A/N: Two chapters in a week? Unheard of for me, right? Actually, I had initially written chapters 1 and 2 as a single chapter, but it became too long. I hope the break between chapter flows all right.

Neuve Chapelle is an actual WW1 Battle which took place in early March, 1915. It was especially brutal for the British and Indian units fighting.

Thanks for everyone reading and reviewing. I know this isn't exactly the cheeriest story, but will hopefully bring John some closure and a resolution with Anna.


Chapter 2:

John carefully balanced the tray in one hand while he leaned on his cane with the other. As he made his way across the room, she caught sight of Anna laughing with a young soldier. Red hot jealously streaked through him. But just as fast, it was offset with sad resignation. Other men, younger men, had so much to offer her. He should never hold her back, but that's preciously what he had been doing.

As he approached the last bed, he could see Hemmings laid out with his eyes closed. A bandaged stump of a lower arm rested on his abdomen. Both of his legs were also wrapped up from knees to toes. He appeared to be a sleep. Perhaps he could just set the tray down and escape back to the kitchen.

"So I scared the princess back to her tea party," the younger man declared without opening his eyes.

"I have your lunch, sir,"

"They've had it with me and sent in the cavalry, is that it? Here to lecture me? Tell me to shape up?" Hemmings goaded, opening his eyes and sizing John up.

"I've just brought your lunch." He was trying to get a reaction, any reaction out of him. Just ignore him. All he had to do was put the tray down and get back to the kitchen.

"She really is too delicate if she can't be around all this. If she can't stand to see. . ." he held up his shortened arm to prove his point. ". . . what it does to a man."

John set down the tray. Just go back to the kitchen. He had done what Lady Sybil had asked. But somehow he couldn't prevent the words from leaving his mouth. He couldn't resist countering his former self.

"Nurse Crawley is anything but delicate. She signed up to become a nurse the first month of the war. After she finished her training, she's been working here continuously day and night. She doesn't have to, but she chooses to."

The younger man's eyes narrowed. He wasn't used to being challenged. John knew he should stop, usually his control was solid, but he kept going.

"It's not because she's too delicate that she doesn't want to assist you. It's because you're being a bastard and treating her and everyone here without a shred of decency." He slightly cringed as he replayed the words he just uttered. No doubt the ornery soldier would take offense. John mentally chastised himself. It was likely that he, and by association Anna, would not be welcomed back.

But instead of raging, a long sigh escaped Hemmings as he closed his eyes once more.

"I know," he admitted wearily.

John turned away. That was him in another time. He needed to get back to the kitchen, fast. He swiftly rounded the bedside to head down the aisle. Just ahead Anna sat with a different patient. Only this time she wasn't smiling or even looking at her charge. Instead she was observing John with anxious eyes. What's going on? She messaged across the room. He tried to reassure her with a wan smile, but he knew she was unconvinced.

"So that's it? No inspiring words. No 'hang in there'. No 'cheer up, things will look up'."

John turned back to the captain. Apparently, their exchange wasn't over.

"I'm not sure if things will look up for you."

"Well, at least you're honest," he snickered. "Most give me false praise and a phony smile."

Not knowing what else to say, John started to leave again.

"We're you in the war?" Hemmings nodded toward his cane.

"A war . . . not this war." At the other man's curious look, he added, "Africa. Fighting the Boars."

He nodded in respect and acceptance of John's past. Then pushing himself up on his good arm, sat up in bed and confided, "I know I'm a bastard. I can't help it. I don't want their help. I don't deserve it."

This was not how this situation was supposed to play out. All John had to do was deliver the tray, but now this soldier was seeking out his company and looking for solace. He didn't want to talk about war, his war or Hemming's. He had never discussed his experiences with a living soul. He had tried to with Vera, but she wouldn't have it. She just berated him for coming back crippled and damaged, her plans for the future ruined. And he couldn't burden Anna. She would lend an ear, but he didn't want her to know the ugliness. He didn't want her stained by the brutality he witnessed.

But in the man's dark eyes, he saw a despair and self-loathing all too familiar. If only someone had taken the time to listen to him during his hospital stay, his life might have been different.

Giving in, John pulled up a chair along the bedside. "Now, why would you say that, sir?"

"I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't even be alive. I was the only one who survived out of my unit."

A pit in the bottom of John's stomach began to form as Hemmings continued. "We had been in country for only two weeks when the offensive at Neuve Chapelle began. It was our first glimpse of the war. Oh, they tried to make it so damn precise. We had to start our attack at same time all along the line. So here I am, the captain of the regiment, counting down the seconds with my pocket watch. Do you know the agony . . . counting down to the death of your men?"

Yes, he knew, but John merely swallowed.

"Well, the time came to attack and as captain I was the first one out of the trenches. I wasn't out for two seconds before a shell landed a few feet away knocking me unconscious and directly back into the trenches. I remember nothing after that."

Be thankful, you don't remember more, John wanted to say.

"I woke up days later to find that I was the lone survivor of Battalion 476, Regiment 34 A. Me. Only me."

