Summary: "Remind me why I thought going to a pub was a good idea?" she asked. John smiled at her indulgently. "You said you'd never been drunk before."
Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey or these characters. Probably for the best.
A/N: My working title on this piece was "Hungover Anna." I started this story with the intention of it being a fluffy one-shot. I think it got there in the end but I'll let readers be the judge. I imagine it takes place sometime after Bates is released from prison but before the "only young once" scene in S4. Reviews are always appreciated.
Her head spun and ached in an unnatural manner and she felt sick to her stomach. Anna groaned as she began to roll out of bed, placing one hand across her belly. Across the room, she saw her husband pulling on his suit coat, a slight smile on his face. She groaned, falling back onto the mattress.
"How are you feeling?" John asked her.
"Horrible," she answered in complete truthfulness.
"I think that last cider was likely a bad idea."
"Last?" she questioned. "The first one was a bad idea. Now I understand why you don't drink."
With a snort, he muttered darkly, "I don't drink because I wouldn't have stopped when you did."
Anna sighed and pushed herself up again. This time she made it to a standing position, although her head screamed in protest at the sudden change in altitude. Her stomach was at rather a loss as to why she was moving at all and made its unhappiness known.
"Remind me why I thought going to a pub was a good idea?" she asked. As a general rule, she rarely drank, both because there was little opportunity and also out of respect for her husband's sobriety.
John smiled at her indulgently. "You said you'd never been drunk before."
In a flash, she remembered their conversation from the previous afternoon, the one which led to a night of dinner and drinks at the Grantham Arms.
"It can be fun, to let your inhibitions go and just give in to the alcohol," John said. "I had to give it up because that's how I was living my life every day. But not everyone who drinks becomes a drunkard like I was."
"I've had a glass of wine now and then, a bit of beer and cider, but I've never really been intoxicated."
He gave her a look of amusement. "If you want, you can try it. I wouldn't mind. And you'll have me there to make sure you don't have too much and that you get home safely."
Anna shook her head. "No, I couldn't. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
"I wouldn't be uncomfortable," he assured her. "I worked in a pub in Kirbymooreside, remember? Besides, I gave up that part of my life long ago. And something tells me that watching you experience it won't bring about that temptation again."
In the end, she'd resolved only to have a couple of ciders. What was the harm in a drink or two with dinner? Her first one came before the meal, and between the excitement of her date with her husband and the heat of the crowded pub, she downed it quickly. The second one was half gone by the time her dinner arrived.
"It's quite tasty, actually," she commented to John.
"And what does it taste like?" he asked.
"Apples," she informed him. Sampling the liquid again, she focused on the flavor. "And a bit of pear."
"I imagine it tastes very refreshing." He spoke with a knowing grin and watched as she finished the cider in between bites of her meal. A server came by their table and John motioned for the man to bring Anna another drink.
The third one went down as readily as the first two, although he assured her she did not have to drink it if she did not want it. Of course, he somewhat enjoyed observing the looser side of Anna as she finished the beverage. She talked more openly and with even greater animation, although her words had begun to run together. But she laughed readily, and he laughed with her readily.
And then she ordered another cider.
"Are you sure you want to do that?" he asked her.
"Of course. Just one more. What's the harm?"
And for a moment, her voice sounded like Vera's, and his amusement fell away.
"All right, but then perhaps you should be done," he warned her. "We have to be at our posts in the morning."
She nodded solemnly and sipped at the glass of amber liquid. She carried the conversation, giggling often as she teased him gently. John noticed that her personality did not change with the drink, not the way his had. He had been a mean drunk, the type to blame others for his problems and lash them with insults and too-close-to-truth observations about their character. Anna, on the other hand, became more open and her genuine kindness remained. If anything, she was almost too kind in her solicitations.
"Do you know," she said, "that I loved you the first moment that we met? The first moment. You had such an expression of tenderness..."
Anna left off and grinned at him. He knew he should not pursue the conversation, but he could not help but wonder.
"And you weren't put off by the cane, like the others?"
"No, not at all. I thought it made you look quite dashing. I still do."
"Anna-"
"Which isn't to say I was unrealistic. I knew what a hardship it was for you, how it still is. But I thought you were impressive for trying as hard as you did to prove everyone wrong."
She'd reached her hands across the table to take one of his. Her small fingers turned over his palm and began making lazy circles in the center. The sensation sent shivers up his spine.
"And you are an extremely handsome man," she told him flatly. "I won't let you argue with me on that point."
Letting out a snort at her earnestness, John responded, "I wouldn't dream of it."
He watched her across the pub table, taking in the sight of her, flushed and happy from the cider. A man played fiddle in one corner of the establishment, but she did not jump up to dance as Vera would have done. Instead, she swayed slightly with the music, her reserve broken but not shattered by the drink. Unlike his first wife, who became an emotionally unstable letch when intoxicated, Anna was still the same Anna, only intensified. She laughed in earnest, enjoyed simple pleasures more easily, and looked at him with unabashed love and affection. And she truly had eyes only for him.
When she'd finished her last cider, she looked up at him from the empty glass with a frown. John expected her to ask for another. He hated to deny her, but more would only make the next day unbearable for her. And years of experience taught him how uncomfortable it was to try and work while recovering from a night of drink.
But Anna surprised him, "I think I've had quite enough. Will you take me home now, Mister Bates?"
