Yorkshire, England – Reality

Rubbing at his eyes, John signed the form and turned to the next one. He only looked up when someone's knuckles knocked on the table. "Hello Gwen."

"Sorry I'm late." She cringed, putting her things down carefully. "School's been… Well it's been. I'll leave it at that."

"Don't I remember." John signed off on another form before standing. "But you've not missed much. Just quiet on the home front other than the usual complaints about my restricting of their diets."

"I'm glad they can blame someone who's not me." She took the forms he signed and flipped through them to skim. "I also hear you've been reading to Anna."

"She says I've got a nice voice for it." John gave Gwen a smile. "Besides, you're busy and since you're here when most everyone in the house is asleep it seemed reasonable."

"Anna keeps odd hours." Gwen stacked the forms together again. "But don't worry, I found an equally trashy book for us to read."

"I'm curious about that," John leaned over the table, "Why read rubbish romances anyway? Aren't there other things to read?"

"Sure but these are more fun." Gwen shrugged, taking a clipboard from the side of the refrigerator to check over the information there. "And they're easy to read through, remember, and put down. They're not exactly griping dramas."

"That's for sure." John finished signing his name on the last form and capped his pen. "There's almost a painful quality to it."

"That's why we find lists of the top ten trashiest romances and pick whichever one has the worst book blurb." Gwen shook her head, "It's what makes it all more fun."

"How so?"

"Don't you comment on it?" John frowned and Gwen groaned. "She's not done a running commentary on it with you?"

"I guess not." John gathered his things. "Maybe my voice is more soothing."

"Or you're just boring." Gwen pffted at him. "It's like watching The Vampire Diaries."

"The what?"

"Honestly, do you live under a rock?"

"I've lived almost two decades longer than you so my tastes are a little different."

Gwen shook her head, "It's a wonder how Anna stands a crumbling ruin like yourself stumbling through a bad romance novel."

"I can read so that's something."

"Barely." Gwen took over another chart. "Otherwise it's all quiet on the western front then? No drama lately?"

"Other than doctor's appointments this week we're all set for a rather quiet one, yes." John gathered his things, checking his pockets for a moment, and shrugged at Gwen. "See you tomorrow night."

"Hey," She stuck up her finger and John paused, halfway through a turn. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Boxers most days but I like briefs."

She snorted, "Not that personal."

"Sure." John leaned over the counter, the beeping of machines and otherwise quiet in the house giving an almost sepulchral tone to the conversation. "What is it?"

"What made you choose this job?"

"Mrs. Crawley-Talbot's father is an old friend of mine." John shrugged but paused when he noted the frown on Gwen's face. "Unless that wasn't the question."

"It…" She winced, "It's more that you're…"

"Not your age?"

"That and you're a man." Gwen reached into one of the refrigerators and pulled out a can of soda from a section of the fridge labeled with she and John's names. "It might still be sexist to say, but most men become doctors."

"I was one."

"And then you switched to this job?" Gwen popped the tab on her drink. "Why?"

"It's more fulfilling."

"But you could be driving ridiculously expensive cars and doing groundbreaking research or… I dunno, you'd be Bennie-Hop Crumple-Dink from Doctor Strange."

"I got that reference." John winked at Gwen's snort over the top of her can. "But I was him, for awhile, and found it wasn't enough."

"Bad round of research?"

"Life caught up to me." John leaned more over the counter, his hands folding into one another, "My mother had a neurogenic disease that took her life."

"Oh." Gwen's can clinked on the counter. "I'm so sorry."

"It was hard." John squeezed his own hands for a second. "I was training under one of the doctors trying to cure her condition and… And it still wasn't enough."

"No?"

"I got her into every possible trial and I could and, in the end, I still couldn't save her." John pushed himself off the counter, relaxing his white-spotted hands. "How's that for rotten luck? You're making yourself one of the leaders in your field and you can't even save those closest to you."

"We can't save everyone."

"I would've liked to save her."

Gwen nodded, "I can understand that." She lifted her can before replacing it on the counter without drinking. "But, if I could offer a piece of advice I got from my training nurse when I was in my first round of school?"

"Sure."

"Life may be terminal, but it need not be miserable." Gwen pointed at John. "I think your efforts weren't wasted. If only because they demonstrated to your mother exactly how much you loved her."

