A/N: Personally, I am of the opinion that S4Ep8 and the ridiculous S4 Christmas special do not exist, I simply refuse to recognize their idiocy. BUT if they did exist, this is how I would fix the crap story Fellowes threw together. It's a bit crack, but not any more far-fetched than what he wrote.

This is written in celebration of E. Phoard's birthday! Huzzah! What better way to celebrate than reading about Green meeting his maker!

Deserving

The gravel crunched loudly under his shoes as John set off. The sun was bright and warm. He regretted wearing his coat and gloves. He was already sweating and he hadn't even left the grounds of Downton. At least there was slight breeze. His leg throbbed; rain was coming.

But despite the dull pain, John was determined. The timing was right. He could get it all taken care of before Anna arrived back with Lady Mary from London. Another opportunity might not present itself. He had to take advantage of her absence.

He took another sure step. His stick attacking the gravel. He had to do this. No matter that Anna would think it unnecessary and precarious, he had to do it. For her. Anna deserved as much.

He wasn't hard to follow. Twenty feet behind and he never even noticed him. His stride was arrogant and oblivious. So sure of himself; so sure that nobody could touch him. But a man capable of ruining the lives of others.

He wasn't going let him get away with it. He had worked too hard to get his life on course to have this asinine man destroy his future. They were nearly to Piccadilly. The sidewalks would be crowded and the streets busy. Accidents happened there all the time.

John was close. His hands were wet and sweaty inside his gloves. He wasn't sure how Anna would view his actions. All he wanted to do was make her happy. To see her smile again, really smile. Not smile out obligation, but out of joy, humor or plain silliness. To hear her laugh and it not be forced. For her to sleep the night through without strangled cries and thrashing bedsheets. To be able to talk about a future that doesn't involve past. To not live a shadowed life.

God damn Green. It wasn't right that such a monster walked free and such a beautiful creature was left irrevocably scarred and damaged. God damn him.

If this could make it better, then so be it. No matter the cost. All for Anna, she deserved nothing less.

He reached out in front of him and . . .

He had never heard a more sickening, yet desirable sound. A muffled bumpity-bump as the lorry wheels pummeled Green's prone body. A woman next to him screamed directly in his ear. Tires skidded on cobblestone as cars halted. A few men hustled into the street and flipped Green's body over. His face was unrecognizable; bloody and smashed. A deep crimson puddle fanned out from his still body. There was no way he could sustain such blood loss and survive. He would die if he wasn't already dead.

The police were on the scene now whistling and moving the crowd back. He stood on the outskirts just like any other interested bystander. They were now dragging his body to the side of the street. His coat, waistcoat and shirt were unbuttoned as a constable bent over with his ear to his chest. Another officer began to ask gawkers if anyone witnessed what happened. He took a few steps back in retreat. The constable playing doctor lifted his head and shook it. No heartbeat. The deed was done. Satisfied with his work, Tony Gillingham calmly walked away.

. . . and turned the knob of the entered the travel agency. A jingle of bells announced John's arrival. An older man behind a desk stood up.

"Hello, how may I be of service?"

John removed his gloves and hat. "I was hoping to book a holiday trip for me and my wife."

The man smiled, "Why, of course. Do you have anywhere in particular you want to travel?"

"Actually, I do . . ."

Tony sat by at a window table of a small tea room. He normally wouldn't deign to enter such a common establishment, but it provided an excellent view of the still chaotic scene in Piccadilly. Green's body was now covered with a sheet and an undertaker's wagon had just arrived. The officer taking statements seemed to have given up questioning witnesses. That was a good sign. The crowd was beginning to disperse. The constables looked ready to reopen the street. Relief filtered through his body.

The bastard was gone and so were the complications that he presented. Tony had never particularly liked Green. There was something about valet that irked him, but could never place. He couldn't complain about his work. He always had his clothes ready and his bags packed with a smile. Often that smile seemed less the genuine, but Tony hadn't really minded. He was well taken care of.

Then Mary presented her ultimatum. No, she wouldn't call it an ultimatum, but that's what it was. Tony couldn't risk losing her and all that was at stake. Green had to go.

He called him into the library after his luncheon with Mary and laid out his termination. He tried to be magnanimous and put the blame on himself vaguely claiming incompatibility. He even offered to write glowing letters of recommendation.

At first Tony thought he was going to take the firing as a gentleman and leave quietly, but out of nowhere the bastard began making threats.

I know the financial straits you are in . . . the gambling . . . all the debts. I know you are not far out of the poorhouse. The title is all you have. You get rid of me, I will make sure that Mary Crawley will become aware of your current situation. Don't doubt me. I will do it.

