A/N: Happy Birthday, skeeter0003! Hope you have a lovely day!
Based on the following prompt found on otpwhoswho's Tumblr: Who likes running their hands through the others hair, who found it weird at first but now leans into their partners touch instinctively?
Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey.
Safety
He was free. He was free. She kept repeating the mantra to herself as the day progressed. He was free.
It was something almost too surreal to believe. She kept inventing excuses to go and seek him out, to ensure that he really was there and not some figment of her imagination, or another dream on a long, lonely night.
But no. It was true.
Mr. Bates—John—was back at Downton with her, right where he belonged. He was free. He had been cleared of all charges. She would never have to set foot in that dank, dark prison ever again and see him sitting there across from her, hollow-eyed, grey, thin, trying to smile his way through his pain for her sake. Now they would know only happiness.
He didn't like not having a purpose, but that was the least of her worries for the time being. What mattered was that he was back home with her. If he never worked again, she wouldn't care. They would find a way to live of love alone, and they would still be together.
That night, as she dressed Lady Mary for bed, the young woman found her gaze through the mirror. Anna felt mildly uncomfortable under the scrutiny.
"Is there something wrong, milady?" she asked. She knew that her mistress wasn't interested in fishing for any more details. She had already asked for a comprehensive account of the morning she had had, and of the elation she had felt at finally being reunited with her husband.
"No, there's nothing wrong," said Lady Mary. "I've just been thinking."
"About what?"
"About you. And Bates. About how you've been apart for so long and about how you're still expected to sleep apart."
"Well, the cottage isn't ready for us," Anna said carefully, though her cheeks had gone hot at the implication.
"I feel terribly about that."
"It's not your fault. And I would much rather have Mr. Bates under the same roof, separated by the men's corridor than over in York in that awful prison cell. Believe me, milady, this is a big improvement."
Lady Mark smiled at that. "Yes. I suppose it is. Even so, I don't think it's fair that you should be expected to sleep separately after you've spent so much time apart."
Anna found herself echoing the words she had on her wedding night: "We've had enough practice spending our married life apart, milady. A few more weeks won't kill us." But it would test their patience to the extreme, she was quite sure about that.
Lady Mary was wearing one of those expressions that always made Anna think that some kind of trouble was afoot. She couldn't decide if it was a good thing or not.
"Here's what I want to propose," Lady Mary said slowly. "I want you to take the room you used for your wedding night again."
Anna stared at her through the mirror. "I couldn't possibly!"
"Why not?" Lady Mary challenged her.
"It would be such an impertinence!"
"No, it wouldn't," Lady Mary said impatiently. "You're hardly sneaking about and planning a secret rendezvous behind our backs, are you? You would be doing it with my full permission. If anyone discovered you, you would only have to refer them back to me and I would set them straight. It's not right for there to be any more time apart forced upon you, especially not on this first night with Bates home. Please, Anna, take the room."
Anna's heart pounded beneath her breast, and her hands trembled as she tied the ribbon at the end of her mistress' braided hair. Could she do that? Take Lady Mary up on another kindness?
And why shouldn't she, a voice whispered in the back of her mind. The family had been infinitely kind towards them during these trying times, but they had shown loyalty in return, time and time again. If it was offered to them, why not take it? She had already acknowledged that it would be so difficult to spend the night away from her husband when he was so close to her, so why should she have to? It would be on a very silly principle if she refused.
"Thank you, milady," she whispered at last, giving in, and Lady Mary smiled at her.
"Excellent," she said approvingly. "I'm afraid that it won't be as romantic as last time, since Jane isn't here to make it look nice for you, but I daresay you'll manage."
"I'm sure we will," Anna said, not trusting herself to say anything more. The housemaid in her was already running through ways that she could spruce the room up a bit.
In reality, all she needed was John in there with her. And she knew that he would feel the same if he knew about this conversation.
"Then go," said Lady Mary. "Wait until everyone has gone to bed, like before, and bring him up there. Try to be gone before morning so that no one is any the wiser, but don't worry if you're not."
"Thank you so much, milady," she said at last. There was nothing else she could say. There were plenty of people who would criticise the young woman, and while Anna wasn't oblivious to her faults, she also knew better than anyone what a good heart she had. This was yet further proof of that. She didn't have to help them. She could make them wait until they had a home of their home. But here she was facilitating a union between them because she had the power to do so. Anna felt a fierce rush of gratitude towards her. If society deemed it proper, she would have squeezed her arm in thanks, or even hugged her, but alas, it did not. So she dipped her head in deference, hoping that her body language would tell her mistress everything she could not.
"Go," Lady Mary repeated with a ghost of a smile, and Anna didn't need telling again. With a final curtsey, she dashed from the room, counting down the seconds until she could be with John again.
Much to her chagrin, the other servants seemed determined to linger for as long as possible on this night. Typical. On others, they couldn't wait to steal upstairs to their beds, the morning already looming large in front of them, and now, when she wanted John all to herself, they just wouldn't go. She had not yet had an opportunity to relay her message to him, and it had put her on edge. She had seen John shooting enquiring looks at her several times, but she could hardly start whispering in his ear without drawing attention to them. So she sat there with the others, trying to keep her smile genuine, trying to stop herself from glancing at the clock every few seconds to check how much time she had lost with her husband. She just hoped that John didn't excuse himself to bed before she had the chance to catch a word with him. That would be a disaster. She pictured herself trying to creep through the men's quarters without being detected and sneaking into his room to tell him to come with her.