"Hopefully she already knew that." John shrugged again, "But it was people like you that made me switch."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Watching the actions of caring nurses and their efforts as she died…" John shook his head. "It changed my whole perspective."

"So you gave up trying to stop the disease to stay with those dying from it?"

"I still get to fiddle with things like that now and then." John put a hand on his chest, "My mother would've come back from the grave if I'd simply given up my license."

"So you're still certified?"

"Yeah. I'd have to get a few other things to go back to neurological work but I can still practice as a doctor if I want."

"Then I guess I can't call you 'the murse' to my friends."

"Call me whatever you like." John lifted his hand to wave. "See you tomorrow night Gwen. Don't stay up too late."

"Okay, Grandfather Time."

"Oof," John winced, "Maybe don't call me that."

"You're the one bringing up age." Gwen finished her can and pressed in at the sides to smash it between her hands. "And it's better than calling you the Pillars of the Earth or the Ancient of Days."

"I'll take what I can get at this point I think." John left the room but stopped in the entryway when he noticed Anna sitting on the bench there, absently scratching at Bernie's head. "Do you need Gwen?"

"No." She smiled, "Bernie and I were out for a walk and when I came back in I heard your voice and just stopped to listen."

"You…" John frowned. "Why?"

"Because you do have a good voice, John." Anna stood, Bernie immediately moving under her hand. "I hope you don't think me rude for intruding."

"It wasn't private."

"But it was personal and…" Anna's other hand gripped her cane hard enough to whiten her knuckles a moment. "And we all deserve to keep our personal things private, if we want. To share them when and how we want with whom we want. Not before."

"To keep that bit of control?"

"Exactly that." She gave him another smile, this one a little sadder. "We deserve to decide when and with whom we're vulnerable. Given all else outside of our control it's nice to know a few things are still ours."

"I would agree with that." John ran his hand over the nylon strap of his bag a second. "I don't suppose you're here to have Gwen read to you."

"Would you be jealous if I were?"

"From what I hear, she chose another rubbish book for you to read so I guess I can't be too bothered by it." John shrugged, "And it was your tradition before I came along."

"In my experience," Anna adjusted her white cane, holding it easier in her hands now. "Traditions are meant to be shared."

"Some things, as you said, are personal."

"I guess they are." Anna nodded at him before gathering her breath, "I'd best let you be off or they'll be paying Gwen and you for double duty."

"I've not got anywhere to be." John sighed, "But if I stay longer Gwen'll wonder if they even need her."

"Hey!" Her voice rang from the kitchen, "I heard that."

John and Anna gave a laugh before he put his hand out for Bernie to sniff. "I'll see you tomorrow Anna."

"Until then John." Anna loosened her cane more in her hand, swinging it out slightly as she gave an Italian command to Bernie. He kept pace with her as they entered the kitchen and immediately the excited voices of the two women put a smile on John's face.

With a sigh he headed out of the house and drove himself home.

London, England – Caustically Beautiful

He sighed, rolling his shoulders and watched Anna from her position on the dance floor. The red-haired model- Gwen- danced with her and they worked their way through a stream of men. None of them lasted long and while a few left with frowns and angry scowls they all found taxis or other occupations. John sent a nod to two of the others, each dressed in plain clothes, and forded through the glut to reach Anna in the middle of the floor.

"Ms. Smith," His hand touched her arm and she shied away from him, maneuvering so as to not spill her drink. "We've got an early start in the morning."

"Uh oh," Gwen sipped at her drink, leaving it on a delicately passing tray, "Your carriage's turning into a pumpkin."

"No, my nanny just thinks I need to prioritize." Anna knocked back the rest of her drink and followed Gwen's example before kissing the woman on both cheeks. "Remember, we've got a line extension to discuss on Friday. I want to hear your thoughts."

"I'll be there." Gwen shoved at her shoulder. "No go on, you've got work to do. Or… Someone else to do."

The way she dragged her tongue over her teeth as she eyed John from head to foot had him shifting on his toes before nodding at her. "A good evening to you, Ms. Dawson."

"Soon to be 'Mrs. Harding' or I'd offer you the use of one of the lavs at the back." Gwen knocked her head back toward the line for the restrooms. "I think you and I could have some fun in there, if you've got the dexterity."

"Thank you for the offer but I'll decline." John moved to Anna's side and reached for her arm again but she escaped his grip. He sighed, "The car's ready out front ma'am."

