A/N: Merry Christmas to those who celebrate and happy weekend to those who don't!

Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey.

The Meowst Purrfect Solution

Christmas had never been a time of the year that John particularly cared about. As a youth there had been happy memories with his mother, but those had soured in the following years, when each one with Vera brought nothing but more arguments, hatred, and drink. He'd spent three Christmases in prison, first away from his mother and then from his darling Anna, which had been the hardest thing to bear.

They'd had happy ones between all of the despair, of course, but sometimes the happiness had felt tainted, as if the poison was sure to spread again.

It had taken a long time to shake off that particular beast, its claws insisting on shredding his hope to bloody ribbons.

But things had improved with time. And there was so much to celebrate with each year that passed. The birth of their son. Their very own hotel. Good friendships.

Johnny was now at an age where he could understand the excitement of the season. Three years old, his eyes lit up with excitement every time he saw a twinkling Christmas tree, and the stories of Father Christmas fuelled his impatience for the special day. He had made his own Christmas list this year, in red crayon, littered with incomprehensible spelling errors and unfathomable drawings. Anna and John had walked him to the post box at the end of the street and John had lifted him up into his arms to let him drop the envelope in himself. Johnny's face had been alight with joy at this mission, and had been even more thrilled to receive a reply back a few days later from Saint Nick himself, crafted by Anna's deft hand, promising that he would do all he could to fulfil the little boy's wishes.

There was one wish John didn't think they'd be able to fulfil. In his list to Santa, Johnny had asked for a puppy. He'd always been enamoured with Lord Grantham's Tia'a, and had decided that he needed a puppy of his own. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like it would be logistically possible. Anna was already busy juggling her time between running the hotel and looking after Johnny. John did his best to alleviate that where he could, taking his son for long stretches during the day so she could help the young girl they'd employed as a housemaid, but could be difficult for the both of them to keep on top of the important tasks they needed to complete each day whilst also keeping a watchful eye on their rambunctious son. They would never trade anything about him for an easier life, but it did mean that they were limited in opening their doors to something like a puppy, which would require far more attention than they could possibly give it on top of everything else they had going on.

So, they were resigned to breaking their son's heart on this particular matter. It was something they were dreading, for they were always determined that he should never want for anything, their darling little boy who had been such a miracle. But nor would they be selfish enough to make a dog's life more miserable by not being able to give it the proper care and attention it needed.

The days leading up to Christmas were a blur of activity. Although the business slowed, with families naturally choosing to stay at home together, there were a few couples who had booked to stay because their family's homes were too full to accommodate them. They wouldn't be spending much time in the hotel so there was less work for Anna and John to do around the place. Anna could afford not to go into work, spending her time at home instead, getting the house into the Christmas spirit with decorations galore and the tempting promise of festive baking.

There was little John looked forward to more than getting home from the hotel to be greeted with a kiss from his wife under the mistletoe and a delectable goodie for after their dinner, the cottage flushed with warmth from the merrily crackling fire, Johnny stretched out on the rug in front of it, playing with his wooden horse or poring over words in the books he could almost manage by himself now.

On this night, Christmas Eve, he was more ready than usual to shut the world out. He'd left Henry, the young lad, in charge with the usual instructions to come calling for him should he need it, but John hoped very much that that wouldn't be the case tonight. He wanted to be able to spend Christmas Eve entirely with the two people who meant the most in the world to him.

Johnny greeted him with enthusiasm as soon as the door clicked closed behind him, barrelling into his knees with a joyous cry of, "Daddy!"

John huffed as the sizeable whirlwind that was his son threatened to knock him off his feet; he caught his balance as his bad leg threatened to waver under him, thudding back against the door. Johnny paid this no mind, scrabbling like a monkey climbing a tree trunk to cling to his father around the neck. With difficulty, John extricated his arm to support his son's behind, holding him close. He refused to acknowledge that this was getting more difficult to do by the day. The thought that he would have to stop this before his son was ready for him to was too much to bear. Instead he pressed a kiss against Johnny's temple, breathing in the scent of soap and starch that was so indelibly him.

"Johnny, be careful," Anna scolded, appearing in the doorway. Her short hair had gone a little limp from the humidity of the kitchen, and she had flour streaked across her cheek.

"He's all right, just a little excited," said John. "Aren't you, little man?"

Johnny nodded enthusiastically. "Santa's coming!"