Or maybe John announcing that he was going to bed would be the best thing after all. It was a sure way to allow them at least a couple of minutes to themselves because people would expect them to want to say a private goodnight to each other. She would be able to use that time to tell John of their gift from Lady Mary, and it would give them time to prepare. It would break the party up, and the sooner that happened, the sooner they could be together in the room, not wasting the precious few hours that were left to them…
Mind made up, Anna stood, her chair scraping against the flagstones. Every eye was upon her now. She glanced around the room as she spoke, hoping that it go her message across.
"It's been a very long, happy day," she said. "I'm off to bed now. I'm shattered."
There was a murmur from the other servants, but it was John's eyes that Anna sought. She could read a mix of sympathy and disappointment in his eyes, as if he had hoped that she would have stayed with him longer so that they could enjoy being together after so long apart. She stared back at him, hoping he could read what she was trying to nonverbally communicate with him.
"I'll see you to the bottom of the stairs," said John.
Somewhere in the background, Thomas made a nasty sound of disgust. Anna ignored him. He wasn't worth it. The only one who mattered was John.
"That would be wonderful," she said.
Once at the bottom of the stairs, she paused, glancing left and right to make sure that they weren't being followed. The chatter was still echoing from the servants' hall, and she felt that it was safe enough to whisper to him here, certain that they wouldn't be overheard.
"Meet me in the room we used on our wedding night," she whispered.
For a moment, John stared at her wide-eyed. "W-What?"
"The room we shared on our wedding night. I've spoken with Lady Mary. It was her idea. It's ours if we want to use it. What do you say?"
"God, I say yes," he said. His eyes had sparked with a heat that made her insides twist. "When?"
"As soon as the rest of them have gone to bed," she said. "We can't risk them finding out, at least not beforehand. I'm hoping that if we disappear off to bed, they'll lose interest and soon follow us up."
"I'll go and make my excuses," John said at once, and she laughed.
"You remember the way?" she breathed.
"I've walked the same route so many nights in my dreams," he breathed. "Yes, I remember."
She burned at his words, risked rising up on her tiptoes to catch his mouth in a kiss. It was brief, a fleeting taste of yearning, of the promise of what was to come. Heat licked at her belly, and she was trembling as she retracted back to her heels and turned to climb the staircase.
She only had to wait a little longer. Soon, they would be together again.
Thankfully, as Anna sat on the edge of her bed in the darkness, it wasn't long before she started to hear the sounds of the other women coming up to bed. There was the banging of the washroom door several times, the creaking of bedroom doors each side of the hallway, the scrape of jugs across bedside cabinets, the squeaking of ancient bedsprings as the occupants fell into them after yet another long day. Soon enough, all was silent. Anna sat there just long enough to ensure that she could hear no more movements even as she strained her ears, then got cautiously to her feet. She had bought herself a new nightgown once the news of John's release had been broken, the very best that she could afford, and she had slipped on her garter beneath it. The garter that had been such a symbol of hope to her during her time in France. The garter that had made John look upon her with such desire in his eyes, that made her burn just thinking about it…
Their first night together was a long time ago now, but the memory of it still lived within her. The recollections had blunted around the edges, but she could still remember the echoes of pleasure, the ghost of his weight upon her, the sensuality of his thick body between her thighs. She wanted to rediscover that, to reproduce those feelings. To know that she never had to go without them again. She was but minutes away from being with him like that once more, and it sent hot bolts of pleasure through her body. She couldn't sit still any longer. Now was the time to return to the place where all of her dreams had come true.
She poked her head tentatively into the women's corridor. There were no flickering lights beneath any of the doors. The coast was clear. Holding her breath, she tiptoed across the landing and made it to the staircase without incident. Casting one last nervous look over her shoulder to ensure that she wasn't being watched from a doorway, she disappeared down. She made her way as quickly as she could through the house, sneaking up to the guest corridor as quiet as a mouse in her bare feet. The room that they had shared on their wedding night was only a few doors away from Lady Mary's, and while she knew that her mistress would never give them away, she didn't want to wake Mr. Matthew and have him come to investigate. She prayed that John would be sensible and wouldn't use his cane too loudly. It was probably a small mercy in hindsight that he had been forced to go without it in prison. At least he would be able to make the short distance to the room unaided if he had to. And as for the rest of it…well, they'd have to be very quiet indeed. Anna blushed hotly at the thought. She wasn't sure how quiet she could be after being without her husband's touch for so long. It had left her rather…anxious.
It was like entering another world when she closed the door behind her. She might have been transported back in time, right back to her true wedding night. The sheets on the bed were slightly different, but the setup was the same. Two handsome candleholders holding several candles each waited to be ignited into life. There were the same pictures on the walls, the one that had caught her attention the most still in its shaded spot by the door. She looked at it with fresh eyes now. She had no reason to be ashamed of what her body wanted. Those simple pleasures sparked into life by a man—her husband—were only natural. They were what God would expect from a man and a woman who loved each other as much as they did. A husband and a wife.
Full of nervous energy, she bent down and stoked a merry fire into life using the logs that Lady Mary had given her earlier from her own stockpile. Even with those warm flames, she couldn't seem to stop shivering. She curled herself up on the floor next to it, as close as she dared, and focused her gaze on the door, waiting for her husband to come to her, her heartbeat thrumming loud in her head.
