A/N: So. People have been asking for quite some time that I continue with some drabbles in the Grace world. I think some of my favorite parts of writing Grace were the normal moments and so these next few drabbles (who knows what, if anything will come after) will be about finding the normal, not just for Mary and Matthew but Tom and Sybil will make an appearance and even have a chapter of their own (that bit is already written). This is also a birthday present, in some ways, for MediaWatchGirl, who asked for it. Thanks to you for the idea...the second part of this, not yet posted, was already written but I needed this first. Also thanks to my anon sources on post pregnancy stuff. And though she did not edit this and all mistakes are mine, I have to thank Faeyero wherever Grace is involved. Consider this me dipping my toes back into the water of fanfic...I've been out of the game for some time. Oh also, the title comes from the U2 song "Grace."

It came to her, at the strangest of times: I am a mother.

She still felt that way about Gracie, as the little girl learned to string words together in sentences with a growing logic that sometimes made Mary's head spin, afraid of the future and this whip smart, brave girl she and Matthew were raising. It became more and more apparent, as Gracie's expressions began to match Matthew's, and particularly when she told Mary: Mama, I do not want a bath tonight and Mary replied that she would still have a bath and Gracie rolled her eyes, a perfect replica of her father, and dryly retorted: Oh, Mary. Conception was but a moment. Raising a child, loving one, growing them into people never really stopped and she knew Matthew understood that.

It was Gracie who taught Mary to be a mother. From the first instant the doctor handed the little baby girl to her, she taught Mary–not the other way around. Now, there was Jack, her perfect sweet Jack who never allowed her to get more than three hours of sleep at a time and who sometimes smiled up at her with his father's eyes and a dimple just like his sister.

In the mornings, Gracie usually joined Mary and Jack in the big silver bed, a cuddle for Gracie and breakfast for Jack. Gracie stroked Jack's hands and fingers and tickled his feet. My Jack, she repeated, over and over. My brother. In such moments, the feeling rolled over her like the tide going back out to sea: I am a mother.

Before Gracie she never thought about such things or wanted such things unless it meant fulfilling a duty. But there was never much room for duty in that bed on such mornings, when Matthew would come in, dressed for work and give them all a kiss. Sometimes then, Mary remembered: I am a wife and it would shock her a little, how much she loved this man, how differently she loved this man from her children. But for the last two months since Jack arrived, the children and exhaustion ate up her time while Matthew helped as much as he could. He never demanded attention though some of her favorite moments were of Matthew taking care of Jack, rocking him in his arms, or chattering away with Gracie, of the four of them together. She should tell him that, really she should, but the sudden normalcy of their life and yes, the exhaustion of caring for two little ones, made her brain fuzzy by the time he came home for dinner. She knew she should feel lucky, that she was more than lucky but that didn't explain her constant ache to cry.

But mostly, things were normal. Things were normal and they were a family and Mary knew better than to take any of that for granted.

The letter arrived soon after Jack turned two months old.

Dear Mary,

I miss you so much. I walked into out house and I touched all of our things, with one hand since I held a sleeping baby in the other, and though I love it here, and though I know this is where I am supposed to be, I miss my sisters. I'd like to link pinkies and just talk.

For example, just now I would talk to you about my dolt of a husband, and how men, no matter how good they are, just don't always understand. The children haven't been sleeping like usual. So much has changed in their lives. And yet, he would like to get handsy with me! And when I tell him I miss my sister, you, of course. He would still like to get handsy! He would kill me for writing this down but I'm just trying to think it through.

Tom is always trying to fix things, you know. When there is a problem, whether it's at my work or with the plumbing under the sink, he wants to fix it. And men...that's one way they like to fix it, I suppose.

Goodness, this letter is becoming unsightly, isn't it?

