a/n: Sniff! This is it. The last chapter. It sort of snuck up on me. I wasn't sure how much more I had to go after the last installment and I found it all tied itself together quite nicely in this one chapter.

This was the first Downton Abbey fanfic I started. I quickly fell in love with the community here. I have so enjoyed all of your correspondence and comments. And I have absolutely loved reading the stories here.

I told myself I HAD to get this done before the second series was broadcast in the States. Phew. Did it. Just in time. Given the snippets that I have heard about events in series 2, I really prefer my little world here!

Thank you for making it to the end of this story!

Anna's POV

/

We are at the train station, a wave of women in our muted wools. The men in their khaki dot the platform that we seem to own. There is no true military order here. This scene belongs to the ones being left. And it is a time for all the sergeants to turn a blind eye.

I don't look, but I know somewhere, Branson lurks at the edge of the railway building waiting for his chance to say good bye to Lady Sybil. A hundred yards behind me, the Crawley women are taking turns embracing the Earl.

This platform is the whole of existence right now to my mind. There is enough hurt and suffering at this station to deafen the world. But I have my fingers laced through John's and my head at his chest. I could try, but I know I would find I couldn't bring myself to notice another thing.

"Come home soon. Please, don't take any chances." But other than that, there is almost nothing I can think to say. And so we merely stand close together, and I try hard not to cry.

I let him go as the second call to board goes up. Still, he leans to me for one last kiss. "Take care of yourself. For me," he whispers. "It will be a different world when I'm back, for us, at least. They should be able to replace me in a few weeks. You'll see."

I ignore his latest prediction. "I love you," I tell him as intently as I can.

His words and tenor echo mine exactly.

I wait, watching him walk for the train. And I smile despite my mood. He is an amazing man, and in every sense that matters, he is mine. Oh, God. How I will miss him. In whole and in part. The strength in him. The way he loves me. The sweep of his hair. Even the breadth of his back.

I wait, my eyes locked on him, until he is in the doorway of the train. And I'm rewarded. He turns and there is his smile. The beautiful dimples. A touch, just a touch, of that cheeky look that I always thought was only meant for me and our conspiracies.

I ask myself, 'why?' again and again as the train winds out of sight. Not just 'why' for John. But for every man pulled down that track. For all the trains that went before. Why must the world do this?

That is what we women who are left behind all want to know.

… … …

I am back at the London house. It is a bare two days later, and we are shutting up this place. Cold through and barely moving, I am packing trunks like an automaton or a wind up doll that's not quite run down. Leaving here feels horrid. It shouldn't matter where I wait. But there is that feeling that we are giving up ground. That I am moving further away. Packing this house feels like an act of mourning.

There are no believable assurances. That is the only assurance that I have. The army sent him to France when John told me he and his knee were in no way up to it.

His final prediction had been that he would only need to get the regimental offices established, and then he would be returned to England. Another man would be put in his spot. Someone who was fit to march and move the way John wasn't.

But John's stay has been extended.

"Still, I'm not in harm's way," his letter assured me. "His Lordship and I are managing things here behind lines." I re-read every letter from him every night before I close my eyes.

I never know when I'll hear from him now, the mail is so slow and unreliable. Sometimes there are three letters in a short span, and then, at other times, there is nothing for 10 days at a stretch.

The papers are more reliable. But the news is all bad. Late April, we read of a new horror. Poison gas. At Ypres, the Germans used chlorine gas for the first time on the Western Front.

Another morning comes, and I rise and consult my calendar. It is an unhappy milestone. He has been in France for 5 weeks now.

I feel haunted here at Downton without him. I touch the spot where the necklace lies as I finish one set of chores, and then I move to begin again in the next room. I make my attempts to mesmerize myself with sheets and the order of objects in this place. And sometimes, it works. The nights are more difficult. Alone in the dark, in that tiny bed, I can't help but worry. I almost welcome the company and the hustle come morning.

