A/N: This is my contribution for this year's Secret Santa exchange by batesessecretservice on Tumblr, written for BannaLuver. I hope you enjoy it, and that my British seasonal references aren't too confusing!
The usual disclaimer stands: I don't own Downton Abbey or any of Team Downstairs.
Merry Christmas everyone! :)
The Worst Kept Secret
Each year Christmas seemed to start that little bit earlier. No sooner had All Hallows Eve passed than cobwebs and towering Frankenstein's Monster statues were replaced with shimmering, twinkling lights and ten-foot tall reindeer standing in the middle of the city centre (and really, the reindeer were more terrifying). Takeaway coffee was served in seasonal cups from early November onwards, with gingerbread flavouring optional, and almost every shop blasted out the same two songs on a loop – Merry Xmas Everybody by Slade and Last Christmas by Wham, clearly catering for everyone where they fell into one of two categories: the crazy party animals who couldn't get enough of the 'especially festive' eggnog, and the hopeless romantics who saw the season through slightly bittersweet snow-tinted spectacles.
Yet there was a hard and fast rule at the head office of Grantham Industries: 'Christmas' was to begin no earlier than December 1st. Even that date had been something of a push, the staid and fastidious Head of Operations Charles Carson grumbling that it was far too soon. If it had been entirely down to him there wouldn't be the slightest hint of Christmas in the offices until the morning of December 24th, and last year he had been close to having a funny turn of epic proportions when he spotted young Daisy, the HR assistant, not-so-subtly smuggling in some brightly-coloured tinsel on – gasp – November 23rd. With some gentle persuasion from the Head of People, Elsie Hughes, Mr Carson had relented – making Daisy's day when he said that she could start to pin up said tinsel at 4.30pm on November 30th, so long as none of it went within fifty yards of his office.
After everyone treated themselves to a mince pie or other vaguely festive treat after lunch on the first day of December, the true tradition of Christmas at Grantham Industries got underway. The draw for the office Secret Santa. It was something that had happened for as long as John had been working there, and had probably gone on before. It was also another thing that Mr Carson tolerated rather than truly enjoyed. Too American, he huffed every year without fail, apparently forgetting that the Chief Executive of the company had been married to an American for over thirty years. They could at the very least call it Furtive Father Christmas, he had argued, to try and keep a semblance of British-ness at their heart. The whole office had been red-faced listening to that particular rant, trying desperately to hold in their laughter. Some hadn't been able to last more than a couple of minutes, running off to the bathroom to explode into fits of giggles which bubbled back to the surface when Mr Carson raised his impressive eyebrows quizzically towards them when they had returned to their desks.
Prompter than she was most days of the year, Daisy arrived at half two on the dot with an upturned plush cherry-red Santa hat held in her hands, containing all the names of the staff who took part year after year.
"Good luck everyone," the girl chirruped, jollier than a robin red-breast. "I hope you get the person you want."
She smiled over towards the Marketing Assistant, still no wiser that her intentions were most certainly misplaced. Every time she managed to bump into him under the mistletoe hung from the eaves of the office he always found a way to weasel out of the promised kiss, leaving Daisy sadder and more crestfallen than a little rascal who had found nothing but a lump of coal waiting for him underneath the tree come Christmas morning.
"Well, one thing's for sure," Thomas Barrow, the object of the girl's misguided desires, piped up from the corner, "I hope my name doesn't end up getting saddled with old Molesley. His idea of a good present is buying a goat for some remote and unheard of village in Africa, and that means getting sod all."
Phyllis Baxter glanced up from her desk, finding that she couldn't keep her usual quiet and composed manner in place at Barrow's cutting jibes.
"I think that's a lovely idea," her voice rose up as her expression remained dignified yet defiant. "Isn't that what Christmas is all about? Sparing a thought for those less fortunate than ourselves."
Thomas frowned while fiddling with the controls on his e-cigarette. "Since when did you become so sentimental? It'd be a different story if everyone else had something to open and you were left with nothing but goodwill, which you don't even get a receipt for."
Miss Baxter bowed her head, admitting defeat when it came to attempting to argue with Thomas, or at least trying to uncover his softer and less cynical side. John glared over at the younger man, knowing that there was very little chance of him experiencing an Ebenezer Scrooge-style intervention any time soon.
"With Patmore you'd only get a cake, which doesn't cost much either," he went on, encompassing as little of the Christmas spirit as he could muster. "I reckon Mrs Hughes would be the best bet. She looks as though she's got a few bob stored away, and she is always very generous..."
John tuned out of Barrow's petty wonderings, thinking that he would go out purposely and seek out the smallest lump of coal he could find if he happened to draw Thomas's name from the hat, not that he would know where to find one.
Of course, there was only one name he wanted to get. The only person he made a special effort to be social with, outside the doors of the office as well as within. It was her turn to pick as his thoughts settled on her – though there wasn't much time in the day that they didn't – and he couldn't stop himself from smiling catching sight of her beaming face, shining almost as golden as the hair that framed its beauty. Her demeanour was full of silent excitement, and he let out a small sigh thinking of how utterly perfect she was.
He especially hoped that he got Anna for his Secret Santa given the significance of this Christmas, their first as a couple. They had been friends since the very first morning he had started in the company, when rumours about how well he knew the big boss put a sour note on his arrival and the addition of a bum leg and a cane did little to help matters. Anna had looked past all of his faults, having nothing but good in her heart, and their bond had grown steadily. On his side he hadn't been able to deny that there was a longing that made their light flirting almost too much to bear day-to-day, yet his days would have been grey without their laughing and conversations that went on a little too long past lunch. After many months of dancing around their true feelings she had been the one to make the first move, suggesting a date at a carol concert followed by dinner almost twelve months ago to the day. Others followed, and they made the mutual decision to make things official on January 7th – a date that would forever be etched on his soul as the day his life became complete.
He still couldn't fathom how he had been so lucky as to call Anna his girlfriend. She was far too good for the likes of him; so young and vibrant, when he was anything but. He supposed it must have been true what people said about opposites attracting. And yet they shared so much in common, both loving books and the theatre, walking in the park even as the bitterly cold winds were enough to freeze them to their toes and – his favourite thing of all – snuggling up on the sofa, alternately his or hers though her one was much comfier. Most nights they'd put on an classic film, something they'd both wanted to see, but more often than not they wouldn't get so much as ten minutes in before being distracted by one another's hands or lips. She was simply irresistible, and he was absolutely powerless to do anything but succumb.
