Here is my contribution to the MM Celebration day: from my heart…

"There are things that happen and leave no discernible trace, are not spoken or written of, though it would be very wrong to say that subsequent events go on indifferently, all the same, as though such things had never been." A.S. Byatt, Possession
This could be such an event…

XX

"Mr. Crawley you will have to leave. We don't allow overnight visitors especially with new mothers." The nurse was polite but firm. Giving mother and child one last kiss each, Matthew drove home. Home as he now thought of Downton as it will be the home of his child. A smile broadened across his windswept cheeks. This was what life what for.

That same night:

Matthew tossed restless in the bed made for two. The room was too empty. The house was too quiet. Shouldn't there be the mews and cries of a newborn in the bassinet by the foot of the bed? Shouldn't Mary wake him up as she slipped out of their bed to feed their newborn? Shouldn't he be exhausted?

Of course he had been exhausted before. That would be nothing new. Exhausted to point of near blindness before. In the trenches. In the filth and mud. In the revulsion that had become his daily existence. The freezing cold. The fucking freezing cold and rain that went on and on forever and an end. The stench of the unburied bodies hanging on the barbed wire as they all were afraid to retrieve them just yet from enemy snipers. He had crept over the dead as well. They would stack the rotting corpses along the floor of the trenches so the men would not sink in the seeping oozing muck and mud as the sides of the trenches, held barely in place by wooden braces, would be buckled by the continual blasted rain.

He tried his best to not think these thoughts. But tonight, without Mary, they crept back into the dark corners of his existence. The nightmares that had subsided over the months.

These were things he never told Mary. At least not in totality. In the dark of night during their early marriage she asked. He held her close and told her as much as he dared. She had witnessed his nightmares. He tried to deny them. As he denied the chronic strain and stress of his bruised spine. He did not always take the pain pills Clarkson prescribed. He had endured worse pain. He had survived. He was one of the lucky ones. The ones who lived with the ghosts. Of not being one of the 'honoured dead' but the living dead.

Only Mary had kept him alive. Mary. Downton. The routine of their lives. His work. The satisfaction of a case well presented. The knowledge that his money (so tragically inherited) would be put to good use. The inheritance-which would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life. Something else he rarely spoke of to Mary. She did not want to hear it. Hear how he still thought of the guilt. The wracking guilt of loving Mary while engaged to another. Having betrayed a good woman and the knowledge that that betrayal would have been even deeper had she not interrupted that dance. That dance of passionate love and the healing of old hurts.

He shook out of his reverie.

He could not sleep. Could no longer sleep ever properly without Mary beside him. Calming him with her presence. With her arms draped over his chest as she listened attentively to his chest rising and falling and the beat of his heart. One of her favorite places.

He jostled the covers. Tossed and turned. Hurting his back again.

He got up in a huff.

He had to see her. He had to see with his own eyes once again the wonder of their infant boy. His boy. His little chap.

Tears clung to the corners of his eyes. How could one tiny little babe bring such happiness. His lips and chin quivered and he gripped his jawbone with his hand and tightened it as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Putting both arms out to balance himself he pushed out of bed. Went into his dressing room and threw on the suit that Molesley had already set out for the next day. No tie. Just the shirt, vest, coat, and pants. He rummaged around for shoes in the semi-darkness. He had no idea of the time. Looked at his watch. Just past 5am. Actually he had to hurry as Molesley would be up soon and he wanted to escape before almost anyone but the scullery maids and fire boys had arisen.

Not too late. Not too early he assured himself.

Grabbing his coat he slipped out the bedroom door. Walked down the stairs. Startled a new girl on the stairs. He put his fingers to his mouth and walked past.

Closing the front door behind him he walked down the gravel drive. The brisk, crisp air filled his lungs. He gulped deep breathes. Something else that he never would take for granted. Mary's love. His adoration for his child. And fresh clean English air in the early morning. He put his head up to greet the dawn.

Headed down to the village. He had to admit to love walking. Mary thought it amusing and a bit eccentric that as the heir and successful lawyer and captain in the army he still bicycled to work and walked the estate. As much as he loved his AC the walking did his body good. The physical act reminded him he was alive. And he was grateful to be alive. More and more. The war was over. Now. Finally. For him. The living could begin.

This new life. Their new life. Their new son. This second chance he had been granted. That he had felt he had not deserved. Now he was earning the right to deserve to be happy.

The village hospital was already abuzz with activity of course. The nurses moving around. Breakfast being prepared. The head nurse looked at him quizzically but when he said his purpose she gave a small smile. Said she go see if Lady Mary was finished nursing. Matthew said it did not matter. He wanted to see her.

"Would you please go tell my wife that I'm here." Firmly. No argument.

"It's not the usual thing…" The nurse hesitated.

"Please" His blue eyes blinked and gazed directly into hers.

"Ok." She opened the maternity ward door. A few minutes later she waved Matthew inside.

He gently opened the door. His mind returned to the day before when he had arrived dusty and tired from Scotland. What a stupid, stupid man he had been allowing her to go early. He would never do that again. He had stayed as late as possible that previous afternoon. Holding his son. Holding his wife. Kissing her.

He had telephoned Downton and allowed the chauffer to drive the Crawleys to the hospital while he stayed with his family.

"Come in." Mary said gently. She had the baby up to her breast. He suckled gently. The noise was exquisite. Life.

"How's it going?" He asked as he pulled the chair closer. "The nurse wouldn't let me in at first." He chuckled softly.

"It's not easy. I'll not lie." Mary's eyes were looking a little wild and puffy. "But these first days, he needs his mother especially. We'll see after that." But her arms wrapped protectively around her son. Their son. Their child. The heir. She would not let him go easily.

Matthew sat as close as possible. His mouth crinkled at the corners.

"I couldn't sleep."

Mary looked over at him. "You mean you couldn't sleep without me pushing your covers off you?" She teased.

"Of course." He gripped mouth tight to stop the quivering.

"Matthew…?" Mary's eyes moved over to his own. They were hooded, blinking.

"I'm sorry. I seem not to be able to stop blubbering. I was just so worried about you all the way down from Duneagle."

He gripped her arm with his fingers. They were shaking.

"Don't make me ever stay away from you again."

He had come out of the war largely unscathed. He had rediscovered life. He was rich beyond expectation in love. He was afraid it would not last.

Mary's gentle dark eyes danced despite her own exhaustion.

"Never again…."and she leaned over to take his soft, eager kiss.

XX