A/N: I think that Anna and Bates must have discussed the scandal at some point. It would make sense for it to happen after his return in S02E04; this is therefore set somewhere between the end of S02E04 and the events of S02E05.

Disclaimer: It's not mine, I tell you. Anna and Bates would've had some scandals of their own if it was...

Scandals of Magnitude

He has never been as grateful for anything in the world as he is for this: being back at Anna's side all day, every day, as they work together in Downton Abbey. It is a relief to be away from the pub in Kirkbymoorside, and seeing Anna's smiling face every day is something that he cherishes. On the night of the concert he had told her that he had been living in a fog of misery since he had returned to Vera, but now it has well and truly lifted. He finds that he cannot stop smiling, even during the most menial tasks and O'Brien's constant digs. Despite the fact that his situation is not resolved, despite the fact that he cannot be with Anna properly yet, he finds that instead of accepting it despondently as he has done in the past, fighting for what they want is much more fulfilling. If he has hope, believes, then he is sure that everything will turn out as it should. Anna has taught him that. She is such a wise woman in spite of her young age.

There is, however, one thing that he thinks that they should finally discuss. Vera had taken great pleasure in telling him of Anna's alleged part in the Pamuk scandal, and he had gone to great lengths to ensure that it had been kept a secret. But now that he is back, he feels like it is finally time to get everything out in the open. He will tell her what he knows. And he hopes she will be able to confide in him. If it is true, it can't have been easy keeping such a secret safe all those years. He doesn't think it fair of Lady Mary to ask Anna to cope with the burden alone, as she doubtlessly has done over the last four years.

He manages to grab her before dinner, tugging on her sleeve to get her to follow him into the privacy of the cubby hole under the stairs.

"Why, Mr. Bates," she jokes as they stand close together in the shadows, "I never thought that you were the sort of person to entice a lady away from the light and into the dark."

He chuckles at her teasing, reaching out to briefly squeeze her hand. "Well, you did once tell me that you weren't a lady."

"And you once told me that you thought I was one, so don't you dare ruin my romantic notion of you now," she retorts, quick-witted as ever.

He smiles, but lowers his voice to make his tone sound more serious. He doesn't want the subject of the scandal to be treated so lightly. "After dinner, will you be able to meet me in the courtyard?"

He can sense that she wants to say something sassy, perhaps about the danger of them sneaking around in the darkness outside together, but she obviously senses the solemnity of his words and refrains.

"Of course," she says instead, the tiniest hint of a frown scrunching her brow. "But why?"

He leans forward to kiss the crease away, finding her hand in the darkness again. "It's nothing to worry about. I just want to talk."

"Then I really should be worried," she laughs, squeezing his fingers. "You've never been the sort of person who likes to talk much."

"What are you trying to say?" he says, trying to sound offended. "Have you grown tired of my brooding ways?"

"Never, love," she whispers, before reaching up to furtively press her lips against his, darting away quickly before Mrs. Hughes has the chance to materialise in front of them, her impropriety sensors blaring.

She meets him out in the courtyard as promised, shivering despite the fairly warm air. Although autumn is settling upon their shoulders, they have had some very nice nights so far. Soon it will become too cold for them to spend their spare hours out in the courtyard, and instead they'll have to content themselves with sitting together in the servants' hall with the others, the image of propriety. He'll miss kissing her in the long winter months.

As though the same thought is playing on her mind, she leans up to greet him with a kiss. He smiles against her mouth, grasping at her elbows gently as she levers herself up on her tiptoes to even the height difference between them. Presently they break apart, Anna sighing in contentment as she runs her tongue across her lips, savouring his taste. He closes his eyes to focus his mind. The last thing he needs is to get distracted by Anna's faery ways.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" she asks after a few moments, slipping onto a crate located a good few feet from the back door, where they won't be disturbed. She looks up at him expectantly and he joins her then, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her snug against his side to combat the cold.

"I want to talk about Vera," he replies, feeling her stiffen at the mention of his wife's name. He knows that she would prefer it if they could forget about her existence. He would prefer that, too. "And about the stuff that she's threatening to sell to the papers."

Anna stiffens further at this, her eyes wary. "Why?"

"Because I think we should," he tells her gently. "I think it will be easier if we both know everything. Vera can't use it against us then."

Anna's sigh is weary and defeated. "Alright, then." She doesn't offer any more.

Silence encapsulates them for a few minutes as John tries to think of the best way of beginning the topic. Anna sits by his side, picking at a pulled stitch in the arm of her dress. She seems nervous.

His tone is tentative when he begins, because he can't think of a better way of breaching the topic. "Vera told me that…that Lady Mary had a lover. The Turkish gentleman who accompanied Mr. Napier on his visit. She said that even though he was found dead in his bed, it wasn't the place where he died. She said…she said that he died in Lady Mary's bed after they'd…" He trails off there, feeling his neck flush at the thought of Lady Mary in the throes of passion with the Turkish diplomat. Anna's cheeks are red, he notices. "Anyway, she said that Lady Mary needed help getting Mr. Pamuk back to his own bed after…after it had happened. And she said that you were the one who helped her to cover it up."

