Author's Note: Before we begin the Video Game Plot Bunny has been picked up. It is called 'Becoming Edith' by Luro4

Also, want to know when this story will be updated, ask me questions, and hear about new plot bunnies or ideas I have for this and other stories? Then follow me on Twitter at TheRealMr_Chaos

~A~O~O~O~F~

9 Hours Earlier

Kemal's feet ached.

Even as he allowed Evelyn to shove him onto the cheap straw-filled sack that the pathetic little Grantham Arms Inn (and the owner should be shot for trying to put on airs like that, as there was simply no way a hovel like the one he was now in could be given such a lofty title) called a bed he focused on his aching feet. He lifted one foot up, grimacing as he looked at the torn and soiled remains of his Persian slipper before grabbing the ruined item and tossing it into the dented metal bucket that served as a trash can. His fingers began to work on his throbbing sole, thumbs pressing into the abused muscles as he tried to get some feeling back into them, his skin icy to the touch.

Of course it wasn't just his feet that were aching from the long, painful, humiliating walk down from the Abbey to the village. He'd only been wearing a pair of silk pants and a light bathrobe and despite the warming weather England was still England and despite his attempts to hold himself with utter diginity by the end the wretched cold winds had sapped his strength and left him shivering. The robe had done nothing to protect him and his skin ironically burned along his sides, dried completely out and left chapped and sensitive to the touch. The muscles in his chest ached too from his panting, making hard to breath even now. Even his nipples hurt, hard as diamonds and so sensitive that he couldn't even pull his robe closed towards the end of the walk without gritting his teeth in pain.

And that wasn't even focusing on the damage that damn footman had done.

'I'll have that uppity bastard in chains. I'll demand the Embassy deliver him to Turkey… in England they'd probably let him off light. I'll make sure he curses the day he thought to touch me! I'll have him in chains and I'll claim my pound of flesh with a proper lashing for all to see!' He reached up and ran his fingers along his busted lip. 'And that damn butler too.'

He had caught his reflection in a mirror as Evelyn had gotten the sleepy inn keeper and presented him with Grantham's note. Kemal couldn't even fool himself: he was a complete mess. His left eye was darkening and swollen, making it so he could barely open it. His bottom lip had been cut open on his teeth and had crusted over with a disgusting scab; attempts to remove it only filled his mouth with blood and resulted in another hideous purple and red crusting. It was joined by the blood that had gushed from his nose and been smeared all over the lower half of his face, making him look like some deranged vampire from one of the English's trashy novels. He couldn't even breathe through his busted nose and he swore that if the damage was permanent and he was left with a crooked nose like some lower class thug who made his bread money fighting in a sawdust ring he'd see Grantham tossed into a Turkish cell along with the footman and the butler. Even his hair was a mess, clumping oddly thanks to the cut on the back of his head where the footman had bashed his head against the wall and Grantham's youngest bitch had smashed him with that vase. Kemal had touched his skull and winced, the pain only fueling his fire.

"Are you even listening to me?" Evelyn declared, waving his arms about like a puppet at a children's performance.

"I'm sorry… I've had a bad night and I'm afraid my focus is elsewhere," he said drolly.

"You've… you've had a bad night?"

"Yes, or did you miss when that fat oaf and his dimwitted accomplice savaged me while Grantham and the lawyer watched on and did nothing."

"You… you broke into Lady Mary's bedroom! You attempted…" Evelyn grit his teeth and turned his head.

"Oh, just say it!" Kemal complained. "You all think I was trying to rape her. Use your words like an adult, Evelyn!"

"And you weren't?" Evelyn hissed.

He leveled a cold stare at his friend. "Come now, you know me."

"I thought I did," Evelyn snapped. "Then I find you in Lady Mary's bedroom half dressed and she looking like she was mauled by a bear, as if she were a damsel in one of those dreadful American West tales!"

"Oh, don't make it more than what it was." Kemal rubbed his throbbing nose, wondering how he was going to sleep with it hurting as much as it did. "What is wrong with you British? You are supposed to be emotionally stunted yet you take the smallest things and blow them completely out of proportion!"

"Out… out of proportion?" Evelyn flopped his arms about once more, making Kemal want to roll his one good eye. "Do you even hear yourself? Do you even realize what you almost did?"

