Chapter One: For the Light We Cannot See

He could think of only one or two things that was wrong with him. His spine was damaged and he could never walk again or his spine was bruised and he'd recover in a few months or a year or two. That was wishful thinking. He tried to prepare himself for the worst. He tried bottling it up, not let it show who scared he was. Mary was the strong one, not him. She could not let her know that. Seeing her beautiful face, so strong and stoic.

He wished he could be more brave.

He wanted to know.

"Tell me."

"You haven't been here nearly twenty-four hours. Nothing would have settled yet."

Nodding to her own words, she wanted to believe them. That everything was going to be alright. A part of him wanted to believe her words.

My Dear Mary what a terrible liar you are. He thought cheekily.

In reality nothing would be alright again. He wanted her to tell it to him straight.

His father had been a doctor and his mother a nurse. His mother and father had wanted him to become a doctor, his mother most of all, surprisingly. He chose to become a lawyer instead, rebelling against his parents but eventually he had come to enjoy it, even loved it. Then his livelihood had been upheaved by being named the heir. He had vowed that they would not change him. He had changed once he met Mary, for the better. Her dreams were now his. Mary. That impossible woman, was an enigma. There was no chance for them now.

"Please, tell me."

"Doctor Clarkson says there might be some damage to your spine."

"Did he say how long it will take to recover?" He wanted to sound hopeful, but there was doubt in his voice, at the same time longing, that he would wake up from this nightmare. But he had to be ready to face the reality. But he wasn't.

"We can't expect to put timing on this sort of thing. The first thing is to focus on is regaining your health."

His eyes wondered to the ceiling, the worst of his thoughts confirmed. A part of him refused to believe it, that this couldn't be his life now, that this was all some dream. "I see."

"He says there's no reason you won't be able to live a full and normal life."

"Just not a very mobile one." He said, bitterly.

"We'll wait for your mother. Then we can start to make plans."

"Thanks for telling me. I know I'm blubbing, but I'd much rather know."

"Oh, darling, blub all you like. I don't know about you but I could very much use some tea." She walked away, glad he couldn't see her face, and let the tears flow.

Seeing him so damaged had almost broken her heart, and there was nothing she could do for him. They had almost lost him. She was not sure she could live if anything happened to him, if she wasn't able to tell him how she felt. Carson had told her that she should but she had chickened out. And then there was her mother. She hated that they were both right, especially that her mother was right about her needing to tell Matthew about Pamuk. She needed to be honest with him, if she were to marry him. Even if it may kill her. He had to recover first. She wouldn't dream of telling him in this fragile state. If he truly loved her, he would not leave. Her mother had said.

Well, he certainly couldn't leave now. Mary inwardly cringed at the thought.

She couldn't tell him that she loved him, even that day he departed for war. She had learned from her father that she should not say it. Carson had once explained to her that it was something a man had troubled saying, but not her Matthew. He wasn't ashamed to say it. She wasn't either but she had trouble saying it.

She hated that she couldn't do anything for him, other than wash him, when they had brought him in. She didn't do the forbidden places. It still seemed a helpless effort, unable to do more or reach him as she watched his muscles ripple under her touch. He would need all the help with everything now, even this simple task. And her heart broke all over again.

No, she could not tell Matthew that she loved him. But she could show him.

She was by his bedside again the next day. Still no word from Isobel. Matthew told Mary to go, that he wasn't up for much company. "I didn't think you'd come."

"Why wouldn't I?" In response he gave her a grim look. "I'm not leaving."

"Your father. There must be a future heir."

"Sod my father's future heir and the estate. "

"You don't really mean that Mary. He's worked so hard for you."

"None of that matters. None of it matters without you, it all means nothing to me. Only you matter."

"Mary I'm not...I'm not a man."

"Just because you can't walk because you fought honorably for your country?"

"Honor? There is no honor in fighting, killing each other, young boys dying bloody, calling for their mothers, that will never come, never comfort them. There is no honor in this." He motioned to his legs. In truth William had tried to save him. And for what? He would try to tell them that William was the real hero but they wouldn't hear it. They would rather call him one, weather he deserved it or not. "I suppose if you were a man you would have joined up without the slightest hesitation."

"Yes. I would." She held her head up, smartly with confidence.

"I have to let you go. I couldn't be responsible for stealing away your life. Consider yourself lucky that you won't be strapped with a cripple. I can't be with any woman on any terms."

He was trying to push her away. They were both equally stubborn that way. They were in a way a perfect match. She needed to remind him of that. He needed her more than ever now. She didn't go through all this just to lose him again.

"What if I wanted to be with you on any terms?" She asked rhetorically.

He even didn't want to be with himself. Would he feel ashamed of himself, hate himself for the rest of his life? He didn't want to be dependent on Mary, preventing her from living her life. It wouldn't be fair for him to do so. He would be depriving her from her dreams, a real proper life. A life for him, he would never have one. A full normal life. That was a joke. His dreams were almost stolen from him once, only to be stolen from him by this God awful war, by God or some cruel twist of fate.

Surprisingly he still believed in God. He had survived from some reason. There had to be some purpose. It couldn't be a life without Mary. But what choice did he have? It had to be this way, instead of resenting each other later.

Oh, but to let her go, it was killing him on the inside. His real dream, his true dream, he had longed for all his life was to marry and have a house full of children. All of that was gone, in a puff of smoke, in an instant it took for a bomb to drop.

