A/N: For everyone who's stuck with it so far...

Thanks for the reviews. Ya'll are awesome. I appreciate knowing what people think of each chapter.

"There is a woman here to see you."

Berridge said the words as he crossed the foyer of the house, worn out from his latest visit to the doctor for his knee. They'd scheduled the surgery and at this latest visit, the doctor had informed him of what to expect.

Bates stopped as Berridge's pronouncement cut through his mental turmoil. "My wife?"

He nodded. "The other patients seemed a little too curious about her, so I told her she could wait for you in your room."

Raising an eyebrow at the special treatment - women were not allowed in the patients' rooms - he did not question the doctor.

The hallway down to his small, first floor room was not a long one, but on this day, it seemed to stretch for miles. When he finally did reach the open door, he hesitated slightly before peeking his head around the corner.

The sight of her stole his breath away.

Anna looked just the same. Her golden hair was tightly braided and piled under a woolen hat. She seemed so small, almost swallowed up by the coat she wore, which she kept buttoned despite the relative warmth of the room.

She'd seated herself on his bed, forsaking the chair by the writing table, and was thumbing through the book he'd left on his nightstand. The stack of all her letters was kept in the drawer, but he'd left a few of his favorites, the ones he preferred to re-read late at night, under the book. Anna must have seen them but had obviously not touched them.

For a time, Bates simply stood in the doorway and watched her. He'd been careful to make little sound on his way down the hall, the clicking of his crutches on the wooden floor swallowed up by the voices and general noise of the dozens of other men living in the house.

Finally, when he'd grown used to the sight of her again and could stand it for not a moment longer, Bates said aloud, "You came."

Startled, Anna looked up at him. Matching his rough voice with his familiar face, she said, "Of course I came."

She quickly slid off the bed and approached him, but after taking a few steps, she stopped, just out of reach.

"How are you?" Anna asked carefully, as though she were addressing a distant relation she had not seen in some years.

"Better," he answered.

"Your leg?"

"I take morphine for the pain."

She nodded, accepting this. "Does it help?"

"It helps. I could take more, but..." Not wanting to get into the uncomfortable side effects of the drug, Bates went on, "It certainly helps."

"You said in your letter that you've stopped drinking," Anna prompted.

"Yes."

"That's good."

She stood so far away from him - so close, but so impossibly far - and he could not make himself reach out for her. His doubting mind threatened him with images of her pulling away, of the disgust he'd seen on Vera's face when he'd returned home from Africa, his knee in ruins and his life not far behind.

A sudden craving for whiskey hit him with unexpected strength.

"How are you?" he managed to ask.

"Better now," Anna said with small smile. Her eyes betrayed only love with no recrimination.

Moving slowly as though not to spook him, she closed the distance between them. Her touch was gentle but firm as she reached for him. The crutches made wrapping her arms around him difficult, so he set them aside and leaned heavily on the door frame, keeping the weight off his bad leg. Anna frowned and seemed apt to protest, but when she noticed no pain in his features, she resumed her motion.

Bates let out an involuntary gasp as her hands slid along his waist and encircled him, bringing her body flush against his. He could feel the heat of her even through the thick coat, her familiar curves so welcome that he let out a shuddering gasp of pleasure.

"Am I hurting you?" she asked immediately, moving as though to pull away from him.

He breathed out, "Far from it."

Delicately, he wrapped one arm around Anna's back, keeping his muscles relaxed so that she could pull away if necessary. It occurred to him that the last time he'd seen Anna, the last time he'd touched her, was the night that regularly revisited him in his nightmares. His knee ached sympathetically, a dull reminder of that moment and of how long it had been since his dose of morphine that morning.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

She tensed at the apology, and then squeezed him more tightly.

"Don't-" she began.

"I must," Bates insisted.

She shook her head. "I saw that you got my letters. You know how I feel."

"What I did can't be forgiven, not so easily."

He pulled slightly away from her, and she reluctantly let him go. He immediately missed her warmth, her delicate scent and the aura of safety which surrounded her. But he could not speak of his crimes while enjoying her touch. Doing so felt almost sacrilegious, as though he would be victimizing her again.

"You've done nothing..."

