It's been so, so long since I updated this. I spent my whole summer working at a summer camp (I only got 3 hours off a day which basically enough time to shower and eat) and then I went back to school just after that. I just started fall break, so I thought I'd finish up this chapter as a present to myself. It's been a LONG time in the coming. When I first saw S4E1 last year, I picture this scene happening and I'm so happy I finally got to write about it. Also, since Season 5 started, this story has officially become "AU." As I plotted out this story before S5, I am not planning to account for what happens there in my story, so this is a "post-S4CS AU." Also sorry this chapter is so, so long (remember when my first chapters were just 1,000 words?). It is the longest one yet! So please enjoy!

Chapter 8

July 1923

When Matthew's lips touched hers, Mary was overwhelmed. His lips were softer than she remembered and his hands held her loosely around her waist. The kiss felt like a drop of warmth traveling through her body, gradually awakening every single part of her that she forgot existed. All of sudden everything dropped away, the park alive with activity on sunny afternoon, the watching eyes of Anna and George, the distance of the two lost years that lingered between Mary and Matthew- none of it existed to Mary anymore. There was only the overpowering love that resonated between the two. It was the sort of love that could fix anything. She didn't know what Matthew had done for the past two years and she knew that in a few hours she would turn cold and cool and then angry at Matthew for disappearing from her life, but now, she could only think the purest and most loving thoughts for the man she had adored as long as she could remember.

Matthew pulled his lips away and Mary felt herself briefly flutter with panic. Was he leaving again? But Matthew kept his face close to his wife's, their noses touching ever so slightly. Their faces were both wet with tears, their tears combining where they dripped off their noses and landed on their clutched hands. Both were filled with questions just bursting to erupt, but all the same, they felt trapped as if daring to ask would break the illusion and the other might disappear.

Mary clung to his hands, willing him to not evaporate into air. "You are here to stay, aren't you?" She asked, her voice laced with melodrama.

He smiled so genuinely; she felt she might just melt. "I'm not going anywhere," He said, "as long as you'll have me"

"How can you ask?" Mary murmured into his lips, as he pulled her into another kiss.

"Your ladyship," Anna whispered from somewhere a few steps behind them, "I'm going to take to George to go look at the ducks in the Serpentine."

"Very good," Mary heard herself say, her lips lifting from her husband's for just seconds before finding them again. She felt dizzy, this was the kind of kiss you could lose yourself in.

February 1922

Matthew woke in a cold sweat. His dream had felt so very real, he could hardly believe it. It wasn't the first time he had dreamt it either.

It always happened the same way. He would be returning to Downton. It was always on foot. The familiar trees would fill him with comfort and excitement. He trembled with anticipation. Then finally he would see the Abbey peak out of the trees, and he would begin to run all the way up to the Abbey. He would burst forth into the entranceway, unable to hold back from the reunion with his beloved.

And then-

He would see Mary standing in the hall, surrounded by three unfamiliar children with dark hair. Then she would turn up to the main staircase and Matthew's eyes would follow hers to see a man with dark hair. He was just slightly more fit than Matthew. His smile was charming; his suit tailored just so. He was clearly from an aristocratic background. He was everything Matthew couldn't be for Mary.

He would flare with jealousy. He would watch the mysterious lover of Mary's descend the staircase and approach her. Matthew would want to move forward, but his legs didn't let him. He was motionless as the man kissed his wife.

He would wake after this, always in a cold sweat. He couldn't fall back to sleep after, his thoughts would stay with Mary. He missed her with every fiber of his being. Every moment without her was torture and he cursed himself for ever leaving.

All he could think was of Mary moving on. He knew she must have by now. Matthew always knew that he adored Mary far more than she loved him. He had always been the middle class lawyer, pining after her, the great Lady Mary, who was practically a princess. He could never compare to her. He could never be rich enough, successful enough, or have money to please her. He tried his best and he knew that she cared for him, but there would always be imbalance in her favor. By now she must have several suitors, he imagined. Mary was probably just weighing her options- the Prince from France? The son of an oil tycoon? He knew that any eligible man would desire her.

