Well my darlings, here it is at last, chapter fifteen! I am so very pleased to say that this story is finished! I may write an epilogue (omg my brain right now though, it's 3:48 AM) just to tie up whatever loose ends there may be. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for your patience, for all your amazing reviews and wonderful messages! So long and thanks for all the fish! - darthsydious

Some Months Later…

"Matthew had one of his fits again," Sybil pushed her hands into her pockets, keeping up with her father as they turned down the worn path through one of the smaller fields. "Has he mentioned them to you?"

"He did tell me something, yes," he replied. With his walking stick he rolled a rock out of the way, skipping it along the path for a while before it fell away to the side, lost in the melting snow.

"Papa, please don't tell me we don't talk of these things," Sybil begged tiredly. She stopped now so he did too. "I wish you would tell me what I can do for him," Robert looked at the ground, then at Sybil.

"The only thing you can do is be there for him," he said finally. "Be his support and confidant,"

"I am that," Sybil was hoping he might tell her something more profound that she hadn't thought of. "What did Mama do to help you?" Robert poked at the earth, turning over a pebble with his stick.

"Talk to me," he smiled then. "Or rather made me talk to her. She always knew when I had bad dreams." Sybil nodded.

"Matthew wakes in a cold sweat, sometimes he is ill."

"He won't want to talk of course, I never did. Your mama was persistent though, and I am grateful for it."

"He tells me only a little, but if I ask him he refuses."

"Make him tell you," he replied firmly. "He can't see that it helps, and if I did not understand his feelings on the matter I would not say to."

"He says that it is things I shouldn't know about," Sybil didn't like that Matthew thought she, as a woman, shouldn't know things he, as a man, did.

"He is right," Robert said, she made to protest but he interrupted her. "There are some things nobody should know, nobody should know the best way to kill a man, nobody should see comrades shot," he was quiet. "You won't understand his grief, nor quite why he is depressed at times or why noises startle him," he looked out back over the estate, Downton far in the distance. "Nobody understood why I shook for so long after I came home."

"What made you stop?" now Robert looked at her, warmth in his eyes again.

"Your Mama, and the news that she was pregnant," he looked steadily at her. "News that a new life would soon be a part of mine did remind me that life goes on, and the body has a way of healing old wounds. The scars will always be there, sometimes they hurt, but only if we think too long on them."

Sybil cradled her belly, now six months along, she was slower in going but still kept reasonably active.

"If you say it's a good idea then I'll do my best."

"I know you will," he paused a moment, studying her. "You're tired today," he observed.

"I am a little," she admitted.

"You've been working too hard, I'll speak to Doctor Clarkson tomorrow when I see him,"

"No!" Sybil protested. "No please don't, it isn't his fault. I ought to be working shorter days anyway, I only haven't because Matthew worries for me when I come home early, I don't like him to."

"You should let him," Robert said. "It's a good distraction and lets him know he's still needed. That's the most important thing Sybil, remind him that you need him," he said, "More than anyone else, a man wants his wife to want him and need him when he feels the world doesn't."

They paused on the hill, from here they could see both Downton on one side in the distance, and on the other side stood Cherry Hall.

"Have you seen Edith lately?" Sybil asked, breaking the silence.

"Yes, just the other day," he nodded. "Why?"

"No reason," she shrugged. "Doctor Clarkson said he'd visited her the other day, he didn't seem grim exactly."

"Probably just as frustrated with her condition as the rest of us," Robert said with a sigh. "Is it natural for a person to be so weak so suddenly?" he asked.

"Doctor Clarkson can only attribute it to her losing her husband, and then the strain of giving birth," Sybil replied. Her arms over and under her belly, she was quiet then, thinking. "I worry sometimes that I'll end up like Edith, too weak to even hold a spoon at times, let alone care for a baby."

"Edith is a special case," Robert soothed. "None of us could have ever thought that she would have such a collapse. Besides," he went on confidently "She's mending, slowly but surely. She'll be walking before the year is out," he pulled out his pocket watch, studying it a moment. "We'd best be heading back, Matthew wanted to look over the books with me after tea."

~O~

Cherry Hall

As it was almost June, Cherry Hall was certainly living up to it's name. Some 80 trees surrounded the big house and lined the path to the gardens, all in full bloom. These were only a sampling of the orchards that the estate boasted. Among the heady blossoms sat four figures. Edith sat on a blanket, Anthony in her arms. Thomas was nearby to fetch whatever she needed. Some distance from them sat Mary and Richard, within sight but somewhat out of earshot for privacy.