At long last, the door to the bedroom creaked open. Anna shot up into a standing position at once, clasping her hands in front of her, waiting in breathless anticipation for John to appear.
And there he was, framing the door so wonderfully. His tall, broad stature made the doorframe shrink, and for a moment she was frozen in place, simply staring at him.
He stepped into the room, closing the door quietly behind him, and the spell was broken. Or cast. She wasn't quite sure what on earth was happening to her, really. Her head felt in a complete daze as she drank in the sight of him. He was home. He was home.
Carefully, John rested his cane against the wall and turned to look at her. Though she could read the desire in his eyes—a desire that hit her right in her heart—he did not rush to sweep her off her feet.
"You made it, then," he said.
She giggled. "I certainly did."
"I had half-expected Mrs. Hughes to be prowling the halls, waiting to stamp out such a reunion."
It had occurred to her, too, that the housekeeper might have some inkling that they would find it near impossible to keep to their own beds on such a night. But the housekeeper was kinder than some of the younger staff gave her credit for. Anna knew that if she had indeed caught them prowling around the halls on this night, she was likely to turn a blind eye and pretend that she hadn't seen a thing. Mr. Carson on the other hand…well, he was much more likely to have a heart attack at the thought of any kind of servant fraternisation beneath Downton's hallowed roof. She wasn't quite sure whether he had ever realised that they had managed to have their wedding night here together, all those long months ago. Anna doubted that Mrs. Hughes had deemed it necessary to tell him. He could be so frightfully upright at times.
But she did not want to think of Mrs. Hughes or Mr. Carson. Not right now. Not when her thoughts could be put to much better use. Like focused on John, and how beautiful he looked in the firelight, gilded gold as he was by the flickering flames. She smiled at him now, opening her arms to him.
"Come here," she pleaded.
A wide grin spread across his own face, and in two paces he had crossed to her side, sweeping her up into his arms. He lowered his head, and she stretched up and, at last, their mouths met again.
Anna didn't think that either of them had it in them to go slow. Not this first time. Buttons were unhooked, material shoved to the floor, desperate hands roaming bare expanses of skin that were revealed so tantalisingly. They parted reluctantly from each other's mouths to trace other places, but the temptation always got too much to resist, and they found their way back together, like magnets attracting. She never wanted to stop kissing him. She had thousands of kisses to bestow upon him, ones she had saved up for eighteen months. She had so much love to show him…
Somehow, they found the bed, threw back the sheets in their freneticism. Anna slid beneath them first, revelling in the sensual slide of the sheets against her naked body. John followed her only a second later, a warm, reassuring weight dipping the mattress, his large hand running down her body. The muscles in her stomach jumped, and her breath caught. She knew where she needed him to be.
She didn't need to tell him. With a shuddering sigh, John slid his hand below the line of her stomach, running his fingers over the place where she ached for him the most. She whimpered his name, rolling her head into the pillow. Relaxed into his touch and all the things that he could make her feel.
Finally, they were home.
The thundering of her heart slowly returned to a more natural pace. The blood humming through her veins slowly started to cool. Her limbs were wrapped up in a sensual heaviness that kept her melting into the mattress.
She had never been more satisfied.
She snuggled further into John's chest, the arm that was draped around his waist squeezing him tight to her. Finally, she could relax. She could accept that this was real. She was here in bed with John, and when she opened her eyes in the morning, he wouldn't be gone. He would be right there by her side for the rest of their lives. Nothing could tear them apart now.
John's hand was tracing long, slow circles into her back. He turned his head slightly, and she felt his lips against her hair. The action only made her smile harder.
"Are you all right?" he whispered.
"Never been better," she told him honestly. "I love you."
His voice wavered with the force of emotion; she felt her eyes welling with tears just hearing it. "And I love you, Anna. My darling, darling Anna. I love you so much. Thank you."
She pushed herself up slightly on her elbow, so she could peer down into his face. The candles were guttering out now, but there was just enough to see him by, his eyes shining with adoration. "You have nothing to thank me for."
"I have everything to thank you for."
"I did what any wife would do."
"No," he said, "you didn't. No wife would have done what you did. Other wives might have sat passively by and dutifully visited their husbands when visitation came around. You sought out the truth. You wouldn't let go of it until it came to light. You are one of a kind, and I will never, ever deserve you. But I promise that I will spend the rest of my life doing whatever I can to make you happy. There is nothing I want more."
She felt a warm glow at his praise. That acknowledgement of what she had done meant more than anything in the whole world. She knew that some men stuck in prison would think it was their right that someone work so hard to get them released, but not so with John. He truly, truly appreciated what she had done for him, and he knew that it was her that deserved the credit. Mr. Murray was the one getting the slaps on the back and the drinks for a jolly good job well done, but John was not in any doubt about the driving force behind the investigation. She didn't need anything else. That was more than enough to keep her happy.
"All I need from you," she said softly, "is for you to be happy now. Let's leave the demons in the past. They have no place in our future. The worst of it is behind us. We've got so much to look forward to. Let's keep looking forward, and not over our shoulders at what has gone before. There's nothing hanging over us now. We really are free."
John gave a dry chuckle. "I'm not accustomed to being free. But I promise you this: I will do my utmost to trust in it. I want our future to start so much, Anna. It's been delayed for far too long already."