He rose to make some coffee. He always preferred tea, but everything in America seemed to move faster, and coffee was needed to keep up with it, especially as he felt so constantly lethargic. He had decided to rent an apartment in New York. He had gotten a job at a library around the corner. He shelved books, make just enough money to get by and staying anonymous enough to blend in unquestioned. He missed everything about his old life. He would think about the simplest and most ordinary moments of his life at Downton and feel himself just wish he could spend one more rainy afternoon sipping tea with Mary in the library or fret for just one more evening about looking his best for dinner.

Matthew took a sip of coffee. He wasn't great at making it and it tasted gritty in his teeth. He had tried to enjoy his time here as best he could. He had gone to see the Statue of Liberty. He had taken a train one afternoon to see the coast, just before autumn set in. But he was English through and though and nothing about this bizarre country appealed to him.

He thought miserably of his small son. God, he didn't even know the name of his own kid. What kind of father was he? What kind of husband was he to leave Mary with a child to raise all on his own? He felt sick with himself. He thought of all the moments of fatherhood he was missing- first smiles, steps, and words. He was failing those who needed him most.

He settled into he chair by his apartment window and gazed out at the cityscape around him. He was still in his pajamas. It was a Saturday and he wouldn't be working today. Matthew was beginning to think he was depressed. He wasn't eating much these days. Where his middle had once threatened roundness, from the feasts at Downton, it had now grown flat. He didn't really have motivation to leave his apartment, and no real reason to. He felt trapped. He felt so incredibly alone. He missed everything about Mary and his home at Downton.

He couldn't do this. Surely the murderer would have forgotten him by now. This whole thing was so ridiculous. Why should he trap himself in this foreign country? Trapped in this room, with no existence, while the woman of his dreams- his wife- was probably off falling into the arms of another man. While his son, was left to grow up without a father.

He was done, he decided. He would return to Downton. Even if that meant death, even if he was left to hide there, it was better- anything was better- than his new life a fugitive in a foreign land. He needed Mary. He needed home.

He got up from the chair, changing quickly in to a suit and grabbing his coat. He was going straight to a ticket vendor. He was going home.

July 1923

Later, when their lips abated in greediness, they took to the picnic blanket that Matthew had spread. The feast was splendid. Though Mary had just eaten luncheon recently- Matthew's champagne hit the spot, as did box of truffles Mary discovered in the basket.

"French truffles?" She murmured as she pawed the box out of picnic basket. She was reclined on the blanket, her head resting on Matthew's knees. Mary was careful never to lose physical contact with him. Despite his protests otherwise, she was terrified that he would dissolve into thin air the moment she let go of him. She sighed blissfully, giving her arm a pinch to ensure that it was all still real, and biting into a dark colored piece. It was delicious, a burst of warm flavor into her mouth.

"I was recently in France," Matthew explained.

Mary raised her eyebrows at him, her lips cured into a questioning smile.

"'l've got quite a long story to tell you," Matthew began.

"I would imagine. Don't tell it quite yet," Mary sighed, "I'm enjoying my truffle."

"How would my story ruin your truffle?" Matthew laughed, reaching down to stroke Mary's face.

"You see once you begin your story, I imagine I'll become rather cross for you keeping this secret," Mary said, relishing Matthew's touch. Propriety in a public park had been long forgotten.

"I should hope not," Matthew said, frowning slightly, "however that is a possibility."

"I do have one question," Mary asked, sitting up to face Matthew, swallowing the rest of her truffle.

"Anything," Matthew said.

"There was this one night in February," Mary said, blushing "Just a few months after you died- well disappeared I suppose. It's rather awkward to say it now, but I thought I saw you as a ghost. Perhaps I was hallucinating, but it felt all so real. I woke the next morning and convinced myself that I had invented it. But was it really you?"

