A/N: Trigger warning for implication of content in 4.3. This is 4.4's drabble, to be clear.


Bound by Duty

She walked with purpose, though her steps were still too painfully slow and her hands trembled where they clamped by her sides. The permission she had sought had been granted, and the decision had been made.

(It had been made from the moment she had been scorched, her existence turning to black and ashes)

She came to a stop in the empty corridor, turning to glance behind her. Her wits were permanently alive, wearing the patience of every nerve, making her unfit for purpose.

(She half expected to see the dark trail streaming out from her heels, marking every movement she made, telling exactly of what she was)

Still, she needed to plough on. That's what she had always been taught to do. She remembered the way her mother used to berate the ill, those who complained about even the slightest ailment. You'll get no sympathy from me for being idle. God put us on this earth to toil, and there's no cure like working hard and feeling the better for it.

(But I'll never be cured. I will always be sick and soiled, infected to the core. She would think I had brought this on. Perhaps I did. Perhaps Mrs Hughes was wrong)

The sourness rose up again to her throat; she had a terrible inclination that she would be sick and cause a scene. The immediate sensation ebbed away but the shard that was lodged there remained. A fraction of her heart wasn't listening, fought against everything else she had made up her mind about.

(Perhaps you can say something. You needn't tell the truth, but you don't need to lie, either)

She closed her eyes for a moment, willed herself to remember John and what his hands felt like against her.

(She couldn't; she just couldn't)

Her head took over, rightly.

(You must accept it. You can't infect him too, not when he's so good and undeserving of this)

Her heels clicked loud against the floor, pushing her reluctantly towards the hall. He was sitting with his back to her, a couple of housemaids and Thomas sat opposite, chairs apart. Her face was already set and her voice came out monotone. It still seemed strange to do away with the feeling, despite everything.

"Mr Bates."

She wished that he wouldn't smile at her, not even that barely-visible crescent. He had known she wouldn't come to sit in one of the row of empty chairs next to him and ambled out into the corridor where she stood, stiff as a board.

"You look tired," he said, far too soft.

(He didn't reach for her, thank god)

"Once they're changed, we can go back - "

"I'm going to move out of the cottage. From tonight."

The speed at which she had blurted it lessened the force at which his face fell, to a certain degree.

"I have her Ladyship to see to as well now, and if I'm to perform my duties properly I think it's the best all round. Don't you agree?"

(She had a duty to him, to disappear slowly from his life, to shrink away to nothing until nobody noticed her, a ghost within the walls haunting the house)

"I don't know," he murmured, chancing a look into her eyes. "If you think so –

"Yes," she answered curtly. "I do. For now."

Silence strung out as he looked just past her shoulder, gaze fixed in place.

(She begged him to look elsewhere, else she might scream it out)

He shifted on his feet, taking notice of his cane against the floor. "I can bring some of your things, so you're sorted."

(She decided not to take notice of the waver in his voice)

"Tomorrow, maybe. I have a nightgown left over in my old room. I don't want to trouble you."

"You're never any trouble – "

(And that was it. The first piece removed)

"I have some things to do. I doubt I'll see you again after changing, so goodnight."

His reply was delayed, and she took a last look at his face before moving past him swiftly, climbing the steps to the quarters.

A voice from long ago lingered, the person she had left behind.

(The only ruin I recognise is to be without you)

Ruined twice, the pain seeping into her bloodstream.

Already she prayed against her sins that there would be no more.