Summary: There are good days and bad days. Happiness had never came easily for Anna and Bates, nor did it always come in the ways they might expect. Set post S6. Response to tumblr fanfic prompt challenge.
Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey. In many ways, it owns me.
A/N: This is my response to the AnnaMrBatesReadingRoom Fic Prompt Challenge #1, which was set forth as follows: Picture Anna standing at this window - either looking in or on the inside looking out. It's a window in their new hotel. What does she see? Go on, we dare you? (See tumblr for the picture accompanying the prompt.)
As always, I greatly appreciate reviews.
Anna's gaze was directed out the window, but her eyes saw nothing. The summer weather was making everything grow, and she could hear the faint humming of a friendly bee as it picked among the flowers on the other side of the glass. She'd planted those flowers early in the spring, the ones outside the window, and they'd grown so high as to tap against the glass when a strong breeze came along.
Behind her, she sensed her husband approach, his right foot scraping on the wood floor followed by the accompanying tap of his stick. She smiled as the smell of his cologne seemed to fill the room. Today was a special occasion, so he'd reluctantly broken out the gift she'd given him for their first Christmas together in the hotel.
"But I want to save it," he'd complained that morning.
With a smile, Anna responded, "Save it for when?"
He could not argue. Today was as good of a day to wear it as any. Her husband had even bought her new gloves for the occasion, to match her favorite dress. The color brought out her eyes, or so he claimed.
"Are you ready?" he asked gently, and Anna nodded.
They walked out together, with her hand tucked into the crook of his arm. The walk to the church did not take long, even with their slow and steady movements. As usual, Mr. Bates set their pace. His leg had been bothering him more and more of late, although he steadfastly refused to see Dr. Clarkson about it.
"Just the old injury," he insisted when Anna scolded him. "It isn't important."
She frowned at this but saved her argument for another opportunity. He claimed not to have time, what with all the work he did at their little hotel. They'd been forced to hire a young man to help with the front desk duties. Along with a maid, a cook, and a washing woman who worked part time, they got along well enough. Anna used to do much of the work herself, but that was no longer possible.
As they neared the church, Mr. Bates noticed several familiar figures. "There's Mister and Mrs. Carson," he said, and Anna beamed. "They have Bobby with them, just as I told you."
Even as he said the last part, young Bobby spotted them as well and abandoned his temporary caretakers to run across the grass.
"Mum!" the young boy exclaimed as he collided with his mother's legs. The child was tall for his age and only her hold on her husband's arm kept her from going over.
"Careful," her husband warned their son.
But Anna chuckled, "No, it's all right. I missed you, my darling." She leaned down to wrap her arms around the lad and asked him, "Did you enjoy your time visiting with Mister and Mrs. Carson?"
The boy nodded his head vigorously against her skirt, and despite how big he was getting, Anna reached down to pick him up. His arms automatically went around her neck and his legs tightened about her middle.
"Anna, you shouldn't-" her husband began, but she shooshed him, not caring about the familiar ache of her lower back or that people might be watching. Rather, Anna knew that she would not be able to pick up her child for much longer and she wanted to savor it as long as possible.
She knew Bobby hated being away from his parents, but of late necessity maintained that he stay with the Carsons for a day or two as Anna and Mr. Bates traveled to London. Of course, each reunion was sweeter than the last, and Anna hugged the boy fiercely as he held onto her.
Yet, as much as young boys miss their mothers, they also yearn for excitement and adventure, and within seconds Bobby was clamoring to get down again. He was poised to run in a new direction just as the Carsons reached them. Anna kept her hand on their son's shoulder, and while he wiggled and moved restlessly in front of her, Bobby stayed quiet and in place.
"I see you're both home and well," Mrs. Carson observed, only the barest hint of worry in her voice.
"Thank you for watching him," her husband said with sincere thanks.
"No trouble at all, Mister Bates. We're always happy to have young Robert over for a visit," Mr. Carson said. The former butler may have been retired for some years, but his tone still commanded the same depth and formality as Anna remembered from her time in service.
"And who would have thought we'd be back here again?" Mrs. Carson went on with a chuckle.
Anna knew that the former housekeeper meant being back at the church for a ceremony they'd already witnessed twice over, and she could not suppress her own amusement. "Hopefully third time lucky," Anna said.