Matthew chuckled and gave a knowing smile.

"What is it?" Mary asked.

"Well I am going to have to start my story if you want to hear the truth," Matthew admitted.

"Very well, I suppose you'll have to start then," Mary resigned.

February 1922

Valentines Day, Matthew thought fondly with a smile as he stared through the trees at the magnificent edifice. He could hardly think that the woman and life he loved was so so close. Of course I should return just before Valentine's Day.

He crept back into the village of Downton on an early train that morning. He had escaped unnoticed, until he arrived at the station where he spotted O'Brien boarding a car. He noticed just in time before walking into her, instead he lingered a moment back in the compartment, before springing out the moment she passed. He pulled the rim of his hat deeply over his face so that it was covered in shadow.

He began to make his way through the town. Each familiar sight seemed like a ray of hope and happiness, despite the gloomy weather of the early morning. His heart raced. Would Mary be awake by now? What would she do when she saw him? He had spent his sleepless nights on his crossing back imagining it. The way her face would flutter between elation and disbelief. The way he'd get to pour out his story to her and she'd forgive him. And then, of course, they'd make love, passionately; fulfilling the emptiness they felt was missing. This fantasy was all that got him through this past six months in New York and he trembled with excitement that it was finally here.

He passed the hospital, the little shops, and he slowed by the church where he heard a commotion. He heard a familiar voices coming from the cemetery. He slipped inside the church to observe from the doorway that looked out over the cemetery. He could see the outline of the Cousin Violet and Old Moseley looking out to where a head stone was being put into place. He felt disjointed. Who's grave might it be? He wondered who from their insular town had departed. Though he didn't know every villager personally, he was certain to know of their family.

"I can't believe it is time for the stone already," he heard the Dowager remark.

"Six months," Moseley said, "they always give six months for the grave to settle." Surely, this person must have died just after he left. He felt somber instantly. He had been lucky to escape death, but this man or woman hadn't.

They went on to discussing the employment of Mr. Moseley the younger. Matthew felt selfish. This grand scheme of his had resulted in so much unexpected pain for others, he hadn't even thought about his valet facing unemployment. Matthew was full of regret. Surely he could have had more foresight to arrange something for Moseley before he left.

They finished their conversation and parted ways, the dowager to the parsonage to find the vicar and Moseley back to his home to tend to his gardens. Matthew proceeded from the shadows of the church door to visit the tomb. As it came into view his stomach churned and he grew very dizzy. He had not known what to expect, but it wasn't this.

Matthew Reginald Crawley

Beloved Husband and Father

1885- 1921

God. Good God. What had he done? He felt as if he was he in some sort of novel from Dickens, standing beside the ghost of Christmas Yet To Come. Seeing here, this proof that his plan had succeeded made him stop. He realized that if he returned to Downton now, if he showed up declaring, "surprise, I'm alive," he would seal this fate. The murderer would know what he did and come back with vengeance. He would surely be murdered. He would be saving no one, especially not himself or Mary or his family by showing up in the flesh today. In order to truly stay alive, he needed to remain dead, he decided. He knelt before the grave, as he thought through what to do.

He needed to leave. He couldn't stay at Downton and risk being caught by the murderer. That was for sure. But yet, being so close to home, he didn't want to pass up an opportunity to at least look in on his family and those he loved. Perhaps he could afford one quick visit, just to watch from afar.

Matthew rose and proceeded through town to walk the streets. He tried to move quickly onto back roads so that he might be more secretive. Knowing he would soon be gone, he tried to use the walk to take in all the details. The greenness of the grass, the sky grey with a good English rain. He approached some of the outlying cottages when he heard another voice. Matthew quickly dashed behind a large tree, as the familiar visages of Robert and Tom came into view. He smiled to himself, happy to see the faces his family. He had spent so much time thinking about how much he missed Mary that hadn't realized how much he missed the rest of his family, especially Tom and Robert, who had been brother and father to him.

