Okay, I meant to say this in the last chapter - for argument's sake, this is set after the war. At the moment, it's 1919. There won't be much of current affairs involved, I don't think, but the war doesn't have a place in this fic.

This is a bit of a filler chapter I'm afraid, just getting the whole process underway, but there shouldn't be too many of these! Plenty of angst and mush in store, I assure you!

Thank you all for the lovely reviews, alerts and favourites! They are so much appreciated! :D

Chapter 2

Dinner, now, was so difficult.

He had to pretend to be avoiding Anna and pretending not to. It was painful in more ways than he'd imagined were possible. He'd thought he'd known what he was saying, that last night in the yard. He'd been so sure, certain that they could do it. But here he had to sit beside her in awkward silence and pretend that it was too great a pain to ask her for the salt.

He couldn't even risk taking her hand under the table, now that Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes knew about them they had to be so careful, all the time. He missed the sensation of her skin against his. This was worse than either of the two blazing arguments they had had, when he had feared losing her. It was harder than loving her, and thinking she loved him, and not being able to do a damn thing about it. He couldn't even talk to her, share some tale or joke or difficulty. He missed her voice and he missed her beautiful laugh. This was so, so hard.

His foot tucked itself around her ankle, desperate for some contact, even as they sat as far apart as they could without drawing too much attention. He felt her gasp softly beside him, and her foot curled against his. It was the nearest they could get to holding hands, to holding one another, and it wasn't anything like enough. But it had to be.

He took his chance when she was distracted by some comment from Ethel, and reached for his pocket. He hoped she would understand, and not be upset by it. He only wanted to tell her he loved her, still and always, and as he withdrew the note and dropped it swiftly into her pocket he felt certain she would understand the message. Three months, two days, eight hours. She would remember. And hopefully, she would smile.

Later, Anna's foot moved away, trailing very briefly against his leg before vanishing entirely. She stood up, offering him the briefest of glances before leaving. There were fewer people at the table now, dinner cleared away and most of the staff gone back to their work. John recognised Anna's look, of course. The others might think of it as nothing, but she was nearly speaking to him, with that look in her eyes. She wanted him to meet her, to go out to the yard and talk to her, kiss her and hold her as if nothing had changed. And he wanted nothing more than to gratify her. He needed her so badly.

But he couldn't do a thing. If they were seen there wouldn't be another chance. They'd be thrown out at once, no references, nothing. If they were seen everything they had would be destroyed. He couldn't go to her.

~o~

They had a chance, three days later, to stop for a moment and talk. Not a long moment, but long enough for Anna to turn and look at him in that way of hers and speak with pain in her voice.

"You didn't come," she said.

"I know."

Her voice was lowered, but there was no mistaking her anger. "That's it? You know? John, do you have any idea how much I needed you to come to me?"

There was a long silence as John tried to put together the right words, but Anna didn't wait. "Do you?" she snapped, too impatient to stand his dithering.

"Yes!" he hissed. "Yes, I know! And I needed to go to you. But I couldn't! I can't risk losing you altogether and if we were suspected we'd be out of here in a moment. I know how hard this is for you! I know how hard it is for me! But we have no choice!"

There was a silence, and John forced himself to be patient enough to wait for her. It was torment, he wanted to scream and shout and rant but just as he gave up on waiting, she opened her mouth to speak.

"You're right," she said quietly, dropping her head in acknowledgement and what looked like shame. It stung John terribly to think that he had made her ashamed.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to snap. It just... it is hard, isn't it?"

"Yes," she said, her voice breaking a little, and when she looked up at him he saw that there were tears in her eyes. "It's hard. But you..." she reached for his hand. He wanted to pull her close and kiss her right there, but he didn't dare. They had to escape this torment sooner or later, surely? "You," Anna continued, "make it a little less hard."

She went so far as to peck a kiss onto his cheek, whispering in his ear, "Three months."

And he knew that by that, she meant that she loved him, too.

~o~

He had avoided her. A little too much, in fact, afraid of what might happen, constantly afraid. She wouldn't say so, but he knew she found his fear difficult to live with. Who could blame her, he wasn't the easiest man to put up with as it was and him with worries could hardly be a walk in the park. He was making things very hard for her, all this had been his idea and he was beginning to regret it, regret pushing her into this. He had begged her to do it, and made her so unhappy. No wonder she got cross with him, no wonder she was so unhappy.

No wonder it felt so good to have her in his arms now.

"It's been two weeks," she said, "since you held me like this."

"It's been two weeks," he countered, "since I felt any peace."

"It's been two weeks since I've seen you smile."

"It's been two weeks since I've done this."

He lifted her jaw so that her face was tilted towards him, and he leant towards her. Who knew when they'd have another chance like this. He was going to make some new memories.