A/N: New Multi-Chapter! This was an idea for an one shot at first, and then, my lovely and loyal and wonderful Terriejane gave the idea for a multi-chapter and I have to tell you all, it's been so much fun to put it into words. It's also my first sort of modern story, and I am trying to get the hang of it, as I always write period ones. I will try to update every Friday.

I hope you all enjoy this story as much I am enjoying writing it.

Disclaimer: Downton Abbey's characters belong to Julian Fellowes.

- Coming Home -

The screams of pain coming from his wounded compatriots surrounded him as he lay in the rain and mud...and blood. He tried to crawl back into safety, but here safety was something long lost. He called for help and he was answered with shots and more cries, and now thunder, and in that moment he prayed for his death to come fast and sure. In that moment he thought of home, his mother, his late father... and her…

He trembled, freezing. His tears mixed with rain, and his heart racing in his chest. He heard someone calling his name, over and over again but he was now too weak to even answer back. So he laid there, ready for that bright light everyone talks about to take him, but not before one last look...one last glimpse of her. From an inside pocket of his uniform he pulled out the photograph his mother had sent him some months ago and he let himself admire her one more time, to dream of this woman he had never met. This woman who was unknown to him but already a presence in his life...for one last time he smiled at her photograph and slowly, gently, his eyes closed and he slept.

And there he laid in the mud and rain and blood with her picture clutched tight in his hand and her image burned into his memory, waiting to die.

xxxx

The ferry was fast on the water, its movements reminding him much of the airplanes he had flew many months before, the feeling made him sick to his stomach, and he tried his best to distance himself from those memories. His mother would be waiting for him and he was more than glad for that. He missed home, after all these years. Years of heartbreak and loneliness...he really needed to find his roots again, and maybe stay forever. He had been happy there when he was a child, why couldn't he be happy there again? Maybe his mistake was to have left for someone who didn't deserve such sacrifice.

He sighed, looking down at his cane. A new friend he had made in the past few weeks. A new friend he would rather not have met at all. But war has a funny way of introducing new situations to people, and gladly, for him, he had only been introduced to an injury, and most likely, he would get better with time. Still, he was a proud man and people stared. Even now, as the smell of the ocean invaded his lungs and he looked around to see only one man travelling with him, he felt ashamed. For almost five years he fought for his country, and then, he let himself make the stupidest mistake a soldier can. Every night he would recall that early morning, and every night he would declare himself a stupid, stupid man. Turning your back to your enemy? You knew better than that, John Bates. And now you are paying for it.

He stood up from his seat and walked towards the hold. Oh yes...he had missed this. The spray of the ocean, the wind on his face, no threats on the horizon…he had travelled the world, while fighting, but this, this was different. This was peace, home, shelter. Here he would get his life back, or … what was left of it, and then he saw it: his island. The place where he had grown up and became a man. The most beautiful place he had ever seen. Why did he leave in the first place? He didn't know, or better...he didn't want to remember. All he knew was that he had been a fool, but those times were in the past. He was different now, and he smiled. A whale could been seen underneath the clear water and tears came to his eyes. He wouldn't be leaving...now he was sure.

xxxx

'Mrs. Bates?!' she called as she opened the door, her son by her hand, the clock hitting four o'clock. 'We are home!'

There was silence in return and she tapped her forehead, remembering what was about to happen. 'Johnny, darling, go wash your hands, I'm going to fix you something to eat.'

'Yes mummy!' the five year old ran to the bathroom eager to have his after school snack.

Mrs. Bates was probably at the docks by now waiting for her son. Anna bit her bottom lip nervously and looked around sighing, before going to the kitchen.

John Bates was arriving. A man she had never met but in photographs and his mother's tales. A man she could sense was good and very much like his own mother, but she was apprehensive. What if all the wonders she had heard about him came from pure biased mother's lips? She knew how mothers could be, she was one. What if he didn't like her being there? What if he found her son annoying...maybe he didn't like children. He had been married after all, and he was childless. He was a writer too. Writers are reclusive and not very sociable at all...maybe she wouldn't even talk to him that much anyway. She prefered it that way if he proved to be an odd fellow.

