A/N: This chapter does mention the events of series four.

Huge thanks to harpy101, who took time out of her busy schedule to give me a hand with 1923, offering invaluable opinions. It means a lot!


1922

Pacing restlessly between the kitchen and the parlour, John checked his pocket watch again in the flickering darkness. Just after eleven. Valentine's Day would be over if Anna didn't get home soon.

That was the curse of service. Things could crop up at any time, preventing them from spending time together. Their time together was already precious. It frustrated him that even on special occasions like this, they could still be kept apart.

The note he had slipped into Anna's pocket earlier that afternoon had been cheeky, a little promise of what was to come. He had seen Anna's smile as she'd read it, and the blood had heated in his veins at her expression. He brought that image to mind now, her eyes tracing the page as she took in his words.

Dear Mrs. Bates,

I know you are married, but I am desperate to meet you. Come by your cottage after dark. Your husband will be out.

I await our meeting eagerly,

Your loving admirer.

Anna had sent him an exasperated look at that, but he'd only grinned, knowing that she was secretly enjoying the game that they were playing.

Unfortunately, he had not factored Lady Mary's state of mind into their romantic evening. It was inevitable, really, that the young woman would be feeling even more forlorn and angry on the most romantic holiday of the year, her husband dead and she alone. But he felt it unfair that she was punishing Anna – however inadvertently – for enjoying the happiness that she had within her hands. Anna would never complain about the fact, and John would never voice his vexations to her in case he irritated her for being selfish, but he had rather hoped for a different outcome to this.

An hour later, he heard the front door creak open. By now, he was sitting forlornly on the old sofa, book clasped within his hands but still unread. He heard her rustling about in the hallway, removing her coat and hat. Her footsteps creaked along the floorboards. Her shadow fell into the room before her, but he heard her weary groan as she crossed the room to take her place beside him. She squeezed herself on beside him, pressing her head against his chest.

"I thought tonight was never going to end," she said.

"So did I," John sighed.

"I missed you this evening. Having you beside me while I work is one of life's greatest pleasures."

His heart bounced in his chest at her words, and he smiled. "Well, at least you're here now. A fact I can be very grateful for. I've got you a gift."

She rolled her eyes at that. "Why am I not surprised?"

"It's Valentine's Day," he argued. "It's the perfect day to treat you on. Are we going to have the same argument every year?"

"Probably," he giggled. "But I have to admit, I'm very curious as to what you've bought me. I've got something for you too. Wait there while I fetch it."

He nodded, and she bounded out of the room. He heard her banging about upstairs before she returned, clutching at two packages. John raised his eyebrow.

"Intriguing," he said. "Which shall I have first?"

She handed him one wordlessly, and he peeled back the rough brown paper that she had wrapped it in. A smooth, hard book fell onto his lap. The most romantic love poems of the last three centuries, according to the spine.

"Do you like it?" she asked him nervously.

"I love it." All of his favourite poets were included in the collection. "We'll read it together."

"Will you use it as a means to seduce me?" she teased.

"Experience tells me that you won't need much seducing," he retorted lightly, smirking at her indignant expression.

"What a horrible thing to say to your wife, Mr. Bates. I've a good mind not to give you this." But she couldn't resist for more than a few seconds, dropping the second package into his lap. It was bulkier than the last one, bigger. Curious, he opened it. A handsome binder fell out.

"Open it," Anna encouraged.

Obeying her at once, John was embarrassed as he felt the burn of tears behind his eyes.

He recognised the handwriting, and without even having to read the words he knew what they said. Meticulously ordered over more than a year. They were the letters he had received during his long incarceration. He had been keeping them in a bundle. Now Anna had preserved them properly for him. Entranced, he sifted through them, the pages rustling beneath his fingers. He caught the odd word without really reading them. Her constant and firm declarations of love. Her belief that one day he would be free. A few of the racier ones, written in a hand so small that they were barely readable. But each word was etched on his heart.

He looked up to find Anna chewing her lip.

"I don't know what to say," he said hoarsely. "It's beautiful. Truly."

She slid back onto the sofa with him, and he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her fiercely to his side. God, his wife was perfect.

"Do you want your present now?" he asked.

She nodded eagerly.

"I should warn you, it's not nearly as thoughtful as yours."

"That doesn't matter to me."

He nodded, then withdrew the slim box. Anna took it in her hands and prised it open. She gasped.

"Oh, John!"

She'd been staring longingly at that particular chain every time they passed the little jewellers in Ripon. He'd had to buy it for her. The royal blue would complement her eyes beautifully. They were shining now as they looked upon him.

"I couldn't have asked for anything better. Put it on, please?"

He acquiesced, his large fingers clumsy on the clasp. At last it hung around her neck, looking out of place against her work's uniform. She rubbed her thumb across the stone, then sighed.

"As wonderful as these last twenty minutes have been, it's not exactly the way I envisaged spending Valentine's Day."

"Me either," John admitted. "I did have other plans, other ways that I was going to give you that."

She pushed away from him at that, frowning quizzically. "What kind of plans?"

"The kind that meant you were pampered."

Her eyes twinkled. "I like the sound of that."

"Yes." It was too late to execute their plans. "Dinner, a dance, a long hot soak, and then to bed." Perhaps they could save them for tomorrow. A kind of belated Valentine's celebration.