He sighed, hating that she felt the need to defend him even now. "I remember what I did, or most of it. It is the definition of an unforgivable sin."

Anna looked away slightly, and he could see his memory of that night confirmed in the sheen of tears beginning to build in her eyes. But a moment later, she declared with certainty, "You didn't hurt me."

"Did I leave bruises?" he asked pointedly.

She said nothing.

"Did I frighten you?"

Again, she remained quiet.

Finally, he demanded with aching guilt, "Did you ask me to stop?"

He took her continued silence as confirmation of all of his questions.

Letting out a halting breath, Bates used his crutches to cross the room and take the seat by the small desk he used to write his letters. The confirmations of his worst fears hit him hard, but they were not unexpected. He knew what he'd done. The gaps in his memories had been filled in by horror-stricken nightmares, but he knew the basics.

"You weren't trying to hurt me," Anna said quietly, retaking her seat on the edge of his mattress. "I never believed for a second that was your intention."

He shook his head, such details mattering little. "I'm lucky I fell off the bed. I could have seriously hurt you." Squeezing his eyes shut at the choice of his words, he amended, "I mean could have hurt you even more than I did..."

"John, stop," Anna begged. "You didn't. I was only frightened. And you let me go when you came back to yourself."

"When I came back to myself..." he repeated, disgusted that she should have to make such justifications for an offense committed against her.

"What happened was not unforgivable. It was a mistake, mine as well as yours," she went on.

Hearing her self indictment, Bates said, "Please, stop casting blame on yourself. You had no part in any of my despicable actions, least of all this one."

"I brought you the whiskey-"

"And I drank it. It was my act, my fault. Not yours, Anna. Never, ever yours."

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence in which Bates found it difficult to breath.

"Then where do we go from here?" Anna finally inquired. "If you won't let me forgive you and I refuse to blame you for something you didn't even understand you were doing, then what is to be done?"

"You could... divorce me," he forced out, "if you wish."

"I would never divorce you," Anna stated, her tone betraying the absurdity of the suggestion.

He continued as though he hadn't heard her, "Cruelty is grounds enough, but add to it abandonment and-"

"I said no."

Her sharp rebuke rang through the small room.

"Then what do you want?" John asked quietly, his despair evident.

He could hear the tears in her voice as she answered, "I want you back. I want you home with me today and every day after. I want us to be together, and I'd give up everything on this earth to make it happen."

The passion in her answer frightened him and left him worried for what she would endure, for his sake. For weeks, she'd put up with his intractable pain, his drunken moodiness, and all the other deficiencies brought on by his vice.

"You shouldn't have to give up anything," he stated. "You've done nothing but make sacrifices for us to be together since the moment we met-"

"Whatever sacrifices I've made, I'd make them all again, gladly," Anna said.

He sighed at her stubbornness. "What if I go back to it?" he demanded. "What if I hurt you again, worse this time?"

"You wouldn't-"

"What if I have the surgery on my knee and they can't fix it. What if I am an invalid and can never walk again?"

"Then I will work for both of us and take care of-"

He closed his eyes at how easily the words came from her lips. "No," he said strongly, fighting back his anger as he balled his hands into fists. "I won't force you into the role of nurse maid."

Her tone stern, Anna responded, "I told you before, I made vows to you. In sickness and in health, remember?"

"How could I possibly hold you to those vows?" Bates appealed, the question almost rhetorical. "You working every day at Downton only to come home at night and to care for me? What kind of life is that?"

"It's the life I want," Anna insisted. "If it is the only way that we can be together, then it is the life I want."

Chills swept over his skin, wave after wave of them as her declarations penetrated his mind. For so long, Bates had pushed away her love, had denied himself as unworthy of it and capable of bringing her nothing but ruin. And then, she had convinced him to marry her, despite the terrible risk that he would be arrested and imprisoned for Vera's murder. He'd been selfish to do it, but he could not deny that day in the Ripon registrar's office was one of the happiest of his life. And he indulged the fantasy that Anna felt the same.

He knew that he could live with Anna's love, with her blessing and forgiveness, so long as he was not a burden to her for the rest of his life. But he could not bear the thought of eating from her wages, of existing in the cottage she alone maintained. It would not do.