"You've seen her. She hardly has the energy to lift a fork to her mouth," he heard Robert say sharply. Matthew froze. Where they talking about Mary? Matthew was desperate to know how she was.

"She loved him very much," Tom admitted. Crikey, they were talking about him, in past tense as well. The fact that he was dead to all these people was really and truly setting in now.

"And the price of great love is great misery when one of you dies," Robert told Tom. Matthew gritted his teeth. He was surprised that Robert could so carelessly say something so inconsiderate to Tom. Especially when Tom was the one who had really lost Sybil, whereas God willing, Matthew would one day reunite with Mary.

A moment later Robert seemed to remember himself and apologized, directing him and Tom off towards luncheon. Matthew realized that Tom would be a great help if he was to try to sneak back into the Abbey for a glance at his loved ones. He grabbed an acorn from the tree and chucked at the back of Tom's neck. With the aim of a once great cricket player, it hit Tom squarely and he turned around to see Matthew give him a small wave before ducking back behind the tree.

"What's wrong? What are you looking at?" Robert asked quickly, his voice concerned.

"I think there might be something wrong with that tree," Tom lied, "I'll go check on it, you go on."

"Are you sure? Hurry back for luncheon. We don't want to keep the ladies waiting," Robert chastised before continuing to walk.

Tom jogged over to Matthew.

"It's good to see you mate," he said, clasping Matthew on the shoulder. Then his smile turned grim. "But what are you doing here? You can't be seen here, you are supposed to be dead."

"I know," Matthew admitted. He felt so ashamed. If he was caught, if he died, all of these people's sacrifices would be for naught. He felt so guilty. Yet, he thought of his deep sadness that they felt in New York, apart from his family and home. All of sudden his throat felt thick, as if the words couldn't come out of his mouth. "You see in New York-" He paused, thinking of the busy streets and towers that reached into the sky and feeling more empty than he ever had before, "You see there wasn't a point of living in the sadness I felt there. I'm not saying I should come back to 'life,' so to speak, now, but I can't live so far away again."

Tom nodded. Matthew wasn't sure if Tom understood, but then he spoke, "When I was told I couldn't go back to Ireland, I felt so trapped here. I had been here before, but it was different when I knew I couldn't go home, I started to hate it. Sybil was the only thing that gave me hope and when she was gone-" It was Tom's turn to break off, "I know how it feels to feel empty. I still think it was a bit stupid of you to come back, but I understand."

Matthew looked down and nodded. "Thank you for that."

"Look, I'll sneak you in the back door of the abbey and set you up a room. You can spend a night or two there and be on your way." Tom decided as the two men began walking towards the abbey.

"I am so grateful," Matthew said. They crested the next hill and the abbey itself came into view. Matthew let out a sigh. It was beautiful, the coppery towers rising up into the sky. He felt every bit of his body relax in a way it hadn't done in months. This was home. Manchester, Crawley House- the places he had once thought of as home, were nothing compared to this. This was where he belonged. Robert had once called Downton his life's work, and so to Matthew saw it now as his. He realized that part of that meant preserving his own life so that he could help it best.

"So what has become of everyone?" Matthew asked nervously, as his thoughts turned to his beloved wife and son.

"Well," Tom began, "Lady Mary is in quite a state. She is hardly living really. She doesn't eat. She rarely talks and when she does, it is in this hollow voice. It's as if she died when you did. Robert doesn't help either. He treats her like she is fragile and he won't let her do anything."

Matthew wanted to cry. Mary, beautiful, lovely Mary- his stormbraver. The last image he had of her was her glowing so beautifully in the afternoon sun streaming through the hospital windows, holding their child. He tried to hold the image in his is mind and remember it. He felt suddenly terrified. He was afraid to see his wife broken with sadness, knowing that he himself caused it. He took a deep breath, feeling overwhelmed the emotions he was experiencing- elation, concern, fear, and guilt. All he could do now was push on and face it all.

