No matter what they took from her, Vera would always have her hate.

Others would have denied having such feelings. Claimed to be pure as fallen snow or that they were just in their actions. Tried to play it off that they were the hero of the story and that the world just didn't understand why they did the things they did. Shed the tears or plead with someone to listen or cling to the delusion of righteousness like it was a security blanket able to hide them from all the horrible monsters that lurked in the world.

Vera O'Malley though wasn't a fool, however. She refused to be deluded and that included deluding herself. She knew who she was and why she did the things she did.

'There is no grand purpose. No divine right. God doesn't care about us let alone bless us to go about doing his work like some crusading knight in sinful lands.'

No. Vera did all she did out of hate. It had been her companion since she was a babe, had been her truest friend growing up, remained beside her while all others fell behind, and even now it remained with her, steadfast and strong. They had stripped her of her clothing and forced her to wear a drab gray uniform that scratched and itched in the worst places. They'd cut her hair short to make sure she didn't spread lice and refused her the basic things like makeup. Her money had been taken, along with all her other possessions, so that her 'victims' might be repaid for their losses. Vera had been shoved into a tiny room in the depths of a ocean liner without even a sink to wash her hands or a place to void her bowels; if she wanted to do either she had to wait for one of the three times a man came to check on her and would allow her relief. And even then he would openly watch her because she wasn't granted the privilege of having a door separate her from them. She was treated like an animal, just another head of cattle to be marked and shipped and sent off to her new buyer. Degraded and made the lowest of the low.

But they could not take her hate away.

When she'd been a child she'd always been jealous of the children she was forced to play with. They had nicer clothing and toys or lived in bigger houses or could go on trips she couldn't. And if they had none of these things and were so poor their shoes had holes in them and they ate just bread for breakfast their parents always loved them more than Vera's ever did. Her father busy working from sunrise till sunset hauling garbage along the river, coming home stinking of other people's trash. Her mother to busy to notice her, focusing on her brothers and sisters. She was the middle child of a family of 7 and had an older sister and two little sisters, meaning she never was truly the leader of the children nor the baby. She was just Vera and it burned her that she wasn't someone more. She knew she had it in her to be greater and yet life denied her that.

There was no one from her childhood that she kept in contact with, be they friend or blood relative. Her last neighbors in London had all thought she was an only child with parents long dead. She didn't know where her father and mother were but she knew they were alive as she was sure that someone would have contacted her to at least let her know that they weren't. Not that she would have attended any funeral; there was no place for her there, not anymore. If she died no one would come to her funeral and she didn't want them too. It was foolish and silly and she was beyond such things. Weak, pathetic sentiments.

'And then there is John,' she thought to herself as she laid on the hard piece of wood and paper-stuffed fabric the sailors had told her was supposed to be a bed. Above her the cracked ceiling hung and she wondered if the ship was hit with a hard enough wave would it come crashing down and kill her; probably not as that would be far too quick for her and she planned to make her death, whenever it came, be as drawn out and painful as possible for all those involved.

Still, her mind went back to John Bates. She'd heard him give his own take on their marriage, that they were friends that had confused lust for love and gotten married too soon. And then John, bitter over his injured leg and how it had prevented him from moving up father in the army and being stuck at a desk pushing paperwork about when he wanted to do so much more and not feel like a burden, had turned to the bottle. Drinking had made him violent, he had turned what love she might have had for him into hate, and in the end he'd made his own wife into his enemy. Which was why she had done all she could to ruin his life and why he, in turn, had taken her own blows against him as punishment for not being a better man.

'If only he knew,' she thought to herself, a smile gracing her lips that would have made Lucifer turn around and walk out the door if he saw it, shuddering in revulsion. 'Maybe one day I'll tell him… when he is fully broken and thinks he has nothing left to lose I will show that I can take one more thing away from him.' She thought of how he would break down, how he would sob and scream at the Heavens when she revealed how he'd built up everything on lies and the truth was far darker than he could have ever guessed.

'I wonder if he ever thinks about Claire?' Vera thought to herself as she gazed at the ceiling, seeing not the fading and cracking wood and metal that hung about her head but instead the heart-shaped face of that small little slip of a woman. Delicate, talking in a voice that even when projected was barely a whisper, so fragile that if you sneezed on her she'd probably shatter. And yet everyone in their village had loved her. She was the flower that grew from a clump of manure. It didn't matter that she never pulled her own weight, didn't work as hard as Vera and the rest of the girls… Claire always got the attention of others. Boys offered to carry her books, younger girls asked for her advice, teachers and the local minister all praised her for being so saintly.

