Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey and I've unapologetically borrowed several lines of dialogue from the show for this story.

Summary: After weeks with no letters and no visits, Bates had finally come to one simple, awful conclusion. She's given up on me. S3 episode filler.

A/N: In the midst of writing my angsty Old Wounds Revisited fic, I managed to take a moment to write out this (slightly less angsty?) S3 Bates prison/missing letters gap filler. His relief at finding out his letters were being stopped made me wonder how he ever thought Anna would just stop writing to him.

Reviews are always appreciated.

She's given up on me.

After weeks with no letters and no visits, Bates had finally come to that simple, awful conclusion.

And why wouldn't she? he wondered to himself. I'm sentenced to life in prison for murder. How long could I expect her to spend her every half day coming to York to visit me in this place?

As much as he missed her, as much as he longed for her, he could not blame Anna for giving up. He'd always known she'd come to regret her decision to marry him. Their time together as man and wife could be measured in hours before Bates had been taken from her to spend the rest of his days in a prison cell. And Anna would forever be known as the wife of a murderer. Her entire future was tainted by him.

But I miss her so.

The letters and fortnightly visits from his wife were the only things which brightened his cold and miserable existence at the moment. And yet, he knew he was selfish to ask her to give so much of herself and her time. She had a life to lead, a real life, and his revolved only around her. It could be too much. Perhaps she only needed a break from it.

Please let it be that. A break from this hell.

And yet, it seemed so strange for her to stop writing and visiting so abruptly, so unlike her. What if she were ill or injured? Surely Mrs. Hughes or Mr. Carson would write and let him know. He considered writing to one of them directly but dismissed the notion. Someone would have let him know if anything had happened to her. And if Anna had decided to sever contact with her felon of a husband, he would not embarrass her by exposing such action to the heads of household staff.

As the weeks went by with still no letters, Bates began to change the tone of his own missives. He did not tell Anna of how much he missed her or looked forward to her visits. He told her he loved her and wanted only the best for her, that her future was always at the forefront of his mind.

He could not bring himself to ask her to write him. As much as he wanted to put the plea on paper, he could not guilt her into reaching out in such a fashion. His wife was an amazing and kind person. Deciding to give up on her husband in this way must have been an impossibly difficult decision and he would not make her feel shame over it.

I love you, he wrote to her instead. I hope you are well. You are never outside of my thoughts. I carry you with me each day and each night. The gifts you have given me I will treasure forever.

More days passed without a response. Hesitating to write again, he pictured her sitting at the servants' table at Downton as Mr. Carson passed out the mail. He could see her accept the envelope, but with no excitement or enthusiasm. She might put it away in a pocket of her apron, careful to hide the obvious grey mail from the prison. He wondered, would she read it later? Or would just the sight of it cause her too much pain, a reminder of the life she'd given up so hastily by marrying him?

He could see her sitting alone in her room upstairs later in the night, tears in her eyes as she held the drag, dark envelope in her hands. Her guilt would torture her into opening it, into reading it, and his words would make her feel even worse. The sound of her crying followed him throughout his day, reaching into his dreams and turning them into nightmares.

But he was unable to stop himself, and Bates wrote her again - one last letter.

I cannot blame you for giving up, he told her. I would never blame you, Anna. Rather, I must thank you. I am forever in your debt for the love and kindness you have shown me since the first moment we met. You have given me so much, and I will treasure my memories of our time together. I promise that I won't write you again unless you want me to as I'm sure my letters only make things more difficult for you. I hope you find some measure of happiness, Anna. Your happiness is all that matters to me.

He considered offering to consent to a divorce, if she so wished it, but could not bring himself to add such a practical sentiment. Even before they'd wed, Bates had reconciled himself to the notion that if he ended up spending his life behind prison bars, he would not refuse to cut his wife free from their matrimony if she so wished it. He had such trouble believing a woman like Anna would ever truly want him. And now that he knew that precious love had been lost...

He submitted the envelope to the prison warden to be mailed the next morning, waiting as the man tallied the cost of the stamp against the money in his account. If nothing else, Anna continued to make sure a small monthly stipend was deposited with the prison so he could pay for postage. Bitterly, Bates wondered if she begrudged the funds, if she wouldn't rather keep the money for some other purpose.