Mister Bates murmured with amusement, "They'll start calling her a black widow."
While his hearing was starting to go, Mr. Carson did catch that comment as he returned with an indignant air, "I'd hardly say that's fair."
"Well, only time will tell," Mrs. Carson cut in, ending the exchange. Now that they were no longer in service, Mr. Bates did not afford the older man as much deference as he used to, and that could sometimes bring contention.
A small hand tugged at her skirt and Anna automatically said, "Bobby? Don't you see we're speaking with Mister and Mrs. Carson?"
"But mum, Miss Marigold and Master George are over there. Can I go play with them?"
This time, Mr. Bates stepped in. "Not today, Bobby. I doubt their parents would appreciate them getting dirty just before we all go in."
The boy would have argued, but he knew better than to contradict his father. As much as he loved his mother, Bobby modeled himself after John Bates in all things, from the way he spoke to others to the forced calm he so often assumed when he'd rather be behaving with childlike exuberance. Regardless, before long it was time to go inside anyway, and Anna held onto Bobby's hand with the one she didn't have tucked into the crook of Mr. Bates' free arm. The three of them walked like a chain through the church until her husband ushered them into a pew beside the Carsons.
"Mum, I can't see," Bobby complained quietly.
"Hush, now," his father said, his voice not harsh but perhaps a bit stern.
The boy fell silent then and complained no more. But as he shifted back and forth at his mother's side, she took pity on him and pulled him to sit on top of her lap, giving him just a bit better of a view. She thought she heard Mr. Carson say something under his breath, but Anna gave it no mind. She was well beyond caring about propriety where her child was concerned, especially now. Besides, she could well relate to Bobby's desire to see the proceedings.
"There's Mister Branson," the boy informed her in the loud whisper children think is quieter than it is. He was familiar with the man as Miss Sybbie's father and the other Crawley children's uncle.
"He looks a bit nervous," Mr. Bates added quietly, for his wife's benefit alone. "I suppose I can't blame him."
From the far reaches of her memory, a moment in time came forward and Anna was reminded of something her husband had once said long before he was her husband.
"He's a braver man than I am, Gunga Din."
She smiled to herself at the memory before remarking, "Sometimes friendship makes the strongest love. They'll be good together."
The organist wasted no time once the church had filled, and before long the wedding music signaling the bride's entrance began to play. Everyone stood, and Bobby quickly slid off of his mother's lap, although his hand stayed in hers. She felt warm breath against her neck as Mr. Bates leaned close. "The dress is beautiful, Anna," he said. "A light pink, I'd say, or maybe a champagne color."
"What flowers are in the bouquet?" she asked.
"Roses," he answered. "Simple white roses, with some tiny purple flowers and ferns, it looks like."
His description lightened Anna's heart and she sighed with gratitude. He touched her arm when it was time to sit down again, and without preamble, Bobby reclaimed his spot on his mother's lap. The boy was certainly getting bigger, she could tell from the weight of him. But she wrapped an arm protectively around his middle, happy that he was still young enough to allow her such closeness.
The wedding went as most weddings do with the vicar praying loudly and the bride and groom reciting their vows. It was not a Catholic wedding, of course, although Anna doubted that Mr. Branson would have pushed for such a thing, not this time around. And the whole affair was small and simple, at least for the Crawley family. When the vicar pronounced them husband and wife, much cheering and clapping ensued, filling the church all the more with the sounds of joy.
Rather than go to the reception at Downton Abbey, Anna requested that Mister Bates walk them home. As fond as she was of Lady Mary and as much as she wanted to wish her joy in her new marriage, the service had tired her out and she recognized the beginnings of a headache. Besides, she'd already attended two wedding receptions of her former employer and she had an excellent excuse to skip out.
"Are you sure?" her husband asked. "I could take Bobby if you want to go over with Mister and Mrs. Carson."
"No, I'm rather exhausted," she admitted, and that put an end to it. But before they left, they stopped to say their goodbyes and renew their thank you's to the Carsons.
"It is always a pleasure to keep an eye on little Bobby," the former housekeeper insisted. "You know that. Any time you have need of us, we are glad to help."
"Thank you."
