Author's Note: so this is a little ficlet that I posted over on my tumblr. I wasn't going to put it up over here because it's so short, but some lovely people said they'd like to see it, so here it is.
Spoilers: none. Loosely set in early s5. Minor reference to "the incident" in s4.
Disclaimer: Not mine - no suing.
He counts them now.
John knows that he probably shouldn't, and that his wife would hound him for being ridiculous if he told her, but he can't help it. They are important to him.
In some ways, his life is simpler now. John has small goals, little markers that he aims for throughout the day: protect her; reassure her; and, above all, make her smile. He works hard to meet those goals every day.
They are making progress. Anna is making progress. The battle is a long one and he can't fight it for her, though he desperately wishes to. What he can do is prepare her; armor her with all the faith and love that he possesses. Her memories of what happened will never go away, but John hopes that one day they'll be overpowered by the happy memories they're trying to create.
He doesn't pretend that Anna hasn't changed. The spark that he loves so much has dimmed, but it hasn't disappeared. John sees it in the radiance of her smiles, and hears it in the lilt of her voice whenever she teases him. Like many things, it has been cast into shadow, but he knows it's still there. He has faith that Anna will overthrow that darkness in time.
So John counts her smiles. It has nothing to do with pride - he doesn't care if Anna is smiling at him, or Daisy, or the antics of their counterparts. All that matters is that she smiles; that wide beam of distilled sunlight that warms even the coldest parts of his heart.
Anna's smiles are imperative to his happiness.
He wakes every day and resets the count. Some days it's a struggle to get to one; other days, he needs two hands to count them. No matter what, he goes to bed every night with a silent thank you on his lips for the chance to try again tomorrow.
"John?"
Anna's voice draws him from his thoughts. She's tying the ribbon in her braid and has turned to face him where he lays in their bed.
"Hmm?" he hums, closing the book that he'd stopped trying to read some minutes ago.
"I asked what you were thinking."
"Only how lucky I am to have such an amazing wife."
She scoffs at him, but the corners of her mouth turn up. John sets his little book down on the bedside table as Anna circles the bed and climbs under the duvet with him. He leans over and blows out the candle as she does.
"What were you really thinking?"
Anna curls into his side, a tiny slip of warmth and porcelain skin. She tucks her head into the pocket of his shoulder and he envelops her in his arms. The crown of her head is just under his chin, so he drops his head and presses a kiss into her hair. Today has been one of their better days.
"How much I love it when you smile."
John wishes that there were a word stronger than love. It feels so inadequate wherever Anna is concerned. He wishes that he could explain how he presses every one of her smiles into his heart until it imprints itself there. When he dies they'll cut open his chest and find nothing but a conglomeration of them.
Anna sighs in mock exasperation. "Silly beggar," she teases. John can feel her smile against his skin.
One day, Anna will win her battle for good. She'll throw off the shackles and the shadows, and that spark of hers will set the world aflame once more. His wife is not a victim. She is his light, and his strength, and his joy. He'll not let her forget it as long as he lives.
They will get past this. He believes it, because he believes in her.
Until then, John closes his eyes and counts.