"I almost did Lady Mary a favor!" Kemal snapped. His friend let out a squawk of protest but he spoke before the brit could make any more complaints. "This country! You make your women fear the joining of man and woman. You treat it as something terrifying, something that they must flee from. Can't be discussed, can't be explored. It must be hidden away in the dark, never spoken of until the wedding night when your bride fumbles about like a fool in the dark, unsure of herself and leaving both wanting more. And even then the only time they will know the rapture that can come from the act is when their fat, old, half blind husband stumbles into their room, drunk on sour brandy and reeking of sweat from their fat rolls and pops a baby into their belly." He jabbed his finger at himself. "I've seen it a hundred times throughout this cold, miserable little mudball you call a country! Women dressed in elegancy but made to feel that if they show even a hint of sexual desire for a man they are sinful.

"I help them explore that which you and the rest of your boorish kind would demand they deny. Lady Mary has been told by her parents she must hurry and marry the first man that shows an interest in her… a night with me would have been a memory she could have held on to for decades, warming her heart even as she wallows away in a cold empty estate with a husband that cares only for the male child she can produce. Her fool of a sister didn't understand… she is too young to know what I know, what Lady Mary would have come to realize! I would have shown her pleasures that she could have only dreamed of! Instead I find my name throw into the dirt and that poor woman must continue to deny her desires! It is a tradegy!"

Kemal had little hope Evelyn would come to his senses and see things his way. The man was English through and through and if there was one thing Kemal had learned during his stay in the fog-covered country that Evelyn called home it was that the British hated change. They loathed it, clinging to their traditions and outdated thinking like they were comforting blankets. The fled from any alternation like it were a beast, preferring to stick with the tried and true. They wrapped their arms around it and repressed all desires to grow and change and evolve.

Sure enough when he looked up at his friend all he saw was disgust and outrage, though in true British fashion Evelyn forcefully repressed it all, uttering only, "The saddest part of all of this is you believe your own twisted tales."

"And why wouldn't I?" he snapped in annoyance. "They're true."

"Lady Mary wanted nothing to do with you! Do you deny that?"

"She at first told me to leave but all women of her station say such nonsense. They must be coaxed out of their shells, like drawing a frightened creature from their den, so that they might learn true pleasure. Had her sister not reacted as she did Lady Mary would have cast aside her fears and embraced her sexuality. And her future husband would have thanked me. I've seen it a hundred times."

"…you bloody bastard." Kemal fought a smirk as, at long last, his friend released a bit of rage. "You've been using me, haven't you? Getting me to take you into the homes of noble families so you could… you could deflower their daughters for your own deranged amusement. You've made me an accessory to your sin and scandal!"

He waved his hand dismissively, not shocked at all that Evelyn had taken such a view. "I don't see it like that… but I imagine many others will. Which is why I suggest you get some sleep, Evelyn… so we might discuss tomorrow with cooler heads how we prevent Grantham and the rest of his miserable family from ruining us both."

His friend trembled before spinning on his heels, slamming the door as hard as he could.

'Such a bore,' Kemal thought as he walked over to the small dresser in the corner of the room and took in once more his reflection. He looked like an absolute fright and knew that even if he didn't have to focus his entire attention on dealing with Grantham's potential threat that he'd be hard pressed to woo a succulent young lady for some time. Worst, there was no way he'd be able to play these wounds off as something gallant or even interesting. He couldn't go about bragging that he'd gotten his wounds from saving a damsel or defending another's honor. He'd gotten them because Grantham's brat had decided to get involved with things she was too young to understand and then their servants hadn't know their places.

