A/N: Because I'm a new author, wouldn't let me submit this until today, but I finished it last night just before canon aired. I have been writing and reading Banna prolifically ever since Series 4 left me needing more than Fellowes gave us and, although I'm aware that I'm beginning at the end somewhat, I wanted to publish before Downton ended forever. It has taken me a while to get up the guts to dare publish any of my meagre offerings in such an incredibly talented fandom, but I thought I would share my predictions with you anyway. Obviously, this has now been contradicted by canon and I wouldn't change what Fellowes gave us for the world. It was impossibly better than anything I could have imagined and I sobbed my guts out watching it. I still have not recovered and was amazed/overjoyed that for once Fellowes gave his perfect characters a perfect plotline - and a perfect ending. However, I still wanted to post this so...

Merry Christmas if you celebrate it - Happy Baby Bates Day if you don't (and if you do) ;p

If this is well-received I will probably post more Banna stuff when I get the chance. :)

Trigger warning: (Unsure about this but I've done my best - I'm really sorry if I miss anything anyone finds triggering, please let me know if I do)

Mentions of/references to what happened in Series 4 Episode 3 - flashback to rape/ survivor character is triggered

Complications with pregnancy/difficult labour

Mentions of blood

Very slight references to miscarriages - mentions of cerclage, etc.

The dedication of this fic is split six ways: To Elizabeth's_Echo, to Joanne Froggatt, to Brendan Coyle, to Kristen APA, to Kimmy Baker and to you – if you have stuck with Banna until the very end. ;p

When A Child Is Born

'The hopes and fears of all the years are met in you tonight'

'We plan, we get there, all hell breaks loose'

'I see it in your eyes; I see it in your eyes: you'll be alright…'

Lady Mary's mellifluous soprano reached a warbling high note and he felt Anna repress a flinch beside him. It would have been imperceptible to anyone less attuned to her than he was (so, anyone other than him), but he knew her too well not to sense her distress instinctively. He squeezed her hand gently and she returned the pressure, clasping his slightly tighter than was perhaps quite proper in the middle of the Great Hall of Downton Abbey, needing the reassurance. Flashing her a soft smile, which she managed to return only weakly, he mentally cursed his employer's daughter's singing prowess…only Lady Mary Crawley could make 'Auld Lang Syne' resemble opera…

Abruptly Anna's grip on John's hand tightened until she was crushing his fingers. He heard her harsh intake of breath and turned to her instantly, afraid that the music was too similar and had pushed her into a flashback…but no. Her eyes – although huge with fright - were very, very much in the present – meeting his with silent, desperate urgency; her hand was pressed against her distended abdomen. John's mind, for a paralysing second, went utterly blank with panic. Some part of him knew that there had been a plan for dealing with this situation when it arose, yet at the crucial moment he could not recall any of it but was fairly certain that it had not allowed for being in the middle of a party at the Abbey. Also it wasn't supposed to need to be implemented for nearly a month yet! He supposed that after everything they'd been through over the years he shouldn't be surprised anymore when nothing ever worked out how it was supposed to.

"John-" she whispered and he could already feel the panic rising - in her voice, in her eyes, in his chest – "John, the baby!"

"It's alright Anna, stay calm my darling. I'll get Mrs Hughes." His voice was steadier than he had anticipated. It seemed like the only reasonable response – he needed to assuage Anna's obvious fear and, through the haze of disorientating concern blurring his mind into a haze of shrill alarm, the only way in which he could think of to do so was by getting the one person she, he and everyone else went to in a crisis. She nodded automatically in response to his words but when he tried to disentangle his hand from her iron clad grasp she only clutched it tighter.

"Anna-" he began softly, but she cut him off with a sudden sharp cry that resonated through the quiet audience and made Lady Mary break off instantly mid-note. A sea of anxious and perplexed faces turned to them immediately as Anna stumbled and almost fell against him, one arm cradling her stomach, the other gripping his hand as though it was the only thing holding her up, her face tense with pain. John heard the sudden splash between her legs and, even with is very limited knowledge of childbirth, realised with a sick swoop in his stomach that her waters had broken and she was going to go into labour imminently.

John had always been a man of action – someone who acted first and thought through what the implications of that would be later. It was a trait that had saved Lord Grantham's life and got John himself out of (and, admittedly, into) a few sticky situations. It was a trait that had saved Vera from prison and nearly seen him hanged for murder due to his reckless tongue. It was a trait that it had taken every bit of his not inconsiderable willpower to overcome so that he walked away from that train to London…and now it had deserted him. Anna's breathing had hitched, she was obviously in considerable pain and she was about to have their baby – in the middle of the Servants' Hall, if he didn't pull himself together – and he seemed capable of doing nothing other than standing their gormlessly, supporting her and trying ineffectually to soothe her as chaos unfurled all around them.