But a moment later, he was berating himself for such thoughts. What right did he have to feel anger at her? Did he truly expect her to spend the rest of her life visiting him and writing to him in prison? What kind of life could that be for her?

With his spirits low and thoughts going to a dark place, Bates walked in line with the other inmates to the cold, dank room where they worked in the mornings.

"When was the last time your wife came to visit, eh? How many letters have you received lately?"

Dent's questions took time to sink into his mind and settle like puzzle pieces into a clear picture. But as they did, Bates found himself smiling. They had classified him as a dangerous prisoner because of what occurred with Craig, which meant that Anna had not stopped writing him at all. Rather, they'd kept her letters and turned her away for visits. He sighed in sudden contentment.

"Thank God... What a relief. I thought she'd given up on me."

He had to address the problem with Craig, of course, and obviously intimidation would not work. But he already had an idea to solve that problem. It would involve turning the tables on his cell mate and planting the same contraband which had been intended to get him punishment. A few words to one of the impartial guards, and Craig would have to be taken to the governor.

Bates appreciated the symmetry of the scenarios, although in truth, he'd much rather not have to get involved with Craig at all. But something obviously needed to occur if he was to lose the label of "dangerous prisoner" and start getting his mail again. Indeed, not only was Anna his salvation, she was the only one working to get him out of prison.

And in the end, the plan worked. Craig was hauled off by the wardens and followed by a nervous Warden Durrant. John received his letters from Anna. When the warden tossed him the stack, he was momentarily taken aback by how many were there. Some were thin and small while others much thicker. But she had never stopped writing to him.

He took his time reading the letters, beginning with the oldest one and working his way to the most recent envelopes. They grew longer as the time had passed, the first one being the usual sheet of paper covered with news from Downton and Anna's thoughts about their life together once he was out of prison. He smiled at her words, hearing them aloud in her familiar tones in his mind as he read the letter. She ended with the words he so longed to read: I love you.

Bates read them all in one sitting, keeping them in order so he would have them to read all over again when he was done. He could sense the unease building in her as he went through them, as she obviously was failing to receive replies from him. Anna's tension became straight worry as she began to ask him why he did not write.

I have not heard from you in a fortnight. Are you unwell? I tried to make my usual visit but I was turned away and told you were not accepting visitors. John, please write.

Sighing at the obvious pain and rejection in his wife's letter, Bates wished he could wrap his hands around Craig's neck and squeeze the life from him. It was bad enough to mess with a man, but to cause Anna such unnecessary worry?

The last, most recent letter was the longest of them all. He opened it with trembling hands, uncertain what he would find. But just the sight of his first name written in her hand was enough to reassure him.

Dear John,

I don't know why you haven't written. This silence has gone on long enough that I know it cannot be a mistake. I hope you are not attempting to do something gallant like set me free. You should know by now that I can never be free of you, not in this life or the next. We are connected by bonds stronger than anything I've ever known. When I thought you would be hanged, I had to prepare myself for my own life to end. I don't know how I could have gone on without you and I don't still.

Before we met, I never knew what true love meant. To me it was just a word people wrote about in novels, an emotion which I could see but had never felt. And then you came to Downton and entered my life. I don't know when I truly knew, when I really understood my feelings for the first time.

I remember liking the look of you when we first met, very smart and practical in arriving to the house early to get a feel for the place. They were so concerned about you getting on, but I knew you could manage, just as you said. And as the months passed and we spent more time together, I found you to be such a good friend. But it was more than that, and I know you felt it too. I was drawn to you in a way I never had been with any other man. When I thought you might have to leave, I knew I would be losing something very special.

Knowing what I know now about your past, I wish you'd told me sooner. But it had to happen in its own time. You may consider those years we had to spend apart but not apart as wasted, but not me. I was lucky to have that time with you, a friendship colored with the hope of something more.

I'm glad we married when we did. I'm glad I carry your name as my own. You must know by now that I will never love again as I love you. Not miles nor iron bars or even death could sever my connection to you. I will keep writing until I hear back from you, until I can see you once more.

And I will keep searching for evidence to set you free. Make no mistake - you will be free. You are an innocent man and we will prove it, I promise you. And once we have obtained your freedom, we can begin our life together anew. I look forward to more nights with you as my husband. I dream about you often, did you know? But I cannot tell you of those dreams here. You will have to wait until a visit...

