A/N: Another idea that has been burrowed away in my head for a while and that I've now had the chance to bring to light...what with the American flavour to the first couple of episodes of S3, now seemed like the ideal time to get it out there. Also, if it was left any longer I suspect it would get stale within the context of the show. I did struggle with the likelihood of Anna taking off so soon after the reprieve, but after the exchange in 3.1 I felt reassured somewhat.

This is inspired by the mention of New York in the Christmas Special, which in turn led me to put that together with one of my favourite songs, also called New York (by Snow Patrol). It breaks my heart every time I hear it, in a nice way - and who else manages to do that very same thing...? It seemed too perfect to ignore. The letter in question references the verses of the song, so if you wish to connect the dots, Google/YouTube are your pals.

If I would have had more time to write, this could have been a lot better - excuse my rather hasty research of 1920s New York and prison life. Also, to the Americans reading, I really hope you're not offended in any way. I was just going off the vibe that's been presented on screen; you're all lovely.

Unfortunately, I don't own Downton Abbey. If I did, Anna and Bates would be having their own quite different American adventure - after they'd stopped off in France, of course (ooh la la).

"Brace yourself, Anna. They do things rather differently over here."

She'd taken the words Lady Mary had said to her before they had pulled into the port flippantly at first, expecting that they'd been issued as a sort of perfunctory declaration, to stop her from getting too dazzled or carried away by being suddenly immersed in this brave, but what must surely be for her, daunting new world. At the time, she had laughed to herself. She wasn't Daisy. Even though she had not travelled far and wide, nor really walked within the realms that Lady Mary had done since not long after her birth and was now quite indifferent to, she was quite certain that everything she had experienced in her life more than sufficiently prepared her for anything 'out of the ordinary'. Yet, they had rung completely true; even now, she found them amplified and echoing in her head. From the moment she stepped from the liner, she felt it unmistakeably. Something in the air. Nearly two months on, she hadn't been able to put her finger on what it was.

Of course, there were the factors that were too substantial to be ignored and that, even if she were to remain here for decades longer rather than days, she knew she would never get accustomed to. The shift in time played havoc with her body clock, and she found herself waking either incredibly early or otherwise very late, to the point where some days she had, half-asleep, perceived Lady Mary's presence on the floor above her and had had to fly up in a blind panic to ensure she was adequately attended to. Though that fright was nothing compared to the one that filled her as they sat in the back of the car, being driven back and forth across New York. Each and every time, she had been convinced that a series of vehicles would come careening from the opposite direction to arrive inches in front of the windshield, making a collision unavoidable. Still, as she clambered out from her seat, she'd had to take a careful, considered breath to calm her frayed nerves.

Though such aspects were unsettling, they were not what had the biggest effect upon her. She had always known that it was the little things in life that meant the most, and it was the little things that were most strikingly different here.

Kaleidoscopic colours flickering in the ever-expanding sky at every point of the day; headlights, traffic lights, blinking impatiently. The warm wind and the fine dust carried along with it brushing against her hair and the cotton of her light dresses; the lily-of-the-valley placed in her room and the strong perfume that wafted through Lady Mary's grandmother's house set off by the pine of the green glades in the garden and, far off in the distance, salt, cement and smoke. The milky liquid that was supposed to be tea, but didn't sit quite right on her tongue. A telephone bell that sounded exceptionally shrill against the permanent low hum of the city, at once deafening and hardly louder than a whisper.

They didn't always strike her with the same force, but whenever she picked up on them, they brought forth a momentary melancholy. A skip of a beat; a little more longing for all that she'd known almost forever. The little things, especially.

Opening the shutters of the huge windows wide, watching specks swirl slowly around as pale light flooded through; then, becoming for the best part of the day, immersed in the dim glow of the servants' hall. Steam, the striking of a match. Something always being prepared, baked; flour and the thousand different aromas of food, tempered with the lingering smell of silver polish. Sitting, with a proper cup of tea. Running up and down stairs, in and out of rooms. Smoothing the creases from crisp bedsheets in the morning; settling down against the worn and bobbled covers of her own little bed last thing. Crunching gravel, the tinkling of an insistent choir of bells. The clatter, the chatter. Comfort.

The very fabric of her life, miles away, but not left behind. Every part a part of her, and she missed all of it.

