December 13: What the Gladsome Tidings Be?
Paring: Anna/John
Rating: T (much of the latter half of the story concerns Anna's recovery from her rape).
If any person on earth were to walk into the Bates' flat today, they would not be able to catch a glimpse of the floor of the front room. Boxes of Christmas decorations that Anna's parents had given to her, ones that John's mother had kept in storage up to her passing, and the newest ones bought the week before did not leave much walking room, even for the two of them. Anna was reminded of the attics of Downton, how Christmas boxes took up a large percentage of that area, a veritable forest of dust-collecting ornaments, and she hoped that someone was cleaning out up there. Meanwhile, she was under the impression that John was trying to place each and every decoration somewhere in the house. The tree was starting to look rather crowded: the number of free branches was decreasing rapidly.
"John, you need to be careful," Anna said to John. He was standing, precariously, on a stepstool. His arm was outstretched, nearly all the way to the top of the tree, and in his hand dangled a icicle shaped ornament.
"I'm perfectly alright, dear," John said, still straining to make his arm longer. "My leg is as sturdy as an oak tree."
Despite herself, Anna laughed. "This tree has dozens of free branches. You do not have to hang that icicle on the one that you can barely reach."
John laughed along with her. "You're right about that, but there are some large spots at the top of the tree where there aren't any other ornaments. I want to put all the icicle ornaments near the top."
Anna nodded. She stepped back, careful to avoid tripping backwards on any open boxes. She gazed up at the tree, looked it over, and smiled. The lights were off while John decorated, but when the sun went down they'd turn back on, and the tree would surely be dazzling. Like the Rockefeller Tree from the pictures that Mary had sent her.
Of course, if John continued to decorate like a caffeinated elf, all the ornaments might black out the lights.
"Anna, what should we put on top? Angel or star?"
"Hmm." Anna wandered around the perimeter of the tree, like an attorney deciding what to say next in a courtroom. "Angel or star?" she mused repeatedly. "Angel or star? Star or angel?"
"Anna!" John said, shaking his head. "Christmas is eleven days away, I want you to make up your mind before then."
"Alright, then. I think … the star."
"The star?" John asked. "Why not the angel?"
"Do you want the angel?" Anna asked, faking annoyance. "Didn't you ask me what should be the top piece?"
"Well, I thought you might think that the angel would be nice on top, seeing as you're my angel."
"John, must you be so cheesy?"
Both of them laughed again as Anna searched for a star topper. These were the nice moments she lived for, just the simple brevity of laughter and corny affections of love. The year had been tough for everyone in their lives, but now was the time only to think about what cookies to bake and how best to decorate the tree.
The large gold star in hand, Anna was about to pass it to John, but she drew back quickly, with a pensive look on her face.
"What is it?" John said, quickly reverting from playful to serious.
"Oh, I was just …" Anna began. "I should be on the ladder to put this up."
She set the gold star down, then went towards the kitchen in search of the stepladder. John stepped carefully down from the stool and knelt down by another box, sifting through the bubble wrap in case he left behind another colored ball.
Nine minutes passed, even before John realized it. Oddly enough, Anna hadn't come back with the stepladder.
"Anna?" he called out to the flat. There wasn't an audible answer. He called out Anna's name again, and he tried to listen harder.
When he did not hear Anna, John stood and walked around the flat. It was small enough to not bother with the walking stick, though on rough days John used the walls to steady himself. Still, since he never needed to walk very far in this cosy home, he never tired just by walking from his bedroom to the kitchen. Moving into this flat with Anna was the best decision he ever made. Besides, as it went without saying, asking Anna to marry him.
"Anna?" he called out as he entered the kitchen. The stepladder was supposed to be in the broom cupboard. He opened the door to the cupboard. It was still inside.
John's body seemed to think that he had returned to war as his brain registered panic. Had Anna gone out, and had he not heard the door open? But why would she go outside?
"Are you alright, Anna?" John said loudly, hoping this time she'd hear. He went into their bedroom, where recently-washed articles of clothing still rested, completely in disarray.
He heard a sudden, soft noise coming from the loo. Immediately, he knew what was going on, and he was without a single doubt.
If John himself had had a difficult life, then Anna had lived much worse. Only a few months ago she had suffered a trauma that could not be forgotten, even with the passage of time and the strength of John's love. Even up to the past few weeks Anna had awoken in the middle of the night, shaking from a cold sweat, breathing heavily as if she had been running from a monster. John felt helpless when he saw his wife in such states. He had seen soldiers with various symptoms of PTSD, but when Anna suffered through her variant of the affliction, it was like seeing a completely different side to her. John knew her to be strong, to never let life get her down, but the healing process was a long, lonely one.
John waited outside the door to the loo, listening to Anna's steady but heavy breathing. He understood how Anna tried to console herself: by being alone and not bothering anyone with her problems. Frequently, John tried to convince her that she needed to tell others when she faltered in strength, but Anna remained stubborn. Today, he would not burst in. He would allow her to calm down, to wait for the horrid memories to pass.
Anna emerged after several minutes, stone-faced and pale. John said nothing as he took her hand in his. Anna gave a weak smile.
"I'm sorry," she said through her pained smile that was meant to reassure John (yet failing in its purpose). "I just – I felt I needed to be alone."
"Please, my dear, don't ever feel as if you need to be alone," John said. "I'm here for you. You can't get through this on your own."
Anna nodded, blinking quickly. "I know, I know." She sighed long and hard, shrugging her shoulders in a sign of defeat. "It just happened all of a sudden —"
"Shall we work on the tree tomorrow?" John suggested. "It's been a long day, and I feel responsible for keeping you on your feet."
"Honestly, it is not your fault," Anna said. "You've been so excited about decorating the tree, and since we haven't had a proper Christmas together —"
"You didn't want to spoil my fun, did you?" John finished. Anna nodded. John stepped forward and cradled her head in his arms.
"There's no shame in what happened to you. Remember, we're going to have a proper Christmas together. You said that yourself, right? Well then, let's look forward to all the fun we'll have," John comforted Anna.
Anna nodded, then sniffled a bit. "You're right, John. I shouldn't keep thinking about it. But it's just so hard sometimes."
"I understand that. But right now, let's think about something better," John said. "I could use your help in figuring out what to get you for Christmas."
"Wouldn't you rather surprise me?" Anna asked.
"Well, maybe," said John.
Anna smiled again, but this time it was warm once again. "I'll go put the kettle on, and I'm going to think about what hints I'm going to drop, then."
"You're only going to give me hints?"
"Yes," said Anna. "I want to see how good you are at guessing. Especially for me."
In this storyline, Anna is suffering from PTSD after being raped. Like many people, I was shocked (not because they featured something like sexual assault, but because it was Anna who was the victim, and also because of the brutality of the scene). For a while I wanted to write a fic based on that arc, so this small piece is my way of writing of how John tries to keep Anna strong while she slowly heals. I could expand and make this into a full fic – what do you think?