She warmed up the milk and toasted some bread on the stove and called her son. The boy sat down at the table and began to eat with all the satisfaction he could possible show, and she couldn't help but chuckle.

'You eat everything without making a mess...mummy will be right back.'

Johnny nodded smiling and Anna left the kitchen, walking through the wide corridor of the Bateses cottage that led to the stairs, but before she could make herself climb them, she stopped, glancing towards the parlour. For a moment she stood there, one of her hands on the handrail and her breathing suddenly quite calm.

When she moved again, she walked in the opposite direction she was going in the first place, entering the parlour and approaching Mrs Bates' memory table; the older woman would often call it that. An old table that had belonged to her very own mother and now held her prized possessions, with photographs of her son and late husband. Instantly, Anna reached for one of John's photographs, one taken in his early thirties, and she stared at it.

Many a sleepless night, Anna had come down the stairs to sit in this very room with this same photograph in her hands. Something about him made her feel at ease, and somehow she felt she had known him for a lifetime. He had such a fierce look in his eyes, as if his life would be more than just common, and his smile...well, his smile was sure, sure and defiant and reassuring at the same time, and for a moment she lost herself in that photo, as she had before, on so many countless nights. She was being silly, she thought. How could he be anything other than a good man? True, one can't judge someone by looks alone but then, a woman like Margaret Bates, who was so kind and loving, could only have raised a man with morals and values, like herself. And she was right. John Bates was much like his mother, his late father too, for both parents were an example for their community; hard workers, people true to their word, people others would turn to in times of need and distress. Their son couldn't be any different, and he wouldn't be.

xxxx

'John, my darling boy!' Mrs Bates ran to her son's arms as soon as she saw him stepping on land. His mother was rather petite, in comparison to him, and she was quite round, but a mother's arms are always wide enough to embrace her children on their arrival, and even wider when the reasons for their returning were this grave. She had almost lost him to war and now he was home again. She had already lost her husband, one of her men, and she couldn't have survived it if the same would have happened to the remaining one. 'My boy!' she said tearily as she stepped back to take a good look at him. 'Look at you...you haven't been sleeping, have you? And you're skin and bones!'

'Mother,' John chuckled trying his best not to look too embarrassed. 'You're exaggerating. I have been eating well.'

'Not sleeping though...sleep is as important as eating, y'know. But don't you worry, you can sleep and eat all you want in mum's home.'

'I know mother...I know,' he smiled tenderly at her.

'How's your leg? I asked Jephery to drive me here, he's waiting for us - Oh look there he is! Jephery! Take his luggage please...he's not that fit yet.'

'Mother please,' John whispered, feeling self conscious. 'I've brought my bag all the way, I can manage.'

'Of course you can!' his mother looked at him almost offended. 'But you are here to rest...' she then told him with a decisive look on her face.

'Hello, John! Welcome back to our little isle.' The deeply tanned man placed the stub of a cigarette between his lips and held his hand out to greet him. 'Many years since.'

'Indeed, Jeph! I thought I was going to see you at...' John stopped himself, not waiting to remember those times, but somehow he always managed to talk about it, even against his own will.

'Do you forget I am blind from me left eye? Lucky fellow, I am, if you ask...I wouldn't last long I tell ya...fisherman all my life. I wasn't made for guns, only pipes and nets, and me cigarettes.'

John nodded with a constrained smile on his face before giving his bag to Jeph.

'Are you sure you can drive well enough? I mean...' he grimaced. The eye.

'Ah! Have you forgotten? There's ten people living here and nine of them don't drive.' Jeph laughed heartily and his cheery mood did well enough in lifting John's spirit a bit. With that, the ruddy fisherman turned the motor on and with rather dodgy driving, half bumping, half swearing, they were able to arrive home, safe and sound.