It had been him. And Robert. They had been the only ones of their unit. A strange sense of kinship began to take root.

Hemmings paused, his face crumpling a bit as tears welled in his eyes. "People keep telling me I'm lucky. But I just think I'm cursed to come back when the rest didn't. Why did I survive?"

It was a question that could dog a man his whole life. It used to consume him. It used to lead him to the pub every night.

"They don't understand. . . I just want to die."

But John understood.

"But you didn't and you won't, not for a while anyhow."

"I don't know about that. A man can only take so much." His meaning obvious as he wiped away falling tears.

Suicide, rock bottom. John didn't want to remember how many times, both drunk and sober, he had held his service revolver to his head, his finger hovering over the trigger. But he just couldn't do it. There had always been a niggling in the back of his mind. There is more to life, more to come.

He readjusted his seating on the hard chair and leaned in. "You won't do it. It's harder than you think. But you must decide whether you going to simply exist or are you going to live."

With no response given in return, John continued. "I existed for many years once I arrived home from Africa. I existed in the army hospital. I existed while I alienated my friends and family. I existed while I drowned the pain and memory away in a drunken stupor night after night. I existed while my self-respect all but disappeared.

"But what happened?" Hemmings sniffed, gathering his composure. "You seem right and proper now."

"Prison."

"Prison? You were in prison? What crime did you commit?"

He laughed inwardly at the disbelief on the captain's face. "I didn't commit any, but it was necessary for me to go. . . .I don't know if you'll understand, but it was cleansing. It made me realize. . .

John lowered his head and tried to pull his thoughts together just right, ". . .that although living, truly living, and not just existing, is often painful and heartbreaking, it is worth it. . . It is worth it to be among the living. The bottom of a bottle may dull the hurt, but it also dulls life's beauty. . ."

His voice broke as his eyes met younger ones, "to share a laugh, ponder philosophy, make a friend . . . fall in love."

He couldn't help it; he had to seek her out. His eyes darted down the row of beds before settling on her. As if she knew he was searching, Anna raised her head and smiled. His soul could feel her warmth.

"Well, I don't know about love. My fiancée took one look at me and hightailed out of here."

"That's what I used to think too. But you never know." John asserted still watching Anna.

"She's lovely, indeed."

"Who?" he asked turning back to Hemmings.

"Your wife." Nodding at Anna across the room.

John started to shake his head. "My wife? How did. . ."

"How did I know? Well, for one thing you two came in together. But for another, she's been anxiously looking over here every minute or so. Probably afraid I'm going to bash this tray over your head or something like that," Hemmings chuckled. "But even if I hadn't seen that, the smile she just gave you said it all.

He should correct him. She wasn't his wife. Hell, she wasn't even his intended. But he did love her.

"You are a lucky man."

If only he could have her as his wife. Then he would be more than lucky. He would be happy.

"I suppose I am," was all that he could answer.

As if she knew she was the topic of conversation, Anna appeared at the end of the bed.

"Excuse me, I don't mean to interrupt," she smiled down at Hemming, then turned to John, "But we best be on our way. We don't want to be late."

"Yes, all right," he agreed rising out of the stiff chair. "Well, sir, enjoy your lunch."

Hemmings extended his good arm for a handshake. When John accepted it, he gave Anna an appraising look and added, "You really are a lucky man."

John could feel a blush bloom across his face as he and Anna walked back to the vestibule to gather their coats.

"Mr. Bates, are you feeling all right?" Anna asked as he helped her into her jacket.

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, you're quite red."

"It's just a bit muggy after the rain." Her slight smirk indicated that she doubted his explanation.

As he opened the hospital's door, her smile faded and she adopted a solemn tone. "That was nice of you to sit with the captain. Sybil says he hasn't had a civil word for anyone since the day he arrived."

"He's hurting. He just needed someone to hear him out. I suppose we all need that sometimes." John offered his arm as they left and gazed up at the beautiful blue sky that had taken the place of the earlier storm clouds.

"Even you?" Anna paused while a wagon rumbled down the lane.

"Even me," he softly agreed.

"You know, I'm always there for you if you ever want to talk about. . ."

His past. John gave her a half smile. He had no doubt that she would be there. But he had no right to saddle her with it. Yet he loved her all the same for making the offer. They crossed the lane in step.

"Now why did the captain look straight at me when he said you were 'a lucky man'?"

Because he believed I was married to the beautiful and amazing woman standing at my side. If only that was true. If only he could find Vera. If only. . . There is more to life, more to come.

"Mr. Bates?"

Making a split second decision, John disentangled from Anna. "I forgot. I have some business in the village that I must see to."

"Now?" she asked incredulously. "We have to be back to dress the family."

"Go ahead," he called as he started off in the opposite direction. "Don't worry, I won't be late. I wouldn't risk giving Mr. Carson a heart attack."

She still looked unconvinced but turned to head towards Downton.

"And Anna," he called from behind. "I'm lucky because you grace my life."

Not waiting for a response, John pivoted and limped determinately up the lane toward the local solicitor's office.