There was a glint of perverseness in his eyes. He wasn't bluffing and he would greatly enjoy bursting Tony's attempt to rebuild his finances. Green would tell Mary. Whether Mary believed him, she seemed to harbor some strange distrust of the man, it would put doubt in her head. And doubt was enough to push her into the arms of Charles Blake. Tony didn't know when another available woman of such fortune would cross his path. He had already cast lots with Mary. She was the one and some lowly valet wasn't going to ruin it.

Green's body was unceremoniously dumped into the back of the wagon. Traffic was flowing on the street again. Tires treaded through the blood. People once again walked along. The constables were leaving. Tony checked his pocket watch. Time to head for the club; it was the perfect alibi. Since members signed the desk book on their own, he could fudge his arrival time. He assumed the police would show up on his doorstep sometime this evening. If they even questioned his whereabouts, which he highly doubted, they would find that he was nowhere near Piccadilly around 2pm that afternoon.

He was going to tell her last night, but after the long train ride from London she went right to bed when they got home. He would tell her tonight. She was in the kitchen putting a pot of tea on and avoiding him. She had been acting strange since the bazaar that afternoon. Several times she subtly inquired what he was doing yesterday. Though he was sorely tempted to tell her earlier outside the servants' hall, he wanted to wait until they got home away from big ears and prying eyes.

John opened up the top drawer of the small secretary they had bought in Ripon when he was first released from prison. He pulled out an envelope and put it inside his jacket pocket.

The rain his leg predicted had finally arrived. Above the uneven patter of rain on their tin roof he could hear the clink of tea cups and saucers. She was still tinkering, still avoiding him. This wasn't new, but he had thought that things had been getting better. There were times when they bore a resemblance to their former selves. They could talk about Downton and their daily doings. They could discuss articles of interest in the Ripon Dispatch. They could pull together a shopping list. But they never talked about what happened. Not since that disastrous dinner at the hotel. It was always there, but never there. It ruled their lives, but lurked outside their feeble attempts to confront it.

Anna didn't want to be seen as a victim and he knew someone with such strength and courage could never truly be a victim; but John couldn't help thinking that their future had been the ultimate causality of the attack. Anna no longer spoke of the days to come, so neither did John. Aspirations vanished as they trudged through life, day in and day out. A light had left his wife. He hoped to reignite that light with the envelope he held.

"Anna, is the tea almost ready?" She had hid in the kitchen long enough.

"Coming up," came her rushed voice. He could hear her load the tea pot on a silver tea tray that had been a castoff from Downton. Finally, she emerged. John got up to take the tray, but she tsked him away and set it down between them on the small dining room table.

He couldn't help smiling at the plate of biscuits also on the tray.

"I thought you might want a snack," she told him with a grin of her own. "Even though you managed to devour two large pieces of Mrs. Patmore's apple crumb at supper."

Anna had been on him for months to watch his waistline. Her concern was more endearing than annoying. And normal. He looked up and met her eyes. There was a moment of connection. They were tethered together again. But her smile eventually drooped and she looked away, almost as if she wasn't allowed to enjoy such merriment.

It was now or never.

"Anna, you've asked me several times what I did yesterday in York."

Her head bobbed up and her eyes widened before looking down again. In an obvious struggle with composure, she picked up her spoon and nervously dumped a large spoonful of sugar in her tea and began to stir. "Yes, I would like to know what you were up to . . . in York."

John reached into his pocket and pulled at the envelope and pushed across the table.

Her brows creased in confusion. This was not what she expected. She fingered the paper before picking it up for closer inspection.

"Hamilton Brothers Travel Agency, 801 N. Main Street, York," she breathlessly read the envelope's stamped address. Her voice no more than a whisper. "You were in York, you really were . . . in York . . . not London."

"Why would I be in London?" John asked without thinking.

"Never mind," Anna attempted, but her answer came out on a small sob. Tears were once again flooding her eyes. And this time he didn't even know why. How could his trip to York leave her so undone?

He slid his hand across the battered surface of their second-hand table and found her fingers still clutching the envelope. "Anna, whatever it is, you can tell me."

She slightly shook her head and squeezed his hand back. "I'm just happy you were in York."

Why would being in York make her so happy? Or consequently, being in London make her so upset? What was in London? She just got back from there. What could make her cry so much? Then it hit him, it wasn't what was in London, but who. And what he might have done to that someone.

John released her hand and ran his own through his hair and sighed. "You thought I'd go after him." It wasn't question and he didn't have say the bastard's name. They both knew. Despite her denials, he had known since the moment he cornered Mrs. Hughes. And Anna knew he knew. They had pretended that they didn't, taking her words at face value, but they both knew.

"I'm sorry," Anna sniffed as tears still fell. John could feel his own forming. Would they ever bloody stop?

"My dear, I've told you. You have nothing to be sorry for."

"But I do, you see Lady Mary told me that . . . that . . . he . . ."

She couldn't say his name.

"Green?" John supplied as his stomach churned with a hatred that never went away.