"It is strange to see you properly dressed," Mary said quietly. Richard Crewe quirked an eyebrow at her and smirked from behind his glass of wine. She threw a napkin at him. "You know what I mean; usually you're up to your elbows in dirt, crawling along on your belly looking for pottery shards." Richard had decided to stay when he heard Edith and Mary would be moving. "Does it feel strange, being away from digging, being back in society?" she asked. He set his glass down, reclining back on his side, propping himself up on his elbows.

"I suppose I miss the digging, I'll always miss that, and I'm not exactly in society-" she made a face "I mean the way I would be if I were in London, formal dinners every night, dirty looks from all the high-born, all expecting me to beg for money-"

"We're high-born," Mary interjected.

"Yes, but you're not like everyone else. People call your father eccentric, I think he simply has heart." He looked up at her then. "You don't mind my saying so, I hope."

"Not at all," she said, her cheeks dimpling as she smiled. "It's nice to hear someone outside the family say it, and mean it."

"I do," he said and sat up a little. "Though I do wish you wouldn't guard your heart so carefully from me," she bowed her head, fiddling with the flowers on her lap.

"I'm sorry if I seem withdrawn here, it was easier to be freer with my feelings in Italy. I suppose because my family wasn't watching and hovering," she shrugged, looking back to where Edith sat cradling her baby. "I'm ashamed of the reasons why I left, they seem so petty and selfish now."

"Yes," Richard nodded. "But you've learned from it, and hopefully know what you've gained, your family's love," a pause, "and mine as well." He stood up, holding his hand out to her.

"Where are we going?"

"Such a fine day and you want to sit around?"

"We're outside," Mary said.

"Tush, you know I must always go for a walk after eating. I am becoming far too idle," he helped her stand. He turned back "Lady Edith, we're going for a walk, we won't be too long!" he called. They heard her response and Richard smiled easily at Mary. "Shall we?"

"Oh I suppose," she said, though truthfully she was glad for the opportunity to be out of sight of watchful eyes. Though of all her family, Edith was the most lenient of chaperons. Taking Richard's arm they started down the grassy hill, toward the orchards.

"Do you think he's asking her to marry him?" Edith asked. Thomas glanced over at the couple, Mr. Crewe held Lady Mary's hand, both were blushing pink to the tips of their ears as they walked.

"Either that, or he's told her a naughty joke."

"Thomas!" Edith gasped with a laugh. She tucked the blanket over Anthony before setting him down on the quilt beside her.

"Either way you've picked a pretty spot to do so," he said with a wink and a smile. She gave him a look, trying to be scolding. Her pale hands reached for the food basket, selecting an apple and knife. Seeing her shake, Thomas took it from her. "Let me," he said. Shifting forward a little on his folding stool he began to peel the apple.

"Does it show very much?" she asked quietly. He glanced over at her.

"To me, but then I've always known you better than most your ladyship."

"Mama mustn't know," she said. "Nor Papa or Mary, not even Mary," she corrected herself.

"What about Lady Sybil?" he asked, carefully so as not to cut himself he began cutting slices of the apple before handing them to her.

"I don't know yet. Sometimes I think I shouldn't bother even her with my woes, I don't seem to bring anyone good news these days."

"They're your family, they'll want to know the truth one day," Thomas did not mean to warn her, only remind her that families like to know. "Doctor Clarkson said-"

"I know what he said," she interrupted. "I think I knew it before he even told me what my health has amounted to." She looked at Anthony asleep beside her. Reaching her cool hand out, she stroked his soft cheek, sighing. "Knowing he is safe, that's what counts." Thomas' hand came over her's.

"You count too," he said. Edith looked up, finding he was looking back at her. He sat back, lowering his gaze. "You always counted for me, and I'm certain your family would want to know."

"It seems like I only bring them bad news," Edith said, squeezing his hand gently. "It's much better this way. Anyway Doctor Clarkson said I'll have a good comfortable life, so long as I don't exert myself, and I don't plan on it. I've become quite accustomed to the wheel chair. I never liked riding horses, I never mastered the bicycle, walking and reading have always been my pleasures." She seemed quite content as she spoke, her pale face held only a faint bloom in her cheeks, but her tired eyes did sparkle in the afternoon sunshine as she smiled at him. "And I certainly won't be lonely, not with Mary, and someday soon you as well."

"I'll have my own duties to attend to," he reminded her.

"Yes, but I'll be able to talk to you when I like, as it's my house. I talk to my friends as I please."

Anthony began to squall beside her. Thomas knelt picking the boy up and setting him in Edith's arms.

"There you see?" she smiled at the child, "We're already a good team,"

"Your Ladyship and I always were, do you remember the cricket matches, the big house against the village?" she laughed then, nodding. Safe in his mother's arms, Anthony stopped crying, contentedly gumming his fist.

