A/N: This is the final chapter to this story and I'm upping the rating to "M" for this chapter to be on the safe side. Thanks to everyone who has been so good as to leave a review or PM me.

They did not make love again for a long time. But she let him hold her at night, wrapping her in his arms as he whispered reassurances in her ears. Anna told him often how much she loved the sound of his voice, and that if she could, she would fall asleep to it every night and wake to it every morning. He instilled in her a sense of calm and safety that nothing could rival.

When they did attempt intimacy once more, many months later, John moved slowly and with exquisite care. She stopped him, overcome with a flashback, and he did not press for it again. He'd already resolved himself to a notion - that if Anna never again let him touch her in such a way, he could live with it. He could content himself with the sight of her beautiful face and the thoughts of her gorgeous mind. The simple feel of her in his arms was enough. He'd existed for years on less. After all, if the very thought of his touch against her naked body repulsed and frightened her, how could he possibly ask her to endure it?

But one day, one ordinary, extraordinary day, something changed. Or rather, nothing changed, but Anna relaxed enough to approach him once more. With her usual tenacity, she walked back to the cottage with him on one of their rare half-days together, holding his free hand in hers most of the way. Locking the door behind them when they arrived, she helped him off with his suit jacket. The summer afternoon left him overheated and he was glad for the relief.

But one look in Anna's eyes set his entire body ablaze with desire. He expected her to hesitate, to touch him with tentative hands and trembling lips. But she seemed more determined than that, unbuttoning his dress shirt as they stood together just inside the front door of the cottage.

"Anna..." John attempted when he understood what she was about, but she paid him no heed. She removed his shirt with the efficiency of a woman long accustomed to the movement, pulling the braces from his shoulders.

"I want you," she declared without a hint of timidity. The afternoon sun still shone through the filmy fabric of their curtains. She tugged at the neck of his undershirt, pulling it down far enough to place a gentle kiss on his chest, just below his chin - the same spot she so often explored at night with her fingers.

Unable to deny her anything, John let him lead her up to their bedroom, all the while struggling to control his own growing desire for her. It had been so long, and just the thought of this finally happening once more heated his blood.

Once within the safe confines of their four bedroom walls, Anna undressed herself quickly. John watched, unable to take his eyes off of her. His wife had always been a particularly beautiful woman, and the years since their marriage had only sharpened his appreciation of her full and slender form. She'd lost weight after the attack, he knew, but she seemed to have regained most of it.

"Will you help me?" she asked, presenting him with the laces of her corset. He loosened the strings with trembling hands, but his fingers remembered the process despite not having done it in a very long time.

"Anna, we don't have to do this," he told her once she'd removed the corset, before she could pull off her chemise.

"Don't you want to?" she asked, her voice suddenly timid and unsure.

Knowing she needed reassurance, John explained, "'Want' is not a strong enough word to depict how much I desire you in this moment. But I need you to know that we don't have to if you aren't ready."

"But I am ready," Anna said confidently, stepping towards him. "I've been thinking about it for days. I miss what we used to share."

He let out a sigh at the thought of his wife considering this for days. He already felt the need for her swirling wildly within him, a primal thing that grew of its own accord. It settled in the pit of his stomach but tendrils reached out through his body, burning his skin from the inside out with the need to touch her.

"I miss it too," he admitted softly. With careful hands, he reached out and around her, helping her remove the pins from her hair, an old ritual they used to share. He so loved the feel of her soft hair, the blonde curls cascading down her back that few others ever got to see. "We should take things slowly. Get used to each other again."

"That sounds nice," she purred as she walked them backwards toward the bed. "Slow is nice."

The back of his legs hit the mattress, and he sat down on it heavily, Anna still in front of him, her fingers playing with the neck of his undershirt as she looked lovingly down at him. John allowed his own hands to explore, finding their way up the bottom of her chemise to run along the smoothness of her shapely legs. He sensed her hesitation as his touch moved high up the outside of her thigh, but she did not pull away.

Instead, Anna regained her own control of the situation by stripping off his undershirt and pants, forcing him to abandon his exploration, at least momentarily. But then she surprised him by removing her own last layers and laying down with him on the bed, each of them facing the other on their sides.

"Tell me if you want me to stop at any point," John advised her, leaning over to kiss her soft lips. Her only response was to kiss him back fervently.

For a time, he just kissed her, exploring and teasing her with his mouth. She tasted like honey from afternoon tea and her soft warmth left him aching with desire for her.