"A dance?" Her tone was laced with amusement. "Mr. Bates, I thought you couldn't dance?"

He shifted, feeling slightly ashamed, though he knew that hadn't been her intention in the slightest. "Well, perhaps not a dance. More like a sway."

She always knew how to make him feel better. "The best kind. I would need you to hold me very close."

"As close as I could. But it's a little too late to put our plans into action. Valentine's Day is already over."

She wilted at that. "I'm sorry."

"Why? It's not your fault."

"But it was our time."

He kissed her hair. "It's not the end of the world. You're here with me now. That's the best end to a day I could ask for."

"You old romantic." Anna heaved herself up off the sofa, stretching out her limbs.

John watched her movements in the darkness. Lithe. Beautiful. "Are you saying you don't like it?"

She flashed him a grin over her shoulder. "I'm saying I love it. Now, my secret admirer seems to have changed his mind about coming here, but I suppose I can be very content with my loving husband."

"He probably took one look at me and went running," said John, straight-faced. "Big, tall…"

"Handsome," she finished, reaching up to loop her arms around his neck. She kissed him, then pulled back. "Very handsome."

He caught her hips, pulled her closer. The darkness was a lover's blanket. He kissed her again. It was longer this time, slow. Sleepy, almost.

She broke away at last. Her gaze burned, but it wasn't with fatigue, as it had been earlier.

"Come on, Mr. Bates," she murmured. "I think it's time for bed."

He caught her hand, allowed her to pull him up the stairs behind her.

His plans for the evening hadn't exactly gone smoothly, but they would keep.

Her fingers fumbled against the buttons on his shirt, her mouth finding his in the darkness.

Well, at least some of it was working out just fine.


1923

A year. It had been more than a year.

And now she stood before him, hands twisting together like writhing snakes, harsh white marks on her lip from where she was teething it, her eyes wavering as she looked at him. The words that had just escaped her mouth were part wonderful, part the most terrifying he had ever heard in his life.

"I…I want to be close to you again."

And he didn't know what to say. Stood there numbly. What if she wasn't really ready for this? What if she was pushing herself too soon? He couldn't bear it if she sent herself into a panic just to try to please him. He had already told her he would wait as long as he had to. He would never touch her again if that was what she wanted. He was just thankful every day that she was still by his side when he had failed her in the worst possible way.

She seemed to sense his disquiet, tentatively reaching forward to take his hand in hers. "I know I'm ready. What happened…it will never go away. We should face that now. Sometimes I'll wake in the middle of the night, terrified that it might happen again. Sometimes I'll relive it and withdraw for a while. But that will start to happen further and further apart. It already is beginning to be like that. So much of my life was stolen away. I won't let him do it any longer. Because I love you, and I want to be able to show you that I do."

"You do show me," he countered in a strangled whisper. "I don't need that to know."

He saw the comprehension dawn on her face. "You're frightened."

Turning away, he strode to the window, hands tugging at his hair. "Wouldn't you be if you were in my position?"

"I know my own mind, John. I've known it all too well over this last year. You have to trust me."

He could feel himself shaking. His voice came out sharper than he'd intended. "It's got nothing to do with trust."

There was a moment of heavy silence. Then the rustle of clothing. John squeezed his eyes closed, resting his forehead against the cool glass, blotting out the sound.

"Look at me, John."

He didn't turn.

"John."

Her tone was forceful. He had no choice but to obey.

His breath died in his lungs.

She'd taken off her nightgown. It was pooled by her feet. Her undergarments were in a pile with it. He could only stare.

Her skin glowed milky in the silvery moonlight. Shadows teased her body. She had filled out nicely in the months since she'd moved back into the cottage. Her ribs were no longer a faint line under her skin, a bony path he could walk his fingers over. She looked awkward, standing there with nothing on, but he knew why she was doing it. He hadn't seen her naked since the week during the attack. She wanted him to see her vulnerable, to know that she wanted to at least try.

Slowly, she reached out for him.

"It's time to leave the past in the past," she said.

In the next moment her hands were worrying the buttons on his nightshirt, opening them enough for her to slip her hand inside. He tensed as her palm splayed over his heart, resisting the urge to pull away. Her lips hit his chin, then his cheek. He didn't know what to do with his hands.

And then she was kissing him. Gentle brushes. Her tongue swiped against his lower lip. He should have pushed her away, but he was weak. She stepped closer, and he groaned as her bare breast brushed against the skin of his chest, through the gap in his nightshirt.

"Bed, John," she murmured between soft kisses. "Get on the bed. Please."

He was powerless to stop her guiding him there, falling back into their bed sheets. She clambered up over him, resumed her kissing. He still didn't know what to do with his hands, keeping them pressed firmly against the mattress. Her hands were fire on him. Burning.

"Touch me," she commanded fiercely. "I'm not going to shatter under your hands. Touch me."

He was shaking so much he could barely do as she bid, but he yielded. Ran his hands up her sides, ghosting a breast, careful to keep his touch light so that he didn't overwhelm and frighten her. She made a long, high sound, pushing into his touch. Her hair was falling, brushing against his chest as it tumbled like a golden waterfall over her shoulders. She kissed him again, harder, teeth nipping at his bottom lip in a way that he'd missed for so long. He moved his hands back to her hips, fingers dancing and gliding along the soft slopes. Words fell out of his mouth, unstoppable, and he was barely aware of what he was saying above the pounding blood that hummed in his ear drums.

