Author's Note: This fic idea came around by my friends and I having the longest chat about John's mother's background and his upbringing! We learn so little about her in the show and we learn so little about John's past in general, so I thought it would be interesting to explore and I hope you feel the same as we go through this journey!

Side Note: Of course, we will be talking about domestic violence in this fanfiction but none of the violence will be graphic as I do not feel comfortable going into graphic detail. Any violence will be implied at most.

Staring at the ceiling in the dark, listening to the light rain pattering against the windowpane and her husband snoring at her side, Margaret brought a hand to her stomach and squeezed her eyes closed. She hoped that if sleep came to claim her then she could wake with this whole thing having been nothing but a cruel nightmare, but the unnumerable thoughts racing around inside her head were determined to keep her from achieving that.

How on earth did this happen?

Of course, she knew full well how she ended up in this situation because she wasn't a complete dunce despite not having received much of an education as a girl. It was no secret to her what such relations between a man and a woman had the potential to lead to, but she had been so careful for so many years for this exact reason!

In her youth, becoming a mother and having a child to dote on one day was something she looked forward to. It was something she longed for, honestly, to have a purpose for once in her life and to be good at something. When she and Ciarán met in the crowded bar she was working in one night, many years ago now, he worked his charm and it took minutes at the most for her to fall under his spell and convince herself he had the ability to give her all she ever dreamed of. He showed her kindness and respect, something she'd never known from a man before, and he knew exactly what to say and exactly what to do to make her fall terribly in love with him.

Looking back, falling for him was her greatest mistake and one she was still paying for to date.

It wasn't until they were married and made the move from Scotland to Ireland that he started to show his true colours. It was little things in the beginning, really, snapping at her if she failed to have his dinner on the table the second he came through the door and looking for things to complain about in everything she did, but then things escalated and the compliments he once showered her with turned into horrid insults. He would tell her she was unattractive, saying he had no idea what he saw in her and that she was lucky he was stuck with her, and he'd put her down constantly whether that was in regard to her appearance, weight, or abilities as his wife.

In the early days, the mistreatment was mainly verbal and emotional and it would only become physical when he'd spent the night at the public house and there were a number of drinks in him. Over time though, alcohol became more of a crutch for him and these days she was truly lucky if he was sober when he came in at night. Putting his dinner on the table and taking herself up to their room when she heard the gate open, she'd found, was the best way for her to avoid his vile temper. He would shout her and clatter about downstairs for a while before eating his dinner, stumbling into the lounge with a bottle of something and passing out in his armchair.

It had become a routine at this point and knowing she was bringing a baby into it made her feel sick.

Letting her thumb brush against her stomach, she had to swallow the sob that scrambled its way up her throat as she looked down at her hand. It was the only consolation, she supposed, that for the moment her baby was safe and in a place where her husband couldn't reach it. He had no idea it even existed yet because she refused to tell him. It would be the cause of yet another terrible argument and she just wasn't strong enough to endure that right now, not when she was still trying to get her head around it and plan out what she was going to do. At this point, she truly had no idea, but one thing she knew for certain was that her husband wouldn't hurt it.

Even if it meant her life, which it quite well could, she would keep her child safe.

Running a hand wearily over her face, she turned her head to look at the alarm clock on her nightstand and it was then that she noticed it was already four in the morning. If she was going to have Ciarán's breakfast done when he woke in an hour then she needed to get up and make a start. Carefully pushing back the quilt so not to disturb him, she sat herself up and immediately regretted doing so when she was hit with a wave of nausea. She wasted no time in climbing out of bed and racing across the room to the chamber pot, barely making it in time before vomiting. Breathing heavily when it was over, she reached for some toilet paper to wipe her mouth.

"Oh, mo cheann beag…" She shook her head, glancing at her stomach. "You're going to put me through it."

A look over her shoulder told her that she hadn't disturbed her husband's sleep, a relief if ever there was one, and once she'd stopped shaking she grabbed the chamber pot and made her way out of the room and down to the kitchen. Opening the back door, she emptied the contents of the pot into the pail outside to be dealt with later and set about quickly cleaning the pot so she could finally get started on making Ciarán something to eat.

Bacon and eggs and a pot of tea, that's what he wanted every morning without fail and so she found the frying pans and the tea things and got to work. It actually took her little time to get it done and just as she began to put it all on a plate, a pair of arms slid around her waist from behind and she froze when her husband pressed himself up against her back. Glancing over her shoulder at him, she was a little taken aback when he pressed a kiss onto her lips and when they parted she stared at him. "What, uhm…what was that for?" She asked quietly.

"For goodness' sake, woman," He spat, letting go of her. "I can't do right from wrong with you, can I?"