"He won't be if we don't finish the baking and get upstairs for an early night," said Anna. At that, Johnny slithered out of his father's grip at once, barrelling back to the kitchen as fast as his stocky little legs would allow.

"That was cruel," John quipped as he hung his bowler hat on the hook and shucked out of his thick coat. Anna threw the dishcloth over her shoulder and moved forward to help, stretching on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.

"It's the last time we'll be able to get him to do something at the first time of asking, let me savour it while I can," she said.

John laughed, bringing her closer by the hips to give her a proper greeting kiss. She pulled back after a few moments, but not before nuzzling into his neck.

"You know you can't kiss me like that so early in the evening," she said. "Not when there is a little one around and food to finish cooking. Now go and get washed up. Dinner will almost be ready by the time you've done that."

John nodded, stealing one last kiss before his wife could duck away from him. Taking one more moment to breathe in the wonderfully familiar smells of home, he made for the stairs, eager to soon be back by his family's side.

It was a pleasant evening. After a hearty meal and cleaning up, they returned to the sitting room to bask in the warmth of the fire and the flickering of the tree lights. Johnny started on the rug in front of the fire, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he drew a crude likeness of Santa and his reindeer to leave out. When he was done, he crawled onto his father's lap to listen to him read aloud. John tightened his hold on him and dropped a kiss into his blond hair, smiling as Anna shuffled closer so she could rest her head against his shoulder. There was nothing in the world that could be better than this. He still sometimes couldn't believe his good fortune.

When it was time for Johnny to go to bed, they helped him plate up a mince pie and a glass of milk, with a carrot off to the side for the reindeer. Johnny offered no protests at all as he scurried up the staircase to his bed, eager to be fast asleep so Santa would come and leave all the gifts he'd hoped for.

Anna and John waited for another hour to make certain that he was sleeping before creeping upstairs to retrieve his gifts. By the time they had arranged them all beneath the tree it was growing late, and Anna yawned widely. Running her hand over his shoulder, she let him know that she was going up to bed, and not to be long in following. He murmured a reply, only half-listening, finished what he was doing, returned the carrot to the larder, ate the mince pie and drank most of the milk, leaving just a few dregs in the bottom to give the impression that Santa had quenched his thirst.

When that was done, he extinguished the lamps and climbed the stairs to bed.

Anna was already tucked into bed, the sheets up to her chin, her eyes closed as she dozed. John completed his nightly ablutions as quietly as he could, slipping into bed beside her. The springs groaned as he settled himself, and Anna hummed sleepily as he moved to slip his arm around her waist and pull her closer to him. Even after all these years he never slept as well as he did when he had her in his arms, reassured by the slight weight of her and her deep, even breathing.

"Love you," she mumbled as he pressed a goodnight kiss to her neck.

"I love you too," he echoed, and finally laid his head down to rest, knowing that Christmas morning and their son's excitement would be here soon enough.

Sooner than he'd thought: he was woken deep in the night by an almighty crash.

He had never been a deep sleeper, not since the war, and he was jerked to awareness at once, already out of bed before Anna's hand had skittered through the warm sheets seeking out his arm.

"What was that?" she whispered, almost too quiet to hear over the thundering heartbeat in his head.

John forced himself to breathe, reaching for his cane. "I'm not sure."

"Has someone broken in?" Anna persisted, swinging her legs out of bed. "You locked up, didn't you?"

"Of course I did," he replied, but then his heart sank with realisation; he couldn't remember if he'd shut the kitchen window. He knew Anna had reminded him to. Christ, could that be it? Could someone have broken in through the kitchen window?

He turned to look at her through the darkness, the shaft of moonlight through the gap in the curtains lighting the stark anxiety on his wife's face. He hated that he was the cause of that look being there. Ever since the night of the attack, she had never overcome her new fear of unexpected noises, of sudden movements. That was nothing less than entirely understandable, of course, but he had always promised himself that he would do what he could to lessen that burden, making sure to announce himself before he came into a room and caught her unaware. And now here they were, with Anna afraid in what should be her safe place, all because he'd been too bloody stupid not to check the cottage's entryways before following her up to bed.

"Go to Johnny's room," he told her in a low voice. "I'll go and see what's going on down there."

She reached out instinctively for his hand. "I don't want you going down there alone!"