He says all this with his eyes trained firmly ahead. Now, he turns his gaze on her. She squirms beneath it, unable

to meet his eye.

"Anna," he says softly, squeezing her gently. "You should know that I would never judge you for anything. God knows I have no right to judge anyone, not with the mess I've made of my life. I just want you to be able to tell me the truth. You can trust me with it."

"I know I can," she says quietly, leaning in to his shoulder. "It's just…I've kept quiet about it for so long that I've almost forgotten that I can talk to you."

"So…will you?" he asks tentatively.

She nods. "I will. But only if you tell me why you felt the silly need to protect me."

He's a little hurt. "I would have thought that that was obvious."

"Well, maybe it is. But it was still silly of you to sacrifice yourself to protect me. I told you: I don't want protecting. I don't care what anyone says about me. As long as I have you, I can handle anything. Let them say I'm a scheming harlot. I don't care."

It is strange to hear such foul words coming from Anna's mouth, but he is compelled to smile a little sadly at the earnest expression in her voice. Anna is always so sincere and honest. He doubts he will ever be able to fully fathom the depth of her feelings for him.

"But don't you see? I don't want people to think badly of you. You're the most beautiful, most caring woman I know of. I don't want people to gossip about you and shun you and judge you just because you helped out someone in need. People can be cruel. They'd say that you were more involved than you really were. I don't want you to have to face those sorts of comments. They're never pretty."

She rolls her eyes. "Honestly, you make it sound like Lady Mary and I decided to kill him together and then shifted him back to his own room quickly so that we wouldn't be found out."

"But that's the sad truth of the matter," he tells her gently. "Gossip always warps the true perception. There will be people out there who will spread that story gladly. They'll state terrible things about you. They might even say that you were…with Mr. Pamuk, too."

He can see her ears burning. "That really is ridiculous!"

"I know it is," he reassures her swiftly, though he has to close his eyes against the mental images of Anna in his mind, twined pleasurably around the Turkish diplomat's lean and capable body. "But I couldn't bear for you to have to put up with that sort of talk. It will be terrible for Lady Mary, but people won't dare say too much because her father wields such great power and influence. People will be able to target you because you don't have anyone to protect you like that."

"I have you," she tells him softly. "And that's worth more to me than any of his lordship's power and influence."

"Oh, Anna," he sighs softly, bringing her hand up to his mouth and kissing her knuckles. He wants to tell her that he loves her, but he doesn't think that it's the right time yet. They still have so much to discuss.

She nestles her head against his shoulder, bringing her own arm to rest boldly around his waist. They sit like that, huddled close, for several quiet minutes. Eventually, John breaks the silence.

"So," he says cautiously, "will you tell me about what really happened that night?"

Anna pulls away from his shoulder with a sigh, sitting up straight. Her arm loosens around his waist.

"If you want me to tell you, then I will," she tells him softly. "There's not too much to the story. From what Lady Mary told me…well, it sounds like Mr. Pamuk let himself into her room that night – quite how he found his way there, I'm not sure – and then he…seduced her. She didn't really offer much in the way of details so I'm not really sure what happened, but she said he cried out and then in the next second she realised he was dead…"

John closes his eyes at Anna's innocent explanation. He can very well imagine the scene. It's not one he wants to.

"Are you alright?" Anna asks him tentatively as she realises that he is squeezing his eyes tightly closed. She lays her hand on his arm.

He opens his eyes quickly, not wishing for her to enquire further and extricate the more sordid details from him. She may be a fully grown woman, but she is still completely innocent when it comes to the finer points of life. She's told him that she was raised on a farm so she knows about the relationship between a man and a woman, and he has reassured her that it is not something that just a man can enjoy. Indeed, in some of their more heated clinches, he has shown her that a woman can feel an intense pleasure, and she had been eager to reciprocate the action. He knows that the taste of what their married life could be like – without the frustrating need to stop every time – has spurred Anna on even more to fight for their future together. And he wants the same. But every now and then he has to remind himself of how little Anna truly knows. Her innocence endears him. He doesn't think he could love her more.

"Go on," he encourages her gently, turning his head to meet her eye. She lowers hers.

"When Lady Mary awoke me, I had no idea of what to do. The only thing I could think of was to move the body. Mary said that we wouldn't be able to move him on our own, so we ended up getting Lady Grantham to help as well…"

Ah, now that is something that John hadn't known. He shudders at the thought of the three women struggling to move a dead man's body through the house. If Lord Grantham ever found out that his wife had helped in the deed…well, it doesn't bear thinking about. His lordship is a kind man and a good employer, but he doesn't know how well he will take the news of the scandal if it ever gets out, particularly if he finds out that it had been concealed so cunningly from him by the people he should be able to trust the most. And he doesn't think he'd blame him for erupting. After all, it would be a shocking discovery for any man. But he is more concerned of what it will mean for Anna if the news gets out. His lordship could very well choose to fire the both of them. And then what would they do? As a useless cripple, John would struggle to find work to support himself, never mind ensuring that Anna was kept safe and well too. And Anna herself would never find work, shunned and scorned at by society.

