The Shade of the Sky Just Before Dawn

Summary: Even after he had confronted her with the truth and enveloped her in his arms, she could not shake the feeling of dirtiness which stayed with her. Post S4E5.

Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey or these characters. I just take them out and do terrible things to them once in a while before putting them back where I found them.

A/N: This is a short, angsty oneshot delving into Anna's mindset the night after she tells Bates about her attack in S4E5. I found it half finished and dusted it off to share. Reviews are like kittens. There is very little in the world more amazing than kittens.

I can't let him touch me because I'm soiled.

A long time passed before she truly began to doubt the words she'd spoken to Mrs. Hughes that day. Even after her loving husband had confronted her with the truth and enveloped her in his arms, she could not shake the feeling of dirtiness which stayed with her.

What if that vile man had given her a disease? She'd heard about such things happening, a warning to women who might otherwise give up their virtue at a young and impetuous age. But such a possibility had never occurred to her after she met Mr. Bates. Why would it?

Now, she worried about what infection might have been passed to her, although the concern took her strangely out of herself. Anna could not help but believe that any sickness would be her just punishment, as she must have brought this on herself. But her husband... She shuddered at the thought of such a thing touching him. Her skin crawled at the notion, that he might turn to the wife he valued as pure and virtuous, only to find her a source of filthy contagion.

But Mr. Bates would love her regardless.

Her tears burned hot against her cheeks even as her breath caught painfully in her chest. He would still love her, no matter how dirty she was, no matter what sickness overtook her body. And every time she closed her eyes, she felt it coating her like oil or ash, only to imagine it rubbing off onto his clean hands. She would leave him coated in such blackness, staining his good coat and his white shirt and his hands... his hands...

Those same hands did not hesitate to touch hers, not as he led her home to their cottage in the cold night air. She shivered as much at his touch as she did the weather, and she felt the warmth of his fingers in hers more keenly than the fire in the hearth of their sitting room when they arrived home. That she let him continue to touch her turned her stomach, especially as she imagined his fingers silently burning and blistering at her touch.

The last image finally succeeded in forcing her to pull away from him. But Mr. Bates only paused to look at her with concern rather than harshness or hurt. Her eyes went to his hand, fully expecting to see it red and scarred, but it looked the same as ever.

"Anna?"

He transformed her name into both a plea and an absolution, one she did not deserve. Why had she agreed to come home with him? They would have to share the same bed. He would sleep beside her, and all the evil which had been planted in her might leech out and into him...

"I'm being irrational," she told him, recognizing the truth even as she said it. There was no infection, at least not one she could pass on through touch alone. She knew that with certainty.

"About what?"

"It's nothing," she shrugged an explanation off with embarrassment.

"You can tell me," he implored.

"I don't..." She swallowed tightly, fighting back a fresh round of tears. "I don't know how to explain."

He glanced from her eyes down to her fingers, which unbeknownst to her had begun twisting the wedding ring on her left hand. The nervous habit was one she engaged in far too often, and she readily recognized the reason for it. She had no business wearing his ring, not in light of what had occurred. But she could not take it off, would not do so. His love was like a beacon among the shadows, even if she felt undeserving of its light. If she removed her husband's ring, she feared that she'd be overtaken by the darkness.

"Do I make you nervous when I touch you?" he asked gently.

Anna shook her head. "That isn't it. I mean... yes, I get nervous sometimes, but it isn't your fault at all. None of this is your fault..."

She could have rambled on, her thoughts disjointed and spinning about her head, throwing her mind into a confused mess. His presence did that, but it also calmed her and kept her far from the abyss of despair which had consumed her since... since the night everything had gone wrong.

"Anna," he spoke, his soft voice breaking through to her. She met his eyes and saw only love there. "You weren't at fault either. You know that, don't you?"

He asked the question so innocently, as though he expected her to readily agree. And perhaps she should, to assuage his fears for her sake. But she could not lie to him again, not having caused him so much pain and nearly destroying their marriage through her earlier untruths.

"I feel like I must have.. made it happen," she told him, echoing her statement to Mrs. Hughes. She could not tell him the truth about Mr. Green, not now, but she could share with him her feelings of blame. "I don't know how to explain it, but I keep thinking that it was some sort of... divine punishment... visited on me for my sins."

He wanted to move closer to her, to take her hand in his. She could tell by the way he shifted before settling down again, taking great care to give her the space she needed. Anna's need to comfort him ran up against her need to keep him safe and unsullied.

"You have committed no sins, Anna," he told her softly. "What happened was not a punishment. It was a horrible crime, something no one should ever have to endure. And as long as I live, I will never forgive myself for not being there to protect you."

The guilt in his voice brought her up short even as she felt a sudden sensation of weightlessness in her belly. He blamed himself. In the same breath that he'd absolved her in what had occurred, he took that same blame onto his own shoulders, as though he could have possibly known what would happen in the kitchen that night. And suddenly Anna saw in his stony expression the same certainty that she herself felt. He believed that what had befallen her was his responsibility, that he had failed her.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Suddenly, Anna realized she had dirtied her husband after all. She'd painted him with guilt rather than some sort of disease, but she felt even more filthy witnessing him bear the weight of it. He deserved better than her, truly.

Looking at his face, she knew she had to do it. It felt so very wrong and every corner of her mind screamed at her to stop, but she forced herself to go through with it anyway. Slowly, carefully, Anna reached out to take his hand. The touch of their fingers startled her as much as it did him, but she quickly recovered herself.

His skin was so warm, almost like fire, reminding her of a time when she thought she might never be truly warm again. She wondered if his skin was hot enough to burn away any disease she might carry on her, to protect him from the imaginary contagion her mind persisted in conjuring.

Swallowing reflexively, Anna closed her eyes and let her hand wrap around his fingers. His hand was much larger than hers, something she'd never minded. But in this instance, she imagined him crushing her fingers into a fist within his palm, anchoring her in place while his strength broke bones and caused pain to shoot through her hand-

Her eyes opened suddenly, and she confirmed for herself that she was holding her husband's hand. No one else, just him. And her husband would never hurt her. Even if she hurt him, he would never do the same to her. And she had hurt him, terribly, by pushing him away over the past weeks. Anna had allowed him to believe she no longer loved him, that he was a man to be avoided and ignored. His pain suddenly hit her all at once, the rejection she had heaped on him even as he'd persisted in trying to help her. The agony of it nearly overwhelmed her, even as she realized she'd just done it again.

He now blamed himself for her attack. Anna realized in that moment that she did not carry any disease. She was a disease, and she was slowly infecting her husband, bringing him unnecessary pain and sadness.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, folding both of her hands around his. She brought his fingers to her mouth and kissed them, willing him to understand what she could not say. There were so many things to apologize for, and yet she could not articulate anything beyond, "I'm so sorry."

She did not flinch as he pulled her closer to him, and she allowed her body to relax against him as he pulled her into his arms. For the first time since it had all began, she felt genuinely safe, there, with him. Her skin did not crawl at the thought of leaving him dirtied and soiled like her. He was too strong for that. And the way he looked at her, as though she were the most precious thing on God's earth, she wondered if perhaps he wasn't right. Perhaps it was not her fault, and perhaps she was not spoiled.

"Everything will be all right now," he told her softly.

Like a single candle in a darkened room or the shade of the sky just before dawn, it gave her hope for the future.

fin