"Right," Matthew pressed on, his voice choking up, "and how is my son?" He thought of how the tombstone had said "Beloved Husband and Father," yet he hardly knew his own son. God, he didn't even know the name of his son.

"George?" Tom asked. George, Matthew thought, my son's name is George. The name was so perfect and well suited for his heir that it seemed almost immediately as if there was never a possibility of his name being anything else. "He seems fine. Mary hardly spends time with him, she is so withdrawn. I try to hold him for a bit whenever I go into the nursery, just so he starts to know some other people."

Matthew nodded, trying to resist asking more questions about the son he hardly knew. He felt as if knowing more would only make it harder to leave. They were approaching the back door and Matthew pulled his cap farther down on his head. Tom went in first, checking to ensure the coast was clear. It was meal time and the servants were distracted serving luncheon. Tom and Matthew quickly found their way upstairs and to an empty bedroom in the bachelor's corridor. It was vastly unlikely anyone would visit this room. It was one of the more unattractive bedrooms and it was rarely used.

"Just rest for a while," Tom directed, "I'll send some food up in a bit. Don't try to sneak around or anything, we can't have people seeing you and thinking that you are a phantom or something."

Matthew sat down on the bed and took off his shoes. He was exhausted. The euphoria and trepidation from having returned back home waned from him. He felt drained from travelling. He had not slept well on the crossing, the boat's constant movement had kept him from sleeping soundly. He hadn't gotten any real sleep since he arrived back in England, as he had been constantly travelling. Matthew couldn't even recall sleeping well in New York, as he had been constantly plagued with nightmares. He leaned back on the bed and closed his eyes. He imagined Mary coming to the door and finding him there. He thought of how happily surprised she would be. She would arise from her depressed state instantly and come join him in the bed. He was just beginning to think of the details of how that would go, when he found himself drifting off to a deep sleep.

The sun set and rose again. The noon sun was gleaming through the windows. He blinked away the grogginess and tried to place where he was. With a jolt he recalled that he was at Downton Abbey and with even more concern, he realized that he had slept through an entire day and night. He had truly been more exhausted than he had known. Another realization came to Matthew. He really, really needed to go to the lou. He remembered Tom telling him not to sneak around the abbey, but surely he should be able to relieve himself? There were lots of bathrooms around the floor, so surely he should be find one without being found out.

Not bothering to put on his shoes, he padded into the hallway, careful to keep looking around as to not run into any of the family or servants. He hadn't spent much time in this particular corridor, but he knew that must be able to find a toilet someplace.

As he tiptoed around he was careful to keep his ears peeled for any sort of noise. Every little creek and groan of the old building, he was deeply aware of.

Then suddenly, he heard footsteps, making him jump all over. It was coming from around the corner where the main staircase was. He ducked into an empty bedroom out of self-preservation instinct. He realized seconds later that it was two sets of footsteps, one going up the stairs and the other going down. His breath quickened. What if they discovered him? He glanced around the room he was in. It looked unused, so he hoped he was safe here.

Then heard a voice. His breath caught. It was the voice that had shattered and changed his entire world. It was the voice that said things like "I wouldn't want to push in" and "I should hate to be predictable." It was the voice that once sang with him, "If you were the only girl in the world." It was the voice that whispered to him in the stillness of the night, "I love you." It was the voice that he adored more than anything else in the world.

But there was something so altogether different about it now. It was hollowed, empty. It wasn't the voice of fierce woman in love. It was the voice of someone who had no hope. Matthew knew that emptiness. For the past six months, his own voice had sounded the same way.

"What's that?" Mary's cold voice asked.

Edith's voice responded, "Nothing."

"Of course," Mary said, her voice monotone, "It's Valentines Day. When are you leaving for London?"

"I'm taking the ten o'clock," Edith murmured, "I ought to pack." He heard her footsteps continue up the stairs.

"Have a happy time," Mary's voice replied, without a drip of any emotion.