"I love you, never stopped, you are perfect, my life, my Anna, I love you."

Seemingly every word was lost between them as she continued to steal his breath away, bodies shifting, perspiration building. There was a terse moment that threatened to engulf him when she pulled down the clothing on his lower half with trembling fingers. The oxygen refused to filter into his lungs when she stared down at him, uncovered for the very first time. What was she thinking? Was she remembering him? He did not dare move one tense muscle.

And then she found his hands on her hips, forcing them back onto the bed, pinning him by the wrists as she lowered and sank.

Stars exploded. His breathing hitched. For a delirious moment he thought he would never find it again, that he would die in her arms there and then. Dimly, as though hearing it from far away, he heard her cry out. His first instinct was pain. She was hurt again.

But no. One heart-stopping glance at her face told him otherwise.

Happiness. Pleasure. Raw, unadulterated.

Their rhythm was unlike anything he'd experienced before. An odd mix of clumsy and slow pulses. He wanted to touch her again – now that the dam had been broken, he could never make up for the time that had been lost – but she kept his hands pinned to the sheets above his head, her grip tight. Almost as if she was afraid to let go. She hunkered further over him, moved her head so that it was buried in the crook of her neck. And she choked words between her gasps.

"My love. My world. My everything."

He turned his head, pressing his lips to her ear, the only part of her that he could reach. Squeezed his eyes tightly shut, concentrating on her weight as the floodgates opened. He wept into her neck even as the feelings overtook him, and he felt wetness against his own shoulder, her tears scalding his skin. He tried to disentangle a hand from her grip. She squeezed tighter.

"Let me," he choked. "Please, let me."

For a moment, he wondered if she'd heard him, but then she did as he'd asked, trusting him with her body. More tears fell, and he traced his hand along her, a path that had almost been forgotten.

He touched her low.

Her cries echoed in the sanctuary of their bedroom.

Afterwards, they lay together under their sheets. For the first time, John was fiercely glad that Anna had asked if they could switch sleeping positions. Now, facing away from her, she couldn't see the silent tears that continued to pour down his face.

But he was unable to keep the tension out of his muscles, and he knew that she'd detected it as she shifted, her slim arm tightening around his waist, her face pressing between his shoulder blades. Sticky traces of her drying tears branded his skin.

"John?" she murmured thickly. "Are you all right?"

He couldn't tell her the truth. Not now. Not ever. She had enough to cope with. "I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine."

"Well, I am." It came out as a snap, and he winced, softening his tone. "Perhaps just a little overwhelmed."

He felt her shift behind him, felt her rise. But she didn't move closer. "You're sure?"

"Completely sure. Everything is wonderful." His lips twisted bitterly.

"All right," Anna didn't sound as if she believed him, but she settled back down. He raised her hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to the back of it, suddenly very sorry for the way he had spoken. She didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve any of it. She pressed her head between his shoulder blades again, breasts pushed tight to him. Did she really feel comfortable lying with him naked?

It was too late to question her, for her breathing had deepened already, blowing against his back like the touch of a ghost's sad fingers. He let go of her hand gently. It fell to the mattress, limp.

He shouldn't be feeling the way he was. He should be happy. She had wanted to make love with him. It was proof that they were getting back on track, that they could move on together.

Except he wasn't moving on. Every day he saw her getting stronger, but he didn't really believe it. He was terrified that something new would come along to make her withdraw from him, that would destroy them once and for all. And he wouldn't be able to stop her. Because he was a weak, weak man. Pathetic. Useless. He had failed her, and he would continue to fail her, no matter how hard he tried. How much more could they endure before their spines snapped in two?

He felt claustrophobic suddenly. He needed to get away.

Carefully, he disentangled himself from her light grip, fumbling for his undershirt and bottoms in the darkness. He dressed himself silently, then padded out of the room. Sleep wouldn't come easy tonight.

For how long he sat there, brooding in silence, he didn't know. Certainly enough for the chill in the air to seep into his bones and attack his aching knee with dull malice. It wasn't until he felt Anna's light touch on his shoulder that he stirred.

"Did I startle you?" she apologised. "I thought you'd heard me coming. I was making enough noise."

He barely registered anything when he was lost in the darkest recesses of his mind. "You should be in bed."

"So should you," she countered. "It's bleedin' freezing down here. You haven't even lit a fire for yourself. Come back upstairs with me."

He looked at her properly then, shuddering lightly when he did. She'd draped a gown over her naked body, but it was only knotted very loosely at the front. A generous amount of her chest was on show. She never would have done that even a month ago.

"John," she said. "Please."

He moved then, heaving himself to his feet with difficulty, traipsing after her back to the bedroom. She threw the gown off, clambered back into bed. John contemplated keeping his own clothes on for a moment, before deciding against it; Anna would probably feel less vulnerable if they were on equal terms. He slid back into bed too, settling back down.

But Anna didn't seem prepared to let his listlessness go this time. Leaning over him, she rested her chin on his arm, peering down into his face.

"I wish you'd stop shutting me out," she said.

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the sight of the frown creasing her brow. "You know I have difficulty sleeping at night. It's the old insomnia. A friend I'll have until the end, I'd wager."