"No." Anna shook her head, collecting her coat from the check, and turned to John. "Do you not remember, you're not to call me 'ma'am'?"

"Sorry Ms. Smith." John guided her through the crush and out the front doors. "I won't forget that in future."

"Good, because I don't-"

Her body slammed into John's and he barely caught her as someone wrestled with her other arm. John tried to move around her but the weight of the third person, tugging and wrenching at her, stopped him getting Anna back on her feet. Instead he called out to the bouncers and, in a moment, two men the size of houses tackled the man to the ground. Unfortunately their aim left John holding all of Anna's weight as she fell fully into him.

His foot missed the edge of the pavement and his back knocked into the car. The motion skewed his right foot and John tried to keep his balance on his left foot as a click sounded. In a moment, as the door opened and one of the other two security guards moved, John hopped sideways and caught his loose prosthetic before it could fall from his trouser leg. It only took a second to reattach and John immediately pointed to the other two security guards.

"Get her to her flat, now. Lock it down. No one in or out until I'm there."

They nodded and one climbed into the back seat as the other took the driver's side. A squeal of tires had them peeling away from the scene in a second to leave John struggling not to cough at the exhaust. Instead he hobbled, testing the security of his leg, and managed to get to where the bouncers held the potential attacker with his face to the pavement.

"I've got him." John motioned to the bouncer on top, "And you've got a crowd taking a few too many photos for my liking."

The bouncer only scowled before herding at those waiting outside the club, barking at some before getting the crowd under control to leave John with the other bouncer. That one, still the size of a beach cottage, lifted the man from the pavement and turned him so John could see. "This your rabid fan sir?"

"Might be." John dug into his suit jacket pocket and retrieved his phone, checking the picture against the security ones before nodding. "Yep, this is him."

"We've got a room for him, if you want to use it until the coppers show."

"Let's use it." John put a firm hand on the man's shoulder, digging his fingers between muscle and bone until the man whimpered. "I've got some questions for you."

When the coppers did arrive, John and the bouncer vacated the room but took the alley on the other side of the club. The man offered John a cig but John shook him offer, breathing out as he paced back and forth in the space. After a moment the bouncer spoke.

"You didn't tell us you were the one who took the Smith job."

"It was all hush-hush Barrow." John shrugged, "Mr. Crawley was very clear about that and I wouldn't risk a client's trust."

"Yeah but…" Barrow blew out a smoke ring. "You've gone and left the club like it was nothing. Like we were all nothing."

"It's a favor to a friend, that's all."

"You mean you're not trying to get into some of the most fashionable knickers in all of England?" Barrow gave him a side-eye, pulling hard on his cig before letting out another rush of smoke. "Because even I wouldn't blame you from trying."

"It'd be unprofessional." John shoved his hands into his pockets, "And I don't think she likes me much anyway."

"What's it matter if she likes you or not?" Barrow took another drag before flicking the cig to the ground and grinding it out with his heel. "I've done it with blokes I didn't much care for but if you've got the itch to scratch."

"I've not got an itch."

"Looks to me like you do." Barrow pointed at him. "Maybe the signals are different for your type than mine but, to me, it looks like you've got it."

"Even if I did have an itch to scratch, I wouldn't do it with a client." John shook his head before pointing back inside. "Did you recognize him?"

"Our resident nutter?" Barrow shook his head. "We've kept a good eye on the people in and out of here. Even when Ms. Dawson's party showed up it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. The Grimy Badger's seen its fair share of questionable people but not lately."

"I guess having a few friends in the police business does that for you." A tall, black man stepped from the building. "How are you doing tonight Mr. Bates?"

"Better now that you're here Luther." John shook his hand before nodding toward the interior. "You get anything from our purse snatcher?"

"Only that I don't think he was after her purse." Luther opened his notebook and scanned his notes for a moment in the flickering light of the garishly white bulb. "I think he wanted a piece of her."

"Like a trophy?" Barrow snorted, "Why couldn't he ask for a picture like a normal person? Why'd they all have to be crackers?"

"No idea." Luther nodded at John, "I'd keep an eye on Ms. Smith and let us now if you catch anyone else. We'll deal with him and then-"

"How'll you deal with him?"

"Probably get him evaluated and sent somewhere they keep everyone in white uniforms and have jackets where the arms are too long to untie yourself." Luther shook his head, "But I don't know."

