A/N: Here are a few more drabbles I've done recently. I note that I try to write them at 100 words and exactly 100 words. Again, in no time order and with no particular genre.
Nightmares
Sometimes he had nightmares. He would cry out or struggle with imaginary foes. She would ask, but he refused to discuss them.
Then one night he accidentally struck her in his sleep. No marks were left, but he could have drowned his guilt. She forgave him immediately but appealed for answers. In the dark privacy of their bedroom, he told her some of it.
Prison. War. Vera.
He gave her broad strokes and few details, but it was enough.
When he finished, she simply wrapped her arms around him and whispered, "You're here now. I won't ever let you go."
Young
When they were together, he sometimes forgot their age difference. She made him feel young, far younger than he had ever been. Her smile turned back the clock.
Until the day she stopped smiling. She seemed older, lost to time. Dark days stole her youth as well as her innocence. He mourned it for her and he mourned it for himself.
Until a day came when she smiled again. Small and shy, it was like a sprouted seed from a lost harvest - a new beginning. For a moment, the years fell away from her, and they were young again together.
Friends
She knew very little about the new valet. He kept to himself much of the time, although he was friendly when addressed directly. Resolving to seek him out, she quickly found him a quiet but thoughtful companion. Despite their age difference and his superior position, he treated her as an equal.
"Where can I find more shoe polish?" he asked her one day, rather than seeking out Thomas or Carson. She showed him the cupboard in the boot room, and his thanks betrayed more than simple gratitude.
"Of course. What are friends for?"
"Indeed," he noted with a contended smile.
Redemption
He despised himself. The feeling grew in the soil of his father's harsh words, stinging more painfully than any blow. He threw himself into hard work, and when that was gone, into a bottle of whiskey. His wife's vitriol sharpened his self hated until he ended up in the cell he always feared would be his fate.
The second chance was unexpected and undeserved, but he took it anyway, just as he learned to accept her kindness. She was so gentle and accepting, a personification of redemption.
"I'm not worthy of you," he told her. She never convinced him otherwise.
Soiled
Ruined. Spoiled. Dirty.
She could not escape those words, the imprint they left inside of her. No matter how much she scrubbed, she could not remove the taint.
And she could not let it touch him, the man who meant the world to her. It would destroy him. He'd seek vengeance for her, she knew, and then he'd be arrested and taken away. Hung. All because of her.
She had to keep him safe from it, her secret, the evil that now coated her skin like poison.
"I can't let him touch me," she told Mrs. Hughes, "because I'm soiled."
Draft
She could not be glad of his injury, even if it meant he was safe from the draft.
But she could see his eyes darken as the young men went off to war, standing tall in their uniforms, almost eager to prove themselves. His jaw tightened. No one else noticed but her.
"Even without the injury, I couldn't re-enlist," he told her one evening as they sat together in the courtyard. "Not with a dishonorable discharge."
"Because of the regimental silver." He nodded.
Anna sighed, recognizing both his pride in his service and the shame of losing it.
Strength
She was stronger than he imagined - her body physically stronger. He leaned heavily on her slight frame as she helped him home to the cottage, his knee having twisted on a miscalculated turn. She bore the added weight without complaint, taking small steps as she steadied him.
While he hated leaning on her, he marveled at having someone so ready to assist him. She had insisted, not waiting for him to ask.
"Thank you," he told her when they'd arrived home.
"You don't ever have to thank me for such help," she responded, "but you're welcome just the same."