A/N: The final part, written for batesessecretservices' Secret Santa Exchange, for the wonderful miss-ute! I hope you have had a wonderful Christmas Day, and that goes to all the other people in the A/B fandom too. :D

Warning for sex, swearing, memories of war, and recollections of child abuse. I hope I have handled them all sensitively.

This 'part' also contains a scene inspired by Starfish. If you were lucky enough to see it, you'll spot it a mile off, but even if you haven't, you'll probably be able to guess...I had the good fortune of it playing in a cinema near me, and it gave me all the feels and the need to see it A/B-ified.

Once again, thank you so, so much for the response to this fic. It's been amazing. I have lived and breathed it for the past eight weeks, and it has been a real slog at times. Every single spare moment I've had has been poured into making sure I got this finished. I wrote it on my breaks at work (on my phone if there were people around and I couldn't write on paper), I wrote it whenever I had a free minute at home. To read the comments has been amazing. Thank you all so much.

It was difficult, to see the man that she loved lying there a broken shell in his hospital bed, covered in mottling bruises and cuts that had been stitched closed. It was more difficult still to look into his eyes and see the dull depths of them. It was as if he had departed his body, leaving only the emptiness behind.

Whenever she could make the time, Anna went to visit him, no matter what it cost her to do it. Gone was the John Bates of old, the self-deprecating, gentle soul who could make her laugh with just a look and a sardonic quirk of the lips. It was as if that man had never even existed.

The John Bates before her was a storm cloud. Even his veneer was unrecognisable. The thick growth of beard on his face made his skin look sallow and pasty. Day by day he refused to eat more than a few mouthfuls. The weight slid off him. He grew gaunter and gaunter. So did his mother, who spent every moment worrying for him.

"I've never seen him like this before," she fretted. "Not even when he was at his worst with Vera was he ever like this. I don't know what to do, Anna. I'm scared."

All Anna could do was hold her in return, wondering how he could be so bloody selfish. It was far from easy for him, she knew that. He had already witnessed a hundred thousand horrors. Now he had almost been blown apart, had lost his whole career. Never being able to walk properly again was the biggest kick in the teeth of all.

But he was pushing them away, and it frightened her. He was intentionally isolating himself, and that would only make it more difficult than ever for him on the road to recovery. Anna knew from experience just what it was like to try to overcome a trauma alone. If she had had a strong network around her at that time, she would have seized it with both hands and never let it go.

As it was, John was being deliberately difficult, sharp-tongued and brooding. Half of the time he refused to see them, the rest of the time he lay in silence while they tried to make small talk with him, head turned in the opposite direction as if he wasn't even aware of their presence.

"He won't see me," said Robert one day when she went to visit him, agonised. "I've begged the nurses to let me in, but they refuse because he's said he doesn't want to see me. Why would he say such a thing? He's been my best friend all these years. He saved my life. And now he acts as if we're strangers. I don't know what to do."

In reality, there was nothing that could be done. It was like waiting out a storm. But instead of this storm raging and tearing down the home above their heads, this storm was of the bitterly cold variety, sneaking into the bones until it couldn't be shaken off, slowly leeching the life out of the individual. Nothing could be done to anticipate it.

Nothing could be done to change him, no tactic employed worked. His mother's tired old face did not move him. He refused to acknowledge Robert. Cora's gushing about how she could never repay him simply made his lip curl in a sneer. Sybil's infectious innocence was met with indifference. Edith's quiet calm was not welcomed. Mary's no-nonsense suggestion that he ought to buck himself up was met with cold silence.

Initially, Anna had not been allowed into the room with him, but when he had seen that day after day she came and stood about outside regardless of whether she was allowed in or not, he must have eventually consented to letting her in. He did not speak to her, and she did not speak to him. She knew he wanted to draw her into some petty fight, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She needed to find a way to gain some ground, and right now, this was the only way. She spent those visiting hours sitting across from his mother, watching her old face wrinkle further in her worry for her only son. Every so often, a nurse would pop in to see how he was doing, but her appearances were only met by a grunt.

"This cannot go on forever," Doctor Clarkson, told them privately one day. "Mr. Bates needs to start facing his new life. It will be a long and painful process to get back to walking again. It will take a toll on him mentally as well as physically. He'll need all the support he can get."

"How can we do that when he won't let anyone in?" Margaret cried miserably.

Doctor Clarkson looked at them solemnly. "All you can do is persevere, Mrs. Bates. Persevere."

Which was what Anna had been determined to do. No matter what he threw at her, she kept coming back. She had given up America for him. He did not know the fact, but she was damned if he was going to beat her.

One day, evidently growing tired of her hovering around, John eventually snapped.

"You don't have to come here every day," he growled.

"I do," she said lightly. "I want to see how you're faring for myself."

"What does it matter how I'm faring?"

"Don't be like that. You know how much it means."

"Well, it shouldn't mean anything. I couldn't understand why it did before. I certainly can't understand it now. There's nothing left, Anna."

"There's always something left. Even if you have to look deep inside for it."

"There wasn't much left to begin with, not after Vera. Now there's nothing. It would have been better if things had ended in Afghanistan."

"You don't mean that."

His stare was cold and flat. "I do."

For a long moment, it was silent. Anna wrung her hands in her lap. She had to bring him back from the edge. Somehow.

"I know I can't understand what you went through," she said softly.

"No," he said coldly. "No, you couldn't understand."

"Then help me to," she said desperately. "If you told me—"

"You think it would be easier to understand my state of mind? What I'm going through? The psychological side of it all? You're an English teacher, Anna. You have no idea. You'd never be able to understand the inner workings of a killer."

Anna's breath stopped short. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"I'm a killer," he repeated tonelessly.

"You're not a killer. What you do is in the line of duty, you don't go out there and open fire by choice—"

"I made a decision that killed someone else. That makes me a killer."

"Seriously, what are you talking about? John?"

For the first time, there was real emotion on his face, a pain so raw that Anna almost couldn't look at it. It cracked through his expression like an imperfection on fine glass, threatening to shatter everything in a moment. She didn't think he was going to answer her, but he did, his voice as sharp as that very crack of glass.

"William," he said. "I killed William."

"You didn't—"

"I did!" he shouted. "I had the choice, and I chose. I made that fucking decision—"

Now she understood what he wasn't saying. Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed at his hand. It was cold and clammy and he tried to wrench it away, but she wouldn't let him, slipping her fingers through his and holding him tight.

"You are not to blame for any of this, do you hear me?" she said fiercely. "None of this is your fault. Yes, you made that decision, but you made it in a split-second. A reflex, John. It could have gone either way. If you hadn't done it, then you would have been dead, and so would Robert. All three of your lives snuffed out in a single blow. Do you think that that's what William would have wanted? For all of you to be snuffed out like candles?"

"You didn't know William," he snapped.

"No, I didn't. Not like you did. But I like to think of myself as a decent judge of character. And in that afternoon where I met him, I thought him a kind, caring, gentle soul. It was obvious he would have done anything for you."

"And look how I repaid him. By leaving him to die."

"He wouldn't see it that way. I know he wouldn't. Would you have blamed him if he had been in your position and had been forced to choose between you and someone else?"

"Of course I wouldn't, but that's different!"

"How so?"

"Because I'm beyond help. I've had my life and I've squandered it. I would have been no great loss to the world."

"Your mother wouldn't see it that way. You are all she's got left in this whole world."

"William was all his father had left in the world," he returned harshly. "And I took that away from him. And I took it away from his wife. He got married the last time we had leave, you know. I was his best man. I had to lie about where I was going so that none of you were disappointed about me not coming to see you. And look how that's turned out. Daisy is a widow at barely twenty-one."

Anna bit her tongue, refusing to be drawn into a slanging match. Losing her temper would not help the situation. He was trying to goad her into it, but she wouldn't let him draw her there. She wouldn't let him reach the point where he was so alone because he had pushed everyone to the limit with his destructive, confrontational ways. What happened now was crucial to what could happen in the coming weeks and months. He was depressed, that was clear to see. Under these circumstances, that depression could be dangerous.

She had had her grandma in the years following what her stepfather had tried to do to her. Now she would pass that kindness on by being there for John in his darkest hour.

It was more than just a kindness.

She banished the thought. It was not constructive, and this was not about her. This was about finding a way forward.

"If that's the way you want to feel," she said slowly, "then fine. Blame yourself. Hate yourself. It might feel good to do that now, but I can guarantee that it won't feel good forever. And by then it will be too late."

"You have no idea how this feels," he growled.

She spread her hands apart, a gesture of surrender. She wouldn't tell him the truth, not yet, perhaps not ever, but that didn't mean she couldn't plant a grain of it.

"Maybe not," she said. "But I know people who have suffered in their lives. You're not the only one who has to face demons, Sergeant Bates."

"What do you mean?"

This was it. She took a deep breath. "I come across all sorts of tragedies in my line of work. It might not always seem probable, but I do. One story always stays with me. A girl I knew, a long time ago…she went through some tough times at home. Her stepfather…he didn't treat her the way he should have. She managed to fight her way through it, but her mum was reluctant to take the matter to the police because her husband provided such good security, security that she hadn't had in years. So she was shipped off to live with her grandma, and that was that. She tried to be strong, but it was in her eyes, John. She felt so alone because none of the people who should have stood up for her did. She was angry at everything, most of all herself. Had it been her fault that those things had happened to her? Was there anything she could have done differently to bring a different outcome? You know what she learned in time? No, there was nothing she could have done differently. None of it was her fault. Her stepfather was the root of all evil, not her. An innocent child forced to live with that, God, John. That's the world we live in today. Full of predators that can make their victims feel as if they had done wrong, that if they had done something differently then they would have been spared."

He was looking at her; for the first time since she'd entered the room, he was truly looking at her. She felt vulnerable, horribly exposed. He could not know. Blinking away the tears that had bloomed, determined not to draw more attention to them, she looked away and steadied herself. Somehow, disconnecting herself from the story made it easier. This way, it truly wasn't her.

"Who is the girl?" he whispered.

"I won't speak her name. She wouldn't thank me for bringing it up. She's a part of my past."

John was silent. Then, victory. He spoke.

"No doubt you've heard the details from Robert," he said, his voice shaking.

"No." Anna shook her head. "He's never breathed a word of any of it. Just said that you saved him. And that he was the one who managed to radio for help. He glossed over the details about how he was able to do that."

"We were heading out of town in one of the military SUVs. One of the other guys was driving. A Jordan Cricht. He wasn't that much older than William, maybe twenty-five. They're saying it was a Taliban attack, that we were targeted. We were transporting food. One of the front tyres blew. We didn't think too much of it at first. Things like that happen from time to time, and we always carry a spare. So we got out to assess the damage to determine whether we needed to radio for assistance. Jordan reckoned he could fix it—he'd been tinkering away at his dad's car before he'd joined the army—and it seemed so peaceful out there. We were stupid. We let our guards down for one minute…"

His throat worked, and she waited, hardly daring to breathe. This was the most he'd spoken since his arrival. His voice was cracked and hoarse, his words thick and heavy with despair.

"And then…and then something didn't feel quite right. It was too quiet. The air seemed too heavy, like it was holding its breath waiting for something to happen. And it did. Gunshots. Jordan was at the front of the truck, and his whole head exploded."

His jaw worked, as if he was struggling to contain the urge to be sick. Anna inched instinctively closer, laying her hand on his thigh, trying to communicate that she was here, that she was listening.

"Christ, do you have any idea what that's like? One minute he was there, talking and laughing, and the next his fucking head was gone."

All she could do was move her hand further up, until it came into contact with his own. His twitched, as if he would like nothing more than to take her fingers and twine them through his own. To centre him. But he did not take them. Not yet.

"It all happened so quickly after that," he said. His voice was trembling now. He was on the verge of tears, she could tell. Probably the first tears he had cried since the whole thing had happened. "Robert, William, and I were all standing there. We looked up, and there were two men in front of us. It seems so obvious now, that they'd blown the tyre out, but it didn't occur to us that there might have been foul play involved. I don't even think it registered that they must have been the ones to do what they did to Jordan. Not until they raised their guns again. One on each side. One pointing at William. One pointing at Robert. And I chose. I pushed Robert to the side and took the bullet in the leg, and I let William take his to the chest. I see it every time I close my eyes. Wonder why I chose Robert and not William. What I would do if I had to do it all over again. It's going round and round in my head. It's like a constant buzz. It doesn't matter what I try and do to distract myself, it never fucking leaves…"

And, at last, he shattered. Utterly. The sobs that tore through him made him physically shake with their strength. He sobbed and sobbed, the kind of sobs that made it difficult to catch breath. It was not a pretty sight. But somehow it was a catharsis to Anna too, a release of the tension that had been threatening to snap at any moment. She did not want to see him cry, but she needed to. Needed to see that the man she had fallen in love with was still inside, perhaps lost for the moment, but not dead. Not dead. After a few moments, she pushed herself up from her chair, moving so that she hovered over him. It was the most natural thing in the world to gather him up into her arms and pull him tight to her chest, one hand moving to the back of his head to cradle him like a child. He did not try to resist her. She could feel his hot tears soaking her collarbone. She held him tighter. Ghosted her lips against his temple, hoping that in some small way it could bring him a modicum of comfort. His suffering was too much. The healing process needed to start somewhere before something drastic happened. Why couldn't it start now? She couldn't lose him. Not after coming so close to that before.

"I'm here," she whispered into his hair. "I'm here, John. I'm not going anywhere. I promise. It's going to be okay. It is. It is."

She rocked him so very gently in her arms, shushing him soothingly while he wept and wept. Things always got worse before they got better, but they would get better. They had to.

Anna would do anything to get him through this. Anything at all. Whether he wanted her or not, she would be right there by his side, offering him a shoulder to lean against. She would help him to see that he was not alone. He had his mother. He had the Crawleys. He had her. No matter what his behaviour had been like in the last few weeks, they would not abandon him.

"I'm right here," she repeated. "I'm not going to leave you. I promise."

The words left unsaid hung in the air between them. He was cherished. He was important.

He was loved.

December

Christmas came round in a flurry of snow. On the twenty-third, Anna rang Margaret to confirm the times for her daily visit to the hospital. She was shocked when the older woman answered.

"Are you all right?" she asked, alarmed.

"I'm fine," Margaret croaked.

"You don't sound it."

"I just feel a little bit under the weather, that's all. I forgot to have my flu jab, what with everything that's been going on."

"You have to take care of yourself! You'll be no good to John otherwise."

"Honestly, I'll be as right as rain. Are you coming to pick me up?"

"I will be, yes. But I mean it, Margaret. You sound horrible. I'm not sure they'll let you in if you're going to pass something on. You wouldn't want to pass it on to someone really poorly."

"I hadn't thought of that."

"Look, why don't you take it easy this evening? I'll go and see John, and if you feel better tomorrow, we can go up and see him then. Take some Lemsips and wrap up warm. Maybe stay in bed. And we'll take it from there."

"I don't like the thought of not seeing him."

"I'll be there. And he'd understand. He wouldn't want you to put yourself or anyone else at risk for him."

Margaret was pouting, she could tell from her tone of voice. It made her smile. "All right."

"Take care. I'll ring you with every detail when I get back. I promise."

"That's all right, then," Margaret said softly. "I know I can trust you not to break a promise."

Over the next day, Margaret's condition worsened. Anna went to visit her, and was shocked by her white complexion and her overly bright eyes and her violent shivering.

"What are you doing out of bed!?" she scolded. "You're in no fit state to be up!"

