Starting a new story with the end of series 2 - specifically, Bates's arrest. For those of you who don't know, this story follows on from "For This Love", which covered scenes on- and off-screen of the Bates/Anna romance. Many thanks to all my readers - you make writing and posting this story a delight!

April 1919

Bates and Anna were walking side-by-side as they reentered Downton. The funeral was over now, and sad though Miss Swire's passing was, they were ready to look forward. Forward meaning determining when it would be appropriate to let the rest of Downton know they were secretly married.

As they passed the kitchen, Mrs. Patmore came hurrying out. "Mr. Bates!"

"You all right, Mrs. Patmore?" he asked.

"I'm all right. Um ... There are two men waiting for you in the servants' hall."

Her tone of voice made it plain what type of men they were. His heart sank. So this was it, then? Vera's ghost had finally laid its cold fingers on his shoulder, and he was to be taken away to be tried for a murder that wasn't one. Well, they had known it was coming.

He moved forward, Anna at his side as she always was, in the sudden hush that had fallen over the servants, passing by Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes and swallowing down his shame that this mess should occur in front of two people he respected as much as he did the two of them.

The two men were neat and tidy, but not what the quality would consider well-dressed. They watched him come into the servants' hall, stone-faced, their expressions not altering by so much as a twitch as he approached them and asked, "Were you looking for me?"

"John Bates?" asked the shorter of the two, stepping slightly forward.

"Yes."

"You are under arrest on the charge of willful murder. You are not obliged to say anything unless you desire to do so."

Bates fought the impulse to weep. He would retain his dignity; he would not let Vera, wherever she was, have the satisfaction of seeing him broken. No doubt she was watching, if such things were possible, cackling with malevolent glee.

As he stood silent, the small man continued, "Whatever you say may be taken down in writing and may be given in evidence against you upon your trial."

"I understand," he said. There was no point in being angry with these men; they were doing their jobs, with courtesy and dispassionate professionalism. It was the best he could have expected, and more than he would get as this farce went on. He remembered that quite well from his previous imprisonment.

The taller man reached for his hands, to put the bracelets on. It was too much for Anna, this outward mark of the accusation, and she pushed in front of him.

"No! No!" Her voice cracked on the words.

Forcing himself to remain calm, he said firmly, "Please, do whatever is required." He glanced at Anna, hoping she would understand that he would rather be led out cuffed than make a scene. "I love you," he said softly to her.

She clung to his arm. "And I love you. For richer, for poorer, for better or for worse." Anna stood up on her tiptoes, pressing a fierce kiss to his mouth, a kiss that promised her loyalty and her faithfulness—as if he could have done her the disservice of doubting her.

"Come along, sir," he dimly heard the small man say, and they tore him away from Anna and hustled him down the hall. Or they would have, if not for his accursed limp, which seemed more a handicap than it ever had right now, when all he wanted was to get out of this hallway, away from the stares of these people, away from the sensation that perhaps, behind those staring eyes, were questions as to whether he had actually done it.

The door shut firmly behind them, and in the sound there was a curious sense of relief. The cloud that had been hanging over his head all this time had finally begun to shed its violent rain on him; unpleasant though it would be, at the very least, he no longer had to wonder when the storm would come.

A/N: The title to this - and to "For This Love" comes from Lord Byron: "I loved, I love you; for this love have lost/state, station, heaven, mankind's, my own esteem/yet cannot regret what it hath cost/so dear is still the memory of that dream." It always makes me think of Anna and her fierce, unswerving devotion, no matter what.