They lay there in silence for a little while. Anna was content to listen to the pops and cracks of the dying fire, and feel the warm weight of her husband all around her. The rise and fall of his chest lulled her. The steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her ear was the perfect lullaby.
Snores reached her ears.
John had slipped beneath the waves of sleep.
Anna pushed herself up slightly, peering down into his face, smooth in slumber. No longer were the lines of worry marring his countenance. He looked so young lying there, finally free from all suffering. She had to smile at how boyish he looked. She couldn't blame him for losing the fight. She doubted he had had many good nights' sleep during the last eighteen months. If this was what he needed for his body to recover, then she was more than happy to let him. He would likely be cross that she had allowed him to sleep when this was probably the only night they would be able to share together until they had a home of their own, but Anna didn't mind it too much. They still had several hours ahead of them, and it was more than enough that they were sharing this small space. Besides, if the shoe was on the other foot, she doubted he would want her to feel exhausted in the name of spending time with him.
Besides, as incredible as it sounded, she had not yet been gifted with the opportunity to look upon her husband while he slept. It was something that was taken for granted by other married couples, she had no doubt about it. Likely they would glance over at each other in the night and huff, complain about snoring and one of them taking up too much space or stealing the blankets. Married couples who had not known hardships the way that they had, who would not care to marvel upon such an everyday sight.
But she…she would treasure it. She should have been a year familiar with the sight. She would treasure it always, because she understood how fragile life was, how everything could come tumbling down in an instant.
All of this would certainly make her hold onto him just that little bit tighter.
She did just that now, squeezing him in the circle of her arms, reassured by his strong solidity. He was different to how he had been on their wedding night. Then, she had been struck by the sheer strength in his body, the huge bulk of him both above and below her. How the weight of him had crushed her into the mattress and stolen the breath from her lungs in the most incredible of fashions. How perfect he had felt beneath her thighs, like she was the rider of some great mythical beast, the thickness of his body so very pleasing.
That thickness had been sloughed away with the hard months surviving in prison on poor rations of gruel. His cheeks, beneath the thick coating of stubble, had the wasted away look of someone who had been malnourished for far too long. There was a greyness about his skin, as if that awful prison life had burrowed its way into his very body. He was still a strong man, but there was a vulnerability about his body that had never been there before. There was a darkness in his eyes that suggested he had seen more than any man ought to see. And she could not fail to see the marks on his body that had not been there before. She had not shied away from his scars the first time, and nor had she this time. But the thick knot that crisscrossed over his knee and thigh were joined by other wounds now. A large, angry bruise over the place where his kidney was. Indents around his wrists where the handcuffs had bitten so deeply into his skin that they had drawn blood time and time again. A jagged line over his chest, that looked like some kind of shank. It was horrifying to think about what he might have endured in there, but it was their reality now and she wouldn't shy away from it. She would meet it head on, as she always had done. John would sense it if she felt fear, and he would blame himself, as he was so prone to doing. Well, no more. The time for blame was long gone.
Overcome, she moved closer towards him, until she was almost nose to nose with him on the pillow. Up so close, she could make out the beauty of his long lashes lying against his face, the first hint of stubble growing back in, the bow of his lip and the definition of his jaw. Her own Irish beauty. That dark hair flopped over his forehead in that maddening fashion it always seemed to possess when it wasn't being imprisoned by pomade. The maddening fashion that made her heart thrill in her chest for how handsome it made him. If she had it her way, he'd never wear pomade again. It would always be free like this. She would push it back from his forehead with an exasperated sigh and love him all the more for it.
She was powerless to resist it now.
Her fingers moved through his thick, dark hair, pushing it back from his forehead. It was so soft to the touch, and she couldn't help lingering, testing the weight of it between her digits.
"What are you doing?"
John's voice, sleep-drunk, made her jump. She pulled away from him at once.
"I woke you," she said.
"And so you should have done. Fancy letting me waste our precious hours together sleeping."
"You deserve to."
"There's plenty of time for sleeping while we wait for our cottage." His grin, despite his sleepy eyes, was still the right side of wolfish. "Which is much to my chagrin."
"Mr. Bates," she scolded him, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks.
He reached out and cupped her face in his palm. "John. Please."
"John," she amended for him, her heart swelling at the look on his face.
"What were you doing, anyway?"
"Watching you sleep," she confessed, meeting his eyes squarely.
His brow crinkled. "What? Why?"
"Why did you watch me sleep on our wedding night?" she countered.
"Because you were beautiful," he said without missing a beat. "Because I couldn't believe any of it was real, and gazing upon you like that was the only way to make it so. Because I felt as if I'd die if I stopped looking at you."
"And why would you expect it to be any different for me?"
"Because I, for one," he said, "am not beautiful."
"That's a matter of perspective."
"It's not. I do worry for your eyesight sometimes, you know."
She rolled her eyes now. "Silly beggar."
"If you say so. Am I to suppose that you also have a fascination with my hair?"
That one did catch her off-guard. "What?"
He ran his own fingers rather self-consciously from the passion-tangled strands of his hair as he lowered his eyes, dark chocolate in the near-darkness. "You kept stroking your fingers through my hair."
"I'm sorry."
"Please, don't be sorry. I just…I'm not used to anyone touching me like that. It felt rather…odd."
