A/N: This story has been in the works for weeks. I finally found time this past weekend to pull the first chapter together (grr…silly real life getting the way of Downton writing).

The First Time takes place between seasons 1 and 2, roughly eight months after the start of the war. It was born out of some of my frustrations with season 2. There was so much that was left out by the time jump, so much I wanted to see evolve, especially concerning the Anna/Bates relationship, but also his past (Africa, Vera, alcoholism, etc).

I generally kept to the Downton story, but did take liberties and go AU with some of the characters. William enlists right away, as does Sybil in the nursing corps (I never really understood why either would wait two years). Also, Robert actually serves an essential role with the military (Why would a man in good health and military experience been turned away for real service as he was in Season 2?)

Hope you enjoy!

The First Time

May, 1915

Chapter 1:

He knew it was her from the footsteps upon the stone floor. Her shoes clacked enough to indicate a woman but delicate enough to rule out the likes of Mrs. Hughes or Miss O'Brien. The slight clacks ended just inside the open doorway of the servants' hall.

John peered over his book to see Anna standing there blindingly bright. She wore a dress of yellow. No, buttercup, that's the shade ladies would call it. She was shrugging into a light cream colored jacket that was embroidered along the neck and wrists. A jaunty little white hat slightly cocked to the side completed the outfit. He could tell she was trying to look her best. In his opinion, that wasn't very hard. She always looked a fine lady to him.

He closed the collection of short stories by Edgar Allen Poe he had been reading and pulled himself out of his seat. The dark stories at odds with the sight in front of him.

"All set, Mr. Bates?"

Although he gave her a nod of assent, whether or not he was "all set" could be debated. When Lord Grantham presented his proposal for the staff to volunteer at the local village hospital to assist with the war wounded, John had been leery. It was too close to him, to his experiences over a decade prior. He had spent countless days in a similar hospital. Did he really want to walk into such a place again? He knew His Lordship meant well by giving the staff an extra half day and farming them out, the hospital most certainly could use the extra manpower, but for John seeing the injured and perhaps dying threatened to dredge up memories he had worked exceedingly hard to bury. Just the war talk around the servants' hall and in the newspapers was beginning to gnaw at him. As much as he tried to repress it, the past was worming its way to the surface.

But then Anna had turned to him at dinner the evening after Lord Grantham had issued his call to arms, "How about it, Mr. Bates? His Lordship mentioned we might volunteer in pairs. I'd like to do something to help out, especially those who have the greatest need."

And then she paused and took her hand from the table and furtively found his underneath. "We could do it together."

So there he was. How could he turn her down? For a man that prided himself in self-control, especially in light of his past, he had absolutely no will power when it came to this young woman.

His thumb gave a slight stroke to the inside of her wrist. Anna closed her eyes and a stuttered breath escaped. John quickly removed his hand. It would not do to have such actions discovered. They were only feet away from the rest of the staff.

Her eyes opened sharply at the removal of his hand. She longed for his touch as much as he did hers. But there was nothing more he could do or would risk under the prying eyes of the others. So instead, he simply acquiesced to her request.

Now a week later, they were getting ready to make their first trek to the hospital.

As John reached Anna at the doorway, Mrs. Hughes bustled in. "Oh good, there you two are. Just please remember to be back in time to dress the family for dinner."

Anna gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. We will."

"And let me know how it goes . . . I'm going on Thursday with Miss O'Brien."

"Heaven help you," John let slip.

The housekeeper rolled her eyes as she headed out the door and down the hall. "Don't I know . . . Now run along, you don't want to keep Dr. Clarkson and the nurses waiting."

John took a light hold of Anna's elbow to steer her out into the hallway.

"Shall we be off?" His mouth quirked up in a half smile.

"Lead the way, Mr. Bates."

There was nip in the air as they walked towards the village. John was glad he grabbed his wool coat. Even though it was the first week of May, it felt like February. The sky was gray and storm clouds threatened in the distance. Perhaps he should have grabbed an umbrella too.

As they left the house, he offered Anna his arm. She took it without hesitation. He was just being a gentleman, he told himself. It wasn't because he needed to feel her touch on his arm or the occasional brush of her body against his. No, he was just being a gentleman, one whose collar seemed much tighter than it did before they left. Christ, how did she manage to have this effect on him?

