A/N: Walking is hard!

Release

Accounts of Matthew Crawley

Matthew spat several times to clear the taste of iron and salt from his mouth. He used his sleeve to wipe away and residual blood from his chin after he finally managing to get himself back to his feet away with a little help from Bates. The vultures were still circling but no one dared to approach. Despite his cane and his limp, John had something of a reputation in prison. He helped Matthew to the side of the courtyard and gently sat him down on a bench before taking a seat next to him.

He waited for Matthew to speak first. And if he was not ready, Bates would wait until he was. He shouldn't be in here, Bates thought. This man was a gentleman and a soldier. He was not a criminal. And ultimately he was still of the House of Grantham and that meant that it was his duty to protect and defend him while he was in here.

"Thank you," Matthew panted out breathlessly.

"Don't mention it, sir," Bates said calmly as vigilantly kept watch.

"No, I mean it," Matthew insisted. "I thought I was a dead man."

"They wouldn't dare," Bates said.

"Who I am doesn't seem to matter much in here, in fact it might be working against me."

"You let them play you too easily," Bates said. "Don't let them corner you like that. Stay with the group and watch your back. They know you are going to get out. They are just trying to have as much fun as they can. Be careful."

"Of course, you are right.I shouldn't let my anger get the best of me. It's just that sometimes… sometimes I just want the fight. I want to hit them, to hit something. I never knew such anger and such violence before. But now, I can't seem to control it. The warden informed me that I shouldn't start anymore incidents. But that hasn't stopped them," Matthew explained.

"Keep your head low and keep your calm for now, and you will be back in Downton with Lady Mary in no time," Bates reminded him.

"God, Lady Mary must despise me. You should've seen the look of utter horror on her face when I broke Carlisle's arm," Matthew said as he leaned his head back against the cold hard stone. "She's given me many looks over the years, affection, longing, regret, anger, frustration… but never fear."

"She doesn't fear you, sir," Bates said.

"Doesn't she?" Matthew questioned. "Why shouldn't she be? I am a beast. I'm afraid of myself."

Accounts of Mary Crawley

She woke up in the darkness. She seemed to always wake up in the middle of the night now. She could feel the tight soreness upon her cheeks, the residual weariness of tears that ceaselessly flowed in the cover of darkness when she was alone in her room, alone with her thoughts. Alone with her memories of Matthew. Mary felt like a coward. She had made promises to him, so many, and so often. She had proclaimed her everlasting fidelity and her unwavering She had broken those promises.

She felt like a coward. And she lived like one in her waking hours, avoiding those who cared about her most, denying her feelings and all that troubled her soul. She pretended like everything was fine, but even to the most cursory observer, she clearly wasn't. She spent her days by herself and her nights in the company of those who had just so recently rejected her as a whore and a woman of disrepute. Perhaps, she craved their approval, perhaps she missed feeling like she belonged. Who could blame her? It had been years of anguish and torture, not only just the prospect of her secret past catching up with her but also facing the very real and slow process of seeing the one she loved most, torn asunder by war and drifting away with another woman. She convinced herself, that she deserved this. She deserved the parties, and the adulation, and the attention and public affection of men. She deserved some happiness.

But in truth, that was not the happiness she desired. It was a mere replacement for something else. Something much greater than the shallow pleasures of society. She had fallen in love with a man. A wonderful man, a kind man, one that was gentle and loving in all the ways that seemed only possible in fairytales. But it turned out that he was not who he seemed to be. There was a beast inside of him, and uncontrollable anger.

She thought she understood. She thought she could accept him when she made those promises when he had returned to her from the dead. But she didn't know what she was saying and understood so little about his ordeals then. She didn't understand that the only reason he survived was because, somehow, against every instinct, he had managed to cast off his fear and replace it with stone cold rage. It was that rage that haunted her dreams and woke her up in the middle of the night.

She told herself that it wasn't his fault. She told herself that many survivors like him suffered from the same. Indeed, she had known outbursts of anger from him before, during the early days of his recovery. But nothing like this. The look upon his face, when he broke Carlisle's arm, that was war incarnate.

She had loved him, she had adored him, she had been disappointed in him, she had been frustrated with him, she had been hurt by him. But she had never, never feared him.

Until that day.

She stayed awake for the rest of the night, periodically drifting in and out of consciousness, never fully asleep but never quite awake. She occupied herself as she so often did these days with memories of her passed with Matthew. Happier days, when they had escaped the world, when it was just the two of them, free from social convention, free of propriety and manners, free from the horrors of war. How she missed those days.

When morning finally came, Mary, forced herself to meet the day. Some nights were worse than others but she had gotten used to the occasional sleepless night and had found it within herself to put her lethargy aside and greet the world properly. Robert was sitting alone at the dining room table when Mary arrived. He was about halfway through his meal. He made an effort to sit up and appear relaxed, although clearly something was on his mind. She forced a smile and took a seat in her usual spot. Robert replied to her smile with one of his own, although his seeming far more genuine than her own. Having already upset her the day before, Robert had no wish to push her buttons again. And Mary for her part, feeling rather embarrassed about her outburst from the day prior, found it hard to say anything in that moment.

They sat and ate in an tense but not entirely uncomfortable silence for a little while until Cora presented herself downstairs. She was a little surprised to see just Mary and Robert eating silently.