Their relationship wasn't exactly a secret but they didn't flaunt it, either. Both took pride in being professional and so they saved their closer moments for after work-hours. If anything, it made things more sacred and special – meant only for them, in the time they could unreservedly share together. However John figured it would be nice to draw Anna's name; he never needed an excuse to buy her a present, and it wouldn't be anything extravagant, just something fun that meant he could make a little fuss of her with everyone else around. He would save the best for when they were alone, but this was a good way of showing how much he cared without making a big display.
In fact he had exactly the thing in mind, and had to stop himself from chuckling aloud just as Daisy stood in front of his desk, holding out the fluffy hat eagerly.
"Blimey, Mr Bates, what's tickled your fancy?" Barrow muttered, amused to see the usually stoic Head of Development break into a soft smile.
"Nothing to concern you, Thomas," John replied, choosing his term of address purposely to rankle the younger man.
Glancing across the office, he caught Anna's eye as she peered over the top of her work-station and felt his cheeks flushing as he noticed the twinkle sitting at the curve of her lips. She had drawn already and by all accounts looked very pleased with her random choice.
Unfurling the carefully folded piece of small paper with his large fingers, his hopes momentarily soared to the ceiling – only to come swiftly crashing back down to the floor with an almighty thud.
Written on the scrap in curled handwriting was the name:
Mr Carson.
Mr Furtive Father Christmas himself.
Three years in a row; the same name ever since he'd joined the company and had the pleasure of taking part in the office tradition. It was getting beyond a coincidence, and if John didn't know better he'd suspect the work of some mischievous elves was afoot. He'd felt as though he had already exhausted his options – in some respects the elder statesman was easy to buy for, anything traditional having a good chance of pleasing, but on the other hand he was most particular. The first year he'd chosen a bottle of sherry, which had the additional bonus of being quite seasonal, but Mr Carson didn't just drink any old sherry, and John couldn't refrain from feeling disheartened when he noticed the same bottle sitting on the shelf of his office twelve months down the line, almost three thirds full. The second year he'd been at a loss until four or so days before the gift-giving was to ensue and then spotted an elegant leather diary in his favourite bookstore. He was rather tempted to keep it for himself and thought - perhaps a touch unfairly - that at least then it would go appreciated. Mr Carson had carried it around to a few meetings, so one out of two wasn't bad.
This year, though, he didn't have the faintest clue. Except perhaps socks. Well, they were practical, at any road.
No, he had to do something about this sorry situation, even if it was defeating the entire object.
He would be a man on a mission.
As was usual, he counted down the minutes until five o'clock in the last hour of the day. Some days she would be waiting for him to finish off another bid; others he was patient, watching as the glare from her computer screen seemed to make her even more radiant. Today their workloads were in sync and he met her at the door, in time to pluck her coat from the stand and hold it out for her. She smiled over her shoulder, craning a little to look up towards his height even as she wore her heels. Her eyes told him that she thought he was the perfect gentleman.
"Your place or mine, Miss Smith?" He felt a little ungentlemanly as he uttered the words.
"Mine," she replied flippantly, bypassing his innuendo. As she turned on her towering heels – he always wondered how she didn't topple over – she began to button up his coat unconsciously, and John sucked in a breath at the sweep of her fingertips over his torso. The smile came back onto her face as her eyes sparkled. "I'm going to have to take a quick detour into town, if you don't mind. I've got a project to start."
"This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain alliterative event, would it?"
"Now, Mr Bates, that would be telling."
He could do nothing but chuckle, following her as she all but skipped out, clearly enthused. She'd give the game away if she had him sooner or later; he was certain she'd be too brimming with excitement to keep the secret just that.
As soon as they were out in the cool evening air she slipped her hand tight into his, and the fire within his soul kindled to warm his whole being. The kiss she pressed to his cheek was a perfect addition.
"Come on, I'll buy you a hot chocolate before we get amongst the crowds." She dragged him along the pavement, with just enough force that he rather enjoyed it.
"If this is an attempt at bribery..."
He found himself swiftly stopped by the sweet surprise of her lips upon his own.
"As if I could possibly do such a thing," she said in her defence, which was just as well, as his had all but disappeared in the early December mist.
John expelled a sigh before he entered the sleek, minimalist office. If he was going to go about this then he'd have to tackle the hardest target first.
Thomas was reclining in his high-backed leather chair, one hand lazily laid upon the keyboard of his computer. If this was him hard at work then John dreaded to think what an easier day was like, although he was hardly surprised at the younger man's ethic.
"Mr Bates," he announced without diverting his gaze away from the screen in front of him, "I'd say this is an unexpected pleasure, but we both know that wouldn't be true."
He fought the urge to snap back with a remark about how lying always seemed to be the preferable option for Thomas. He needed to be civil if this had the slightest chance of working.
Thomas huffed as though he was exhaling an imaginary puff of smoke, the atmosphere uncomfortable for the both of them. "Look, if this is about that four-pager, I'm not going to have it ready until the end of next week at least."
John shook his head – though he had been wondering, he'd needed that two weeks ago and if it wasn't finished soon it was going to be rendered rather pointless.
"This Secret Santa business," he began, hands planted firmly in his pockets. "It's a pain in the arse, isn't it? Buying a present for someone you barely know outside of the office."
Barrow knew that he wasn't the most sociable of creatures, and it was the one factor they had in common – at least, all of Thomas's friends belonged to different worlds from that which they occupied during their nine-to-five hours.
"I suppose," Thomas mumbled.
John stopped himself from smirking, knowing he had a bit of Barrow's attention.
"And spending your hard-earned money on them when you could be going out, having a few drinks, making better use of it." He was certain he'd hit on a good tack, playing up Thomas's sense of self-interest. "I'll make you a deal. I'll buy the present for yours, as well as my own, and save you the bother and twenty-five quid in the process."
As he'd expected, Thomas's expression was one of confusion and sheer disbelief. He didn't move to make a sarcastic remark or even say anything for a couple of minutes. Mr Bates, of all people, offering to do something for him without any rhyme or reason? They would have both expected pigs to fly in a parade past the window before that ever happened.
John remained firm in the younger man's silence, taking it as the edge he needed.
"Just give me a hint, male or female, and I'll leave it on your desk before the party. No need to give me the money."
Now Barrow really was stunned. John was certain this was the longest he'd ever gone without speaking, and smiled to himself before he turned to walk back to his own office. That was much easier than he had expected.
"Hang on a minute," Barrow's rediscovered voice halted him in his tracks. "Something doesn't smell right here. Not from you, anyway."
"Call it a Christmas miracle happened early," John retorted, looking Thomas in his dark eyes.
