A/N: The TCA's were rather disappointing in terms of A/B, so I thought I would do something about it. There is a spoilery reference to something in here, so if you want to avoid spoilers until series six airs then it would be best to avoid this. :)

Apologies if there are any glaring errors. I haven't given this the usual going over that I do my fics because I wanted to get this up while it was fresh. If there are any mistakes, please feel free to point them out! :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey.

The Right Wedding

The question comes as she sits at the little table she uses for work.

"Do you ever regret that you didn't get a big wedding?"

"John," she scolds, "I thought we were past regrets?"

Her husband is sitting in his usual armchair, elbows resting on the arms with his fingers steepled in front of his chin, legs stretched out casually in front of him, collar and tie discarded, waistcoat open, hair flopping forward. She likes to see him this way, so relaxed in their own environment. At work he is stiff and starched and stoic, and it does her heart the world of good to see the carefully constructed barriers crumble when they are alone.

"I'm not talking about regrets," he says. "It's just…" He gestures to the white material that flows over her desk, a part of Mrs. Hughes' wedding dress. Miss Baxter is creating most of it, better equipped with her sewing machine, but Anna is in charge of the intricate beading that can only be tackled by hand. "Don't you sometimes imagine what it might have been like to have all your friends and family at our wedding? To be fussed over and made to feel special in the run up to the big day?"

She puts the needle down—the dress can wait—and shuffles on her seat to face him. Slowly, she says, "Well, yes, I suppose I've imagined it. But that doesn't mean that I wish it could have been that way."

"Mrs. Hughes might have made your dress as you're helping to make hers."

"I'm not sure. Probably Miss O'Brien would have been tasked with that." She wrinkles her nose. "Can you imagine how that might have turned out? I would have probably put it on on the morning of the wedding to find that the hem was torn or the bodice wasn't right."

"You could have had a church full of people watching you walk down the aisle, murmuring under their breaths about how beautiful you looked," he counters, before his eyes soften. "You would have looked so beautiful, in your white dress."

"What are you trying to say, that I didn't look beautiful in my Sunday best?" she teases, and he huffs.

"Of course not. I've never seen you look as beautiful as you did on our wedding day."

"There you go, then."

"But you would have been centre of attention, there for everyone to be in awe of."

Anna stands now, stretching her back until her muscles pop. She sighs in satisfaction before striding over to the rickety old settee at his side. "Well, we couldn't wait." She hates alluding to the time that they had spent apart while he had languished in prison almost as much as she hates bringing up Mr. Green, but it's a fact that neither of them can escape. "If we hadn't acted when we did then I would have been nothing better than a mistress in their eyes. It's because of those vows that we got you free."

"You mean you got me free," he tells her gently, reaching out for her hand. She sighs, letting him twine their fingers together. His thumb massages the back of her hand. She loses herself in the sensation for a moment before forcing herself back to the present.

"As for my family…well." She shrugs. "I've not been home in years. I love my mum, but my sister is in Liverpool now and I'm not sure if she would have been able to make it." She hasn't been home since the day that her step-father screamed for the watch. The next day her mother had bundled her off to work as a tweeny further up north, and that had been that. She still loves her mother, but there is a deep, resentful part of her that wonders how she can sleep in the same bed as the man who had threatened and touched her daughter, a child.

Her face must have fallen, because John says, "God, I'm sorry. I should never have mentioned it. That was stupid of me."

Anna shakes herself, offering the best smile she can. "You don't need to apologise. I can't live the rest of my life in the past. Not when the future is so full of hope."

John smiles tentatively, allowing his hand to drift lower. She presses it to her stomach, relishing the feel of his strength tempered into something delicate. It's still early days, but she's late. She's never late. She'll have to confirm it with Doctor Clarkson, but it's more hope than they've had in years. Anna knows that if it turns out to be false then it will crush them both, but she has faith. Somehow, after everything, she still has faith.

