Mary put her hand gently in the crook of his arm, so that he might escort her. She happily noticed that it was the healed arm, and she felt a sense of pride that she had aided at least somewhat in his healing process.
They continued down the path she had been heading on, one that would lead through the pastures and into the garden. "Where will they send you, or is that classified information as well?" Mary smiled playfully at him, remembering how he couldn't tell her anything about where he had been stationed or why he was in Britain.
He shifted his arm a little so she could hook her hand around his elbow, continuing at a leisurely stroll through the grounds. The gardens were beautiful and deserted, and Steve found himself admiring even the smallest details.
"London, for now," he answered truthfully this time around, smiling in mild amusement. "Don't know where to from there, yet. I'll only be informed once I get there."
"I'm surprised you were able to tell me that. I do hope that you won't have to kill me now." She grinned at him. It did well to hide the fact that she was going to miss him. It wasn't as if they'd had many conversations since she had helped him bathe, but he was a friendly face to see around the house. Steve was so much less miserable than the other patients. If all of them were like Steve, Mary might actually have been able to be a nurse.
They passed over the green fields until they were in the more secluded garden. Something about the privacy of it made her feel that she could be a bit more candid. "Are you frightened to go back?"
It did occur to her that it was odd that Steve received specific orders. Most of the other men seemed to know where they would be going once they were healed. It was usually back from whatever front they had come from.
"Guess I'll have to trust you to keep it to yourself," he shot back with a smile. Though really, that wasn't the part that needed secrecy. It was wherever he would end up from there, be that France, Germany, the Ottoman Empire... wherever else the Germans thought to settle down and go about their secret plans. Well, not so secret to a spy. But then that was the whole point.
He pressed his lips lightly at her question, not looking at her. Was he frightened? Of course he was. The odds of surviving the war weren't in his favour, especially considering his kind of work, and honestly it wasn't something he wanted to think of, much less so open up to other people about. So he offered a vague shrug, shifting to another topic. "I hear congratulations are in order."
Perhaps that was an insensitive question. Of course he had to be at least
somewhat frightened. He'd be a fool not to be.
At first she was confused by his congratulations, but then realized that he
was talking about her engagement. "Oh. Yes. You've heard, I suppose.
Thank you." Mary's smile wasn't as wide now. Honestly, she was looking
forward to the wedding itself, but not so much the marriage.
[I'll respond to the smutty Jim stuff later when I'm home (or on my
phone at some point).]
It wasn't insensitive so much as something he just didn't want to talk about. Not with her, nor anyone else. He didn't take it to heart, though. He knew she didn't mean to be rude or insensitive by it.
He quirked an eyebrow at her delayed reaction, lips curving into a small smile. "Yes. Hard not to, when it's practically all the staff talks about these days. Your sisters, too." Steve hadn't exactly been listening in on conversations or sneaking around the house, but they sometimes came downstairs to where the soldiers were staying. It wasn't difficult to catch bits and pieces of what they said sometimes.
"Has Sybil been talking about it?" She kind of doubted that Edith was
talking about it, unless it was negatively, though Edith was part of the
reason why she was in this mess in the first place. Who writes to the
paper about her own sister's scandal?
"Richard and I have not set a date," Mary said. "We are hoping to wait
until after the war is over." That could be years, and she knew it. A
long engagement might be good though. It might give her enough time to
fall in love with him.
"Not to me directly, if that's what you're wondering," he smiled. Sybil was nice and talkative sometimes, but she didn't often share personal details, nor did she mention family things. But a piece of news like that... well, it was difficult not to travel around, even among the staff and, ultimately, the soldiers.
He tipped his head in a nod, looking away from her and ahead of the path instead. "Then I hope the war is over for your own sake, too." And for more reasons than just that, evidently.
She nodded slowly. Mary did pray for an end to the war, but not so that it would hasten her wedding day.
They moved into the rose garden, where the air was particularly fragrant. They had a lot of white roses, which were the traditional symbol for the House of York. "Do you have a sweetheart back home?" She asked. A man like him might be able to take his pick of eligible ladies. Surely they would line up at the door for him.
They were beautiful, admittedly. Steve was never much the kind to love flowers, but right now they held an exquisite kind of appeal, if only because he got the chance to take in even these smallest and finest details, the beauty of a filled and perfectly kept garden.
"No," he answered plainly, hesitating for a moment before he went on to add with a little smile. "i... honestly, I don't have a 'back home' to begin with."
"You don't?" Mary asked, a bit surprised to hear both of those things. "What about Illinois?"
That had been where he said he was from, right? He had nothing there? As someone who had lived all her life in a home that was very important to her, it was hard for her to imagine that.
"That's just where I grew up," he shrugged, not particularly broken up about it. "Told you, haven't been there in years. I don't even think I have any family left, back there."
Some aunt or a few distant cousins, at best, but no one he'd move back to Illinois for. Not that it mattered either way, as he didn't really expect to live for that.
Mary furrowed her brow, wanting to ask what happened to his family, but also not wanting to open old wounds for him. How sad to be without a family. And she loved her home. She would be devastated to never see Downton again.