Seeing him standing at the foot of the stairs at the beginning of the day, wishing her 'good morning'; the distinctive fall of his steps behind her as she smiled and passed by. Glimpsing through the door as she walked by Lord Grantham's dressing room, seeing concentrated features intent, taking care as he swiped the lint from a suit jacket and carefully arranged the grooming implements upon the little table. Musk, leather, the scent of reams of worn volumes; the night air that he'd carried back in from the courtyard. Drinking his tea slowly, tapping his hand upon the table. Brushing hers as they reached for the same needle and spool of thread. Leaving her the last biscuit that was on his saucer as he left the little light on in the hall, softly bidding her 'good night'.

She cradled the letter in her lap, tracing her fingers against its edges, turning it over and over. A hallmark of the present; a reminder of the past. She let it slip from her grasp for a second, before snatching it up again, bringing it to her face to assure herself that it was real, that it was actually there in front of her.

None of it was there any longer. Not at this moment in time. Why should it matter that she should not be there either?

When the announcement of his reprieve arrived, there had been no question of what she would do. Though plans had got underway for the journey and she hated to let Lady Mary down, she knew that she could not possibly leave, not when she had to be there for her husband. She wasn't a hundred per cent certain whether Lady Mary herself was still going to travel; there had been more than one chance for her to talk alone with Mr Matthew, and Anna was sure she would have taken them, though she wasn't going to pry into Lady Mary's personal affairs. Readying her for bed one night, Lady Mary told Anna in the safety and security of her own surroundings that though she had accepted Mr Matthew's proposal, she intended for the trip to America still to take place. It didn't give the best impression of a serious promise and the true love that was between them, to enter into an engagement so hastily whilst the remnants of a broken one were still cast about her. It was the best course, she had decided, to keep things secret for a little while; to get some space, come back with a clean slate. Anna noticed Lady Mary's eyes regarding her in the mirror as she braided her hair; she had turned quiet and seemed hesitant to speak, opening her mouth to do so more than once before pursing her lips again. Anna felt comfortable enough to ask directly what the matter was.

"I was just thinking…that it might be good for you to accompany me, still. Wipe your own slate clean, for a little while, at least."

"Oh, m'lady, it's very kind of you to offer but I don't think it's the best thing for me to do now."

"I don't know if I agree. You have had so much to shoulder in the past months, Anna; more than any person should have to contend with in a lifetime. After all you've been through I can see no better option than to take some time out, to give yourself some respite. It won't be for long, and you have my word that if there is the smallest bit of news, we shall head back on the instant." Anna smiled; the sinking feeling in her stomach telling her that such a possibility was remote at this stage. "I shall understand completely if you decline. But say you'll think about it."

A change of scenery. The chance to come back unclouded, cleansed, with renewed purpose and determination; ready to take on the challenges that were ahead, to face fully towards an uncertain future.

The big things were what mattered there; were all she could see and be aware of. Fate lying entirely in the hands of others. His freedom having to be fought for, in a series of battles that seemed impossible to win. Her own freedom increasingly elusive, hiding from sight. Big things, bigger than anything she'd ever had to take on. She felt so small in the face of it all, struggled to see how she would be able to defeat the turn of the tide, almost single-handedly.

She had gone down a few days before, giving just enough time for her to be able to back out without causing too much trouble. Sitting down at the small table in the near-dark, she had felt her stomach tighten and her throat constrict as she prepared to tell him. Why she should be so nervous, she wasn't sure; as soon as she looked into his eyes, she decided what her answer would be. She hadn't bargained on it being firmly contradicted before she could utter it aloud.

"What did I tell you? You must go; embrace the opportunity with all you have. Don't worry about me; I'll still be here when you get back. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."

Her eyes fell to the floor as a sad half-smile flickered upon her face. She tried to protest, argue otherwise, but he had made up her mind for her. She wondered just when he had become so decisive.

"You need to live, Anna. Live my life as well as your own. Don't think about it. Go."

She watched his fingers resting upon the table, stretched out towards where she sat. The urge to clasp them with her own was overwhelming, the ache stabbed at her, but she knew if she even dared to think of doing so, the bellow from the other side of the room would come immediately.

There was already so much distance placed between them that it did not seem to matter that much that she should be so far away, on the other side of the world. In some respects, there seemed to be less of it apparent while they were kept apart by an ocean rather than bars and guards. Yet she could never cover enough ground to escape from them, the pangs of sorrow and guilt that would strike her in the quiet of the evening or in a missing moment during the day. She hadn't expected to be able to abandon them completely, and in a strange way, she didn't want to stop feeling the sensations. Her body may have been here, her mind too for the most part, but her heart was somewhere else entirely.

Home is where the heart is.

