it is through the nightgown, and that they are as perfect as he imagined them. More, really. Everything about Mary is more perfect that his imagination could ever possibly make up, and he is consumed by desire to discover more, to feel more, to lose himself in her completely.
It's only when Matthew finds his hands attempting to sneak under Mary's nightgown while hers are doing a very good job at unbottoning his pyjamas that he comes to his senses.
"Mary, we must stop," he gasps, taking his hands off her. It takes more effort than anything else he ever remembers doing in his life. Everything in him is protesting violently against the very idea of stopping.
Her hands jump away from his now mostly bare chest as if they were scalded, and a bright blush spreads through her cheeks.
"I'm sorry," she says, embarrassed. "I truly came here with the intention of sleeping only, like we did last time."
"And I welcomed you here with the same intention," answers Matthew, caressing her face soothingly. "But clearly we desire each other too much for it to be easy."
Mary's blush deepens, but she looks up at Matthew with an expression which makes his already heated blood boil with need for her.
"I can't wait to get married to you. Stopping like that is pure torture."
"It really is," agrees Matthew feelingly. "If I could marry you tomorrow, I would."
They both sigh, knowing that it's impossible.
"I should go and leave you in peace," says Mary, with highest reluctance. "But I truly don't want to. I'm afraid the nightmares will come back as soon as I'm alone."
Matthew swallows hard.
"Me too," he admits. "I don't even have to sleep for my mind to go straight back to France. If... if you don't mind, maybe you could stay here until morning. I promise to remember that I'm supposed to be a gentleman."
In response, Mary gladly settles back against his chest. Which is still mostly exposed, with half of his buttons open. The feeling of her soft cheek and silky hair on it is too heavenly for Matthew to protest, even as it's taking all his considerable self-control to keep him from going straight back to what they stopped. Instead, he hugs her with one arm and reaches to caress her hair with the other, reminding himself sternly to keep his hands to appropriate places.
"I love being like that with you," says Mary softly. "I can hear your heartbeat."
"And I can feel your breath," answers Matthew equally softly. "And it's one of the best feelings in the universe."
"Matthew," askes Mary, her voice so quiet it's nearly a whisper. "Do you believe that we will get through it all? That one day the war will be over and we will be married? That we will be alright?"
Matthew remains silent for a long time, his grip on her tight.
"Yes," he says finally, his tone firm and fierce. "We will get through this and we will be alright. One morning, we will wake up together and neither of us will have to leave. One morning, we will stay just like that, in each other arms, and we will be safe and sound, with no war to tear us apart. Anything else is simply unacceptable."
"I'm going to pretend that it's going to be this morning," answers Mary, closing her eyes and listening to Matthew's heartbeat. "And I will try to believe that it's all going to happen like you just said."
Matthew caresses her hair until she's asleep, trying his hardest to believe it too. At least for tonight.