He wouldn't do that to Mary, to any woman. No woman would want to be with him like this.

"No one sane would want to be with me as I am now. Not even me." At the thought he started to feel dizzy, bile rising to his throat. "I think I'm going to be sick."

She helped turn him over, grabbing the sick bucket and placing it under him just in time, rubbing his back as he wretched.

His upper body shook while his lower half remained unmoving. He was shocked and bewildered at that. He didn't know if he'd ever get used to it. He felt Mary's touch on the upper part of his back. How she had assisted him in turning over, would he be able to do such a task on his own once he regained his strength? Would he be able to move without help at all or would he be damned to a bed for the rest of his life, covered in sick and mess. He couldn't stomach the thought, leaning his head further over the bowl. Mary had to keep her other hand on him to keep him steady. As another wave of nausea came over him, his head started to pound with the beginnings of the headache. He could still feel the sick threatening to come up.

The last time he had emptied the contents of his stomach was when he had found a piece of...someone in his uniform, he couldn't recall who (he had been covered in the man's blood, what remained of him for days) when he was finally allowed to change. It caused him to wretch again.

When he was finished and she got him back over to his back, he started to chuckle.

"What's so funny?" She asked as she wiped his face.

"It seems a short time ago that you nearly escaped my first proposal. Now look at me." When he had finally accepted her, willing himself to fall in love with her all over again, only for it to be cruelly snatched away, "What a reversal. You have to admit it's quite funny."

She didn't find his dark humor amusing and wouldn't indulge it. "All I'll admit is that you're here and you've alive."

Alive. He barley felt it. There was no way this was living. That he could live like this.

His attention was drawn elsewhere, only for a moment, to Lord Grantham, talking with Dr. Clarkson out in the hall. It was obvious what they were talking about.

"We can't be married."

"Of course, we can."

"I mean properly. I wouldn't..." He choked on his words, trying to hold back the tears. He closed his eyes tightly as he swallowed. "Sorry." Would he always apologise for the useless and emotional mess he was? "This is hard." This was hard, what he was about to do. Dr. Clarkson had discussed with him the conditions of his injury. Not only his sexual function was non existent, he wouldn't be able to relieve himself. He felt embarrassed and disgusted with himself, absolute livid. Every last bit of his manhood had been stripped away. He could never be a lover, a proper husband. That was when he finally decided. He couldn't condemn her to this. "We can never be married. Not in the proper terms."

"Oh." She hadn't thought about that. "I see."

"I can never give you children." His voice almost broke. How he had always longed for them, to give her children. She would want children. So many things he would not be able to give her. He turned his head away so she wouldn't see his tears. In the distance he saw Lord Grantham's face fall into despair. It was as if he was dead already. "Go. Think of me as I was." He swallowed a second time to bite back the emotion. The only way to get her to give up was to be harsh with her. He put all the anger built up inside him behind his words. "Think of me as dead."

She came over to the side of the bed where he was faced away from her. He's so hell bent on pushing me away. Nothing else has settled yet, he's not used to things. He doesn't know how much he needs me. Well, I'll show him that I'm not going anywhere. She reached out her hand to soothe the back of his head. He recoiled from her touch, forcefully smacking her hand away.

When she still didn't leave, he shouted at her, "Go."

Mary fled. It had startled her. She had never seen him so angry. So much anger. Toward himself? Towards everything? This war taking away everything, his hopes and dreams, their hopes and dreams up in a puff of smoke. But she wasn't as willing to give up nor would she give up on him. For now she would give him time.

She held her stinging hand as she walked away, as the tears stung her eyes. The second time she had left him in tears.

Isobel arrived later that evening. She had gotten on the first boat home as soon as she could. It had been a grueling two days. Anything could have happened. No. Matthew will pull through. She smiled upon seeing him, though it was more of a grimace, trying to hide her frayed nerves. He had deep bruising around his eyes, and cuts on his face, that would leave small scars. He looks pale, almost deathly, even though he was in the clear. At least to their standards. He could be at risk for depression. He needed to be checked on regularly. And his health could still be at risk from infections, that were common in paralyzed people, but it wasn't as high a risk as if the injury had occurred higher in the thoracic. She went into 'nurse mode' just as Matthew would go into 'lawyer mode' when something was troubling him, they were both alike in that way other than their shared stubbornness, even Reggie had been the same. But he would have had the sense to tell his son, to not feel sorry for himself or he wouldn't get any better. He often told that to his patience, using it in a more sterner way with his family. Focus on what you do have. She doesn't have the strength to use her husbands words, at least right now.

She wanted to tell him the next course of action, that it'd be alright but she can't find the words. She knows not what to say to someone that is paralyzed. This was not just someone, this was her son, her independent boy, he had been since he was a small child. He preferred to do things on his own. He would have to rely on the care of others for the rest of his life. She knew this will be harder on him than anyone else.

He looked like a young boy, wearing his father's clothes, looking up at her, trying to be strong.

She smiled down at him from where he lied. He had to get used to people smiling down at him, not knowing what to say to him. This is his mother, not just anyone else. She loved him in her own way. She would know what to say. It had been the two of them for a long time. They had been away from each other the longest, both on the other side of the world, until she volunteered for the Re