… … …

It is early yet and the start of John's 7th week in France. Daisy flies into our dining space, her face flush with news she is bursting to tell.

"The new boy's just told me there's been a telegram," I hear Daisy say, in a wicked hush.

"Mind you keep out of people's way, Daisy," Mrs. Patmore warned. "And don't be listening for word of William outside the doors."

"It isn't about William. I heard Mrs. Crawley say it was about His lordship and Mr Bates..."

I turn and try to leave. The room is swimming and there is nothing but a rush of noise. The last words I understood just echo in my ears. All I can think is that I'll make my way upstairs and get the telegram myself.

I think I might fall, but I find something solid. It's Carson, I know at once. He is holding me now and saying over and over, "He's alive, Anna. Shh. The two of them are alive."

And from behind him I hear Mrs. Hughes chastising Daisy. "Get out of here, girl. Go on."

"As soon as I heard, I came down," a rushed sounding Carson tells me. "I don't know how Daisy got here first. Curse the girl. But, listen to me, Anna, and let's sit down."

Someone is patting my back and telling me to sit. The request is repeated. A hand covers mine and squeezes now.

"How is Her Ladyship?" Mrs. Hughes asks the butler quickly at the edge of my hearing.

"The girls are with her, and she asked they be left alone," Carson whispers.

Mrs. Hughes is at my side, I realize, having cleared the room of everyone else.

I have made it into a chair. And once I open my eyes to his, Mr. Carson tells me, "The Earl and Sergeant Bates were with the regimental commander at a forward command post, and there was German artillery. They are both in hospital. That's all we know, Anna. Take heart. Take heart."

…...

A hospital in France. That was all the information we had in those early hours. Slowly then there is more to the story, and Lady Grantham is good to always include her husband's valet in her inquiries. She is also good enough to often call for me when there was word, so she could relay it to me directly. I am sure I learn more about how John was doing than I otherwise would have.

Even though I am doomed to getting second hand information,when I correspond with Mrs. Bates, I find that I was hearing more than she.

"Her Ladyship went straight to bed with a head ache, but she asked me to tell you what she knows," Mrs. Hughes explains so solemnly. "The tunnel works caved in up at the front. They were inspecting positions when the artillery caught them. So, they have no shrapnel injuries. But the Earl has broken a leg from when the timber shoring fell in. Mr. Bates has broken some ribs. Fool man used that broad back of his to hold up the entrance to the tunnel as it was falling down, so that they could get His Lordship and their driver out. So, of course, he was the one it all fell on."

I write him in care of the hospital where the two men should be, but I hear nothing back. Lady Grantham calls me to her two weeks later, and she tells me that she has heard nothing as well.

….

Finally, we get word that they are headed home.

They return together on a hospital ship that we women are not allowed to meet. It is strange our kinship. We are worlds apart, Her Ladyship and I, but here we sit. I on one side of the hospital hallway, she on the other.

"They should be here by now," she says, showing her nerves.

"Yes. I wish they were," I tell her. I stand and pace a bit, quite unable to sit another moment.

The doors push open at the end of the corridor, and there are two gurneys. And then two more. Lady Grantham is on her feet now, too. We press against the walls to allow the orderlies to pass with the beds. We both note with a look to each other that these first men are not the ones we have waited for.

Surely, the next set are, her eyes seem to say to me.

We recognize a bit of Lord Grantham's baritone in the same instant. And we smile. He is in a stretcher, but inclined and talking. It is quite heartening to see him awake and seeming well.

He manages, "Anna," as he is pushed past, but his eyes are on her. His wife falls in with the procession and is gone with him.

I walk to meet John then. It is him, I can tell, with something more than my eyes.

I am looking at a free man, I muse, although he is looking worse for the wear. Still, the final notice on his divorce came a few weeks earlier. It had been delivered in care of his mother. And she had in turn notified me. I sent him a letter as soon as I heard and I know his mother wrote him as well.

So, soon, very soon, God willing, I will marry him, and he can be mine to care for properly.