As she kissed him back, Anna let her hands roam down his chest, his arms, across his shoulders. She seemed to map every inch of him that she could reach, as though assuring herself that the man before her was indeed her husband and no one else. He waited to see if she would stop him, but she did not.

When he finally touched her - just a graze of his hand against her bare neck - she gasped slightly at the sensation, and he immediately pulled away. "No, don't," Anna said quickly, bringing his hand back to her. "It feels nice."

Taking her at her word, John touched her again, running his fingers along her collarbone, his thumb tracing lacy circles against her pale skin. His hands traveled further south, following his eyes as he re-explored his wife's body in earnest - gradually, patiently, and slowly.

The tension built as he touched and then tasted, listening to her sighs and moans for any sign that he should stop. And periodically Bates would pause in his ministrations to give her a moment, speaking to her in a low voice so full of passion that it sounded rough to his own ears. But he wanted to remind her that she was safe, that he would never hurt her.

She did not stop him.

Finally, unable to take the teasing and gentle touching any longer, Anna urged him to return to her arms. "I'm ready," she assured him breathlessly. "I want you."

And he wanted her. He wanted her so badly that he ached all over with the need to be with her.

"Would you rather..." he began, gesturing with one hand, silently asking if she'd rather have control of the situation than his weight on top of her.

But Anna shook her head. "No, I want to do it this way. I trust you."

"Stop me if I-"

"I know," she cut him off, and then silenced him with her mouth on his. She kissed him until he joined their bodies, and at her distinct gasp, he froze. Keeping most of his weight on his forearms, he looked down at her, studying her face.

Anna's eyes were closed and her forehead scrunched in what he thought was concentration. He felt her hands travel up his sides to fill the space between them, resting against his chest. At first he thought she intended to push him away, and he began to shift his weight off of her.

"No, don't," she said, her eyes opening instantly. "I just need to feel you."

John waited as she grew used to the feel of him, her fingers traveling across the expanse of soft, dark hairs on his chest. He could tell when she was ready - her hands moved lower, urging him on.

He took his time, making slow movements at first which gradually built on the already intense need they both felt. Watching for any sign that Anna wanted him to stop, he continued with faster motions, periodically leaning down to capture her lips or groan her name as he buried his face in her loose hair.

When she came to pleasure first, he almost stopped, his sudden worry at hurting her overcoming what his mind already knew. But Anna did not let him, did not let go of him as she arched against his body and called his name. The sound and feel of her all but did him in and he followed behind her a few moments later.

Afterwards, they lay together, spent from the activity. The sun still shone outside and distantly John could hear birds singing when the wind did not play between the cottages. he had shifted them so that he lay on his back with her curled against him, a better position for Anna so she could pull away from him if she so desired. But she gave no indication of wanting to separate as they dozed in the afternoon light.

"I missed that," Anna confessed. Her fingers traced circles against his skin, his shirtless state no longer confining her explorations to the small space previously allowed to her.

"Me too," John admitted, not sure if he should keep the feeling to himself. He had no wish to pressure Anna for physical intimacy, not even by implication. "But I also missed this," he told her, squeezing the arm wrapped around her.

The simple intimacy of cuddling with Anna, skin on skin, had no comparison in John's memory. Even early in his marriage to Vera, such gentleness was lost amid the tumultuous passion they initially shared, followed swiftly either by sleep or returning to whatever occupied them before the urge struck. The few times he'd reached for her hoping for gentleness, she'd snapped at or ridiculed him. And John's other partners, both the girls he'd known in his youth and the women he'd forgotten during his days as a drunkard, had not indulged in soft embraces and pillow talk.

No, Anna was special. She alone informed his understanding of the physical acts they shared as making love - not only the sweet pleasure of release but the simple joy of lying with her afterward.

"I hope you know now that you can share anything with me," John told her quietly after a time. "You don't ever have to suffer that burden alone as long as I am here."

Anna nodded. "I know."

The movement of her hand on his chest gradually stilled, and she rested it over his heart. A calm quiet drifted over them, and John found his eyes growing heavier as fatigue set in. He only ever seemed to sleep well when Anna was in his arms.

"I won't push you away again," she told him softly.

"Good," he answered, fighting to stay awake so he could continue to look on her and listen to her voice. But the combination of the lazy afternoon, her warmth against him, their earlier activities, and the previous months of worry and fear had finally caught up with him.

"Sleep, my love," Anna whispered to him soothingly. "Sleep and dream of me."

And he did.

fin