"I'll be fine," he reassured her, squeezing her fingers. "I was a soldier, remember? I've faced worse odds and come out fine." Well, not completely fine, what with his ruined leg, but that had put him on the most rewarding path his existence could have taken, leading him straight to the love of his life.

Anna's face was pinched with worry; she clearly didn't feel the same confidence he did. Not that she doubted his abilities—she out of everyone had never given any indication that she noticed his impediment, which over time had made him feel more comfortable in his own skin—but this concern came from the place of a woman wanting to keep her family safe.

Trying to inject as much authority into his tone as possible, he said, "Go to Johnny's room and stay there. Don't come out until I tell you to."

"I'm not leaving you alone!" she hissed.

They were wasting time they potentially didn't have. Fixing her with a stern look, he made the request an order. "You and Johnny are the most important things to me. Do it."

Evidently realising that they didn't have time to argue, and knowing that he was right that someone needed to be there with Johnny, Anna nodded reluctantly. They edged out of the room together, and John waited until he'd seen the hem of her nightgown flash out of sight before descending the stairs, cane held up in the air like a weapon. He did his best to avoid the creaking floorboards, ears pricked for any sign of the intruders. He couldn't hear anything truly out of the ordinary, perhaps an odd skittering that could have been conjured by his frenetic imagination, but certainly nothing that could suggest there was someone unwanted in the house. Unless, of course, they had heard his arrival and were lying in wait in the darkness beyond, preparing to beat him bloody…

Hyper aware of the way that the blood thundered through his head, John carefully sidled into the kitchen, his hands sweaty on his cane as he made a quick assessment of his surroundings. No hulking shadow that could be another person, but without getting the light on, he wouldn't know for certain…

He fumbled blindly for the oil lamp, preparing to swing at a moment's notice…

Light flooded the room, disorientating him for the briefest of moments. John whipped around hastily, checking all corners of the room for a surprised intruder.

Nothing.

Heartbeat slowing just slightly, he limped over to the kitchen window, which he had indeed left open. The curtain fluttered lazily in the cold breeze from outside, and he pulled it closed with a snap.

There was a small, scampering sound again.

He whirled around at once, raising his cane, eyes darting for any sign of this intruder…

And at last his gaze settled upon it.

He released the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

In the small puddle of milk that had been spilled from the glass that had once been standing, was a tiny, tiny kitten. It was a skinny little thing, its ginger fur mangled and ratty. Milk clung to its muzzle where it had guzzled greedily at the remnants left behind, evidently knocking it over in its eagerness to reach the contents.

He couldn't help himself: he started to laugh, more out of relief than anything else. Even if he didn't want to admit it aloud, he had been afraid as he crept down the stairs, afraid that he might not be able to protect his family. How silly it seemed now that he had the truth.

"Anna, it's all right!" he called up the stairs. "There's nothing to worry about!"

A few moments later his wife appeared at the top of the stairs, face breaking into a relieved smile. Johnny clung to her nightdress, peering around cautiously.

"Daddy, I should be asleep!" he said shrilly. "Santa won't leave me any presents if I'm awake!"

"Don't worry about that, son," John reassured him.

"What was it?" Anna pressed, resting her hand against Johnny's head as he continued to grouse to himself.

"Was it Santa?" Johnny asked fearfully.

John laughed. "No, it wasn't Santa. Though the little fella had a very good reason for breaking into the house!"

Anna frowned. "What? So someone did break in? That's not something to find amusing!"

"Come down and see what I mean."

"I can't!" Johnny said. "Santa won't come!"

"I promise you, there's nothing to worry about." He shared a look with Anna. "Santa's already been."

That changed Johnny's constitution at once. Eyes widening with excitement, he ducked out from his mother's grip and hurtled down the steps, almost missing his step but paying it no mind. "He has!? Can I see? Can I see?"

There was little point in trying to prevent him from doing so, so John sighed and nodded, only just managing to get out of the way before Johnny hurled himself the last few steps and landed clumsily in the hall. Without a backward glance he tore into the sitting room, his exclamations of glee echoing. Anna followed at a much more demure pace.

"So what was it?" she questioned.

"I'll show you."

He led her into the kitchen and gestured to the worktop. In his absence, the kitten had gone on an expedition searching for more milk. He found it again squashed between the tea canisters, its little backside in the air.

Anna gasped when she saw it, her own latent fear disappearing. "A kitten!"

"Little blighter must have crawled in through the kitchen window," said John.

