He was lost and didn't care. That was the only way to describe his frame of mind after the war. He had grown cynical. Nothing interested him…except alcohol, which only interested him because it made him forget that he was alive. When he was aware of it all he felt was hate and sadness.

He couldn't really remember the first time he'd met Vera. Whether that was because he had blocked it or because he had been incredibly drunk at the time was debatable. He did remember beginning to notice her. For a girl working in a pub she looked very nice and at that she was very nice- to him. It slowly began to dawn on him that she paid more attention to him than any of the other boys in the place. He was more confused about it than flattered. It confused him even more when he would see her lingering outside his mother's shop. One day he was coming home and saw her there, just peering in the window.

"Are you looking for something?"

She jumped and turned to look up at him. "Oh I thought I might get something for that dance…but there's not much sense to it. I probably won't be going since no one's asked me." It was so obvious looking back that she was toying with him but at the time her smile seemed sincere. That was the first time she used him. There was no harm done in it. Eventually, though, she knew she could influence him and she used it to her advantage. That, of course, was what led to that night they spent above the pub and that led to the wedding. He wasn't so lost to consider tossing her aside after having his way with her so they married.

It wasn't that terrible in the early days. She still played up to him, letting him think that he was in control while she coyly goaded him into this or that. Then his leg began to get worse, rendering him less and less mobile. He hated not being able to do anything for himself. He hated himself, as he had for some time, but the loathing had increased and his cynicism and apathy returned, far worse than they had been before. He took it out on everyone around him, in every way but physically, for several reasons. The first was that he couldn't really move to begin with and the second was that he was too drunk to coordinate any sort of rushed movement. He hated himself even more for his hatred.

That's when she began to resent him. He thought it was because she had figured out what he'd known for some time- that he was a fool who shouldn't be bothered with. He had ruined her life, saddled her with a waste of a husband and now she finally knew it - but it wasn't that. After she left him he realized that when she could no longer act through him to get her way she no longer cared at all. He had been a means to meet her ends, nothing more than that.

Her bitterness fed his. He was away from the house fairly often, staying at his mother's, who of course lectured him about how he never should have married her in the first place. She blamed Vera for their problems but she didn't know the whole of it or about the time he went to London on a whim and stayed in a brothel for three days.

On his way back from London he saw him. Robert Crawley didn't notice, of course. The train station was far too busy. Even if he had looked at him he have known who it was? He had deteriorated into such a cur since they had last met, it wasn't likely. He was flooded with shame. He had been good when they had known each other. He had been untainted, eager and whole. Perhaps…perhaps he could be that way again. Things would have to change- he would have to change. He would have to make things up to Vera, to his mother, start to care about life again…but it could be done.

He returned home intending to be a better husband but Vera didn't notice. He knew very well that she was probably with another man but he had been terrible to her. The scales were just being evened.

They tipped, however, when he discovered the silver. She'd hidden it in an old box which she'd placed in their closet. He instantly knew what it was and how it must have gotten there. The anger which he had tried to put behind him rose up again. He went downstairs to confront her but before he could get a word out there was a knock on the door.

He pulled it open, revealing several officers who separated to search the house.

"What were you thinking?" he growled, his anger boiling over but she didn't respond. She only glared at the floor.

"Care to explain how this got here?" One of the officers appeared, holding the box.

He turned to Vera, red faced and livid. Still nothing. Even now she wouldn't look up. As he turned back he slowly realized what he had to do.

"I took it. I stole it." He said in a hoarse voice. His anger lessened slightly-that is his anger with himself. He didn't look back at her. The next two years went by in a gray blur. He sacrificed two years of his life to try to make up for the waste he had made of hers. When he was released his self-loathing, his hate was gone…except in regards to her. It all had become so clear to him, how manipulative she had been, how her hate had at least matched his. And he wouldn't let her do that to him again. Not ever.