"…And then we managed to get him back to his own room. There's nothing more to it than that," Anna finishes, rather lamely. Her fingers twist together. I'm not quite sure how they took the fact that he was naked when they found him, but–"

Naked. Of course. He'd forgotten about that particular detail. And Anna had seen him, touched him. He feels angry over the fact that he feels jealous that he will not the first man that she will see naked. He shouldn't feel like that. After all, he has no right to expect her to be unsullied when he himself has had more than his fair share of women. But he doesn't like the images that are conjured up in his mind: of Anna with her arms around Mr. Pamuk's naked torso, her gaze flickering with a perverse interest over his frame, lingering over the parts of him that a woman should know nothing of until her wedding night. It's an irrational thought, but it's one that he can't rid himself of.

"Mr. Bates? Are you alright?"

He shakes his head to clear it. "Perfectly. And that's it?"

"That's it," she confirms. "I've never breathed a word to anyone about it and I know that Lady Mary and Lady Grantham haven't either, so I don't know how Vera got hold of it."

He shrugs morosely. "Someone else in the house must know about it. Otherwise it would never have got out."

He can see the first signs of a frown darkening her features, and he brushes her face as though he will sweep it away. "Don't worry about that. Not now."

"But how can I not? What if Vera gets hold of something else and tries to use it against us?"

The prospect is a disconcerting one, and John doesn't like to see Anna so pessimistic; usually it is her job to have faith in their relationship, keeping him steady and grounded. He tries for some humour to lighten the mood.

"What else can she hold against us? The fact that you tried to use your womanly charms to entice your way into my bed?" His tone is teasing, and he celebrates internally as it earns him a weak smile.

"You silly beggar," she murmurs, sidling further in to him. She sighs, then turns her attention to the night sky. "But you're right, of course. We can't let her win. If she can't speak of the scandal, then we're safe."

"Exactly," he agrees, daring to press his lips against her temple. The scent of her hair wafts into his sinuses, flowery and sweet. He will never tire of it.

"We should just enjoy being together again," Anna continues softly, squeezing his hand. "When I think of all those women waiting for their men to come home from the war…well, I'm just grateful that I know that you're safe. And happy."

He smiles at her, his eyes crinkling. She adores that look. "I couldn't be anything but happy being back with you."

Silence descends on them then. It is a comfortable one, one born out of security and contentment in each other. They stay like that until Mrs. Hughes pokes her head out of the door what seems like hours later, peering into the darkness. John tries to extricate his arm from around Anna's waist at the intrusion, conscious of how inappropriate it is, as the housekeeper's eyes find them, but Anna won't allow him to, confident and at ease in their affections. Mrs. Hughes doesn't even bat an eyelid. In fact, he believes that he detects the ghost of a smile on her face.

"Anna, Mr. Bates," she says, "Mr. Carson is wanting to lock up now. Feel free to continue your conversation inside, but don't be too late now."

Her tone is that of a mother, and John finds himself grinning despite himself. He is utterly surprised that Mrs. Hughes has accepted their romance so well, turning a blind eye whenever they slip off together and allowing them to take their half days together. When their courtship had initially been announced, John had expected to have been chased off with a broom. He is lucky that the housekeeper seems to think so highly of them, especially to trust them alone for hours on end, when anything could happen.

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," Anna calls back, only now wriggling free of his grip and hopping down from the crate. John follows suit, bending to pick up his discarded cane.

Satisfied, Mrs. Hughes turns away, evidently giving them a moment's more privacy before they return to the bustle of indoor life. Grasping the opportunity with both hands, Anna slips her arms around John's neck and pulls him down to her, meshing her lips against his softly. Knowing that it will be his last chance to kiss her tonight, he responds leisurely, gently grabbing onto her waist and stooping low to meet her mouth. The position is an uncomfortable one – he is a good deal taller than his little Anna is – but it ceases to matter as her fingers thread through his hair. When the need for air becomes pressing, they break apart, leaning their foreheads against each other.

"Thank you," Anna breathes.

"For what?" He is confused, undeserving of Anna's gratitude.

"For letting me confide in you. For reassuring me. For making me feel better."

"It's about time I did."

"Alright, we'll have none of that now," she interrupts, knowing that he is about to start feeling guilty again for past mistakes. "Come on, let's get inside."

She takes his hand boldly in hers and drags him forward; he smiles to himself as he allows her to lead him. Vera might still be out there, clinging to their marriage like a persistent devil. She might still hold the dark secrets about the house of Grantham over his head. She might still be biding her time, waiting to strike.

But, as Anna's soft, warm fingers caress his, he finds that that is a worry for another day.

A/N: I indulged myself a little in the middle. Anna and Bates definitely "did the deed" for the first time on their wedding night, but in my head there is no way that the two of them did nothing but kiss each other chastely for four frickin' years. But that's by-the-by and unimportant.

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