"Because I've got a woman who is, no doubt, traumatized that I've got to report back to and if the only response I can give her is, 'hope he doesn't try to rip your arm off next time', that's not really going to fly now is it?"

"All I can tell you is he's going to be in our care for a bit but after that it's out of my hands." Luther shrugged again before nodding at both Barrow and John. "I'll let you know if he gets out and what happens next."

"Thank you." John watched Luther reenter the building before turning to Barrow. "I've got to go and see how Ms. Smith's doing after this."

"I'll get this all sorted here and see if we can try and get Ms. Dawson's party out the back or something. Avoid any…" Barrow waved a hand toward the street, "Other incidents in the public eye."

"The last thing we need when what happened tonight'll definitely run in every gossip mag by tomorrow morning." John ran a hand over his face before sighing. "Mind lending me your bike? My ride's gone and I've not got time for the bus."

"Yeah." Barrow dug into his pocket for his keys and tossed them to John. "I'll James to give me a lift. Just get it back to me before shift tomorrow and it'll be fine."

"I'll do my best."

Finding the bike and getting the helmet on proved to be the hardest parts of it. Getting through the traffic that ran at a dribble in the early hours of the morning was nothing. And he even managed to find a parking space in the underground lot of Anna's building without a worry.

What he did not expect to find was the driver sitting in the car, flipping through his phone. John knocked on the window, startling the man, and waited until the window rolled down. "Yes boss?"

"Want to tell me what you're doing in the car?"

"Talbot's got her upstairs. He took corridor duty."

"Then who's in her flat?"

"No one." John raised an eyebrow and the man flustered. "She wouldn't let no one in. Said only you were allowed in there, after we cleared the place, and then she booted us out. Threatened to bash our heads with a lamp if we didn't leave."

"So you left?"

"I wasn't going to meet the wrong end of that lamp."

John sighed and handed Barrow's keys to him. "Get Barrow's bike back to him and then go home for the night. I need you as driver in the afternoon tomorrow."

"Yes boss."

John took the lift to the top floor, punching in the security code to allow the lift to even go that far, and exited to see a lanky man pacing the corridor while stretching out his back. The man stopped when he pivoted to turn back for another circuit and jerked his thumb toward the door. "She's been in there since we got her here."

"And no one else?"

"Far as I can tell and I didn't hear anything." He held up his phone, showing John the multi-tiled images. "All cameras clear."

"Where is she?"

"Saw her go into her closet but I haven't seen her on the monitors since."

"Go take duty at the car." John pointed to the lift. "I sent Alfred home for the night, after he takes Barrow's bike back to the Badger."

"You want me watching the car?"

"Lock the lift when you get down there so I don't get any surprises up here." John entered another code for the front door. "And call William. We need someone to swing in for another shift."

"On it." Talbot had his phone to his ear before he even reached the lift and John entered the flat the moment the doors dinged before clicking shut.

John closed the door to the flat, locking it with his code, and took his own circuit of the flat. When he reached Anna's bedroom, he called out first and waited until he heard her muffled voice from her closet. Steeling himself for what he might find, he opened the door to see Anna sitting on the floor with a rainbow of pictures carefully sorted in front of her.

"I came to see if you're alright."

"That's something you could've asked in the car," She put a picture on top of another, her piles only making sense to whatever organizational code she followed. "If you'd bothered to follow up earlier."

"I stayed behind to find out more about your attacker."

"Another rabid fan?"

"The same one, actually." John unbuttoned his suit jacket and got down on the floor, careful not to interrupt the flow of her work. "And he's now in police custody."

"And how long'll he be there?" Her focus on her work continued her refusal to look at him. "A day, maybe?"

"A friend of mine's caught the case and he'll let me know what they dig up on him." John sighed, "Luther's a good man. He'll keep it all above board for us."

"How lovely for us." Anna finally raised her head, leaving the last picture on its pile. "And you stayed behind at the club to learn that?"

"Better than being here, pacing with nothing to say about what happened or why."

"The whole purpose of you being here is to make sure that kind of shit doesn't happen to me." The level tone to her voice set the hair on John's arms raising faster than if she screamed bloody murder in his face. "That's why you were hired."

"Ms. Smith-"

"Did you know," She turned back to her photographs. "That while everyone thought I experienced a psychotic break, going mad and burning down my studio, they never bothered to ask why I might do that? That no one cared the reason because that would be too much to handle and sell fewer papers?"

