~Someone Like You - Downton Abbey Oneshot~

A/N: Just a bit of Mary/Matthew, enjoy :) 

DISCLAIMER: Obviously I dont own Downton Abbey, or else I wouldn't be writing fanfiction :D

Matthew Crawley didnt know how he would be able to face going back to the front. Back to the constant death and violence. Fear that made blood run cold and a nightmare-esque feeling that made you almost forget what it was like to be back at Downton, where everything was superflous and artificial. At Downton, Matthew didnt even have to dress himself. In France, in the trenches, he was dressing his comrade's wounds because so many medics were occupied with more high need patients or dead. It was an out of body experience as it happened, but once he was away from it, the memories were vivid and clear and crisp. Like many other men, he found solace in his thoughts. But with his thoughts came guilt, for he ought to be dreaming of his sweet blonde fiancé, Lavinia, but instead his subconscious seemed fixated on Cousin Mary. Perhaps he could blame the small dog figurine she'd given him, as a good luck charm, that stood guard on the trunk next to his cot each night as he slept. It was a constant reminder of Mary. Her face brought light to his dreams; he would rouse with her rich laughter echoing in his ears. Curious, he was in such a horrible place, but he had the most splendid dreams to keep him going. After all, he had promised Cousin Mary that he would return, unscathed, and give the toy back to her without a scratch on its thin velvet fur.

Lady Mary was a in a fitful state. Throughout the day she would put on a brave face, plaster a smile on her thin lips and go about her business assisting Sybil and Edith with the convalescent home that had recently overtaken the big house. Then, when night fell on the estate, she would lie awake at night, tormented by her worries for Cousin Matthew's welfare. Everyday she would see more wounded or mentally scarred soldiers brought in and her stomach would drop. Her worst fear was that one morning the bus would come down from the hospital and Cousin Matthew would be among the battered and crestfallen. How awful it would be to see him broken and suffering.

By God's good grace, he had returned to them, proud, unshaken, and glad to see her. This visit, like the others before and the ones to come, was short-lived and Mary didn't know how she would be able to handle not seeing him at dinner and not knowing if he was safe.

The night before he was to return to France, Mary sat next to him at dinner. They were talking and laughing in their old way, childish and carefree like before the war and before Mary had ruined their prospects. Matthew cherished the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed. The humorous shape her mouth made when they murmured a particularly rude joke about another dinner guest. The things that she said...

"Now Matthew" she said in response to his playful scolding about her harshness towards people "What am I always telling you? You must pay no attention to the things I say"

"But I do" Matthew said seriously, his voice barely over a whisper "I remember nearly everything you say and I don't wish to forget a word of it. Memories of you are what console me when I'm in the trenches"

The light-hearted tone of their conversation had vanished. As the people surrounding them chittered pleasantly, their eyes bore into each other's for a fleeting moment before they both realized the magnitude of what had been said. After all, they were both engaged to Lavinia and Sir Richard respectively and neither Mary nor Matthew planned on breaking their betrothals.

They could not however, deny the closeness they felt the next morning as she escorted him to his train, even as they walked a good three feet apart. The words spoken were simply idle chatter, initiated by Mary who dreaded silence. Then Matthew stood on the platform, one foot already steeping onto the train, when he hesitated. He glanced back at Mary, she stood straight, with her hands clasping a small purse held in front of her corresponding cranberry dress. Anxiety and reluctance was etched into her beautiful porcelain face. Matthew decided to assuage her uneasiness for a moment, to forget everything except for her, and give them both something to cling to while they were apart. He touched his lips to hers in a chaste kiss, but a passionate one all the same, lasting no more than three seconds. It was improper by the laws of society, especially adding the fact that they both had separate fiancés.

Mary knew that he loved Lavinia. She knew that Lavinia made him happy. She gave him things that Mary hadn't been able to. His happiness pained and soothed her simultaneously.

Matthew cared for Lavinia, and his plans to marry her had not been deferred, but he wanted Mary to know just for a moment how much she meant to him. That he'd always love her. He didn't believe that she was deeply in love with Sir Richard, but he felt that she would be happier with another man, one more worthy of her.

They prayed for each other's happiness as they parted ways. They looked toward love earned and mourned love lost. Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead.

{fin}