"Don't talk like that," she said. "I don't want to think about losing you."

He shifted. He had had those dark thoughts about her so many times over the last year. Soul-destroying thoughts.

"So are you going to tell me what's wrong now?" she asked lightly.

"You're saying I have a choice?"

She left him with the soft imprint of her lips against the curve of his shoulder. "Not really. You shouldn't bottle things up."

Another stab right to his heart. But he swallowed hard and shifted slightly so that he could face her easier. He was glad for the darkness cloaking them, blinding them. There was no way round a difficult admission. Anna would know if it wasn't the truth. She knew him better than he knew himself. She would see straight through a lie.

"It's been a year," he told her in a low voice.

He felt her stiffen behind him. She said nothing.

"I can't stop thinking about it," he admitted. "I see you getting stronger every day, but then when I close my eyes I see how you were. Just after it. And it kills me. I've pulled you back down. Stopped you from rising above it. You told me to stop seeing you as a victim, but sometimes I can't help it. You've had to heal all by yourself and I've been no help at all."

Anna was silent for a long time. He shouldn't have said anything. He shouldn't be burdening her.

"It took me a long time to start to move past it," she said at last. "A very long time. And I've told you, it will never be gone. It's not something that can be erased from history. But don't you dare think that you haven't been any help. I've only come as far as I have because of you."

He wanted to protest.

She shushed him before he could. "It's true. Before you knew, I was a mess. I was terrified of what you'd do, that you'd end up back inside prison. And there was a part of me that thought you wouldn't want me anymore, not with me being soiled."

He did protest then. "How could you ever think that? You are my life."

"I know that now," she said. "But my mind was in a very dark place. And not all men would have stood by me. I was afraid that you'd blame me for it, that you'd either leave or stay in the sham of a marriage and pursue other women instead."

Turning fully now, he brushed her away so that he could sit up properly, hands finding her face in the darkness. "You stood by me through everything without once wavering. You deserved nothing less than my full faith in return."

"Your faith is what got me through it. You've never demanded marital rights from me. You've respected my wishes with the sleeping arrangements. You've been patient and loving with me even when I withdrew. I couldn't have asked for more."

"I love you, Anna." He was desperate suddenly, his grip on her tightening. "I'll never stop."

She pressed her forehead to his, eyes flickering over him. "I know. I do."

Their lips met again for a brief, fierce moment, then Anna began to pull away. John started to settle down again, but was stopped by the gentle touch of her fingertips.

"I want to try something different," she whispered. Paused. "No, not different. Something tried and trusted."

He raised a quizzical eyebrow, growing more confused when she slid to the end of the bed and slipped out, padding around to his side.

"Budge up," she said. "I want to sleep on this side tonight."

"Anna?"

Her sigh was shaky, but determination sparked in her eyes. "I won't let things be taken from us any longer. Hold me, John. Just like you used to."

Mouth dry, John did as bade, moving over so that she had room to clamber in beside him, waiting for her to settle before shuffling closer.

"And you're sure?" he asked. "It's not too much too soon?"

"It's been almost a year," she said. "I won't let this be ruined for a moment longer."

Cautiously, he moved his hand to her wait, looping it over her stomach as he had so many times before. He made sure he kept his touch light, space between their bodies. He didn't want to crowd her.

"If you ever want me to let go, say so," he said. "I won't have you feeling uncomfortable."

But she surprised him again, pushing back against him so that her backside curved against his groin and her back was flush to his chest.

"You can do better than that," she told him. "Hold me properly."

He gave up then, tightening his grip on her, burying his head into her sweet smelling hair. This was heaven. This was like coming home after a long, terrible war.

Anna linked the fingers of her right hand with the ones on his left, pulling them down to his mouth to press a soft kiss against.

"Thank you," she murmured. For the second time that night, he listened to her drift off to sleep.

Perhaps she was right on some counts, John thought as he held her in his arms for the first time while drifting to sleep for the first time in over a year. But Anna had her own steel that had seen her through the worst of times, and he was only strong because of her.

They had a long way to go. But this was a start.


1924

The cheerful May sun was deadly. John couldn't remember a day like it. His uniform was saturated with sweat. His forehead shone with it. God, what he would give to strip from the waist up. In Africa, Lord Grantham had always turned a blind eye to his men when the oppressive heat had become too much. All of them, young, lean, and bawdy, had relished those days and their good luck that they had such a fair commander. Lord Grantham had even joined them himself if he thought he could get away with it. John's lips twisted nostalgically. Whatever his flaws, he was still the best of men.

Anna sat beside him as he worked, fingers working clumsily on some of her mending. Her temple was beaded with perspiration. Although her uniform wasn't as thick as his, it was still black, and she seemed to be taking it hard.

Still, she turned to him with a wan smile. "What are you thinking?"

"Just of Africa. Sometimes Lord Grantham would let us take our shirts off. It was a relief. I could do with it now."

Anna's eyes raked over him. "Now that is a sight I would pay to see. Although I fear that I would never get any work done for the rest of the day."

"Why, because you'd be distracted?"

"I might be even more hot and flustered." She'd lowered her voice to a low rumble. "Because I know what else your uniform is hiding."