Slouched in his chair, the younger man sized the elder up, examining for the slightest hint of subterfuge.
"If you've got me, then you needn't bother. I'd rather have nothing." He scoffed, staring steadily at John, who remained unmoved.
Seconds seemed to tick by into minutes, and John wondered how long the stand-off would last before either his poker face slipped or until Thomas simply gave up and saved the mystery for another day. His eyebrow must have twitched or otherwise a smile slipped unnoticed onto his lips, because in the next moment Barrow had him. Quite how he couldn't explain it, unless Thomas had some supernatural power nobody was privy to.
"Well, well," he drawled, "if the whiter-than-white Mr Bates isn't trying to rig the draw. Not much goodwill in that, is there?"
"I'm making you an honest offer," John defended, unwilling to let Thomas reveal his true intentions. "If you want to think something more, then perhaps I should just leave it."
The smirk upon Barrow's face irritated John to no end; there was little worse than when he had gained the upper hand, and knew about it. He was on the verge of walking out and giving up, moving onto the next option to hand, when Thomas saw fit to pipe up.
"Alright then, I'll go along with your scheme."
John rolled his eyes, hardly believing what he was hearing when Thomas had done much worse in the past – matters that had almost put jobs on the line.
"It'll cost you, though."
"I've already said I'll pay for both of the presents."
Thomas laughed sourly. "Yeah, but that's not benefitting me, is it? I'm no better off than I was before." He bounced a ball upon the surface of his glass desk, setting John's teeth on edge. "Give me a hundred quid on top, and I'll call it even."
"You're having a laugh," John spluttered. "That's double the budget."
"A hundred quid," Barrow stuck firm, "and I don't let everyone know what a conniving bastard you are. At Christmas, of all times."
John was seething, although not in the least bit shocked. He could spend that hundred pounds getting something better for Anna, he would spend all the money he had making the holiday as special as he could for her. But he resented having to hand it over to Thomas Barrow.
"Either that, or you give me one of your days' holiday. I've got none left." That annoying smirk was getting even more so by the second. "Carson's got me down to work on New Year's Eve, it's going to be a bloody nightmare trying to get into town afterwards. I know you'd rather be at home with your pipe and slippers, I can't see partying being your thing somehow."
Well, he wasn't absolutely wrong, but there was no way Barrow was going to find about the plans that he did have.
"No chance. On the money or giving you any of my holidays."
Thomas threw his hands up. "Well, I'm sorry but I can't do business with you. Your loss, Mr Bates."
John wasted no time in turning his back on the younger man, in need of a strong coffee to calm the nerves that had frayed dangerously during their conversation.
"A shame, as well. I think you'd have really liked shopping for my person."
Surely that snake didn't have Anna? John hoped not, feeling sick at the thought of having to watch him hand over a gift into her hands, something flash and finished off with a shining bow and his smarmy smile. At least he didn't need to worry about Barrow being interested, but the thought was still an unsettling one, especially when he knew he'd be watching.
Oh well, there was nothing more he could do – and he was rather relieved to know he was done with Thomas.
He was on his way to print off the latest draft of the bid he was hoping to finish before Christmas, when he encountered a rather flustered Phyllis Baxter grappling with the printer.
"Oh, come on!" The usually calm woman raised her voice in frustration, close to banging one of her fists against the uncooperative machine.
"Takes its time, doesn't it? It's always the way."
He saw her jumping at the sound of his voice; she'd clearly been absorbed in her task and her growing stress.
"Mr Bates," she acknowledged him with a touch of embarrassment at being caught behaving in such a manner, stepping back to let him unclip the top and look at the paper jam. "I hope you have better luck than I do. I've been trying to print this report for the last half-hour."
"It's just being a bit temperamental." He shut the lid with a little more force than normal, smiling towards the worried-looking Miss Baxter as the machine whirred back into action. Sheets of paper began to shoot out at speed and he gathered them up, passing the stack into a pair of waiting hands. "There you go, a wallop was all it needed."
"Thank you," she replied, her tone returning to its normal gentle cadence. "I'm afraid I might be a while, there's quite a few copies to come out."
"No bother. I was going to make a coffee – can I get you one?"
"That would be lovely."
He gave another smile, not very sure that it would do much good but she looked as though she needed the gesture.
"As if the stress of work wasn't bad enough," he started, checking that the printer hadn't decided to start acting up again – and thinking he might be able to kill two birds with one stone. "There's Secret Santa to think of on top of it."
"Oh, I don't know that that's stressful," Phyllis replied thoughtfully. "I think it's nice, really. We never did it at the last place I worked at. There were too many of us for it to be special enough – you know, really considered for one person, carefully chosen."
John nodded his head, feeling yet more wistful that the draw hadn't been as lucky as he hoped it would have been.
"And I think it's a good way to get to know someone, as well," she continued. "That's not always easy to do, and things like this make it a bit – I don't know, more comfortable."
He began to feel guilty; perhaps Miss Baxter wasn't the person to ask, and he certainly didn't want to take advantage of her nature that was much kinder than Thomas's. She was a naturally reserved person and it had taken her a while to warm up at the company – not that there was anything wrong in that, in fact he understood the feeling well. If this little tradition gave her a better-than-usual opportunity to interact more closely with the rest of them, then it was wrong of him to intrude and try and slant it in his favour. And if she did have Anna, then he knew that whatever present received would be extremely thoughtful.
"I've had the same person for three years now, and I'm not sure I know them any better," he chuckled softly. "But perhaps I'm just not putting enough thought into it."
The printer stopped its wheezing, and he handed over the last of the warm copies to Phyllis, along with one of the few staplers that were so rare in the office that they had the same value as gold-dust.
"A splash of milk and one sugar – that's right, isn't it?"
Miss Baxter smiled and nodded, gathering her papers into the right order. John turned on his heels, not too disheartened by his sacrifice.
"Oh, Mr Bates?" she called out before he exited the small room. "I'm afraid you wouldn't have wanted the person I have, anyway."
He let out another little chuckle, thinking it wasn't as bad to be found out by Phyllis Baxter.
"If it's who I think it is, then I'm sorry for you."
She lifted her shoulders, a resigned smile upon her face. "I would have liked someone else, but that's how things go."
John had a fair idea of who she might have wanted to draw – a certain bumbling, awkward but equally good-hearted Finance Manager. Maybe Molesley had drawn her; he was hoping that would be the case, as that pair were sorely in need of fate's helping hand if they were ever to stand a chance, or perhaps Christmas miracles really could happen.
"Plus, I quite like a challenge," she concluded, the look in her eyes rather mischievous – which pleased John.
