Note: Hello, all you wonderful Downton people! This is so NOT what I expected my first published DA fic to be. It has literally been YEARS since I have written, much published, any fanfic. However, after a way-too-late night trolling about on Tumblr, this idea would not let go. It will go another one, maybe two chapters, which I aim to have posted before next week's episode. To paraphrase Lady Mary, please don't take anything I say seriously.
It Takes a Thief
John Bates stood in the courtyard behind the kitchens, seeking answers in the stars. The fingers of his right hand drummed against his cane. He noticed and stilled his hand. He glanced toward the door expectantly. She was late. Releasing a pent up breath, he shuffled to the bench and eased himself down, ensuring he could still see the door. He leaned back, stretching his legs out. That was a relief, at least. After several moments he caught himself tapping his cane against his left sole. He shook his head, stilled himself once more, and placed the cane carefully against the bench. She was late. He knew perfectly well that she was capable of looking out for herself, but he was worried all the same. They had precious little time and here she was late.
He looked around the courtyard, their courtyard it would always be in his mind, though lately others seemed to get more use out of it. So much of their story had played out here in this tiny corner of the great house. He had kissed Anna for the first time just over there, professed his love openly for the first time not far from where he now sat. He had broken her heart here and begun the process of mending it again. And somewhere in the midst of all that he had proposed, if you could call it that, and while her acceptance was a foregone conclusion, he had been as nervous that night as he was now. Though for vastly different reasons, of course.
Just as he was about to give up on her, the servants' door opened and her slender figure was there. He motioned her over with a tilt of his head.
"Good evening, Mr. Bates," she said, her voice devoid of expression. "How can I help?"
"Thank you for coming," Bates spoke softly. "I do believe that you're the only one who can help." Bates noticed his fingers drumming against his leg and again consciously stilled them.
"I will certainly help if I can, Mr. Bates," she softened her tone to match his.
Bates took a breath, ordering his thoughts, and therefore his words. His eyes roved the courtyard and then returned to her face. "I know," he said.
She took a step back from him, wringing her hands together. "What do you know, Mr. Bates?" Her voice was still soft, but there was a trace of fear in it.
Bates winced, he hadn't meant to be so cryptic; they had so little time. Anyone could walk through that door at any moment, even—"I know you've been inside, Miss Baxter," he interrupted his thoughts with his planned speech. "I know, because I've spent enough time there myself. And we do not have much time. The fewer who know about this, the better."
"Know about what?" she asked hesitantly.
"The story arc, Miss Baxter, the story arc. Mine as well as yours. A few others." Bates looked about furtively, motioning her to sit beside him. He leaned closer toward her, resting his hands on his cane. "You've spoken with Anna. You know the basics of our story. Does any of that ring any bells lately?"
Miss Baxter's eyebrows inched up her forehead. "Are you referring to the fact that you and I both spent time in prison for theft?"
Bates nodded. "That's certainly part of it. And how about the fact that Anna always believed there was more to my story, just as Molesley is convinced the same about you."
Baxter shook her head, "I'd really rather not discuss that time of my life, Mr. Bates."
"And there's more! Right there! Don't you see? You don't want to talk about your past." Bates all but spat the words. "Miss Baxter," he caught himself and backed away from her, lessening the vehemence of his speech but retaining the intensity of his words. "Miss Baxter, your story arc with Molesley is a . . . a . . . a re-imagining of mine with Anna." He paused again, this time for planned effect, and held her gaze, "The Author has become lazy."
"The Author?" Baxter retained the capitals.
"Don't pretend you don't know," Bates sneered. "You're smarter than that. I may not believe in much, but I know The Author is real. I've seen him."
"Mr. Bates," Baxter drew her lady's maid face back into place, "why are you telling me this?"
Bates took her hand with relief, squeezed it once, then practically dropped it in his haste to recover his sense of propriety. The physical contact clearly made the woman uncomfortable. "I have a number of skills, Miss Baxter, that I acquired in prison and elsewhere. I'm sure you do as well. I think that between us, we can-"
"Mr. Bates!" Baxter's voice rose an octave though somehow remained as reserved as their surroundings. "I am NOT that person anymore."
"Please stop it, Miss Baxter," Bates drawled. "You can have so much more than a 2nd printing storyline. You sound like me from about 20 episodes ago."
"I know, I know," Baxter hung her head in defeat. "But what can we do? The Author writes and we live it out. You can't change fate."
"Maybe you can't, Miss Baxter," Bates leaned in once more, earnest. "But I believe I can. I've known The Author for quite a bit longer than you have, after all."
"The why do you need me?" Baxter whined, albeit primly.