"Odd?"
"In a nice way," he amended. "I've never been touched that tenderly before. That intimately."
She didn't like to think of his past too much. The other lovers he might have had. She knew of Vera, of course, and how callous she had been, but she didn't know of any other women that he might have known in that way. Nor did she want to. She focused on the compliment instead. "Well, I like to touch you like this. It cements that all of this is real."
He chuckled. "I don't think even that cements that it's real for me. I'm not sure how long it will take me to truly believe that we have the rest of our lives together now."
Anna shuffled closer, boldly moving her hand back to his hair to sweep it away from his face, the better for seeing him. "Well, one day very soon you're going to realise that this isn't going to change in the slightest, and you're going to thank your lucky stars."
"I already do," he said.
And, quite suddenly, they were kissing again. Anna wasn't even sure how it happened. One moment she was staring into his eyes. The next, they had completely swept each other away, angling their mouths, pressing against each other with a desperation that couldn't be slaked. They had been parched in the desert for far, far too long. No matter how many years passed, their thirsts would never quite be quenched. Anna knew that deep down, right in the very back recesses of their minds, there would always be the chasm of the year and a half that they had lost. There would always be the sense of chasing time that they couldn't get back, making the most of every single moment. In years to come, it would become a dull ache, like a ghostly memory on the periphery that was never brought to life, that meant no harm but was there all the same. It would be a scar borne but never fully healed.
Right now, it was raw. Pulsing. Open. The kind of mortal wound that drove people to recklessness.
John's hands were everywhere upon her, tracing every erogenous spot she had. Pulling her under him. Parting her thighs so he could slide between her legs. Hooking her mouth into greedy kiss after greedy kiss, soaking up as much of her as he could. She met him move for move, opening her whole body up to him, desiring nothing more than to be joined with him once more, to chase that missing time. Bodies moved in the slick, flickering darkness. Wet sighs were pressed to skin. Fingernails dug into sides. That sweet, sweet pleasure was everywhere.
Their bodies were singing a soaring symphony, and it was the finest opus that Anna had ever known.
With great, shuddering breaths, John went still against her. Anna could feel the trembles in his body, quivering through her like little currents of electricity. The weight of him, unguarded for the briefest of moments, pressed the air out of her lungs. She kept her arms and legs tight around him, enjoying the solid weight of him, and sought his mouth out in a long, soft kiss.
He broke away from her eventually, wincing a little as he settled down beside her. It was hot and sticky, but she didn't care. She needed to be near him, uncomfortable as it was. John seemed to have the same idea. He pulled her tight to him, and she vined herself around him. They kissed again and again, Anna breathing in the scents of their skin deeply. God, how she loved this man.
When they broke apart again, John was wearing a strange smile. She arched her eyebrow at him.
"What is it?" she asked.
"You're doing it again," he said.
For a moment, she was puzzled. "Doing what?"
"Running your fingers through my hair," he said, sounding slightly sheepish, and she realised it was true. She must have done it completely unconsciously as she lost herself in the movement of his mouth over hers.
"Sorry," she said, though she risked it and kept her fingers moving through his hair anyway. "It must be a reflex or something. Is it bothering you?"
"No. No, it's fine."
"Are you sure? Only, you keep drawing attention to it. I can try and stop if it's irritating for you."
"It's not. I suppose I just find the concept that you like touching me like that a little hard to believe."
"Why? You ran your fingers through my hair all night on our wedding night," she said. "And that's not even mentioning tonight." He had been frantic in the throes of passion, his hands buried deep within her curls as they spilled down her back, twining them through his fingers as if they were spun gold itself, more precious than anything else.
"That's different," he said, though his cheeks had pinked.
"How so?" she challenged, eyebrow raised. "Why do you always put yourself so far below me?"
He shrugged, that self-deprecating smile playing about the corners of his mouth. "Because that's where I belong. I'm naught but a humble mortal worshipping a goddess."
Always such flowery language falling from his mouth. Even so, it had to stop. She knew John too well. If he became fixated on an idea for too long, he would start to believe that it was fact and not just a belief in his own head. Fact, not fiction. "You really are a silly beggar. You have to believe. I love to touch you just as much as you love to touch me."
He shifted slightly, eyebrow raised to display his scepticism, but there was hope in his eyes too, a profound desire to believe in every word that she said. Now that he was out of prison, she hoped that the fear would sluice off him like dirt. He, more than anyone, was deserving of that. He deserved to have a wholesome, happy life from now on.
The fact that she was the woman who could share in that with him meant more than words could say.
"You certainly don't belong below me," she said softly now. "You belong right beside me. We're partners, you and I, John. A team. I never want to hear you say that ever again. Up until the announcement of your release, every single person under this roof believed that we'd have a marriage on paper only. They weren't saying it to me, and they might have wanted to hope differently, but I could see it in their eyes. Sometimes it was disheartening to know that I was the only one here believing in us, and sometimes it was frightening. But I never did give up. And I know you didn't either."
"It was harder for me," he confessed. Tears shone in his eyes. "I'm not sure that my faith was always as strong as yours was. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologise," she said, still running her fingers through his hair in the same calming motion. She hoped that he was finding it as soothing as she was. "You were in the middle of hell. I can understand if your faith started to waver a little bit, staring at the same four walls every single day."
"Yours wouldn't have, though."