Her hands ran reverently across the unopened envelope. She thought of his own pressing upon the paper that lay inside, leaving his imprint upon every inch of the small white packet. Carefully, she let her fingertips travel over all of the same spaces. A point of contact.

His hand, barely grazing against her cheek as they stood in the descending chill of the night; his head bending down towards her. Fingertips cold against her skin, breath warm against her ear, as he sighed her name, confessed his love for her. The kiss falling upon her lips in the shadows; his touch now assured, smoothing deftly down the side of her body, producing a million tingles to shoot up within her, as her hands reached up to grasp his hair. Warmth surrounding her, searing through her as the kisses came over and over, on her mouth, her neck, her bare skin as they lay swathed in the sheets, his hand guiding her hip closer to him. Hands clinging on fast, desperate to never let go as they were watched, as their lips met, for the last time.

Not just miles away from her now, but whole worlds away.

He had pleaded with her before she went, and time again before that, to have fun. The very thought had seemed not just improbable but indeed, impossible. Yet she had had fun here, enjoyed the days as they passed by, sometimes in a blur. Perhaps she should have restrained herself, but his voice had resounded in her head whenever she had started to have doubts or began to berate. She should think herself lucky. For the most part, the time was spent, as Lady Mary had predicted, going to dinners and visiting extended family and old acquaintances. Martha Levinson was a whirlwind all of her own, leaving them feeling quite exhausted without leaving the house. Some days were so packed with preparations and commitments that it didn't feel like a holiday at all, felt that Downton had merely shrunk in size and been shifted across the pond. Then, she was asleep before her head could touch the pillow.

But there were a few days here and there that were completely free of social obligation, hours that they could call their own. They were able to take in the sights of the city, leisurely stroll down Fifth Avenue and Park Avenue, ride across Central Park. As they stared out at the skyline over Manhattan in the early evening, Anna was awestruck. It was hard to believe that she should be standing there, seeing things in front of her that she never dreamed she ever would in her whole life. A girl like her, in a place like this; it was outstanding, really. Gazing out towards the Woolworth Building, staggered by the way it stretched beyond the clouds, she let her thoughts drift and felt her lips curling upwards despite herself. At her left-hand side Lady Mary stood, noticing the smile that Anna now wore and returning it with a gentle one of her own. She didn't have to ask to know what, or who, Anna was thinking of; there was only ever one person who could give cause for such a grin to appear upon her face.

Being here had allowed Anna to contemplate new perspectives, dream different dreams. She hadn't thought they could be possible back at home, but that was true of a lot of things. Perhaps it was all rubbing off on her here, giving her a new hope. Looking at the dusky sky, tiny lights sparking to life within it, the vision became clear to her: a new start, a new life for them. She'd always imagined it happening in Downton, or perhaps in one of the other nearby villages, but now, though it pained her to think it, life there didn't appear as if it would ever be free from worry. Here, it could all be so different. The chance to begin again, far away from everything that had burdened them; to be carefree, and happy. Closing her eyes for a second, she could see him standing next to her, similarly astounded by the sights upon the horizon. Her fingers extended into the space by her side briefly, before she pulled them back, coming to her senses. The cooling of the air chilled her pleasantly. For a moment, she wished he really could have been there, sharing it all with her.

Each night, she returned to her room and wrote it all down; everything she saw, heard and experienced on her journeys, every little detail of her day noted upon endless sheets of paper. She wrote until her hand hurt and blotches of ink were scattered across her skin, sometimes near enough until the sun came up. Long letters, that contained the contents of her head, her heart and her soul. It wasn't just the events of the present that she wrote of, the memories she was making for the both of them, but of the past, the ones that had already been made; revisiting them with a heart unburdened and unafraid. Looking back, there had been so many things she had wanted to say that she had never got the chance to; so many things she had wanted to do. It may have been too late to do anything about the missed actions, but she could remedy the unspoken words. As they spilled upon the page so effortlessly, she felt catharsis, a calm. A connection. Even if they had been torn apart, even as she was miles from where he was, he could never be in doubt of the power of the love she had for him, could still be sure of the unbreakable bond that united them for life, so long as she kept writing. Every letter she composed was a testament, an affirmation of all that she had vowed to him. As each word was placed upon each page, she felt everything grow stronger: her adoration, her belief, her hope and utmost faith.