"Was that where you were living right before you joined up?"
There were no wounds to speak of. His father was dead, his mother gone to who knows where. Steve had learned to live alone a long time ago, though. Got used to being on his own more often than not.
"I was in New York City, actually," he said, turning towards her. "Washington, before then. Montréal for a while. Just... other places. A little bit all over."
"You wandered a lot?" It was more of a statement than a question. "Meanwhile, I have only lived here. I don't think I would want to live anywhere else."
Mary knew that she must move after she married Richard. The house went to the heir, who was male. She knew she would cry the day she had to leave.
They stood in the garden for a moment, Mary looking up at the blue sky and trees. To her, this was paradise.
"I suppose that is why you had no sweetheart either. Too much moving around."
"Can't blame you for that," he mumbled as he looked around the garden, the white roses in bloom. "If I lived here... I wouldn't want to live anywhere else, either."
But places like this weren't made for men like him, so. He might wander a lot, but he didn't let his mind do the same.
He chuckled a little at that, shaking his head and shrugging, pursing his lips. "Don't think I would, even if I didn't. Just... never met someone like that. Someone special."
She smiled at him, wishing that he could stay, even if it wouldn't make much sense. He didn't have that option and they would have to find a job for him to do on the estate in order to support himself.
"Why not?" She asked, her tone a bit teasing. "You're a handsome man, if you don't mind me saying, and very kind. I'm sure a beautiful, wonderful woman will want to marry you after the war."
Not that he was a stranger to hard work, but to settle here was unthinkable to him, especially right now with a war being fought. He didn't indulge, either. He knew going back to the front would be all that much more difficult if he spent too much time daydreaming and holding onto 'what ifs'.
"I've met wonderful and beautiful women, trust me. But that's not enough for me," he shook his head, adding in an oddly light tone. "Besides, that's... another life. I'm not sure I'll be here after the war."
"Steve..." Her face was etched with concern. "How can you think that? I know that this war is brutal, but you should not resign yourself to such a fate."
Mary hated to hear him talk like that, as if his life didn't matter at all. Even though Mary didn't know him very well, he seemed like a person who contributed good things to the world. They needed people like him.
"No, you don't, Mary," he cut her off a little abruptly, but hopefully not too rudely. He sighed, shaking his head at her. "You don't know. And thank God for that. Thank God for all the people who will never... never see the things we have. It's for those people's futures I fight. For your future— for you."
Coming to terms with the fact that he would likely die was just easier. Easier than think and hope he would make it. Because that could make him a coward, someone who would pull from a fight or a confrontation, who would hide away in fear because he had dreamt and hoped too much for a life after all that Hell to be so willing to give it up.
"It's... alright. It's alright. I've come to terms with it. I'm not sure I'd know what to do with myself, anyway."
She took a step back from him and put her hand on her chest. Of course he was right about her not knowing what the war was really like. She never would, and she didn't want to. It didn't mean that she had to agree with him throwing his life away though.
"It's not alright," Mary said with a shake of her head. "You are... you seem like too good of a person to lose. Saving the world for the rest of us doesn't mean that you should sacrifice yourself for it."
She only took her hand away from his arm, but still it felt like a chasm had cracked open wide between them. His eyes were downcast, but he said nothing to that, drawing in on himself as he let that distance settle between them.
"I don't think... we shouldn't be talking about this," he said, hoping to lighten the mood again. "I'm not going out there with the intent of killing myself, not if I can help it. But I am glad to— to take good memories with me."
Mary looked at the sadness on his face, and it cut her deeply. She never would have guessed that he looked so sad simply because she had taken her hand off of his arm.
Perhaps they should talk of more pleasant and vapid things, but Mary only changes the topic slightly. "You said you have known many beautiful and wonderful women but that it isn't enough for you. Why not?" What exactly was he looking for that he hadn't found yet?
She really seemed intent on digging deep into every little nook and corner of him, even the ones that rarely saw the light of day. He found himself wishing to go back to when he still had a broken arm, and their conversation was light and teasing, and her glances at him were as inappropriate as they were indiscrete. When she wasn't engaged to anyone, and maybe then it wasn't highly improper of him to smile, tease back or stand just a little too close to her.
"Because I didn't love any of them," he said simply. "Why else would I want to marry someone?"
That was such a simple answer that it almost took her aback for a moment. "Well, there are lots of reasons," Mary found herself saying. "Security could be one, or the fact that it is a match that makes sense and is advantageous to both parties."
People who were not members of the upper class did not need to deal with such things. Maybe they could afford to marry for love. After what had happened with Pamuk, Mary's reputation was hanging on by a thread. Richard would help restore it and make sure that none of the papers printed anything about her.
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They continued down the path she had been heading on, one that would lead through the pastures and into the garden. "Where will they send you, or is that classified information as well?" Mary smiled playfully at him, remembering how he couldn't tell her anything about where he had been stationed or why he was in Britain.
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"London, for now," he answered truthfully this time around, smiling in mild amusement. "Don't know where to from there, yet. I'll only be informed once I get there."