"I'm fine. I'm ready to see Johnny."

"I'm not taking you anywhere. You're going to rest."

"Please, Anna."

"No. It's not a sensible idea at all."

"But it's Christmas tomorrow! He can't have no visitors tomorrow!"

"Who says he won't?"

"Well, you'll be going to Robert and Cora's."

"No, I won't be. Here's what we're going to do. We're going to ask if you can go to Robert and Cora's. I will go to the hospital and spend the day with John."

"You don't want to spend your day at a hospital."

It was as if Margaret had forgotten the reason she had stayed in Downton in the first place. "Margaret, don't worry. There's nowhere else I would rather be. If my job and the hospital allowed it, I'd never leave his side."

Margaret shook her head, softening. "Of course you wouldn't. I know if there is anyone that John would like to see, it's you."

The implication hovered between them. Since that fateful day, neither of them had directly referenced the conversation they had had just before John's injury. It was the elephant in the room, the topic that no one dared broach in case it upset the balance they had.

"It's settled, then," she said quickly. "It's a plan."

They didn't speak another word on the subject.

When Anna checked in on her, Cora was more than happy to get on board with the proposition, insisting that Margaret stay for the duration so they could look after her properly. Margaret protested against anyone causing a fuss, but Cora refused to listen, saying that she wouldn't leave her alone at Christmas. On Christmas Eve morning, Anna received a phone call to reassure her that Margaret was being fussed over like royalty by Robert, and they didn't need to worry about a thing.

"Thank you so much for this," she said gratefully.

"Don't mention it. John has done so much for us. It's the least we could do."

Anna ended the call. Then, after thinking for a moment, she grabbed her coat and bag, and headed out of the door. She had an idea.

Christmas morning dawned bright and clear. Anna woke early, and pulled a purring Leo close for a morning cuddle as she stared up at the dark ceiling above her head, running through the day's order. Visitation didn't begin until ten, so there was little point in getting there before then, but she wouldn't have to leave until eight, so she could spend the whole day with John. John would get a Christmas dinner, but she would have to leave him to get something similar, so she intended to buy a sandwich halfway through the day. She would sort herself out with something when she got home.

Too full of nervous energy, she got out of bed and started her day. She cooked herself a full English to keep her going and then hopped in the shower. After she'd dressed, she went back into the living room and sifted through her little pile of presents. Her mum had sent a few bits through the Royal Mail. She set them aside to open later. She'd have to ring her to thank her.

Mary had brought her a few things that she probably wouldn't be able to afford with two months' salary. They were the kind of things so nice it seemed almost dangerous to wear them and risk getting them damaged. Gwen had sent her some interesting American sweets, along with a long note of indignation that went on about how gutted she was that she wouldn't be joining her out there, and that she hoped that this mysterious John Bates was worth it.

He was, Anna thought. They had been given another chance here, and this time she was determined not to let it go to waste.

Ethel's present, inevitably, lowered the tone of the entire day. The lingerie she'd selected might as well have not been there, and there was some kind of complicated looking sex toy hiding beneath it all. Fun whatever the outcome of your mission! was the scribbled missive with it. Bloody hell. Hastily, Anna stuffed it back into its bag, though there was no one around to see. She would have to store that away especially carefully.

Just in case it was needed one day. One way or the other.

When it was finally time to go, she gathered her things together and made her way out into the frosty morning. Christmas Day meant that the roads were relatively clear, and it hardly took any time at all to make her way just beyond the town's perimeters to where the hospital was located. The hospital carpark, thankfully, wasn't too busy just yet, and she found a space.

Some of the staff knew her by sight now, and they gave her tired smiles as she lugged her things down the long corridor towards the Grantham Ward. John's room was the very end one, and with every step she took, her anticipation grew. She might have only seen him yesterday but she ached to set her eyes on him again. She supposed that that was what love was, that unquenchable thirst to be with him for however long she could manage. If only it was something that she could be assured of.

"Merry Christmas!" she sang as she waltzed through the door.

John's eyes widened. "What the hell is all that?"

Anna dumped her bags on the chair next to the bed with a dramatic flounce. "Well I thought that since you're not at home to enjoy Christmas, we might as well bring Christmas to you."

"I don't see the point of it."

"That's because you're just a big Grinch. Come on, look at what I've brought."

Reluctantly, John pushed himself into a better sitting position, eyeing the bags with a dubious expression on his face. Determined not to be put off, Anna brought out her first purchase, a box of red and gold baubles that had been going cheap at the supermarket thanks to the Christmas season drawing to an end.

"You've brought a tree," said John.

"No. There weren't any little ones left."

"So…you've quite literally just bought some baubles."

"There's nothing wrong with that. Here, watch this." She ferreted around in her bag and brought out a roll of sellotape. Under John's dubious gaze, she ripped open the plastic box, tore off some sellotape with her teeth, and hung the first bauble behind the bed. "There. What's wrong with that?"

"It's not exactly how baubles are usually used," he said.

"It's called making the best of things, and that is what we'll do. Now, you tell me where you want me to put the rest of them, and I'll hang them up for you."

After a few moments, John relented, and he directed her around the room, getting her to hang them above the window and from the pictures and from the light fixture. Despite himself, Anna could tell that he was enjoying it. He made her redo one three times because it wasn't hanging to his liking, and he teased her about her small stature as she struggled to reach the higher areas. Well, two could play at that game. She added a few extra unnecessary undulations as she reached up, and caught his eyes sliding to her backside. That quietened him. She took it as a victory.

"Tinsel too," he said as she produced the reams of red and gold with a flourish.

"No Christmas is complete without tinsel," she retorted. "I've even got some for you to wear."

"What?"

She moved closer, twining it round his neck like a scarf. "There."

"I am not wearing this."

"Why not? I think you look cute."

"Cute is not the word that comes to my mind."

"You really are a Grinch. Fine, don't wear it. But you're not getting out of everything."

"That does not sound reassuring."

"You've a right to look apprehensive." Anna delved back into the bag, yanking out folded wool. John's eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline.

"Please tell me that's not…" he began.

"It most certainly is." She let the material unfold, holding it up for him to approve. You told me your mum makes you wear a Christmas jumper on Christmas Day. I see no reason for you to break with tradition now, even if it's not the most conventional of Christmases."

"Good God, I think that's the most hideous jumper I've ever seen. And that's saying something, considering Mother's penchant for the ugly. It's even worse than that Christmas pudding thing from last year. There is absolutely nothing masculine about a holly jumper."

"There's nothing wrong with getting in touch with your feminine side, Mr. Bates. Come on, get it on."

Grumbling, he took it in his hands. He was wearing a plaid shirt, so he pulled it on over it, and she helped him smooth down his collar, holding her breath to keep her hands steady. This was the most intimately she had ever touched him. His neck was thick and warm beneath her fingers, and it took every ounce of self-restraint not to keep touching him. Now was not the time. She had to tread carefully. She did not want him to fly away in a panic like a little robin.

"You're not on your own, look," she said, opening her coat for him to see. "I bought my own ugly Christmas jumper this year. Now I really do look the part."

"Yes, but you can make anything look good," he said.

The words lingered between them. Anna cleared her throat, looking down. "Yes, well."

John looked uncomfortable too. "I suppose it does qualify as an ugly Christmas jumper."

She had done her best to find the most outrageous of jumpers to get in the spirit, though her options had been limited so close to Christmas. The one she had picked out was chock-a-block with reindeer and snowmen and penguins. It was a bit of an eyesore, but she rather liked it.

"Right," she said. "Let's finish decorating."

"How much more could you possibly have?" he asked in bemusement.

She shook her head promisingly. "Wait and see, Mr. Bates. Wait and see."

Anna sat with her feet hooked up onto John's bed, leaning back in her chair as she contemplated the grotto they had created together. She'd stuck snowflakes to the windows and cluttered up his bedside cabinet with Christmas ornaments. They had shared chocolates and chatter. John had seemed content despite the circumstances he had found himself in this year, but now his conversation had petered out. At first she'd thought that he was simply drowsy, but now there seemed to be more to it than that. He was brooding.

She poked his leg with her toes. He stirred, blinking. She sat up, folding her legs beneath her on the chair. He turned to look at her.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He smiled, but it was tight around the edges. "I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"It's just…" She hesitated, then ploughed on, "you seem sad."

"Why should I be sad?"

She hated it when he was deliberately evasive. He was a hopeless liar. His eyes were so expressive. They gave him away every single time. "Don't you think we've gone past the point of lying to one another?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

"I'm not sure I'm following, John. Tell me what's wrong."

He leaned across to sift through the cabinet at his bedside. She frowned as he withdrew an envelope.

It clicked. She'd recognise the writing on that anywhere. Her own.

"Where did you get that?" she asked, keeping her voice steady. It would have been returned to Margaret, and there had been a silent understanding that they would never tell John of what had transpired that day when she had gone to see her. She had decided that John would never know how close she had been to leaving.

"Robert came to visit me last night, after you'd gone," said John. "He said he'd seen it on the side at Mother's when he came to pick her up, and assumed that she had forgotten to give it to me. He thought he was doing me a favour."

Anna kept quiet, not allowing her gaze to drop from his. John's eyes burned into her. On the surface, they were calm and collected. Below, they churned with hurt and fear.

"You were going to leave," he said.

"I was." There was no point in denying it or trying to come up with an excuse; the evidence was in stark black and white, in her own handwriting, crinkled in his fist.

"You weren't even going to say goodbye."

"I thought it was better that way."

With great meticulousness, he withdrew the paper from the envelope, shaking it open. She didn't need to reread her words. She could remember each and every one of them. She had had to copy it out twice more before sealing it, because the others had been spattered with her tears.

"America," he mused. "Well, it is a lot warmer there than it is here."

"It sounded like a good opportunity," she said.

"And yet you're still here."

"Because I turned it down."

"For me."

"Of course for you."

The words between them were almost visible, pressing the weight of the world down on them. John was the first to move, idly scrunching the paper up into a ball in his fingers.

"You shouldn't have stayed," he said tonelessly.

"Don't be like that," she said, touching his forearm.

"I mean it. You stayed because you felt guilty."

This was nothing like she had planned their day to be. She had seen them happy, laughing, sharing jokes. She had seen him grumbling, she teasing him, enjoying each other's company. Now, the atmosphere was thickening, suffocating. There was a strange, unpleasant energy between them, like that point on a stifling summer's day just before the sky cracked and all hell broke loose. John's tired, sad face threatened a storm, but she would not let it consume her. He could feel hurt if he wanted to, that was only human nature, but he could not pin all the blame on her.

"I stayed," she said carefully, "because I never would have been able to forgive myself for leaving."

"Because I was injured."

"It's not as simple as that."

"Isn't it?" He shrugged. "If you wanted to go, you should have gone. I don't want you to stay here out of pity for me. Sergeant John Bates, the cripple who has to have help showering and using the bathroom every fucking day because he's incapable of using his own two legs—"

"That's enough," she snapped. "You're lucky, John Bates, do you hear me? You're lucky. With patience and time, you'll walk again. Some people never get that opportunity, and they handle it a lot better than you do. I'm not saying you can't feel bitter or any of it, and it's easy for me to say when I don't know how you feel, but you've been so lucky not to lose that leg."

"All right, I deserved that," he said finally. "But that doesn't change your facts: you stayed because you felt deep down that leaving would make you cruel. I don't resent you for it, but I do resent you for lying to yourself and to me about it. I don't want anyone to stay out of pity, especially at the expense of their own dreams."

Anna shook her head. Anger lapped at her insides like a flame being tended into an inferno that might erupt at any moment. "You're the one who is being deliberately blind, John. You ought to know by now that I have never done anything out of pity for you. I didn't stay here because I pitied you."

"Anna—"

"No," she said fiercely. "You're going to listen to me now. I shan't have you putting words into my mouth and twisting things to suit your own means."

John shut up. Anna took a moment to gather herself. They might as well have this out now. One way or another, they'd needed to have this conversation about where they stood with each other. She'd always known that. She just hadn't been prepared for it on Christmas Day of all days, and certainly not on these terms. Still, she'd make the best of things. She'd always been good at that.

"I never wanted to leave," she said slowly, "but I didn't think I could stay, either. What happened last New Year…it really took the stuffing out of me. I was miserable for weeks. And then I got your letting telling me that you didn't want to ruin our friendship. But there was that implicit condition attached. I knew we'd never speak of it again. I didn't want that. At the same time, I didn't know if I was strong enough to let you go, either." She looked him square in the face. "Maybe you don't know, but sometimes the prospect of loving from afar is more painful than making the break."

John lowered his gaze.

"Being rejected hurt so much, John. I kept telling myself that I was coping with it, that everything was all right. That's why I wrote back to you."

"But it wasn't all right," he said quietly.

There was no point in sugarcoating. "No, it wasn't. I just didn't acknowledge it until later."

"What did make you acknowledge it?"

She was encouraged by the way he was engaging in the conversation, asking the questions to prompt her and not sulking at the inevitable hurt feelings. "Mary got engaged, and even Ethel started seeing someone more seriously. It made me realise that I couldn't carry on living my life pining for you, caught up in the shadows forever."

"You felt as if you needed to escape me and move on." There was no judgement in his tone.

"Yes and no. I needed to do something to move on physically. I thought putting distance between us and concentrating on teaching would help me to stop thinking about you all the time. And I was being selfish, too. I wasn't sure if I could handle seeing my friends build content family lives while I stayed on the sidelines. I didn't resent them, but it did hurt to think I would never have that." And, God, how it had hurt.

"Moving to America would have been quite drastic," he said. He stopped, swallowed hard. "What makes you think that you wouldn't have moved on yourself one day? You're beautiful, and so kind and caring. There would be plenty of men desperate to win your love."

"It's not a prize to win, John. I wouldn't want anyone who thinks they can just butter me up and have me."

"I just meant that you make it all seem so final. But you might meet someone next year who treats you like you should be treated. Someone you do fall in love with and want to start a family with."

"I know myself," she repeated. "I don't get my head turned easily. Even then, I can't truly say that I knew what love was." Not until him. Not until she'd been burned up in those all-consuming flames. Not until she hadn't been able to get him out of her head, like an illness she'd been unable to shake.

"So you decided to move."

"I did. Whether I got the job in America or not."

"And then I got injured." He laughed, a sharp, biting sound. "So you stayed."

"I made that decision, yes. I made that decision because as much as you don't want to hear it, the facts haven't changed. I stayed because I'm in love with you and I would have regretted leaving every minute of every day. I needed to make sure you're all right, and even if this does go nowhere else, it was the only decision I could come to."

"I know I've done a poor job of it, Anna, but I have never wanted to hurt you."

"I know that. I do. Even if you didn't succeed."

"I just…I can't bear the idea of you hurting. And I know it's impossible to avoid."

"You know, if you don't love me, I could understand. "I'm a grown woman. It would hurt, but I could accept it. What's so hard is the way you pull me close and keep feeding my hope."

"What do you mean?"

Anna resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The worst of it was that he seemed so clueless.

Or maybe that was the best of it. If he had knowingly toyed with her, that would have been an entirely different matter. Knowing the way his mind worked, he had probably convinced himself that it had all been a silly mistake, and his constant compliments were his way of trying to show that things could be the same between them.

Even if they could never really be the same.

"The things you wrote. You told me that there could never be anything between us, but then you'd tell me that the thought of me was all that kept you strong."

"I wanted you to know that I still cared about you."

"Yes, but look at it from my perspective. Don't you see how confusing that was? How frustrating?"