As he is brought closer, it is hard to rectify this. That this is him. His hair without the pomade. And longer. The pounds he's lost. The gray color to him.

I follow while he is transferred to the ward bed. I keep my distance until the nurse tells me I may have a few minutes and only that.

I can't say a word, I find. I am afraid that if I try, I'll merely cry. And so I am just standing here, pushing at his hair and biting my lip.

"I love you, Anna."

I answer him and choke on the words.

"I'm fine, don't fuss," comes a rougher version of his voice.

"I'm not fussing," I manage to tell him. "And you are not fine." But I give him a thin smile.

He will be on convalescent leave once he is discharged from the hospital here. That is his plan, he tells me. We will have to see what the doctors and the Army actually have in mind for him, I think.

"I'll be up and around in no time. The ribs don't even bother me any more. It just the foot."

"What are you doing Tuesday then?" I ask.

"What did you have in mind?" He is smiling, as if we were enjoying a joke.

But I am all seriousness now. "I thought, if you'd still have me, we could get married."

I can tell from his look that he is feeling lost.

"The divorce," I explain. "Your mother got the decree 3 weeks ago. She wrote you."

"I haven't seen any mail in weeks," he says with a catch in his voice. "Nothing caught up with me at the field hospital." He shakes his head. "You read the papers over. You're sure? Quite sure?"

"Sure. "

"Monday, Anna," he tells me with a beautiful grin. "Make it Monday. Hell, I'll marry you every day next week."

/ / / / / EPILOGUE / / / / / /

He married me just the once. He joked that was enough as he had spent so long dreaming of the day, that it was as if he had done it a hundred times over.

I wrote my parents a very, very long letter finally. And with the last bit of his convalescent leave, we travelled out to see them. I was nervous when we did, but my family saw in John what I had always seen. The heart in him. The honor. The honesty. That last morning there my mother sat with me as I packed. She sees something more, she told me. A devotion for me that eases her worries.

We are with the training unit, and he has been promoted. He is a Company Sergeant Major Instructor now. Promotions come fast these days with the holes left in every unit. There are so many dead and wounded. And every time I thank God for our luck, I pray for all the others.

It was September of 1915 when they moved him to Aldershot so that he could work with the trainees. And it is May 1916 now. How is it this war continues? And where are the Americans when we need them?

Despite the war, my man has delivered. I will give him that. We had our trip to the sea side when we had our two days at Brighton. There's a place of our own (even if it is on loan to us from the Army). White curtains (a present from my parents) push into our room on the breeze. And there most assuredly are days spent in bed making love in broad day light.

I realized I was pregnant about 4 months after I moved into the married quarters with him. He has been such a mixture of joy and concern since we had the doctor's confirmation.

John has two days off right now, and he means for us to spend them here in our rooms. He doesn't want me traveling about, although I tell him, I feel fine.

We are having a lovely, decadent day of it, having only risen from bed when we wanted to, only to tumble back in once breakfast was done. I think he means to spend the whole of his weekend like this, spooned behind me, his hand cradling my stomach.

"What did you think when you met me? You were so good to me... from that very first day," John says. "What is it you saw?"

"I could tell you were worth the chance," I tell him earnestly. "That much I could see, right off. And it didn't take long to know that there was something in us that was in answer to the other."

"Mmm. You were always the smart one," he whispers. "I was the one who's predictions always seemed off."

"Mind you remember that," I tease back.

"Oh, I shall. I shall try. But what if I forget?" he asks with a wicked grin.

I roll over to push at John's shoulder, to force him to his back. With a tug at the covers, I am able to climb astride him. "Forget and I shall be forced to pin you down and explain it all to you." I run my hands up his chest to then pull his arms over his head. I lean into his wrists and kiss him deeply.

He chuckles then, ruining my seduction. But I don't mind.

"It's amazing how forgetful an old soldier can be," he tells me with something shy of innocence.

"Well, we're both lucky I'm as patient as I am then."