"I wonder what they will have us do?"

"Oh, I don't know. I bet they have you making bedside rounds with the soldiers."

"Why do you say that?"

"What man wouldn't want to a visit from you? You would bring a bit of sunshine into his life."

Anna self-consciously looked down at her outfit. "Oh, I know the dress is a tad bright. It's an old one of Lady Mary's from before the. . ."

"I wasn't talking about the dress," he interrupted. "It's you . . . your smile that radiates."

He could tell she was blushing as she looked down at the dirt path and kicked a small rock as they strolled.

"You know," he looked down with a mischievous gleam, "I wouldn't be surprised if you had a few of them asking for your hand before the shift is over."

Anna laughed, "Well, I'll have to tell them that I am already spoken for."

But she wasn't.

She must have felt him tense up because she quickly backtracked. "I didn't mean anything by that, Mr. Bates. I have no right to presume your intentions. I was only. . ."

He stopped along the path interrupting her once again. "Anna, I've already told you, I can't offer you what you want . . . what you deserve."

"But you can. . ."

"No, I can't." He swallowed before continuing. "Anna, I'm not free. And I doubt I'll ever be. You mustn't attach your dreams to me. It would be a great waste and only lead to your unhappiness . . . and I couldn't bear to have you unhappy."

Miles off thunder rumbled. He could tell by the way she squared her shoulders she was ready to spar. He should've known she wouldn't give up quite so easily.

"Well, then my life is going to be a waste. You better get used to me being unhappy."

"I didn't mean. . ."

"I know you didn't. But I'm telling you, you can't be rid of me so easy."

He sighed and closed his eyes before trying again. He had to make her understand. "Anna, I'm not trying to be rid of you. . ."

"Well, then what are you doing?"

John raised his head and met her eyes. He could make out a lot in those eyes: unyielding stubbornness, much confusion, honesty, hurt and yes, love. He had to be candid. She was worthy of nothing less.

But indeed, what was he doing? His head was a muddled mess, as it often was when he was around her.

"I'm not sure."

"Mr. Bates, I have told you I love you." He began to protest. She was saying it again. She didn't know what she was saying. If she did . . . if she knew everything about . . . the war . . . the death . . . coming home . . . Vera. . .

"Stop. Please, let me finish," she commanded placing both hands on his upper arms. His body hummed. A cool breeze swept along the path. It was definitely going to rain.

"I believe you care for me, too." She squeezed his arms. "I'm not asking for you to reciprocate right now, but I want you to know I am willing to have. . ."

At a loss for words, her hands fluttered in front of her. ". . . whatever we can have. I know you're not able to marry me now, but I'll take what can be ours."

God, he loved her. How was she in his life? He didn't warrant the love of such a woman. Hell, he shouldn't even be alive. A guilty pang rang in his heart. Others died, but somehow he had not. Why had he survived?

John couldn't help but still her hands in his. "But you are meant to have more. Can't you see. . . I have nothing to offer you . . . not a home, not a family, not even my name. Would you really be content with walks to the village? A shadowed touch? A hidden kiss? That's all there could ever be between us."

"If that's all there is to be, then I shall rather have something than nothing." She squeezed his hands to make her point.

"Anna, you should have the love of a man who can give you it all." And he would hate that man with a passion.

"Why can't that be you?"

John smiled sadly. Anna was never one to give up. His hand moved of its own volition to her cheek; his dark glove in contrast to her pale skin. Her eyes closed with a soft sigh.

"If it was up to me. . ."

Her eyes blinked open. "But have you even tried?"

"Tried what?"

"To find her . . . to find Vera."

Just the sound of her name grated on his brain. It conjured dark images that had been locked away. So distant they almost seemed an ugly chapter from a book he read, not his life. But the mere mention of her name brought them roaring back to his consciousness. And how he hated her name even more hearing it roll off Anna's tongue. Those two parts of his life should be forever separate, never to mix. He would not have her life poisoned by Vera. The sky released another round of thunder, closer now.

"I haven't . . ." he stumbled, his hand falling to his side. "I wouldn't know where to start looking."

"Well, Mr. Bates, perhaps before you claim you have nothing to offer me, you should make sure that's the case. One thing is for sure, she will never be found if you never look."