The old cottage was still exactly the same where the ocean embraced the land, connected to the old lighthouse. The same lighthouse his father had maintained for so many years, and now his mother. Poor Mother, John thought. All those stairs...but she liked it. It helped her to keep memories alive, she would often tell him.

'And here we are.' Mrs. Bates sighed, very pleased. 'In the place where you truly belong.'

John looked over at his mother and smiled. Indeed she was right.

'The bicycles are here,' she pointed out. 'Anna and Johnny must be home already.' And then he gulped. Anna Smith, the teacher and his mother's most beloved lodger, and the only one, truth to be told.

Mrs. Bates letters were always full of little stories about Anna, little peculiarities, about Anna's boy too, but mostly, she would write about the new teacher's qualities. His mother had sent him a photograph of her once, that photograph.

At first, he had shaken his head at his mother's less than subtle ways, but then...he found himself staring at it, often at night, when sleep was so illusive and difficult to catch. He would trace her features and imagine how soft her hair would be. Her eyes spoke to him, and when he was crying for his life, a bullet ripping through his knee and praying to a God he didn't believe, he found comfort there. Bright eyes that seemed to be looking back at him through the picture, eyes that told him to be strong, that soon he would be home...that he would meet her there. He didn't believe them at first, preferring to let himself drown in her image as he waited for death to claim him...only knowing how right they had been when he woke up in a hospital some days later.

His mother opened the front door then, and called Anna's name, announcing their arrival, and in that moment he took a deep breath before entering. Both for the young woman and to be home. For one, he was nervous, for the other, relieved.

'Where are you, Anna?' Mrs. Bates called again, walking down the corridor to the kitchen.

John thanked Jeph and took his bag, limping his way further in the house. So many memories there, so many happy times in his life. The smell took him back to his childhood. Probably the last time he was happy was here, really...he didn't remember much about happiness in any other way.

Suddenly, he saw a shadow on the wall, coming from the parlour, and he looked ahead.

Bright blue eyes looking straight at him. Her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders and an apron around her waist. She was smiling at him and he froze.

'I am Anna...the local teacher.' she offered him her hand in greeting and he accepted, taking his cane in his left hand as he did so.

'And I'm John Bates...the new lodger.' They both chuckled at his words.

'Oh! I see you've met!' Mrs. Bates came from behind Anna, grinning. 'Where's Johnny?'

Anna took a moment to answer as she observed him with tentative eyes. Mrs. Bates had said the night before her son would probably arrive with a rather emaciated look on his face, skinny and weak, but that's not what Anna saw now. She saw a tall man, much taller than she thought he would be, and presenting a broad frame. Ample shoulders and very well built...if food in hospitals was that bad, he certainly wasn't a proof of it. 'He's...he's playing outside with Macbeth,' she answered her eyes finding him once again.

'Oh my, that dog is Johnny's best friend I tell you..I'll take your bag now, son. Give it to me.'

His mother tried to take it from his hand but he stepped back. 'I'll do it, mother. Thank you.'

'You shouldn't climb all those stairs carrying weights...not just yet.'

'Mother please, I can manage,' he tried to hide his embarrassment with an awkward smile.

'Of course you can,' Anna replied instinctively. 'I have tea ready and there's fresh bread...if you're hungry.'

'Thank you.' He spoke softly, lingering in her eyes for a moment more before going to his room, and as he climbed the stairs he heard his mother telling Anna that they would get along just fine. 'You will like my John, you'll see.'

He smiled.

Once in his room, he rested his bag on his old bed, sighing as he did so, and walking towards the window; an instinctive action he always had in here. From there, he could see the ocean, dark blue, the sun ready to set, and seagulls flying madly around the fishing boats. He opened the window then, breathing in the salty cold air, filling his lungs to the brim, and hoping that he could find everything that he longed for in his life right here. Inspiration and recovery. He needed to get back to his work again. Being a writer wasn't easy, even worse for those without ideas.