"Ciarán, I wasn't…" She turned in place, watching him make his way over to the table, but it didn't take long for her to work out her words were falling on deaf ears and so she fell silent and turned back to his breakfast. Once it was plated up and his pot of tea was ready, she carried it all over to the table before setting it down in front of him and padding back over to the counter so that she could fetch the cup of tea she made for herself. "Do you think you'll be home at the normal time tonight?" She asked as she sat down across from him at the table, stirring a little sugar into her tea while he ate. "I just want to know when I should start on your dinner."

"I'm not a fortune teller. I can't predict the future. How should I know what time I'll be home?" He asked.

All she did was nod, lifting her teacup to her lips before catching a slight whiff of the milk and setting the cup down again as she heaved. Keeping her gaze trained on the tablecloth for a time, she prayed that her husband hadn't noticed, but when she looked up at him again and saw the look on his face it became clear that he had.

"What is wrong with you?" He frowned.

"I don't know, I just feel out of sorts at the minute," She lied. "Perhaps I should see a doctor about it."

"You're not making me pay for you to see a doctor just so he can say you have an upset stomach," He pointed his fork at her. "Your father may have indulged you like that, but I'm not as weak as him and you know that."

She leaned back in her seat, bringing her hands to rest in his lap. "Maybe I should take it easy for a while."

"Shirk your duties, you mean?" He narrowed his eyes at her.

"No," She replied through gritted teeth. "I didn't say I might 'shirk my duties', I said I might take it easy."

He stared at her for a second. "What have I told you about taking that tone with me? I don't appreciate it."

She shrank back. "I'm sorry. I…I don't mean it, I'm just tired because I didn't sleep well last night."

"Maybe you should get an earlier night tonight then." He shrugged.

If she didn't feel so unwell, she probably would have laughed at him saying that as if there was so much of a chance an earlier night was an option for her. "Yes," She agreed anyway. "An earlier night might do me good."

"Right, now that's sorted can I actually eat?" He gestured to his plate.

She gave him a hint of a smile in response before he went back to eating his breakfast and she became lost in thought, her hand gravitating towards her stomach beneath the safety of the table as she let out a soft sigh. It was going to be a hard, lonely pregnancy, she could already tell. Even when he found out, because he had to at some point, it wasn't as though he would take stellar care of her or give her the support she would be needing. If anything, him learning about the baby was only going to make him loathe her more than he already did and it would be down to her to make sure everything was okay with both herself and the baby until it finally came.

It wasn't as though it would be anything new though.

She had been caring for herself for years with no help from him, so she was used to it at this point.

She would be all right, she was sure of it.

She just had to be.

Collapsing onto the sofa once her tasks for the morning on her to-do list were all complete, Margaret brushed her hair from her face and let her head fall against the backrest as she closed her eyes for a moment. It would truly be an understatement were she to say she was exhausted. In the time since Ciarán headed to work at six, she had done nothing but clean and the house had now been scrubbed from top to bottom which was how he liked it. All she needed to do now was head into town so she could buy some groceries and something for him to have for his dinner, but it was only eleven and so she didn't really have to go rushing out to get that sorted.

She did, however, arrange to meet Aoibheann at the tea room in town at lunchtime for something to drink, so she would have to start thinking about getting ready for that in a little while. What she was going to wear, she had no idea. It was ridiculous, but she had to be careful with what she chose to wear out in public because her husband had people watching her every move when he was away from her and they told him about everything. What she did, who she met up with, what she said and also what she wore out. If he was displeased with any of those things – and he always found one thing – she would get an earful from him when he returned home.

Most of the time, she opted for an incredibly old coat and brown hat she had because there was little chance a man would have his head turned and it would be one thing her husband couldn't use against her. He hated it when she was looked at by other men and, in his mind, it was always her fault when their heads were turned. It was truly as though anything and everything was her fault when it came to him, even the most stupid things where fault didn't even have a part to play, and she had come to just accept it and apologise when he scolded her. It was easier than having to deal with the consequences of standing up to him once they were alone again.

Some had asked her over the years why she stayed with such a cold, miserable, violent man and her response was always the same. It was likely she would die without him. He had made her so dependent on him that she couldn't leave him and still have a single thing to her name. He owned everything they had, everything was in his name and he controlled all their assets, so were she to try to leave him or were he to abandon her then she would be on the streets or in a workhouse and the mere prospect of either scenario was truly terrifying for her. With him, she had a roof over her head and food in her stomach and that was a bit better than the alternative.

Once she'd sat there and rested up for a little while, she opened her eyes again and saw that it was coming up to quarter past eleven when she looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was about a thirty minute walk into town, so if she started getting dressed now then she would just about make it in time to meet with Aoibheann. Getting up from the sofa, she left the lounge and headed upstairs to the little bedroom she shared with Ciarán before opening the wardrobe and looking at what she had. She settled on a plain grey dress, one that buttoned at the base of her throat and went past her knees, and then turned to her drawers for a pair of thick stockings.

