Lady Mary Crawley was having breakfast with her father and sisters.

It was a nice spring day in 1918, and one wouldn't have believed that a war was going on out there.

Her thought immediately went to her cousin, Matthew Crawley.

She had hated him at first, when he had just arrived in Downton, knowing that he was to inherit her father's estate, but in the past years she had learned to know him… and now that he was at war, far away in France, in constant danger, she constantly thought about him, and was going mad with worry.

God, please, keep him safe… she thought once again, and she huffed. She wasn't all that pious, she didn't even know if she really believed God existed, but… Matthew was so dear, so important to her, that it came natural. Even to pray for him.

"Don't you think, Mary?" Edith's voice shook her out of her reverie. She had no idea what she was talking about.

"I don't know" she answered, pleased to see Edith's eyes sparkle with irritation.

"I was just telling Papa that I want to keep myself busy, it's so horrible to have a hospital installed in the house…" she said.

"Well, I think that it isn't so horrible… at least we truly are helping the wounded to get better. Anyway, I could use some business too, you know? Sometimes I just feel like I have nothing useful to do." Mary had intended to share a bit of polite conversation, but Sybil's head shot up at her words, eyes shining and a smile on her lips.

"Oh, Mary, that's wonderful of you! Please, Papa, let her come and help in the hospital! We are always short of volunteers, and I'm sure Mary is willing to help…"

"Well, dear, if she is so kind to offer, I can't see why she shouldn't." Lord Grantham smiled to his daughters, and resumed reading his newspaper.

Mary, at this point, would have gladly kicked herself. She hadn't meant to offer as a nurse, she had hoped that her father would have agreed to let her work with him for a while.

Anyway, now she was in, and after breakfast she followed Sybil at the hospital.

Dr. Clarkson greeted her fondly, and an experienced nurse, Mrs. Lipton, started showing her what she would need to do.

Dressing wounds and looking after the patients wasn't half as horrible as she would have expected, and after a morning of hard work she started feeling happy of the distraction her new occupation brought to her mind.

She was really doing something, she was truly helping, and for as much difficult as it was to admit it even to herself, Mary thought that maybe Sibyl had done her a favor in involving her in the hospital.

That night, she finally got to sleep without tossing and turning in bed for hours.

Life went on quite peacefully at Downton, and as days turned in weeks and months she truly got passionate about her work.

The only bad thing was that the number of wounded men arriving from the front was getting higher and higher, and she was convinced that the war was only a waste. How could anyone want to see a son, a brother, a husband, a fiancé, a friend, an acquaintance, a perfect stranger even, die far away from home, or suffer so much from horrible wounds?

Anyway, she had patients who needed to be taken care of, and she concentrated on dressing wounds and bringing pills, but a phrase got spontaneously to her lips, and she whispered once more "God, please… Keep him safe…", her mind once more on Matthew.

That afternoon, she took tea with her grandmother, The Dowager Countess, and her mother.

"Haven't you heard from Matthew, dear?" Granny had asked, her eyes innocent.

"Well…" she had answered, blushing inexplicably. "He's written Papa several times, and I know his last letter arrived about ten days ago, and he said that he was on the front line, and that he was fine… but no, he doesn't write to me, he's… I mean, we aren't… It wouldn't be appropriate" she finished, blushing more furiously than before.

She noticed her mother and grandmother exchanging a knowing look, but she refused to keep on talking on Cousin Matthew.

The following day, she was woken by Anna, apparently still in the middle of the night.

"Anna, what on earth has taken you? It's still dark outside, why have you woken me?"

"Milady, I know it's really early, but Dr. Clarkson has just phoned. He needs you and Lady Sybil to go down to the hospital immediately, a huge number of wounded men is arriving and he needs all the nurses there."

Mary jumped out of bed, and she let Anna dress her without more complains, even though her eyes kept on getting closed.

After breakfast, they headed down to the village, and as the sun rose, they got to the hospital, together with the first ambulance.

All day they worked, assessing the gravity of the wounds while dressing them, helping Dr. Clarkson in surgeries and trying to comfort the young men they were assisting.

Just after eight p.m., when they thought their shift was coming to an end, three ambulances got in.

One of the drivers started explaining, "They are so serious, sir, we couldn't bring them any further… I know it's late, but…" Dr. Clarkson waved off his apology. "This is an hospital, we're used to emergencies", and they started bringing him the wounded.

Mary was so, so tired. She had worked no-stop since that morning, and as she started to look after one of the three seriously injured men, she was startled by how her hands were shaking.

They didn't know his name, since he had been out cold ever since he'd been collected on the battlefield.

But as she looked at his face, tense and in pain under the stubble, the blood and the mud, she realized that this soldier, who had been involved in a shell explosion and had probable spinal damage, and so many cuts and bruises, was Matthew.

She called out for Dr. Clarkson, redoubling her efforts, and cleaning tenderly away all the grim from his face.

"It's Captain Crawley" she said, breathless, to an astonished Dr. Clarkson.

"I see." The doctor stated. "Well, nurse, I expect you to take care of him. I'll come back tomorrow morning to visit him properly, I will need him awake to assess his back's condition, and until the effect of the morphine doesn't wear down he won't wake up".

Sybil helped her, and they cleaned every single wound, getting him in a clean pajama and tucking him in bed before leaving, long past midnight.

They'd go back to the hospital early the following morning, with their father.

Mary had grimaced, but she had also sent a telegram to Lavinia, the girl Matthew had been courting the last time he had been in Downton.

She couldn't think of him getting engaged to someone without getting sick, but she was too stubborn, and she wouldn't admit to anybody, much less her mother or grandmother, that her discomfort with Lavinia was that she wanted to be the woman Matthew chose to marry. And she couldn't like anybody who, apparently, had what she wanted so much.

And there was Sir Richard Carlisle, too… but she couldn't think of that now, she simply couldn't.

Mary cried herself to sleep that night, the pain of seeing Matthew so seriously injured getting unbearable.

When Sybil had taken his folded uniform from his bed to his night table, a little stuffed dog had fallen on the floor. She had picked it up, and recognized it instantly.

"What is this doing here?" she had asked Mary.

"I had given it to him for luck" the older sister had whispered, remembering that day in 1916, when she had said goodbye to Matthew in Downton Station.

"If only it had worked…" Sybil had whispered, placing the little toy on top of the uniform.

"Well" Mary had answered, "at least he's alive."

Those three little words were the only thing that had kept Mary from going mad.

He was alive, and now he was home, and she fell asleep amid tears, trying to convince herself that all would go well.