"I'm sorry," he offered. "I didn't realise it. I should have done."

"I told your mum that I was going to leave," she said at last.

His eyes found hers. "What?" So Margaret really hadn't said anything to him. Well, they needed to get everything out in the open now. They needed to talk about everything, for better or worse.

"As you've read, I was intending to be gone before you got back to England," she said. "I sent you the letter, but I wasn't sure if it would reach you in Afghanistan before you came home. So I thought it would be easier to tell your mum that I was going than it would be to explain it to your face. I intended for your mum to tell you answer any questions you might have had."

John was quiet. "I see. What did…what did she say?"

"She didn't want me to go. She asked me to stay. I told…I told her that I loved you and it would be too difficult to stay, having you so near and yet never being able to have you." She would not tell him that Margaret had told her that he loved her. That could lead to further embarrassment for them both. But it was the perfect lead-in to the matter she did want to discuss. "Please don't be angry with her, but she told me a little about Vera."

John's face tightened. "She shouldn't have done that. It wasn't her secret to tell."

"I think she felt like she had no choice. I didn't force her or anything, please believe me, but for whatever reason I think she wanted to stop me from leaving, so she told me."

"Even then, you don't know the whole truth. You know my mother's truth."

"But not yours." Not his wife's, either. "Please, John, tell me."

"I can't," he said, agonised.

"I'll listen with an open mind. You don't have anything to fear."

He was silent, as if he was weighing up his options. Then, he spoke. "I'll tell you if you're honest with me in return."

"What do you mean?" she asked, puzzled. "I've always been honest with you."

"No, you haven't."

"What—?"

He cut her off. "I know there was something you weren't telling me on that day when I…when I told you about what had happened. I can read you like a book, Anna. I saw it in your eyes that day. So if you promise to tell me, I'll tell you."

For a moment, Anna sat frozen. Those words hit her like bullets from the enemy's fire, ploughing right into her beating heart. Cold, repugnant terror kept her frozen in place. She blinked, and she was back there again. Back in her tiny bedroom, with her stepfather's seemingly giant form shadowed in the doorway, the whiskey strong on his breath and the knife hot with sweat in her fist.

"Anna?"

John's voice broke through her paralysis, brought her back to him.

"Please," he said.

With a tight, trembling nod, she said, "All right. But you first. I need—I need to gear myself up for it. I've never…I've never told anyone else before. No one. Not even Mary."

John nodded, but there was real fear and concern in his eyes. She wiped her sweaty palms over her jeans and gestured for him to speak. He fumbled with the bedsheets, averting his gaze.

"I'm sure Mother told you I met Vera when I was young."

"She did."

"I was eighteen. I had just left school and was heading for university. I was staying in London, though I moved out of home. I met Vera at a bar one night, and that was it." He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of talking about another woman when she was in front of him. "I did think I loved her. I'd never felt that way about any woman before. I suppose I was naïve for all of my arrogance, and she capitalised on that. Not that I blame her. I don't want to go into the details, but Vera had had a difficult upbringing too. It brought us closer. I might have married her one day anyway."

"Your mum told me about…" Anna trailed off tentatively.

"About the baby," he said flatly. "There was a girl I went to university with. A Heather Sutton. We were quite close, and she encouraged me to think about going for my Masters. There was nothing sexual there. She was just a friend. But Vera was always jealous of her. It caused tension. When I told her what Heather had said…"His voice trailed off. "Well, she told me she was pregnant. I panicked. I was only twenty-one myself and hadn't even thought about whether I wanted children in the future, never mind then. But nor was there any chance of me shirking my responsibilities. My father had not been a good father, and I did not want any child of mine to feel about me the way I felt about him. And Vera's father would have gone berserk if he'd thought she'd fooled around with me, never mind having a child out of wedlock. So I proposed and we got married quickly so that we could at least fudge it if we had to. I needed a way to make decent money, so I decided to join the army. When I was away training, she told me she'd lost it."

"I'm sorry," Anna said.

John snorted bitterly. "Don't be. The whole thing was a complete fabrication. She told me that when she signed the divorce papers. The final nail in the coffin, I suppose. The cruel reminder that I would have forever wasted over twenty years of my life being miserable and making her miserable."

"She sounds like an utter bitch," Anna said fiercely. "What was the point of it all?"

John shrugged. "Punishment, I suppose."

"For what!?"

"You're getting indignant for no reason. You don't know Vera's side of the story."

"So you keep telling me. I doubt I ever will. But even if I did, it would probably be filled with lies."

"You are a loyal creature, Anna Smith," he said, and he sounded reluctantly admiring.

She tossed her head back defiantly. "It's not always a good thing, but I am. I'm loyal when I feel it's deserving."

"I'm not deserving of it," he said.

"Let me be the judge of that."

He spread his arms wide. "Then judge. Because that's not the worst of it."

"If you're alluding to the fact that you used to drink heavily…"

John gave a short, sharp laugh. "Mother really did cover everything, didn't she? Yes, I used to drink. Vera had always been a heavy drinker, and I suppose I got dragged into the bad habit. Sometimes they felt like the only times we were truly happy together. Other times, the fighting was nasty. Not violent, though. Never violent."

Her trepidation must have shown on her face. She cleared her throat, praying that her voice was calm and unafraid. "What do you mean by nasty, then?" His mother had said that there had been no physical violence, and he had corroborated that; she had to trust him, and had to trust that the kind and gentle man she had always known him to be had existed in some capacity then, too.

"We both resented each other deep down. I think Vera realised she had made a hasty decision when she married me, and the rich, glamorous life she had hoped to lead turned out to be anything but. She was on her own for long periods of time. She did not get along with my mother, and had a volatile relationship with her own family. And I…I resented that she seemed to think our life was beneath her. I saw the other happy couples around me and felt so jealous that they seemed to have perfect lives with their loved ones. And it started to dawn on me that perhaps I had never really loved her in the first place, that I had done all this for her on a whim that couldn't last. I heard rumours that she was keeping company with other men while I was away. She never bothered to deny it. It sounds sick and mad, but I think she enjoyed making me angry and pushing me to the limit. I could control my tongue when I was sober, but I was rarely ever sober. The things I saw…"

"It's okay," Anna said softly when he paused to take a shuddering breath. "I'm here." He was so close. She wanted nothing more than to reach out and take his hand in her own, but she didn't quite dare. Not yet. Not when, despite everything, the sting of his rejection was still fresh in her mind.

"The things I've seen," he said, steadier this time, "are things you would never wish another human being to see. If you can imagine it, I've probably seen it. They haunted me at night. I heard the screams in my head whenever I laid down to rest. Some nights I didn't sleep at all. It was like a constant living nightmare. One evening, when I drank too much with the boys—one of them had sneaked alcohol, from what I can recall—it was like a revelation. It made me numb. I felt nothing. And it was like someone had flipped a switch inside my head. I needed to have that numbness again. So I kept drinking on the sly. It was never when I was on direct duty, I swear to you, but it started to become harder and harder to resist. The other guys knew it. They covered for me, even when I didn't deserve it."

"But you stopped," she said. "Something made you stop."

"One of the other lads had a problem worse than mine. And he had started drinking when he was on duty. One day, when he was driving a truck, he ran it off the road. It had explosives on board. They all went up in smoke. He was gone, just like that. It was like having a bucket of iced water thrown over me. It hit me that any day, that could be me. It only takes one moment for everything to change, and mine could have come at any time. So I made the decision to stop. It was the hardest thing I'd ever done. The sweats and the cravings were unbelievable. I thought I was going mad sometimes. I started to smoke more to compensate, which I know wasn't the best choice, but it was all I could do. Somehow, I managed it."

"And then you told Vera you wanted a divorce," she said.

"The next time I came home. I made the promise to myself that I would try harder, that I would do everything in my power to make it work. But we had nothing left in common with each other. She carried on drinking. She carried on needling away. I could hardly bring myself to touch her. By the end of the first week, I'd reached my limit. I told her that I wanted a divorce and moved out the same day, back to Mother's."

He tapered off into silence. Anna didn't bother breaking it. She needed to digest everything. His version of events married up almost entirely with his mother's, but for the few details he had obviously kept to himself. Even then, she had had her suspicions, and those suspicions had been close to the reality which he had not shied away from. He had not tried to embellish his mistakes.

He would probably still insist that she didn't know Vera's side of the story, but she did not need to. She knew now what she'd always known in her heart to be true.

John Bates was still a good man, no matter how he might feel about himself.

And she was still in love with him.

"Will you listen to me for a moment?" she said.

John nodded. She stood. Somehow, standing made her feel more in charge, like she had a better chance of making him see her convictions if he could see her whole body language.

"I've heard what you have to say. And for me, it doesn't make me look at you any differently to how I looked at you before. You say that you were an alcoholic and that you made poor choices, but I don't believe that they should govern what you do for the rest of your life. You've paid the price for that, but you're still punishing yourself. There has to come a point when you start living again. This is the time for you to start. And even if…even if you don't want to be with me, I still want you to take this opportunity with both hands. I'm sure Vera hasn't been plying herself with the same guilt, and to me it sounds like she was every bit the nasty piece of work that your mother said."

"This whole guilt thing…it sounds like you're speaking from experience."

"Does it?" Anna tried to keep her tone light, but the frantic beating of her heart seemed to make itself known outside her very chest. John's eyes narrowed in suspicion at her.

"Yes, it does," he said. "We made a deal. I told you everything, Anna."

"And now it's my turn." She took a deep breath, couldn't seem to stop. In and out, in and out, coming faster. The past seemed to loom up right in front of her eyes, like a film reel playing out for her. His face was there in front of her, teeth bared in a leer, bloodshot eyes, unshaven face, that awful breath—

"Anna, it's all right. It's all right."

John was holding his hand out to her, alarm alive in his eyes. It finally seemed to be occurring to him that this was serious. Deadly serious.

"You're safe," he said. "I promise, Anna."

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to steady. Yes, she was safe. He couldn't touch her here. John was here. He'd never let anything happen to her. She crept back to his bedside. John did not retract his hand and, after a moment's more hesitation, she slid hers into his. His hand was huge, eclipsing hers entirely, but he clasped her fingers with the kind of delicacy reserved for crafting something easily breakable. Somehow, it calmed her. She slipped back into her seat and took a few more moments to compose herself.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he said earnestly. "I didn't realise just how much it affected you. I should never have insisted in the first place."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not."

"Well, maybe it's time I spoke about it. Maybe it's time I stopped letting it shackle me. I want to tell you, John. I trust you, more than anyone."

"That's high praise and responsibility, especially when my competition is Mary. I hope I'm worthy of it."

"I hope you want to be worthy of it."

"Of course I do!"

"Then that's enough for now," she said simply. "It'll be okay. Just…just let me take my time."

"If it becomes too much for you, stop. I promise, I won't push you."

"Thank you."

Anna fiddled with his fingers for a moment. This was huge. She felt clammy and dirty beneath her garish Christmas jumper, but she had never felt as ready as she did then, either. She had surprised herself with the strength she had shown in the past, and now she was at the final hurdle. If she could clear this too, the past would never be able to hurt her in the same way ever again, for although it would always be there, it could hold her silent no longer.

"I think you know what it is that I didn't say on that day," she said. "I think you know that the girl in my story was really me."

John whimpered, a sound so very unlike him. "I was hoping that I was wrong."

"You're not. Let me tell you the story now."

Silently, he nodded.

I told you that I moved to Downton as a teen," she began. "That's true. But there are some details that I omitted."

"So I gathered."

"I didn't move here with my parents. I moved to Downton to live with my grandma. She took me in." She took a deep breath. "My dad…my dad died in an engineering accident when I was six. He was crushed by a fortruck, but it was found that it was his negligence that had caused it, so Mum wasn't awarded with any compensation. They didn't have any savings or life insurance. My mum was left with me and my sister, who is three years younger than I am. She couldn't hold down a job, and times were hard. We muddled on for a while, but then she met someone else. She got serious with him. I didn't like him. He…he used to say it was because I saw him as replacing my dad, and my mum went along with it."

"But it was more than that," John surmised. "Jesus Christ…"

The look of horror on his face made her rush on, "It's not what you're thinking. Not…not in that way."

"Not in that way? Jesus Christ…"

She wrapped her whole fist around his thumb. How were his hands so big? "He would…" Now the words stuck in her throat, making it hard to breathe. She struggled to keep her focus on his face, to keep the past where it should stay. "It started with…slight touches. He'd…he'd brush against me accidentally, but it didn't feel accidental. I was twelve by then. I didn't really know much about anything at that point, but I knew the way he was looking at me wasn't right."

"What happened?" John whispered. He looked decidedly grey, as if he was likely to be sick at any moment. She squeezed his hand tighter, getting as much comfort from it as she hoped she was giving to him.

"He drank a lot when he wasn't out working. One Sunday, I came home from my friend's house and found him on the sofa, absolutely reeking of whiskey. He didn't say a thing, but there was something in his face that made me think that there was something different about him. Mum never questioned him, or she chose not to see that darkness in him, and he grew bolder. Those touches became more frequent, and I was terrified of saying anything. But then he looked at me in that way, and even though I had absolutely no idea what might come next, I knew that something was about to happen. All through tea he kept looking at me, and when Kate and I were asked to clean up, I slipped a knife into my dressing gown pocket."

"Fuck," said John. His face was ashen. No doubt hers was the same colour. "That fucking disgusting piece of shit. Having to arm yourself with a knife? Fuck."

She gave a humourless laugh at his language. "I don't think any words can sum that bastard up."

"What—what did you do next…?"

"I hid it under my pillow. I refused to sleep." She swallowed hard against the bile rising in her throat as she recalled it all; her frightened self laying stiffly in bed, one sweaty hand clenched so tight around the knife's handle that it was agony, staring at the door handle, waiting, waiting… "I knew he'd come. And he did." He did not need to know the details, and she no wish to resurrect them. "Anyway, I pulled the knife on him, and I struck him with the blade. It cut his cheek open, and he almost screamed bloody murder. Mum came running in at once. He wanted to phone the police, but she convinced him not to. And even then, even when there was no denying what a monster he was, she stayed with him. I was shipped off to live with my grandma like I was some kind of inconvenience, and that was that."

She tailed off. Neither spoke.

"I am so, so sorry," John said at last. "I don't know what to say."

"There's nothing you can say," she said. "It was a long time ago. Nothing can change it."

"Even so, that you had to go through that…"

"It screwed me up for a long time. But I got there in the end. I was determined that it shouldn't ruin the rest of my life. I never had a boyfriend at school, and I couldn't be around drunk boys at university. I met Steven during my third year. It took me a while to trust him, but he wasn't like the other boys."

"But you didn't work out," John said guardedly.

"No. We were together for five years, but I found out that he was shagging some young highflyer at his finance company."

"I'm sorry."

She rolled her eyes. "Stop apologising for things you had no influence over. It was hard, but I saw that I was worth more than that. And now…" She shrugged. "Honestly, I'm not even sure that I ever really loved him, either. He was the first boy I had ever felt safe around, and I think I mistook that for love. It was only when I met you that I realised that I had been missing out on what it felt like all these years."

John's gaze was dark and tumultuous. There appeared to be some kind of internal war waging within him. His eyes were conflicted, but he hadn't let go of her hand.

He squeezed tighter.

"Anna—" he started.

"All right, Mr. Bates, it's time for dinner!"

They jumped. Anna hastily pulled her hand away, shuffling in her seat until she was facing the newcomer, internally cursing. Something had been changing between them. She'd felt it in the very atmosphere.