In these clothes, she would be completely covered up and there would be less of a risk of turning heads.

She changed quickly before making her way over to her dressing table to do her hair, a simple bun that sat at the nape of her neck, and once she was ready to go she found her handbag and left the room to go downstairs once again. Her coat and hat were on the hooks near the door, so she put them both on and pinned her hat in place before leaving the house and locking the door behind her. It was freezing as usual and her awful old coat did nothing to shield her from that, but the air actually felt rather nice against her skin since she'd been rather flushed all morning thanks to her nausea. On top of that, she was just glad to get out of the house for a while.

While she walked, she became a little lost in thought and her thoughts eventually turned to how on earth she was going to give her husband the news that she was pregnant. Back when they were courting, he changed the subject any time she tried to steer it towards the topic of children and she probably should have clicked on and realized it was because he had no desire for them. Back then though, she was so naïve and infatuated with him that it never really stood out to her and it wasn't until recently that she realized why it was. He didn't want to be a father and he generally disliked children because they were loud and he felt they served no actual purpose.

He was so small-minded and it was one of the things she hated most about him.

Children were precious and were their future, but he never even tried to see them in such a way.

It was quite frightening for her to think about how he was going to react to her being pregnant and even more so when their child was eventually born. Part of her hoped that he would simply decide to have nothing to do with their baby. He would refuse to hold it, change it, comfort it or even really look at it when he was around. It was an odd thing for her to hope for, she knew that, but she would much rather him leave all of that to her than get annoyed or livid and end up bringing harm to their son or daughter who's only crime was to be born.

No matter what happened though, she would never let him lay an unkind hand on their baby.

If he so much as dared go anywhere near it while in a rage, she would stop caring about what he might do or what might happen to her and she would leave him. She would walk out that door with their child and refuse to come back, no matter what threats he made, and she was going to make sure he was well aware of that long before their child came into the world. He could do what he pleased with her, he never had any qualms about doing that anyway, but their son or daughter was innocent and she would die protecting it if it were necessary.

It wasn't until she heard Aoibheann call her name that she broke free from her reverie and realized she was at the tea room. She forced a smile as her friend hurried towards her and the two of them shared an embrace on the street before Aoibheann pulled back and looked at her again. "I think I was right to invite you for tea with me," Frowned the elder woman, touching a hand to her cheek. "You're white as a sheet, pet, are you all right?"

"I had a rough night," Margaret shook her head. "My stomach's been playing all manner of tricks on me."

"Well, I hope Ciarán's been taking care of you." Aoibheann replied.

Margaret just smiled before gesturing to the tea room. "Shall we? I need to be back in time to start on dinner."

"Oh, Riordan told me they were going to the public house at the end of work."

"Really? I didn't know anything about that."

"Ciarán didn't tell you?"

"No," Margaret sighed with a shake of her head. "Honestly though, he never tells me anything."

"You know what men and their brains are like." Aoibheann laughed.

Margaret hummed her response. "Don't I just?"

It was then that the two of them entered the tea room together and the moment she opened the door she felt her stomach turn. It was the smell of milk making her feel the need to vomit yet again. Taking deep breaths as they walked through the tea room to a vacant table, she tried not to think about the nausea and when they sat down she breathed a sigh of relief when it began to settle. Oh, she couldn't wait for this dreadful phase to end.

"So, what will you be having?" Aoibheann asked from across the table.

"I think tea, but no milk this time." Margaret said.

"No milk? Are you sure?" Aoibheann raised an eyebrow at her.

"You see, I think it may be dairy that's making me nauseous and I think it would be best." Margaret told her.

"Margaret, is there any chance…?"

"Hmm? Is there any chance of what?"

"Oh, nothing, just forget I said anything." Aoibheann shook her head with a smile.

Getting a little more comfortable, Margaret reached for the little menu next to her on the table and opened it before pretending to read. It was obvious that Aoibheann knew or at least suspected that she was in the family way. Why she thought she wouldn't notice when she had three young children herself, she had no idea, but it hadn't really occurred to her and now she couldn't help but feel she'd just dropped herself in it. Her husband, Riordan, was incredibly close to Ciarán and they were more like brothers than friends they'd known each other that long. If Aoibheann shared her suspicions with him, what would keep him from talking to Ciarán about it?

She could tell her not to mention anything, she supposed, but that would require admitting she was pregnant which she wasn't yet ready to do and then she would have to explain why she wanted her to keep it to herself. In her mind, there were far too many people involved and the risk of the news of her pregnancy reaching her husband before she could sit him down and tell him herself were far too high. No, she would just have to drop the subject like she told her to and trust that she would keep her little suspicion about her condition to herself.

