Summary: In the aftermath of their most recent troubles, Anna notices that her husband has become more protective of her than ever.
Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey or these characters.
A/N: This is just a oneshot I had gathering dust on my harddrive, figured I'd share. Takes place after the S5CS. Makes mention of the attack on Anna but nothing graphic.
He was always close by.
Even three weeks after her release from prison, John still kept her in sight whenever he could. He hurried through his duties upstairs or timed them to coincide with her own tasks. At luncheon he always stationed himself at her right elbow, not so close as to smother her but a solid presence. And when they walked home to the cottage together, he seemed to make it a point to move just a bit nearer to her than before.
John was not hovering, not precisely, but the tension in his body betrayed what his voice would not. He worried about her, nearly every second of his day. Ever since the evening she'd been placed in shackles and marched out of Grantham House in London, he had grown desperate in his mission to keep her safe.
"You should eat more," he told her one evening at dinner, taking the buttered dinner roll from his plate and adding it to her own. When Anna tried to protest, John gently refused to take back the food. She ate the roll with a smile, appreciative of his consideration.
That incident occurred only a few days after Christmas, following his return from Ireland. Anna was forced to acknowledge that she'd lost weight in prison, and perhaps even more in the months that he spent eluding the police after confessing to Green's murder. But as their days of being reunited passed into weeks, Anna quickly noticed that her husband was always careful to ensure she had just a bit more on her plate than she could possibly finish.
His attempts at subtlety included giving her helpings which he "could not quite finish," but only ever of the dishes he knew she enjoyed. On the rare occasions that Mrs. Patmore served a dessert in the servants hall, he would pass his plate to Anna with a pat to his belly and an aside about wanting to look a bit trimmer. But she knew what he was about.
"Mister Bates, stop trying to fatten me up," she admonished him, and he ducked his head in embarrassment. But the extra food was only one aspect of his increased protectiveness.
While he had always been a deep sleeper, able to find rest almost immediately as his head hit the pillow, he did sometimes have trouble staying sleep the whole night. In the time since his return from Ireland, John suffered from insomnia even more regularly than usual. More often than not he would wake up at midnight and stay up until the early hours of the morning, either pacing downstairs or sitting in a chair with a book open in one hand, his eyes quick to dart towards the door to their cottage at any noise. Anna could not be sure if he even knew that he was standing guard or if it was so ingrained in his subconscious that he was unaware of his century duty.
On the other hand, he valued her sleep as though it were an extremely precious commodity. John refused to wake her early, even on her request, but allowed her to sleep as late as she possibly could. And on the mornings when they were late to work because he did not allow her enough time to dress and bathe, he was quick to inform Mrs. Hughes of his negligence in ensuring that Anna was on time. When his wife confronted him about the issue, John simply told her, "You need your rest."
She was not ungrateful for his careful treatment of her, but Anna could not help but be reminded of the time after he found out about her attack. She might as well have been made of spun glass for how he handled his wife, as though she might break with the slightest touch or too strong of a word.
"I'm quite recovered, you know," she insisted.
He nodded and asked with a sigh, "Have I been treating you otherwise? I don't mean to, if I am."
Anna knew that he did not intend to mother hen her with his attentions and his concern. In many ways, she felt the same about him, worrying when he was out of her presence for many hours and fretting when he stayed up late downstairs rather than coming back to sleep beside her. Sometimes when she woke in the middle of the night with the bed cold and empty beside her, she wondered if it had all been a dream and he wasn't still on the run from the law, far away in Ireland.
"I just don't like you worrying needlessly," she told him.
He graced her with a patient smile as he said, "But I will always worry."
John made the comment in jest, but Anna knew that at the heart of the statement was a truth she could not overcome. He would always worry, would always feel protective of her and careful of her physical and emotional state. And she did not mind his concern, not knowing that at the root of it was a deep and abiding love. But the other side of it did give her pause, the guilt she could see behind forced smiles and the regret he bore like chains wrapped around his soul.
"And now I suppose you'll remind me of the nature of brooders," she teased, needing to see from him a genuine smile, one which touched his eyes.