It made Vera sick even now to think it.

Vera had hated Claire for being all she could never be. Graceful was a word that would never be attributed to Vera O'Malley. She moved through life rather than prancing about through it. She couldn't sing or dance and make sweet music; her voice was too harsh and she had little patience for the delicate arts. She could sew, yes, but not things of beauty. She made practical things, the kind of things people NEEDED! But damn it all if everyone praised Claire for making some little design on a piece of cloth. Everyone wanted to be with her.

And she'd only had eyes for John Bates.

'And why not? Back then he was actually worth something.' Vera wasn't so cold, nor delusional, to deny that at one time her husband (and he would always be her husband, no matter what the church or the government or even that bothersome man thought; he belonged to HER and that was all that mattered) had been a worthy catch. Tall, strongly built, but not some thug. No, John had a mind and he knew how to use it. Show him how to do something and he'd be teaching you within a week. When he read something it was locked away and never lost. He could speak powerfully; many in the town had suggested he join the Church, claiming that with his strength and his passion he could preach the word of God and convert every heathen.

John and Claire would have become the most powerful couple of their generation. Together they would have motivated each other to new heights, rising in the world till lords and kings wanted to be known as their friends.

Vera didn't merely want to replace Claire in that scenario… she wanted to ensure the little bitch never got the chance.

It had been simple enough. Claire, for as much as she was the focus of attention in their village, was a meek thing and not prone to stepping forward and saying her desires. As such she mooned for John Bates but never told him how she felt. Thus it was easy for Vera to befriend the young man, pretend that she was becoming his closest ally, and then convince him that marriage was the way to go.

'Whatever happened to that little whore?' Vera thought to herself. 'Most likely married to another man and oh so happy… though perhaps some days she looks at her children and wonder what they might have looked like had they had John's nose or his eyes? Heh… I bet she mourns for the life that will never be but her own honor won't let her say the words. So she dies a little each day thinking of what I took from her and no one but her knows it!'

Still, even that warm thought could not compare to the hatred she kept wrapped around her like an old woman's shawl. For whenever she thought of John Bates hatred was always so close behind.

Quickly it had become clear to her after marrying John that she had no desire to actually be married to him. Marriage meant being dedicated to another… but for Vera the only person she truly cared about was herself. She'd found herself suddenly trapped… like the child that begs for a puppy only to realize it wasn't all that fun to take it out for walks and clean up after it. She couldn't get rid of her mutt that easily, either; divorce was frowned upon and cause was needed. And John was a good man back then, decent and kind. No court would ever believe that she had a legitimate reason to want to leave him. And she couldn't drive him away herself as it would only make her look bad.

'The army… that should have solved all my problems.'

It had been Vera who had convinced him to join up when the Boer War had begun. She'd spun happy little tales in his ear but in reality it was merely convenience for her. He was off in some pisspot of a land that no one really cared about, filled with cities whose names a proper English tongue couldn't even master. She would get to stay behind as the worried wife, getting sympathy and respect from those around her, without actually having to deal with him. It had been a lovely time, with Vera able to forget that John even existed and merely go about living as she wished.

And then he'd gotten injured and been reduced to a desk job at the base.

Not only did that mean that he was around but it also forced her to leave London because it was expected for her to stay with the regiment now that John was pushing papers about. It had disgusted and annoyed Vera to no end that he had gotten himself injured and things only got worse when John, bitter about in injury, began to find solace in a bottle. She knew exactly what fate would hold for her then: a drunk that did little with his life, lurching from one assignment to the next, with her forced to tail after him, marriage shackling her to him.

She'd needed to get rid of him.

It started easily enough. She'd wanted to drive him mad, make him think that he was losing his mind. She hid items and feigned confusion when he asked about them. She lied about conversations. Once or twice she'd changed his pocket watch so he was always running just a bit late. One of Vera's favorite things to do was to claim during one of his 'black out' drinking sessions that he'd struck her. Oh, John had a temper and had a few times lashed out at her, but that was always rather minor. A smack on the cheek or grabbing her wrist and giving her a shake. But John was too good of a man to do too much damage to her… a weak, pathetic man who couldn't stand up for himself. She knew that it terrified him to become a monster so she'd sought to make him think he was just that. A cut here, breaking a bottle over her own head… oh, the pain had been so worth it to see his horror at what he'd done during their 'fight'.