"Where are Edith and Sybil?" she asked curiously.

Mary merely took a bit of her toast and darted her eyes from side to side, trying to avoid her mother's gaze.

"Edith has already finished and Sybil got up bright and early to go into the village," Robert replied cheerfully.

"What about you? Any plans for today?" Cora asked as she turned her attention to her eldest daughter.

"Nothing in particular," Mary said as she straightened her back and answered with an obviously fake smile.

"I suppose we all have quite a bit of free time on our hands now," Cora said as she finally took a seat.

"None for me today, I'm afraid," Robert said as he wiped his lips with a napkin. "I'm heading to London today."

"What for?" Cora asked.

"I've just heard from good news from Murray," Robert answered. "Matthew is being released from prison today."

"How wonderful!" Cora instinctively exclaimed.

"Yes, wonderful," Mary answered, rather more tepidly.

"How you like to come with me to pick him up?" Robert asked as he stood up.

Mary hesitated for a second. She knew what her father was doing. And it was working. It wasn't as if she didn't want to see Matthew. There was still a part of her that desperately worried about him and wondered about how he was doing. But there was also the part that feared him now and became apprehensive just at the thought of what he was capable of.

"But I only just got back from London," Mary finally answered.

January 6th, 1919

Accounts of Matthew Crawley

He couldn't deny that he was supremely glad to be wearing his own clothes again. As much as he considered himself hardened at this point, inured to pain and toil, unphased by the prospect of a hard bed and cold night, he couldn't pretend that his brief stint in prison had no effect on him. While it was warmer and drier than the trenches of France, the day to day atmosphere and structure of social hierarchy was quite different than that of the army. In prison, he was not the heir presumptive of Downton Abbey, nor a Captain in the Duke of Wellington's Regiment, nor even a lawyer. Here, he was simply fresh meat. And while he was never afraid of a good fight, he knew that if he persisted in such violence, it would only prolong his captivity. Needless, to say, he would not miss prison.

No sooner than a moment after doing up his tie for the first time in months did the creaky iron doors begin to slide open. The light from outside flooded into the gatehouse, momentarily blinding Matthew as the sounds, smells, and eventually sights of the outside world return to him. Was he really free to leave? It felt strange, it felt odd. He had already grown accustom to the idea of living in a cage.

Slowly, his sight returned to him. He could make out two figures out in the distance, standing in front of a car. He squinted his eyes and focused on the two. It became apparent that it was Robert and George Murray, waiting for him. He smiled in relief as he made his way out into the world once again. They both approached and greeted him warmly.

"There's my boy," Robert said affectionately as he shook Matthew's hand. "How are you? Not too beat up I hope."

Matthew maintained his smiled and opted not to tell Robert about the violence that had been inflicted upon him in the prison walls. Partly, because he did not want to trouble the man with such thoughts, and partly, because Matthew was ashamed.

"No, no, not quite as bad as the stories one hears." He lied.

"The trial has been delayed, but we managed to get the judge to agree to house arrest for the time being," Murray said.

"Well, that's a relief," Matthew said as he turned his attention to Robert's lawyer.

"Come," Robert said enthusiastically as he guided Matthew towards the car. "Everyone is waiting for you at home."

"Did Mary happen to come with you?" Matthew asked as casually as he could manage.

"Unfortunately... she couldn't make it, she's feeling a little under the weather," Robert managed to say after a brief pause.

Robert wasn't entirely convincing but Matthew appreciated the effort. He was disappointed but didn't want to spoil the mood, so he played along.

"I'd like to speak to you about Bates, if that is possible," Matthew said instinctively, as if trying to change the subject of both the conversation and the thoughts that currently occupied his mind. "He protected me in there and I would like to help get him out of there."

"Of course," Robert replied pleasantly, if a little surprised. "We'll need all the help we can get, won't we Murray?"

"We certainly will," Murray answered. "But let's focus on your upcoming trial. One thing at a time, Mr. Crawley."

Accounts of Mary and Matthew Crawley

She was in the library when she heard the great doors crack open. At first she didn't think anything of it. She was reading a book at the time and didn't want to be disturbed. After Robert left earlier in the day, her mother had decided that it was the proper time to pester her about the rumours floating around London about her and Tony Foyle. But Mary was in no mood for Cora's intrusive curiosity and abruptly ended the conversation. Despite, her best efforts to put it out of her mind, she had to admit her mother's few words did cause her to think about such things. The war was over and life had returned to what it was, well as much as it could for her. Truthfully, things weren't all that bad, she was welcomed in society once again, their treasured persecuted heroine rather than the harlot. She was invited to every party. She had the affection and attention of men all around. She was the center of attention and finally freed from the fear and burden of her most terrible secret. She had everything she wanted. Didn't she?

So why did she feel so empty? And why did she feel so alone?

As if the fates knew her mind, the faint sound of his voice caught her attention. And without conscious effort, like a moth to a flame, she rose to her feet and rushed towards the sound. And there he was, standing there, as the outside light cast a hard shadow upon his gentle features. She had nearly forgotten them, his soft cheeks, the gentle melancholy smile, those blue eyes. He was not a monster, he was not a beast. He was Matthew. Her Matthew.

And everything that she had forgotten, everything that she had forcefully pushed back into the recess of her mind came rushing back like a flood.

"Hello, Mary," he said.