It had taken a long time for them to claw back any semblance of the life they had had before that terrible night. But they had rebuilt themselves, slowly and surely. Their first teasing had been shy, little quips accompanying their day to day activities. It had taken longer for any of them to take an even remotely licentious turn. And yet they had reached that point once again, where they freely took joy in their marital activities, in their beautiful marriage itself. It was the ultimate revenge.

The look they exchanged was one of heated promise of what their night would consist of. But John cleared his throat, not wanting to agitate them more than was needed on a day like this. Then he stopped short, noticing her properly.

"Anna, are you feeling all right?"

His wife's face was shining with sweat – more than he'd noted before. Her eyes were overly bright. Her hair was damp.

"I'm fine," she sighed. "A little overheated but that's hardly surprising."

She looked more than a little overheated. John furrowed his brows, but he knew how stubborn Anna could be and thought it best not to push it. They worked in silence for a little while longer.

Until John turned to check on her again and realised with growing alarm that all of the colour had leeched out of her skin. She was as white as their kitchen walls.

"Anna?" he prompted, panicked.

She gave no answer, but she swayed on her seat. Her mending had dropped from her lax fingers. She fell forward.

John sprang from his seat, cursing his knee as it flared, managing to catch her before she hit the ground. Her head lolled against his shoulder as he tried to push her back.

"Anna!" he yelped, patting her back. "Oh, God." When she made no response, he turned his head and began to holler for Mrs. Patmore. The cook appeared in the doorway with a scowl, her own face red and her hair frazzled. Her expression soon morphed into one of concern when she saw the position the two of them were in.

"What's happened, Mr. Bates?" she asked.

"I don't know, oh God. I think she's fainted. Can you get me a glass of cold water?"

The cook nodded, disappearing back inside. John managed to claw his way back onto the bench, Anna still slumped by his side. She felt so frail and tiny in his arms.

Mrs. Patmore returned a minute later with the water and Mrs. Hughes in tow.

"What on earth happened?" she exclaimed, keys jangling.

"I don't know," said John helplessly, accepting the water from Mrs. Patmore. He dipped his fingers into it, tracing the water across her forehead. Anna's eyelids fluttered. He did it again, murmuring encouragement. She fidgeted. Her eyes opened.

"Wha'?" she slurred.

John gave a bark of relieved laughter. "Oh, thank God."

"You fainted," Mrs. Hughes told her. "Are you all right?"

She nodded as John held the glass up to her mouth, helping her to drink. When she'd done he placed it on the bench, keeping a secure arm around her.

"I don't know what came over me," said Anna. "And look at that, I've ruined Lady Mary's dress. Oh God, she'll be mortified!"

"Never mind that," said John, sweeping his fingers across her burning forehead.

Anna turned to glare at him, but her eyes were unfocused. "Mr. Bates, let me go. I have to get on."

"Oh no you don't," said Mrs. Hughes. "Anna, you're ill. I will not have you putting yourself in more danger over a dress."

John breathed a sigh of relief, pushing her hair back.

"So what do you expect me to do?" Anna was sullen.

"You will go home. I'll call for Doctor Clarkson to assess you. Miss Baxter will handle Lady Mary for the rest of the day."

"Can I take her?" John asked, but was shot down immediately by the housekeeper's no-nonsense stare.

"Certainly not. You know as well as I do that Lord Grantham will be ringing for you any minute, and I don't think Mr. Barrow will be kind enough to fill in for you. I shall take Anna myself."

"I don't need Doctor Clarkson," Anna argued. "It was just the heat. I can get on."

"Anna, I will not argue with you. Now let her go, Mr. Bates, so we can all get on. I'll look after her, you have my word."

Unable to think of a way to argue with the formidable housekeeper, John gave Anna's hand a final squeeze and chanced pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"I'll see you later," he said softly.

The rest of the day passed torturously slowly. He couldn't concentrate. Twice he dropped Lord Grantham's cufflinks, and he flustered himself when he couldn't remember where he'd placed his employer's tie. Thankfully, his lordship was understanding.

"My dear chap," he said, "we all get a little overwhelmed when our loved ones are concerned. Give Anna my best and I wish her a speedy recovery."

When he found Mrs. Hughes on the stairs later, she gave him a hard look.

"Anna will tell you how she went on," she said unmovingly.

"Please, Mrs. Hughes, I can't wait that long."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Bates. It's for your wife to tell."

"Can't you at least tell me if she's all right? I shall drive myself mad otherwise."

She allowed herself a small smile then. "Yes, she's all right."

It seemed an age before he could make the journey back to the cottage. When he arrived, he was reassured to see that the light was burning in the upstairs bedroom. She was waiting for him.

Climbing the stairs, he pushed open the bedroom door to find Anna staring at herself in front of the mirror, eyes vacant. It was not a sight he was accustomed to.

"Anna?" he said, hurrying to her side, "Anna, what's wrong?"

She blinked slowly, a broad grin overtaking her features when she registered that he was in the room with her. "Hello, love. I've saved the cool water in the bath for you."

John swept his palm across her forehead. It was no longer burning. At least that was one less thing that he had to worry about. "I don't care about the bath. Tell me what happened with Doctor Clarkson."

She tilted her head back, giving him a lazy grin. "Can't it wait until you're more comfortable?"

"No, it can't," he insisted. "I need to know now."

She huffed, but her eyes were dancing. "Very well, then. Doctor Clarkson came here to exam me and he told me some very important news."