But it had never been enough and thus she'd needed to press her advantage. The regiment silver-

The boat suddenly rocked and she steadied herself before she nearly fell out of her bed.

"That was a bad one," her roommate Phyllis stated, reminding Vera that she wasn't alone actually alone in her cabin. Not that she was complaining about that; the other woman was quiet, kept to herself, didn't waste time moaning or complaining. But if Vera DID want to talk to someone she was willing to converse. Made her the perfect person to share a room with… if only they weren't being dragged back to England to face a judge. Better Phyllis, with her long frame and sad eyes and quiet demeanor, than some sobbing wreck of a child or filth spewing criminal that thought she could impress her by calling out all her sins. No, they could sit in their cabin and wait to face judgement.

'And a noose, in my case,' Vera thought bitterly to herself. 'Damn that spy!' How was it fair that she was roped in with him and his crimes? Of course she'd known he was a German national and of course she had helped him out but she was desperate! And what harm did it do? Get a few men killed? Men died all the time! That was why the good Lord had created war, to thin them out!

"I'm surprised we're still sailing in this storm," Phyllis said, looking towards one of the corners of the room… though why Vera wasn't quite for sure. Of course there wasn't any good place to look in their quarters so she supposed the corner was better than anything. "I would have thought they would have set down anchor or something."

"Wouldn't make the storm stop," Vera reasoned, deciding that trying to get some sleep was useless. "And they are in a rush to get us into port." She knew that they were getting close, as the man that brought them their food twice a day had mentioned that he might only be seeing them one more time. She shifted so that she was sitting on her bed (or cot if you wanted to be accurate… or hard lump on top of wood and cheap iron if you wanted to be VERY accurate) and looked over at Phyllis. "I don't know if you realize this but I am a rather important prisoner."

"Oh," the other woman said, moving to sit up as well, looking over at Vera. "I… didn't want to ask. Didn't want to offend you considering we're in such small confines-"

Vera let out a huff, waving her off. "What does it matter at this point what you think of me or I think of you? At best we're headed to a cell that we'll die in." She shrugged. "Or at least I am. And you must be just as bad if they didn't see a problem with sticking you in here with me." She actually felt rather smug about that… how important the British Government found her to be. They had hired the fucking Pickertons to drag her back from the American West just to face judgment. There were war heroes stuck on the front who hadn't gotten as much effort in getting them back home as she got. "Tell the ladies in the yard that you survived bunking with Vera O'Malley… it might just save your life."

"What… did you do?"

"Heh… what didn't I do?" Vera asked. "But what got me here?" She tapped her cot. "Bad choices."

"I think that is what got everyone who has ever found themselves on the wrong side of the law in our position," Phyllis told her. "That certainly is what brought me here. Bad choices."

"What choices?" Vera asked. Phyllis was like a puzzle that she just couldn't solve. So quiet, so kept together, yet clearly she had done something horrible that had seen her flee England, go to the United States where they didn't merely scoff at the idea of good morals and values but celebrate those that went against all such things, and attract enough attention to warrant being dragged right back to the Mother Land. It just didn't make sense. Vera was good at reading people, knowing what their true measure was. And Phyllis? Oh, that wasn't a woman that killed in cold blood.

'Or maybe she is,' Vera thought to herself. After all, it seemed like the most unlikely of people could be the most vile of monsters. Vera knew that well.

"I trusted the wrong man," Phyllis admitted after a few long moments, saying the words as if they had to be torn from her soul with hooks. "Let him convince me that how he saw the world was the way it actually as. That lead me into doing things that I never thought I would do. I broke the law for him… and he didn't care. No… that isn't right. He was happy… happy he found some stupid girl he could destroy and ruin."

Vera let out a laugh at that.

"Sorry," she said when Phyllis shot her a look, though with her quiet demeanor it wasn't as fierce as it could be. "I wasn't laughing at you."

"It seems like you were," Phyllis countered, though without true anger or rage. Or perhaps there was, only not in the way one might have thought. It reminded Vera a bit of how her mother had scolded her as a child; less 'You ungrateful child!' and more 'I am very disappointed in you'. The kind of scolding that made Vera always feel far worse than any blow ever could.

"Not at all," Vera said with an annoyed huff. "I merely was laughing because your tale is mine as well. I latched myself onto a man and it will now end with me being led to the gallows. That is the danger of interacting with men."