There was a brief pause before the woman asked hesitantly, "Was there anything new they could tell you?"
Anna shook her head. "No, nothing new. Surgery is still the only option, but..."
She did not need to see Mrs. Hughes to recognize the frightened frown on the woman's face. She heard it in her husband's voice all too often.
"But surely there is some other doctor you can see..." the woman began.
"We've been to many doctors, I can assure you," Mr. Bates gently interrupted before saying their goodbyes. Anna was glad to be getting home and away from the prying questions and hushed whispers of those around her. Mrs. Hughes certainly meant well, but Anna hated having to repeat what the doctors told her.
There'd been far too much of that in the past few months since her condition had become public knowledge.
Bobby held his mother's hand on the way home, pretending to lead her even though his father had the lion's share of that duty. Anna felt quite safe between her son and husband, not worrying about loose stones in the road or that a dizzy spell might overtake her suddenly. Now free to do so, the boy chattered endlessly about his two days spent with the Carsons.
"And Mister Carson taught me how to pour wine," Bobby said excitedly, "except he wouldn't let me drink any of it."
At this pronouncement, Mr. Bates chuckled. "I should think not."
"But why not? I'm bigger now."
"Bigger than what?" Anna queried with amusement. "You're far too young to be drinking wine."
"But I didn't spill any of it, not even a drop. Mister Carson said I might make a first rate footman, someday."
"I'm afraid those days are nearly over."
She did not worry about squashing Bobby's dreams as he had a new favored profession each week. In truth, Anna had originally wanted her son to go to medical school, but after being in so many doctors' offices and sitting in so many exam rooms, the thought of her sweet young son on the other side of that world suddenly felt strange and unnatural to her.
"Perhaps he could study the law and be a solicitor," Mr. Bates stated that night after the lad had gone to sleep and the two reclined together in their own bed.
"Just in case we have need of legal counsel again?"
Her tone was humorous, although she had to wait to see if her husband would appreciate the joke. When he laughed a moment later, she relaxed. Sometimes they could poke fun of their old troubles, but other times it was more difficult. After all, Mr. Bates had spent far more time in prison than she, and he'd spent part of that time under a death sentence.
Some traumas ran too deep and simply couldn't be laughed over. It was strange to think how much they'd survived... and how much still stood before them.
"I should hope that our murder investigation days are behind us," her husband said.
Of course, Anna had a very good defense these days.
"What would you like me to read tonight?" he asked softly. It was part of their nightly ritual now, these moments after Bobby was tucked in and before they themselves were ready to sleep.
"Would you mind starting a book? A novel, I think. Perhaps a long one. Your pick."
She was being optimistic in beginning such a venture. Mister Bates often read only a chapter a night, and sometimes she fell asleep even before he could get that far. A long novel seemed ambitious in light of what the most recent London doctor had told her the previous day.
They could do surgery to try and remove the tumor which had robbed her of her sight and threatened her life, but it was extremely risky. Even if she did survive, and the chances were low, she could sustain even worse damage to her brain. Of course, if they did nothing, her days were still numbered.
"A long novel it is," Mr. Bates said, and by his tone she knew he understood what she wasn't saying, what she did not yet have the strength to say aloud.
They would ring the doctor in the morning to schedule the procedure. Bobby could go back to stay with the Carsons for a time, and their man would keep tabs on the hotel in their absence. There was no shortage of people looking for work, although the hotel had trouble making ends meet with so few visitors. Anna's condition and all the money spent on doctors did not help matters.
But as Anna found herself dozing off to the sound of her husband's voice, she was able to forget all of that and instead focus on her husband's warmth as he sat beside her.
When she awoke, it was to some noise she knew she'd heard but could not identify. For a time Anna simply lay in bed in the darkness, unsure what time it was. Birds were not singing outside, so she assumed first light had not come. But neither could she hear the periodic snores of her husband beside her. Slowly, she reached out a hand and found his side of the bed empty but still slightly warm.
Curiosity warred with anxiousness, and Anna got out of bed to investigate the absence of her husband and the noise which had brought her out of sleep. She padded down the hall, counting her steps as she went and stretching out her fingers to let the familiar surroundings guide her.