"How do you know?" she countered. "I wasn't in that situation. I couldn't tell you what I would have been like. At least here I had a support system around me, no matter what they might have really been thinking."
"I'm glad you had that support system," he said. "I wouldn't ever want you to be in that situation. I would bear it all over again for you."
"Happily, you don't have to," she said. "It's the past now, John, as I keep saying. Nothing can change it, but that doesn't mean we have to let it govern us any longer."
"You're right," he said, his eyes soft in the candlelight. "You're always right."
"Well, then," she teased. "If you know that I'm always right you need to start showing it. That can start right now."
"Yes, ma'am," he murmured. "And you can stop that now, you know."
"What?"
He gestured self-consciously to his head, and she felt her cheeks heating.
"Oh, right. Yes. Sorry."
"I told you: never apologise to me. I don't dislike it. It just feels a little strange."
"I'll try and keep that in mind. I can't make promises, though."
"That suits me." He smiled, and leaned forward to kiss her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and felt her own lips curving against his as his hands promptly disappeared into her own hair. But she couldn't be too exasperated by the hypocrisy. The circumstances wouldn't allow for it. He was free.
Their lives began now.
It was always hard when they had to part for any length of time. The eighteen month separation because of prison still rankled him, and made him even surlier about having to leave her again. Even though he knew that it was part of their jobs, and that there was always the guarantee that they would be reunited with each other soon, nothing made it any easier. Especially if one or the other of them was expected to be gone for a few days. Single beds no longer felt comfortable, as small and uninviting as they were. Their bed at the cottage yawned endlessly, too large for him to fill alone, the sheets an ocean that only intensified her absence.
It was even harder now that the dynamics up at the big house had changed under such tragic circumstances. Mr. Matthew's shocking death had made everyone under Downton's roof cling just that little bit harder to the people that they loved. Lady Mary rarely emerged from her room in her grief, but when she did, she was like a phantom. It was difficult to look into her face and see the anguish in her eyes, behind that pale, blank mask she wore on her face.
Since the tragedy, Anna's trips to London had completely dried up. John's, however, seemed to have increased tenfold with his lordship taking frequent trips to the city to see Mr. Murray. The future was not unsafe in the same way that it had been with Mr. Crawley and Mr. Patrick's passing on the Titanic, but Master George was still a babe in arms, and would be helpless in the running of the estate for many years to come.
So it was a weary resignation that he wordlessly communicated with his wife on another dreary grey December day a mere week before Christmas and she rose as one with him, for a few snatched moments alone in the courtyard before they were forced to part ways once more. There, hidden out of sight by a stack of crates, he took her into his arms and kissed her with as much sweet passion as he could muster. She hummed in the back of her throat, pressing closer before pulling away so she could bury her head against his chest. He held her all the tighter.
"This never gets any easier, does it?" she said, her voice muffled against him.
He chuckled hoarsely. "You'd think we'd be used to this by now."
"Don't," she pleaded. "Don't say that. I don't want to think of it."
"I'm sorry," he said, nuzzling against her. "I'll try and call you if I can. I'm sure his lordship would allow it."
"His lordship might, but I'm not sure it'll do any good for Mr. Carson's heart. I'm sure I'd receive a lecture on how the telephone is supposed to be a vital tool in emergency communication, not in mindless sweet nothings whispered in the ear."
"So you don't want me to ring?"
"I never said that," she whispered. "I'd take Mr. Carson's lecture any day of the week."
"Good," he murmured. "Because I'm afraid I have no willpower. I can't go all that time without communicating with you in some way."
They shared one last, lingering kiss before Anna slipped out of his arms. She smoothed down the front of her dress and patted down her hair, making sure that she looked painstakingly pristine. It didn't matter to John. She looked beautiful no matter what.
"Right," she said. "We'd better go back inside and finish breakfast. I won't be able to slip away to see you off."
"More's the pity," he sighed. It was so hard, sometimes, standing there while the members of upstairs shared heartfelt goodbyes with their loved ones, missing out on the same from his own. "You'd better give me one last kiss to make up for it."
"You'll make me untidy again," she protested.
"I'll be careful."
The glint in her eyes was a mischievous one, belying the words she had just spoken, but he held up his own hands in jest and leant in just enough to catch her mouth with his own, making sure that he didn't touch her with any other part of his body. She made up for his reticence by pushing her face right up into his, kissing him for all she was worth and making him wish all over again that he didn't have to leave.
"Anna, Mr. Bates? Can you come back inside, please?"
Mrs. Hughes' Scottish brogue pierced the air, and they separated like two teenagers getting caught out by their parents. Giggling, Anna darted away from him, leaving him to smooth down the front of his own uniform and follow her at a more leisurely pace. They spent the rest of breakfast holding hands beneath the line of the table, and when it was time to go, Anna walked him to the servants' entrance, carrying his valise.
"It's only a few days," he said, though it was more for his own benefit than for hers.
"I know," she sighed. "Bye, love."
"Goodbye," he whispered, and leaned in for one last lingering kiss.
It was the longest four days of his life. Time seemed to snail past him. Lord Grantham was opting to stay at Lady Rosamund's rather than at his club to avoid those interested, sympathising glances that came from every direction, and John spent his days sitting at the servants' hall table doing imaginary mending, thinking about his wife up in Yorkshire. His lordship had kindly said that he could go out and enjoy himself if he wished, as he had nothing of real urgency to complete, but exploring without Anna didn't hold any appeal for him. One afternoon he ventured out on to the nearby stretch of shops, found a nice teashop to pass an hour by, and browsed the local bookshop. That was as interesting as his time in London got.
