A/N: Wrote this in a couple of hours this morning, so probably not my finest work but I needed cheering up. For the 'A Picture is Worth a 1,000 Words' challenge on Tumblr with the prompt 'red shoes'. Modern!AU but not set in any of the modern universes I've previously ficced. Just something off the top of my head.
As always, I don't own anything to do with Downton Abbey.
No Place Like You
In the four and a half years that they had been together, there had only been one incompatibility between them. He hated shopping.
Typical man, she thought. In every other respect he was very atypical – which was exactly what made him so very wonderful, and her so hopelessly in love with him - and this was something she could live with. It wasn't even that big of a deal.
She found ways to get round it. When trips were absolutely essential, she would bribe him with cookery departments and quaint or comprehensive bookshops, stacked floor to ceiling with all kinds of volumes. More and more often the tables were being turned, and she was the one having to traipse up and down for what seemed like hours to finally find him snugged in a wingback chair in the basement of his favourite haunt, buried in a tome, coffee cup balanced on one chair-arm.
They were walking arm-in-arm away from the centre of town, sheltering from the rainclouds made invisible by the ink-darkened sky, when her eye was caught. First, by the stark and yet comforting lights that beamed from the wide shop-front display. And then, swiftly, by the podium that stood slap-bang in the middle, adorned by the two shining beacons, designed to halt the human traffic of the passing pedestrians.
They were glittering, glistening, more than a touch extravagant. They were straight out of a fairytale, magical and marvellous.
Not quite pillar-box, not exactly crimson.
But they were most definitely red.
With one look, they held her enchanted.
"John," she tugged upon his arm, warm as it remained linked with hers, having already stopped him in his tracks by default of her coming to a standstill herself. "John, look."
Of course, it wasn't a historical epic bound in leather, or a state-of-the-art rice cooker that could 'do so much more than just cook rice, Anna'. She glared at him impatiently while she waited for his attention to be diverted the same way as hers, still finding him unbelievably endearing in his confusion.
"They're the most gorgeous shoes I've ever laid my eyes on."
He shrugged, his face impassive as it was illuminated by the glow streaming from the shop's window.
"They're shoes," he stated, perfectly factually. "And not very practical ones at that."
She couldn't help but smile, even though she also wanted to give him a smack. She wasn't like Mary, who could easily splurge a month's salary within a matter of minutes. In fact, she was impeccably restrained when it came to shopping. She might buy a new dress or bag every few months, but that was the extent of her luxury. For someone who worked in fashion, she didn't mind too much about keeping up with the trends when it came to herself. There were better things to spend money on, such as making memories with her adorable – and very occasionally, infuriating – man.
"They're Wizard of Oz shoes. See, they're exactly the same." The film had been one of her childhood favourites – she had lost count of the afternoons she had spent watching it growing up - and only increased her yearning for the heels. "When Dorothy wanted to feel safe, all she needed to do was click her ruby-red slippers three times and she was home. Guaranteed happiness."
She knew he was aware of the references, but he didn't seem convinced in connection to this particular pair.
"Hans Christian Andersen," he replied after some pondering. "Little girl gets a pair of red shoes fit for a princess. Ends up dancing herself near-to-death because of the damned things and praying for mercy. Without her feet attached to her legs at the end of it."
"Trust you to veer towards the black side, John Bates," she tutted, the smirk still upon her face.
"I'm just offering both sides of the coin. Before you think of spending any."
She sighed for almost as long as she rested her head against his arm, unable to tear her gaze away from the sumptuous shoes hoisted high on their pedestal.
"I haven't found anything that I want for my birthday yet."
His lips brushed against her hair, his arm secure about her waist. He shook the plastic bag that was in his free hand.
"Who says I haven't already treated you?"
Spots dotted the pavement, the spritz of rain falling upon both of their shoulders. He hugged her tight into her embrace, the lights inside of the window beginning to dull.
"Let's get you home, Dorothy. No special shoes needed," he smiled tenderly, pressing another kiss to her forehead.
A week later, she loved unwrapping the beautiful first edition of To Kill A Mockingbird. But she also loved the bigger box he presented her with, unspeakably delighted when she discovered the red shoes from her waking dream inside.
In the last few months an incompatibility that couldn't be helped had risen between them. A distance of some three thousand miles. She had the exact number written within her phone – by now, it was surely imprinted upon her heart – but she tried not to think upon it too much, the gap bringing an ache that stretched across the ocean.