John wasn't sure he wanted to look.

"Anna, I don't. . . "

"Look, I don't want to fight," she sighed gazing off into the distance. "You must realize, I only signed up to volunteer so as to spend time with you."

He brought her chin up and his eyes crinkled. "And I only agreed for the very same reason."

"Well then," she declared with forced cheerfulness taking his arm, "should we continue on before we get soaked?"

"As you wish," he deferred as they continued on down the path. If only he could give her what she truly wished for.

They raced the across the village lane to the hospital as fast as John could move. In one hand, he leaned on his cane. In the other, he held up one end of his wool coat while Anna lifted the other and together draped it over their heads to avoid being completely drenched. By the time they made it inside the hospital vestibule and slammed the door behind them, they were a dripping mess. They simply looked at each other and laughed. It felt good. It always did with Anna. It almost made him believe he could want for more in his life. Almost.

"Oh, good you made it," Lady Sybil Crawley rounded the corner in her nurse's uniform. "I wasn't sure if you'd come with all the rain."

"Ah, a little rain isn't enough to keep us away. Right, Mr. Bates?"

"We wouldn't miss the chance to help," John fibbed as shook off the rain and wiped his feet. Well, he would have if he could. As the familiar antiseptic smell filled his nostrils, he very much wished he had stayed back at Downton. But Anna had asked; there was no way he could've said no. He just wasn't that strong.

"Good, good," Sybil cooed and gave them a warm smile. "Hang up your coats and follow me and we can figure out how you can best help us."

Sybil led them through the main staging room of the hospital where row after row of beds were filled with men recovering from their wounds. John took a deep breath and focused on the back of her nursing habit as they walked down a center aisle. He wouldn't let his eyes stray left or right. He couldn't.

"This is where all our patients sleep. As they heal they can get up, stretch their legs, wander around the yard in back. Currently we have roughly fifty officers here, but have another hundred or so on a waiting list. We're in great need of another location with additional space if the war. . ."

Sybil's speech was interrupted by a patient ranting. John couldn't prevent his head from turning toward the commotion across the room.

"Listen love, it doesn't matter how many times you smile that bloody patronizing smile at me or tell me, 'you can do it', my hand isn't going grow back and my legs aren't going to miraculously start moving. So why don't you just leave me the Hell alone."

The patient flopped back onto his bed from the crutches two nurses had been helping him stand with. His shoulders sagged as he leaned forward, a crumpled mess. Unruly dark curls fell across his check. John could feel the utter despair resonate from across the room. He knew it all too well. He also had yelled and ripped into nurses. He had been a nasty cuss. Nobody wanted to be the one to help John Bates. And he hadn't wanted their help either. All he wanted was to lay there, to be left alone. He had just wanted to die.

"Mr. Bates?"

John shook himself back to present to see worried eyes peering up at him.

"Mr. Bates, are you all right?" Anna pressed.

"Yes, I'm fine," he reassured with a half smile. A bead of sweat made a trail down his brow.

Sybil just noticing they had stopped turned around. He could see that she was curious about why he was stalled in the middle of the aisle.

"Most of our patients are pleasant to be around, real gentleman, but there are exceptions," she noted as a way of explanation before continuing on.

"Come on now," Anna prodded with an apprehensive smile lightly tugging on his jacket sleeve.

"Yes, yes . . . I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she whispered back. But didn't he? So many had died, yet he lived. He returned to muck up his life to beyond recognition. He couldn't give Anna what she deserved.

They followed Sybil into a kitchen. On one side of the room, several cooks were preparing patient lunches on an industrial stove. On the other, a nurse was measuring out medication.

"This is our nurses' headquarters; not very large, I'm afraid. We get everything ready for the patients in here: meals, medicine, dressings, etc."

John glanced around the busy room perhaps he could be lucky enough to stow away in here for the duration of their shift.

"Now, neither of you have had experience within a hospital, correct?

Anna just shook her head and stole a look at John. He knew what she was thinking. He had more experience than probably most of the nurses. Sybil also picked up on the irony of her question.

"Well, that is volunteering in a hospital," she quickly amended. "I was thinking that, Anna, you could walk around to the bedsides with the book cart and read to the patients if they wish. A friendly face does a world of good for the men."