"Well," he pronounced, giving Miss Baxter a small salute, "you're a braver man than I, Gunga Din."
He was mesmerised, sitting in the armchair as he watched her knit, nimble and dainty fingers weaving with the needles. A little pause after each stitch, just to check that everything was okay. She rarely made errors, but a short soft huff would give her away and then she would spend time patiently and diligently unpicking, fingers poised and ready to start over. She was a perfectionist, but not in an overbearing way. In fact he found her pursuits adorable.
Her talents were endless, he was discovering even more the longer their relationship progressed. She had told him that it was her grandmother on her father's side who had taught her to knit and crochet when she was a little girl, in the time that her younger sister was severely ill and she needed something to occupy herself while her parents were away at the hospital for hours on end. She had not grown resentful about their diverted attention, as any child might reasonably do, and instead enjoyed their company even more when she did get chance to be with them. The first thing she had made, with just a bit of help from her grandmother, was a comforter for her sister. Eight months after the item was finished she was given the all-clear and discharged, and their family was put back together again.
She was deep in concentration as she knit the wool close, lost in the act of creation as the garment began to take shape in her hands. Most importantly, John noticed, she looked at peace.
His smile evolved into a grin within the space of seconds.
"That dark grey wool is rather nice, I hope you're going to use some of that."
She peered up from her work – her hobby that served a great purpose – and smiled toward him in the low light coming from the lamp they had switched on, thinking it was much cosier with only the one.
"Silly beggar," she murmured. He adored it when she called him that, it put a warm fluttery feeling straight in the pit of his stomach. She stilled her hands, placing the needles down on top of the bundle of wool and crossing her ankles. "What makes you so sure that I've got you?"
"Call it intuition," he fibbed, taking heart from the expression of deep amusement written plain across her face.
She didn't look entirely convinced, but he couldn't care.
"It's a good job I love you, isn't it, when you're so intent on spoiling the surprise."
She rose from her spot on the sofa and now John found himself entranced by the gentle sway of her hips as she walked the short distance to him. He welcomed her weight into his lap, smiling gratefully as she made sure she didn't lean upon his dodgy knee and looped her arms around his shoulders. He could smell the light flowery scent of her perfume mingling with the coconut smell of her loose hair and had the strongest urge to press his face against the crook of her neck. As it was, he was pulled in by the way her sapphire irises were smouldering low, looking intently into his hazel ones that were dull in comparison.
"I wouldn't want to know, if you had me," she confessed.
"Is that right?"
His voice wavered, gulping as her fingertips that had been so careful and set on her knitting minutes previously were now tracing their way from his chest up to the hollow of his throat, exposed by the v-neck of his jumper.
"No," she leaned in closer, enough so that he could feel the warmth of her breath as she uttered her whisper. "I think secrets are much better left being undiscovered until the very last moment."
John licked his lips as his gaze moved instinctively to hers. An inch or so more, and she'd be close enough to kiss with hardly any effort being made. His hand brushed the side of her face with a feather-light touch, and her smile was beautiful as he tucked a strand of loose hair carefully behind her ear.
"I'll bear that in mind, then."
He was left with a mere kiss to his cheek as she clambered off him, stretching her limbs like a cat and curling her hands inside the sleeves of her jumper. He had felt the iciness of the soles of her feet when they had been pressed against him, even though she was wearing a pair of thick woollen socks.
"I'm going to head off to bed," she announced with a wry spark of a smile curling the corners of her lips.
"It's not ten o'clock yet," he checked the time on his wristwatch just to be sure. "Are you feeling alright?"
She laughed lightly, the sound sweetly resounding in his ears. "Yes, I just thought it might be a good idea to get an early night for once."
He sighed a little; Anna's status as a night-owl meant that he could stay over for longer, often not leaving her house until midnight at the earliest. The drive back to his place didn't take too long and he was always awake for work at not much later than six anyway, no matter how much sleep he'd managed to get.
"Alright, well I'll see you tomorrow then. Sweet dreams."
Seconds after he had got to his feet, a finger laid on his lips – the first gesture that told him she didn't expect him to go.
"What day is it tomorrow?"
He frowned, before the moment of realisation struck and he was smiling along with her.
"Saturday," he answered.
"That's right," she said, finding his hand as soon as she had sought it and leading his steps gently along with her own. "Come to bed with me, Mr Bates." He felt his knees weaken with that simple sentence, her smile more alluring than ever. "I might even have a secret for you to find out."
God knows that was one offer he could never refuse.
There was almost a week to go until the staff Christmas party, and still there was no joy to be had for the hoped exchange. Mrs Patmore had said it was too late – she had been busy making up a special personalised hamper since the day after the draw had been made. Mr Molesley had been approached more than once, although each time he coloured the same shade as Rudolph's famously bright nose, stumbling over his words and scampering away soon after he sputtered a few out. It was common knowledge that he had a fancy for Anna since before John came along but hadn't shown any envy since they had become a couple, and indeed everyone believed that he had 'moved on' to Phyllis Baxter – an affection that wasn't unrequited, even if neither party seemed quite ready to make the first move.
But perhaps Joseph still held a flickering torch for Anna, and the Secret Santa would be the perfect way to bring it from the darkness without causing any offence. John himself couldn't blame the man, as he would feel exactly the same if the tables had been reversed. Shamefully, he didn't know if he would be quite so gracious.
As each hour passed John could almost envisage himself standing in the painfully long queue of Marks and Spencer's men's department, a bumper pack of thermal socks in hand.
He stretched back in his chair, eyes straining against the computer screen and letting out a sigh that was surprisingly loud – echoing as it did from the walls.
However, he was in competition to be the most frustrated person in the office at that very moment.
It was strange to see Daisy with such a sour look on her fresh face. The worst that would usually be found there was a shadow of deep confusion as Mr Carson reeled off a speech that contained phrases even the most seasoned of individuals could barely comprehend.
John frowned at the markedly subdued offer of tea from the girl as she did her usual final round of the day.
"I don't know," he said, holding his mug away from her grasp, "you'll curdle the milk if you're not careful."
She looked horrified suddenly, as though she had caught a glimpse of her reflection looking back mournfully at her from one of the pictureless screens.
"What's the matter, Daisy?" He made his voice as soft and sympathetic as possible – it wasn't an effort to be kind with Daisy.
"I should never have arranged this Secret Santa in the first place," she sighed as she perched carefully against the desk behind her, being cautious even as she started to outpour. "I only wanted to do it because I thought it'd be fun."
The poor girl sounded as though she was shouldering the weight of the world on her slight shoulders.