"I hope I'll be able to watch him grow," she murmured. "Doctor Clarkson didn't say how long, I don't suppose he knew either…" she looked up at Thomas.

"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to," he said before she could speak. "I'm here to look after you, and so is Lady Mary," he said. "So don't fret until there's need."

"But what if-"

"Never mind 'what ifs'," Thomas cut her off again. "Mind that you do as the doctor said, and you'll be alright, that's what matters. You're well enough right now, so be glad for that." Edith gave a sigh, ducking her head before nodding, giving him a half smile.

"Thank you, Thomas."

~O~

Crawley House – That Night

Sybil felt Matthew sit up in bed, his breathing labored. Without reaching for the light, she put a hand on his back, soothing circles over his shoulder blades. He wiped the perspiration from his face on his pyjama sleeve, sighing heavily.

"I'm alright," he managed, "Go back to sleep, I just – need a moment."

"Why won't you tell me about your dreams?" she asked. He shook his head, his eyes clenched shut. As if that made his visions all the more clear he rubbed them, blinking in the dark. Sitting up beside him, she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly as he began to tremble.

"You don't understand-"

"I would if you would tell me," she said. "Matthew, look at me, please-" slowly, he turned to face her, meeting her gaze only briefly. "I don't like seeing you like this, every night you fall further away from me, away from who you are."

"These dreams were supposed to stop," he said finally, and she realized he was crying. "They were supposed to stop, once you were pregnant…that's what your father said-" his hands began to shake again. The helplessness in his voice nearly broke her. He was frightened he would always be like this. Always afraid of what sleep would bring him, always afraid of noises and shaking and large parties. He could see the rest of his life stretched out before him as nothing more than a humiliating, exhausting anxiety attack. Sybil would be ashamed of him, their child would learn to explain away father's behavior, why he never went out, why his mama went alone to balls and the theatre. He'd sit alone in his office, waiting for the next moment that he'd be reduced to a shivering excuse of a man, afraid of dropped crockery and the sight of blood.

Cool hands covered his cheeks, and he blinked quickly, brought back to the present.

"Take a deep breath," her soft voice commanded him. He felt his chest expand, and he slowly let out a long breath. "Now shut your eyes," he hesitated. "Go on," she said, and he obeyed. "Tell me what you see."

Matthew was quiet for a long while. He knew right away what he'd see when he shut his eyes.

"Bodies, dirty boots, nothing is clean and there's the stench of sick and death everywhere." Sybil held his hand now, stroking the back of it lightly. His brow furrowed, "There's no way to bury the bodies, we can't move them out of the trenches because of the cannons overhead. The world is chaos and all I ever see is death and blood. The ground shakes until I feel sure the world will all fall apart and I'll never see Downton or you again." Matthew opened his eyes, looking down at his lap. He blinks, and tears at last roll down his cheeks. "In all my dreams, that is the worst, somehow, you're there, in all that wretchedness, you're there, and I can't protect you, every night I watch you fall away, the same as so many of my men did, only it's worse." He cupped her face with his one hand, weeping. "It is so much worse to face the thought that I can't protect you, that somehow, even here we aren't safe." She took his hand, kissing it. He felt her cheeks were wet, she had been crying.

"What do you feel?" she asked softly. He sniffled,

"Your lips," she shifted closer to him, taking his hand and placing it over her belly. He felt their child stir within, a gentle thudda-thudda against his fingertips. "A heartbeat," he choked out. She moved his hand again, placing it above her breast. He bowed his head, with great difficulty, he swallowed, eyes blurry with tears. "Your heartbeat." She placed her own hand over his,

"And there is yours," she replied softly. "When you have a nightmare, you have only to reach for me, and remember that I am always here, that dreams are only that, they can't hurt us if we don't let them." She smiled gently at him, "I know when you're ready to tell me about them, you will."

Slowly, he nodded, taking her hand he brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm and wrist.

"Thank you," he said at last. He opened his arms to her, and she went to him, hugging him tightly. "I'll be fine," he said aloud. He took a breath, as slowly, realization struck him. "I'll be fine," he repeated. Sybil looked up at him, her face shining in the dark. She seemed to understand, and kissed him.

"Yes," she murmured. Perhaps not right away, perhaps he would have nightmares for a while more. But that night as Matthew fell asleep in Sybil's arms, he felt a faint, flickering warmth deep within him, like the steady flame of a candle, it burned within him.

Hope.

Hope that soon he'd be able to move forward, to stop blaming himself, to have a family as he always wanted to. He looked at Sybil, curled against him as if she were tethered to him. He kissed her gently, listening to her steady breathing.

Yes, he would be quite alright one day.

The End