A/N: I know this story has been pretty angsty (I did provide a warning!) so I'm glad for the readers who are sticking it through. I promise to post a fluffy story soon as a break from all the angst.
Big thank you to John for expertise on the historical medical information and other great ideas. And thanks to everyone who's left a review or sent a message letting me know what you think of this story so far. Keep the feedback coming!
Bates tried.
Every day, he attempted to resist the siren's pull of the bottle. He urged Anna to store the whiskey on a shelf in the kitchen so it would not be in easy reach, and he endured both the shame and the pain in his knee as he limped into the other room each time he wanted a drink of the stuff.
On Anna's insistence, he decided to see Dr. Clarkson again about stronger pain medication. On Lord Grantham's request, the doctor stopped off at the cottage to check on the Earl's former valet. While the whiskey bottle was still in its cabinet, Bates did not hide the glass sitting on the table next to him, nor did he avoid the doctor's questioning gaze.
"The human body isn't intended to endure this level of pain for so long," Clarkson noted with clear irritation. "I had expected you to see a specialist by now."
"I doubt there's much they can do for me, even in London," Bates responded with equal annoyance.
Clarkson did not react to this statement but went on, "I can give you morphine to help with the pain. I must warn you that it is possible to become addicted. It shouldn't be a problem for you with as much pain as you are in, but if you have struggled with such things before..."
Bates sat stone-faced for a moment before looking at the empty glass. "I have."
The doctor nodded, apparently grateful for the truth. "You should know, Mister Bates, that it would be very dangerous to mix morphine with alcohol. The effects aren't fully known, but I've read about cases of coma and even death."
Bates glanced from the doctor back to the empty glass next to him. He considered silently for a long time before looking back at Clarkson.
"Are there any other options?" he asked.
"I could prescribe you barbitone, which is a potent sedative and will allow you to sleep. But," he looked at Bates squarely, "you shouldn't take it with alcohol, either."
Bates nodded in understanding.
For the first night in weeks, Bates slept the full night through without being woken by the pain. The relief was unimaginable and he started his day in a much better mood than usual, despite a bit of fogginess leftover from the sedative. Determined to forgo his morning glass of whiskey, he sat outside enjoying the fresh air instead. Anna had already gone to Downton early that morning and he would not see her until the evening.
But after an hour passed, the pain gradually reemerged as the primary thought on Bates' mind. He thought about taking another sedative and sleeping away the afternoon until Anna's return after dark. With nothing to do to fill the hours and try to ignore that voice in the back of his head demanding he pour a glass of whiskey, the notion of sleep was enticing.
Just as he stood to return inside, not yet decided on whether he should head to bed or the kitchen cabinet which held the bottle, he saw a figure approaching down the lane. As the individual grew closer, he recognized her.
"Mrs. Hughes," he greeted the housekeeper. "What brings you all the way down here?"
The woman smiled at him kindly. "I thought I'd see how you were getting on."
Nodding, Bates invited, "Please come inside. I can make us tea."
Ignoring the pain in his knee and forcing any sign of it from showing as he made tea, Bates sat across from Mrs. Hughes at the table. He said nothing, but rather waited for her to speak, to explain her reason for visiting him in the middle of the day when his wife was still at Downton.
"I'm concerned about Anna," she revealed soon enough. "I know you have enough on your mind what with your injury, but I'm very worried about her. She frets about you constantly, down here by yourself all day."
This information cut through several layers of Bates' self pity and struck him in the heart. "She needn't worry," he said aloud, swallowing uncomfortably.
"She's your wife," the housekeeper stated blandly. "Of course she worries. And for good reason from what I've heard."
"And what have you heard?"
Taking a deep breath, a clear indication that Mrs. Hughes was about to tell him more of the truth than he would like to hear, she began, "I've heard from Anna that you're in terrible pain, but you refuse to go to a doctor in London. I've heard from His Lordship - who is very concerned about you, by the way – that your stubbornness is almost legendary. I'm afraid I can also attest to that, Mister Bates. But what concerns me worst of all is the rumors I've heard from the village… I know that Anna does not drink, of course, but she's taken to buying several bottles of whiskey every week."
Stiffly, Bates nodded at the list she'd drawn out for him. "Yes, I can see why you'd be worried about her."
"Perhaps it is time for you to see the doctor," she suggested.
"I have seen Doctor Clarkson," Bates stated. "Very soon I plan to go on a daily regime of morphine to help control the pain. I just need to… settle some things first, to prepare."
"What sort of things?" the housekeeper asked nosily.
Hating to admit his addiction to someone who used to hold him in such high esteem, Bates resorted to sharpness. "Private things, Mrs. Hughes."
The woman frowned at him, obviously not pleased with his reluctance to speak on the matter.
"You know, everyone at Downton cares about you and Anna very much," she began.
"They care about Anna," he interrupted, "as they rightly should."
Mrs. Hughes agreed, "Anna is a precious person, yes, but we care about you as well, Mister Bates. You may not wish to admit it, but you have friends here, friends you can count on to help you through trying times."
Her matronly expression betrayed not just concern for him, but a growing fear for Anna. Did she really think he could ever be a threat to his wife, alcohol or no? Or did Mrs. Hughes worry he would destroy Anna's life by being the invalid husband she'd have to give up her best years to care for?
"I appreciate your concern," he said without emotion. "But I can manage my own affairs."
