Title: Lady Mary's Process of Healing
Fandom: Downton Abbey
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Anthony/Mary, Matthew/Mary
Rating: PG-13/T
Summary: She is still healing.
Word Count: 1,459
Written For: Fan FlashWorks 460. Thirst, What If? #68. Supernatural AU, 100FandomHell #66. Downton Abbey, and 100 Ships 20. Nude
Warnings: Spoilers for Downton Abbey Seasons 3 and 5 (if such may still be considered spoilers) and Cannon Character Death
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.








She used to have a thirst for life, before Matthew, before she had thought she could have everything she could ever want and had had it all stripped away. She had thought she was about to have it again, and for a while, for one sweet week in London, she had had all she could want. George had been safe. Downton had been safe, with Tom to oversee it and stop her father from making any foolish decisions. Her family, or at least what remained of it, had been safe. And she had been free.

For one sweet, wonderful, glorious week, she had known true freedom. There had been times, of course, when she had wondered if they might be caught and genuinely feared what people might say. She should not care. After all, what more could life do to her? She was already a young widow, her reputation already having been tarnished once. There's nothing anyone can do now to take Downton away from her, and although they might try to turn George's head from her later, her family will never sit for that. Her Papa and Grandmama surely will never allow her son to be stripped from her. But she has also never been one to idly allow gossip to ruin her family, her home, or even herself.

It would be just desserts to become ruined now. She all but suspects Lord Gillingham to turn from her, but he will not. He is a good man, a honest man. She has known that all along and known that he loves her. It's why she could never take her Grandmama's or even Anna's concerns to heart. Tony will never do anything to hurt her, even now that she has hurt him.

She should not have agreed to dine with him, yet here she is. She's said her peace. She's told him that she cannot, will not, marry him. It is hardly her fault if he still chooses to think better of her. And what of Anna, and her Grandmama? What will they say when they eventually learn that she is the reason they are not to wed, not he? All the tales always speak of the man who samples the lady's wares being the one to spurn her later. Is she truly a first? And if so, what does that say of her?

Why should she care? Mary reasons again, sipping her wine. A furtive glance across the table tells her Lord Gillingham is still admiring her, still smiling sweetly. She knows what he wants. She should tell him no, should not have agreed to this dinner. She does not want the same as he does. He wants a lifetime; she no longer feels, in truth, that she has a lifetime to give. She has a few nights, here and there, nothing more or less, and none of these nights will change her mind. Additionally, every night they add on to something she should not have allowed to begin in the first place adds to their chances of being caught.

Is that what he wants, perhaps thinking that she will marry him if she sees no other choice? But no, he could not. She knows he does not want any harm to come to her and believes him when he tells her that nothing would please him more in this world than to see her happy. So what then? she queries silently, taking another sip of her wine and wishing it were stronger. Could she be the one who wants to be caught? She mutely arches a questioning brow at her own self.

He reaches across the table, and she lets him though she should not. She lets his warm fingers close around her hand, not having realized until this very moment that she herself has become cold -- cold, she admits, in more than one way. Oh, if only life were simple again! But it never will be, not now that she's lost Matthew. She wants to live! She wants to feel free again and to -- gosh, to simply feel, to feel more than this cold and aching void that her husband's death has left inside of her! For one week, Tony did manage to give her that much at least.

But that is all he will only ever be, she knows, a temporary bandage to a permanent wound. It is not fair to him to keep him lingering so, but she's tried to send him away and he will not go. He still looks at her with such love and hope, such dedication -- Matthew used to look at her the same way. She gasps, and a look of concern comes over his face.

"The wine," she says simply before he can ask and cause her to have to lie more outright. She firmly places the glass down between them. "I suppose it went down the wrong way, as they say." It is all going down the wrong way, and she cannot seem to stop it.

"I would love to know what that sharp mind of yours is thinking now," he says, raising her hand and chastely kissing its back, "but I know you will not tell me and shall not ask you to have to conduct deceit on my behalf." He smiles at her, but she can see he is hurting, hurting because of her. "Are you finished then?" he prompts when she does not speak, indicating, with his eyes, her finished goblet and parsely touched plate. It is only then that she realizes that she has not touched the food in near to an hour now. She simply has no appetite these days.

"I -- I am afraid I simply am not feeling well," she apologizes, releasing his hand to dab a cloth napkin at her painted lips. Painted like a Jezebel, the thought passes unbidden through her mind. She winces inwardly, but her smile does not wane. She even succeeds in having it touched her dark eyes.

But he is not fooled, no more than Matthew would have been. Both men have always been so good at seeing right through her every defense. Or at least, Matthew had been during their lifetime together, and Tony does seem to be now. "To your place then?" she says, quirking her brow again and dropping her napkin delicately beside her plate.

"No. To yours," he says determinedly.

She gasps.

"To say good night, sweet Mary." She looks at him questioningly, clearly unable to keep her surprise from showing, but his smile is warm and, she hopes at least, not just a masquerade. "For now. Until you are ready to say 'yes'."

"Lord Gillingham, I have told you -- "

"And I have told you, lady Mary, I am ready and will wait however long you take." He gazes across the table from her, and suddenly, she feels as vulnerably nude as she had been every night in that hotel during that week she had spent with him. "You are still healing. I should have seen it before. But I will wait however long it takes you to heal completely."

He pushes his chair back, stands, and offers her his hand. She hesitates only a moment more before taking it and allowing his fingers to wrap around hers. His grip might be a signal of possessiveness, but it is warm and the truth is there between them. He thinks she will heal. She knows she will always belong to Matthew. She only hopes he can one day forgive her, and she hopes so with all her heart just as Anthony remains hoping equally as fervently that she will one day see loving him or, at the very least, allowing him to love her does not mean she has become a traitor to her husband.

Lady Mary could never be anything but, and with time, he hopes she will see that, that she will come to see in herself what he and Matthew both saw in her -- what a dozen or more men have seen in her. Only then, he knows, will she be truly ready to move on with her life. But he will be there, waiting for her when she is and will swoop in to claim what is rightfully his before any other living man can. The questioning thought passes unbidden through his mind what Matthew might think if he could see them together now. Lady Mary will move on eventually. She will wed and give George a father. Why shouldn't it be him to take Matthew's place?

Neither of them see the goblets left behind on the table break, glass quietly shattering across the table not unlike how a heart might shatter if it still beat.




The End