Anna fixed him with a beady stare. "You left the kitchen window open?"

He grimaced. "Only a crack. He's so skinny he must have just been able to slip right in."

"And cause havoc," Anna said, casting her eye over the mess in the kitchen, the splatters of milk across the work surface and the upturned glass which, upon closer inspection, had a deep crack down its centre.

"I suppose it was hungry," said John. "It doesn't look like it's been getting much to eat."

"Poor mite." Anna moved across to fish the kitten out from its hiding place, holding it easily in one hand. It gave an indignant mew, tiny claws protracting. She winced slightly but kept hold of it. "What are we going to do with it?"

John peered down at it, then back up at Anna. They had had this exact discussion about pets just a few weeks ago, hadn't they, when they had been agonising over whether to get Johnny the puppy he had so coveted. And they'd agreed that it would be foolish, that they didn't have the time.

But now, with the wriggling bundle in her hands, did he really have the heart to toss it back out onto the streets, into the cold, to its certain death? It was so small, it couldn't possibly survive for long out there on its own, and it had done nothing wrong, nothing to deserve such a cruel fate…

John sighed. Fate had been sealed from the moment he had discovered it sitting there on the counter.

"Well," he murmured with a resigned grin, "looks like we have a new member of the family."

"Cats are more self-sufficient than dogs, I suppose," Anna mused. "It probably won't be as much trouble…"

"That's true. We can probably leave it to its own devices and it will be quite happy…"

At that moment, Johnny appeared in the doorway. "Mummy, since we're awake now and Santa has been, can I open my presents…?" He caught sight of the tiny bundle in her hands and his eyes widened. "What's that?"

There could be no backing out of their decision; Johnny would never let the kitten out of his sight now he'd latched on to it.

Casting a look in John's direction, Anna grinned. "Well, Johnny, it's a little something from Santa for you. We know you said that you'd like a puppy, but a puppy would have been quite difficult for us to look after with our schedules, but Santa thought that maybe you'd like this kitten instead…?"

There was a moment's pause as Johnny eyed it, then he nodded. "Can I hold it?"

"Of course," said Anna, holding it out. "Looks like a little boy to me."

Johnny took it. After a few moments of wriggling, the kitten settled. Johnny brought it up to his face, brushing his cheek against the fur.

He decided, "I like him."

"Good," said John. "Why don't you give him a name?"

Johnny frowned, evidently wracking his brain for a suitable moniker. Finally he nodded to himself, as if very pleased. He announced, "His name is Carrot."

"Carrot?"

"Yes," said Johnny, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Because Santa's Rudolph likes carrots." He gestured to the empty plate as evidence.

Anna's lips twitched. "Sounds perfect."

John could barely suppress the mirth in his tone. Carrot. Of all the bloody names for a cat. He would sound like a complete madman calling that from the back garden.

But they could hardly deny their son anything. And a silly name for a cat? Well, that was the least of their troubles after all their struggles to have him.

"Hello, Carrot," he said to the bundle of fur, which had started an odd, breathy purr in his boy's grasp. He turned back to Johnny. "And as for the rest of your presents…well, you've already had one, haven't you? So how about you leave the rest until it's light so you've got something to look forward to still?"

Johnny considered it for only a second. "Carrot is the best present ever! I can wait to see the rest."

"Excellent," said Anna. "Well, let's get you back upstairs, little man."

"Can Carrot come with me?"

"Oh, why not? As long as you promise to stay in bed until at least seven?"

"I promise!"

Whether he could stick to that remained to be seen, but from the way that Johnny was snuggling his new friend they would have a hard time prising the kitten away from him.

"See you in the morning, son," John said, bending down for a kiss, which Johnny happily obliged. Anna ushered him from the room with a backwards smile at him. John took a few minutes to clean the mess on the worktop—and close the kitchen window—before following them upstairs.

Anna was back in bed by this time, and rolled over to face him as he shuffled in beside her, moving to wrap her arms around his neck.

"Do you think we've done the right thing?" she asked, toying with his collar.

"Time will tell," he replied. "But we'll make it work. We always do."

"We always do," she agreed, and kissed him before settling her head against his chest. John wrapped his arm around her waist and stared up at the ceiling, listening in total contentment to his wife's breathing.

Time would tell indeed if they'd done the right thing.

When the sun had risen and they poked their head around their son's bedroom door to find him curled up with Carrot asleep on his chest, they knew they had.