Anna's tone was rewarded as his expression softened. "I hardly need to remind you. I'm sure you could write a book on the subject."
"The Book of Brooding Bates?" she asked.
"You wouldn't sell many copies."
Giggling at his levity, she allowed the matter to drop. And for a time, their interactions seemed to return to a condition of normalcy, or what had become normal for them in the months after her attack. So much of her life could be divided into before and after. Before her arrest. Before the attack. Before he went to prison. Before John Bates came to Downton.
Anna wanted to live in the after, in the time when they could just be together and no longer worry about the police or being separated or her husband taken from her. Now that the police were finally done with them, she could allow herself to relax into life again, enjoying simple pleasures and stolen moments of beauty. But she sensed that her husband could not do the same. His body betrayed the tension within, as though he were perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Given everything they had been through, she could not fault him for such hesitance. Every time their lives seemed to be settling down again, some new calamity was lurking around the corner, ready to upset their world anew. But Anna could not let such worries eat away at his happiness. Even if they were destined to never know a lasting peace, she resisted the notion of her husband troubling himself into an early grave in trying to prevent it.
One night, very late, Anna woke to find her husband's side of the bed empty and cold once again. As she lay in the darkness, she could make out the faint sound of his shuffled footsteps in the room beneath her. He was pacing again, the echo of his cane touching the floor so softly that she could hardly make it out. With a sigh, she pushed back her covers and left the warm protection of their bed.
She padded down the stairs in bare feet, a shawl pulled tightly around her shoulders as she made the journey down to the parlor. Flickering lamplight would have betrayed his location even if the sound of his restless movements did not. As she appeared in the doorway, she took in the sight of him.
He walked the length of the room, his stride slow and even as he stared at the floor. His limp seemed more pronounced than usual as he tightly gripped the curved handle of his cane, and she thought she noticed him grimace. When he reached the end of the small room, he turned around.
His mask fell into place as he caught sight of her, but not before Anna made out the misery in his features.
"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" he asked, moving back towards her.
"No." She shook her head. "I just happened to wake up, and I missed you beside me."
He nodded before admitting, "I can't sleep."
"Will you tell me why?"
He waited a beat before answering, and in that moment she knew he was about to lie, to dissemble in such a way as to spare her. John would tell her that it was nothing, that he had indigestion or the beginnings of a head cold and did not wish to disturb her. But before he could make any such excuse, Anna held up a hand.
"Please tell me the truth," she appealed.
His carefully cultivated look of carefree happiness slipped, and she caught sight of the troubles he'd been hiding from her. Sighing, John said, "I don't wish to upset you."
"It upsets me that you're down here, alone with your thoughts. I wish you'd share them with me."
Anna took his hand in hers and led him to their small couch. Following without complaint, John hooked his cane on the nearby chair and settled beside her.
"I have nightmares," he began without preamble.
When he did not elaborate, she prompted, "What about?"
"About you. About things hurting you."
She swallowed tightly as she thought of the dreams and images which must invade his sleeping mind. Did he dream of her in prison? Did he dream of Green's attack?
"What else?" she asked instead.
Quietly, he stared at the floor for a handful of seconds, avoiding her gaze. But Anna waited, knowing as she did how he sometimes needed time to order and compose his thoughts.
After a while, he said, "I always fail you. In the dreams. When I try to protect you, I'm ineffectual or weak. You cry out for me, and I cannot get to you. And if I can manage to find you, it is too late."
He blinked rapidly, and Anna took note of the fact that he would not meet her gaze. His stiff posture reminded her of a string pulled too tight, so tight it might break. But when she put a hand on his arm, his muscles flexed in surprise and she heard him let out a sharp breath.
"You've never failed me," she told him, dipping her head low to force him to look her in the eyes. He did so grudgingly and only after she reached her other hand up to press against his cheek. "Not ever."
His fingers enveloped hers as he pressed her palm into his skin. "You say that to spare me, but we both know better, Anna."
The truth of his feelings hurt as much as the very real pain she saw reflected in his eyes, the beginnings of tears sparkling in the light spilled across by the room by the sole lamp.