He could barely contain his excitement when it was time to return home to her, feeling like a soldier returning home. Time seemed to go even slower as the train crawled north, and it was dark by the time they pulled into Downton station. He gathered his lordship's cases together quickly, helped Mr. Stark load it onto the back of the motor, and barely suppressed the urge to ask the chauffeur to put his foot down as they made their way leisurely back to the big house. Even then he wouldn't be able to grab a moment alone with his wife for at least another half an hour while he helped his lordship change out of his travelling clothes. The hardship weighed heavily on him. All he wanted was to return to the cottage and be alone with her.
There were sounds of laughter from the servants' hall as he made his way through the staff area. He didn't dare poke his head round the doorway. If he did and he saw her, he'd find it even more difficult to leave her. He would have to wait until later before he clamped eyes on her again.
Thankfully, later wasn't too far away. After he had dressed him, his lordship turned to face him.
"You can leave the laundry sorting until tomorrow," he said.
"Are you sure, milord?"
"Oh, yes. You should take your things back to the cottage. I have nothing pressing for you to do. Take the couple of hours at home. Just make sure you're back in time for the dressing gong."
"Yes, milord," John said, trying to keep his tone even. He wasn't sure if Anna would be graced with the same opportunity, and if she wasn't then he wouldn't return home, but Mrs. Hughes could usually be relied upon to be lenient. Anna worked harder than anyone, and he was sure that if she could spare the time, the housekeeper would be more than happy to let her go.
He almost bounded back down the stairs, gammy leg and all. How he was going to hook Anna out of there and ask Mrs. Hughes if it would be possible for Anna to join him was hardly an ideal situation, especially since it was sure to bring on Thomas' cattiness once more, but he was willing to do it if it meant that he could spend a couple of blissful hours alone with his wife.
Luck was on his side once more. As he stepped down into the servants' hall corridor, he glimpsed Anna and Mrs. Hughes standing outside the latter's sitting room, talking in low voices. His heart leapt. Four days without seeing Anna had made her even more beautiful in his eyes. The sweet little slope of her nose, the yellow of her hair, the vibrant, healthy glow...
As if sensing him standing there, Anna glanced to her side. She stopped mid-sentence, wheeling round to face him properly, sheer delight and love upon her face.
"I didn't know you were back!" she said.
He moved towards her as if in a dream. "Just half an hour ago. I had to go straight up to attend to his lordship."
Anna made an involuntary movement, as if she was on the verge of throwing her arms around his neck but at the last moment remembered Mrs. Hughes was still standing there. She settled instead for wringing her hands together. "Oh."
"He's said I can return to the cottage until the dressing gong. I can start unpacking."
"That's good."
"Oh, for heaven's sake," said Mrs. Hughes, a twinkle in her eyes. "Why don't you just come out and say it?"
"I don't know what you mean," John said carefully, determined not to appear overzealous.
"Yes, you do," said Mrs. Hughes. "You're both hoping that I'll let Anna return to the cottage with you until the dressing gong."
"I'd never dream of asking such a thing, Mrs. Hughes," Anna said at once.
"I know that," the housekeeper replied dryly. "You're hoping that I'll offer it without you having to be any more blatantly obvious."
Anna went pink. Mrs. Hughes rolled her eyes affectionately.
"Never let it be said that I stand in the way of love," she said. "You may go as long as you don't have any pressing duties to attend to."
"I don't!" she said gleefully. John had a sneaking suspicion that whether she did or not, she would have said so either way.
"Then go," said Mrs. Hughes. "But if you're even a second late for the dressing gong, I'll have your guts for garters."
"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," they parroted in unison. John couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face, telling as it might be. Mrs. Hughes shook her head and began to walk away, muttering something under her breath about lovebirds. The moment she had walked around the corner, Anna flung herself into his arms. He stumbled but caught his balance, hugging her fiercely to him.
"God, I missed you," he said, burying his nose in the crown of her head.
"I missed you too," she replied, her voice slightly muffled against his jacket. She squeezed him tight.
Knowing that it wasn't prudent to remain in such a way in the servants' corridor, John eased away from her. "Let's go home. The quicker we get there, the more time we get to spend just the two of us."
She nodded, and hurried across to the pegs where her coat was hanging. John helped her into it and picked up his valise.
"Let me carry that," she said at once.
"Certainly not."
"If you let me carry it, I can hold your hand," she pointed out.
That was hard to argue with. He hated the idea of putting on her in such a way, but if it meant he got to hold her hand…
"All right," he said reluctantly and, beaming, she took it in her left hand. Her right immediately went into his left, tugging on it.
"Come on," she said. "There's no time to lose."
They hurried home with very little exchanged between them. Words were never really necessary with them. They could tell what each other was thinking with just a look. Right now, John's heart was beating fast. He could tell what was on Anna's mind from the possessive way she was touching him.
Anna keyed them in without preamble when they reached their cottage, dumping his valise by the door. Before he could even open his mouth, she had flung her arms around his neck once more and was kissing him with wild enthusiasm. His cane clattered from his hands as he pulled her closer to him, meeting her mouth with the same amount of fervour. Christ, four days was far too long to go without kissing her. She was already pushing the jacket from his shoulders, running her hands around his back. He wanted nothing more than to hitch her skirts up, but he forced himself to slow, to pull away from her.