"Or maybe we just chose the wrong men," Phyllis stated. "There are goods ones out there, I am sure."

"No there aren't. The good men you speak of are merely smarter than the ones we've had to deal with. They know how to hide their wicked ways. It only goes to show that Eve should have, upon coming into existence, grabbed a rock and caved in Adam's skull."

"Eve ate the apple. She caused Original Sin."

Vera scoffed at that. "What do you hear happening more often: a woman refusing to listen to the rules or a man feeling that rules are for all but him and thus he can break them as he wishes?" She shook her head. "No… it is far more likely that it was Adam who sinned and it was men who decided to pin the blame on women… like they always do." She frowned as she thought of her own life, frustration and hatred bubbling up deep within her as she thought of John and how he had caused her so much grief and pain. "I made the mistake in believing it best to keep a man close, where I might keep an eye on him, and ensure that he did as I wanted. Now I see that it is far better to just cut the problem away. If a limb becomes infected the doctor doesn't tell you to keep it and hope it gets better. It is removed and the patient is saved."

It burned her so much to think of John Bates being happy. The Pickertons had been all too happy to let her know how that man was doing, how his life had turned out when she'd been forced to flee England. While she had fallen into the mud and been forced to claw through it looking for whatever scraps she could get her hands on it seemed like John's star had just kept rising.

'A young wife,' Vera thought, thinking of the maid John had married. She knew little of her but she could easily imagine her: tall, with perfect hips and swollen breasts that would make men drool, raven black hair as dark a pitch that would never go gray, ambitious and strong willed and able and willing to pounce the moment an opportunity arose. Someone who had never known a day of hard labor in her life and who scoffed at any that begged for her aid.

'A child.' Vera had never wanted children… the thought of something growing and squirming inside her had made her ill. A parasite leeching onto her and feeding off her… and then it would rip its way out of her and demand even MORE. Her body would be destroyed and afterwards her freedom robbed and she was supposed to weep and smile? No… no she'd never wanted that despite how much John longed for children. She'd been careful to make sure he never got that wish but now with his tall beautiful dark haired bride he got just that.

'A business.' The Grantham Arms… a hotel that was his own domain, something he could control, be lord of. Filled with employees who praised him for being so wise and bright. Who would do whatever he asked without question.

'A return of his military honors.' That one had burned her the most, for it had brought her such pleasure to know that she had robbed him of that. Prison of course hadn't been easy for John but it had been a weak slap on the wrist compared to knowing that the respect and honor he had gathered around himself during his time serving had been tossed away. Tossed away for HER. That made it even worse. He'd given it all up for a woman who had hurt him and he had grown to loathe. She imagined that every night, just before he shut his eyes, he remembered how his rank and his pension and his clean record had been forever coated in tar thanks to him taking the fall for her. He would of course tell all it was a noble sacrifice; a modern Sydney Carton. Yet in those dark moments when the moon was out and the world was silent all he could hear was her laughing at him and his failure…

But now it had been all undone. No, it was far worse than that. John hadn't merely been restored he'd been REWARDED! She was forced to flee with only a single suitcase while he was given a rise in rank, wealth, and the friendship apparently of a general. Allen Lothrop… oh, she had heard that name plenty of times and he had quickly been added to her list of people that would learn how foolish it was to get on her bad side.

The door knob rattled and one of the sailors entered after a moment, carrying a pair of shackles. He didn't need to tell her what was about to happen, it was clear: they'd reached the docks and soon would need to disembark. From there it would be a ride to another jail and then a wait to face judgment for her sins. To sit in the docket as a man in an ugly white wig told her what would happen to her, how she must 'repay' society. And most likely, and aggravating, John Bates would be sitting there with his family, wearing a suit nearly as smartly as he wore a smile, enjoying her disgrace and failure-

Vera launched herself forward, slamming the door hard against the sailor, dazing him from the blow. She pulled back just enough to allow him to slump to his knees before she slammed the door upon him again, catching him in the side and knocking the wind right out of him. This time when she let up he pitched forward and Vera swung the door one more time, cracking his skull against it and rendering him utterly senseless.