I know I am your younger sister and it's you who should give advice but though I am a woman, and a mother, who will always think of them first, there is something to be said with Tom's solution. It will be your first time after a baby, I imagine. In some ways it is like coming back to yourself, that first time. In some ways, it's like choosing to take a leap. You remember that it's you and him who are in charge of bringing up these babies. And you love him all the more this time, for giving you another baby. But I feel like I also have to be honest with you, since I know: don't rush. Be ready. Let him be patient with you. Be patient with yourself. And when you feel like you are unraveling because you haven't slept in more hours than you can count, and you want to cry for no reason at all, the best thing to do is to hold on to him. But I was never very good at that part. My misery does not love company and then I would think, why are you miserable and so happy at the same time?

How do you explain that to a man? Especially one who would like to fix all of your problems. You don't, really. You flounder along and you do what must be done each day and then all of a sudden there is a window, a beam of sunlight, where you remember what your old self felt like. And each day, you see more and more of her. She'll come back to you, I promise.

All my love,

Sybil

Get rid of this letter after reading it, all right?

Mary just finished reading the letter that night, turning off her light, when Matthew came in, Jack asleep in the bassinet in the corner of their room. It wouldn't be long before he would move to his own room and though it made her heart ache, she also knew, especially after reading Sybil's letter, that she could be paying a bit more attention to her husband.

"Hello," she smiled at him, shaking back her her plaited hair. "You're very late."

"I know," he whispered because of the sleeping baby. "Things at work are a bit crazy and then your father wanted to see me...time got away from me. I'm sorry, darling." He kissed the top of her head and when she pat the bed beside her, he sat down, a bit surprised.

"There's no need." She smiled again.

"You're very happy tonight," he murmured. "A letter? Who from?"

"From Sybil," Mary answered. "And yes, I am very happy."

She leaned into him, her hand sliding up his arm to clutch his shoulder, her forehead against his. "What's this?" he asked, and she could smell the cigar on his breath that he must of shared with her father.

"Have you ever missed someone, without realizing that you're missing them, when they're right there with you the whole time?" She caressed his cheek. She wanted to loosen his tie but some of these movements were a bit scary to her. It had been a very long time, or at least it felt like it.

"No," Matthew smiled and Mary felt his lips curve instead of seeing the grin. "But if you're asking if I've missed you the answer is, of course. But I understand, Mary. We're both just doing the best we can, aren't we?"

"You've missed me?" she asked sadly. "Why haven't you said?"

"Mary." His hands reached for her face. "I could have lost you forever. I promised myself I would never forget it. If I've missed you...as a wife...then I've been lucky to see you as a mother and it's lovely, really."

She brushed his thick hair back by feel alone. "Matthew," she whispered, leaning forward in the dark, brushing her lips against his. "Kiss me. Please." Her hands went to his wrist as he leaned further into her and captured her lips with his own. For a moment, she felt stunned, unsure of what to do, but it came back to her so quickly so that by the time he nibbled on her bottom lip, she was already opening her mouth to him, leaning back in his arms, sure he could hold her. The kiss made her belly feel full and empty all at once.

"Mary," Matthew whispered quite desperately, pressing kisses to her cheeks and eyes, and then sucking at the hollow of her throat. She moaned a little and he pulled back to look at her eyes in the dark. Her hands sifted restlessly through his hair. So he pressed his lips to his wife's again, suckling on her bottom lip, pulling it into his own mouth so this time her moan was long and greedy. He repeated her name: "Mary," urgently this time, one of his hands, reaching towards her ankles, and beginning to raise her nightgown.

As his hands reached her knee, she froze. "Wait. I–"

"Mary?" he asked. He felt as if he'd been hit between the eyes with a hammer.

"I think maybe...I'm very tired," she explained, quite poorly. "Jack will be awake in a little while and..."

"You're very tired," he repeated, with her still in his arms, while she very gently removed his hand from underneath her nightgown.

"Yes," she replied. She felt tears at the back of her eyes. She felt so foolish. "I'm so sorry."

"There's no need," he replied quite automatically and smoothed back first her hair and then his own. When he came back to bed, he did not reach for her and she did not reach for him. She remained awake, though she was beyond exhaustion. She remained awake until Jack cried and she was simply a mother again.

A/N: Probs not how you wanted it to end but. Yeah.