#noseamonster

       Don’t be cross, don’t be cross– Mary had repeated that to herself at least twelve times over before walking into the room where Matthew was recovering from his car crash. However, upon seeing him, frustration felt easier– safer– than showing him how terrified she had been. “You’re afool, Matthew Crawley!” Mary said, the tears already slipping from her eyes and betraying her entirely. “You could have died! You nearly did– and then what?!” She would have been alone, all of that softness that he brought out of her would be gone, and she would have been alone, left to raise their son without a father.

"Matthew," Sybil smiled widely at the man, after a days rest at the request of Robert and Cora, her cousin had been the first person other than her husband she had seen and to say the least Sybil was a bit relieved it had been Matthew. The Branson’s coming back to Downton was completely unplanned and sporadic and Sybil had no doubt her father had it out with Tom for leaving Sybil in Dublin despite the fact it had been her idea. Resting her left hand on her growing bump and the other on the rail, Sybil walked down the last of the stairs. “How mad is Papa with Tom?”

        Aunt Rosamund had said something to her while she’d been in London, and Mary hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since. Given mama’s pregnancy, it could very well mean Matthew wouldn’t inherit if the child was a boy-- leaving Matthew with nothing. Could you be the wife of a country barrister? 

        On the train back to Downton, she knew she had her answer. Matthew saw so much in her, and with him she felt like a wholly different person-- softer, more gentle. Mary had never loved anyone quite so much as she loved Matthew, money or no. If being with him meant living a simpler, less lavish life than she lived at Downton, then so be it. The moment she stepped off the train, she made her way straight to Matthew’s, hoping that he was there so that she could tell him before she lost her nerve.

                           Matthew didn’t argue with her. It was all too rare a sight for her to act upon the softness that he knew resided within her heart. Having it hit the light of her skin and move in a way that was kind was something of a rarity. Mary was not unkind. But she let her fear of the world, her loneliness, stop her from ever acting on the kindness that was within her. And Matthew felt too often that he did not help the situation. He gave a small nod as she held out her arm for him to grasp. One hand tightly clamped around his walking stick and the other placed upon the crook of Marys elbow, he let her lead him steadily.

                           “I’ll NEVER get better if people don’t believe I can,” He teased lightly, turning his expression towards her as they moved. He couldn’t stand the silence of it all, and he wished that Mary would understand where he stood. Surely? After all, she and Sybil got on remarkably well, no doubt that the youngest Crawley would have spoken to her about this. He bit his tongue. Unsure if he should continue to speak or not before clearing his throat. “Mary - is that a new scent you’re wearing?”

        She hadn’t meant any harm by it, Mary simply hated seeing him hurting. Though, she was overjoyed to see that he was up and walking-- everyone was. When he took her arm, she gave a small huff of a laugh and rolled her eyes at him. “I believe you can.” Mary muttered, looking over at him as they walked, resting her free hand on the one he’d placed in the crook of her elbow. “I also believe, however, that even people who are getting better, like yourself, sometimes need an extra hand or someone to lean on.” 

        Mary had been out riding that afternoon, and she’d decided that a bath was in order before dinner. However, she hadn’t quite expected Matthew to be there waiting once she stepped back into their bedroom. The only bad thing was that Anna was right behind her, though Matthew was quick to let Anna know that they would be fine. Mary’s cheeks went pink as she sat down, and her dear husband was right there, kissing along her neck and running his hands over her arms. 

        Mary’s heart twisted painfully at the look in his eyes-- all she wanted to do was help, but he was so wholly convinced that he didn’t deserve it, that he was just a burden. She wanted to shake some sense into him, but she was more concerned about his injury than he was his stubbornness. When her mind wandered, she couldn’t help wondering if her accepting his proposal earlier would have changed anything. If he’d still be lying injured in the hospital. If only I’d listened to reason instead of Rosamund, Mary thought, offering Matthew a small smile at his request.

        Mary jolted awake, her heart pounding forcefully in her ears as her hands went to her stomach. It’d been a dream... her stomach was still swollen, hers and Matthew’s child still fluttering away in her womb. Matthew-- she turned then only to find him, still fast asleep and snoring lightly. Burying her face in her hands, she thanked God silently, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. It had been the strangest nightmare, and she couldn’t get the images from her mind as she dropped her hands to stare out the window. She’d been holding their child-- a boy-- in her arms. Matthew had been there, only for a bit, and then the next thing she knew, her father was sitting on her hospital bed. Grim-faced, he’d muttered that her husband was gone. Died in a car accident.

        Mary was utterly exhausted with all of these wedding plans-- she just wanted the damn thing to be over with already. The only thing that really mattered to her was that she and Matthew would finally be wed-- the flowers didn’t matter, the colors didn’t matter. For once in her life, Mary realized just how superficial all of it was when it was keeping her from her fiance. They’d barely had a moment together since this planning began, and it was bordering on ridiculous.