Low voices emitted from her son's room down the hall, and she could tell without reaching out that his door was only open a crack. Standing just outside where she could not be glimpsed, she stopped to listen.
"You did well today, Bobby," her husband said in his typically deep timbre. "You sat still all through the wedding, and you helped your mum."
The boy was quiet for a moment, and Anna leaned in to hear him better. She could sense the emotion in her child as he said, "She isn't going to die, is she? She can't die."
Anna put a hand to her mouth at this, and for a few seconds, she contemplated bursting into the room and putting her arms around both husband and son. But another part of her knew to wait, to see what he would say.
"To be honest... I don't know what is going to happen. You know that your mum is very sick. There is something wrong inside her head, and that's why she can't see. The doctors can try to make it better, but they can't make any promises."
Neither could he, as much as he might want to promise her that it would all be all right.
Young Bobby was sniffling now, just a little, but Anna could picture him attempting to control himself in the face of his father's calm and collected demeanor. With a stiff upper lip, he asked, "But what will we do without her?"
Anna suddenly felt very guilty for spying on them, for listening to this conversation which she had no right to hear. This discussion was for the two of them alone, not for her to witness, not for them to feel badly if they found her eavesdropping. Taking careful steps, Anna backed her way down the hallway towards her bedroom. But as she went, she heard the beginning of her husband's response.
"I don't know, Bobby. But don't think of such things now. Tomorrow the three of us can go out for a picnic..."
She lost the rest of what her husband was planning when she reached the bedroom, and with a deep sigh, Anna felt her way back to her side of the bed. With a heavy heart, she pulled the covers up over her body and closed her eyes, her useless eyes which refused to see anything but mottled darkness.
Tears stained her cheeks within a matter of moments, but she brushed them away with knuckles she drug roughly across her face. She would go through with the surgery, no matter how dangerous. She had to, no matter how much it frightened her. If Bobby could be brave, so could she, for her family's sake.
One Year Later
The other children ran and played in the cemetery. Their families brought them periodically to visit the gravestones of departed relatives followed by a picnic on the green by the church. They would often stop at the Downton war memorial and gaze at the names inscribed on the stone.
Bobby was younger than the Crawley children, but they patiently allowed him to follow behind them and enter their games. Perhaps it was because he was a tall boy and well mannered like his father. Perhaps it was because they'd known him their whole lives, so it never entered their minds not to let him follow them about even if he was a great deal younger.
Miss Sybbie was the oldest and too much a young lady to do much playing any longer. But Bobby got on with George and Marigold quite well. It helped that George was another boy and Marigold was only the family's ward and not so high born as Miss Sybbie. In addition to the Crawleys, Bobby enjoyed playing with the other village children of his own age.
But on this day, Bobby was less enthusiastic than usual, and he retired from their games even before he grew too weary to continue. He found his father sitting on a bench by the war memorial, his bad leg stretched out in front of him.
Bobby had never asked why his father needed a stick to walk. It never really occurred to him to ask until that moment.
"What happened to your leg?"
His father raised an eyebrow at him before answering slowly, "I was injured at war, a long time ago."
Bobby knew about war. He'd heard stories about it from Mr. Molesley and seen pictures of guns and uniforms in the teacher's books. Plus he knew George's father had been a war hero, or so the boy boasted. But before this day, Bobby had never known that his own father had ever done anything besides work as a servant for the Crawley family and run their hotel.
"Were you in the war with George's father?"
Bobby's father shook his head. "No, an earlier war. In Africa."
Eyes wide, he wanted to ask more, to get more details about this new and exciting chapter he was just learning about his father. But he knew better than to push too hard. His mother had always told him that he had to give his father time to open up about things, that patience was a virtue and virtues were rewarded. Digging for more would give him nothing as his father tended to shut up more tightly than a clam when pressed.
But Bobby's own father had gone to war and somehow, he'd never really known about it. The more considered the notion, his mind recalled seeing medals on his father's dresser. If he had medals, he was definitely a war hero. And unlike the names on the war memorial, unlike George's father and the fathers of some of the older boys at school, his father was a war hero and still alive.
Still alive was a virtue which had gained greater meaning when his mother first became sick, when he'd been forced to confront the notion of what not still alive truly meant.