"And? What's that?"

She caught his hand, slid it down her body until it came to a rest on her flat stomach. John blinked, his breath shutting off. She couldn't be, could she…? Desperately, he sought out the truth in her eyes. Eyes that were shining with love and joy. It was all the confirmation he needed.

Still, the words that fell out of her mouth were a wonderful accompaniment, solidifying everything. "I'm pregnant, John. We're going to have a baby."

A baby. God. He'd given up the hope of ever having that in his life. A baby for the two of them to dote on. Anna would not be robbed of her role of a mother. Laughing, he swept her up into his arms, uncaring about the deep biting pain in his knee, twirling round with her. Anna giggled, pounding at his shoulder gently, ordering him to put her down before he hurt himself, but he paid her no mind, stopping her words and her giggles with his lips. She kissed him back fiercely, her body pressed to him. Soon, her belly would grow round and would put a barrier between them. She'd start to complain about her aches and pains, how pregnancy had made her less attractive. He knew that she would never look more beautiful.

"I can't believe it," he said hoarsely.

"Well, start," she told him. "Sometime during November we'll become parents. Doctor Clarkson says that he wants to keep a closer eye on me because I'm an older mother, but he doesn't foresee any complications. Today was brought on by a mix of the sun and tiredness. As long as I don't overexert myself it won't happen again."

John barely heard her, aware only of the resounding fact that they were going to be parents. Now wasn't even the time for fear and doubts. He let her back down to the ground gently when his knee started to protest more acutely, and instead moved his hands straight to her stomach. Now that he was feeling it properly, he could feel that it was a little softer than usual, the tiniest bit rounder. And soon it would blossom as the proof of their love grew within her.

"Mrs. Hughes knows," he said at last, remembering the housekeeper's odd behaviour.

Anna nodded. "Yes. She was in the room when Doctor Clarkson examined me. She was under orders to not even breathe a word until I'd had time to tell you."

"Well, she kept her vow admiringly. I was beside myself with worry."

"You don't need to worry any longer. We're both fine."

The words started a warm fire in his heart. He kissed her again. She pushed him back with a cheeky grin.

"Go on, get in the bath. I'll be here waiting when you're done. I believe we have some unfinished business to attend to."

He smirked, shrugging his jacket from his shoulders, pushing down his braces. He made quick work of his tie and collar, then set to work on the buttons on his shirt. Once they were open he flung it to the floor, standing before her as he'd described earlier that day. Anna wet her lips, eyes darkening as her gaze roved over his torso.

"That'll keep me going until you're done in the bath," she said. "And maybe then I'll get to see what's under those trousers."

He chuckled, moving towards the door. "You'll have to wait and see."

Before he left the room, Anna's voice stopped him once more. "Thank you, John."

He swivelled back, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

"Thank you. For the baby."

"I think it was a joint effort."

"Maybe, but thank you all the same."

There was a heaviness underlying her words that peeled and fell away. It was a throwback to everything that they had come through to reach this point, every obstacle that had almost destroyed them. But there was some beauty even in the most hideous of scars. They told of survival, triumph over the darkness. A darkness that had only been defeated because they had worked as a team.

Still, John smiled. He'd been wrong earlier. This was the ultimate revenge in the face of what she'd suffered. Now they had all the hope for tomorrow that they would ever need.


1925

It had not been the best start to his day. Anna had been in a mood of tremendous proportions when he had woken – apparently Charlotte had been fussing all night and had refused to settle down. A sleep deprived Anna was not to be trifled with. She'd slammed the pot of tea down on the table so hard that it had come spurting out of the spout, staining the pretty white tablecloth. Anna had glared at him in such a way that he'd almost begun to think that it was his fault. He'd never been gladder to sneak out of the house to work, without a kiss from either wife or daughter.

His day hadn't improved from there. His lordship had sent him off with a list of requirements for a trip that he was taking to London next month, and he had spent the better part of his morning limping around Ripon in search of the items he needed. Then had come an afternoon of mending, the boring task doing nothing to improve his mood. When Louise, Ivy's replacement, had dropped stew all over his lap, his frayed temper had almost snapped. Thankfully, he had managed to control himself, and there had been one upside: Mr. Carson had reluctantly sent him home to clean himself up. He'd also pressed an envelope into his hand, a letter that had arrived in the evening post.

It wasn't often that John received post, but he had an inkling of what it was. His insides tingled with nervous anticipation. But then he wilted, stopping short with a sigh as he turned to contemplate the moon. Anna might not even be interested. If she was still in as bad a temper as she had been that morning, then it would probably be wise to just head up for an early night. Charlotte would have been put to bed long ago. He hated that he missed out on so much of his daughter while he was up at Downton all day, but there was little that could be done about it. They needed the money, and Downton's conditions were excellent all things considered.

Well, perhaps it wouldn't be forever.

John slowed his pace further when the row of cottages came into sight, wanting to delay the possibility of Anna's wrath for a little longer. It was still too soon when he reached his front door, and he fished about in his pocket for his key, bracing himself.

Anna appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, looking wary, as he closed the door behind him. He hung up his hat and rested his cane against the door before shrugging out of his coat. Anna had recovered in that time, staying where she was.

"You're early," she said. Her tone was unreadable.