The Turk touched his bruised side and hissed. "Bloody bastards," he muttered to himself. "They think they've won? I'll see them all pay. I'll have the entire staff in chains and when the embassy hears about this Grantham will be lucky if he didn't just lose his home and title!" He rose up and looked at the bed in disgust, trying his best to prepare it so he might rest his aching body. He'd need to be alert in the morning, as he had to make sure he was on the train back to London ASAP. He couldn't risk Grantham doing the smart thing and trying to get word out to the embassy about what he'd done. Kemal was sure the man wouldn't; he seemed to believe that the pretty little words one spoke must be held too but the Turk couldn't risk it. "No, I need to get to the embassy and make sure my side of the story is what is heard." He paused, picking at the scab on the back of his head where Grantham's youngest had brained him with the damn vase. He winced as he pulled off a large chunk, looking at it for a moment before flicking it away for the inn keeper to sweep away. He grabbed the pillow and frustration and struck it against the mattress. "They need to know how poorly I've been treated, how I've been abused. I need to control this tale so that no one gets the wrong idea… and I can make sure that it is the truth that is on the tongue of every man and woman in this squalored little country, rather than the lies Grantham and that bitch Mary will spread." He laid down and stared at the ceiling, already sensing that all he'd be able to do would be to toss and turn on the lumpy mattress. "Of course I'll need to ensure Evelyn sees things my way… if not I suppose it will be easy enough to rid myself of him. A few words to father, a request for Evelyn to present himself to our embassy… and then Evelyn might join me on a trip to Istanbul. Have his eyes opened-"

Kemal jerked slightly when he heard the door groan as it opened behind him.

"Hell, even the hinges are rust covered," he muttered. "Well, Evelyn, did you come to brow beat me some-"

But it wasn't Evelyn. Instead, to Kemal's utter confusion, it was an older man with a heavy frame and a round face that some might have called kind and perhaps babyish but to the Turk, with those eyes smoldering with the promise of pain, it might as well have been the face of a demon from hell. He was wearing a dark suit and a long coat and on his hands, oddly enough, were a pair of gloves one might have seen a horse rider or a gardener wear. He carried a small valise in one hand and a heavy worn cane in the other.

The intruder let the bag drop to the floor with a dull thud before reaching back and shutting the door behind him, the sound of the lock being triggered seeming to echo through the room.

"I know you," Kemal said suddenly, brow furrowed, sitting up. "You're Grantham's valet. The cripple." He laughed. "Did the old fool send you to-"

Though the valet might have had a bum leg he moved with surprising speed, coming at Kemal with his free hand stretched out before the Turk could even let out a sound or shift up from his spot on the bed. He found himself shoved to the mattress, the valet's hand wrapping around his throat just hard enough to choke out what he was going to say. The valet was instantly on top of him, dark eyes like that of a doll's staring down at him, the man's mouth a firm frown as he took his thumb and middle finger and pressing them against the sides of Kemal's neck, just below his ear. He felt the urge to cry out but couldn't with the larger man's body pressed against his, shoving all the air from his lungs, and then a sensation of light headedness flooded him, making the world spin and rock like he was on a ship in the middle of choppy seas.

"Don't like it so much when you're on the bottom, do you?" the valet said before releasing his hold. Kemal gasped but any relief he felt died as the valet raised his open hand and brought it down in three quick chops to his neck.

Darkness claimed the Turk and for a while he knew no more.

He did not know how long he'd been out but as he was slowly ripped away from the inky blackness that had claimed him he found himself lying on his bed, his upper body still bare. He thought, for a moment, that he'd dreamed the entire attack but then as he'd tried to bring his arms up he realized that they were trapped by heavy cloth that was wrapped around his waist, forearms, and the bed itself. Another such cloth near his ankles kept his legs firmly in place. He struggled to sit up but without the use of his arms he found it utterly impossible and soon he flopped back down on the mattress with a muffled 'oompf'. It was only in that moment the fog cleared from his mind enough for him to realize that someone has stuffed a wad of thick cloth in his mouth; it was packed so tightly there was no way he could push it out with his tongue. It made his jaw hurt to be open so wide and he gagged a little before he gained control of himself.

"Oh good," the valet whispered, Kemal's head turning to stare at the man. "You're awake. I was afraid I'd killed you. I was warned that if you hit that nerve too hard it could kill someone and I can't have you shuffling off just yet." Kemal thrashed for a moment and the valet scoffed. "Don't, you'll just tire yourself out." He didn't listen though, trying to break free for several minutes, the servant just continuing to unpack his valise, setting the contents on the nightstand. Kemal was confused; his struggles slowed as he looked at the assortment of items. Several small brown bottles were joined by a length of rubber hose, which the valet looked at for a moment before setting down it down on the table. He then reached behind the bottles and picked up a long medical syringe that had been hidden just out of sight. Kemal let out a muffled curse as the older man took the discarded robe and used it to wipe the tip of the needle clean before turning back towards Kemal, limping over and sitting down next to him. The Turk's eyes though were only on the needle, his breath coming out hard through his nostrils, even as his nose ached in protest.