The opportunity had been one of a lifetime – who, in her field and of her age, with no major life responsibilities, could turn down the chance of spending a year's internship in New York? Well, she had been on the verge of doing exactly that. There were so many reasons why it wasn't right for her, not now at least. But Mary had been quite clear; there wouldn't be another position, and she didn't trust anyone else in the company to make the most of it.
It was funny, really. She was sensible, but he was the cautious one. And yet he was the one most enthusiastic about her grabbing it with both hands. She'd have fun without him. It was a place made for someone like her. She could make memories for the both of them.
And she did love it there. The hustle and bustle, bursting with endless splashes of colour. The yellow taxi rides, the horses that went trotting through Central Park. The bagels that were almost as big as her head.
The city that never slept, and sometimes made her an insomniac. But there were days when it became lonely, black and white washing over it – chic and fashionable, at the very least.
She avoided the sizeable puddles on the pavement – she still couldn't think of them as sidewalks – deftly, clutching her flared mackintosh tighter around her. Mary had had to cancel her trip out a few days ago – 'family emergency', as always – and Gwen hadn't been able to get the time off work. At least she would be coming in January, but that was four months away. And her birthday was tomorrow.
She passed the subway station, finding that she could smile at the busker who was playing Somewhere Over The Rainbow on the saxophone. He nodded his head in thanks towards her as she threw some dollars into his carry-case. The time she took to stop, stand and listen meant that she narrowly avoided being splashed from head-to-toe by one of those unmissable cabs, hurtling down the road a few seconds after she had set off again.
Stifling the sigh she wanted to release, she peered down at her shoes – not that they were quite ruby-red, after all. Still, they couldn't help but remind her so much of home, and being safe and happy in the arms of her beloved man.
"If only you could take me there," she whispered down to them, giving her heels the smallest of clicks, just for the hell of it.
And another, and then another.
The rain had ended up seeping into her soles by the time she arrived at the plush lobby of the hotel. Somehow staying there had worked out cheaper than finding an apartment, and it was all being paid for by the Crawleys anyway. She still felt slightly guilty about that every day and night, but right now all she could think about was pulling on her pyjama bottoms and flopping onto the sofa with a tub of frozen yoghurt.
"I'm sorry, Miss Smith, but we've had to move you into another suite tonight," the ever-cheery reception clerk greeted her with the news. "Some water was getting through from the roof, but there's been no damage and everything has been moved. You're in the Baywater Suite, number 232."
She was far too tired and upset to do anything but smile and accept the keycard that was handed to her.
Her red shoes were carried in her hand on the way, having lost none of their shine. It all seemed rather ironic, but there was little left for her to do other than get a good night's sleep and hope the sun would come out tomorrow. Wrong musical, she thought wryly.
She thought she was seeing things when she pushed the door open. She had to be. Stumbled head-first down the yellow brick road, giving her head an almighty bump on the return.
"Happy almost birthday," he uttered, smiling towards her, his eyes crinkled and the shirt he was wearing a little crumpled too.
She was so shocked and overcome that the words wouldn't leave her for quite a while.
"But how did you..." she began, feeling the touch of his palms against her, helping her to get rid of her rain-soaked coat. "There's not enough in our savings for the flights."
He held one finger to his lips, before replacing it with his open smile. "We'll worry about that later. Though there's nothing to worry about. For now, I just want you to have a very happy birthday."
She found herself grinning as he linked her fingers with his, placing his other arm around her waist.
"I wasn't sure that would happen," she admitted, still holding the red shoes in her grasp. "I've missed you so much. I've felt so homesick these past few days."
"I've missed you too, my darling." He took his arms away from her only long enough to take the shoes from her, laying them carefully at his feet, brightening his practical brown shoes by the contrast. "But I'm here for five whole days. And I'm determined to make every second count."
She felt herself wilting against his embrace when he kissed her deeply to seal the promise, and then as if she was flying – that was near enough to the truth as her heart soared upwards and he lifted her in his arms, holding her closer to him than ever before, her legs dangling far from the floor.
She didn't believe she could get any happier, until an hour or so later when he offered her an almost mahogany-coloured box, with a diamond ring sitting inside.
And then she could only say one thing.
"Yes."