"Yes, I know. Louise spilled stew in my lap, so Mr. Carson sent me home."

There was an awkward pause for a moment, before Anna began to giggle. Relief flooded through him as she stepped closer.

"How on earth did she manage that?" she asked.

"I'm beggared if I know. She's even clumsier than Daisy was, and that's saying something."

Now she came to a rest in front of him, her eyes wide. Slowly, she reached out to touch his chest. John waited, knowing that she wanted to say something from the way that her throat kept working.

"Look, John," she said at last. "I'm so sorry for this morning."

He broke out into a wide grin. Her words were the only thing he needed to sweep her up into his arms. "It's all right."

"No, it's not. It wasn't your fault that Lottie was fussing, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"I should have offered to go myself. I was being selfish."

"No, you have to get up early to get to work."

"You get up with me every morning."

She smiled slightly at their defending of each other, before nuzzling back into his embrace. "Either way, I am sorry for snapping. It won't happen again."

John knew that it would – even though there arguments were few and far between, it was only natural for them to disagree sometimes – but he pulled her closer and said nothing. Her fingers strayed idly over his buttons, and suddenly her voice was husky.

"You know, you took me by surprise being home so soon. I wouldn't have been in the kitchen if I'd known."

"You wouldn't? Where would you have been, then?"

Her answer came without hesitation. "In bed. Waiting for you."

The images that assaulted his eyes were risqué, and he groaned breathlessly. She caught his mouth for a kiss that was over too soon, then stepped away from him, her fingers straying to the buttons on the front of her dress.

"Would you like me to show you what I had planned?" she questioned.

He nodded eagerly, and with that she took his hand, leading him upstairs.

It was only later, when it was over and they were lying skin to skin in a drowsy afterglow, that John remembered the letter that was sitting snugly in his jacket's inside pocket. Anna's head was resting against his chest, her hair spun silk around him. He couldn't see her face, but he could tell by the cadence of her breathing that she was on the verge of sleep. He was loath to shift her again, but curiosity burned at him. He had to know.

"Anna," he whispered in the darkness. "Anna, love, I have to move."

She made a whining sound in the back of her throat, burrowing closer. His breath stuttered at the fell of her soft, bare breast brushing against his side. He would have to treasure the sensation as much as he could. Soon, Charlotte would be walking, and then there would always be the chance that she would come to them in the night. Their nights of sleeping naked were coming to an end. But he pushed those thoughts away, trying to ease himself from under her. At last, Anna huffed, slapping a palm against his chest.

"John Bates, I am trying to sleep. Stop moving."

"I'm sorry," he said. "But a letter came in the evening post. I forgot to tell you."

Those words seemed to rouse her, and she lifted her head from the pillow. "Is it them?"

"I'm not sure until I open it. Will you let me up now?"

Reluctantly, Anna did as he'd bid, watching him shuffle out of bed and pad over to his discarded clothes. He could feel her eyes boring into his back, and he tried to ignore the twitch of excitement at the thought that she was scrutinising him so thoroughly. He found the envelope and withdrew it. Light flared around him as Anna fiddled with the gas lamp, giving them permission to read. John clambered back into bed beside her, keeping upright, allowing Anna to slip under his arm so that she could rest her head on his chest again.

"Open it," she said.

He nodded, pulling the envelope apart. Prising out the sheet of paper from within, his eyes scanned the writing quickly for the answer as Anna peered at it too. A broad grin erupted across his face as the ball of tension in his stomach diffused.

"They want to buy the house," he said, voice full of awe. "Christ."

Anna snatched it from his hands, as if she couldn't quite believe his words. "Really?"

"Really. They're more than happy with the asking price."

"So that means…?"

Anna's voice trailed off, but John picked up her thread at once.

"Yes," he confirmed. "It means that we can write to the Turners and confirm that we can buy the hotel."

The momentous significance of the moment hovered above their heads. Their fates had been decided. Their dream of owning a hotel with a family of their own could truly be realised. The hotel they had been eyeing for the past few months was perfect, exactly the kind of place that they had always wanted, a place where they could raise their children with the strong sea air. Charlotte would thrive there. They all would.

Anna was already planning ahead. "When would we be expected to move there?"

"In the next few months, I should imagine. As soon as we receive the confirmation that we can buy it, I'll hand my notice in to his lordship. That should give him enough time to find a replacement, and we can get everything together here without having to rush."

She shivered suddenly, tugging him down with her. "It's a scary prospect."

"Very," he agreed. "But we'll be all right. I know we will."

She nodded, wrapping herself around him. "I know. And I can't wait until it's just the three of us, together all day every day."

"Neither can I," he told her. "I feel like I've missed out on too much of seeing Lottie grow. She's usually asleep when I get up and asleep when I return."

It made him feel terrible. His daughter was growing up without a father even though he wasn't absent. His half-days were the biggest blessings he could ask for. Playing and interacting with her, settling her down for a nap, holding her in his arms…they were all things that were a luxury to him. And they shouldn't be.

He missed Anna during the day too. He had become so accustomed to knowing that she was in the house, knowing that he would see her at the servants' hall table, that it had taken quite a while for him to adapt to her not being there. In truth, he still wasn't.

But now he wouldn't have to anymore. They could move away and work as a family, spending all of their time together. He wouldn't miss out on any more of Charlotte's wobbling steps or babbling words. He could truly be a father to her.