The valet raised an eyebrow before smiling slightly. "Don't worry, it doesn't hurt. You didn't wake up at all when I was testing it." Kemal, eyes widening, looking down and saw that his bare arms were sported several needle marks which had already scabbed over. "Anyone who sees that might wonder why there aren't older ones but considering how you've been rushing around with Mr. Napier it should be clear you haven't had a chance to indulge. Getting in between your toes was harder." Though he kept his voice at the same low tenor for Kemal it felt like the man was booming out his words with the voice of God. "They'll confirm as much when they check your bags and find the other bottles and needles in the ripped lining. All nice and full." He picked up one of the brown bottles and held it up to the light, leaning his heavy frame towards Kemal. "Others might wonder how you got these but that will give way to horror when the conclusion is reached that you had them in your pockets when you went into Lady Mary's room. Imagine it… not only were you going to rape her but then convince her, an Earl's daughter, to try a bit of your cocaine as well." The valet shook his tongue. "How dreadful." He wagged the bottle in Kemal's face. "This is the medicine of the lower class, after all."

Kemal's eyes blazed with fury and he tried to scream at the valet only for it to come out as weak, muted sounds that were pathetic even to his own ears. The cripple let him get his anger out before, finally, he spoke again.

"Come now, don't be upset. It is a habit of the wretched and the downtrodden but you wouldn't be the first member of the elite to give in to the addiction of the poor and destitute. I wouldn't be surprised if Downton Abbey gets one such addict dining with his lordship once or twice a year. It might remove a bit of your credibility but nothing you couldn't recover from." With that the valet filled up the syringe a fourth of the way up with the drug and moved towards Kemal. The Turk began to shake and buck once more but the Valet merely pinned his left arm down and drove the needle home, filling Kemal's veins with the drug. Once he was done the valet pulled back and waited like a man sitting at the train station wondering what was keeping the 12:05.

Kemal, for his part, began to panic. It felt for several long moments like his left arm was on fire and then he began to tremble. A horrific ringing filled his ears, threatening to swallow him up, and his heart thudded in his chest as sweat gathered on his brow as the room become all too warm. He shifted and hissed as the pain in his chest and face blossomed once more but even as it did he felt a sudden odd sense that it didn't matter. Even as his heart pounded in his chest a kind of giddiness filled him. The light from the candle burned his eyes but when he looked away he found himself mesmerized by the blob-like shapes that danced about his vision. He'd never felt so wonderful in his entire life and if he could he would have ripped the wad of cloth from his mouth and babbled his thanks to the valet for introducing him to such a wondrous feeling. Nothing else mattered in the world, nothing at all, and he shifted and rocked in the bed, murmuring nonsense.

The fall from such bliss was painful and all too quick. He'd tried to cling to the sensation but as it disappeared he was left lying in the bed once more, the valet keeping watch. Kemal turned his head only for the valet to grab his arm once more.

"I argued against this," the older man said. "I want you to know that. I felt it was wrong… to allow you to feel even a moment of bliss. But the one that sent me? They argued that it was a small price to pay… for what came next." With that the valet filled the syringe up, this time all the way, before grabbing Kemal's arm and holding him steady. The Turk, finally coming to his senses, screaming as the man drove the needle once more into his skin. "For all the fathers whose daughters you hurt. All the brothers who saw their sisters ruined. All the loves that were shattered because of your greed." With that statement he pressed the stopper down hard before stepping back, leaving the needle embedded in Kemal's arm.