Matthew heard Edith's footsteps walk away and he tiptoed out of the room to catch a glimpse of Mary from behind. She stood on the stairs. Her hair stuck out awkwardly around her ears and she was dressed in along black dress. She looked the shell of a woman she was before. She looked as if she was barely living.

He followed her gaze to main hall, where she was looking. And he knew, he knew, what she was thinking of. That was where they danced, where they kissed. That tiny moment, where they slipped and let their guard down, they shared their feelings. It was the moment that changed everything.

It took all his restraint to not run to her, wrap his arms around her, and to tell her it was okay. There was no way she could go on like this. Matthew was determined to come back to Downton, to be rid of the murderer and to live his life again. But that would take time. It might be years before he could return to Mary properly. He couldn't leave Mary to live this. It wasn't fair to take away her life by trying to extend his own. He needed to find a way to remind her that she still had a life worth living, before leaving Downton as soon as possible in order to prolong his own life.

July 1923

"Are you saying you were there?" Mary said, sitting up, her eyes wide, "That was you in my room that night?"

"Shh," Matthew coaxed, his hand brushing her face and pulling her into another kiss. It seemed he could never kiss her enough. He had two years worth of kisses that she missed and he need to make it up to her. "You've got to listen to the rest of the story," he murmured as he pulled back.

February 1922

Mary had slept fitfully. Her conversation with Carson lingered in her mind. She needed to come back to the "land of the living." Of course she did, if not for own sake, for Georges. But with Matthew dead it felt as if she had this whole piece of herself was missing. She wasn't whole. How could she be a mother for George, a business partner for her father and Tom, when she barely felt human? But she had to. She had told Carson that she was going to come back. She had to. She had to. She felt herself lulled back into sleep and she let it take over.

"You are lying in my spot," a voice whispered, waking her. His voice whispered. Yes, Matthew, of course. How could Mary sleep on his side of the bed? She was so silly. Still in her fog of sleep, she rolled over.

"Sorry, darling," she grumbled, as she felt her husband sink into bed beside her. Sleep began to take her under again, just as a thought danced into her head- she didn't have a husband.

"Matthew!" She exclaimed, turning towards him.

"Mary, my love," He whispered to her.

"How are you here?" She asked puzzled. He was dead. How was he in her room? He looked so very, very real. "Are you a phantom? Some sort of ghost?"

"Unfortunately so," Matthew confessed.

"Oh darling," She murmured. She reached out to touch his face, he felt so incredibly real. How could he be dead?

He reached out and touched her face, then let his hand trace the outline of her figure- her breasts, her waist (far too thin), and her legs. Her body tingled at his touch. Mary wished she wasn't so tired, so that she could enjoy this moment. She wasn't really sure she was even awake. Maybe she was dreaming all of this.

"Mary," he said, his voice firm and sounding so very real, "I need to talk to you."

"Mmmm," Mary sighed. His hand was now holding hers. His hand felt so warm and safe. Ghosts weren't warm. But Mary didn't know much about ghosts.

"You've got to start living," he told her.

"Carson, Tom-" She said groggily, "They all say the same thing. Now you."

"George needs you, darling," He said, smiling at her. "I can't be a father to him, so you'll have to do the parenting for both us."

"Have I?" Mary asked. She was so tired, but she really wanted to kiss him. She really wanted him to not disappear.

"Yes," he told her, his hand stroking her plait.

"Do you think I can? Do you think that I have that? I was only soft and kind when you were here. Maybe you were the only one who saw it," she said, her voice tiny.

"You couldn't be more wrong. I fell in love with you because you were thoughtful. You cared for me when I was wounded and you asked for nothing in return. You were ready to marry a horrible man to save your secret from hurting your family and me. Mary, you have always been selfless, soft, and caring. But most importantly, you have always been brave. Always, always my strombraver. You can do anything," He whispered, his voice full of urgency. He needed her to know this. Mary sensed that he couldn't stay long. Ghosts never do, they never do.