When John pats his good knee, she rises without protest, nestling herself into his embrace. He kisses her hair, and she relishes his deep intake of breath as he inhales her scent. Stroking the fine hairs at the back of his neck she whispers, "Why would I want a different wedding when I've already had the perfect one? I know it might not be everyone's idea of perfect, but that doesn't matter to me." She hitches herself closer, moving to breathe in his ear, "Shall I tell you why it was perfect to me?"

"Go on," John says hoarsely. His hand moves to trace patterns onto her hipbone through the material of her dress.

"One: it was a private affair."

He chuckles. "You mean secret."

"No, I mean private. Yes, it was secret at first, but it's not as if no one knows we're married now. They can ask questions about the day, but we're the only two people in this village who know what it was really like."

"That's quite a nice notion," he concedes. His hand has moved a little higher.

"Two: it means more to me because it was so intimate. There were no frills and no extravagance. It was just the two of us and our love for each other. It was as simple as that." Anna runs her index finger down the row of buttons on the front of her husband's shirt. She feels him shiver beneath her touch.

"I suppose that's true," he whispers. His eyes have half-lidded now, darker than cocoa.

"Three: no one could tell me that I couldn't see you before the wedding," she teases.

"That was certainly a bonus."

She remembers the moment that he'd slipped off to the village to catch the bus, knowing that it would be better for them to arrive separately so as to not arouse suspicion. He'd taken her aside in the courtyard and almost kissed her breathless, the broadest smile she'd ever seen gracing his features.

"The next time I kiss you it will be as my wife," he'd promised her. The thought had made her heart pound. Just thinking back on it makes it beat fast now too—though she isn't sure if she should put that more down to the fact that John has now slipped his hand under the hem of her dress as she curls against him.

"And four: it was more symbolic, just the two of us being there. Hasn't it always been the two of us against everything else? Well, that was what the day felt like to me. Just you and me at the front of the registrar with the whole world left outside. I know we've not had it easy since then, but we've always come out of it united and stronger than ever. And to me, that's the most important thing in the world."

Silence meets her final declaration. John's hands stop drawing teasing patterns on her calves. Slightly unnerved by his abrupt pause, Anna peers down into his face. He's smiling. The crinkles around the edges of his eyes are deep.

"You are a wonder, Anna May Bates," he says admiringly.

At his words she giggles, moving to kiss him. He accepts it gladly, his palm cupping her cheek and drawing her closer. They linger for long moments, and when she pulls away she finds that he has left the imprint of his smile on her face too. She strokes the rogue strand of hair back from his forehead with loving, tender fingers.

"I promise I'll accept that the wedding was perfect for you," he continues. "And I won't be the slightest bit jealous of Mr. Carson meeting Mrs. Hughes at the end of the aisle."

"Good," she says. Then, feeling coy, adds, "Now, all this discussion of our wedding has reminded me of our wedding night."

Just like that, the atmosphere in their sitting room changes. John's eyes are smouldering coals on her once more, and her temperature rises with every second that passes.

John's voice is gravel when he says, "Oh, yes, the wedding night. Now I can certainly agree that that was perfect."

"What do you say?" she says, her own voice husky. "Shall we re-enact that perfect night?"

The way that John braces himself against the armchair and pushes himself to his feet with her still in his arms is all the answer she needs, and Mrs. Hughes' wedding dress is completely forgotten.

Later, when they lie twined in nothing but each other, the sheets hanging sadly over the edge of the bed, Anna sighs.

"What is it?" John murmurs into her hair. He nudges against her with his nose, his lips finding the sticky skin of her temple.

She turns so that she can see him properly. His arm pillows her head, the other hand hovering as if it would like to cradle her face. She'd been running her fingers through the hairs on his chest, but now she moves her hand to the back of his head, pulling him closer, suddenly overcome with the fierce rush of love that she feels for him.

"I was just thinking," she whispers to him in the intimate darkness, "that I had both the right man and the right wedding."