The Turk felt the fire once more but this time there was no wonderful bliss. Instead he struggled and shook, trying to rip himself free from the bindings. He violently bucked, slamming his head again and again into the mattress, stars flashing in his vision as he reaggravated his wounds. His skin felt like he'd been set ablaze and the trembling grew so bad that the world became a blur. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the beats growing faster even as the thud-thud-thud turned into a thud-thudthud-thud-thud-thudthudthud. His throat burned and his stomach twisted violently and when the valet reached over and yanked the cloth from his mouth rather than scream Kemal expelled the contents of his stomach, soaking his face and neck with bile. He felt it gush back into his throat and he gagged, trying to get it out but that only made more come gushing from his stomach. His eyes screwed shut or maybe they were wide open because all he could see his darkness and it hurt so much and he just wanted to breathe and he trembled and cried and called out to everyone he ever knew even as the vomit burned his throat and his heart pounded and his head hurt his head hurt his head hurt his head hurt his head hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt-

~A~O~O~O~F~

John checked his pocket watch, waiting another five minutes before he touched Pamuk's neck. The room smelled of sick and looking down at the man's pants he crinkled his nose to see that the Turk had soiled himself and then thrashed in his own filth. Still, he'd seen worse during the war and certainly smelled more disgusting things than vomit and shit so he didn't let that phase him. Instead, doing as he'd been shown, he checked the diplomat's neck before confirming that he was, indeed, dead.

He felt no joy in that. No sorrow though either. It had to be done and he'd done his duty. Not just in the name of revenge but in the name of his hopes and dreams.

He pulled out a knife and cut the cloth from Pamuk's body, shoving it into the valise along with the gag he'd used. The valise, its contents, and his gloves would be tossed into the fire within the next hour, so he didn't care if he ruined any of it. Taking up his cane John looked around the room one last time, making sure he'd not forgotten anything while also making sure that all that needed to be left behind was in its proper spot. The nightstand held the few bottles of cocaine, their labels ripped off so no one would know they'd come from Clarkson's cabinet at the hospital. The syringe, which had been broken in Pamuk's death throws, was nothing special either and lay on the bed, droplets of blood from when it had been ripped from the Turk's arm staining in.

The man had almost made it too easy. Had he remained at the house as he and his employer (for while Lord Grantham was the man he worked for when it came to his dealing with Pamuk there was a different Crawley he considered his employer) had feared then it would have been hard for John to sneak into his room and do what needed to be done, especially after seeing how much restraining it took to keep the main in place. By getting himself banished from Downton it had given John the perfect staging ground. He'd already seen to it during dinner to plant the bottles of cocaine and the needles in the man's bag where they might be discovered the next day but doing it in the room would have drawn suspicions on Downton itself. Now the tale would be on the Grantham Arms and with what he and his employer had planned that wouldn't harm the owner that much in the end.

He moved silently down the stairs and towards the back, a little smile forming on his lips. People were so used to thinking that because he had a bad leg that it was impossible for him to sneak about. He knew Thomas thought that, believing that he'd hear John coming a mile away. What he didn't realize, the same with so many others, was that having a bad leg meant that John had taught himself how to be even more quiet, so that he didn't draw attention to himself. When people heard him coming it was because he WANTED to be heard.

'The Dowager might be the only one who'd understand,' John thought as he stepped out of the hotel and quietly stole away back towards Downton. It would be a long walk but well worth the trouble and it gave him time to come down from the rush he was feeling. 'People hear her tap that cane of hers and think 'Oh, we always know when she is coming'. They never realize that she does it because she wants to be noticed… and are all the more startled when she sneaks up on them.' John shook his head, smiling as he thought of a certain blonde maid who, over the course of the last year, he'd become very close to. She was bright and brilliant and she made him want to linger after each meal just to talk… but even she jumped when he surprise her. Even she didn't realize that sometimes a handicap made you invisible.

It had certainly helped him figure out how to move about through Downton. Perhaps it came from his brief time in prison, or from the war which had taught him caution, or maybe it was just that he was different from most people, but John prided himself on knowing the layout of not just Downton but nearly every building in the village. On his days off he'd wander down, visiting people and talking with them… and learning. He'd see the doors that were rarely used, where the servants' entrances were that were no longer used, the quickest paths to and from places. The few times he'd been caught he'd easily reminded people that with his poor leg it helped to know how to shorten his trips and pity would fill their eyes and they'd let him go about his business. Certainly the Grantham Arms inn keeper hadn't realized that John had been learning how to make a quick escape if he ever needed to from the building. Nor did Carson realize that John knew of passages in Downton that no one had walked in ages; forgotten passages and hidden doors.