Oblivious, the nurse smiled. "It's time for Christmas dinner. We've set up a little communal area so everyone can eat together."

John shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not sure—"

"I think it will do you good."

"But I have a guest—"

"She is more than welcome to wait here." The nurse smiled kindly at her. "It'll be about forty-five minutes."

"I'd rather eat here," John said stubbornly.

Anna shook her head. "No, go. I'll go and get a sandwich, and come back in a while."

"But—"

"I think it will do us good," she said. "Give us a little time to think." So much had happened in the last half an hour. She did not want them carried forward on charged emotions. They needed to know exactly what they were doing. No regrets. No backing out when it was too late.

John nodded reluctantly. "All right. If that's what you want."

"It will do us good," she repeated, then stood. Knowing that he would likely be embarrassed if she stayed and saw him struggling to get into the wheelchair, she made her way towards the door. "Enjoy your dinner, John. I'll see you soon."

She left the room behind, making her way back through the maze of corridors towards the cafeteria. She selected a limp looking sandwich and a bag of crisps, then took herself off to a corner. Her heart palpitated wildly. Her hands shook as she raised the bread to her mouth. But, at the same time, she felt strangely light. Free. She had told her story aloud for the first time ever, and somehow, despite everything, it felt amazing. All those years she had held her tongue, afraid of what people would say if they knew. And now John knew. He had reacted with the typical horror she had been expecting, but there had been no disgust in his eyes. No judgement. It hadn't changed the way he saw her, she could tell that. That had to be a good sign.

This time apart would give him time to think and process it all. It was a lot for him to take in, much more than what she had had to take in from his confessions, because she had already known most of his story and had had weeks to process it.

When she got back, she would assess the situation. And then it really was now or never.

She whiled away some time with a celebrity gossip magazine, checking her watch periodically. The sandwich, somehow soggy and like cardboard at the same time, had done little to settle her stomach. Full of nervous energy, Anna made her way back to John's room.

He was already back, sitting up against the headboard, his right leg slightly raised.

"I was wondering where you'd gone," he said tentatively.

"I was just taking my time. How was dinner?"

"Putrid, if you must know. God, I hate hospital food. And every time they take you out for a cigarette, they look at you as if you're committing one of the world's biggest crimes."

"Well, it must be like forcing a vegetarian to condone meat-eating," she said lightly, resuming her seat. "They care for people's health for a living. It must be frustrating to see people putting that in danger."

"You're not making me feel any better."

"Sorry. Look, you'll be out soon. Then you can go back to smoking to your heart's content."

"Can I?" he mused. "I get the impression that you don't care for it much, either."

She grinned. "I'm not about to try to change you, Mr. Bates. I like you just the way you are." She paused. John's expression didn't change.

Now or never.

"I love you just the way you are," she whispered. "I don't know whether I'm crazy to be doing this again, but I can't let the opportunity pass me by. If you tell me that you don't feel the same, then I will accept it. But this time, I need a categorical answer."

"I wouldn't want it to be the end of us," he said, agonised.

Was this his way of rejecting her again? Anna swallowed hard. "John, we've been through this. We can't keep doing it. I want you. If you don't want me, then you're going to have to tell me and do the right thing. Every moment we share like this gives me hope, and if there's none to be had then you need to end it. I won't leave, certainly not yet, but we can't be in each other's pockets in the same way. It's not fair to you, and it's certainly not fair to me. The choice is yours, John. My cards are on the table."

"I still don't think I can be the man you need me to be," he said. "I have made so many mistakes. I am terrified that I'll make them again and hurt you."

"I'm not Vera," she said softly. "You have to stop comparing in your head. You know every awful thing about my past. I will never lie to you or use you. I want for you what Vera never did: I want to nurture you and support you in whatever endeavour you might want to pursue. I want to love you, and I want to care for you when you're hurting. I wanted to make you see that you can't carry that burden of guilt forever. You've made your mistakes, and you've atoned for them. But how is making us both unhappy helping anything?"

"But there are so many other things to consider. Marriage, a family, the age gap. What do we do about those things?"

"The same as we would with any other situation. We'd have a mature discussion. All of that is a long way away. I'm not asking you to marry me. I'm asking you to consider if there can ever be an us."

"I don't know what to say."

This was her chance. It was time to pull her ace card. Digging into one of her bags, she found what she was looking for. She pulled it out and let it dangle between her fingertips.

A sprig of mistletoe.

John's eyes widened. With deliberate movements, she moved her arm so she was dangling the mistletoe above their heads.

"What do you want, John?" she whispered.

His throat worked. His eyes were riveted to those swaying berries.

One final push.

She leaned in closer, closing her eyes so she could focus on the smells and sensations of John around her. It was different to the last time they had been in this position. Then, John has towered above her. She towered above him now, a laughable notion considering how much smaller she usually was than him. He had smelled of aftershave and cigarette smoke, a seductive combination considering how little she enjoyed the habit. Now he smelled of hospital septic, that sickness smell that seemed to cling to everyone unlucky enough to end up there. It still did not deter her. She wanted this man. He had hurt her badly in the past, but that did not change the way she felt. Perhaps it should. But it didn't. There would be plenty of time to smooth things over. He had a lot of work to do to make her feel like she could trust him completely. But today had been a massive step forward in any terms, for she had never opened her heart like that to anyone else before. If he truly wanted it too, then she was determined that they would make a go of it.

"Anna," he murmured now, and she brushed the tip of her nose against his, just about resisting the urge to close the gap between them.

"No more talking, John," she breathed. "Just feel."

He glanced up, at the sprig of mistletoe she still held above their heads, then back into her eyes.

This was it. They were back at that precipice. Before, Anna had had little fear, so sure that she knew his heart. She had no fear now, either. Perhaps that was foolish and overconfident. Perhaps she should have learned her lesson.

He couldn't turn her down again.

He didn't.

Taking her by surprise, John whispered her name one more time and moved his hand to cup her cheek. Anna's breath stuttered from her. He was touching her face for the very first time. His hand was large and warm, eclipsing the whole side that he was holding. His fingertips, slightly roughened from years of labouring overseas, felt incredible there. They caressed her cheek and the shell of her ear, making her tingle all over. And then his mouth was on hers, and her heart swelled and nigh on exploded in her chest. He was kissing her. John Bates was kissing her. His mouth was both strong and soft, not demanding but letting her know in no uncertain terms that he wasn't running away any longer. The mistletoe fell from her fingers as she grappled desperately to touch him in return, her palm spanning his wide, thick cheek, his stubble prickling her fingers. She didn't care. It was a corporeal reminder of what they were doing, how he was kissing her.

And, God, did he know how to kiss. His tongue touched and teased her, his hand confident and possessive on her face, his lips moving with purpose. She had never felt quite so overwhelmed and overcome before. This was amazing. She had never been kissed like this before. He tasted exactly how he had before, of recently smoked cigarettes and peppermints, and it was the most intoxicating combination she had ever known. She never wanted it to end.

Good things always had to come to an end.

They broke apart gently, lingeringly; Anna had never felt something quite so delightful as the sensation of John's lips parting from hers with a reluctant suction. She kept her eyes closed for a few seconds afterwards, not wanting to let reality back in.

Now, though, the reality did not seem quite as bad as it had in the months before.

When she did open her eyes, she found John staring at her, his dark eyes as soft as warm chocolate. The look made her tingle.

"Well," she said breathlessly, "Merry Christmas, Mr. Bates."

He shook his head, chuckling. "Yes, it is that."

She flushed with happiness, moving closer, not wanting to lose contact with him yet. His large hand reached out across the thin bed linen and touched hers. She took it at once, unable to stop the grin on her face. He had made the first move. John Bates, stoic, controlled, had made the first move. It boded well. It promised that despite his previous behaviour earlier in the year, he was as committed to this as she was.

As if to cement her thoughts, he said hoarsely, "I love you, Anna Smith."

God.

Eyes bursting with unbidden tears, she stammered, "W-What did you say?"

John's eyes did not waver. He kept his eyes firmly on her, letting her see every ounce of his conviction. "I said I—wait, do you have a middle name?"

"What?" she said, caught off-guard as he pulled her out of the moment that had started to make her heart race.

Her confusion did not last long; in the next moment, her heart softened as he said, "I want to do this properly. It seems mad, that I should feel this way and yet not even know your full name."

"It's not the most important thing," she told him. "There are other details that I think are more important. Like knowing your history, for one thing. Besides, I don't know your middle name, either."

He snorted. "I don't have one. I always thought Mother would have named me after my father, but he was a waste of space. So, go on, what's yours?"

"May," she admitted. "I wasn't born in that month, but I was a child of the summer, and I think my parents liked the idea. My dad used to call me his little Anna May, bringing sunshine to his life." The reminder of those golden years always filled her with a powerful sadness. They were days that would never come back.

"Anna May Smith," said John, and the way he rolled her full name round on his lips was the most delicious thing she had ever heard. It sounded so very right on them. "It suits you. Very pretty, but not in an in-your-face kind of way. Just like you. You are so beautiful, both on the inside and the out. I still can't believe I could have done something that attracted you to me, but I am so thankful to you anyway. You've stuck stubbornly by me even when it would have been better for you to leave. If you had, I would never have blamed you for it. But even if I didn't admit it out loud, it would have killed me to see you go. I was a selfish bastard, asking you to be my friend and nothing more, but I've never wanted that. I tried to push it away and tell myself that you couldn't feel for me the way I felt for you, and when you told me that you did, I panicked. I didn't know what to do. I never saw it as a possibility, so I didn't know how to deal with it. And I'm still not sure that I'm doing the right thing by saddling you with someone like me. Life will never be the same again. I'm not a whole man."

"I don't care about having a whole man. All I care about is having you."

He swallowed hard. "Then…then if you want that, you can have it. I love you, Anna. I'm so tired of fighting against it. I never want to be without you again."

Sweeter words had never been spoken. Suddenly, all of the heartache, all of the pain, all of the uncertainty had been worth it for this. The reward. That she had finally got what she wanted felt almost surreal. She wondered what his mother would think, what her friends would think, then dismissed it. None of them mattered. The only person who mattered was John. If he was finally believing, then that was the most important thing.

"That is good to hear," she said. "Because I never want to be without you again, either. I'm not naïve. I know it's not going to be an easy path. I don't care. I'd walk the hardest path of all as long as you were by my side."

His eyes were misty. She leaned down and pressed her forehead to his. His arms moved around her waist. They stayed like that for a very long time, and for the first time in a very long time, Anna finally felt complete.

They spent the rest of the afternoon talking and playing cards, occasionally leaning in to kiss. Those spontaneous shows of affection were Anna's favourite. She couldn't wait until he was out of here, so they could have the chance to build some semblance of normality.

When eight o'clock drew near, she reluctantly stood.

"I'm going to have to go now," she said.

The look of disappointment on his face was the most bolstering thing she had ever seen. "I wish you didn't have to."

"Me too."

"It sounds ridiculous, but this is the best Christmas I've ever had. Thank you so much, Anna."

The double entendre of his words was unmistakable. She squeezed his hand.

"You're welcome," she said. "We'll keep the decorations up for now. They make this place a little bit less depressing."

"Will I see you tomorrow?" he said hopefully.

"Wild horses couldn't keep me away," she promised. "And I'll see how your mum is. She's been chomping at the bit for the last couple of days. I'm not sure I'll be able to keep her away much longer."

"That's my mother for you."

She laughed, then leaned down and pressed her lips to his, her stomach swooping. That was allowed now. She could kiss John Bates whenever she pleased. She wasn't naïve, of course. She knew they had a long way to go. John had to learn how to trust her and trust what he felt, and she had to find a way to trust him for the way he had hurt her, but she thought that they had a chance.

It was almost frightening to believe it too much, but she could see a future stretching out in front of her once more, a future that would find them in step with each other. They had plenty of challenges up ahead, but they were ones that Anna relished tackling.

As long as they were together, she had a feeling that they could tackle anything.

The weeks seemed to ebb and flow at a strange pace. Sometimes days passed like seconds, other times weeks seemed to stretch like lifetimes. Sometimes it felt like John was making progress in leaps and bounds, other times his dark moods over his limitations threatened to suck the life out of everything. Anna didn't waver for a second.

"You help him do better," Doctor Clarkson said to her. "You give him motivation. This is exactly what I was talking about. This is why it's so important for veterans to feel like they have someone there for them, even if they don't always appreciate it. It's hard to imagine what's going through his head right now. When something traumatic happens, behaviour can seem quite contrary. You just have to be patient with him."

Anna knew all about trauma herself, how her own moods had swung round at such a rapid pace that her grandma had barely been able to keep up. They had started him on a course of anti-depressants, and he was scheduled to see a therapist who specialised in PTSD and other related illnesses. John was reluctant to go to those meetings, as private as a person as he was, but Anna gently encouraged him to go.

"You don't have to keep going if you don't like it," she said. "But it might help you to talk things over with someone who can't breathe a word of it to anyone else, who knows people who have gone through things like you have. You don't have to feel ashamed of yourself. There's no shame at all in struggling with what you went through. But if you keep it bottled up, you're only going to hurt yourself more in the end."

Thankfully, John took her advice. He never told her about what was said at those sessions, and Anna never pushed to find out. To see the improvements in his demeanour was more than enough.

He was discharged from hospital not long after the New Year, when the truly hard work had to begin. Building up his strength to walk again would never be easy, but it was something he had to do. Anna knew that he was frustrated to be confined to a wheelchair, feeling helpless and a burden to those around him. He could no longer get upstairs to his bed, so a stair lift was installed so that he could get to the second floor. That was the worst part for him, Anna knew. That was what made him more depressed than anything. His injury made him as helpless as a baby, back to relying on his mother to help him with everything. He needed her to help get him from the wheelchair into the stair lift, and back into the one at the top of the stairs. He needed her to run his baths for him. To his worst humiliation, he needed help to get himself up so he could be dried off properly, and also to go to the toilet.

"There are things a mother should no longer have to do for a grown man," he said to Anna one day in one of his black moods, a haunted look in his eyes that she knew she had to dispel at once. She cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand, forcing him to meet her gaze.

"It's temporary," she said firmly. "Once you've started to regain the strength in your legs, it'll all come back to you. If you don't feel comfortable with your mum doing those things for you, then let me."

"Absolutely not!" he protested.

"And why not? I'm not just here for the good things, you know. I thought that would have been obvious when I turned down the job to stay here with you."

"I won't make you into a nursemaid," he said fiercely. "Helping an old man to the toilet because he can't do it for himself—"

"Stop it," she said firmly. "I don't care about any of it. It's not your fault that this has happened. You will recover. You've just got to take things in stages. You can't rush these things. They'll take as long as they take. I'm not a squeamish person, John. I'm not going to be put off simply because you're in difficulties right now." She took a deep breath. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I'm not Vera. You can't spend the rest of your life frightened that I'm going to let you down the way that she did. That's not a way for either of us to live. It's not fair to hold me up to what she was. We're different people. You need to start realising that."

His eyes softened. "I do realise that. I do. It's just…sometimes it's hard to trust that I won't be hurt like that again. I know it's not fair to you. I'm sorry."

"None of that. Isn't this how every new relationship is, learning how to be together? Our circumstances are just a bit more extreme, that's all. But we'll get through them. I have faith in that. I love you."

"I love you too," he replied, sounding ashamed. That was no good either. Those feelings wouldn't serve either of them well. So she bent down to kiss him softly, hoping he could feel her love and forgiveness in the movement of her mouth.