"It can't be that bad, surely?"
She considered that it might not be a catastrophe for all of five seconds.
"It might not be," her pitch lowered to a faint whisper, although there was not another soul in the immediate vicinity, "if I had a different person."
Could this be his chance? Nobody else had volunteered a swap so readily – indeed, without the suggestion even needing to be inferred by him. A very interesting turn of events...
But then, he had to be sure enough that Daisy had Anna – and if she was so ready to swap he wasn't confident that was the case. And the last thing he wanted was to saddle her with Mr Carson, especially when her nerves were already so frayed.
"I mean, I don't know where to start, and I haven't got long left to get something. It'd have to be something classy and nice," – she had clearly agonised over this considerably – "but not too extravagant because I don't think she'd like that..."
This was all pointing in the right direction.
"Oh, trust me to pick out Mrs Hughes!"
So close, and yet so far.
Daisy's eyes darted back and forth as she went through all of the prospects in her mind. "What if she hates whatever it is? She might say something to Mr Carson...or even Mr Crawley!"
John put aside his internal sulking to reassure the girl that she wouldn't be facing the sack over a choice of Christmas present.
"I'm sure she'll like whatever you choose. She is human, just like the rest of us." He smiled warmly, for longer than he would usually – with anyone who wasn't Anna. "Maybe you could ask Mrs Patmore to try and get a few hints out of her?"
Her eyebrows lifted abruptly and she leaned forward from where she rested; he suddenly felt he was a part of some major conspiracy.
"I did overhear them talking the other day," she stage-whispered. "Not on purpose! Just as I was going to get lunch, and Mrs Hughes's door was open. And I thought, well if I stay round the corner and they don't see me, it couldn't do any harm..."
John listened as Daisy relayed the conversation almost word-for-word, nodding and smiling where it was appropriate. He didn't really need or especially want to know about the trouble Mrs Patmore was having with her bunions, but didn't want to be uncharitable towards Daisy. He was also absolutely parched and stopped himself, with some effort, from looking lingeringly at his empty mug.
"...and Mrs Patmore asked whether there was anything else that Miss Baxter liked, aside from walnut and coffee cake and apple flapjacks, because she wanted to put all her favourites in the hamper. Mrs Hughes said she wasn't sure, but if Mrs Patmore had anything spare then would she make some chocolate-chip cookies for Anna, and that could be part of her present."
At the mention of Anna's name, all of his senses perked up.
Mrs Hughes. Of course – why hadn't he thought?
He'd double check, just to be sure he hadn't day-dreamt it. "Cookies for Anna?"
"Yeah, Mrs Hughes has got Anna, and Mrs Patmore has Miss Baxter." Daisy's large eyes widened and she clamped her hand to her mouth, realising just how much she had divulged. "Oh, some Secret Santa this is turning out to be! Those are the only ones I know, honestly. And mine, obviously. You won't say anything, will you, Mr Bates?"
He smiled. "I'll be the soul of discretion." For the most part. "It's a good job Thomas wasn't snooping around."
"Imagine!" Daisy exclaimed. Even if she did fancy Thomas she wasn't blind to all of his faults. "Thank you so much, Mr Bates. I actually feel better for getting it off my chest. Silly, isn't it?"
"Not at all."
"I think I'll pop into town tonight then. Maybe I'll go to that fancy tea shop, you know, the one with all the funny flavours. Mrs Hughes does get through her tea. Or maybe there'll be something else..."
John coughed lightly to rouse Daisy's attention – apparently her options were now endless, and she had no trouble in reeling them off. "Speaking of tea, before it gets too late..."
"Oh, of course! Look at the time. I'm ever so sorry, you should stop me when I'm going on. I haven't even got round to everyone yet!"
"No worries," John picked up the empty tray that was sitting next to Daisy. "I tell you what, why don't I get the rest of the orders in?"
The girl smiled widely. "Oh Mr Bates, you're ever so kind."
"So, you're proposing that I swap names with you?"
John shifted on his feet slightly, straightening his back stiffer. There had been a seat available opposite her desk, but he didn't want to make it seem as though he was taking further liberties by being so casual.
"That's right, Mrs Hughes."
He could see why Daisy was so spooked. It wasn't always obvious, but if you caught her at certain moments then Mrs Hughes could be rather intimidating. With her glasses on and expression firmly in place, she looked particularly stern, and he braced himself – though for what onslaught, he wasn't at all sure.
She shook her head, although she simultaneously wore a smile. "You know, you can call me Elsie. I don't think this matter is so important that it calls for full titles."
His posture relaxed and he smiled in return. "I wasn't entirely sure. It seems rather significant to everyone else."
She let out a chortle. "And for you too."
"I can't deny it." He tried to sound as unaffected as possible, though the burning that had started up in the apples of his cheeks had surely spoken louder volumes.
"Well, it was a fair draw, from what I know. Normally I wouldn't condone this kind of interference..."
John held his breath for a moment, hoping that she wasn't going to reconsider – although perhaps he shouldn't have accepted a victory in his head so easily.
"...but seeing as you've never asked for anything before now," she continued, pausing again for a while before delving into her desk and stretching her hand – containing the small scrap of paper – out towards him, "we have a deal."
"Thank you, Mrs – Elsie."
John stole a glance at the paper, unfolded within his palm, and smiled with satisfaction.
"I can't say that I was disappointed," she commented. "Anna is – well, she's the closest I have to a daughter, if truth be told. I had a few things in mind, it was just as well I hadn't got round to buying anything yet."
Despite his elation, he was struck with guilt. "I'm sorry."
"Och, don't be," she replied with an ease that helped to rest him. "I think it's better you have her." Her eyes were bright, shining with an emotion that there wasn't really a term for. Happiness that someone dear to her would be happy? "I know you don't need to be told, but I hope whatever you have in mind is something special. She deserves to be spoiled, especially with spending far too much of her time running around after the blessed Mary Crawley."
John chuckled, and then nodded, his eyes full of humility. "I'll do the very best I can, although I'm not sure it'll ever be good enough."
"No more of that, or I'll have to change my mind," she warned, not sounding too serious.
"Consider me told." He was on such a high that he had almost forgotten to provide Mrs Hughes with the scrap of paper she required in return. He caught himself just in time. "I hope you don't have too much trouble."
She waved him off, moving it along her desk. "It can't be that bad."
John nodded another silent thanks, not imagining that he had an added spring in his step as he went on his way.
When the door had been closed for long enough, Elsie Hughes removed her glasses and turned the little piece of paper upwards. She couldn't stifle the smile that rose onto her face.