"No, I didn't."

"Because the truth is," Anna took the stacks of photographs and laid them carefully back in the large box set to the side. "I was in extreme pain and no one wanted to know because that narrative didn't fit the stories they told themselves."

She secured the last pile before sealing the box and pushing it back into the recesses of her closet. "It was far better to imagine that I'd taken a turn for the worst when I realized I was, what was the phrase they used… Oh yes," Anna faced him again. "A dried up, worthless, has-been who's better days were behind her in every sense of the word."

"Ms. Smith," John rose from the floor to mimic her. "I can't speak for any of that. I only know the job I was hired to do-"

"Is because Mr. Crawley feels guilty." John stopped, his mouth half-open at Anna's comment. "Guilty because at his studio, under his watch, one of the other designers visiting from a rival fashion house raped me. You're here because I burned the scene of the crime when the police ruled there was nothing they could do for me."

John could only gape as he stared at Anna, noted the deadness in her eyes. "And so he hired you. More to make himself feel better than for me to feel better. All he wants from me are the designs I did before. For the creative juices to flow like they used to and you know what?" She shook her head slowly, tapping her temple with a finger. "They're not there. It's all gone. What I've got are dregs and embers. All of it snuffed out in a moment."

She pushed past him, back into the bedroom to sit on the edge of her bed, the only light the one from the closet. "I can't create like I used to."

John waited a moment, noting the way Anna's hands wrapped over one another as she began dry-washing them, before moving to stand in front of her with his hands in his pockets. "Then don't."

"What?" Anna blinked up at him, almost squinting in the dark.

"Don't design like you used to. Don't be what you used to." He shrugged, his open jacket bunching slightly with the motion. "You're not that person anymore anyway so you can't design like you did."

"Then what do I do?"

"Design for now." John looked around the room before he located a pad of paper and a pen from the desk to hand them over. "Draw the you that you are now and let the rest figure itself out. Or, better yet, tell it all to bugger off."

Anna took the pen and pad, narrowing her eyes at John. "Why?"

"Because the woman who graced the pages of the magazines my mother bought when I was younger, appealed to me then because I was a teenager and I thought you were the most gorgeous creature I'd ever seen. But," John raised a finger, "They appealed to my mother because she thought you were one of the bravest, most innovative creators she'd seen in a long time."

"You mother must've been deprived of some interesting content."

"Not at all." John gave a little smile. "She worked for Mr. Crawley's mother, as one of the fabric consultants at the house."

"That was before the 'Mister Crawleys' decided they wanted to go into the business of politics, yes?" Anna held the pad, adjusting her hold as the pen gripped more naturally in her hand.

"More than likely." John shrugged, "I don't know anything, to be honest. I don't understand the intricacies of what you do for a living or why you love it. All I know is that we're never the people we thought we were before our trauma and we're certainly not those people afterward."

"Some of us seem to attract more trauma than others." Anna's pen tapped the paper a moment before she focused on the paper.

"None of us ever get what we think is our fair share of anything." John worked his jaw a moment. "But I do apologize, sincerely, for tonight. I wasn't ready for what happened and that's on me."

"Like you were ready for someone to bum-rush us outside the door to the club." Anna snorted, her eyes not leaving the paper before her. "But I accept your apology."

"Thank you."

"And I do hope," Anna finally looked up, meeting his eyes as she tore the paper from the ringed spirals to hand it to him. "You'll not allow it to happen again."

"I can only promise to do my best."

"Then we've nothing more to discuss." Anna stood, holding the pad against her leg while tapping the pen against the other. "Not until tomorrow, anyway."

"I was going to have your meetings pushed back. Or even cancelled if you'd like." John motioned to the room, the paper fluttering slightly in his hands. "Give you some time to recuperate after what happened."

"I think I've spent enough time hiding from the world after the tragedies of my experiences, thank you." Anna waved him out. "But if you could make sure that Mr. Crawley doesn't get any ideas into his head, that would be appreciated."

"I can only try my best."

"So you've said." Anna walked into her bathroom, "Goodnight Mr. Bates."

When the door closed John took a look at the drawing and snorted for a moment. There, in stark but swift strokes, was a vague caricature of him. One that had him looking stern as he fended off a pack of rabid-looking men from getting close to Anna.

"How very kind." He folded up the picture and tucked it into his pocket.