Author's Note: Set after 1x05, "A Chill in the Air." I know all sorts of people are all up in arms about all sorts of things in its aftermath, but I think there was some key character development that happened in the episode. Nothing worth having comes easily, and I think that Francis' and Mary's relationship will (in time) stand as an incredible testament to that. Things aren't just better overnight. Even if they settle things, as I've imagined them doing here, they still must figure out how to deal with Olivia and Catherine and all the other things that are against them. It will never be magically better from any one point, just a bunch of moments that require the two of them to regroup, to remember that it is a worthwhile fight to fight for one another. Seriously, next week looks crazy. That's all I have to say about that!

Disclaimer: Only the story here is mine. I'm just playing with characters and a larger storyline that I don't own. Thanks to CW/CBS for putting together an incredibly beautiful and captivating show.

She had risen early, having been to put to bed early by Lola and Aylee. Anyone could look at her and see that she felt awful, though most of it had little to do with the pounding in her head and the fact that her mouth didn't quite taste as it normally did. Sleep had come quickly because of the wine, but she had awakened from several dreams she hoped never to speak of or to see come to pass.

Regret was not just a terrible feeling – its bitter taste lingered.

The chapel had provided comfort in those nascent hours of the day, the priest providing forgiveness in tandem. The old building was quiet, empty, with each tiny movement echoing off of the stone interior. She had confessed her sins and lit candles, desperate to pay penance for her choices.

He surely would be up by now, though, she suspected, and he was the one person from whom she most desperately needed forgiveness. Making her way to his rooms, Mary felt that keen sense of regret that settles on the young and impulsive. She could only hope, only pray, that he might receive her this morning.

At his chamber doors, the page acknowledged Mary, telling her that Francis was indeed up but still in his rooms. She was welcome to knock. Apparently, the page had not received word of the young couple's argument the previous evening and, for that, she was grateful.

Her knocks sounded, firm but hesitantly. She heard footfalls approaching the door and heard his voice from behind it, "Who is it?"

She inhaled deeply, mustering every last ounce of energy she had, and answered, "It's me – Mary."

There was no response at first, so Mary pressed further, "I think we need to talk. My anger has abated, as have the effects of the wine."

Still no response. She sighed and leaned her head against the doorframe.

"Please, Francis?"

The door opened just enough and she took the opportunity to slip through into his rooms. Inside, she looked around, realizing that she had not been inside since her return to Court. The window coverings were drawn tight, leaving the room quite dark and fooling her into thinking for a moment that it was not indeed day.

Her eyes adjusted to the unexpected lack of light, scanning the room and landing upon Francis, who had taken a seat by the dwindling fire. He sat there, saying nothing, so she took a seat in a chair directly across from his.

They sat there, silent, everything hanging between, making enough noise for the both of them.

Mary plumbed her own depths for the strength and humility needed to have this conversation. This couldn't end as a matter of pride or they would both be undone, as would their eventual union.

"Francis, I need to apologize and seek your forgiveness."

He caught her gaze but still provided her with no verbal response, a cue she took to indicate she should continue.

"I behaved poorly yesterday, as you well know. I am afraid, however, that I did something in my anger that I cannot erase but that has filled me with such regret that no ship can ever take it from me."

She paused, knowing she must continue – knowing she must tell him. She played with the edges of her shawl, obviously nervous.

"I kissed Bash," she spoke softly, looking up from her lap to catch his eyes. She saw pain flicker into them, pain that she had caused. She was startled when he spoke, gently,

"I know."

Confusion filled her own head, not understanding how he could know.

"You know?"

He nodded and sighed, running his hands through his hair. Standing up, he quietly moved to sit next to her, turning his frame toward hers and reaching for her hand.

"I saw you."

It was now Mary's turn to wait silently, hoping he would continue to speak. Her hand in his, his thumb stroking hers, was just enough to help keep her anxious heart at bay.

"I came to find you, to apologize for losing my temper, and I saw the two of you together by the lake. That was why I was angry when we launched our boats and why I went off with Olivia afterward. The evening wore on and my anger lessened and I realized that, no matter how I wanted it to be so I could numb my own feelings of regret, it wasn't the same with Olivia. She isn't you, Mary."

She felt her chest tighten as his voice dropped into that husky whisper to say her name, the same way he had addressed her in the corridor the day before. She found herself overwhelmed by his vulnerability with her.

"And Bash isn't you," Mary whispered quietly, leaning forward to close some of the distance that remained between them.

"Please forgive me, Francis. I promise I will drink less and eat more."

He nodded and a quiet chuckle broke from his lips, looking at her no longer with sadness but instead with a glint in his eyes.

"Of course I will forgive you, if you would be so kind to forgive me for behaving like my father. Perhaps you could seek to avoid drinking so much just when we are arguing?" He paused. "I'd like to see what might happen if we were on good terms."

She took in his improved countenance, offering a simple reply and smile.

"I think that could be arranged."

He took advantage of their proximity and kissed her tenderly, soberly. Afterward, he rose and began tying back his window coverings, letting in the morning light.

She blinked at the difference the light made in the room. Rising to her own feet, she allowed him to escort her to the door.

"Thank you for stopping by," he said softly, both of them desiring to linger in the moment a little longer.

"Thank you for forgiving me," she replied.

He opened the door and she once more stepped through it into the hall. It would take time to mend fully the damage that had been done, but it no longer seemed impossible to either of the two. There was still hope to cling to in the days to come.

After Mary left, Francis turned back to his room with a renewed determination. Olivia must go. Things had changed.