Yo dawgs, thanks for reading, and thanks for those who review. Have I said they make me smile?

Big warning at the start of this one – the rating has changed. Bates and Anna are married after all.

I swear, swear, that Bates and Thomas will reunite. Eventually. Seriously. It's all going to plan. It only seems a little all over the place right now. Until then, I hope this satisfies. I also hope your Easter weekend was as drunk as mine. Cheers!

Chapter 14:

In a Current Health to Stay

John was startled from his doze to the sound of the front door's latch closing and was surprised to see that hours had passed and the room was now cloaked in darkness. Since returning from Lewis' funeral, he had more or less stayed in bed. He had only left the shelter of his sheets to change out of his suit late into the afternoon – a suit and shirt that now had to be cleaned and pressed – switching it for his pyjamas in anticipation of Anna's exasperation over having slept in his formal wear. Once he donned his sleepwear, he had returned to the blankets' embrace, not leaving them even for supper.

Beyond the protection of the blankets still wrapped tightly around him, he could hear the muffled sounds of Anna entering the cottage. He tightened the fabric around himself, breathing in the thin, stale air trapped by its material. At least by the time Anna had returned from attending Mary, it was late enough in the evening to excuse his presence in bed.

The cover of darkness, however, did not excuse him from his wife. With a flick of a match, she had illuminated their bedroom with the light of an oil lamp. She filled the room with sounds of her readying for bed, and John peaked from the covers to look at her as she relayed him the events of her day. Asking him direct questions had yet to be successful, so her strategy that night was to talk as openly as possible with her husband, in hopes that he would eventually join her.

When she caught the gleam of flickering light in his eyes, watching her as she undressed, she smiled coquettishly. Anna disrobed slowly, fastidiously returning each article of clothing to their rightful place – her body a bare and pale image cutting the darkened room in chiaroscuro – as she spent more time than necessary posturing and folding her garments. She reluctantly covered her body with a worn nighty after she had finished her task, before turning down the lamp's rope and extinguishing its flame, descending the room into darkness.

John blinked at the room now cast in deep shadows and felt the bed dip. His eyes could just make out the soft light of the moon cast through the window as Anna pressed up against him, but the sight of the beams filtering through glass transported John back to the night spent leaning against the underside of the carriage. A hand rested warm and heavy against his stomach startled him from such thoughts, and a second entangled with his hair; he turned slightly, and his hand went to her waist, grasping her firmly. Her lips brushed against his own once – softly – before her tongue darted against his mouth. John opened himself to her and met her tongue with his, sliding in a familiar dance. His grip on the curve of her waist tightened, needing to bring her closer to him.

When Anna drew away, John chased her warmth.

"I am glad that you're home," she whispered breathlessly.

While he considered whether or not that warranted a response, her hand dipped to his waistband, where it briefly teased where skin met fabric before continuing further down until he was in hand. Then he could not remember if he had ever meant to reply, as she squeezed once and adjusted her grip to stroke him until he was agonizingly hard and panting for release.

"Anna—"

"Shh," she said as her thumb circled his head once before her hand disappeared and he remembered to breathe.

He saw a shadow of her outline move further down the bed while she branded him with a trail of kisses down his exposed side, hot tongue burning against his skin. John lifted his hips as she tugged at his pyjamas bottoms, breath hitching as the fabric pulled against his erection. Desire throbbed through his body, tightening unused muscles in his stomach, pulsating through his member. Lips burned against the inside of his thigh once before she took him in her mouth, moist and hot, and he was overwhelmed by the sensation of her tongue running against him. Lost to the pleasure, he threw his head back against his pillow, face twisted, eyes clenched, and chest heaving, despite the pull of bruised ribs; if anything the ache combined with the desperate stretch of muscles and tendons compounded the swelling pleasure and sharpened its touch. John could feel a dark flush burning across his face and spreading throughout his body. He moaned, heart beating; it was becoming to be too much – her tongue swirling against his tip before enveloping him further, hand still wrapped and moving at his base – he gripped her shoulders, careful not to her pull her closer even though her needed her – all of her – and dug into her flesh, moaning.

John groaned out hurried words of warning as the pressure built into an overpowering throbbing – pleasure surging – until everything tightened, his back arching and fingers clutching, and the world disappeared as waves of bliss crashed over him and pulsed throughout his body. His breath caught as his back pulled and his ribs protested loudly.

In the aftermath of the orgasm he lay wilted and panting against his pillow, electricity still crackling at his toes. Beside him he felt his wife shift and giggle and then sidle up against his torso, mindful of his bandaged chest.

"I love you," She offered in the dark.

"I love you, Anna," he said, voice thick with spent arousal and fatigue – meaning it despite all that he had felt during the day.

Silence descended on the room as John's heart calmed its thumping and his breath evened out. He was just on the edge of consciousness when Anna breathed quietly.

"I'm here whenever you're ready to tell me… whatever it is you need to tell me."

He was startled back to awareness at her words but managed not to tense underneath her form. It all felt suddenly too close.

In the morning, Anna had joined the servants seated at the table in breakfast. Work had resumed in its normal, albeit more sober, fashion the previous afternoon once everyone returned from the funeral. With the rise of a new sun, the morning's meal served to break up the gloomy air that had clung to them since the service. No one was particularly joyful, but the sadness that shadowed their conversations had dissipated. Quiet chatter flowed easily across the table as everyone began to eat.

While the others tucked into their porridges and pieces of toast, Mrs. Hughes took the time to evaluate the lady's maid that sat across from her. The head housekeeper noticed that Anna had begun to look drawn, carrying a tension in her mouth that was usually absent. Mrs. Hughes thought it curious and a nebulous worry tinted her thoughts.