"The old booby," she murmured, loud enough for no passers-by to overhear. "Finally."
Parties of any kind had never been John's thing. He wasn't a kill-joy, and was more than happy to let everyone else have their fun; he just didn't need an arranged gathering to enjoy himself. If the truth be told, he always felt the inverse to be true. The fact that he had long given up alcohol assured that he simply felt awkward, almost like a babysitter whilst everyone else got increasingly 'merry' as the night went on.
But the Christmas office party was a much better affair. By now nobody minded that much about his differing ways and he was happy enough to be left to his own devices, acting in charge of the playlist seeing as the implement he used to aid his walking prevented him from doing much dancing either. Thomas whined a bit about the choice of music, but he couldn't say that he cared a great deal what Barrow thought, and he only needed to put up with him for a couple of hours.
It was Anna's presence which had the greatest effect on his opinion of the gathering. She looked absolutely stunning in a figure-hugging black dress and red cardigan, hair flowing in delicate waves over her shoulders. There was a glass of champagne in one hand (she assured him that she'd indulge in no more than a couple of glasses, even when he said that she didn't have to go by his standards – she was just so thoughtful) and John smiled wide when he glimpsed the miniature chocolate cake in the other. He was certain of nothing more than the fact he would love her however, whatever, whenever but apparently like most women she worried about what a few treats would do to her figure. Yet she never denied herself, and he adored that. She deserved all the pleasures that she wished for in life, simple or otherwise.
Tom Branson always joined in with the party, even though he had been part of the upper management for a couple of years now. His arrival, with an additional bottle of wine in each hand, was greeted with smiles and welcomes by the rest of them. Mrs Patmore promptly brought over a plate of vol-au-vents for inspection, and wrinkled her nose when a small chorus of 'ooooh' rose up from the room.
"What are you all crowing about?" she enquired, apron still in place over her sparkly dress. "There's enough to go round, you know."
"Er, I think you might want to look at where you're standing, Beryl," Molesley pointed out, wanting to be helpful.
On cue everyone followed her gaze upwards, taking in her shocked expression as she witnessed the sprig of mistletoe hanging over both hers and Tom Branson's heads.
"Come here, Mrs P," he exclaimed, opening his arms and promptly laying a smacker of a kiss to the side of her mouth. "Merry Christmas."
The whistles and applause went round the room, John clapping his hands more quietly than the others in the room. Mrs Patmore's face had turned near the same shade as her hair and she stumbled on her feet slightly as she made her way back to the table nestled in the corner.
"Well, it's been years since that's happened," she mumbled to John as she passed. "Talk about Christmas come early. That'll do me for my birthday as well, and that's not for another five months."
John chuckled aloud. Not all that long ago his cynical side would have reared its head but now love well and truly ruled his heart, and he felt rather chuffed on Mrs Patmore's behalf. He turned up the volume of the music a touch, though it was a little early in the evening for dancing. No doubt Anna would try and get him involved for a shuffle this year and he didn't find himself dreading it. Perhaps Christmas miracles did exist, after all.
The sound of a noisy party horn interrupted John Lennon and Yoko Ono amidst their calls for a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, and Daisy waved her arms half in apology.
"Secret Santa time, everybody!" the girl announced enthusiastically. "If we all gather by the Christmas tree, we can make a start."
John felt his stomach drop a little, hoping that he'd done the right thing in angling for Anna's name. He hadn't really considered the full implications of opening their presents in front of everyone else, but as soon as he laid eyes on Anna taking her seat right next to the softly twinkling tree any worry or embarrassment he had drifted far away, replaced only by a sense of fizzling excitement.
Daisy held the same Santa hat in her grasp as she had done at the start of the month, and drew names out one by one. Mrs Patmore's was first, and Thomas stepped forward with an immaculately-wrapped package adorned with a neat gold and silver bow. It was opened eagerly, the tall bottles not containing any kind of cooking condiment but instead some garishly-coloured bath salts.
"Oh, they're very...nice," she said, quite uncertainly, as she tipped the bottles up and down in her hands.
"The price might still be on there," Thomas pointed out. "They were a little bit over the limit, but I thought you were worth it, Mrs Patmore."
The others exchanged glances at the awkward encounter, John thinking that the gift looked suspiciously like something that had been given to someone else in the previous year.
Thomas himself came next and he slapped his hands together in expectation, looking accusatorily around the room.
"So, who was the lucky one out of all of you, then?"
Miss Baxter bobbed forward, handing over a long rectangular shaped box.
Thomas wasted no time in tearing off the paper, his face dropping when he turned the box the right way round.
"A selfie-stick?"
"Well, you do seem to take a lot of pictures of yourself..." Miss Baxter offered quietly and almost completely innocently, "I thought this might make it a little bit easier for you."
As Thomas tossed the present to the side of him, John silently commended the choice of Miss Baxter. She'd catered to Thomas's primary interest – himself – and he knew that he wouldn't have been quite so generous.
"Oh, it's me next!" Daisy squealed as she took her own name from the hat.
Her delight was quickly multiplied as she uncovered a hot-pink compact handbag, complete with golden plated handles and a pink pom-pom attachment – given to her by none other than a thoroughly embarrassed-looking Mr Carson.
"Oh my god, I've wanted this for ages!" she exclaimed. "Thank you, Mr Carson, thank you so much!"
Daisy bundled her arms around his towering figure. In his fluster, he managed to pat his hands staidly against the girl's back.
"Yes, well," he murmured, red-faced and quite taken aback by Daisy's enthusiastic show, "I can't take the credit..."
Mrs Hughes swiftly hushed him from saying anything more, smiling at the both of them. She was very pleased with the collection of boxed teas that Daisy presented her with and more than a little amused at the 'Her Ladyship' mug that came along as an accompaniment.
Miss Baxter couldn't quite believe Mrs Patmore's generosity, struggling to hold the weight of the crammed-full hamper for too long and becoming a touch teary-eyed, to which Mrs Patmore responded by pulling her in for a hearty hug.
Finally, Anna's name was pulled out. Her eyes brightened as she looked around the room, the choices now rather limited. There was left Mrs Hughes, Mr Molesley and – her heart speeded up at the thought – her Mr Bates.
John stood up with a bashful smile, taking his present from underneath the tree. It was a sizeable one, messily wrapped, especially about the edges. He felt a little embarrassed for its appearance as he placed it onto her lap, but he was quickly soothed by the excited smile that had blossomed upon her face. She looked to him as though she belonged atop of the tree, all golden and shining, and for a few wonderful moments he forgot that there was anyone else but the two of them in the room.