She simply nodded. "Mary told me that he died yesterday in some street accident in London."

"What? He's dead?" John couldn't believe it. "You're sure, dead?"

"That's what she said. Lord Gillingham told her in person today at the bazaar."

"Then he's gone . . . dead?" John was still having trouble wrapping his brain around the news.

"So it seems," Anna echoed his disbelieve. "Thank god."

They each fell silent. The rain continued punctuated by the occasional flash of lightening. Their tears began to dry up. The man had caused them enough agony while living; John hated to think of the power he still wielded over them.

After what seemed an eternity but was only minutes, Anna wormed her hand back to his.

"I'm sorry, Jo-" she began.

"I told you, you have nothing to be sorry for."

"But I do. I didn't trust you enough to tell you the truth from the beginning. I should have. I wanted to. But I was so afraid."

"Afraid I'd kill him?"

Another nod. She refused to look him in the eye. "I'm so ashamed I had no faith in you."

On a strangled sigh, it was John's turn to tear up. With a scrap of his chair along the floorboards, he moved next to her and brought a palm to her face. "You have nothing to be ashamed of . . . Nothing to be sorry for . . . Do you hear me? Anna, do you understand what I'm saying?"

Another nod as she closed her eyes in his hand. "You tried to protect me. I'm just sorry that I added to your stress and agony. You shouldn't have had to worry for a minute about what I might have done." He leaned in and rested his forehead against hers.

"I was just so frightened you'd kill him and they'd take you away again," she whispered before pulling back, gaining strength. "I can live with being raped, but I can't live without you."

John choked back more tears as he pulled her hard against him. "Oh, Anna . . ."

She held him just as tight, her mouth muffled against his waistcoat. "I should have known you would never do anything to jeopardize our future."

John heart warmed at the mention of a future, but first he had to let her know she hadn't been that off base. "You give me too much credit, love."

Anna pulled back. "What do you mean?"

He took a deep breath. He didn't want her thinking he was a saint and she was the one who lacked faith.

"312 Park Lane."

"Where's that? I don't understand."

"It's Lord Gillingham's address in London. I looked it up in His Lordship's address book."

"I still don't understand."

"Anna, you were right to worry about my actions. No matter your denials, I knew it was Green and I did want to murder him with every fiber of my body. He deserved nothing less. But I spent far too much time brooding how I would do it when I should have been there for you."

"So what stopped you from killing him?"

"I'm not sure. I wanted to. But ultimately, I knew you would be the one to pay the price. I couldn't allow that. And I couldn't leave you, Anna. Not ever again."

Anna reached for John. This time she got out of her chair and climbed into his lap. She gingerly sat on his good leg and burrowed into his body. "I love you, John Bates."

"No, more than I, Anna Bates." He picked up the forgotten envelope. "I think it's time you learned what I was actually doing in York."

She sat up on his thigh; such a featherweight for even an old man like himself. She took the envelope and opened it up pulling out train tickets and a travel itinerary.

"What's this, John? Tickets to Scotland?"

"I think it's time we had a holiday."

"But . . . but . . . it's not even remotely close to our yearly holiday days. These tickets have dates on them. Have you discussed with Mrs. Hughes or Mr. Carson or his Lordship for that matter?"

John pulled her close and bestowed a kiss on her brow with each answer. "Yes, yes and yes. Everyone seemed to think a week holiday was a splendid idea."

"But John, a whole week? It's so expensive. Can we afford such a luxury?"

He had expected to face such resistance. Anna controlled the pocketbook in their household. In fact, he had to be quite sly to get the funds out of the bank without her knowledge to pay for the trip in the first place.

"We make a decent rental income from mother's house. I don't believe we will break the bank with this one trip."

"Well . . . if you're sure." She was beginning to soften as she read through the itinerary. "Oh, we're staying in Inverness, that's near Duneagle! It's so pretty there. I was so sad when Lady Rose's family sold the property. I thought I'd never have another chance to visit the area."

"So, I take it you're warming to the idea."

Anna smiled, genuinely smiled. "More than warming to the idea. I look forward to going."

"Me too," he bent down to kiss her. A soft kiss. A familiar kiss. He couldn't help sighing.

She pulled back, serious but not sad and broken. "You do know this won't make be a magical cure to all our ills. They will still be there; may always be there."

He nodded, just as grave. "I know, scars may fade with time, but they never quite disappear. Africa taught me that. At the same time, I know life goes on whether we want it to or not. I suppose the real dilemma is if whether or not we move forward or we let the scars cause us to hide in the shadows."

Anna snuggled further into his lap. His arms came around her. "I want to leave the shadows behind, John."

"So do I, my love. So do I."

He hugged her close. He hadn't felt this content in months. Things would never be the same, but John was confident they would eventually find their way. A light now flickered; ready to guide them. It was time to emerge from the darkness.