He quietened a little after that. He still would not allow her to see him at his most vulnerable—male pride, she supposed—but he did not balk away from her helping him, either. She dutifully closed her eyes to preserve his modesty, but she shouldered his weight and helped him in whatever way he required when she called around to see him after work. It was not the most conventional way to start a relationship, but she found that it worked for them. They had already been through so much drama and chaos, and it helped that they could calm things down and take things one step at a time. There was no rushing into things. Instead, they sat and talked for hours, be it in person or over the phone, and the slow burn helped to reinforce the bond between them. She too needed the time to learn how to trust him again, for he had hurt her so deeply in the past, and she did not want to rush into things too soon. Despite the fact that they had known each other for almost two years now, they had spent so little of that time together. They needed this to get to know each other.

They scheduled his hospital appointments with the physiotherapists so that she could be there with him. Rather than feeling embarrassed, he seemed to take some comfort from her presence by his side. She never let go of his hand, never let her gaze falter as the nurses took him through various exercises to build his strength back up. She tried not to notice the way that he gritted his teeth in pain. Bit by bit, he made progress forward, until the nurses finally deemed that it was time to get him walking on his own two feet again.

The very first time that John took a faltering, colt-like step, Anna wept along with him.

Things progressed from there. Every day, the nurses worked on John's strength, building him up to putting more and more weight on it for longer periods at a time. The pride that Anna felt as she watched him tackling the length of the bars was unrivalled by anything else she had ever felt before. Her man was a fighter. And that was what he was now. Hers. Nothing would ever take him away from her again. Not the army. Not his own self-doubts. She had him now, and she would never stop fighting for what they had.

When he made it the length of the room with only the support of the cane that would be a part of his life for the rest of his life, Anna wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gave him an enthusiastic kiss of victory.

"You did it," she whispered, keeping on her tiptoes so she could whisper in his ear.

"We did it," he corrected her. "I couldn't have done any of this without your support. You've been so good to me. I haven't deserved any of your support or loyalty. You should have gone without looking back when you had the chance. But I won't ever forget the sacrifices you made for me, and I swear I'll do whatever I can to make sure you never regret them."

"I could never regret them," she said fiercely. "I love you, John Bates. I'd do it all again for you. Let's just focus on what we've got to come in the future, and not on what's happened in the past."

John nodded, and she felt tears against her face when she reached up to kiss him again. She did not mention it. It was not something that needed commenting on. She knew she was right. They had so much to celebrate for how far John had come. They had so much to dream of, the future stretching on in front of them with endless possibilities. She knew he was nervous about some things—what he would do now, for one thing, since he could no longer serve in the army—but it did not need to be fretted over just yet. They had all the time in the world now.

Now that John could walk again, he tentatively proposed that they spend some time together away from the house. Anna agreed readily. She had enjoyed being able to spend time strengthening the trust between them, but it would be nice to spend some proper time alone. Margaret was a lovely woman, but Anna had always been aware of her scurrying about in the background, drawing more attention to herself in her determined attempts to make it seem like she was constantly busy and not paying them any attention. It was hardly an ideal situation. Nothing was more embarrassing than the unexpected way that Margaret had often barged in on the middle of a good snogging session on the couch (schoolgirl-ish as it sounded, it really was the only way that Anna could describe them; in the absence of being able to do anything else, she really did feel like his mouth was thoroughly ravishing her own). She wasn't sure who was more horrified whenever that happened; Margaret would promptly turn on her heel with her hands over her eyes telling them that she hadn't seen anything and that they should just let her know when it was safe for her to come back. It was rather a mood killer. To spend some time together outside the house would be bliss.

Mindful of John's still burgeoning strength, they didn't try anything too strenuous. A walk around the little park where they had shared happy memories before, a meal or two out, a trip to the cinema. For the time being, John was unable to drive or walk the distance between his house and Anna's, so she drove him home and said goodbye to him on the doorstep.

"This isn't the way it's supposed to be," he lamented mournfully. "I'm the gentleman. I'm supposed to see you safely home, not the other way around."

"I'm made of stern stuff," she replied. "I can handle a car journey back to my flat alone. Now be quiet and come here."

She succeeded in pulling him down to her level and silencing him with her mouth for a few moments, but not for long. When they parted, John gave another self-reproachful sigh.

"That's something else I should do," he said. "Kiss you goodnight when I've returned you safely to the threshold."

"And hope that I invite you inside," she teased, running her fingers through his hair. "Which I would do, by the way."

"Don't torment me," he groaned.

"Soon," she said feverishly. "We'll make the time soon. You can stay over one weekend. We'd have nowhere else to be. We can have one long weekend of shagging."

He whimpered, the most endearing and arousing sound she had ever heard; given his huge bulk, it did not seem the kind of sound he would make.

"The weekend," he agreed.

"It'll give us something very nice to look forward to, Mr. Bates," she said, keeping her tone silky and sensual.

Behind them, the door opened. They turned at once to find Margaret standing there.

"It's getting chilly outside," she said. "Why don't you come in for a tea, Anna?"

She glanced at John, who shrugged. "All right. Thank you, Margaret."

The old woman shepherded them like sheep into the front room, announcing that she would be back shortly. She returned with two steaming mugs and a tin of homemade shortbread. Anna fished one out gratefully. Her sweet tooth would be her downfall.

"You know," Margaret said without preamble, "I think Cora is going to take me to the cinema next weekend."

John narrowed his eyes at her. "Where has that come from?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's rather out of the blue, you have to admit."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I think you have a very good idea what I'm talking about. Were you eavesdropping!?"

"Eavesdropping on what?" Margaret said innocently. Anna's face started to burn. Oh, good God. Anything but that. She had talked about a long weekend of shagging…God, she would never be able to look her in the face ever again. The floor might as well swallow her up. "I was merely making conversation."

"Well, there's no need to."

"All right, I'm simply saying. The house will be empty next weekend."

The implication couldn't have been clearer. Scarlet, Anna downed the rest of her tea, mumbled a hasty goodbye, and hurried out of the door. There was no way she'd be setting foot in the Bates residence for a while. She needed the embarrassment to wear off first.

Margaret had to be some kind of witch. The weekend found her exactly where she'd vowed she wouldn't be, with the older woman heading out for her evening with Cora. Still, now she was here, she was determined to enjoy it. It would be nice to have the house to themselves. There had been a crackling anticipation between them all day, the tantalising promise of what the evening could hold for them. Their hands had brushed more times than was necessary, and Anna had caught John gazing at her at various times, a warm desire in his gaze that made her own blood simmer. There was no question about it. She wanted this man. She'd wanted him for so long. It was finally time for them to take the next step. After tonight, there would be no more lingering pain. Just love.

Anna couldn't wait to put it all in the past and move on towards the future.

"Have a lovely evening, you two." Margaret was busy gathering up her handbag. She looked very smart, in her best dress. It looked more suited to a theatre than the rundown cinema that Downton had to offer, but her obvious excitement was endearing.

"I'm sure we will," Anna said with a smile. "Enjoy your film."

"It's been years since I saw it. To think of actually seeing it on one of those really big screens! I can still hardly believe it. And Cora says that there are all sorts of new-fangled things you can get in the cinema these days. It will be quite the experience."

Her innocence really was cute.

"I'll walk you to the door," said John. Mother and son made their way into the hall. Anna leaned her head back against the sofa, listening to their conversation through the open door.

"See you later," she heard John say.

"I'll stay out until ten o'clock. Do you think ten is late enough? Should I make it eleven? Will that give you enough time?"

"Mother!" John groaned, and Anna felt her cheeks burning. Bloody hell.

"What?" she said defensively. "I'm a good Catholic woman. I go to church and I say my prayers and I don't want to walk in on my son committing carnal sins of the flesh with his girlfriend. No mother should have to see those things."

"Who says that anything like that is going to be happening? Good God."

"Don't play that card with me, boy. I'm not naïve. I know very well what happens between men and women when they think they've got the house to themselves, especially men and women who have not yet had the opportunity to get to know each other in that way. That's why I want to give you enough time for you to be back downstairs on that sofa acting the innocent picture when I get back home."

Anna was suddenly very, very glad that she hadn't followed the two of them out into the hall. How would she ever look Margaret in the eye again after this, implying what she was implying?

"For the love of God, please go before you make us both die of embarrassment. Cora is waiting for you."

"I know, I know. I'm going. Have you got everything you need?"

"Mother!" he sputtered and, out of sight, Anna buried her face in her hands. Dear God.

"What? I have to make sure of these things, you know. The world may have changed a lot in the long years that I've been alive, but I have to confess, I'm still not sure about the idea of having a grandchild out of wedlock. And people move so fast these days. They've met one day and are having a baby together the next. Anna is so good for you, and I don't want you rushing into things at the drop of a hat."

"We are not having this conversation," John said firmly.

"Well, I'm afraid that until you give me some reassurance, I'm not going anywhere."

There was a pause. Anna could well imagine the stubborn expressions on both of their faces. Likely John was bright red, if her own burning cheeks were anything to go by.

There was no question of who would break first. At last, she heard John give a long, frustrated growl.

"Not that we need to be, but we're covered," he said, so fast it was difficult to catch his words. "Now please, go. And we are never speaking of this again. Do not even try to enquire about our evening when you come back."

"That's good enough for me. Just take care of her, son. Take it from me, a woman needs more than just a man's tools—"

"Jesus, Mother," he said. "There are some things that a child really, really does never want to know about his parents' sex life. We all like to think that we came via the stork, no matter what science tells us. Now go. If you love me at all, go."

Anna heard Margaret harrumph, but at last the door closed behind her. John returned moments later, a look of glassy horror in his eyes, as if he had witnessed something that no one should ever have to witness. Considering all he had seen in his years in the army, that was quite a feat.

"I think I've been put off the thought of sex for the rest of my life," he said. "All I'm ever going to remember is my mother trying to give me advice."

Anna giggled, ducking her head. "I can't say I blame you."

John lowered himself back to the seat beside her with a huff, stretching out his right leg. She scooted closer so she could press herself to his side, and he draped his arm around her, his hand coming to a rest on her hip.

"How about something to eat?" he murmured. "You must be starving."

"I haven't eaten since half-past twelve," she admitted. "Let's not bother cooking tonight. Takeaway?"

"Sounds perfect to me," he agreed. "I'd much rather sit here holding you like this."

"Charmer," she said. "But I'm afraid you're going to have to move to make the phone call."

He groaned. "You are a tough task master, Miss Smith. Fine. One kiss to take with me?"

Smiling, she leaned up and pressed her mouth softly to his. He could have as many kisses as he wanted.

After they had eaten, John leaned back in his seat with a contented sigh. Anna moved closer, resting her head against his chest once more.

"This is nice," she murmured.

"It is. It's been a very long time since I last cuddled up with a girl on the sofa."

"So I should hope as well. I have no intention of being one in a long line of admirers."

"You'd be hard pressed to find any of those. Trust me, you are the only woman I have eyes for. And while I worry for your eyesight, I'm glad there's something you see in me."

"There's plenty that I see in you, Mr. Bates."

She craned her head up, and he lowered hers, and their mouths met. For long moments, they stayed exactly like that, exploring each other's mouths with aching care. His tongue probed softly over her own, and she pushed closer, matching him all the way. His palm cradled her cheek, changing the angle slightly so he had even better access to her. Her eyelids fluttered.

"Let's take this upstairs," she murmured, drawing away enough to say the words, her lips still brushing his.

"I don't know if we should," he muttered between kisses. "It would serve Mother right if we stayed here all night."

"Is there any point to that? Whether we do or we don't, she's only going to think we did."

"Yes, but we'll know the truth."

"I'm not sure how much of a consolation that will be." She hitched herself closer, almost crawling up into his lap. His eyes followed her. "I've never been one to cut off my nose to spite my face."

"Nothing could spite your face," he said, closing the gap between them again. She pulled back, grinning.

"Now, now, Mr. Bates," she purred. "There'll be none of that kind of talk if you're not going to follow through."

His hands slid round her back, sneaking beneath the hem of her t-shirt. "I'll have you know that I'm very good at the follow up, Miss Smith."

"I'll be the judge of that," she said, and this time allowed him to kiss her.

Things moved quickly from there. Kisses escalated and hands began to wander more boldly, discovering untouched territory for the very first time. Breathing deepened as the urgency grew. Anna felt it low, the raw, pulsing need.

"Upstairs," she pleaded.

"What's wrong with here?" he said.

"John, do you really want to do anything where your mother has been sitting?"

"Point," he conceded. "My room is blissfully Mother free."

They rose together. Not wanting to lose any of the mood that had grown and settled between them, Anna slid her hand into his, keeping the contact between them alive.

Navigating the stairs was difficult. As soon as they reached the bottom of them, John pulled her back into his arms. Between kisses, they struggled up step by step, moving slowly to accommodate John's sore knee. None of that mattered to Anna. The extra time simply gave her more time to enjoy him, relish kissing him, acclimatise to the way his large hands felt running up and down her body. And how glorious they did feel, sending sparks shooting down her every nerve.

And, finally, they were at his bedroom door.

The moment was momentous. Overwhelming. Here she was, standing in the threshold like she was standing on the precipice, finally ready to fall into whatever waited her below. So ready.

The mood shifted again as John limped into the room to light the lamp, turning towards her. He seemed shy to have her in this space. His space.

"Come here," he whispered.

She went to him gladly, wrapping her arms around his middle and pressing her ear to his chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart beneath her. It was soothing. Reassuring. This was where she belonged.

Gradually, his hand moved up to cradle the back of her head, manoeuvring her so he could look into her face. His eyes were the deepest hazel, shimmering with emotion. It took her breath away. After all the fighting and heartbreak, he felt the same way. When he looked at her like that, she couldn't doubt it. Slowly, she reached up to kiss him again. He pressed closer, his tongue meeting and sliding over hers.

Clothes rustled. Buttons were opened, shirts pushed from shoulders. Anna's breath hitched as she took in the wide expanse of his chest for the very first time. Thick dark hair grew wild across his chest and down his stomach. Her breath hitched in her throat. God, he was beautiful.

She told him so. He only laughed and nuzzled his nose against her, capturing her mouth again. He didn't believe her. She would have to make him do so.

"Nothing compares to you," he said, running his eyes appreciatively over her upper half. Goosebumps prickled her flesh where he touched her. She was melting under him.

The stasis didn't last for long. After a few more kisses, their hands began to drift again, further south this time. Anna's pulse throbbed as her fingers touched the waistband of his jeans, then slid lower to fumble with his belt. This was it. She was undressing him. In a few moments, she would have him naked. The bulge at the front of them promised wonderful times to come.

His hands stilled hers.

"My…my knee," he whispered.

She looked up into his eyes and recognised the look in them immediately. Fear. She had helped him when he'd been at his weakest and she has accompanied him to every single one of his appointments, both check-ups and physiotherapist sessions, but she had not yet seen the full extent of the damage that his leg had taken.

"It's okay," she reassured him. "I don't care about any of that kind of stuff."

He didn't let go. "I don't want to frighten you. It's…it's ugly. The scarring is permanent. It's never going to get any better than this."

"Do you not trust me?"

John frowned. "Of course I do."

Anna carefully extricated her hands from under his, sliding down his zipper. The sound was so loud in the quiet.

"Then trust me," she said simply.

He swallowed, then nodded tightly. He stood by while she pulled his jeans down, moving only when he needed to step out of them.