But Bobby pushed such thoughts away as his excitement about the war hero business grew. Suddenly, his father's limp meant something entirely different and was not just an aspect of the man which had increasingly left Bobby feeling embarrassed around the other village children. He could not wait for one of them to make another dig at him so that he could throw the truth back in their faces.
"Does it still hurt?" he asked finally, careful to contain his excitement.
"Now and then," his father said in such a way as to avoid any real answer.
Bobby was too young to truly understand the concept of stoicism, but he recognized it in his father's face all too often. He'd seen it the day he'd taken Bobby's mother to the hospital in London for her surgery.
"Now you be a good boy for Mister and Mrs. Carson," his mother told him. Her eyes were open but vacant, and he knew that while she could not see him, her whole focus was on Bobby, all her thoughts and love. "I'll see you when I get back."
A part of Bobby recognized that she wasn't making a promise, only expressing a hope. He knew what death was. Death was when the frogs lay by the pond on their backs, unnaturally still and quiet, that they would never turn over and begin hopping again. The same may happen to his mother. She may never come home again.
"I'll miss you."
He said the words openly, not realizing at the time that they held another, deeper meaning.
"Are you ready to head home?"
His father's question broke into his thoughts, and with a pensive glance over at his friends still playing outside the church, the boy nodded wordlessly.
Bobby held his father's hand on the walk back to their home, a small cottage situated just behind the hotel. Someone, perhaps Mrs. Crawley, George's grandmother, had told him the building used to be a fine village house belonging to one of the other families in the county. But now it was his parents' hotel, and the building in the back which had once housed servants was now the cottage where he'd grown up.
"Now remember-" his father began as they neared home. But Bobby already knew what he would say.
"Be quiet, I know," he filled in. "They're sleeping."
He had gotten very good at being quiet of late. But as it turned out, they were not sleeping.
When they entered the side door into the kitchen, they immediately saw Mrs. Molesley standing at the counter, arranging tea and biscuits onto a tray. The woman was familiar to him as both his mother's friend and the schoolteacher's wife, and of late she'd been rather a fixture in their house.
"You can go in," the woman urged Bobby with a smile and a nod towards the parlor.
His mother sat in her usual spot in a rocking chair by the fireplace, and in her arms was a small bundle. Based on the sounds of infantile chatter coming from the bundle, Bobby supposed that the baby was definitely not asleep. And given that he knew his mum needed her rest, this act of selfishness on the part of the baby irritated him greatly. On the other hand, at least the tiny bundle was not crying like it so often did.
"Mum!" he said, assuming that the 'quiet' restriction no longer need apply as he bounded forward towards her chair. "We went out so you could sleep. You should be sleeping."
His mother smiled at him, her eyes as vacant as ever, but her expression warm and inviting. "Unfortunately, your sister was hungry."
Bobby looked down at the tiny human with blue eyes and a smattering of blonde fuzz, and the baby looked back at him. Usually she was crying about some thing or another, but she didn't seem so bad in moments like this. His father leaned over above him to drop a kiss onto the top of his mother's head and to admire the baby himself for a moment before sitting opposite them on the sofa.
His father had once said the baby was a "welcome surprise," although Bobby wasn't sure what he'd meant. In some ways, he rather resented the baby and the amount of time his mother devoted to her. But then, his mother would remind him that he was a big brother now, and that meant he had responsibilities.
'Responsibilities' was a word his father used a lot, and while he couldn't quite describe it with his six-year-old vocabulary, the boy knew a little of what it meant. It meant if he did well, he would see pride reflected back at him in his father's eyes. And there was little else he desired in the world more than that.
"I can feed her," Bobby offered boldly.
His father chuckled and his mother obviously had to fight to keep from laughing herself.
"Thank you for the offer," she told Bobby, "but I'm afraid for now only I can feed her. Maybe when she's older and no longer needs milk, you can help with that."
"Unless you want to change nappies?" Mrs. Molesley teased him as she set down the tea tray on the table by the sofa.
Bobby frowned, knowing that such a chore was for women. Besides, he'd seen them change the baby's nappies and knew the task was not one he would enjoy.
"No," he said bluntly.
This answer produced a new round of chuckles from the adults, although Bobby did not understand the humor. But content that his mother was well enough to laugh and hold his sister, Bobby took a biscuit from the tray and climbed onto the sofa next to his father.
