A/N: Prompted by anon.
I chose to call this one Life because Anna and John have created life and he's in prison for life. Well, I thought it was clever. For me, anyway.
This first chapter is short because it was intended to be just a short drabble for the promptathon. And then some evil person -coughHFTBcough- insisted on prompting me for another part. That one is longer, and will be appearing in a few days.
Disclaimer: Prison would never have happened if I owned Downton Abbey. Just saying.
Life
I.
She sits across from him in the filthy visiting room, wringing her hands together beneath the table. Across from her, John sits eyeing her worriedly. She has never seen him looking more unkempt and defeated and, not for the first time, she wonders if she's doing the right thing by telling him.
But of course she is. He will find out sooner or later anyway. He needs to hear it from her today.
"Anna, is there something wrong?" John asks her at last, and she glances back up at him, biting her lip. Now that he has breached the subject, she knows that she has to tell him.
"There is something," she says, looking torn between agony and joy. John frowns, disconcerted by the expression.
Of course, none of this is ideal. What will people say? Child of a murderer. Such evil offspring should be drowned at birth. John himself will torture and blame himself for this, for surrounding her with such uncertainty on what should be a happy occasion. And yet, deep down, she knows that it will be one of the best things to happen to her life. Perhaps she is being selfish, thinking in such terms, but she knows that carrying her husband's child within her over the coming weeks and months will give her the strength she needs to carry on and face the world.
He needs to know the truth.
Taking a deep breath, she forces herself to look up into his world-weary face, plastering as happy a smile as she can across her lips.
"I found out a couple of days ago," she starts lowly, glancing around to make sure that no one is listening in to their conversation. "I'm pregnant, John."
She watches the colour drain from his face – what little there is, anyway. She watches his eyes flicker with utter anguish at her statement. And she sees the smile he returns to her, a smile that doesn't reach his eyes in the slightest.
"That's wonderful," he tells her, but there is no sincerity in his voice.
The smile fades from her face immediately. She drops her gaze. She can't bear it.
"Time!" bellows the guard.
She gets up to leave, making an attempt to say something. No words will come. He tries to smile, but all he can manage is a grimace.
That night, alone in their own personal hells, they cry together.