Realising that he had been silent for several minutes, John dipped his head to look at Anna's face. Her eyes were closed, her shoulders rising and falling with her even breathing. Sound asleep. He smiled, pressing an awkward kiss to her, settling back down. If Lottie awoke, then he would go to her.

It was the least he could do.


1926

The whoosing sound of the waves filled the air. Some would think they were mad, sitting on a bench along the sea front in the middle of winter. But it was late December now, and it would be their last opportunity before Christmas. While the season wasn't very busy at all – perhaps one or two families visiting their relatives in Scarborough – they would still be too busy to visit the beach. And Lottie had insisted on it – her constant cries of "Beach, beach, beach!" had started to drive them both slowly mad.

John sat with Lottie draped across his knees, holding her close to keep her warm. Her dark curls were blowing wildly in the wind. No matter what Anna tried to do to them, they always grew untameable. But it was oddly endearing too.

She was taking in the landscape with solemn brown eyes, sucking thoughtfully on her thumb as she cuddled closer. John rested his cheek against her hair, breathing in her baby scent. She was a real beauty, which he was eternally grateful for, with the poor girl afflicted with his traits. Anna had delighted in the fact, but he would have preferred to see a mirror image of his wife staring back at him.

He'd thought that perhaps there might have been a chance with their son, but he seemed to be taking after his father in every single way too. John Edward Bates – Jack to distinguish him from his father – had a little shock of dark hair, and though his eyes were still blue, they were a much darker shade than they had been when he was born. Everyone who cooed over him was quick to comment on how he would be the apple of his father's eye. Even from the moment of his birth it had been true; when he had entered this world he had been a burly nine pounds, a fact that had made John wince and Anna quip painfully that he was going to be a big boy just like his father.

Jack had taken them completely by surprise. They had made their peace that they would only ever have one child, so when Anna returned from the doctor's and dazedly announced that she was pregnant again, neither of them had been able to believe it. A surge of fertility in later life, the doctor called it. They privately called it a miracle.

Anna had been adamant that Jack would have his name. She had asserted it right from the moment that she had found out she was pregnant with Charlotte. John had got his own back when she had been born, for he had been charged with choosing Charlotte's middle name – Anna, after her mother. She had grumbled for days about that, but he had countered that if she could call their son John, then he could name their daughter Anna.

They were two perfect children, and they had all adapted so well to life at the seaside in their little hotel. Jack had been born there, Anna finding out that she was pregnant only a couple of weeks before their move. It was truly a new start for everyone.

John revelled in the fact that he could spend so much more time with his family. He worked hard from dawn until dusk, then allowed the night shift to take over from there. The two young men would take it in turns to man it each weekend, when John would take the whole of Sunday off. Anna helped out as much as she could, but when they had two young children it was difficult. He would still see them a hundred times more than he had at Downton. At his morning break, at lunch, when Anna brought them down to see him. The customers were in love with the two darling Bates children, who were as good as gold and cute as buttons. John swelled with pride whenever someone praised them.

Now his nights were free too. He could spend them with Lottie on his lap, reading to her in a soft burr. He could hold his son in his arms – his one fleeting chance of immortality – and rock him to sleep. He could have both at the same time with Anna curled sleeping at his side. His beautiful family.

The move had been good for Anna too. Even though she had moved on since that awful black period, the memories would never truly be gone. Anna still sometimes had nightmares. But she was thriving. They were free of the past's oppressive grip. They had a home that was free of haunting memories. They had a family, the biggest healer of all. They were battle-worn, beaten and bruised. But they were truly happy again, in a place where they could make a fresh start.

Anna shifted beside him, cradling Jack close to her chest. John turned his attention to her, shooting her a soft smile.

"Are you all right?" he asked her.

"Yes. Let's not be too long though. I don't want either of them catching a cold."

He nodded in agreement, shifting Lottie in his arms. "What do you say, love? Are you ready to go back yet?"

"No!" she cried. "No! No!"

John laughed, lifting her into the air before him as she squealed and kicked her legs. Her plump cheeks were red from the brisk wind. Anna was right. They needed to head back soon.

"Well, your daddy thinks it's time to go now," he told her. "What about a story when we get back? About the little piggies?"

She laughed shrilly when he brought her back to his chest, snuggling against him. John closed his eyes, savouring the sensation.

"I think we should go back now anyway," said Anna. "Jack is hungry." She gestured to her chest, where Jack was sucking at the material of her coat with a discontented look upon his face. John chuckled, brushing a finger down his cheek.

"The lad's got a healthy appetite," he said.

"Just like his father," she shot back. "Now come on, let's head back."

John helped her to her feet, before holding Charlotte more securely in his arms. He had left his cane in the hotel because they were only a very short distance away from the sea. He was glad of that now as his knee creaked in protest. Anna would probably want to rub it with some salve tonight. He couldn't help his lecherous grin at the thought.

It faded when he looked at the hotel standing in front of him. Quaint and old, it exuded homeliness. All of the patrons who had visited had left satisfied. This was their new home, the home where they would grow old together, the home where Charlotte and Jack would grow. A kingdom they had built together.

The future they had always wanted.


A/N: I'll be going back to my other fanfics now this one is all posted. For those interested, A Meeting of Fates will be updated soon, within the next week. Two at the most.