There is question as to whether or not their walk is the same day as his release. After consultation with the Oracle, aka Angel-Princess-Anna, (thank you love, you are amazing!) I am choosing to claim artistic license and am doing what I want. And for the intents and purposes of my head canon the night after their walk is their first night together.

Gratitude also goes to all of you who are reading, and squeals and hugs to the reviewers.

IsisTheDog, who's a good dog? Who's a good dog?! YOU'RE a good dog. Seriously, you are such a good dog. Thank you for always reviewing. In my head canon you are either Laura Carmichael or Anne Rice (after my friend told me Anne Rice was into Downton). If you are either of the above, *WAVES!* Hi! (Am I the only fic writer who both hopes and fears someone famous is reading my fics?) If you are not, you get to choose who you would rather pretend to be. Thank you.

Extra love to RevFrog for doing an over the phone laying of hands on my broken car. Anyone know a mechanic who likes to read smutty fanfic in lieu of proper payment?

Now that future readers are fully pulled out of the reading zone, without further ado...

A proper soak in a proper tub was one of the luxuries he had been looking forward to, and it did not disappoint. Anna's welcoming touches, new toiletries, little gifts scattered throughout his room, brought him to tears once before his bath, and twice while he shaved and dressed, and reacquainted himself with his personal space in the big house.

Though he could never forget his station, he was looking forward to greeting his employer almost as much as if they were friends. He owed the entirety of his current life and any semblance he had of respectability to Robert Grantham and the Crawley family. The reunion with the Earl was brief and genuinely heartfelt, and a reminder of his place as servant. There was no other greeting he could have expected - His Lordship was never untrue to himself or his breeding. John knew the cottage wouldn't be ready yet, but it bothered him that it didn't seem to have crossed the man's mind that it would be needed. At least he didn't cringe at the cavalier suggestion to rest and read. Trapped in a tiny cell, laying on a bunk for a year and a half motivates a man to be up and moving about, proving his worth. But how could he be anything but grateful to the man who provided him with everything? He owed the Earl of Grantham his life five times over at this point.

Despite the oddly deflating reunion with the peer, who was only being a peer after all, he still felt renewed and refreshed from his soak and change of clothes. When he met Anna accidentally on purpose in the hall outside of Lady Mary's bedchamber, it pleased him to stand tall and tidy, freshly shaven. The smile that tugged his lips at her appraising look was genuine. He fell into quiet step next to her. When they were in the servants stair, he relayed what the Earl had told him about the cottage. She rolled her eyes, and leaned close to him.

"I'm sorry it isn't sorted," she whispered. "But I couldn't very well stand at his desk and tap my foot to see that he remembered."

In the semi-privacy of the servants' stair, he could feel the desire sheeting off of her, found he couldn't meet her gaze.

"No, of course not," he said. "It's no matter." His smile was a mask to hide the things he couldn't say.

"We'll manage," she said brightly.

"We always have," he replied.

Cocking her head, she looked at him for a moment before she took his hand and unceremoniously pulled him into a dark, empty closet, one reserved for guest-linens when the wing's many additional rooms were in use. He stiffened.

"Tell me," she whispered.

"I'm fine, it's nothing," he replied.

Even in the dark she saw through him. "It's not nothing. Please tell me."

"I don't know how." It was as close as he could come to an answer.

"We're alright, though?" she asked, her voice small. It came from nowhere, a dagger to his heart that he'd made her wonder. "Aren't we?"

"Oh, Anna." He pulled her solidly to his chest, wound his arms around her, caught the sob before it formed and swallowed it down. "Of course, my darling girl. I'm so sorry. Yes, we're always alright."

"Promise?" She said it so softly he wished he'd imagined it. He touched her face, felt her frown beneath his fingertips, and finally gave in and kissed her like he'd been wanting too, like a man who hadn't touched the woman he loved in eighteen months. For a few long minutes he poured himself into that kiss, in trailing a path of gentle nips and open mouth kisses along the sinew of her throat, from her jaw down to her collar bone and then back. She was trembling and breathing hard when he stepped away.

"I promise. We are always alright. Now, I won't be accused of keeping you from your duties Miss Sm... Mrs. Bates." His smile was wide and heartfelt, because even if he didn't deserve her, she was his now, for good and proper. "Might we take a walk when the day permits?"

Enough light pooled under the closet door that he could watch her brush her hands over her blouse, shaking out her skirt and feeling her hair to make sure it wasn't mussed.

"Lady Mary needs a clutch mended, but as soon as I've finished with it, we could walk by the cottages."

"That sounds like just the thing," he said ignoring the men's shouts and moans that he shouldn't be hearing anymore.