John Bates sat in his cell, thinking back on his life. There was little else to do, of course, and he supposed it was deliberate, on the part of the authorities, to give men time to consider and repent their crimes. He didn't have a crime to repent, but he did think of things he missed, in prison. His cane came to mind. It had been a useful crutch, holding him up, helping him to walk, when his leg pained him, but he hadn't needed it as much, the last few years. Maybe all those stairs had strengthened the leg.
The first crutch in his life had been drink. He didn't remember the moment when a pint was no longer enough, when drinking had ceased to be a way of relaxing with his mates, and had instead become a way to forget his marriage. Drink had eased so many of his troubles, and for so long, it was hard, sometimes, to think of it as part of them.
When he sailed for Africa, he'd been so happy. Many of the men were excited, of course, but he just felt free, for the first time since he'd married. Drink, his friend, faded into the background, until the war itself came into focus. He'd been two months in Africa when the need to escape the horror of it led him back to the bottle. He'd gone through the rest of the war with a drink handy.
After he was wounded, it helped dilute the pain, and he continued drinking once he shipped back to London and Vera. He was careful not to let it interfere with his duties, staying as sober as he could while on duty, but he was able to tune out the pain of his leg, the annoyance of his wife, and the bad memories all with one magic brew.
As time went on, he began to see that his savior was just another tormenter. He found it harder and harder to put the drink down, and after his life fell apart, he stopped drinking entirely. It wasn't a choice, at first. When he realized what Vera had done, stealing the silver, he'd been in a drunken haze. He'd put it back in the sack, and returned it to regimental headquarters. Alas, being caught with the sack, incoherent, had meant a rapid end to both his career and his freedom.
In prison the first time, and sober, he held onto two thoughts. First, that while drinking had helped with many of his problems, it had only helped him to escape them, never to overcome them. Ultimately, it had only added to them. As he was forced to be sober, he decided to remain so, for the rest of his life. If only he hadn't been drunk when he'd found the silver, perhaps he'd have been able to get it back without causing a scene. Second, his marriage was over. He'd said as much to Vera when he left the house that last time. She never visited, nor did he expect her to. They were done.
When he was released from prison, the freedom reminded him a bit of his time on board ship, but the reality of finding work soon took that joy away. Everyone took one look at his leg, and shook their heads, as though the rest of him couldn't do the work of any two men, now that his head was clear. Thank God, Lord Grantham had a need for a valet.
At Downton, he found his strongest crutch. He noticed the friendly face right away, but soon found himself depending on the sight of it several times a day. Anna could drive his cares away faster than a drink, night or day, and without any of the bad side effects. Her smile was there to lean on whenever he needed it. They quickly developed the habit of always sitting together, whether working or eating, so that they could chat about nothing, or just smile.
He worried over it, of course, that he was leading her on, that she had no idea who he really was, or why he was the last person she should get involved with. But he was too weak to walk away. He needed that to see that smile too much, he relied on it, and so, selfishly, he led her on. He did have just enough honor left not to make her any promises, and to try to explain to her that she should find her happiness elsewhere.
Thank God, though, she had not. Instead, she'd demanded to be part of his life, first as a friend, then, when he thought divorce was possible, as his beloved, and finally, as his wife. He was stunned, when, after Vera died, and the authorities clearly meant to arrest him, Anna had insisted that they get married. If he'd been stronger, he thought, he'd have refused, but the joy she brought him had given him the strength to face whatever fate through at him. He just hoped she had the strength to survive it, as well.