She was never sure where they went when they left her hands; if, indeed, they made it out of the country. What was to say that even if they did reach their destination that they weren't being snatched upon arrival, ripped into shreds, cast away? Words going unread and promises being broken. For all the time she had been here she had not heard anything to tell her otherwise, had not received anything in return. The days went by, and the lack of it – the lack of him – set itself deeper with each day. She could feel it within her; the thread stretching thin, so close to breaking point. She was breaking, slowly snapping in two.

Leading a double life, as he was barely able to cling onto his own.

She was allowed to be different here. At least in appearance, she had become another person entirely. She had got used to seeing herself in the mirror out of uniform, wearing her own clothes from day to day, a couple of Lady Mary's old blouses and dresses; even a brand new dress and hat bought while they had been over. People stared at her as she passed by, but not for the reasons they did back home. Here, nobody knew anything. There were no whispers, cries or calls; no one gathered in circles to condemn or shut her out. She could breathe easier. It wouldn't have bothered her if they had known. Indeed, she wondered whether it would have mattered, made the same impact as it had done elsewhere. She'd heard so much about how American attitudes were altered, had experienced them firsthand. Some of the stories she heard Lady Mary's grandmother and her friends recall had startled her, but given how they spoke amongst themselves with such nonchalance at what they had been recounting, it only seemed to confirm the growing belief she had that things really could be different here, even if everything did come out. She was not afraid or ashamed, after all. Not of who she was now.

Her fingers looped over the writing, the name that was displayed so boldly in his hand across the envelope. She couldn't keep her hands from it, felt the pride swell up in her heart on seeing it written down. Touching it over and over, claiming it a thousand times again.

Mrs. John Bates,

This was who she was. Who she was always meant to be.

"Does it feel very different, to be married?" Lady Mary glanced out from the back seat of the car, entranced by the skyscrapers that swept by both of their eyes. "Sometimes I think I shall never get to know."

"Don't be silly, m'lady. The time will come sooner than you know, and you'll have the most amazing day. The most amazing life together." Anna sighed inwardly as she said the words; she was ashamed to feel it, but she couldn't help but be a little envious of the future that was awaiting Lady Mary and Mr Matthew. To be able to enjoy newly married life blissfully, without any troubles or threats, or a separation that could last for eternity. "And I don't know if I'm the best person to ask; your experience will be much different than mine."

Lady Mary's head turned around to face Anna, who was sitting at her side, absent-mindedly toying with the golden band that was fixed to her finger. "I think you know better than anyone else. I will never forget the glow that was upon you that evening. I can still observe it now, even on a grey day like today. I should hope that I appear half as radiant, and so clearly happy, when the time arrives."

She smiled, a little bashfully. "Thank you, m'lady. I suppose there is a change, of sorts. I feel more confident, more comfortable in my skin." A sparkle flashed in her eyes without her being truly aware. "In some ways, everything changes quite wonderfully."

She saw Lady Mary's eyebrows arch. "Oh Anna, you do shock me." After a note of mock-naivety, Lady Mary broke into giggles and Anna followed, feeling pleased to relive the sheer joy of the memory that remained so vivid in her mind. Her cheeks burning a little, she recovered herself.

"But actually, m'lady, I don't believe I have altered much at all. Not really. I am certainly glad to be able to call myself my husband's wife and tell it to the world, yet even if I could tell it to my heart alone, everything would be just the same. The love I have for Mr Bates hasn't changed; I know it's as strong as it has always been in my heart. And that's what matters, m'lady. As long as that love is in your heart, in every beat and every breath of you, then really, it doesn't matter what is said or done anywhere else."

"If only that could be true for all of us."

"It's true for me, m'lady."

Lady Mary smiled sincerely towards her. "I know. And I envy you for it, Anna. Or, I should say, Mrs Bates. It suits you ever so well."

Her stride was a little more assured and her head held higher as they entered the party, the utterance of her married name sounding clear, reigniting the spark that she had worried was beginning to go out within her. She could feel it; he was with her once more. She would always carry a part of him with her, wherever she went.

The apprehension she had on arrival dissipated, but struck up again seconds later as she took in the grand hall. She had never seen anything quite like it, not in all the years she had been in service. The scale of the event wasn't as big as any that had took place at Downton, but the atmosphere was considerably different. Extravagant, is what she'd call it, and a little chaotic. She was certain that if he could see it, Mr Carson would not approve. Bodies buzzed about her, and soon enough Lady Mary had been swept away too, absorbed in the throng. Not knowing anyone else, there was little for her to do but to stand at the edges and wait, rather awkwardly. Occasionally she was able to catch a glimpse of Lady Mary amongst the crowd, proving a fascination to all those around her. It didn't matter where they were; Lady Mary would always garner the attention of the entire room. She was thankful that Lady Edith had not accompanied them on the trip, as Lady Grantham had suggested before they left; Anna could only imagine how frustrated and forlorn she would look at this very moment. At the same time, she rather wished for the company.