She did not stumble as she walked, although she readily kept her arm tucked into his and leaned against him when she thought she might lose her footing. Anna was such a slight woman that the added weight did not throw him off balance, but he did slow his gait to accommodate her unsteadiness.
Anna spoke readily on the walk home, giving breath to every thought which crossed her mind. She talked about the music and atmosphere of the pub, how it had been heightened by the cider. The food, not anything so grand as could be found in London or even upstairs at Downton, was better than she'd imagined.
And the company - she reserved her greatest compliments for him. The cider loosened her tongue even more as she went on about his virtues and good characteristics. The picture she painted with her now slurred and stumbling words was a window into her heart - not that she kept her feelings hidden, but that she was so effusive in her praise.
"And you're always such a gentleman," Anna went on, her words still intelligible. "I don't know how you have such patience. Even tonight, you've been so considerate of me. And I took advantage of your... your kindness, in making you go to the pub with me. I didn't even think until now how that might be for you, that it would remind you so of your earlier life. Of... her. Vera. Your first wife. Now I wish we hadn't gone..."
In the span of a moment, her happy mood had turned sad, and as he looked at her, he could see tears accumulating in Anna's eyes. The sudden swing of her emotions was startling, but not unexpected considering her intoxication.
"Don't say such things," he told her. "I was happy to bring you. And you remind me nothing of her. You are a joy, Anna, always."
John surprised himself in how genuinely he meant his statement to her. She was a pleasure to be with, even with heightened feelings and physically unsteady from drink. And her concern touched his heart.
She accepted his pronouncement with a nod and allowed him to walk her the rest of the way back to the cottage. She continued to talk freely, although her thoughts grew even more disjointed and stumbling than her feet. The last cider hit her hard, and he found that with the drink, her mind went to strange places.
Anna told him about how sad she'd been when he left her to travel to London with Vera. She reminisced about missing him while he was in prison. And as they neared the cottage, she even alluded to a few letters she'd written him which she could not mail because they were too full of longing and thoughts of private pleasures they might enjoy when he was finally returned to her. He raised an eyebrow at this last secret and made a mental note to ask about the whereabouts of those letters when she was more herself.
After insisting that Anna drink a glass of water, he assisted her in changing into a nightgown before preparing for bed himself.
"Thank you," she told him, as he crawled under the covers beside her.
"For what?"
"For being wonderful."
"I don't know about that..."
Anna shook her head, although the motion seemed to leave her unbalanced as she dipped to the side a bit. Righting herself with slow exaggeration, she went on, "You are wonderful. I know you don't see it, and you won't listen to me when I tell you, but you are... And whatever has happened in your past to make you believe otherwise-"
She stopped speaking, an expression of horror suddenly flashing across her features. "Anna?" he asked, alarmed at the direction the conversation was taking.
"I think I'm going to be sick..."
He quickly helped her out of bed and to the wash room, holding her hair back from her face as she wretched into a basin. And whatever desire John may have had for a drink vanished with ready memories of his own ill reactions to too much alcohol. But back then, there'd been no one to care for him as he did for Anna. After cleaning her up, he walked with her back to their room and tucked her in to bed.
"How are you feeling?" he asked her later in the morning. She'd persevered despite her aching head and upset belly, insisting that she work through it all, that any discomfort was her own fault.
With a smile of good humor, she answered, "Well, my stomach is mostly settled. But my head still hurts and I think I could sleep for a week."
"But did you have a good time?"
"I did," Anna stated easily. "It's not something I want to try again, at least not any time soon, but I did have fun going out with you like that."
She paused for a moment and he watched her skin grow pink in some remembered embarrassment. "I recall talking a lot, but I can't quite remember everything I said..."
"You said nothing inappropriate," he assured her with an amused smile.
"I just... I worry I may have said something to upset you, something I should have kept to myself."
John took a moment to look her in the eyes, to place a hand to her cheek and tell her gently, "You spent a bit far too much time extoling my virtues."
"Is that all?"
"You told me about missing me while I was away."
Anna colored at that detail. She rarely spoke about her feelings regarding the times he'd been forced to leave her, not wanting to inflict further guilt on his conscience.
"Nothing you said... nothing you could ever say in an unguarded moment, Anna, could make me think less of you."
"I know, but..."
"But what?" John asked.
"But if I ever hurt you, even unknowingly..."
He thought back to her reference to Vera, reminding him of such drunken nights with his first wife. But he knew better than to tell her about that aspect of the evening. While it was of little import to him, Anna might view it as a negative reflection on herself. John could not abide casting her into such doubts, not when she her memories of she'd said the night before were clouded, including her endless compliments to him and ruminations on how miserable she'd been without him.
"It isn't possible for you to hurt me," he told her, "not when you love me as much as you do."
She still seemed pensive at his statement, but seemed to accept it.
"I still think I should stay away from the cider for quite some time," Anna offered.
"Now that is something we can both agree on," he responded in amusement. "But know that if you ever want to do it again, I will always be here to make sure you make it home safely."
She grinned at him, as widely and openly as she had the night before. "Thank you, Mister Bates," she said.
"And perhaps next time I can convince you to show me those letters you mentioned, the ones too risqué to mail to me in prison for fear of startling the wardens?"
Her mouth fell open in shock, but only for a moment. She answered with a knowing smile, her cheeks flushed and eyes twinkling.
"I think that can be arranged."
fin