He couldn't help and smirk down at Anna. She was serving the exact purpose he had said. Her eyes laughed back up at him.

"That would be just fine, Lady Sybil."

"Please, around here, I am Nurse Crawley," she informed them leaning in conspiratorially. "And if truth be told, it's nice to shed the title, at least for part of the day."

"Very well, Nurse Crawley," Anna complied with a grin.

"The library cart is the hallway. You can go ahead and start."

She gave John a reassuring smile and headed off to begin her task.

"Now Mr. Bates," Sybil began looking at him thoughtfully. "Not everybody needs to work with patients. We have a lot of behind the scenes work that needs to be done."

Bless her heart. He had always been impressed with the ambition and compassion of the Earl's youngest daughter. What she had done for Gwen had been quite admirable. Now her ability to access the situation and his apprehension only raised his esteem.

"Wherever I may be of service."

"All right. Grab that metal tub over there. . ."

The smell. He had forgotten how pungent it could be. How was the life force of man so rancid outside the body?

John reached down and picked up another soiled dressing from the pile. Coated with crusty blood, the linen was brick red in color. How could these men bleed so much and still be alive?

He dipped the cloth into the tub of water already murky from prior scrubbings. After soaking it, he began to rub it against the washboard.

As his fingers ran the dressing over the board again and again, the smell wafted up in the air stronger and stronger. It took him back. John couldn't stop his mind from revisiting the past.

The smell was the same. He could feel the dry cracked land under his boots. The African sun was unrelenting, so much fuller and brighter than back in England.

His fingers continued to run across the bumps of the washboard. Over and over. Flesh against metal. He could smell the blood. He could hear the sound of bayonets. Flesh against metal. Never had he heard a more horrific sound than a bayonet ripping into a man's gut, cracking his bones, scraping his skull.

He kept up the rubbing, breathing shallow, eyes closed. He had to block this, bottle it back up. But the smell permeated his whole body. He remembered. He was lying there again, on top of Robert, his knee throbbing, bleeding. Those men were standing only a few feet away from them, standing above their mate. Down came the bayonet and John squeezed his eyes shut but the awful sound seared his brain.

"I can't take any more of that man!" Sybil stalked into the kitchen slamming down a tray snapping John's conscious back to the sights and smells of the kitchen. His knuckles were raw and his shirt sweaty.

A plump cook looked over her shoulder, "Captain Hemmings giving you a hard time again?"

"You guessed it," she grimaced. "This time he berated me about being the last one served. I tried to ignore his complaints, but he found out somehow that I hold a title and he started in about how should go back to my tea parties and costume balls, that I was of no use to anyone.

John had little doubt which patient she was speaking of. He had done the same thing. He had angered the nurses, egged them on purposefully, just so they would leave him alone. Just so they would hate him, because he didn't deserve kindness, not after Africa.

"Ah sweetheart, don't let that thick-headed man get you upset. He's not worth it. You do such a fine job with the men," the cook reassured her.

Sybil sighed as she prepared the next tray. "I know, but he really gets to me. He is so ungrateful for everything. I know he is frustrated. I know his life will never be the same. But he's alive. He should consider himself lucky. He made it home when so many others did not."

"I wager he might rather be with those others," John ventured quietly from his seat behind the tub in the corner.

She glanced up surprised at his entry into the conversation. He could see the wheels turning in her head as she blindly put food on the tray.

Another sigh escaped. "Perhaps you're right, Mr. Bates. It's just that he irritates me to no end. I dread taking him his tray," she admitted nodding to the tray.

Even though bringing a tray to a surly patient was the last thing he wanted to do, his conscious reared its head. A gentleman always assists a lady; he could hear his mother words. Though he had serious doubts he was gentleman, Sybil was a lady. He ought to help.

"Let me take it then. I'm almost done with these bandages." At her doubtful look, he pushed on, "It will do my leg good to move around some."

"Are you sure? Captain Hemmings is a piece of work. I hate to subject you to his attacks."

"Don't worry," he reassured pushing himself out of his chair and joining her at the counter. "I can manage."

"All right. Thank you, Mr. Bates. You're a saint."

If she only knew the truth.