"And where is Mister Molesley today?" the man asked the schoolteacher's wife.
"He's grading exams..."
Mrs. Molesley had been staying with them at the cottage during the day in the months since his sister was born, helping out with odd chores and keeping an eye on his mother and the baby. He did not mind Mrs. Molesley's presence as she made very good biscuits, so good that even his mother would eat them when she wasn't feeling ill. Plus Mrs. Molesley was there to help when his mother had her bad headaches or when she grew too dizzy and needed to lie down. While Bobby could take care of himself, the baby was still too little and needed constant care.
But today his mother was having a good day, and Mrs. Molesley sat down to speak with his father with hardly a glance at her.
Bobby tuned out their conversation as he sat there, forcing himself not to kick his legs or shift too much. Adult talk was boring. They always asked after people who were not there, often people Bobby didn't remember or had never met. Or worse yet, they discussed things like poly-ticks, which apparently had nothing to do with insects and everything to do with lots of other names he did not recognize.
His mother turned to him after a while and said quietly, "Did you have fun on your outing?"
Ordinarily, he would have nodded to stay quiet while his father and Mrs. Molesley were talking, but Bobby knew he had to speak aloud for his mother rather than use silent gestures. "Yes, mum." Searching for a detail to share with her, he added, "Father told me he was in a war."
"Did he now?" she asked, a little surprised. She continued to rock in her chair, and the movement slowly lulled his baby sister to sleep. She was quiet and less annoying when she was asleep. "And what did he tell you about that?"
"Only that he hurt his leg and it was in Africa."
His mother nodded solemnly but did not elaborate with any of her own knowledge of his father's background. He wondered if he might ask her about it later, when his father was out working. He hoped she would remember.
Even before she'd gone to London for the surgery, she had trouble remembering things. Most of the time it was little details, memories or things he'd told her. His father told him it had to do with the problem with her head, like her blindness. But Bobby never minded telling her again.
"Where is Africa?" Bobby asked, judging the question quite safe. He recognized the name but knew it was not in England.
"It is a continent, far to the south," she said. "You should ask Mister Molesley to show you in one of his books."
Bobby knew better than to ask Mr. Molesley any such thing. The teacher was kind, but he could lose himself in a lot of talk about history and in the process subject Bobby to far more information than the boy cared to hear.
Outside, a summer wind stirred up, and Bobby turned as he heard the tall flowers outside tapping against the window panes.
His mother heard it too. She set the baby down by her chair, using a hand to carefully feel for the edge of the bassinet.
"Tell me about the flowers," she requested, and Bobby sprang up from his seat, happy to oblige as it gave him a task other than sitting quietly among the adults.
"They're tall," he reported from the window. "I can barely see past them."
"What colors are they?"
"White and pink and... yellow, some of them. And all the leaves are green."
He didn't know what kind they were. His father was better at identifying flowers, but he was still busy talking with Mrs. Molesley.
"What else do you see outside?" his mother prompted.
They played this game quite often with him serving as her eyes. Happy to be of use, Bobby went on, "I see the garden, and the hotel, and beyond that, the road..."
As he continued to describe the world in his simple, childlike terms, his mother sat quietly and listened.
Bobby was young but not naive. He knew that whatever the doctors in London had done to his mother had not cured her. His father had told him the specifics, using words and concepts the boy had trouble understanding. But Bobby could see the lump at his mother's temple where they had cut into her. He knew that it would help for a time, but it wasn't a cure. There would be no cure.
He did not wish to dwell on the unpleasant truth which hovered on the edge of his conscious mind. Rather, he preferred to focus on what his father had said after he'd brought his mother home. "Nothing is ever certain. But every day we have together is a gift."
Before long, Bobby ran out of observations and the day caught up with him. His mother sat in her rocking chair, now listening to his father and Mrs. Molesley speak. Fighting against the need for an afternoon nap, Bobby was suddenly struck with a simple need. Even though his mother often told him he was getting too big to sit in her lap, she did not protest as he moved to do so. Beside them, the baby slept on. The last thing Bobby noticed before fatigue pulled his own eyes shut was his mother's contented smile as she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close.
fin