Glancing up from the menu again a short while later, she looked over at her friend again and gave her a smile. "I haven't asked you about the wee ones for a while, I keep forgetting to. How are they all doing?" She asked.

"Oh, grand, thank you," Aoibheann assured her. "Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something and I feel a bit cheeky doing so, but I was wondering if you would mind babysitting them for a couple of hours for me?"

"I mean, I can ask Ciarán if that would be all right. When? How long for?" Margaret inquired.

"Thursday after next and about three hours or so? Riordan wants to take me to dinner." Aoibheann explained.

Margaret nodded. "I, uhm…I think that'll be all right, but I'll have to ask Ciarán before I can commit."

"I understand that, but it means a lot that you'd do it for me," Aoibheann smiled. "You're a wonderful friend."

"So are you," Margaret reached for her hand and gave it a slight squeeze. "Absolutely wonderful…"

She was just taking her husband's dinner from the oven when she heard the squeak of the back gate at nearly midnight and her heart sank. Normally, he would come home from work and change before heading down to the public house with his friends, but he never actually came home this evening and so he'd been there for six hours solid. If he could handle his drink and know when he'd had enough there wouldn't be a problem, but it was something he'd always failed to control and so she had to prepare herself for the state in which he'd enter.

Setting the plate down on the table, she turned in time to watch the back door swing open and Ciarán stumble in. It was so strong, the smell of drink on him, that she could smell it from where she stood and she wrinkled her nose. He closed the door behind him and stumbled further into the kitchen before his gaze found hers and he blinked at her in silence for a good few moments. "And what are you staring at?" He grumbled at long last.

"Sorry," She whispered, averting her gaze almost instantly. "I…I made your favourite."

He looked over at the table to see a plate of lamb, potatoes and mint sauce. "You did. So, what do you want?"

"I don't want anything at all, I just thought I'd do something nice for you." She shook her head.

"You're a shocking liar," He muttered while stumbling towards the table before all but dropping into his chair and looking at her again. He was silent once more for a time, but then he smiled. "Come over here a minute."

She hesitated. "I was just going to go to bed, my love, it's been a long day."

"You can go to bed in a minute. Come here." He told her again.

Knowing it was best to just do as he asked when he was like this, she ran a hand through her hair and walked over to where he was sitting before lowering herself into his lap. She had to breathe through her mouth in an attempt to keep from smelling the alcohol on him as he wrapped his arms around her waist. "You went for tea with Aoibheann today," He told her. "Cillian told me he saw you both there when he was working at his stall."

She hummed. "I asked you if I could go for an hour and you said it would be all right just this once."

"I know," He nodded. "What did you talk about?"

"Nothing much," She told him. "I told Aoibheann I haven't been feeling too well lately when she pointed out I looked a little pale and then we spoke about her wee ones for a time. I wanted to know how they're all doing."

"Nothing about us?" He pressed.

Shaking her head, she gave him the smallest smile. "Nothing about us."

"Is that the truth? Because I will learn about it if you said anything different, you know that." He pointed out.

"I promise, Ciarán, I never mentioned anything about you or us while I was out." She said.

"Lucky for you, I actually believe you for once," He slid her hair behind her ear. "Now you can go to bed."

For a moment, she was genuinely stunned into silence by how calm and…well…gentle he was being with her. He was never like this when he had a couple drinks in him, not ever, and although it should have served as a relief for her it actually did the opposite. It made her question whether he had knowledge about something she didn't or whether he was plotting something against her. It was so out of character for him to behave like this. "I…I can go to bed?" She asked him with a raise of an eyebrow, feeling his arms around her loosen their hold.

"Have you gone deaf in a matter of minutes, woman?" He rolled his eyes. "Yes, you can go to bed."

"Okay," She rose slowly, almost warily, from his lap. "Well, goodnight then."

"Mmm."

Her gaze remained focused on him until she was out of the kitchen and in the hallway and as she slowly made her way to their room she felt the knot in her stomach tighten. Something was going on, that was for sure, but she truly had no idea what. It couldn't be anything to do with the baby because Riordan was with her husband all night, meaning Aoibheann couldn't have spoken to him about it even if she wanted to yet. It was just so, so abnormal for him to be so level-headed and relaxed while intoxicated and it made her feel increasingly on edge.

Some small part of her was telling her that he may have been being genuine.

However, there was a much larger part of her that was screaming at her to watch her back and there was no contest as to which one she would be listening to…

Author's Note: Thank you so much for taking the time to read this chapter! I hope you liked it and I would love for you to let me know what you thought. Until next time!