He was right: his right leg did look a mess. A land of chaotic destruction, enflamed skin and puffed up tendons and scars that criss-crossed in a thousand different ways. It made not one bit of difference to her. She meant what she'd said. To her, he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

Determined not to let him think that it frightened her, she stepped back towards him, tipping him a cheeky grin.

"Unfasten my bra," she whispered.

Under any other circumstances, she might have felt awkward. Not so with John. The glint of utter worship in his eyes made her feel all-powerful.

The pace increased again. Between more kisses, the last layers separating them were finally removed, and they fell onto the bed together, laughing and sighing and touching each other wherever they could. The agonisingly sweet ache in her lower half began to grow further, if that was even possible, until it was all she could do not to rub herself shamelessly against him, begging him to touch her. Right now, he seemed enamoured with her breasts, and she writhed and whimpered as he suckled at one and then the other, seeming to throb in the rhythm of his mouth. His erection was hot and urgent against her. She reached between them and touched it. He shivered, his sound low and so intoxicatingly unlike him.

"I-I don't know if I can take charge," he said thickly. "My knee—"

Anna didn't want his knee to factor into this any more tonight. Tonight was about the two of them, and how far they had come. How much they had to look forward to.

She drew him into another series of long, slow kisses, manoeuvring so that he was on his back and she was hovering above him. Her hair kept falling down into his face and she huffed in frustration when she pushed it back, but it simply wouldn't stay put. John chuckled, tugging softly on the ends of it. It eased her.

"I think we can come to a mutually agreeable compromise," she whispered. "Here, let me show you what I had in mind…"

The sheets were twisted and gnarled somewhere at the bottom of the bed, but Anna was too warm and sated to care. She lay slumped like a ragdoll over John's broad, strong form, one of his arms draped just above her backside, holding her in place against him. Electric chills ran through her body every time their skins slid against each other. She had the pleasing soreness of someone who had finally exercised muscles that had been unused for a very long time.

"Are you all right?" John murmured. She shifted just enough so that she could see him. He peered up at her with sleepy question in his eyes. It had been quite a time since he had last spoken. She suspected that he was a little bit shy about how loud he had been—something that she had been very surprised about, since he was such a quiet man by nature, but something she found arousing all the same. It was a good thing that his mum had been out, otherwise it would have proven mortifying for all.

"I am more than all right," she told him. "That was amazing."

He looked boyishly proud of himself, and she couldn't stop herself from smiling as she leaned in to kiss him again.

"I'm glad I matched your expectations," he said when they parted.

"Oh, believe me, Mr. Bates, you surpassed them."

"Why, were your expectations very low?"

She burst into peals of laughter at that, shaking her head at his typical self-deprecation. "Do you have an inability to enjoy a compliment for what it is?"

"I'm afraid so. I've always been a bit of a cynical bastard, I'm afraid. And I'm far too old to change."

She poked him in the ribs. "You are not old."

"I'm feeling every one of my years after those antics," he said. "I don't think even the army put me through my paces quite like that."

She snorted, shaking her head. But she loved it, loved that they could be like this together. Loved that they could be so comfortable together after their first time. She did not feel awkward or shy now that the initial passion had faded away. The way that John was keeping her pressed to him was very comforting indeed. Right. She'd never felt like this before. Steve had never made her feel this safe and happy. She never wanted this feeling to end.

Now, she finally had the faith that it wouldn't.

John idled with strands of her hair between his large fingers, and she turned her head slightly so she could inhale the slightly salty scent of his sweat, smiling in satisfaction. It was the smell of someone who had been thoroughly loved and loving in return. She could smell her perfume on him too, and it scent heady waves of joy through her body. She could hardly believe that they had finally reached this point. It had been such a long time coming.

"You're smiling," John murmured low in her ear, his warm breath making her skin prickle with goosebumps. "What are you thinking about?"

She pushed herself up slightly so she could look down into his face, feathering her fingertips over the creases by his eyes as he quirked his lips at her.

"Nothing, really," she said, then lowered her voice mischievously. "I was just thinking about something Ethel said on the day we first met."

John raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "That makes me rather apprehensive. I am getting to know too well the kinds of things that Ethel is fond of saying."

"You'll have to carry on getting used to her, I'm afraid. She's never going to change."

"I think I can handle that. So, go on, what did she say?"

She stifled a giggle, moving to brush her mouth against his. "Ethel said that you were great in bed."

John raised his eyebrows. "I have to confess, I can't recall ever sleeping with Ethel before."

"So I should jolly well hope, you idiot. She was probably passing on her own experience. And apparently that is older men have more experience, so they're better lovers."

"I thought you said I wasn't old?"

"You're not. Stop pouting. If you'd stop taking everything as a backhand, you'll see that I'm trying to compliment you on your prowess. You've certainly put your experience to good use." She paused, dithering for a moment, before saying softly, "John, do you mind if I ask you something personal?"

He shifted slightly. "No, of course not. You can ask me anything. I don't have anything to hide from you. Not anymore."

Anna took a deep breath. She shuffled away from him so she could lie beside him on the mattress, not quite able to meet his eye. It wasn't that she wanted to know. It was more like a need to know, to clear the air between them once and for all. No more secrets. Being intimately open with each other.

"Have…have there been many women?" she said.

John's eyes widened. "Where did that come from?"

"I'm not sure, really. I suppose I was just curious. You don't have to answer." On second thoughts, maybe she didn't need to know. He'd been married, but that didn't mean he hadn't had women before that, or indeed women during that period. Margaret had told him that Vera had been unfaithful, and just because Margaret wanted to see the best in her son, it didn't mean that he had remained faithful too.

But it was too late to take it back now. John shifted, moving his hand to rub at his chin. "I don't mind answering. Though I'm not sure if I should be proud or embarrassed. The honest truth is, you're actually only the third woman I've ever slept with."

Anna lowered herself onto her back, staring up at the ceiling so she could avoid looking at him instead. "Was the other woman after Vera?"

"Before. I'm not even sure you could call her a girlfriend. It was just as I was leaving school. We'd seen each other a few times, but I wasn't really serious about her. It sort of just happened. We met a couple of times but then I met Vera, and that was that."

"You loved her."

"I suppose I did. I grow less and less sure of that fact every day. I certainly loved the idea of her, and I found her exciting. Vera was never afraid to voice her opinions or give as good as she got, and I enjoyed that. She made it plain that she was interested, but she let me do all the chasing. It kept me interested. I don't know if we'd have ever have lasted the whole distance even under different circumstances, but…" He shrugged, seemed reluctant to bring that part of the past into the bed with them.

"But she told you she was pregnant."

"Yes." He shook his head. "Anyway, there you have it. I'm not as experienced as your friend Ethel seems to think I am. In fact, you've probably had sex more times than I have."

"I don't know about that."

"I'm serious. I was away for months at a time."

"Even so, more sex doesn't necessarily mean more experience. Steve liked things vanilla."

"Vanilla. I see. So Steve really was your only lover before me?"

She nodded, pushing closer. "It took me a long time to work up the courage to let things go further. And it was nice, if not very exciting. I think I was so relieved to be living what I considered a normal life that I wasn't bothered by the rest of it." She blushed, fidgeting. "You know. The release."

"You didn't always…you know?"

She giggled. It seemed absurd, that he was so shy to talk about it when he'd been more than enthusiastic doing it ten minutes earlier. Not that she was any more sure about it. She'd never discussed her sexual history with another man before. "Sometimes. Not always. It didn't really matter to me at the time."

"It should matter," said John. He slid his hand down her side, until it rested on her stomach. "I promise, Anna, I will never take more than I give."

"I never thought you would for a minute," she said.

"I want to give you everything," he said earnestly. He started peppering kisses against her jaw, and she tilted her head, giving him more access to her neck. He continued to kiss her, rolling onto his back and tugging her back over him, moving lower and lower down her body. Her breath hitched as he puckered a nipple, then the curve of her breast, moving ever lower as he pulled her further up his body.

Lower.

"There are a million ways to make love to you," he murmured. "I'm going to show you every single one."

His mouth closed over her then, and she saw stars in the darkness behind her lids, arching into his touch and calling out for him as her fingers moved instinctively to wrap around his headboard. She was right, she thought dimly: less sex did not mean less experience. He was opening her up to a whole world she had never known before.

She never wanted him to stop.

John's chuckle was coarse and sexy as she lowered herself, trembling, back down onto his chest. Her thighs burned with the delicious throb of exertion, and she tingled all over. Two times. She'd officially had sex with John Bates, the man she was in love with, twice. There was something incredibly powerful about that. Something gratifying and lovely, too.

He seemed to like resting his hand on her arse. She would never have pegged him as a bum guy, but she rather liked it too, his hand warm and heavy against her. Comforting, somehow.

"Was that okay?" he murmured.

She shot him a cheeky grin. "You don't have to ask me that every time we have sex, you know."

"I just want to make sure that I'm making you happy."

"Believe me, Mr. Bates," she murmured, leaning down to kiss him, "I couldn't fake it that effectively."

"Well, that's good to know." He shifted a little with a groan, easing her down until she was lying nose to nose with him, gazing once more into those deep hazel eyes, heavy with drowsiness. She was feeling rather lethargic, too. Satisfaction could do that to a person. A quick nap sounded like heaven. Snuggling closer, she draped her arm around his waist and closed her eyes.

There was a sound down in the hall. The sound of the door being unlocked. They both shot up into sitting positions at once, exchanging wide-eyed, panicked glances.

"Is that…?" Anna began.

"Shit!" John hissed, scrambling out of bed as quickly as his knee would allow. "Yes, it bloody well is!"

Margaret was back. Stricken, Anna almost fell out of bed in her haste to get out of the covers, snatching at whatever pieces of clothing she could find. It was half past ten, according to the clock. Just where had that time flown to? Had they really been lost in each other for so long that they hadn't even realised the alarming speed it was passing them by in? Bloody hell, it was a good job that they hadn't still been in the throes of passion…if they'd been just two minutes longer…it did not bear thinking about…

"Johnny? Anna?"

Margaret's voice was more muffled. Likely she was poking her head into the sitting room. She'd find them gone, and would know exactly where they were. It had been mildly amusing in its own embarrassing way earlier, but now that it was a reality, it had definitely lost its humour.

Anna had no idea where her knickers had landed in their passion, so she had to settle for pulling on her skirt and praying that Margaret wouldn't notice. She fastened her bra—twisted, from the way she could feel it digging into her back—and yanked her top over her head. John wasn't faring much better, struggling with his buttons in his haste. Together, they almost fell out of the bedroom.

"We're here, Mother!" John hollered down the stairs. His voice sounded unnaturally high.

Margaret appeared at the bottom of the stairs, arching a weary eyebrow. "Yes, I thought as much."

"I was showing Anna something," he stammered.

"Again: I thought as much."

Heat flared through Anna's cheeks at the look on the old woman's face, and it took every ounce of bravery not to lower her gaze. Or, even more appealing, cower in the bedroom.

"Not that!" John yelped. "Can you please stop with the unnecessary innuendos? We were just going to choose a film, if you must know."

"If you say so, son," said Margaret. "By the way, your shirt buttons are done up all wrong. Honestly, you must take more care getting dressed. You look like nobody owns you."

Anna shot him a horrified glance. Margaret was speaking the truth. John's shirt looked skewered and dishevelled, nothing like the neat state it had been in when she had left the house. They'd been busted. They all would have known the truth of the evening, of course, but there was knowing and there was knowing. Not one word would have ever have been spoken about this if not for their unfortunate time keeping.

To Margaret's credit, she slipped smoothly back into the role of the doting mother. "Now, I'm just going to head on through to put the kettle on. None of those fancy fizzy drinks appealed to me. No wonder the kids these days are always hyped up on too much sugar."

"You can get hot drinks at the cinema now," said John, as if turning his back while he spoke would distract from the fact that he was re-buttoning his shirt into a more acceptable manner.

"And why would I want to try one of those? Horrid dishwater tea, that's what that would be. I like my tea mashed properly, thank you very much…"

Anna sheepishly took the plunge and descended the stairs to the older woman's side, waiting for John at the bottom.

"I'd better get going," she said when he joined her.

"What?" For a woman whose hearing was failing, Margaret certainly had her senses honed for situations that weren't to her liking.

"It's getting late," said Anna.

"Don't feel you have to leave. I know Johnny would absolutely love it if you stayed over."

"Mother!" said John. "I don't need you to speak for me, thank you very much."

"Oh, don't you pretend that it isn't true. A snuggle is just the ticket for new lovers."

"Mother!"

Anna's cheeks flamed yet again; she needed to be outside in the fresh air just for a bit of relief.

"I have Leo at home," she said. "I have to get back to him. And I have nothing here anyway."

"Why don't you go home, pick up a few things, and bring that dear cat of yours with you? He gets along splendidly with Tiger, so there are no issues there. John can go with you so you're not going on your own at this late hour, and he can wait in the car while you get yourself sorted."

Anna sneaked a look at him, trying to gauge his face. She did not want to stay if it would make him uncomfortable.

"I mean, it would be all right with me," he said tentatively. "But only if you're okay with it. Don't let Mother pressure you. If you'd rather stay at home, I understand."

"No, I'll stay," she said. "If you're really all right with it."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" cried Margaret. "You both want to be together tonight, so let's stop pussyfooting around the issue. Anna, go home and get your things. John, go with her."

"You needn't be so forceful," John grumbled, even as he reached for his coat. "It's not for you to poke your nose into my affairs."

"That's what mothers are for, Johnny," she said breezily. "One day your Anna will understand."

They both flushed again at that, and by mutual agreement, scurried out of the house.

When they were laying back in bed together, nose to nose in the darkness, John admitted in a whisper, "I'm so glad you did decide to stay."

"So am I," she said, rubbing the tip of her nose against his. "So very, very glad."

They shared a brief kiss, John's hand sliding down to settle on her hip.

"It's a pity Mother is just next door," he lamented when he pulled away. "I suspect she's left her hearing aid in tonight especially, waiting for the slightest sign that we're not playing by her rules. She'd come down on us like the plague."

"John, really!" she scolded with a giggle. "I've had enough embarrassments for one evening without having to imagine any more, thank you very much."

"Maybe we can wait until the wee hours when we know she'll be fast asleep…"

"Out of the question. The bed springs squeak. She'll know in an instant."

"Oh, charming. Apparently my efforts were so good that you had time to notice the bed springs?"

"You would twist my words against me!"

"I've got to keep realistic, haven't I?" he said, and she squealed when he dug his fingers into her sides.

"Don't you dare!" she gasped. "I'm ticklish!"

"Ticklish, eh?" His eyes practically lit up at that, like a little boy's. "It seems that there's a lot still left to learn about you, Miss Smith."

"If you don't stop tickling me this instant, I may not give you the chance to learn anything else at all."

"Oh, the ultimatum," he murmured. "I have such tough decisions to make…"

His fingers braced her sides, and she squealed again, trying to wriggle away from his touch.

There was a banging on the wall.

"That bed is for sleepin' in, Johnny!" came Margaret's muffled voice, and Anna laughed harder, falling against him as he groaned in mortification.

"We need to get away from here next time," he whispered. "Or she'll be putting the kibosh on our sex life for the rest of time."

"Stay at mine tomorrow," she said, propping herself up on his chest. "We'll manage everything between us. And then we'll have all night to do whatever we want…"

He shivered as she ran her fingernail down his side. "Don't, Anna. I need to keep my dignity intact. You'd be a very cruel woman if got me all worked up."

"Cruel is one thing I'm not, darling," she said, ceasing. "There are a few logistics that we need to work out, but I think we'll be okay."

"What logistics are those?"