John thanked a God he didn't believe in for the cool, collected, calm competence of the unfailingly composed Lady Mary. She seemed to appear from nowhere – reaching Anna's side from the opposite side of the huge room virtually instantaneously.

"It's not time yet!" Anna's voice was rising hysterically "It's not meant to happen yet!"

Lady Mary laid a calming hand on her maid's shoulder. "Anna, just breathe. Everything's going to be alright. You and the baby are going to be fine. George was born early and he's none the worse for it is he?" Her voice was innately comforting – she sounded so assured and in control.

However, Anna was not consoled. "But milady," she choked out frantically, her face again twisting involuntarily in pain – making John's heart twist with it – "the stitch! I was supposed to see Doctor Ryder next week to have it removed – I can't have the baby with it in!" John felt his heart drop sickeningly into his stomach with dread. Oh Jesus Christ – what did that mean? Was she physically unable to have the baby until the stitch was removed, in which case, how long would she have to remain in unresolvable pain? Or was she going to have the baby regardless and cause potentially untold damage to either one of them? Was Anna in danger?!

Under her breath, Lady Mary swore like a soldier; under any other circumstances John might have wondered where on earth she had learned such language and been impressed by its colourfulness – but in this particular situation he merely shared her sentiment tenfold.

"Isabelle!" her tone was desperate as she cast around for her mother-in-law.

Without warning, Anna collapsed. John stumbled and almost fell with her, but in spite of the pressure the effort of holding her sagging form up was exerting on his leg, he supported her resolutely.

"Anna?!" His voice hitched in his throat with panic. There was no response. Her head lolled limply and her breathing was shallow. He could feel an iron band of sheer terror tightening around his chest. Barely able to see straight, he swung her up into his arms, blatantly ignoring the way his bad leg was trembling under him, gritting his teeth against its painful protests. All around them pandemonium reigned as the party descended into a disarray of chaos and confusion, but John scarcely noticed, his whole being consumed with Anna. "Milady?! Is there somewhere I can put her? I don't think she can make it back to the cottage-"

"My room, Bates. Put her in my room."

Mercifully, Lady Mary had kept her head and was taking charge of the situation. He didn't have the presence of mind or, honestly, the inclination to dispute her matter-of-fact generosity – merely grateful, not for the first time, of the close relationship that existed between his wife and her employer. Following her instructions, he struggled through the tumultuous crowd, who parted clumsily, to the foot of the stairs. Before he could attempt to ascend, however, he felt a hand on his arm. Turning impatiently he saw to his bemusement that it was Thomas.

"Give her to me, Bates. It'll be faster." There was no mockery in his tone, nothing snide, no edge to his words. John fleetingly searched his eyes and could detect nothing but sincerity and a worry he knew must be echoed in his own a thousand fold. Nodding curtly, he permitted Thomas to ease Anna's unconscious form from his arms. It felt horribly wrong to relinquish his hold on her, but he had to concede Thomas' point. Time was of the essence.

Anna stirred feebly at the transfer.

"John?" she moaned softly.

"It's alright my darling. I'm here."

He could see her struggling to move, jarred by the jolts of climbing the stairs, and stroked what he hoped was a calming hand through her hair. Her eyelids fluttered open and he saw the realisation and the accompanying fright as she gauged that he was not the one holding her.

"It's only Thomas, Anna." He swiftly assured her. Her abject fear melted into slight disconcertion and puzzlement, but before she could try to say anything he saw her body convulsed as she gave a gut-wrenching shriek of pain.

"Anna!" John's cry brought Lady Mary, hurtling to their side, Mrs Crawley in pursuit. Thomas swore as he staggered with the unexpected movement. Anna was shaking now, her breathing ragged. Mrs Crawley affirmed what John had already realised. "She's going into premature labour - these are early contractions beginning. Call Dr. Clarkson." The last over her shoulder.

"No," Mary amended hastily. "Ryder. Someone call Dr. Ryder!"

She explained the situation with the cerclage to a rapidly paling (as the severity of the circumstances dawned on her) Isabelle as they continued to hurry up the stairs, but to John her words and the reply they received were all just white noise. He had eyes only for Anna, who was periodically giving small, muffled cries of pain at the relentless motion. Suddenly he felt a comforting hand squeeze his elbow. It was Mrs Hughes – seeming to have intuited instinctively that her presence would be both needed and wanted.