John went on, "I should have protected you from Green. And I never should have allowed the police to take you."
"How were you to know? And what could you have done?"
Closing his eyes tightly, a tear spilled out each corner of his eyes and they made quick paths down his cheeks. When he opened them again, he took her hand and held it between his own. Looking down at her fingers, he said, "But I knew. I knew he was trouble. I knew he wanted something from you, and I should have known... I should have gone down with you, gone to check on you. I should have noticed he left the concert. But instead... I was a fool. And you paid the price for my failure."
They had spoken of his guilt before over what had happened to her, but never about Green specifically. Talk of that horrible night left Anna breathless and nervous. She had not experienced a flashback in many months, not since leaving prison, but focusing too much on what had happened to her could bring them on. Pushing away the bulk of the memory, she said, "Then I am to blame as much as you, if not more so. You told me your feeling about him. You warned me, and I didn't listen. Do you fault me for going downstairs?"
He looked up at her then. "Of course not."
"Then why blame yourself for staying at the concert? I've told you before, neither of us was at fault. The guilty party is gone now, dead and buried. He cannot hurt us any more."
John blinked at her. "But he can. He did. Because of his death, you spent three months in prison. And I didn't stop it."
Shaking her head, Anna stated forcefully, "You got me out. You could have gone to the gallows for confessing, but you did it anyway. And because of you, they released me."
Frowning, he gently squeezed her hand and sighed. "I should have done it when they first came. You could have been spared so much."
"I was spared seeing them execute you," she reminded him. "And that is worth spending a lifetime in prison."
Her words pained him, she could tell, and he pulled his hands away from her. Standing up from the couch, he circled around to the back of it. "Don't say such things," he begged.
"It is true," Anna reiterated. She also stood and moved to stand opposite him. "I'd have gladly traded my freedom to keep you safe. You must know that."
Fresh tears made the journey down his face as he looked away from her. She recognized in him a need to compose himself, to escape the things she was telling him. For all the sacrifices he was willing to make for her, John refused to accept that she felt the same, that she would gladly give of herself to minimize his suffering. And one fact that she had never voiced aloud still remained true in her heart, that she'd have rather died herself than watch his own life be extinguished because of her.
"As your husband, it is my duty to keep you safe, not the other way around."
"We owe the same duty to each other."
He shook his head. "You owe me nothing, Anna," he said softly. "You never have. Every kindness... every bit of love and devotion you show me is a precious gift, but not a duty. When I put this ring on your finger, I made a promise to myself that I would only ever make your life better and brighter. I would not infect your light with the shadows that follow me."
As he spoke, John reached for her left hand, holding it so gently and reverently that she may as well have been made of porcelain. The gold ring tingled slightly against her skin and Anna deliberately clasped her fingers around his hand so she could pull him to her.
"You have only made my life better, John Bates. I know you don't believe it, but you have, and I wouldn't trade the time we've had together for anything."
While he did not speak to argue with her, Anna could sense that she was right; he did not believe her. Perhaps he never would truly think himself a worthy or worthwhile person, but as his wife she knew it her duty to keep reminding him. Every day, if need be. Every hour. Perhaps if she said it enough times, if she imbued the sentiment with all her emotions, then one day he might realize what she already knew.
"I love you," he told her, and the way he echoed the feeling with his expression left her smiling with joy.
"And I love you. That's all that matters."
When he kissed her, she finally felt an easing of the tension in his body. He relaxed into her as his lips sought hers out, obviously in need of comfort as much as passion. His hands fit into the curve of her waist, their warmth pressing through the thin fabric of her chemise. She reflected anew on how gently he touched her - not timidly as though she would break, but gingerly, reverently, as though he could not quite believe she was still there.
"Come to bed, Mister Bates," she said when their kiss ended, her head still tilted up to look at him. "I'll do my best to keep the nightmares away."
He nodded, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. And he let her lead him back upstairs. She did not fall back asleep until he was safely in her arms and she felt his soft and even breath against her skin.
fin