She propped the gift upright on her knees, tearing off small strips of the paper until one sleeve was visible, then the other, and then a fleecy hood flopped over the almost completely-removed wrapping paper. Anna let out a small giggle as she unveiled the garment to the rest of the curiously watching eyes, holding the navy-blue hoodie against her frame. Just by pinning it to her it was obvious that the article was miles too big, likely to swamp her petite figure when she wore it properly. Underneath it there was also a pair of fluffy slippers, each one in the form of a bear's head. Luckily these were tailored to her specific size.
"I hope you like them," John uttered, still feeling rather shy. As he kept his eyes upon Anna – there was no way he was able to take his gaze from here – he could see that she got the references, and revelled in the tingles that were running riot around the length of his body.
"Bloody hell," Thomas Barrow could be heard to mutter between swigs from his bottle of beer, "if that's his idea of romance then she needs all the help she can get."
Neither John nor Anna paid any attention to his remark, becoming lost in the joy of the occasion and of one another. Anna was so wrapped up in admiring her gifts that she almost didn't realise that the time had come to give her recipient their own present.
"Mr Molesley," she said, placing her own goodies carefully down to the side of her chair and picking up the festive gift-bag.
John gave a little huff of disappointment – it would have been perfect if Anna had his name, and he had convinced himself enough that was how the draw had really gone. But he could not complain in the slightest – Joseph Molesley was a worthy beneficiary. True, a year or so ago he would have been insane with jealousy at the pairing, but he also knew that Anna's affection for the other man had always been purely platonic.
"They all kind of go together, but you can use them on their own too," she explained, as Molesley slowly and methodically opened the three small gifts – the beanie hat that she had knitted over the last couple of weeks, along with a pair of gardening gloves and some hedge clippers.
Joseph gasped at the generosity, then composed himself to look Anna in the eyes.
"That's very kind of you, Anna. Thank you," he said with sincerity. The hug that was shared between them was rather awkward, Molesley doing his utmost to keep himself from pressing upon Anna. She laughed as she peered over his shoulder, and John genuinely smiled at the picture before him.
When Mr Carson was drawn everyone looked uncertainly about them, relieved that they hadn't been the one to choose him - including John, who knew he had had a lucky escape. It was always a surprise that Mr Carson stayed around long enough for the proceedings, as well as begrudgingly accepting his gift. This year however, when he was aware that Mrs Hughes was his Secret Santa, his expression changed from one of mortification to glee. He unwrapped the present carefully and beamed with pride when he unveiled the cut-glass decanter filled with his finest choice of sherry, along with a matching tumbler from which to drink a measure.
"Mrs Hughes," he uttered quietly, full of humility. "You really shouldn't have."
"Oh, don't be such an old fool," she teased him gently - the only one who could get away with taking such a tone. "It's only once a year."
Perhaps they shouldn't have been looking, but anyone with eyes was able to register the swift touch that she issued to his arm.
"Only one name left," Daisy reminded them all, and John took his hands from his pockets in preparation. He would rather have not been left until the end, but that was the way things went, and as long as Anna was happy he didn't really mind being the centre of attention for a couple of minutes.
Given that he was last, it wasn't surprising when Joseph sidled over to him. He was handed a silver envelope, decorated with small black hoofprints – which should have been the obvious giveaway.
"I thought it was worth going closer to home this year," he informed, as John opened the envelope and pulled out the card that was inside. Inside it was emblazoned with the words:
Dear John Bates,
A donation has been made in your name to the Downton Donkey Sanctuary.
Merry Christmas, and with the warmest thanks for your generosity.
"Well, it's a wonderful cause," John began, choosing to ignore the sniggering that had risen from the back of the room and from one person in particular. Molesley's face was so earnest that he couldn't possibly respond in any other way. "And very apt for the time of year. Thank you, Mr Molesley."
He received a clap on the back from the other man, as everyone else went back to the festivity.
"I'll get you a mince pie as well," Molesley could be heard to say, while John watched Anna undo the straps from her shiny red heels and instead slip her feet into the furry bear slippers, a smile chasing its way onto his face and staying there for a long while.
The party was carrying on to its later hours, the female contingent along with Tom Branson occupying the floor to dance along to the music that floated about. John did his best to stifle his yawns, despite the low level of exhaustion that had settled within him. There would be hell to pay if Mrs Patmore didn't get the opportunity to do her finest boogying to I Will Survive before the night was out.
He perked up as Anna made her way over, bobbing her head along to the melody as she walked.
"Can I have a request?" she raised her voice above the kitsch dance music, holding her hand out towards him to steady herself.
"Just the one," John replied, the beginnings of a smirk causing his eyes to crinkle. "I might get accused of favouritism."
She flashed him a cheeky smile, leaning over to scroll through the playlist set up on the laptop. John couldn't help but follow her movements, keen to see what she was up to, and a sentimental smile broke upon his expression as she clicked upon her selection.
The tone changed considerably as the strains of The Power of Love by Frankie Goes To Hollywood played out. Mrs Patmore and Daisy pretended to slow-dance, seeing as Tom was occupied with a slightly reluctant but happy-looking Miss Baxter. Everyone else was taken up with talking or flicking through their phones, allowing John and Anna to sneak away from it all.
"Great choice," he said as he faced her, wearing an effortless smile.
She grasped onto him, going up on tiptoe to lay a kiss upon his cheek. It was fairly chaste, but still sent shivers dancing up and down his spine.
"What was that for?" he asked her, only partly curious.
"Silly beggar," she beamed, aiming a light tap at his chest. "Your presents."
John chuckled tunefully, covering the hand that was now resting just below his heart. She was doing that thing again, hypnotising him by the soft look in her eyes without even being aware of the effect she was having upon him.
"Well, they are a bit silly," he said, "but as long as you don't think they're terrible."
Anna tutted – she wondered when he would ever stop putting himself down in one way or another. "I love them." She smiled as she saw him following the sweep of her fingers, trying to keep up with her. "Truly, I do. You know that I'd love anything that comes from you, Mr Bates."
He was certain he was blushing again; sometimes he felt no better than a lovestruck teenager around her, fumbling and desperate to impress. She did make him feel much younger than his true age, and he supposed that could only be a good thing.
"I don't suspect Mary will be too impressed. She'll be looking for diamonds upon you come January."
"Stuff what Mary thinks," she retorted, shocking him for a moment. "I don't want diamonds."
"Just the one will do then," he smiled, picking her hand up and raising it to his lips.
