3. Scars

John Bates' scars, for the most part, are not hidden. Oh, the people at Downton have never seen them, but they know that they're there, can imagine the twisted, mangled knee that troubles him so, have had the truth of his sins exposed for them all to judge. He is not comfortable with all of his dirty laundry being aired in the great house, but there is nothing that can be done about it. Vera had added to the damage with her re-appearance, had made people whisper and gossip and speculate, had made them frown down on his relationship with Anna. And now that Vera is dead, he knows that the whispering has begun afresh: did he do it? What else can he be capable of?

But tonight it is of little consequence, because Anna is his wife, and Anna is in the bed with him, and he is finally completely laid bare in front of her, letting her know every part of him, for better, for worse.

They make love first, eager to touch and taste and consummate, seven years of pent-up longing unleashed in one act of complete bliss. It is only afterwards, lying together in a contented afterglow, that Anna announces that she wants to look at him properly, elevating herself onto her elbows so that she can look into his face. He is hesitant for a moment, before accepting that she has a right to know every part of him as intimately as she wants, pushing the covers from his legs.

She does not flinch when his knee is shyly exposed to her. He waits nervously for her verdict. It is a part of his body that only two other women have seen since his days at war: Vera, who had turned her nose up and spat that it made him useless, and Mrs. Hughes, who had barely been able to contain her horror and pity. But Anna does not display any sign of pity or horror or distaste, merely lets out the breath that she had been holding and brushes her fingers over the thick white scars.

"Is it hurting now?" she breathes. Her touch sends shivers careening down his spine, like jolts of electricity. He has never known anyone to have such a soft caress.

"No. It only bothers me sometimes," he murmurs, his eyes half-closing as she continues to stroke his skin. He

tingles where she touches him. "Usually when I've put too much strain on it, or if I've been idle for too long."

She hums in the back of her throat as she continues to trace the lines which have made him the man that he is today, shifting her body down so that she can peer more attentively at the gnarled skin. He should feel uncomfortable that she is getting so close to his leg, able to see the harsh flaws so closely. It should make him feel like an old cripple.

It doesn't.

Her long blonde hair tickles his kneecap as she inspects further, and he resists the urge to shudder at the pleasant sensation. Her touches have become bolder now, more certain, and her fingers massage him as though she has been doing it a lifetime. He reaches out with shaky fingers to tuck a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. She glances up for a moment, her blue eyes catching his steadily before she returns her attention to his leg.

He doesn't even realise that she is moving in to press her mouth against the maze of scars until she's done it. Her mouth—impossibly warm, impossibly wet, impossibly wonderful—lingers over the damaged, raised flesh. It feels like an angel's blessing.

For the first time in his life, John Bates is content with his scars.

Anna Bates' scars, for the most part, are hidden. Oh, the people of Downton have caught a glimpse of them from time to time in the past. They know that she's suffered greatly because of Mr. Bates; they know that her heart has been torn out of her chest so many times, weeping blood onto the floor, only for it to be stitched closed again by his unpractised but loyal hands.

But not even her husband can know the true extent of the scars that she carries because of him. And she's glad about that. Because if he did, his guilt would be almost impossible for him to bear.

She could confide in him, if she wanted to. He'd be more than willing to bear her burdens and fears. Perhaps he might even be able to help her scars to fade a little more. But no. He cannot know that even when he slumbers peacefully by her side, his arms enveloping her in a warm embrace, she can't sleep. He can't know that she lies awake every single night, staring sightlessly into the darkness while dread grips her heart, terrified that this good fortune of theirs cannot possibly last.

It has been five months since her husband's release from prison, since the horror of their separation ended and, all things considered, John has adapted fairly well to being in society again. She wonders if she's coping worse than he is.

Because she is plagued by the hurt and the anxiety. A snatched moment of happiness between endless moments of soul-destroying grief is all they have ever been allowed to know.

And she wonders just when fate is going to strike again.

It niggles at her while she works at Downton Abbey, alone with her thoughts. It shadows her as she interacts with the rest of the servants in the house. It's her personal demon whenever she is pottering around their modest little cottage on her half-day off. And it even lies in wait at the back of her mind as her husband kisses her breathless and makes her blood sing with pleasure.

She is sure that their fragile happiness will be shattered. She just doesn't know when. And that terrifies her most of all.

Now, in the present, John stirs behind her. His arms squeeze her waist lovingly, and he shifts until his head is cushioned in the curve of her bare shoulder.

"What's wrong, my love?" he murmurs into the darkness, pressing a kiss against her. "You're all tense."

"Nothing," she replies softly, bringing a hand round to cup his elbow. She caresses the skin slowly, hoping it's enough to reassure him. "Just thinking. Now go back to sleep."

She feels his contented smile against her skin, feels his grip on her tighten. She wonders what it will take for his arms to be torn away from her.

"Yes ma'am," he says, his words muffled by her skin. And then his breathing evens against her neck, and she simply lies there, almost trembling as she continues to fear what life will throw at them next.

Perhaps some scars are never meant to heal.

A/N: There are quite a few fanfics out there that deal with Bates on his homecoming and how it might affect him and Anna, but I don't think there's one that deals more with Anna's feelings—particularly these sort of feelings. It would have made for an interesting plotline if it was Anna who was coping less than Bates was after so many years of their happiness being destroyed.