He saw her to the door.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Hughes' visit had the opposite effect than she likely intended. No sooner was she gone than Bates found himself back at that kitchen cupboard pouring himself a new drink. Enough time had passed since he'd taken the sedative the night before, so he added an bit extra than he normally allowed. Better to drink more earlier, he decided, if he'd have to go without later in the evening.
He thought about Anna for most of the day, his eyes frequently falling on a picture of the two of them they'd had taken in their wedding clothes. While the photo was a recreation of that blessed afternoon, taken after his release from prison, it reminded him of the tears of joy Anna had shed on that fateful day at the registrar's office in Ripon. She'd been so happy as she repeated the official's words, her eyes never leaving Bates'. He could not recall a better memory.
He whiled away the hours with sentiment until Anna returned home, trying to push from his mind Mrs. Hughes' words of concern for her. He and Anna could manage, Bates determined. They'd managed to get through some of life's worst challenges so far, after all.
But when Anna entered the cottage, he recognized even through his intoxication that she walked slowly, both tired and disgruntled.
"How was your day?" he asked, inviting her to sit at the table as he made tea. The cups were still out from his morning with Mrs. Hughes, so he washed them and made a fresh pot while listening to his wife describe her day.
"Horrible," Anna responded truthfully. "Lady Mary was in a proper mood all morning and I have so much mending to catch up on. She's been out and about learning about the estate with Mister Branson, and somehow that seems to mean that she tears holes in all her clothes…"
He set out steaming cups for both of them and settled into a chair across from his wife to listen to the rest of her tale. With the alcohol in his system keeping his mind off the pain, he was able to focus on her as she spoke. While her words entered his mind, his eyes tracked the stress lines on her face and the way her brow knit together to form a sort of permanent crease. Sometimes in the midst of his pain, he forgot how difficult their situation made matters for her as well as for him. He resolved to always keep Anna's well-being at the forefront of his thoughts.
But despite the difficulties she'd faced during her work that day, Anna still afforded him a smile. The brightness of her eyes reassured him.
"How was your day?" she asked in turn. "Mrs. Hughes mentioned that she popped down to check on you."
"Yes, she was very kind," Bates answered briefly. "But the sedative worked well. I was able to sleep the whole night through, so today seemed to go much better."
Nodding, she looked from him to the empty bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter. "Any progress on cutting back?" she asked.
"Some," he said, not counting the word as a true lie. He'd intended to drink less, he truly had. But before he even realized it, the bottle had been finished. Part of him blamed Mrs. Hughes for upsetting him so with her concerns about Anna.
"I missed you," he told her, glad that he could speak with complete truth on at least one front.
"Did you?" she asked, looking pleased.
"I always miss you when you're gone."
She admitted quietly, "Sometimes it feels like you don't even notice when I'm here."
"I notice," Bates declared as he stood up from the table and carefully limped around to where she was seated. His hands began to massage her shoulders as he leaned heavily on his good leg to take some pressure off his bad one. "Maybe I should show you how much I notice."
She groaned slightly as he continued his ministrations to her muscles, his fingers sliding along the crisp material of her dress. But he could not remain standing for long, and concerned that the effects of the alcohol might wear off and bring him back to his pain, Bates suggested that they retire early to bed.
To Bates, their encounter in the bedroom was not quite up to their usual standards, for which he blamed the pain in his leg, which was barely held at by by the alcohol. But he enjoy it tremendously, not just the pleasure he received but the ability to give equal measures of bliss to his wife.
For her part, Anna appreciated the closeness of him, the intimacy, and that at least for a time, the combination of intoxication and gratification took her husband's mind away from his leg. Of course, the whiskey left him less coordinated than usual and he had trouble moderating his movements. He would grasp her neck to pull her to him for a kiss, but the force of his grip proved uncomfortable and even slightly painful. His fingers sometimes pressed into her skin too hard, not quite leaving bruises, even as he told her in a slurred voice how lovely she looked and how much he loved her. When they moved together, he had no rhythm, and his frustration grew.
Anna finally took charge, saying his name several times to get his attention before urging him on, keeping her eyes remaining locked with his. Their night was not the beautiful, soul-filling thing it had been in the past, but she knew he appreciated the pleasure they were able to share.
"At least I can still give you that," he noted a short time later, falling asleep curled up with her, as much from the whiskey as from their exertions.
Some time in the night, Bates woke up with the pain invading his senses. He took one of the sedatives Dr. Clarkson had prescribed and slept through the next morning. Upon waking, he remembered more clearly their night together. In the sober light of morning, with the throbbing of his knee forcing him to focus through the fog caused by the sedative, Bates could see Anna's expression as he'd touched her - not disgust, really, but some discomfort. He realized that at times he must have pawed at her like an unbalanced, enthusiastic puppy, so desperate to please her in his drunken state that he hadn't even noticed how awkward things truly were.
That evening, when she returned home from Downton, he told her, "I'm sorry for how it was last night."
"It was fine-" Anna began, but he cut her off.
"No, it wasn't. And it won't happen like that between us again, I promise."
Anna shook her head at him in mild rebuke. "Well, even if it was not the best... executed... night we've ever had together," she said, pausing to find the best word, "I did enjoy it. And I know you did as well. I think perhaps sometimes, it is more important to have intimacy than passion."
She spoke so gently with her face so full of love that he almost believed her.
TBC