Yet she was aware that, unconsciously, she was being given rather a lot of attention too. Though it just seemed to be the custom here, she was still not used to it, especially not at such an occasion. She shifted slightly, keeping her eyes on the swirling and dancing in front of her and trying to tune her ears to the snatches of conversation that were flying in the air. Still, she felt a presence very close at her back.

"Hello."

She pretended she couldn't hear in the din, but the voice did not relent.

"I don't believe I've seen you here before."

"No, I'm just visiting."

On seeing the tall man, she couldn't make out whether he was a servant or a gentleman. The distinction was unclear over here.

"So I can hear. You're English. How interesting."

"If you think so."

He kept on staring, and asking questions, and Anna tried to be as polite as possible, even though she was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. She averted her gaze from the eyes that were boring into her and raised her left hand to her throat, shielding herself.

"You're married."

"I am." Her voice was insistent.

"Well, that's unusual. Where is your husband?"

She didn't like the tone he was taking, nor the way his eyes were narrowed upon her wedding ring, scrutinising it. She wished he would look anywhere else.

"Excuse me for saying, but I don't believe that's any of your business."

There was a short laugh as he stepped closer, his gaze now travelling the length of her.

"Maybe not, but I can't help but think it's very strange. Leaving a lady like you alone."

"I'm not a lady." You are a lady to me. "And I'm not alone. I'm accompanying Lady Mary Crawley."

"But surely, your husband should be the one to accompany you. He mustn't think much of you, though I have no idea why." Her stomach churned and she felt like she might be sick. His face came nearer still. "Unless, of course, you're here looking for someone else."

A hand reached out. Before it could land upon her, she turned sharply on her heel and had begun to stride across the edge of the hall, hoping she would disappear in the stream of people but being certain she was standing out like a beacon. Did he know? Did everyone know? They couldn't possibly, but there was something about his look that said otherwise. Was he teasing her purposely, or trying to take advantage regardless? She knew that Lady Mary had noticed the movement from the other side of the room and was following her with quiet, concerned eyes. She also knew that the stranger's eyes were still burning into her, a smirk upon his face as he stood in the same spot, watching her leave. She didn't look behind her, did not return Lady Mary's gaze. All she was concerned about was leaving. All she wanted to do was leave, as swiftly as possible. The room; the country. If only she had wings to fly at that very instant.

Everything was different here, and yet nothing was.

It was all just the same.

Sitting on the bed, the neon of the night outside excluded from the room aside from one thin strip falling upon her feet, she let the cracks split her open. Silently, she wept. Her tears weren't for what had happened a few nights previous. She didn't know if they were more for herself. How awful. All of the tears she shed should have belonged solely to him; what reason had she to cry? She thought of light, expanse, freedom; confinement, danger, darkness. Being so far away. Being near, but worlds apart still; unable to make a difference, no matter how hard she strived. She tasted tin in her mouth, felt rope in her hands. She couldn't get them out of her head: all of the eyes that were bearing down upon her, showing so many different things. Fear, sorrow, disgust. His look the most judging of all, his eyes never leaving her. Full of disappointment, betrayal. Heartbreak. His heart was breaking in front of her, and she held the weapon to destroy it completely. She hadn't even thought of it. His eyes were pleading. Don't go. You're all I have, you'll leave me with nothing. His hands slipping into hers, he took the noose from her grip. If you're not here, then there's no reason for me to be here either.

She had every reason to cry.

How could she have ever come here, left him all alone? It had done him no good and it had done her no good either. There was no clean slate, no new start; instead she felt more burdened than ever. She was collapsing under the weight of loss, of love. There was no point in fooling herself any longer, keeping up this charade. She missed him so very much, missed everything about him. All of the little things. The sight of him walking through the house, the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand resting upon hers as they sat together. The touch of his hand at the base of her throat, followed there by the press of his lips, as they stood with bodies so close together they were almost one, in the secret room.

She couldn't go another day longer without it all, without him.

She needed a sign. A beginning of an end. Just one thing, to reassure her.

All she heard was his voice crying out her name, desperately, the same way as he had done when the verdict condemned him. He needed her so very much. Anna. Anna. Echoing over and over, breaking her heart. It sounded out weaker, hardly a whisper as he rasped, barely breathing as he lay bruised and bleeding upon a narrow bed. Anna. She was the last breath that left his body.