Thomas thought him a sneak. The man didn't realize how right he was.

After about ten minutes John spotted the house but rather than veer towards the servants entrance he continued even further right, moving past the garage before finally settling down on a bench that looked out towards the garden. Pratt would have his lunch out here and sometimes be joined by the stable hands and Lynch but at the late hour there was no one about other than John and the bright three quarter moon that hung overhead, providing him with enough light that there was no need for a lantern. As he sat there he remembered the meeting he'd had back in January, when the snows had fallen thick onto Downton and the post-holiday madness had given way to the quiet days and nights of winter. He'd been in his room, working on stitching up a small seam on one of his lordship's shirts when his soon-to-be employer had entered and, to his shock, laid out a tale so strange and outlandish he'd thought it a joke. But as time had passed and the words he'd heard spoken had proven true he'd come to agree to the mad scheme. And when Mr. Pamuk had arrived exactly as his employer had described he'd quietly confirmed that he would take on the assignment. Not just for the honor of Downton but-

A twig cracked and he twisted his head only to let out a sigh of relief as he saw his employer emerge from around the garage.

"Is it done?"

"It is, Lady Sybil."

She was wearing her riding outfit, which he wagered she'd both be able to change out of quickly and be able to explain any mud and dirt upon it through simply going for the ride. The youngest of the Earl's daughters moved to stand next to him and once more John was struck by her bearing. When she first come to him to tell her of her scheme to kill the Turkish Diplomat he'd thought it a childish game… until he'd seen the way her eyes flashed. During the Boer War there had been a battle where he and Robert had gotten separated from the rest of their men and had to spend the night in a farm house with a widow and her three children. During the night some enemy soldiers had come looking for them and the widow had told them to come inside when they'd threatened to kill her children in front of her if she didn't let them in. John had just left the room he and Robert were sharing when the woman had pulled out knife, slit the throat of one soldier before stabbing the other in the side, giving John time to tackle him and finish the job. After that he'd looked at her and the woman, whose name he couldn't even remember, had looked at him with dark, piercing eyes, and told him, "Nature tells the truth… the female is always the most dangerous of the species." John had never forgotten those eyes, the eyes of one willing to do what it took to protect those they cared for.

Those were the same eyes Lady Sybil had had when she'd told him all about how Kemal Pamuk would attempt to rape her sister and she needed John to kill him to protect Downton from scandal.

"How did you manage to sneak away?" he asked when she said nothing.

"Papa and mama finally told Edith and I to head to bed while Dr. Clarkson looked over Carson and William."

John started at that. "Are they alright?"

Sybil nodded quickly, at once becoming the sweet, kind girl all the house knew her to be. "Oh yes, quite fine. Carson took exception to Pamuk calling Mary a whore and struck him. It was brave but foolish, as Pamuk struck Carson several times before William savagely beat him. Dr. Clarkson is just making sure they are alright."

"I'm glad," John said before holding up the valise. "I removed the metal from this as you asked and I'll toss it in the wood stove outside when I go back in. Within an hour all the evidence will be gone."

"Burn the gloves I provided as well. I don't want to risk anything coming back on you, Bates."

"I'll manage if it does," he said.

Lady Sybil shook her head though. "I did this to protect all of us; I won't have you ruined. I'd have killed the shit-stain bastard myself if I could have snuck away." John raised an eyebrow at her coarse language, as well as the fact that Lady Sybil, when she cursed, developed a hint of an Irish accent; it was as if she'd learned such words from someone born in Ireland.

He shook off such thoughts though and returned to the matter at hand. "And as for the other matter we discussed?"

Sybil nodded and pulled a folded sheet of paper from her pocket. "This is the name and address of a lawyer in London; Matthew suggested him. I have already paid him to investigate your wife, Vera, and when he last wrote he stated that he had enough to not only ensure that you'd be able to get a divorce and have the… issues… with your arrest wiped away, but that she wouldn't dare bother you again. It seems that she is not the law-abiding woman she'd want the world to believe. He didn't share with me the details," John could tell that annoyed Lady Sybil, "but I gathered that she has done enough since you last saw her to ensure she wouldn't want any of that revealed to the police. Mr. Perkins is merely waiting for you to contact him so he might draw up the papers. I believe that should you do so within a week's time you'll have your divorce finalized before June."