Her letter went on at length, moving from topic to topic but always circling back around to her unswerving love and devotion. Bates could not remove the grin from his face as he read her words. Clearly she believed he'd stopped writing to her deliberately so as to free her. He'd considered doing such a thing but knew himself to be too weak to give her up. Anna's presence in his life was an undeserved but necessary salvation. Without her, he truly was nothing.

He immediately put pen to paper, letting her know that he had finally received her letters and hoped that she had gotten his. Not wanting to concern her about the likes of Craig and Durrant, Bates did not explain the reason for the withheld mail and visits she'd been turned away from. Instead he told her of his elation at receiving her letters and how much he looked forward to her next visit, if she wished to attempt one.

Not until his letter was sealed in an envelope and left on the desk, ready to be given to the warden the next morning did Bates allow himself to settle back into his bunk for a second re-read of Anna's many letters. He went over them like a man starved, absorbing every word, every subtle nuance of her writing. He laughed at the embedded humor, her dry wit showing through even when she did not intend it. And he tried not to shed tears at her desperation to hear from him.

Oh, how he missed this woman.

Her first visit to him after their long absence of communication came a few days later - not her usual half day but one she likely worked out with Mrs. Hughes and Lady Mary.

As they escorted him into the barred room, Bates took in the sight of her. Anna always looked so young and beautiful during their visits. He wanted so badly to take her into his arms, but the wardens were nearby and several already had their eye on him. Besides, if the information she'd written to him about Mrs. Bartlet's account was true, he might be able to touch her even sooner than they'd both imagined.

When Anna asked about why they'd stopped her visits and their letters back and forth, Bates quickly played off the question and distracted her with his thoughts about Vera's suicide. The information from Mrs. Bartlet was critical because even though she was a friend of Vera's and believed him guilty - perhaps especially for that reason - the detail about the pastry could be key to the case.

Anna promised to take the matter to Lord Grantham. The fact that Mrs. Barlet would be a hostile witness who'd rather see Bates stay in prison did complicate the situation.

But toward the end of their visit, the conversation turned back around to the delayed letters. "Did you really think," she asked pointedly, "that I deliberately stopped writing you?"

"I didn't know what to think, not at first," he responded.

"But you believed that I'd given up on you, and that's why my letters stopped," Anna said.

He sighed, chastened that he could ever conceive of such behavior from Anna. She acted as his most steadfast champion in all this and he was ashamed to admit his doubt.

"I wouldn't have blamed you if you had."

She let out a humorless laugh. "Here I thought you were being gallant to try and spare me, and all the while you thought I was being selfish."

"Not selfish, Anna. I could never see you that way. I am the selfish one, to want you here."

"But you thought I'd just cut off all ties with you because it was too difficult," she said, obviously hurt.

Bates shook his head, unable to speak as he was momentarily overcome by emotion. "I should have known better," he admitted. "You've never given me any reason to doubt you. I suppose I only doubted myself, and my worthiness of your devotion."

Her face fell even further at his statement. Frowning at him, she asked quietly, "What can I say to make you believe me when I say that there is no place I'd rather be than with you?"

"Anna..."

"You are my husband, and I won't abandon you. I don't care if the testimony of Mrs. Bartlet comes to naught. I will keep searching, and I will keep writing you and coming to this place every opportunity I can to visit you." She took in a deep breath, intent on continuing, but he held up a hand to stop her.

"I know, Anna," Bates said gently. "I was wrong to ever think otherwise. Your unending faith means everything to me."

She stared at him for a moment, her expression difficult to read. Finally, she relented and smiled at him. "I wish I could touch you," she said, looking anxiously at the empty space between their hands.

"Soon," he assured her. "If the evidence you found is enough, it might be very soon, Anna."

"I hope so," she lamented with a sigh.

A warden called out that the time for their visit was over, and Bates reluctantly parted from Anna. He wanted to know if she'd be back for another visit at her next half day, but he hated asking. As much as he craved every a moment with her, he knew taking the bus into Yorkshire and back just for a brief visit with him was exhausting for her. But he needn't have worried.

"I'll be back soon," she called out to him, "As soon as I can. And until then, I'll write."

She was too far away to hear him, so he only mouthed the words.

"Thank you."

Thank you for coming. Thank you for writing. Thank you for working to free me. And most of all, thank you for your love.

fin