How would she know if anything had happened? It would have put her in hell in any way imaginable but if she had been back she could have been sure, could have had the time to come to terms and grieve, all over again. But the thought that it may have happened weeks ago, and she had no idea, going to dinners and parties and living out here in absolute ignorance. The guilt would have served as her own death sentence. The thought made her head spin and pound with pain.

This is what you get for leaving, she told herself. He needs you, and what have you done? Walked away, gone to the other side of the world, because it was getting too much. Because you couldn't face it. Well, he has to face it, every hour of every day. You're nothing of what he needs. You're no better, no better than her…

Something had to end it, the chaos that was creeping upon her and driving her slowly mad.

The next morning, she had composed herself once more, put such thoughts – for the most part – out of her head. More of Lady Mary's words entered it. "Being here for too long does strange things to a person." She'd laughed in dismissal, but perhaps it was true. It was a good job that they were due to depart in a few days time. She had begun to dress for the day, and think of what it would entail, when a knock at the door shook her out of her daydream.

Lady Mary entered after Anna had issued her admittance.

"Something for you."

A small, slightly battered white envelope was placed on the dressing table. It remained there, unopened, until they had returned in the early evening.

She didn't know why she'd left it. Part of her had wanted to tear at it before Lady Mary had even laid it down, eager and craving for the piece of home, the precious connection with her husband. Perhaps that was it; she wanted to pay it the respect it deserved, read his words several times over until she could have recited them by heart. She couldn't have done that knowing she had a day of duties and commitments ahead of her, wanted to afford it the time and her undivided attention. The delay was also in part due to her sadness and frustration; as much as she loved to receive any correspondence from him, an essay-length letter or short, scrawled note, once she had finished reading a little fire went out inside of her, and she was once again reminded of all that was denied to her. She wanted it to burn a little longer. Then there was the fear of not knowing what was inside; perhaps the contents should reveal something she did not ever want to know. Her heart missed a few beats before she picked the envelope up.

Running her fingers across it, staring hard to make sure it wouldn't disappear, she flipped it over decisively in her hands. Fumbling at first, she tore the top of the envelope with one of her fingers, and it was open. Walking backwards a few steps, she sank down onto the bed as she pulled the sheets of paper free, unfolding them carefully, exposing them to the air.

Taking a deep breath, she began to read.

Dearest Anna,

I hope that this letter finds you well, safe and, above all, content. Even though I suspect you will have more than enough distraction, I should be concerned to think that you may be terribly homesick. I don't believe you will be. Still, I am hoping that as you read this, amongst the sunshine and city heat, that you'll be taken back to the cloudy late-winter skies and comfort of Downton. I am picturing such things vividly in my mind as I write. (I only wish I could be certain that this will reach you; I have control over so little, but especially my contact with the outside world. It will have been placed in safe hands, however, so I can only trust that will count in our favour.)

Well, what can I say – America. New York. What a wonderful adventure you'll be having, I have absolutely no doubt. The sights you will have seen, the things you will have done…you must know that I am thrilled to think of them all, feel the life bursting within me to know of you really living, every second. I have received one letter of yours, that you wrote shortly after your arrival to say the journey had been a peaceful one. I know you will have been writing many more, and I long to read them, but don't be troubled – I still hear your voice in my head, telling me everything. I would rather you enjoy yourself, spend the time making the most of it all. And how you will – I can just see you and Lady Mary taking on the city, causing quite a stir. I love to imagine the two of you doing so. I also wonder if you will have picked up any slang, if you've acquired an American lilt in your tone. The thought amuses and disconcerts me in equal measure. I am eagerly awaiting the chance to hear for myself.

There is not much to tell you from my side, which I perhaps think you'll be relieved to hear. They've decided to make me useful and put me to work. I do some hours in the kitchens, and also sew uniforms and unpick oakum, which is not particularly pleasant. Thankfully, my hands have recovered enough to allow me to write this to you. I don't mind the other jobs; they keep me occupied, and serve as something of a reminder of life how it once was. I suspect one of the regular guards, who does not like me much, is lining me up for something altogether more physical. I shall also be getting a new cellmate within the next few days. Time will only tell whether they will prove to be a friend (though the term does seem rather redundant in here) or foe.