"Are you sure?" he asked her breathlessly, breath catching when she moved her attentions to his neck.
"More than sure," she said.
"You don't want a cup of tea? I could make us a cup of tea—"
"I don't want tea, Mr. Bates," she growled, and her small hand ran down the front of his body, coming to a stop over a place that was not the least bit interested in tea either. He gulped. There could be no arguing with that. They had plenty of time to enjoy themselves. Perhaps there would be time for tea later.
Batting her eyelashes, Anna slipped away from him, moving up the stairs like a sprite. John followed as quickly as his knee would allow, moving into the familiar sanctuary of their bedroom.
"Get the curtains," she said. She was already working on the buttons on her dress, and it made his mouth dry. He limped over to the window and yanked them closed. Better safe than sorry. He hurriedly started to remove his own clothes, hanging them as neatly as he could over the chair in the corner to prevent them from creasing too much; they wouldn't have time to press them before they headed back to Downton.
They met in the middle of the room, naked and needing. His hands went to her hair, and he looked into her eyes, seeking permission. She rolled hers, a small smile twisting her lips.
"Oh, all right," she said. "But don't mess it up too much. We don't want too many raised eyebrows in our direction, do we?"
"I'll be careful," he murmured, and went about the painstaking task of finding the pins that held her hair up. Soon, it was falling around her shoulders in golden waves. He smoothed his fingers through it immediately. Christ, he loved her hair. Sometimes she kept it in a braid while they made love, particularly on the warm summer nights, but there was nothing he loved more than to have it all around him.
Anna took his hand and he let her guide him to their bed. She sank onto it, pulling him over her. He shifted most of his weight on his left side as he started to kiss her, cupping her cheek in his hand. She ran her foot over the back of his calf, making the hairs on his body rise. He kissed her deeper.
Bit by bit, they found their rhythm. Hands roamed further. Breaths quickened and deepened. Kissing became more urgent. The hot pulsing inside became too much to ignore. Bodies shifted. Anna's nails dug into his back, and he grunted, lowering his mouth to her breasts. She arched her back, sending pleasure arrowing through his veins.
For a while, nothing else mattered. They were the only two people in the world. This bed was the only thing that existed. Anna pushed at him, rolling him onto his back, and he surrendered completely to her.
When it was over, she lay nestled against him, and he ran his hand up and down her sticky back. She shifted slightly, moving her head further up his shoulder.
"That was very nice," she murmured.
"It was, wasn't it?" he said, nudging her up until he could kiss her.
"Do you think we should set the alarm? We can't be late back at Downton."
"I could do. But I don't think I will fall asleep."
"Well, do it just in case. I know I'm exhausted."
"That good, was it?" he murmured thickly in her ear, and she wriggled, pretending to be displeased, the truth of it clear on her face.
"Silly beggar," she said affectionately. "I've not had much sleep over the last few days."
"Mr. Chirk hasn't been keeping my place warm for me while I've been gone, has he?"
"Now you're just being impossible." She thumped his chest lightly, and he smiled, hugging her closer.
"But I'm all yours," he said.
She smiled at him contentedly. "Yes, you are. And you know very well that I can't sleep if I don't have you next to me."
"The feeling is mutual," he told her. That narrow bed at Lady Rosamund's had been mockingly uncomfortable.
"So set the alarm," she said. "And if we want to sleep for a little while, we can do so without worrying."
"I'd rather spend the time watching you," he said.
"Then you can watch me sleep. If I don't take this opportunity, I'll probably be nodding off over Mrs. Patmore's stew."
He smoothed his thumb under her eye, then trailed it down so he could run it over her bottom lip. "Luckily for you, I love to watch you sleep."
"Then set the alarm, Mr. Bates."
Reluctantly, he sat up, and Anna wrapped herself in the quilt while he took hold of the clock. When it was set, he pulled the covers back too, rolling onto his side to face her, so they were nose to nose on the pillow. She reached out with her hand and ran her fingers through his hair. Involuntarily, his eyes slid closed, and he leaned further towards her, like a cat wanting its ears to be petted. She gave a soft laugh, repeating the motion.
"And just think, there was a time when you thought this was strange," she teased.
"I did, didn't I?" he murmured without opening his eyes. "Well, you know what a fool I am."
She hummed in the back of her throat, repeating the motion ever so slowly. Despite himself, his eyelids began to flutter. It was strange, how quickly he had grown accustomed to being touched in such an intimate way. No one had ever done anything before, and he had been quite certain that no matter who was doing the touching, it was simply something that he would not get used to. But Anna had proven him to be wrong yet again. Now, it was his safety. Her touch reached a place inside him that was unchartered by anyone else. His whole soul belonged to her and her alone, and she seemed to know on an instinctive level just what he needed.
"I love you," she said, so low that he almost missed it. He wanted to answer, but it felt like too much effort to open his mouth. Instead, he pushed closer to her, and she must have understood his silent rejoinder because she pressed a kiss to his forehead.
He drifted to the repetitive, soothing sensation of her fingers running through his hair, content that when he woke up, she would be right by his side. Where she was always meant to be. Where she would be for the rest of their lives.