She looked at him curiously for a minute, but then simply smiled, shrugging the suggestion aside for now. He had bought her a necklace for their proper Christmas – a heart pendant that did include a subtle diamond at its centre. There was little doubt in his mind that a ring would follow, probably within the year. He didn't see the point in waiting when there was nothing in their way – thank God that his divorce had been settled months back – but another time would be more special for them, one that wasn't ruled by so many other celebrations.
Anna leaned in to him, almost close enough so that she could lay her head upon his chest in the same place that her hand had previously occupied.
"They're just what I need," she murmured.
John bit back a smirk as he looked down at her, pleased to find that she was still wearing the slippers.
"I know," he replied, with a sudden air of self-confidence. "Your feet are always freezing, like blocks of ice when I get into bed. And as for my sweatshirts disappearing," he paused to revel in the sweet sound of her laughter, "don't think I don't know that the culprit is you."
She continued giggling, raising her hands. "Guilty as charged."
In truth he found the habit adorable, and didn't really mind that he was fast running out of warm clothes with her 'borrowing' most of them. Whatever he wore looked much better on her, anyway.
"So now you have your own to wear."
Anna smiled, another one that stole his breath clean away. "Very clever, Mr Bates. But there's just one problem."
He frowned as she continued to gaze up at him, none the wiser.
"I take your hoodies and sweatshirts not just because they warm me up," she enlightened him. "I wear them because they smell like you. And you have no idea how much I miss you when you're not around."
His heart just about melted at her confession. Sometimes it amazed him that she loved him with as much fierceness as he loved her; not because he doubted her capacity for it, not in the slightest, but because he never thought he would find such love in his life.
Overwhelmed, he had to take her face into his hands, mirroring her smile upon his face as he rubbed his thumbs upon her cheeks.
"Oh my darling," he uttered, "if it's a quarter of the amount of how much I miss you, I think I have a good idea."
It was pure instinct for his lips to meet her forehead, the delicate strength of her arms as they circled about him filling him with wonder and pride. She never held back when they embraced and it was another quality he adored in her – the whole-heartedness with which she approached everything.
"Of course there are more presents to come," he said low, the rumble of his voice reverberating where her head rested upon his chest for a moment or two, "but I'm afraid one can't wait until Christmas."
Somehow – God knows how – he refrained from gruffly sighing as her hand worked its way lazily from torso to stomach. "Now I am intrigued." She curved her lips, the tiniest twitch appearing at the corner of her mouth as he stroked her hair back from her temple. "Have I been good enough to get a hint in the meantime?"
John chortled again. "You can have better than that."
He leaned in yet closer to her, although they were only the two of them. Anna was looking up at him, eyes wide and more brilliant and bright than any array of twinkling lights.
"Robert has this little cottage in the Yorkshire Dales. He and Cora haven't been in a couple of years, and I asked if perhaps he wouldn't mind someone else making use of it." It was getting harder to stop his smile from breaking forth. "Really, I think he wants to make sure it isn't going to rack and ruin..."
"How thoughtful of him," she teased faintly.
"It's ours from Boxing Day to the day after New Year's Day," he continued, watching happily as her eyes sparked and then softened with the sincerity of his promise. "And I can guarantee we'll be absolutely, completely alone. The only thing I can't guarantee is snow."
"Oh, John." Jesus, he would never tire of her breathing his name in that precise way. "That's wonderful. I almost want Christmas to be done with so we can get there."
"Now, come on. You're the one who loves it, don't wish the time away."
She buried her face as she pressed against him again for the briefest moment. For him it was a battle between wanting to feel the delicious heat of her body and having the perfect pleasure of gazing upon her beautiful features.
Her giggles started up again when she looked at him earnestly.
"I'm sorry you had to get Molesley. I mean, it is lovely of him, but it's not much fun for you."
John shrugged his shoulders, the gesture exaggerated while the look within his eyes remained to show the true measure of his feelings.
"Well, if it helps the donkeys..."
They both stuttered out uncontrollable laughter before ceasing when they met one another's gaze, both of them pursing their lips.
He smiled, truly and deeply. "All I want for Christmas is you, Anna Smith. And I don't see that ever changing."
Her eyes were glossy with tears, the smile she wore absolutely radiant and stealing more of his heart second by second.
"I don't think you'll go completely without," she rasped, the changed tone of her voice doing quite wonderful things to his insides. "I think it's quite possible that there'll be a couple of stockings for you to open come Christmas morning."
"You naughty girl." He pretended to be scandalised.
"I know," she trilled. "If I carry on this way I'm not sure Santa will be paying me a visit, after all."
He smirked, the glint in his eyes shimmering. "I'll put in a word for you." His hands slipped to her waist, thumbs circling her hipbones through the fabric of her dress. "Come here..."
She went without the guidance of his hands upon her, John's soul sparking in full force when their lips met, each seeking what they were yet more desperate to find time after time. The sound of Anna's delight muffling made him yearn for her even further, his palms sliding over her hips as she sipped kiss after kiss from him. He felt her lips, so unbelievably soft and addictive, and when she opened her mouth just a little bit more his knees began to slacken.
"Woooo, Anna and Mr Bates!"
"Well, they are standing under the mistletoe..."
They broke apart, more reluctant than might have been imagined in the circumstances, their cheeks flushed as they turned to face their colleagues who had caught them kissing enthusiastically.
Thomas pulled a face at the mere idea of Mr Bates snogging; having to witness it was another matter entirely.
"I'm going to go before my mince pie decides to make a swift reappearance."
They snickered at Barrow's childishness, John's hands back in place upon Anna's hips. She smiled at him, a sight he was more than content to see before stretching onto her toes, brushing her fingertips at the mistletoe berries and then pressing a sweet, slow kiss to his lips.
"One more for luck," she uttered, glancing up above their heads. "Maybe we should pass the baton along. What do you think to getting Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson over here?"
John shook his head, though he didn't think it was a bad idea. "I think that gift was enough for him for now. A kiss would finish him off, and we can't have that."
Instead he looked over to the gap that gave a glimpse of the makeshift dancefloor, and a hand that was shyly held out to reach for another. Anna followed his gaze, and couldn't help but smile.
"No, I reckon Miss Baxter and Mr Molesley are the better bet for this year."
They smiled at one another as their own fingers brushed and then linked swiftly together. It was true that both of them knew that secrets could never be kept for long, especially ones which belonged to the heart.
A/N: I used the following prompt for the inspiration for John's Secret Santa gift to Anna (it was so cute I couldn't resist):
'As the weather outside gets colder, Tol Person B wonders why all their hoodies have disappeared and where Smol Person A is buying all these oversized sweaters.'