A/N I'm a bit nervous about this chapter. But this was a thought I wanted to explore – which I'll explain more at the end – so I went for it.
John had been awake since far before the sun, his sturdy arm wrapped protectively around the petite warmth nestled against him as he watched the room begin to brighten, trying to sort out the racing thoughts competing for attention in his head like bidders at an auction. They were on the cusp of having everything they'd ever wanted. Everything. He was almost afraid to get too comfortable with the idea of unburdened happiness out of fear that it would be taken from them again. He'd been beginning to doubt such a life of ease and things going as planned would ever be meant for them when suddenly, maybe too suddenly, it had all fallen into place.
And yet... Something was amiss with Anna, something beyond hesitations about the inn. She'd begun holding back from her usual enthusiasm about their future together and guiltily hoping he wouldn't notice. But of course he had. He was worried, given her history of minimizing things, that it was something much less trivial than she was making it out to be. Approach it carefully, he thought as she stirred beside him.
"What happened last night?" he asked kindly, stroking her hair after brief pleasantries to let her know he wasn't upset.
"Nothing happened. I was tired, that's all," Anna answered easily, though John could feel her body tense.
John rolled somewhat awkwardly to face her. "If that's true, you've been tired for quite some time now. I don't suppose there's a reason for your fatigue?" he prompted gently.
"Not the reason you're thinking." She gave a chastising smile.
"It's just, last time you wouldn't let me near you..." He didn't need to continue. She understood.
"Nothing has happened." She wore a bigger smile this time, one that made her eyebrows dance as she sat up and stretched the sleepiness from her arms. Why was she so convinced that smiles would remedy his worry for her?
"That's also what you said last time," he persisted gravely, not breaking focus with her. But he knew she was being truthful. Anna hadn't retreated into the darkness like she had all those years ago, nor had her eyes gone hollow they way they'd done as she'd emanated that hurt. Things were very different this time. Relief washed over him in a gentle sigh. And yet... there was still something.
"Actually," she countered rather darkly. "What I kept telling you last time was that you'd done nothing wrong." Her melancholy gaze fixed at the open doorway without really seeing it, her heavy memories drawing her elsewhere.
Startled by this correction, John shot up in the bed as though ready to charge, effectively bringing Anna back to the present moment.
Giving an apologetic look as she scooted closer to John and pressed a hand to his chest to reassure him, she said, "What I mean is, I'm not lying to you." She reached for his hands. "Nothing's happened," she repeated with a slow sincerity.
"Well then..." He shrugged helplessly. "There is only one way to have a child," he stated obviously.
Realizing she hadn't been able to gracefully dance John away from the subject the way she'd done on his many previous attempts, Anna looked suddenly vulnerable at finally being caught out. She withdrew her hands and curled her legs around her, enclosing herself as a guilty cloud darkened her face and weighted her entire frame.
"Tell me," he pleaded, his heart quickening into a renewed alarm and eyes squinting concern.
Anna allowed a tense, unmoving silence to pass. "What if I can't?" she whispered, keeping her firm chin high as her eyes stonily fixed on the far wall.
"What could you possibly not be able to tell me?" He was imagining horrible things again.
"No, that's not – I mean... what if I can't have a baby?" Her resolve was faltering. She tried to fight it, but her gaze dropped to her knees hidden beneath her nightdress as she confessed. "What if... all those years ago... I got damaged somehow?" Despite her strongest efforts to contain them, hot, embarrassed tears began their escape, recruiting long-oppressed reinforcements and steadily building themselves into a huge, rogue army fighting its way to freedom.
The released burden flew savagely at John with immeasurable force. He reeled as the very weight of it settled itself on his heart, and he wondered how on Earth she'd managed to keep such a beast contained all this time. With the agility of a man much more lithe than himself, John ambled across the bed and enveloped his wife, silently allowing her to finish emptying herself of the damaging fears.
"Wouldn't it be better to give up the hope and move forward rather than have me let us down?" she reasoned shakily.
John didn't answer right away. Instead he ran his fingers through Anna's hair, picking the damp strands from her neck and gathering the flowing wave of honey gently behind her shoulder. It was usually he who needed these sorts of reassurances.
"We will not give up the hope," he said resolutely. "But we will part with any expectations for an event beyond our control and recognize that we are so very blessed either way."
But neither Anna's tears or her worries had subsided, and she looked no less defeated.
"We are not unfulfilled," he continued. "Our love is complete with or without a child, and it can only grow stronger."
"But..." she took in a staggered breath, struggling with whether it was right voice her worldly desires. "I want the skinned knees to bandage and the hair to plait. I want to sing my baby to sleep in my arms and teach her to call me Mummy. I want to sponge her fevered forehead and teach her to read and see her face when she comes home and tells me she's fallen in love." The longing had turned her voice into a lilting ballad, the kind his mother had hummed. "Is that so selfish?" she finished in a guilty whisper, clasping her hands to her chest.
"Of course it's not selfish. But it certainly doesn't mean there's something wrong with you – or me for that matter because it could just as easily be me – if we never have those things."
Still horribly embarrassed at having allowed her wall to crumble and reveal such covetous thoughts, Anna found herself unable to speak. Instead, she reached for one of John's hands, clinging desperately to it as though that might help absolve her of the sin.
"You are nothing less – we are nothing less – without a baby. All we can do is keep trying," he began rubbing her arms. "And even if nothing ever comes of it, we'll have had a lot of fun in the meanwhile," he whispered into her ear, hoping she'd laugh. "But we've got to take your mind off it. A watched pot never boils."
"How are you finding the hospital?" Thomas asked as he took a few tentative steps toward the desk where Edward was seated. He'd dared to pay the chap a visit and was deeply relieved to find that it hadn't been unwelcome.
"Oh it's lovely," Edward said gratefully as he finished sealing the letter he'd been composing. "I couldn't have asked for a better placement."
"And how long will it last?" Thomas was careful make the question sound offhand while he inched delicately closer as Edward addressed his envelope.
"Actually, I hope to be taken on afterward. Dr. Clarkson and I have discussed it, and we both feel it would help make things at the hospital more seamless when he retires."
Thomas, who was now close enough to the desk to feel the warmth streaming through the window behind it, waited for Edward to finish his task before continuing his questions. It was important that the rest of the conversation be communicated very carefully.
"Have you met anyone interesting at the hospital? Some nice nurses perhaps?" Thomas looked down on the gardens nonchalantly, feeling Edward's rapt attention burning into him.
Edward seemed to realize he was holding his breath and gave a nervous laugh. "I'm afraid I'm far too busy to be fraternizing with the nurses." He rose quickly from his chair, turning the letter over in his hands as he began to pace the room. "Besides, nurses aren't really my interest."
"No?" Thomas said with mock confusion. "Perhaps secretaries then? Shop attendants? I hope it's not housemaids you prefer because I'm afraid ours have mostly gone," he teased.
"No." Edward, remaining starkly serious against the playful tones, joined Thomas at the window, gazing down at the illuminated landscape glowing gold as the sun began its ascent. "I'm afraid my preferences are quite different."
A/N I've noticed in the show that John seems to be the one wanting children while Anna is a bit more "all in God's hands." I've always wondered if Anna is really that content because she's so in love and appreciative of what she has or if she's got some worries about having children and is only pretending she doesn't mind if it never happens and keeping a brave face.