You'll be pleased to know that I have had a couple of visits from Mrs Hughes in the time you have been away. I have to confess, I was a little surprised to have seen her, but she soon assured me that she was made from stout stuff – not that I should have ever doubted the fact. She also said that you had asked her to come before you left, that you were worried I would be terribly lonely (my darling – your attentive concern for my wellbeing will never fail to leave me amazed) and that you had gone so far to make her swear on the Bible. "I'm never one to break a promise, Mr Bates, especially not one that comes from so deep within the heart," she had said. It was so very good to see a friendly face, and hear of all the goings-on at Downton - Mrs Hughes kept me thoroughly updated. And I'm sure you've deduced that hers' are the safe hands I alluded to earlier on; I took it as a good sign that her previous visits have been timed when the least callous of the guards has been on duty, and intend to pass this letter to her when she comes again, as she has said she would. Once again, you prove to be my lucky charm for sending her.

I find myself thinking more and more about time; there is little else to ponder within these walls. It is strange how it should seem to go so very slowly. The hours drag by, weighing me down heavier than any chains or punishment could; the days that pass feel like lifetimes. I recall the way it was before, during my previous sentence. Then, it didn't quite fly by me, but it went considerably quicker than it does now. Maybe it has a little something to do with my own aging. Then, I didn't much care if I would have whiled away all of eternity there; indeed it often seemed preferable. I had nothing to await or welcome me out once more into the world, neither any moments of comfort whilst I was confined. Now, I have both in abundance. The thought makes all of this so much easier to bear, while also rendering it the hardest thing I have ever in my life had to face. It is a trial, there is no doubt, yet at the same time I have the most immense hope that we will be able to overcome, eventually. It is only ever you who has given that hope to me. The world outside, and all it holds, is so much brighter to me now with the thought that you are there in it, with so much life and love within you. I have the world in my hands, waiting for me, because I know you are (and you are my world), and I am counting the seconds until it can welcome me back once more.

Even as I remain here, and even as you are so far away, you are with me always. I keep you near to me, in my head, heart and soul, and you bring me back to myself, bring me back to life with the very thought of you. I chase out all of the demons that lay in the dark with the memory of your touch, the curve of you curved by my side; a part of me forever. As I lie there, you lie next to me and there are so many things I want to say to you. You never need to say anything to me in return. Your presence pressed upon me is enough. My darling, I hope I don't alarm you with my imaginings. This is a place that can send men mad with many illusions, but I am blessed that I should hold such a pleasant one. If I am to lose my sanity, then there is no sweeter way to do so. I know that vision is not real, and I am thankful for you that it isn't, at least for now. What are still true are the words you have said to me, so many times. They sound as clear now as they did on the day you first uttered them, and they give me so much. Strength. Hope. Belief. Most of all, they give me you. I cling to them with all I have. You know that I have no great faith in a higher being, but I have faith in you, and your words are the prayer I repeat every day. There can never be any silence between us when we have those words, and we always will.

We have endured so much in these past years and we both know there will be more to come. I admit, sometimes I do wonder why you have persisted on a lost cause such as me when you could have whole worlds that were perfect and carefree. But then I hear you once again, telling me not to be so silly, and I'm assured by your conviction and courage. If there is one word to describe you (and there are so many I would want to give you), Anna Bates, it is: brave. Unbelievably so. The words of the other woman who possessed the same quality in the same quantity that was in my life come to me. My mother used to say "If a heart isn't broken, then there's no joy in its mending." She was a wise woman; you'll have known yourself from the brief amount of time you spent in her company. She experienced enough heartache and despair in her life to have been aware that peace and happiness were its eventual outcome; indeed, that it made it all the sweeter when it did come. I am ashamed to say that I was the one responsible for a great deal of her pain, and she had witnessed me bear my own, broken to almost beyond repair. But she knew my joy too, and she told me before she died that she knew the greatest joy had entered my life, and she was glad she could leave the world joyful herself being assured it would be mine forever. I know the days ahead seem dark, and it appears unfair that our happiness should have been marred, but we both know that, actually, the opposite is true; that the hurt we feel now will transform, and make us even happier in the future. I wasn't sure that such a thing could have been possible, and weeks ago I was sure I would never live to see the day, but now I am quite certain of it being otherwise.