Bates started when he heard a crashing noise from inside. He stole a glance at the door and prepared to stand. "Daisy!" he heard Mrs. Patmore bellow. Bates relaxed as he heard Daisy's shrill, "I'm coming, Mrs. Patmore!"
"Because although I was in prison for theft, I am not actually a thief, Miss Baxter," Bates wondered if there was more pride or perfidy in his words. "I need you to steal the upcoming scripts. I will make the needed changes and then you will put the scripts back."
"You want to steal our storylines?" Baxter was incredulous.
"Not permanently," Bates explained, "just long enough to make some . . . adjustments."
"What kind of adjustments?" Baxter asked. She shook her head rapidly. "No, don't tell me. We cannot steal our own storylines. The Author would know. He would know, don't you see? He wrote them in the first place. He'll know if it starts playing out differently."
"Yes, He will know, but by then it will be too late to change again. And He'll see that my ideas are better anyway. You deserve better, Miss Baxter, better than a tired old repeat of my story. Anna certainly deserves better. And while I don't deserve any better than I've been given, Anna and I have been married for five years and we don't have any children yet. Whose fault do you suppose that is? It isn't mine, Miss Baxter, I'll tell you that, it most definitely is not mine!" Bates took in a deep breath.
"Mr. Bates," Baxter replied, "I have no desire to be privy to your marital relations with Mrs. Bates. It is quite enough for me to keep up with Lord and Lady Grantham."
"There is absolutely no reason that we should not have had a child by now, Miss Baxter," Bates insisted. "No reason. No Reason," he intoned, lacing his words with double entendre. "And since we seem unable to conceive in the natural way, which believe me, Miss Baxter, should have happened long ago, I will have to remove the contraceptive that The Author clearly must have in place."
"So this is your real reason? You want a child and The Author doesn't want to give you one?" Baxter suddenly seemed to find a bit of fire, looking him straight in the eye. "And here I thought you were so concerned about me and Mr. Molesley."
Bates deflated. "I am concerned about you and Molesley. I'm concerned about His Lordship. I'm even concerned about Thomas and Isis, who really ought to be dead by now, when you stop to think about it." Bates shook the stray thought away, willing Miss Baxter to join his scheme with the force of his gaze. "I'm concerned about who really killed Green. The Author seems to be heading in the completely wrong direction on that one. I think I can save everyone's storyline, make everyone's future a bit brighter. Well, almost everyone. I just need your help."
Baxter shrunk in on herself in turn. "What do you want me to do?"
"Thank you!" Bates said surprised at her sudden acquiescence. "They're going to Lord Merton's for supper tomorrow. Meet me here after they leave. Wear black."
"I think I can arrange that, Mr. Bates." Baxter nodded and made her way toward the door. She stepped back as the door opened in her face.
"Mr. Bates?!" Anna called as she barreled through. "Are you out here?" She narrowly avoided running Miss Baxter down. "Oh! I'm so sorry, Miss Baxter. Have you seen Mr. Bates?"
"Just over there, Mrs. Bates," Baxter said, waving toward the bench. "Have a good evening."
"Yes, and you as well," Anna added mechanically, her eyes already settled on her husband.
"And just what are you doing out here, plotting with Miss Baxter?" Anna asked.
Bates noted the twinkle in her eye and responded in kind. "Plotting? Why nothing of the sort. Miss Baxter and I have just realized how much we actually have in common." Anna eyed him more speculatively. Bates harrumphed. "We're both brooders, among other things. Are you ready to go? I've been waiting for you."
"Without your coat?" Anna held up a bundle of their coats and hats. "It's a bit too cold to wait for long without."
"Thoughts of you keep me plenty warm, Mrs. Bates," he replied cheekily. He pulled her coat from the pile and helped her pull it around her shoulders. Shrugging into his own almost new coat, Bates shook himself to better settle it across his back. He thrust his hands in the pockets and jostled the coat from side to side. "This coat, on the other hand, just does not want to get broken in."
Anna smiled as she pinned her hat. "Mr. Bates, when are you going to stop grousing about your old coat? You look very dapper in the new one."
"You know something, Mrs. Bates? You're right," Bates took her arm and tucked it in his own. "I am so very tired of talking about that old coat. Let's find something new to talk about. What do you think about Lady Rose and Mr. Branson?"
"Sounds like part two of Lady Sybil and Mr. Branson to me," Anna mused.
Bates pursed his lips and considered her words. "You might have a point there. Hmmm . . ."
"Oh stop brooding and take me home, Mr. Bates," Anna slapped his forearm playfully. "I was hoping we could work on that 'one thing' tonight."
"Your wish is my command, Mrs. Bates."