Bates sighed, and after a moment he stated, "I've seen a doctor while I was here in London. About my knee."

He'd spoken of it in his letter, so Anna betrayed no surprise. "What did he say?"

"There is a surgery they can try. They may be able to remove the shrapnel, or at least enough of it to cut back on the pain. But the knee is already so damaged..."

Anna frowned. "What if it doesn't work?"

"More damage. The possibility of infection... I could lose the leg. Or worse."

Anna did not shudder - not quite. She let a moment pass before she responded. "Is it worth the risk?"

John turned slightly to look at her. She read the concern in his eyes. He told her, "It is my only possibility for a return to the life we had. I have to try. If it works, and I can still walk, I'll come home. Lord Grantham may take me back as his valet. If not, I'll find a position doing something in the village or in Ripon."

"And if it doesn't work?"

He shook his head and he knew Anna understood his meaning. If the procedure failed, he would not come back to her. He would not continue to subject her to his misery or force her to care for an invalid. Nevermind how he would exist.

"If it doesn't work, you will still come home with me," she declared.

"Anna..."

"No. I will not hear argument on this. You pushed me away long enough. Do you have any idea how much that hurt me? I didn't even know if you were alive or safe or..."

Her voice cracked with the tidal wave of emotion, and the tears she'd been holding back for so long finally crested. But she did not sob. Rather, the tears came out silently, sliding down her cheeks with the sort of graceful elegance Bates expected of his wife. Everything she did, even crying, was beautiful.

"I know leaving hurt you..." he began.

"Do you?" she questioned sharply. "Do you really?"

He confessed, "I couldn't bear to see you, not after what I'd done."

Anna looked away, pressing a palm to her face to wipe at the moisture there. Her anger seemed more like a memory of hopelessness than anything else. And just being in the same room with him seemed to make it difficult for her to maintain such fury.

"Well what are we waiting for?" Anna asked, pressing forward. "When can you have the surgery done?"

Taking a deep breath, he said, "I'll have to write Lord Grantham to ask for the money to pay for it, which I've been hesitant to do. He's already paid for me to stay here, which is a not inconsiderable sum. I hate the idea of continuing to trespass on his kindness."

Anna blinked at him in confusion. "We have some money saved-" she began.

"Not enough, and that money belongs to you," he argued.

She sputtered, "No, it doesn't. It is ours, our savings. Much of it came from your mother and rents from her house. It doesn't belong to me."

"Yes, it does," John said forcefully. "It is yours and yours alone. I left you. I... abandoned you. That money is for you if you need it in the future. If I can't be there to support you, then at least you have something."

"I don't care about the money. I care about you."

Bates' shoulders slumped at the sound of so much pain in her voice. He knew he'd hurt her by staying away, by not contacting her. But fear of this conversation had led to his cowardice.

"I'm sure His Lordship would be willing to pay for it," Anna ventured after a moment. "Especially if it means you might come back to Downton."

"Has Thomas been looking after him while I was gone?" Bates asked.

Anna nodded. "No one denies that Thomas can do the job, but he is more comfortable with you." Biting her lip, she suggested, "I can ask him for you, so you don't have to write. It could be a favor to me rather than another request from you. We could even pay the money back gradually, from both our wages..."

Bates sighed. "It may not even work. If I'm still left crippled-"

"Then we'll deal with that if it comes. But I won't let you exile yourself to the streets, not while I have a roof over my head and a source of income." Anna gave him a pleading look. "Please, John. Stop torturing yourself. No one deserves the pain you have been subjected to, especially not you."

He shook his head, unable to admit the truth of her statement.

Anna went on, her tone strong and convincing, "You are worthy of love and happiness. You are worthy of everything."

"Not you," John contradicted. He could feel his mask slipping, his own tears brimming in his eyes. "I was never worthy of you."

Bares barely let out the sobs as they came. The tears broke through, tempered by his inner barriers as he tried to keep them in. Anna was at his side in an instant, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him firmly to her as he shook with the violence of his restrained emotions. She held him like that for a long time, whispering quiet endearments in the still room and rubbing circles with her hands across his back. His body trembling, he accepted her comfort and did not push her away.

TBC