This is my very first fic—exciting and nerve-racking! Anna and Bates have always been my two favorites, but I couldn't get Anna's season 4 storyline out of my head and I wanted to write something from her perspective that shows what Fellowes didn't. Reviews are so welcome. Trigger warning—this deals with the attack, although not graphically.

Disclaimer: I can only dream of owning Downton.

Anna opened the small suitcase she had taken from the cottage, under John's silent, aching gaze. She pulled out her neatly-folded uniforms and chemises, her nightgown and stockings. All the lies she had told in the past month wrapped around her fingers, not giving and sliding like silk the way her dresses did. She would have to learn to live with these false words pinching her nerve endings and dirtying the white edges of her fingernails.

At the bottom, inside a cloth sack, was one of John's two undershirts. She had grabbed it from the clothes' basket when he had left her side to go to the kitchen. She hoped he wouldn't mind that she had left the laundry undone, and she hoped he wouldn't notice that she had taken one of his shirts. And part of her wished he would, so that he would understand that for all of her jagged words, she still loved him with every breath in her body.

She wanted his smell, the sharp peppermint and sweet cologne. She put it on, under her nightgown. This was the closest they would get to skin-to-skin now, now that she couldn't stand his touch.

And maybe it would stop the nightmares, his scent around her. Maybe she would dream of the cottage, of the time when she could let him wrap his arms around her, of hazel eyes swimming with stories of love.

Maybe she would, if she deserved him. But she didn't, not anymore.

She clutched a pillow tight, preparing for the nightmare she knew would come.

It was Green, his hand across her mouth. She grasped his lapel in her hand, tried to throw off his precarious balance on top of her. She had one more layer of cloth before the world ended, the seconds coming faster than the tears on her cheeks. If only opera didn't sound like wailing—

His hand pushed down tighter; air was seeping through his fingers but not enough. Louder, scream louder. The world was going to end—

"Anna!"

Someone was holding a hand across her mouth, a woman's voice. God, what had happened? Green, it had been Green.

"Anna, Anna dear, it's me."

"Oh, Mrs. Hughes—" was all she managed. The older woman took her in her arms and rocked her back and forth.

"I walked by your door and heard you having a nightmare, albeit quietly. I'm afraid I made it worse."

"No." She sucked in a breath, trying to preserve what little dignity she had left. "No, thank you for checking on me."

Mrs. Hughes' eyes were kind but focused, taking in every inch of the scar above Anna's eye. "Anna, you can't keep on like this. No one can. You must—if you aren't going to tell him, you must do something—talk to someone, talk to me or someone else you wouldn't mind sharing with—"

"And tell them what, Mrs. Hughes? That a handsome young man forced himself on me in my own workplace, in my home? Most likely they'd think I was trying to cover up an affair, and worse if they did believe me they wouldn't ever want to get near me again."

"But do I act that way?"

Anna turned her head away, her brow furrowing. "It's no use, Mrs. Hughes. I'll just have to manage as best I can."

"This isn't the life that was meant for you."

"Well, it's not something I can take back, is it?" He was like a poison, one that strengthened with time and invaded every centimeter of her body. Even she flinched when she heard the jagged edges to her words.

"Alright, then, if that's what you feel. I just don't think it's right." She stood up and straightened her dress. "I'm just down the hall if you want company during the night."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes."

"It's alright, my dear." She closed the door softly, pausing once to take in Anna's crumpled form.