John licked his lips. He wasn't one to show emotion, for much like his lordship he felt that it was improper for a strong man to do so, but in that moment he truly wanted to begin crying. He wasn't doing this for himself, not at all; he was doing this for Anna, who deserved better than to pine for a man bond by law to another. He hadn't minded being estranged from Vera, as he felt it was his penance for how he'd treated her back when he'd lost himself in the bottle… but now, at Downton, he felt like he'd been reborn and he was eager to cut away the final tie to his old life. Before he'd wanted to be a better man for himself… now all he wanted was to be worthy of her.

"Thank you, Lady Sybil," he said softly.

"It should be I thanking you. You've done me and my family the greatest favor one could ask of another." She turned to go only to pause. "Bates? Might I say one more thing?"

"Only if I may ask you one final question."

Lady Sybil nodded in agreement before saying, "Don't wait. Life… life is far too short. What you have now will be gone before you realize it and you don't want to look back, when things have changed and your life is no longer the same, and wish that you'd have only been braver sooner. That you had… seized your happiness instead of allowing worry to rob you of days or weeks or even years of joy. For Anna's sake… for your sake… don't wait."

"I'll remember that." John paused, looking down at his shoes, before he let out a long breath. "I have done all you've asked me. It took a lot of convincing but once I was on board, as it were, I went along with what you asked. But I have to ask now: how did you learn all this? How did you know about Vera? About Pamuk? About everything?"

She was quiet for a very long time and John began to wonder if he had gone to far when she said, in the softest of voices, her eyes staring at the Abbey. "You'd never believe me," she said in the softest of voices before turning away, leaving John by himself. He sat back down on the bench and looked at the stars, thinking not of the life he had taken but of the life he hoped would soon begin.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Author's Notes: And thus we learn The Turkish Prick's fate… and find out that Sybil wasn't kidding when she said that she would do what Matthew couldn't. That she would protect her family. By any means.

And we also see a radical change to canon: Vera neutralized and Bates free to marry Anna early.

Not much else to say as I'd rather hear what you guys think.

Now then, for our plot bunny we have one loosely based on the story Inspected by #13. One of the very first things we learn about Matthew, before we even meet him, is he is a lawyer. But... other than one or two occasions it never really plays into the plot of Downton. Yes, he looks the entail and he advises Bates (but isn't his lawyer, mind you), but other than that he doesn't do much lawyering.

What if... he did?

What if Matthew decided to use the law to solve every problem at Downton, before it got out of hand? And by that I mean he uses every insane law he can think of to the point of breaking the laws of physics to save the day... because even physics fears messing around with lawyers. I imagine an utterly hilarious story where Matthew comes up against a problem, quotes an obscure/insane law, and the problem quickly is solved. Sometimes by random police officers just happening to walk by and arrest the offender.

I imagine scenes such as this:

Pamuk begins to flirt with Mary during dinner only for Matthew to notice that Pamuk double dipped a piece of fish in the sauce and according to the Sauce Conservation Act of 1801 one can only dip their fish once in a sauce when at a grand estate and as such Pamuk must be sent to jail. Cue to two coppers (who I'd have as hilariously stereotypically Irish policemen) lead him away in handcuffs.

When Charlie threatens Carson Matthew shows up, uses the Stage Actors Pact of 1901 to have him arrested and Carson's past sealed on threat of being catapulted.

When Vera frames Bates for her murder Matthew uses The Afterlife Interrogation Articles of 1713 that allow him to command the dead to be interrogated. Vera is marched out of hell by our helpful irish coppers, interrogated, and sent off the Hell once more.

When Cora loses the baby Matthew rushes upstairs and thrusts a paper at her stomach, stating that the Unborn Child Accords of 1575, Revision 15, states that babies can not die in the womb if their mothers were getting out of the bathtub. If the baby does not begin living again he or she will be arrested. The coppers then produce tiny handcuffs. The baby comes back to life but Matthew states that Revision 16 states that the baby can't be heir because he envoked that clause so things go about the same.

Bonus points if the Irish Cops are Tom and his brother Liam and Sybil begins flirting with Tom every time he shows up.