"Thank you for that," She said softly, "At least someone believes in me. Papa he doesn't."

"I know," Matthew said, "that's why you've got to do this. You have to come back to life. So you can carry out the plans we made. I can't do it now, it's all up to you. And if you keep on living in the world of the dead, Downton might be lost. You know Robert can't manage the estate alone. You've got to protect it. For yourself, for George."

Mary nodded. She could tell Matthew needed to leave. Ghosts can't stay. Matthew can't stay. Matthew is a ghost. Her husband who she loves is a ghost. Mary was so tired.

"Can you kiss me?" She asked, her voice barely a sound. The wind whooshed outside. She knew the sun would rise soon. The world kept spinning. Soon Matthew would leave. But she wanted one more thing.

"Ghosts are supposed to kiss humans," Matthew said. Mary's heart sank. She just wanted Matthew's lips on hers.

"But I suppose, since it is Valentine's Day, or it was at least, I suppose I won't be in too much trouble," Matthew smiled at her.

His lips met hers. They were warm and soft. Mary felt like melting. She didn't know if she was awake or asleep. She just knew that she loved Matthew and he was here.

"I love you, so terribly much," Matthew said, he was at the door now. Goodbye ghost.

"I know," Mary said back, her eyes closing. Was she ever awake at all?

"Good night, Mary."

And she rolled back into his spot, pulling the blankets around her. The blankets are warm from Matthew. But ghosts are warm. But Matthew is. But Matthew is a ghost. But Mary is so very tired and lets herself imagine he is still here, holding her in the warmth of the blanket.

Matthew walked into the corridor and began to cry. To kiss Mary, to lie to her and tell her that he was a ghost, to just leave- it was harder than he ever thought it would be.

Matthew walked to the nursery. He wanted one last thing, to hold his son. He entered the room and saw two small bassinettes. In one sleeps Sybbie. She has grown so much since he last saw her. She is a toddler now, scurrying around on her thick baby legs. He wondered how long it would be before George is that size. He walked across the dark room to the other bassinette. A tiny, perfect baby sleeps. He is bigger than when Matthew last saw him. His hair is dark, but so was Matthew's when he was a baby. He wondered if the child's hair would turn golden like his own, or stay dark like Mary's. He leaned over to wrap the small child into his arms. George. He wished he could the tell the baby things. He wanted to tell him to be strong, to be brave. But the small child would never understand. Instead, Matthew whispered, "I love you, my son." Then he placed the still sleeping babe back into the cradle and retreated from the still quiet room.

He walked silently out of the abbey. Tom had been kind to pack him some sandwiches. Matthew wanted to leave in the night, as he couldn't have anyone in the family see him. It would ruin everything.

It was cold outside, the February wind nipping at him, and he pulled his dark overcoat around him. He walked into the darkness, not knowing where he was going, but knowing that he was leaving behind everything that meant anything to himself.

"I am the cat that walks by himself," Matthew thought to himself, disappearing into the snow, "All places are alike to me."

In the morning, Mary woke and thought wistfully about the dream she had. How silly to think that Matthew might return, how audacious to even dream it! But the sentiment is so true and she must be strong. She must be the stormbraver.

So later, when Anna laid out her clothes for the day, she said, "Can I wear the purple blouse instead?"

July 1923

In the sunshine of a warm July day, Mary gasped at the realization.

"Are you very cross?" Matthew asked, offering her another truffle.

She selected a dark colored one. "No," she sighed, taking a bite, his eyes lingered on her lips. "I'm a bit surprised, but at the same time, I feel like I knew it all along. You were terribly warm for a ghost."

Matthew chuckled. "Oh Mary," he noticed a smudge of chocolate on her lip and kissed it off.

"It isn't the end of the story, you know," he told her. "In fact, that is just the beginning."

So that's that! I hope you liked it! I got a little bit of writing fatigue at the end... so hopefully it still turned out alright! Comments would make my day!