Oh my word, last night's Downton was heartbreaking! I don't know how much more emotion I can take! I blame you, Mr Fellowes. I think, though, that Brendan Coyle and Joanne Froggatt should receive a BAFTA after their performance last night! Also...If Mr Bates was not already in the same league as Jane Austen's men, then he certainly is now.

OK, so I wrote this one shot this afternoon - I actually started to write it on the Tube; well, it was better than staring up at the Tube map for half an hour. Lol. It's just my musings on what was going on in Anna and Bates' heads during the scene where he says, 'I know'. I have used the dialogue from the actual scene, but all the rest is mine :)

I've waffled on for long enough, so enjoy.

However, Whatever, Whenever

~x~

Anna kept scrubbing the shoe even though there wasn't a scuff or a spot of mud left on it. If only she could scrub herself clean so easily. Emotion balled in her chest; she would never be clean, she would always be tainted, spoiled. Every night she ached for her husband's touch, and every morning she awakened to the comfortless grey light of dawn. John only compounded her anguish by waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs each morning; he said he wanted to be the first to greet her every day. He would smile at her as he said hello. It was always genuine, always hopeful, but she could see the pain in his dark eyes deepen with each passing day. She loved John passionately, desperately, but she knew what he would do if she told him the truth: he would hunt Lord Gillingham's valet down and kill him. The courts would not spare him from hanging a second time. But, more than that, she could not bear to have John turn away from her in disgust, for him to revile her.

If only she had not brushed off his concerns about the valet. If only she had not left the concert early that night. If only...

The door to the boot room opened and Anna's stomach lurched as John entered. How long would he persist in trying to draw the truth from her. Part of her wanted him to give up, to leave her alone, to forget her. But her heart cried out for him, longed for him; it would shrivel and die without him.

Anna kept scrubbing as he moved slowly towards her. And then his hand was covering hers. His touch sent a warmth coursing through her; it was gentle, tender, protective. Oh, how she wished she had asked John to go to the kitchen with her. He would never have let Lord Gillingham's valet lay a hand on her.

Regrets, that is what her life had been reduced to.

"Aren't' you ever going to finish that? It's nearly midnight," he said.

She wanted nothing more than to take her husband's arm and walk back with him to their cottage. Instead, she said resignedly, "Someone has to do it."

"But it doesn't always have to be you."

John took the scrubbing brush from her hand and pushed it and the shoe away from her. "I know," he said

As his words sunk in Anna's throat tightened and burned. Her bottom lip trembled. Oh, lord, he knew. She wanted to crawl under the table, curl up into a ball and never come out again. How could he even look at her?

"I know what happened. Mrs Hughes told me; I forced her to."

Anna stood up, fear clawing at her like a wild animal. John was going to walk out of her life forever.

"Then she was very wrong. It wasn't her secret to tell," she said in desperation.

"I gave her no choice, Anna."

Fighting to keep her voice calm, she asked, "What did she say?"

John closed his eyes, almost forcing himself to speak. "How it happened...when it happened." His jaw tightened. "I asked her if it was Green."

"Who?"

"Mr Green, Lord Gillingham's valet. She swore it wasn't."

Anna couldn't look at him; he would know the truth in a moment if she did. "No it wasn't him."

"She said a man broke in and was waiting down here for you – a stranger."

"That's right."

"Because if it was the valet..." John face blackened as he locked his gaze onto hers. There was a raw, feral look in his eyes and it caused panic to explode inside of Anna. "He is a dead man."

"It wasn't him; you only say that because you didn't like him."

"No, I did not," John answered bluntly.

Anna fed on her hatred of Mr Green, channelling it, allowing it to give her voice strength. "It's no excuse to accuse him when he did nothing. Would I have sat down beside him at breakfast the next morning if it had been him?"

Green haunted almost every thought; she could still feel his breath on her skin, still hear his grunts as he had violated her. His cruel laugh as he had mocked John continued to hit her on a visceral level: I bet your old, crippled husband has never pleased you like this. And now, she was defending him. She felt sick.