Though things have been hard, and they may likely get harder still, remember one simple fact: that I love you. I wish I could speak the words to you right now (I should have spoken them to you every minute that we were together), but they remain true however I tell you. In fact, it makes my heart swell to see them written down. I love you. I love you. And I have loved you for all of my life; loved the thought of you before I knew you. When I was younger, I had a simple, yet at the same time rather fanciful, idea of love; a love with all my heart that I hoped would be mine one day. My mother said I was too influenced by my books. As the world and life hardened me, it became increasingly distant and I believed I would never know love, at least not how I had once envisioned. By the time before I came to Downton I knew that vision was unimaginable, impossible. It all seems too easy now, nowhere near enough adequate to describe, yet it finally makes sense to me. You are all of that simple love come to life, so perfectly, but you are so much more too. You are not a fairytale; you are real, and I love you all the more for it. And you have made me 'real' too, made me different, and I couldn't imagine that I was meant to be anything else, or anyone else, than what I am now. It is down to you, and there is nowhere else I belong than by your side. And I shall be there again. I'm not lost, after all. I will return to where I have begun.

I know you, Anna, and I know as you read this you shall be feeling guilty once again, for going away, for not being here to fight and fret every minute. You'll think that you'll have let me down somehow by letting yourself be free for a little while. But you should know that you could never let me down (I'm the one who has to fret about that); I couldn't be prouder of you. I know that the second you are home you will be back to it, to fighting, to never resting – all for me. I can never make it up to you, but I will spend the rest of my life trying. I wish I didn't have to cause you so much pain. But there will be joy once more. Just live it all while you are still there, and enjoy it all. Don't worry; that would be the one thing I would hate for you to do. I yearn for more than anything to see your face, to have you there in front of me again. But I know the chance will come soon enough. And I know there will be life enough for the both of us to have, together, and that that will come sooner than we both realise. So please, be happy.

And never forget: I love you, however, whatever, whenever.

With all my love,

Your husband,

John.

She placed the papers gently into her lap and exhaled. She believed she might have been holding the same breath for the entire time she had been reading. Her head was a little light, yet strongly centred, but her heart was lighter than it had been in a long while. Taking in the contents of those few pages she had laughed, despaired, felt fearful and comforted, sorrowful and happier than ever. Most of all, she felt loved; felt his love coming through and over her in every word. As she sat there still, she could have been certain he was there beside her. His voice was there in her head, saying it all. She wiped the tears that had rolled down her face, not wanting them to melt any part of him away.

That was why there had been so much silence. Save the first, he had not received any of her letters. Again, she felt guilty, and angry, and sad. How lonely he must have been, without hardly anything. Surely even with the constraints against them he must have doubted her, her faith in and love for him and the ache in her started up again. She thought about all of the things she had written within the lost letters, everything that she hadn't said, everything that he didn't know. Frantically, she tried to remember it all, word for word, letter by letter. She jumped up, hurried around the room to find a pen and paper. Having riffled through the entire contents of the desk beside her bed, she discovered some and hovered the nib of the pen over it, waiting. Her mind had gone blank. She had forgotten it all. Anxiety coursed through her veins; she had forgotten all she had ever wanted to say to him. Once more she felt like she couldn't breathe, and though her body wasn't letting her cry, it was all she wanted to do. How could she go from such joy to utter misery, losing herself entirely?

The letter scattered across the bed, blowing softly in the breeze, coming to life.

Stop. Breathe.

She picked the pieces of paper up, the sheets sliding against her fingers. She read the last lines again, then shut her eyes and put them against the left half of her chest.

Once more, she felt calm. She felt closer to home. In fact, she was certain that if she opened her eyes suddenly, she would find herself there, standing on the gravel, standing in front of the great house.

Her words were coming back, in fragments, in broken pieces. They weren't complete, only half-remembered, but she knew it didn't matter. She didn't need to remember. They were in her heart, her heart that was already home, that was with him. As soon as she saw him, she would know exactly what to say. And she would be there so soon.

The next morning, her tears had been replaced with a smile. Lady Mary recognised it immediately and smiled herself before Anna could turn around to walk to the wardrobe.

"Homeward bound in days, Anna. It shall hardly feel like we've been away."

Taking the hangers out, Anna gazed down at the floor as she gave out another little grin.

"Well, m'lady, I don't believe I have."

A/N: I'm sure the letter is perhaps a little too sentimental...but I can't shake the feeling that John would be a little less restrained in this medium, especially when he couldn't be 100% sure that Anna would even get to read it. I did try my best not to let it get too wildly OOC.

I'm not sure when I'll get the chance to really commit to writing again - it may be once S3 is finished - but I do know one thing: that whatever is next, I want it to be out-and-out A/B fluff. Because we all need it! And they do too, our poor darlings.

Oh, and Happy Downton Day! :)