"Well, you know I already share my bed with another man. I'm not sure how kindly he'll take to you insinuating yourself into my life."

"And here was me, thinking I was the only man in your life."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be obtuse. You know very well I'm talking about Leo."

"Leo likes me."

"Leo has never had another man stopping over at my place before. I don't think he'll take too kindly to being booted out of the room and replaced as chief bed warmer."

"Well, I have no objections to still sharing the bed. Just, you know, after we've had sex. I don't fancy him prowling around when we're together like that. I don't think I could perform."

She snorted, moving in to kiss him fiercely. "I do love you, you know. So much. You're an idiot, but you're my idiot."

His eyes were shining as he looked at her, the look of pure adoration on his face making her heart crack open with how beautiful it was. "I love you too, Anna. Thank you for…for this evening. It meant a lot to me."

She looked down on him, bare-chested and scarred, her very own hero.

"You can't know how much tonight has meant to me," she said softly. "I wanted you for so long, my darling. I'm so glad we're here."

They shared one more kiss before settling down, John curled up behind her like a big, protective bear. Anna had never felt safer than at that moment, wrapped in his arms.

They fell asleep curled up together, at peace with the world, at peace with each other.

So very, very content.

The weeks moved into months, moved into years. John's army career moved into one at the local newspaper. Robert, friends with the magnate who ran it, put in a good word and John found himself editing the stories that were submitted. He seemed content with the change. It was giving him the chance to stretch the muscles he had been forced to stop using many years before, and the change of pace to a more peaceful existence seemed to sit well with him. Before everything had exploded out of her control, Anna had thought that she would be content to be an army wife, loving her man every day from afar, content to wait for his leave so that she could spend their brief spells in his arms. The more time wore on, the more she began to truly appreciate what it was to have what most considered a normal life together. Experiencing the little things, like waking up beside him every day, being surprised with flowers and little gifts and dinner arrangements, orbiting around each other as they made meals. Kissing and touching him whenever she wanted, picking up the phone and knowing that he was only across town, able to come to her at a moment's notice if she needed him. If he hadn't been injured, they would never have had any of that, and while Anna refused to be glad that John had been hurt in such a fashion, she was nevertheless grateful.

Those dates turned into more. Little weekend breaks, holidays in other climes while Margaret looked after the cats. They explored places of culture, John surprising Anna by showing her that he was an expert in history as well as in English, and Anna also convinced him to buy a new summer wardrobe and jet off to Tenerife for a relaxing two weeks of sun, sand, and sex.

With his invalidity money, John mortgaged himself another house, leaving Margaret in the one that he'd started paying for when they'd moved to Downton. The following Christmas, he asked Anna to move in with him. The place was too big for just one person, and Anna's flat still had its multitude of problems that her landlord was too lazy to fix. It made sense that she shouldn't continue to waste her money on rent. Anna flung her arms around his neck and agreed. In January, her name had been added to the house deeds. There was nothing quite so romantic as seeing her name there beside his. It reinforced just how far they had come, how he finally had faith that they would always be together.

In November, on a weekend trip to see the Northern Lights, he proposed to her. It was brass monkeys outside, and rather amusing to see John kitted out in a padded coat, with a scarf cinched tight around his neck, a woolly hat on his head, and thick gloves over his hands, but the backdrop, with the snow and the aurora overhead was breathtaking. She kissed him first and answered him second, but there could be no doubt as to what her reply would be.

She became Mrs. Bates on a mild April Friday afternoon mere months later, after they decided that they didn't want the fuss of a big wedding. Anna had a free period after lunch, so she sneaked away at dinner to marry the love of her life. She left the school Miss Smith. She returned Mrs. Bates, though at that point no one else other than her close friends knew. It didn't matter to her. Having a small ceremony surrounded by their closest friends and family meant more than inviting hundreds of people neither of them really knew.

Unbeknownst to either of them, they were joined by someone they didn't know: mere days into his life, their son was there with them.

Little John Daniel Bates—Jack—was born on New Year's Eve, ten days early, the greatest culmination of the bright future they had in front of them. John actually cried holding him in his arms for the first time, and it took Anna's breath away to see her bulky husband cradling that tiny baby in his arms. Margaret cried too, announcing that she had never thought she'd live to see the day when she had little grandchildren of her own. She was adamant that they had to start again soon so she could see many, many more of them. Anna and John exchanged half-horrified, half-intrigued looks at the thought and said they'd maybe think about it further down the line.

Anna had been the one to insist on John as his name, wanting her husband to see how worthy she thought he was. After all these years, the last bit of doubt finally seemed to leave him. It was beautiful to behold.

Jack was followed two years later by Ciara, the squalling daughter they had both been hoping for. Named to honour her Irish heritage, she was a little beauty, and the culmination of all of their dreams. Because now they had a son and a daughter, and they couldn't be happier.

November

Christmas had come early this year, with a flurry of snow in early November. The streets were already turning to slush, and Anna shivered even within the thick layers she had armed herself with that morning, staring in the brightly lit window in front of her. The warm lights beckoned her closer, but she remained where she was standing, trying to scout out the perfect gift amongst the multitude of knickknacks in front of her. Not that her brain was fully on the task at hand—she couldn't quite tear her longing thoughts away from the mug of hot chocolate she had promised herself was waiting for her in the Costa Coffee shop on the end of the street once she was done here. And that also meant that she'd be reunited with her family. They had agreed between them that they would split up for an hour so that they could look for Christmas gifts for each other. John had offered to take Jack and Ciara with him so that she wouldn't be constantly distracted by them, which she was grateful for, as Jack could be as rambunctious as he was sweet, but she found that she missed them. It had been a long time since there had been any peace and quiet in the house, or when she actually had a few hours to herself, but she would happily sacrifice that to be with the family she had always longed for.

Deciding that there was nothing for her here after all, she turned away from the window, ready to dive back in to the tumultuous waves of people that were heading in every direction, frantic shoppers caught up in the sense of early Christmas that had come in with the snows. She had just taken her first step forward when someone collided with her side. She squeaked a little and jolted her hip painfully against the window she had just vacated. Her assailant swore and reached out to steady her.

"I am so sorry—" he started.

A thrill of recognition went through her like ice cold water at the sound of his voice, and she glanced up into his face. At the same moment, his voice tailed off, and they stood there staring at each other as the world carried on around them.

Steven. Steve, of all people, was standing there in front of her, having almost knocked her off her feet. She was sure she must look a right idiot, not quite able to register the sight in front of her, but she was in good company; Steve's mouth was hanging open in disbelieving incredulation and more than a touch of awkwardness.

"An-Anna?" he said.

"Yes, that's me," she said, gingerly pulling out of his hold.

"Christ." He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "It's been—well, it's been a long time."

"It has," she said.

More awkward silence. Steve cleared his throat, glancing around them. Anna found herself doing the same, trying to come up with some excuse to get away from him. When nothing immediate sprang to mind she settled for saying, rather lamely, "I wasn't expecting to see you here." It was ridiculous, really. Leeds was a huge city with thousands of people. How was it possible that she had run in to one of the few people that she had no wish to see ever again?

Steve seemed grateful to latch on to the line of conversation. "No. I don't actually live or work in Leeds anymore. I'm only back in town for a couple of weeks." He took a deep breath. "Mum died."

Anna's eyes widened. "Oh, Steve, I'm so sorry to hear that." And she really was. No matter how resentful she had felt towards her ex-boyfriend for a long time—until John entered her life, really—she had never disliked his mother. Their relationship had never been anything like the one she had fostered with Margaret, but Steve's mum had always been kind and welcoming. It was his dad she'd liked less—she had the distinct feeling that he'd never thought her good enough for his son. No doubt he'd thought that she'd held him back by forcing him to move to a pokey little town like Downton, when he should have been off chasing the highfliers down to London.

"Thank you," said Steve. "It was sudden. She didn't suffer, at least. I thought about telling you, I really did. I came back to Downton, to your old flat, but there's an old woman living there now."

"Oh, I haven't lived at the flat for years now. I have a house on the other side of town."

"No?" Steve looked mildly uncomfortable. "Well, I'm glad to hear it. I always worried about you living there on your own. There were always so many unsavoury characters around. I suppose it was a long shot that you'd still be living there, but I even went to Downton High, and when I asked to speak to you, they said you didn't work there anymore."

Anna frowned, confused. "Did they? That's strange, because I actually still do."

"You do? Oh. Weird."

"Perhaps it was a confidentiality thing," she suggested. "They probably can't give any kind of information out if you're not next of kin."

"Yeah, maybe."

More silence followed. Anna shifted a little, wondering what on earth else she should say. If there was anything else she even wanted to say. She hadn't set eyes on him in nine years. If there had ever been any niggling need for closure, it had disappeared a very long time ago. Steven shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets.

"So, still at Downton High," he said. "That's some dedication."

"You know I was dedicated," she replied. The implicit accusation hung in the air between them, the ghost of all that had passed with the end of their relationship. Steve looked mortified.

"Anyway, as I said, I've moved on," he babbled. "From the finance company, I mean. I still work in finance but…I'm based in London now."

"How nice for you," said Anna. So it appeared that his dad had got his wish at long last. She wondered what he was getting at by telling her.

It became apparent a moment later. Steven's whole visage simply crumpled, and he reached out to grab her arm.

"I'm single, you know," he said hoarsely. His eyes roved her face. "God, Anna, I was such a fool. I know I screwed everything up royally. I don't know what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking. I was just an idiot. I let my prick do the thinking for me. And I'm so sorry for hurting you."

Anna felt a horrible jolt at his words and at the look in his eyes. Steve admitting responsibility for what he'd done and showing remorse was nine years too late. How different might things have been if he'd done this straight off the bat instead of trying to win her back with stupid gifts whilst simultaneously blaming her for his cheating? She'd always told herself that it was something that she'd never forgive, but at the time she'd thought that she'd loved him. She might have given him a second chance. She might have even have been engaged, or married, on that April day when John had walked in to her life. She might have had a working car, with no reason to accept his offer of a lift.

God, it did not bear thinking about.

"Steve—" she started. This had to be nipped in the bud. There was no point in raking over old coals. She did not want to have to be cruel enough to stand there and tell him that by being a cheating rat, he had made her the happiest woman alive years later.

"No, please, let me finish," he overrode, wild-eyed. "That fling with Sarah…It was so fucking stupid. It was just sex, I swear to you. I know that doesn't make it any better, but I never had feelings for her. When you called things off I tried to make things work with her because I was terrified of the thought that it might have all been for nothing, but the truth is that it was. You can't force feelings, and I couldn't make myself feel anything for her, no matter how hard I tried. It only lasted a few months after you left."

"But you never came back," she pointed out.

"I wanted to. So badly. But I was a coward. And then it became easier just to keep away. But I've never forgotten about you, Anna. I won't lie and pretend that there haven't been other women, but I think that I was just trying to find a replacement for you, and it never worked. I started to realise that you really were the only person I'd ever wanted."

And still he'd never come back and tried to explain himself. Standing here with him now, Anna wasn't sure what he wanted her to say. Because his words made her feel nothing. There was no anger or animosity anymore. She'd long ago stopped wondering about him.

And, really, he said he'd changed, but had he? Here he was, with that earnest expression on his face, proclaiming that he still loved her, that no other woman he'd had had ever compared…and was standing there as if he expected that her life had been a mirror of his, that she'd been static for the last nine years mourning the loss of the relationship that had turned out to be nothing like what she'd thought it was at the beginning. By saying he'd wanted to come back, he'd silently admitted that there must have been opportunities to. But he'd never cared enough to take the leap. He'd cared about his self-perseveration more. They would never, ever have had this conversation if he hadn't accidentally run into her a few minutes before.

"Nothing's changed," he said. "God, even you haven't changed. Seriously, you don't look a day older than you did when I last saw you. In fact, you're even more beautiful. You look like you're practically glowing."

And there were the compliments, meant to soften her up, accompanied with that boyish grin she had known so well for the five years she had spent with him. He had changed a bit, but not for the worse. His hair was shorter and neater, his face had lost its babyishness, and he was sporting stubble that suited his face. At one time, her stomach had fluttered to look at him. She'd been certain that he was the one that she'd spend her life with, the only man she had ever been able to stand touching her.

But that was before John.

Steven was wrong. Because everything had changed. She had changed.

Before she could find the words to respond, however, they were interrupted by a high pitched squealing. Anna automatically turned in the direction of the sound, a smile blooming on her face. There, running towards her, was her little boy, his stocky little legs moving as fast as they would carry him, his father keeping pace with him with the utmost ease.

"Hi, hi, hi!" Jack was squealing, waving at her excitedly.

"Who's that?" Steve asked, but she ignored him, bending down and opening her arms wide so Jack could race into them. He was full of boisterous beans, and he almost knocked the wind out of her in his enthusiasm. She didn't mind. She simply pulled him closer to her and pressed her cheek to his woolly hat. When she looked up, John had reached them, pushing Ciara along in the pram, his cane hanging over the handlebars. Ciara burbled away, tucked up snug as she was, and John bent down to lift her out gently, holding her in his strong left arm. He took his cane in his right hand, using it to straighten his stance as much as possible.

"Hello," he said, eyeing them suspiciously.

Anna pushed herself back in to a standing position, laying her hand against the top of Jack's head as he wrapped himself around her legs.

"This is Steven McCullen," she said, looking straight at John. His eyes narrowed.

"Steven?" he said; clearly the significance of the name hadn't been lost on him.

Steve, on the other hand, seemed none the wiser. "That's me."

Quickly, Anna added, "Steven, this is John Bates."

"Nice to meet you," said Steve.

"Likewise," said John, but there was no hint of welcome in his voice. "I'd offer to shake your hand but I'm rather tied up at the moment."

"No worries," Steve said. His eyes, which had been fixated on the cane, strayed to Jack. "They're both cute as buttons. Your grandkids?"

John bristled, and Anna found herself doing the same. It happened rarely, but she hated it when people made comments like that. It never did John's self-esteem any good, and it was rude.

"No, my children," he said, his tone overly-polite, a sure sign that he had taken an instant dislike to him—not that any different could have been expected, considering what Steven was to her.

"Oh, my apologies," said Steve. He looked back to her. "Where's Kate?"

Anna blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Is Kate at work? Are you giving John some sisterly advice?"

Could someone truly be that dense? The answer surely had to be 'no'.

"I jolly well hope she's not giving me sisterly advice," said John, and there was nothing polite about his tone any longer.

"Jack and Ciara are mine, Steve. Kate's their auntie, not their mum."

"You Mummy!" Jack squealed now, squeezing her tighter, and she drew him closer to her side, jutting her chin rebelliously at her ex. He looked decidedly dazed.

"Yours…?" he said faintly.

"That's right," John confirmed. "I take it you didn't realise that Anna's my wife?"

Now Steve looked positively ill. "No, I didn't." He turned slightly accusatory eyes on her. Anna stared back defiantly. No longer would he be able to pin the blame on her. It was none of his business who she had married. He had no right to feel aggrieved that she had moved on to someone better.

It seemed that now John was on a roll, he wasn't going to stop. He'd puffed his chest out to make himself look even more intimidating. "Jack there's almost three. And Ciara is almost six months old."

"I see," Steve said stiffly. "You've been together quite some time, then." That accusatory stare still burned, as if she ought to have wrote and told him so that he could have avoided making a fool of himself. Too late. He'd already made himself a fool a long time ago, the moment that he dropped his trousers for Sarah Anderson.