But, she reminded herself that it was for John's sake. She would not allow that vile man to be the cause of her husband's death.

"We can't know who the man was...we've no way of tracing him," she said.

Anna lowered her gaze to the floor, too ashamed to look at John.

"Why wouldn't you tell me?" he asked.

The brokenness in his voice caused Anna to look at him. Her lip began to tremble again. "Because I knew the suffering it would bring you."

He closed his eyes, drawing in a long breath like a man who had been dealt a disappointing blow. Could she blame him? She was no longer the spotless bride he had married; she was marred, ugly.

She gave a short, hopeless laugh. "Well, it's in the open; no more secrets. I'm glad of that, at least. No more fear of being found out..." Tears filled her eyes as she fought a losing battle to keep her composure. "My shame has nowhere to hide."

"Why do you talk of shame?" John said. He sounded almost angry. "I don't accept there is any shame in this."

"B-But I am spoiled for you, and I can never be unspoiled."

John reached out to her, cupping her face in his hands. "You are not spoiled." He tenderly ran his thumbs across her cheeks. "You are made higher to me and holier because of the suffering you have been put through. You are my wife, and I have never been prouder nor loved you more than I love you now at this moment."

Anna's heart beat wildly in her chest. She had yearned to hear him speak those words. He still loved her; he still wanted her, even after everything that had happened. But, doubt lingered in her mind. She reached up and placed a hand over his. "Truly?" she asked.

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and what she saw in them melted all resistance, removed all shame. "Truly," he said.

A shaft of light suddenly broke through her living nightmare. Desperate to be in her husband's arms, she stepped towards him, and when he pulled her close she lost the last shreds of her composure. Broken sobs wracked her body as she clung to him, weeping bitterly for all that had been done to her...to them.

...

It was well after midnight, but John didn't care. He had Anna in his arms again, and it was all that mattered to him. Her sobs had become low whimpers, and he felt each one like a knife to his soul. Bile rose in his throat every time he thought about what had been done to her, what she been forced to endure. He once more recalled that night after the concert; her bruised face, her soiled dress...

John squeezed his eyes shut. Mrs Hughes had told him how the man had struck her and then dragged her into the boot room. She said Anna had screamed herself hoarse, but no one had heard her. If only he had gone with her downstairs; he should have gone with her.

The last few weeks had been nothing short of hell for him. He had thought he had lost Anna, the one great love of his life. Almost every waking moment had been taken up with thoughts of what he had done wrong. At first, he thought maybe she had seen in Mr Green the kind of husband she could have had: a younger, fitter man. But that went against everything Anna was. She had loved him all these years, even when he had kept his love for her silent. She had loved him all through his imprisonment, faithfully writing to him, and she had even used her afternoon off to visit him every week.

He had gone through so many possibilities in his mind, but never this.

Anna, his beautiful wife – what she must have suffered through all these weeks. It galled him that she had suffered alone, that she had tormented herself, believing that he would not want her anymore if he knew the truth. If anything, she should be the one to turn away from him. He was supposed to protect her, but he had failed her.

The clock struck one o'clock. John heaved a sigh. As much as he did not want to leave Anna, if he did not get to bed soon then he would not be fit for anything in the morning, and neither would she. Gently, he pried her arms away from around his waist and stepped back from her. She looked so small, so vulnerable.

"John..." she said shakily, "Please, don't leave me alone."

He brushed his knuckles along her cheek. "I swear to you, Anna, I never will."

She swallowed hard. "Don't leave me alone tonight, John."

"You...want me to..."

"Mrs Hughes won't mind," she said, and he saw a flicker of the old Anna in her eyes.

"Are you sure?"

She seemed to catch his deeper meaning.

"He's stolen enough of our lives already."

John knew who she meant by he. Mrs Hughes had sworn on her mother's grave that she did not know who Anna's attacker was; and Anna had been just as adamant. He would not press Anna any further on the matter; she had suffered through enough already. His gut, however, told him it had been Green. John wanted to rip out his throat. He was a patient man, though, and he would bide his time. One day, Lord Gillingham would return to Downton, and John would be ready to greet his valet.