A/N: Pure fluff, a nice contrast to the longer story I am currently working on and I thought it would be a nice treat for the faithful readers who have been following "The Collected Letters". This is a story that takes place simultaneously in "The Collected Letters" AU and in a 5x06 AU, so it doesn't matter if you follow my other story or not. It still makes sense. It's not plot heavy anyways so it doesn't really matter. Still there are little details in it that suggest a different continuity. Anyways, I think I gave quite a fright to some of the "The Collected Letters" readership so here's something to calm the nerves.

Point to Point

"Are you sure you won't ride with me?" Mary asked as she mounted her horse.

"I don't think so," Matthew answered as he made his way to his horse.

Mary watched lustfully as her husband mount his steed. He wasn't graceful, no he had never quite been that. He was far more William the Conqueror on a horse than he was Lancelot. But he was capable all the same, masculine in the way that masculinity had been redefined in the post-war years. Although in most other ways he was still quite the familiar country gentlemen.

"But you'll help me practice," Mary said incredulously, staring at his back as it heaved up and down while Matthew adjust himself.

"Darling, I would help you with anything," Matthew said as he turned his horse around to face Mary and hers.

"I don't see how, you've never rode in a race before either," Mary said.

"No, but I'd like to think a few hundred Carabiniers with sabres and rifles just moments behind you is something akin to a race, I'd imagine" Matthew said as he positioned his mount behind Mary's.

Mary momentarily forgotten all about that. Of course she was aware of his service in the war, not a day goes by when she doesn't see the remnants of that horrible time in his life on his body. But she had forgotten that there was a few months during the early days that he had been in a cavalry regiment.

How could she have forgotten? It was then that she first saw him in London after a year long absence. It was the night they first kissed again after Mary had refused his proposal before the war. It was a bittersweet memory that she didn't often revisit. Those years were not pleasant and her relationship with Matthew at the time was strained to say the least.

"Now, do you remember the course?" Matthew said as he pulled out a small revolver from his breast pocket.

"Yes, yes," Mary said impatiently as she stared down the field, imagining it superimposed with the map that Matthew had forced her to learn earlier in the morning, "you know for a person who doesn't want to race, you seem far more committed to it than I am."

"I just want you to do well, darling," Matthew replied.

"And you think that will earn you some good will from me later tonight?" Mary asked as she began to blush.

"I'm counting on it," Matthew replied gleefully.

Mary looked back at him and shot him a mischievous glance. However expression quickly morphed into one of pure dread.

"Are you going to shoot me with that?" Mary asked in shock.

"Of course not," Matthew answered with a throaty chuckle, "but we have to simulate the jumps somehow."

"And we couldn't just draw some lines?" Mary asked, still feeling rather indignant.

"Well we could," Matthew said with a rakish smile as he stared lovingly at his wife, "but where's the fun in that?"

"Matthew, you are too dangerous when you are on a horse," Mary remarked, "it's like you become a different person."

"And you wonder why I won't race," Matthew replied.

"Well, Tony Gillingham is racing so perhaps it is for the best," Mary said as her shock receded.

"I have no quarrel with Tony," Matthew said innocently.

"Yes, but he has quarrel with you," Mary replied.

"Is he still mad about that?" Matthew asked, "How could he be? It's been years."

"You don't think your dear wife is worth holding a lifelong grudge?" Mary said in shock, this time however, it was a little more disingenuous.

"Stop stalling," Matthew answered as he skillfully evaded her trap. He had been with her far too long to make such rookie mistakes.

They began to ride, Mary first with Matthew following behind. They made their way around the track with Matthew shouting things like "pace yourself" and "don't worry about the overeager frontrunners" which quickly got on Mary's nerves. Not to mention every time he fired the pistol into the air she would nearly fall out of her saddle. And as if it weren't embarrassing enough Matthew would make some kind of vulgar comment about how her round bottom not being quite suited to the curvature of the saddle, she wasn't sure, she had decided to stop listening to him after a while.

However whenever they hit a sharp turn, Matthew would inevitably overtake Mary and they would have to stop and reset. Matthew just found it to be a nuisance to lose all their momentum but he didn't mind too much. His patience was legendary and had only gotten more practiced after being married to Lady Mary Crawley. But it hurt Mary's pride whenever this happened. Afterall, the first time they met, she had made some rude remark on how Matthew probably couldn't ride. And now to have him outpace her so flawlessly and so effortlessly was infuriating, but also a little bit… stimulating.

"Are you absolutely sure you don't want to race?" Mary said through her heavy panting, "you seem much better at this than me?"

"Don't be silly, you're doing fine, darling," Matthew said absently as he checked his pocket watch, "but you really need to watch your speed when you come through the corners, you're swinging wide every time."

"You're such a know-it-all," Mary said with a pout, "I've been riding far longer than you."

"Would you prefer to chase me?" Matthew asked playfully.

Mary shirked his eyes. She knew he was right, turning had never been her forte. During the hunts, she could more or less choose her own routes so she always planned around sharp turns. But this race followed a single path and there was no way of avoiding them. It was infuriating because Matthew looked like an idiot when he rode at full speed, leaned over, as if to see through the eye level of the horse, he looked more like a Mongol horse archer than a proper English equestrian. And the way his hand instinctively seemed to point and draw these phantom swings as he were holding a sabre made him appear utterly ridiculous. And yet, for all of his embarrassing theatrics he seemed to command the beast perfectly.

"No, let's start again," Mary said sullenly.

Sensing his wife's annoyance and disappointment, he motioned his mount next to hers. He gently placed his hand on her cheek and turned her to face him. He greeted her with a warm smile and a gentle kiss on the cheek. She instantly melted in his hand. She always did.

"What's wrong, my darling?" Matthew asked lovingly in a low whisper.

"Nothing," she answered as she began to blush again, "I'm just being a brat."

"Well, I love you, whoever you're being," Matthew replied.

Their lips met. It was gentle and sweet, just what she needed. He always knew just what kind of kiss she needed at what exact moment.

"I love your new haircut," Matthew whispered.

"Thank you!" Mary said with a heavy sigh as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders, "I was waiting for you to say something about it."