Many people would find their words during explosions and between cadavers. Scribbling verses of pain and longing. War birthed many poets but for him, it had taken away everything that he had left. Sometimes he wondered if his soul still remained in his body and often he would doubt it did. War certainly had scared him deeper than he would admit...even to himself, on dark and sweaty nights, when nightmares would haunt him like demons. He would tell himself he was all right, that was all in the past, but those were lies. Filthy lies.

He walked towards the bed and sat down beside his bag, opening it. He wasn't going to unpack right now, but he wondered if he needed something. He was in need of a change, a good wash as well, and then he saw it: her photograph, lying proudly atop his neatly folded clothes and he gave a small unsure smile, before hearing his door creaking slowly.

His attention was distracted from the picture when he saw two big eyes looking back at him. Blue eyes just like hers, fair face, curious expression. He closed his bag immediately.

'Hello.' John talked to the boy. 'I presume you are Johnny...am I right?'

The boy came in the room but only nodded shyly, and John smiled.

'Is there anything I can help with you?' he asked, trying to make the boy speak.

'Mrs. Bates said to say...they're waiting for tea.'

'All right.' he stood from his bed and walked towards the boy. 'Shall we go down then?'

Johnny nodded again. 'We have the same name,' he pointed down as they climbed down the stairs.

'I've noticed that...'

xxxx

Anna raced her son to school the next morning, and although she would always let her Johnny win, today, she was doing terribly bad without even trying. After tea yesterday, John had gone to his room and stayed there all night, and this morning he was still there when she left home for work. How curious she was about him! Too curious. She had at first felt unsure and almost frightened about his presence, and now that he was here she couldn't wait to meet him properly. To talk to him. From what his mother always told her, he was a very intelligent man, not very talkative though. She knew he was more a watcher than a player but that was what made her mind wander. He was a writer, and she had read his books. She had them on her nightstand and she loved all of them. He had a way with written words. So much passion and ferocity...she only prayed that he could get all that back now.

That's why she had told her son the night before that he shouldn't bother Mr. Bates in his room, or ever really. Some people like to be alone, they like their privacy and kept themselves to themselves, she knew that.

'I won again, Mummy!' Johnny shouted at his mother as he tried to regain his breath.

'You are becoming faster and faster, my darling.' she smiled tiredly, hopping off her bicycle before placing a sloppy kiss on his flushed cheek. 'I will never win now...come on, let's go. Everyone's there already.'

'Good morning, children!' she greeting her students, walking to her desk while Johnny found his place in the classroom.

'Good morning, Miss Smith.'

'Are you all excited for today? Our last day of school!'

xxxx

John almost fell asleep in the tub, when he heard Macbeth barking outside. He rubbed his eyes with damp hands and ran his fingers through his hair. Last night had been strange. He felt good here but sleep was still impossible to come by, and even though he had tried his best to remain in bed, still and resting only his body, he was terribly tired today.

Climbing from the tub and wrapping a towel around his waist, he began to cover his face in soap, ready for a nice shave. His reflection in the mirror made him shiver...a man that was almost a stranger to him now. The last time he had been here, he was in his mid thirties. He had dreams and aspirations back then, someone waiting for him in the capital and a craving for life, for the future. Now, he was empty of everything.

He shook his head then. Such thoughts would do him no good. He should think about that young John Bates and act as confident as he did. Yes. He was here now, he was home. The razor was sharp and its cut clean and pleasing, and he smiled as his face became clean. Today he would go out and he would wander around like he did before.

After dressing he exited the bathroom, ready to go downstairs and grab something to eat. His mother had brought him a tray last night, and he was now starving, but before he could reach for the stairs, something caught his attention.

The door was opened and his books were sitting proudly on the nightstand. He recognised the covers and walked in, without thinking twice. He reached for the table and touched them, fruits of his past work, in a time where he actually had a gift. One of them was marked about halfway through and he picked it up.

'Stardust.' he whispered.

The last book he wrote…the beginning of everything.

Next Chapter: John sat on the hilltop overlooking the sea, a notebook and pen in hand. Nothing came to mind, nothing except Anna.

Thank you for reading!

Please review and let me know what you think of this new story :)