"Hold the door open," Vera hissed as she dragged the man in, sticking her head out and glancing about in both directions to confirm that no one had heard her. The fools hadn't thought her a threat and thus not posted any guards at the ends of the hall. 'None of them realize that a wolf is most dangerous when cornered and caged,' she thought as she stripped off the man's jacket and threw it on over the gray uniform she was wearing, buttoning it up. It was too big for her but she wasn't looking to get close to anyone… just keep anyone that might see her from a distance from taking a second look. "Hold it open so the door doesn't lock on us."

"What are you doing?" Phyllis asked though to her credit she did as she was told. Good. Vera didn't have time for fools and morons.

"Do you want to die soon? Or after spending 20 years locked away in a cell?" Vera shook her head. "I have far too much living to do." Tossing on the sailor's boots, grimacing as her bare feet touched the sweaty insides, she yanked on the sailor's cap before nodding and clomping her way over to Phyllis. She hadn't bothered to pull off the man's pants as she knew that that would only trip her up and she needed speed at the moment. "Arms in front of you. Make it look like you are restrained. Move quick but no long steps… shuffle."

"We're escaping?" Phyllis asked.

Vera scoffed. "Of course we are and if you want to come with me you'll keep quiet."

The other prisoner did as she was told. Vera was pleased; she would need someone like Phyllis to help her.

It wasn't hard to find their ways out of the bowels of the ship and make their way to the deck. After all, they weren't looking for one room amongst many; they wanted to get to the main deck and that meant going up. There were a few touch and go moments, when they needed to duck back around a corner or hide behind a door when they saw a sailor coming, but luck was on their side that they never saw any of the Pickertons that had been tasked with bringing them back.

Vera took a breath of salty air as they finally emerged on the main deck, darting amongst pipes that protruded from the wood that made up the deck and the crates that held who knows what or cares.

"Not that way," she hissed as Phyllis moved towards one of the gangplanks that was being set up by the sailors for disembarking. "Too many eyes."

"It's the only way off the ship."

"Not the only way," Vera said as she headed towards the rail.

"Go… go over?" Phyllis whispered.

"Hell is hot. I'll take cold water. We make for shore and then find clothing… should be at least one person hanging their clothes out on a line even in this weather. Worst case we steal." Phyllis stared at her for that and she grit her teeth. "We're already criminals!"

Phyllis swallowed but nodded and with only a moment's pause the two of them leapt over the edge.

The water was icy cold and instantly sapped her strength but Vera kicked hard, wiggling out of the coat and moving towards the surface, Phyllis bursting out right after her. The two began to swim hard, already hearing calls from the deck that they'd heard splashing. Vera pushed on harder, her hatred giving her speed.

'Get dressed, get some money… and then head to Downton,' she thought. 'And then, John Bates, we're going to have one final meeting…'

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: Well… shit.

Yeah, John might be having it easy this go around but NOTHING can ever be simple, can it? So why not have an escaped felon coming after him?

Now then, onto our plotbunny. Robert was always fond of saying that Downton was his 4th child. That his goal was to aid it, help it, make it rise up and be better. And it certainly is a character in the show, isn't it? Having seen so much and experienced such major events.

So what would happen if one day… Downton decided it was done being merely the background?

Taking place right at the beginning of Series 3 Mary and Matthew are fighting about the money Lavinia's father left him. Mary is pressuring him to save Downton, that he must help the house… at which point they hear, "Oh bloody hell would you stop fighting with him? I am sick to death of you two bickering all the time!"

And the turn to watch the walls warp and a young woman form from the building, rolling his eyes in annoyance and telling Mary off. "I don't need Matthew to invest in me! I'm perfectly fine. Hell, sell off some of this shite you keep putting in me! I don't care and it just clutters me all up! Makes me feel fat!"

Yeah, Downton creates a physical manifestation of itself, Abby Crawley, to step in and fix things because she's tired of all the drama and wants this settled NOW!

Robert unable to handle Tom as his son-in-law? Abby is MORE than happy to inform him off all the maids his anscestors buggered ('Your grandfather loved to take the chimney girl right there on that chair!' Abby said, pointing to the seat Cora was sitting in… who probably stood up and moved to the love seat. 'Oh, mama, don't bother… everything has been used to fuck'). Edith get's stood up at the altar? Abby traps Sir Richard in her for a week and only lets him out after she's bored, then suggests she just go to London and bang that nice reporter fellow (Abby's a bit of a sex hound). Anna and Bates keep dancing around each other? Abby locks them in a room with the village minister and declares , "Wedding. NOW!" Cora's mother shows up?

Abby loves her and wants her to stay forever.