"She'll be alright, Mr Bates. She's a strong lass." Her Scottish brogue more pronounced than usual – as it seemed to be in situations eliciting strong emotions.

John looked at his terrified wife – her face contorted with distress as she struggled to listen to Mrs Crawley's reassurances that she and the baby were going to be fine, they were in safe hands…

"I know she is."

BBBBBB

John was pacing incessantly – full of terrible, restless tension and anxiety, swelling inside him and threatening to burst out at any moment. Robert's valiant efforts at distraction were falling on deaf ears. His hands were covered in pomade where he had tugged at his hair – which was now sticking up in rumpled reflection of his extreme apprehension – and his clothes were in total disarray. He was utterly dishevelled and he couldn't have cared less. He felt sure he would be physically sick with nerves if this went on much longer. How could it possibly be taking this long?! It had been hours – it was almost morning! John knew with a sick certainty that something was wrong. He couldn't endure much more of this – listening helplessly to Anna's increasingly frequent cries of agony – and from the sound of it, she certainly couldn't take much more either. It had been an impossibly, unbearably long time and yet somehow Ryder still wasn't here…In the end, they had had to call Clarkson, but from the sound of it that was going about as well as John had dreaded.

Anna's screams changed in nature and John stopped dead in horror. He felt as though ice had sluiced down his spine. That was the sound of Anna's terror, not pain, – a horrific sound with which he was grimly familiar. He couldn't make out distinct words but he caught the gist of 'NO's and pleading and felt his heart – which had taken up residence in his stomach some hours ago - ripped brutally through his shoes. The wrenching pull continued as he struggled to comprehend how he had not anticipated this. Of course it would topple her into a flashback – how could it not?

He heard Lady Mary's voice rise uncharacteristically shrilly. "Just let Isabelle do it! Can't you see your making it worse!?" The terseness of Clarkson's retort was apparent, though not his words.

Unable to bear it, John whirled and moved towards the door. Robert caught his arm in a firm grip. "Bates, she'll be alright. They know what they're doing. Trust Clarkson – not doing so was my mistake." His voice was heavy with loss and regret and for the first time it struck Bates how hard this must be for his employer.

Resigned to his own inability to help in this situation, John replied "I appreciate you being here milord."

"Nonsense. I know how hard it is listening and being unable to do anything. You need support from someone who knows how it feels."

John actually seriously doubted that Robert had an inkling of how this felt – his relationship with Lady Grantham was not really comparable with John's relationship with Anna: they were at best moderately fond of each other; but he thought it might be tactless to share this view and appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. He supposed Robert might be thinking of poor Lady Sybil but even then – the issues were hardly the same…her complications had not involved reliving an unimaginable atrocious trauma…

Anna's screams peaked and John wrenched free of his employer's grip. She was screaming for him. Damn their rules to hell. He had failed her once [more than once], he was not going to do so again.

As he reached the resolutely closed door he heard Lady Mary shout "Clarkson, I don't care about bloody protocol! I care that Anna comes through this! If she needs Bates to do so then you'd better bloody well let him in!" She also made a rather interesting suggestion about where the doctor could shove his protocol.

Without waiting for Clarkson's consent John burst in and, oblivious to all else, rushed to Anna's side. His throat knotted with anguish. She was soaked in sweat and shaking uncontrollably – her body almost in spasms. Her hair was plastered to her bleached skin and the blood…why was there so much blood?!

"JOHN!"

Anna's eyes were glazed and her breathing was too rapid – high in her throat and on the point of hyperventilating. Often, when she was like this, she couldn't bear to be touched – wouldn't know it was him - and she must be in excruciating pain which he didn't want to aggravate, but John didn't know how else to get through to her - she was evidently trapped in the grip of her memory's monsters. Taking a risk, he slipped his hand into hers. The flashback didn't escalate and if the situation had been less awful he'd have exhaled in relief

"Anna…Anna…" he just whispered her name, over and over, a tender mantra of love – knowing from experience that raising his voice would only make it worse. Slowly, she stopped thrashing and came back to him. Her eyes cleared as recognition dawned in them. "John…" she whimpered again.

"I'm here, love."

She struggled to sit upright, but fell back helplessly against the pillows. "My God! Have I hurt the baby?!" She choked out, petrified.

Mrs Crawley approached tentatively. Anna clung to John's hand like it was her only lifeline to the world and/or her sanity while the older woman examined her. Clarkson hovered in the background looking useless. "I don't think so Anna, but you need to push now…everyone out – she needs space and calm and privacy."