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They passed over the green fields until they were in the more secluded garden. Something about the privacy of it made her feel that she could be a bit more candid. "Are you frightened to go back?"
It did occur to her that it was odd that Steve received specific orders. Most of the other men seemed to know where they would be going once they were healed. It was usually back from whatever front they had come from.
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He pressed his lips lightly at her question, not looking at her. Was he frightened? Of course he was. The odds of surviving the war weren't in his favour, especially considering his kind of work, and honestly it wasn't something he wanted to think of, much less so open up to other people about. So he offered a vague shrug, shifting to another topic. "I hear congratulations are in order."
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Perhaps that was an insensitive question. Of course he had to be at least somewhat frightened. He'd be a fool not to be.
At first she was confused by his congratulations, but then realized that he was talking about her engagement. "Oh. Yes. You've heard, I suppose. Thank you." Mary's smile wasn't as wide now. Honestly, she was looking forward to the wedding itself, but not so much the marriage.
[I'll respond to the smutty Jim stuff later when I'm home (or on my phone at some point).]
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He quirked an eyebrow at her delayed reaction, lips curving into a small smile. "Yes. Hard not to, when it's practically all the staff talks about these days. Your sisters, too." Steve hadn't exactly been listening in on conversations or sneaking around the house, but they sometimes came downstairs to where the soldiers were staying. It wasn't difficult to catch bits and pieces of what they said sometimes.
[ No worries! ♥ ]
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"Has Sybil been talking about it?" She kind of doubted that Edith was talking about it, unless it was negatively, though Edith was part of the reason why she was in this mess in the first place. Who writes to the paper about her own sister's scandal?
"Richard and I have not set a date," Mary said. "We are hoping to wait until after the war is over." That could be years, and she knew it. A long engagement might be good though. It might give her enough time to fall in love with him.
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He tipped his head in a nod, looking away from her and ahead of the path instead. "Then I hope the war is over for your own sake, too." And for more reasons than just that, evidently.
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They moved into the rose garden, where the air was particularly fragrant. They had a lot of white roses, which were the traditional symbol for the House of York. "Do you have a sweetheart back home?" She asked. A man like him might be able to take his pick of eligible ladies. Surely they would line up at the door for him.
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"No," he answered plainly, hesitating for a moment before he went on to add with a little smile. "i... honestly, I don't have a 'back home' to begin with."
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That had been where he said he was from, right? He had nothing there? As someone who had lived all her life in a home that was very important to her, it was hard for her to imagine that.
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Some aunt or a few distant cousins, at best, but no one he'd move back to Illinois for. Not that it mattered either way, as he didn't really expect to live for that.
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"Was that where you were living right before you joined up?"
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"I was in New York City, actually," he said, turning towards her. "Washington, before then. Montréal for a while. Just... other places. A little bit all over."
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Mary knew that she must move after she married Richard. The house went to the heir, who was male. She knew she would cry the day she had to leave.
They stood in the garden for a moment, Mary looking up at the blue sky and trees. To her, this was paradise.
"I suppose that is why you had no sweetheart either. Too much moving around."
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But places like this weren't made for men like him, so. He might wander a lot, but he didn't let his mind do the same.
He chuckled a little at that, shaking his head and shrugging, pursing his lips. "Don't think I would, even if I didn't. Just... never met someone like that. Someone special."
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"Why not?" She asked, her tone a bit teasing. "You're a handsome man, if you don't mind me saying, and very kind. I'm sure a beautiful, wonderful woman will want to marry you after the war."
That woman was lucky, she thought.
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"I've met wonderful and beautiful women, trust me. But that's not enough for me," he shook his head, adding in an oddly light tone. "Besides, that's... another life. I'm not sure I'll be here after the war."
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Mary hated to hear him talk like that, as if his life didn't matter at all. Even though Mary didn't know him very well, he seemed like a person who contributed good things to the world. They needed people like him.
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Coming to terms with the fact that he would likely die was just easier. Easier than think and hope he would make it. Because that could make him a coward, someone who would pull from a fight or a confrontation, who would hide away in fear because he had dreamt and hoped too much for a life after all that Hell to be so willing to give it up.
"It's... alright. It's alright. I've come to terms with it. I'm not sure I'd know what to do with myself, anyway."
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"It's not alright," Mary said with a shake of her head. "You are... you seem like too good of a person to lose. Saving the world for the rest of us doesn't mean that you should sacrifice yourself for it."
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"I don't think... we shouldn't be talking about this," he said, hoping to lighten the mood again. "I'm not going out there with the intent of killing myself, not if I can help it. But I am glad to— to take good memories with me."
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Perhaps they should talk of more pleasant and vapid things, but Mary only changes the topic slightly. "You said you have known many beautiful and wonderful women but that it isn't enough for you. Why not?" What exactly was he looking for that he hadn't found yet?
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"Because I didn't love any of them," he said simply. "Why else would I want to marry someone?"
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People who were not members of the upper class did not need to deal with such things. Maybe they could afford to marry for love. After what had happened with Pamuk, Mary's reputation was hanging on by a thread. Richard would help restore it and make sure that none of the papers printed anything about her.
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