"And how is Mr. Bates today, Anna?" She asked.

The lady's maid briefly flicked her eyes to meet Mrs. Hughes' as she twirled her spoon in the bowl. She had yet to eat any of her porridge.

"Oh, he's all right, thanks."

"That's good to hear. Any news of when he'll return to valet for His Lordship?"

Beside Anna, Mr. Molsely unsuccessfully attempted a look of disinterest as the two women spoke. In reality, he was so desperate to hear her reply that he nearly missed what was said.

"Actually, he's coming back today," she smiled wanly.

It was a decision that she did not agree with, and their opposing views had been the cause of a slight argument at dawn.

That morning as she prepared for her day, he had revealed his plan to return to Downton; he had been short and curt in a way that left Anna baffled and frustrated, so she was quick to voice her objection, citing he still needed to rest. In turn, he had taken exception to her opposition and had become evasive, even cold; any remaining amity between the had two dissolved, and Anna left their cottage upset and largely confused – she still did not know what was troubling her husband.

"Does Lord Grantham know about this?" Mr. Carson asked, with an eye to Mr. Molesley, "Not that we do not happily welcome Mr. Bates, but there is a matter of who should look after His Lordship."

"Oh, I couldn't say. He only just made the decision to return this morning," she tried to remain off-hand when as she spoke, but under Mrs. Hughes' watchful eyes, she was failing.

She seemed to catch herself at Carson's baffled look and explained, "He said he would arrive just after the family's breakfast, so as to allow Mr. Molesley the opportunity to dress His Lordship."

Carson frowned, "That is most unusual, but I suppose if His Lordship agrees then there should be no problem. I'm sure he'll be as happy as we are to hear Mr. Bates is well enough to return. Mr Molesley," he looked at the man, "you should alert Lord Grantham to Mr. Bates' tentative plans when you wake him this morning. Once Mr. Bates arrives we can co-ordinate his take-over and you can return to Lady Violet's."

Mrs. Hughes spared a glance for the butler before turning to Molesley and offering, "You may stay here for tea and supper, of course, Mr. Molesley, if you'd like."

The temporary valet had remained relatively dumbfounded throughout the exchange, and it showed on his slack face. He had assumed he would be Lord Grantham's valet for until at least the end of the week; rather naïvely, he had hoped he could retain the position for an additional week on top of the one he already worked. Now he was to lose the post in a matter of hours.

"Oh, I'm not so sure Mrs. Hughes. But then again, Lady Violet doesn't expect me for some time," he paused as he picked up his tea cup, "Perhaps I shall stay."

He looked into the bottom of his cup and considered glumly his fate.

John slipped into the dining room. His inquiring knock on the door jam had received a muffled welcome from the room within, and when he stepped into the room he saw Lord Grantham breakfasting alone. To the side of the serving table, Carson gave him a welcoming nod but maintained his ram-rod straight posture.

The earl had finished his meal and was browsing the day's newspaper. At his entrance, shock coloured Robert's face as he straightened in his seat.

"Bates!" Robert set down his newspaper, "Molesley said you were coming today, but I didn't dare believe him. Are you sure you're ready to come back?"

John nodded, "I'm sure, my lord."

John was not quite as sure of his return as he was just certain he could not stay alone in his cottage. He had spent the better part of two days now lying in bed, and as much as he needed the rest – he still had yet to sleep a whole night through – he had become restless and could not bear spending hours reliving the horrors of the ravine. Because that's all that he could focus on when alone – memories and nightmares had rolled into one entity and dominated his thoughts. Having the distraction of his duties would outweigh his reluctance to work and talk with his fellow servants and even the earl. Rather optimistically, he hoped that he once he threw himself into his role as His Lordship's valet, things would return to normal and he could breathe easy again.

"But your ribs?" Robert asked, breaking through his thoughts.

"Sore, but it's to be expected. Nothing I can't manage."

Having lived with his ruined leg for so long, it was nothing to work with pain ever pressing in the background of his thoughts. In fact, he had removed his bindings that morning and didn't feel any worse for it; the pulled muscles ached in a quiet way that could be easily pushed to the back of his mind.

"And how are you otherwise?" Robert thought for sure he was overstepping his boundaries, even as the man's employer, but John had entered his rooms with such a sullen air that he could not help but to ask after his well-being. A brief look towards his butler implied that he noticed the changes in the valet as well.

"Fine."

The dark bags under his eyes and the thin way his lips pursed suggested otherwise, but the earl was at a loss at what else he could say. Propriety burned and made him think he had already asked too much; he knew he couldn't intimate such thoughts delicately enough to carry through with any more questioning.

"Good," he held his valet's stare for a second, "Well, this is a step towards normality. Once Thomas returns, it can be like it never happened."

John could only wish; he desperately hoped that he had not been permanently changed by the disaster.

The earl shifted and looked at his paper.

"You'll have to see to Branson when he returns from the farms – he'll be just as glad to see you here. And the ladies, of course!"

"Of course, my lord," John tried to smile, feeling nothing more than indifference at the prospect of seeing the Crawley family. In fact, the idea of seeing the others was akin to returning to his duties; he did not particularly want to do it, nor did he particularly want to be at the abbey, and it was more than not wanting to be alone with his own thoughts. It was his responsibility. John knew he was rapidly becoming a burden to the others, and he could not continue to do so, especially when he was skirting his duties because he would rather not to talk to any of them. Before too long, he knew their acceptance and kindness would run out when they recognised him for what he was – an undeserving fraud.

Now that Lord Grantham had learned of his return, John excused himself and headed towards His Lordship's rooms; he'll have to see what Molesley had done with the earl's things.