Mrs Hughes gave Anna's white-knuckled fist a tender, lingering squeeze, stroking her thumb across the back of her hand and left reluctantly.

Lady Mary lingered a second longer, leaning over her maid's shuddering body she muttered, so low that only John caught her words "You hold on Anna. Don't you dare give up – I feel like I've been so involved in Baby Bates' beginnings that I already know them. I want to meet them now…" a pause and then, roughly "I've lost one sister to childbirth, I'll not lose another." Then she left, with her head held high, as though her emotionally overwrought admission were nothing out of the ordinary.

"John-" Mrs Crawley began.

"I'm not leaving her." He growled instantly.

"I wouldn't dream of asking you to." She blatantly disregarded Clarkson's huff of protest. "Hold onto her." She ordered bluntly – as if he needed telling. "She needs you more than ever."

John gritted his teeth and his heart, clutching her hand as the screaming began again.

BBBBBB

"Last one Anna – I promise." Mrs Crawley appeared to be on the verge of collapse. Clarkson was gone and Ryder still hadn't arrived; it was just her and John grimly holding the fort.

"I don't think I can." Anna could barely speak through the excruciating pain. "I'm not strong enough."

John moved into her line of vision – needing to be able to look her in the eyes and there was no way she had the energy enough to turn her head.

"You can Anna May Bates. You are the strongest person I have ever known. If anyone is strong enough to do this, you are, my darling."

BBBBBB

Anna sank back into the pillows, her eyelids slipping shut as all the tension and pain drained from her body – her hand in John's going slack with relief and exhaustion. Her breath was still coming in stabbing pants and her soaking hair stuck out at all angles…

There came a weak wail from the end of the bed and Anna's eyes flew open at the tentative sound. John's head whipped around as Mrs Crawley triumphantly lifted a feebly squalling bundle of damp new-born from the bloodstained sheets.

Anna's response could be best described as a squeak. She struggled determinedly but in vain to sit up – having expended the last drop of her reserves of energy delivering the infant; it seemed to be costing every drop of what was left in her to try to support her own head. Hoarsely she asked "Are they -?" and trailed off.

The valiant, worn-out nurse approached the bed and carefully placed the baby in Anna's trembling arms. Her voice was hushed as she smilingly assured the new mother "Your daughter is going to be fine, Anna. She's a fighter – just like her mother."

"A girl?" John breathed in awe, gazing reverently at the terrifyingly tiny, tomato red, utterly perfectly gorgeous little girl Anna was cradling with natural expertise. She had quieted the second Mrs Crawley placed her in her mummy's arms – drinking the faces of her parents in with wide-eyed wonder and bafflement, her eyes the exact same shade of blue as Anna's. Her overwhelmed mother, by contrast, had a steady stream of tears pouring down her clammy cheeks.

"Anna? Why are you crying?" John asked, bewildered.

She sniffed and, unable to tear her eyes from her baby to meet his, smiled radiantly down at their little miracle. John had never, ever witnessed a smile like that – it lit up her face like the sun rising in the Arctic after a winter of pitch darkness, like a blind man seeing its rays for the first time – pure, unadulterated joy. "Because I never in my whole life thought I could be as happy as I am at this moment."

He made a sort of choking sound, feeling his throat constrict with emotion and Anna finally glanced up. She giggled.

"Why areyou crying?"

John reached up absently and brushed his cheek, vaguely startled to find wetness there. To his slight surprise, he was not remotely embarrassed to find himself crying in front of Mrs Crawley. In fact, he had entirely forgotten she was there. "Because I have never been prouder nor loved you more than I love you now at this moment." He replied, with complete and achingly heartfelt honesty.

Her weeping escalated and, unbelievably, her smile widened. "Say hello to Elsie Mary Bates." Anna murmured – her eyes once again fixed on baby. They had agreed on names months earlier – William Robert for a boy, Elsie Mary for a girl - after the people most precious to their lives in the past decade and a bit.

John reached out a shaking hand and caressed the impossibly tiny fingers of their child. He grinned like an idiot – the usually eloquent John Bates was totally lost for words, unable to form even a simple 'hello' for his new-born daughter. To his delighted astonishment she responded, her minute fist closing around his little finger with shocking tenacity. Before Anna, John had not believed in love at first sight. After meeting her he had certainly never believed there could be anyone else he would love as much or as instantly. That was until he met Elsie Mary Bates.

Meeting Anna's eyes, both of them with tears still streaming from them, John heard her whisper "Thank God."

Half-laughing, half-crying, bursting with more happiness than he had ever imagined possible, John replied "And you."

Let's hope Fellowes does them justice! BAD HARVEST!