"Six years," said John. "Happiest years of my life. We met at a career day at Anna's school. I was in the military at the time. We hit it off straight away." It wasn't surprising that he'd glossed over the turbulent times they had known at the beginning of their friendship, although she supposed he wasn't lying; the chemistry they had had as friends had been instinctive and natural.

"How nice," said Steven, in a tone that suggested he thought it was anything but. Gone was his previous friendly and puppy-like approach. Now his expression was stony. "Well, don't let me keep you. I'm sure you've got lots of things to do, as have I."

"A trip to Mothercare," said John. "We're going to have to start looking for some new baby clothes. Took us quite by surprise, didn't it, love?"

Steven's face was as still and breakable as glass. "Oh. Another one?"

"Yes," said Anna, and her hand slipped instinctively to her stomach. They had only just found out about this little wonder a couple of weeks ago. When she had gone in for her blood test results at the doctors after feeling a little under the weather, assuming that her iron might be low, she had come out with the joyous news that she was expecting again. It had come as quite the shock; she hadn't expected to fall pregnant so soon after having Ciara. Even so, the news was welcome. Since meeting John, she had always dreamed of having a large, happy family. John had grown up an only child, and although she had had a sister, as the years had passed and her stepfather had caught her in a stranglehold, she had felt the distance growing between them. Both she and John had wanted a house filled with laughter, and with three children, that was what they would get. And Margaret, of course, was simply overjoyed to be having another grandchild. She had cried when they'd announced the news to her.

"You've blessed us so much, Anna," she'd said, and Anna's heart had swollen with how much she loved this family. Her family. Now and forever.

"Well, congratulations," said Steve, though the words sounded more like a curse than a blessing. "That's nice for you. Really. I'm glad you found someone who you felt you could build a life with." His eyes turned sly as he turned to face John. "Anna and I go way back. She was the one who got away, if you catch my meaning."

"Perfectly," said John. "I do know who you are, you know."

Steve faltered for a moment but soon regained his composure. "Ah, she told you that I was her first love, then?"

"Something along those lines," John said evasively, shifting Ciara further up his shoulder. She snuffled into his neck and that seemed to hearten him. "Anyway, we'd better keep going. We don't want Ciara to catch a cold out here. It's like the Baltic."

"Sure," said Steven. "Remember what I said, Anna."

And with that, he sauntered away, recovery well and truly complete. Anna could feel John's eyes burning in to her.

"What did he say?" he asked.

But she shook her head. She certainly wasn't going to have that discussion out on a slushy street in Leeds. "Never mind. Come on, let's go to Mothercare. And then we should go and get something to eat. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Jacky?"

"Yes!" he squealed, tugging on her hand. "Want choccy! Want choccy!"

"That's settled, then," she said. "Come on."

She started walking away. It took a few seconds for John to follow her.

For the rest of the day, John was uncharacteristically quiet. He did nothing different to normal. He still played with the children and aided her at every opportunity that he could, but there was still something different about him. His kisses were quiet contemplation. And, later in the evening, he announced that he was popping out to visit his mother. She gave it half an hour and phoned Margaret herself, but her mother-in-law confirmed that he wasn't there. She sounded worried, so Anna quickly reassured her that it was her mistake, that she must have misheard what he'd said and that there was nothing to worry about. Even so, when she rang his mobile, he didn't answer. She left him a message, reiterating that she loved him.

It was past ten when he did eventually return. Anna was sitting on the sofa, BBC News playing in the background as she stared blankly at the screen, and she jumped to her feet when he entered. There was a light dusting of snow on his shoulders and his hair was wet. He was shivering slightly.

"Where have you been?" she said, hurrying over to him and helping him out of his coat.

He didn't even try to protest that he had been at his mother's. "Out for a walk. I needed to clear my head."

"Why?" she demanded. "What's wrong? Talk to me, John."

He shook his head. "It's nothing. I'm knackered, so I think I'll head up to bed. Night, love." He bent in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, turning away from her to tramp upstairs. Anna remained motionless for a second, trying to process what had just happened. But she wouldn't let whatever was going on inside that head of his to fester. When they had made their wedding vows, they had promised to trust and honour each other. That meant that she would have to be open with him about the things Steven had said to her. It also meant that he had to tell her what he was thinking. He couldn't keep her in the dark. It wasn't fair. They should have been done with that when they'd laid bare their souls to one another all those Christmases ago.

After switching off the plugs and all of the lights, she followed his path upstairs. She found him in the bedroom, in the middle of changing. He glanced in her direction as she entered, then went back to buttoning his shirt; paying him no mind, she padded over to the bed and slipped under the covers. It would probably be best to have this conversation in the dark. John always seemed to respond better if he didn't think that she could see him properly, and she would grant him that.

It might make what she had to say a little easier, too.

Once John was dressed he rounded the bed to his own side and flicked off the light. They were plunged into darkness at once. The mattress dipped and groaned beneath his weight as he settled himself down, and for a moment they lay there side by side, silent and unmoving.

Anna broke the stasis, rolling on to her side and propping herself up on an elbow. Her other hand moved to press flat against his pyjama top. "I think we should have a talk about this afternoon."

"If you think it's a good idea."

It was necessary, that was what it was. "You wanted to know what Steve said to me. I'm assuming that that hasn't changed."

He shrugged. "While I was out, I wondered if it was better that I didn't know."

"Don't be silly. I have nothing to hide from you." Soon, he would see that that was the complete and utter truth.

"All right, then. If you think it's best."

"I do." She paused a moment to collect herself. The words did not come easy because she knew how her husband's brain worked, but she forced them out anyway. "Steve…Those things that he said…He-he told me that he'd been an idiot. That he should never have let me go."

For a long time, there was silence. Anna waited patiently, counting the beats of John's heart beneath her palm.

Eventually, he said, "He didn't look like I'd imagined him to look."

"And how did you imagine him?"

He snorted. "A lot uglier. But I suppose that was to soothe myself."

"Steve is uglier."

"I'm sure the majority of the women in the United Kingdom would disagree with you there."

"I don't care. My opinion is the one that counts, and I happen to think that you're the most gorgeous man alive. Steve's ugliness just doesn't happen to be visible. It's on the inside."

"Not much of a consolation, really," he mused.

"You can't seriously be comparing yourself to him."

She felt him shrug the shoulder that she wasn't leaning over. "Why not? It seems as if we're competing in other departments."

She sat up at that, jabbing him fiercely in the chest. "Don't even voice that. Do you really think so little of me that you think I'd be the remotest bit interested in what he had to say?"

He sounded abashed. "No. No, of course I don't think that little of you. That was a dickish thing to say. I didn't mean it."

"Well, it doesn't sound like that from where I am. And it bloody pisses me off, if I'm honest with you."

"I'm sorry."

"So you should be. I love you, John. You. There could never be anyone else for me. I thought I'd made that clear to you when I chose to remain here instead of going to America."

"You did. I don't doubt you."

"You'd better not. If you doubt me, it means you doubt the life we've built together."

"Christ, no. No, I don't. I was just being a jealous, selfish prat."

"Good. Do you know what I was thinking when Steve stood before me telling me this?"

John shook his head. "No. What?"

"All I could think about was how glad I am that he screwed everything up. Because, honestly, I can't imagine my life with anyone but you. I don't want to. He told you that he was my first love. I don't know if I loved him or not, I've told you that before. But he was a huge part of my life, I can't deny that. He was my first everything. But first doesn't mean best. Last means best. If I'd loved him that much I could have ignored the fact that he screwed around with someone else behind my back. I could have placidly accepted it and taken him back and prayed that it never happened again. I didn't. He didn't love me enough to fight for it, and I didn't love him enough to work at the problems. There is nothing that I shared with him that I haven't shared with you. There are a thousand things that I've shared with you that I have never shared with him."

John was silent for a time. She waited for him to sort through his thoughts.

"I'm sorry," he offered at last. "I know I'm being childish and stupid. I truly don't doubt you, you know. I never have. There have been plenty of times when I've wondered how you could love someone like me, but I never disbelieved what you were saying."

"I thought you did, right at the beginning," she teased him tentatively. "When I told you I loved you at New Year." The fact that he had rejected her then was still a tender subject with him, though she had long since learned to accept it for what it had been: a blessing in disguise, for despite all the heartache she had had to endure in the following year, it had only made them stronger by the end of it, more assured in everything that they were together.

John shook his head seriously. "No. I wanted to disbelieve it. It would have been easier if I could have dismissed it all. But I knew, deep down, as much as I refused to acknowledge it. I'd already seen that you were a strong woman who knew her own mind, and I knew that you were sincere in what you were saying. It just bloody terrified me."

"For far too long."

"Yes." John tapered off again. She could practically hear the thoughts whirring round his head. "I didn't think I was worthy of you. I thought I was too damaged to be of any use to anyone, and I loved you too. I didn't want you living in the shadows of my mistakes. I thought I could manage things if I kept you in my life as a friend, but of course that was foolish of me. And then I was injured and I was left even less of a man than I was before."

Anna sat up now, moving to peer into his face. "I never saw you as less than any other man."

"I know that. I just didn't want to see it. The PTSD, everything…it was overwhelming. I couldn't hear reason, not at first."

Even now, so many years on, when she knew that he was fine, that he was there with her, that he was a proud father and husband, it never got easier to remember John's recovery. There had been survivor's guilt. Suicidal thoughts. It had taken him years to admit that that was what he'd spoken about in his counselling sessions, and even though he had been quick to reassure her that that was no longer the case, it had still bloody terrified her. Still terrified her today, that he had been put through so much, that he had reached such a low point in his life.

"I know now that I was a fool not to believe in what we had from the beginning. But even now that I am wholly and completely assured in what we have, it can be hard for me sometimes. Those thoughts of inadequacy…They come back. And seeing Steven…well, he brought them back too."

"Why?" she asked softly.

"Because…seeing him with you, knowing what he once was to you…I compared myself to him."

"John, you shouldn't," she protested.

"I know I shouldn't. But I did anyway. And it brought all those old feelings of inadequacy back up, that no matter how we might feel about each other, there will always be someone out there who is better for you than me. Younger, able-bodied…"

"Stop it," she said fiercely. "Stop talking like that right now. There is no one better for me than you. Do you hear me, John? No one. You are the man who brought me back to life when I thought I was content with what I had. You are the man who I wanted to give my body to almost from the beginning. Do you know how long it took me to feel that way about Steven? Almost a year. He was patient with me, and I was thankful for that, but even then, I didn't trust him the way that I trusted you, even in a few short meetings. You are the man that I wanted to marry. Yes, I expected that one day I would marry Steve, but it wasn't something that I yearned for or desperately wanted. With you, I imagined having your name as soon as I started to fall for you. You made me happier than words can say when you proposed to me in Alaska. And, yes, I imagined that I would have a family with Steven because eventually that's what most married couples want. But I never really knew what I wanted, or what I yearned for them to look like. They were just shapes. When I met you, I knew straight away what I needed. Dark haired sons, perhaps one daughter who looked like me. You are the father of my children. You made my dreams a reality."

Anna could hear the tentative smile in John's voice when he spoke next. "It didn't quite go to plan, though, did it?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.

"Well, we didn't quite manage the dark haired son, did we? Jack has your colouring."

"We didn't get the blonde-haired daughter, either," she said. "But I think we did just fine. They're both the image of you, which is what I wanted all along."

"You're right," he said. "Of course you're right. Well, perhaps not about them looking like me. That was a most unfortunate thing to wish upon them."

"Oh, hush, you. You're the most handsome bloke around, and I think we make gorgeous babies between us."

"That's something I can't argue with. We do make gorgeous babies."

"Good. Now, do you promise to stop thinking about Steven?"

"I'll try," he promised. "Just give me a few days. It might take a little while for me to work through it. To find myself again, as it were. I know what he thought when he looked at me. He thought that I was an old, knackered man well beyond his sell-by date. I know he thought that you must have been settling for second best to have chosen me. I know that tonight he'll go to sleep smug, thinking that he's won at something even if he hasn't won at everything."

"And he's wrong on all counts, isn't he? When he searches for you on the Internet tomorrow—which I know he'll do—he'll realise that he could never compete. A war veteran turned editor, injured in the line of duty saving someone's life. All sense of self-satisfaction will be gone when he realises that I fell in love with a hero."

John snorted. "I must admit, that gives me a nasty sense of satisfaction. Injured war veteran winning the heart of the woman of his dreams sounds like some godawful Danielle Steel novel."

"Now you're just ruining it."

"I have to keep things realistic sometimes." He sobered. "I'm sorry I walked out earlier. I shouldn't have done that."

"It's all right."

"It's not. It's not fair of me to take my insecurities out on you."

"I just wish you didn't have them anymore, that's all."

"I think they're always going to be there. But I want you to know that I do trust you with all my heart. I do know that you love me, and that you love our family." His hand crept to her stomach, where their third child was growing right at that very minute. "I know that what we have is forever."

"Good," said Anna. "Because I'm Team Bates, and nothing will ever change that."

John wound his fingers through her hair and she went to him willingly, clambering up over his body with a little awkwardness until she was resting over his stomach. "Team Bates, eh?"

"Yes," she hummed, running her fingers over his forearms until she found his hands, pushing them back to the mattress and pinning them down. She had always enjoyed being in this position above him, being in control. They had always enjoyed a satisfying and variable sex life, but she knew that this was John's favourite position, too. She could feel the evidence of that beneath her. "I'll always be Team Bates."

"Good," he said, and she leaned down to kiss him, catching his mouth fiercely. He made a sound in the back of his throat, trying to wriggle his hands free, and she allowed him to do it if only for the ease of getting rid of their cumbersome layers. Once they were naked, she took charge again, slamming his hands back up above his head as she coaxed his body to a quivering frenzy.

"Steve lost me," she breathed, "and good riddance to him. But you never have, and you never will. I'm yours, John. All yours."

"Mine," he whimpered.

"That's right. Mrs. Anna Bates. Your wife. I'm wearing your ring. I'm bearing your children." She hitched herself up, guided him where she needed him to be. "I seek comfort in your arms. I seek pleasure in your arms. You leave me satisfied every single time you touch me. You're my big, strong man, and I love you so much."

"And I love you too," he managed, gasping when she began to rock against him. His fingers dug into her hips. "Christ."

She giggled at that, bending down to kiss him. "Remember, Mr. Bates, you have to be quiet. We don't want any interruptions, do we?"

He shook his head frantically, clenching his jaw. She laughed again at his way of trying to show self-restraint, but it didn't last for too long. Couldn't, not when everything felt so good, when the pleasure clouded out everything but him. Even without meaning to, in the back of her mind she drew secret comparisons between the man she had now and the boy she had had before. Steve had never made her feel this way. She'd never had fun between the sheets with him, had never seen stars. Perhaps it was because she was still trying to discover herself, still trying to force herself past the past, but it had simply not always worked for her. The relief that she'd felt at simply allowing him to touch her in that way had chased away any kind of frustration, but she recognised now just what she had been missing out on in the years she had shared his bed. Nice didn't necessarily mean good. She ought to have recognised that sooner, when she had to pretend that she got something out of it to soothe his ego.

It had never been a problem with John. He was a tenacious, thorough lover. He wanted to know absolutely everything about her; what worked, what didn't. They'd tried a hundred different things, each one exciting and fun. He could make her gasp and make her laugh whilst rolling in the sheets with her. To Anna, that was the mark of a real lover. With two young children underfoot, they had less time than they'd had before, but that had never changed John's approach. Her pleasure always came before his own.

He was treading familiar territory now, running his hands over all of the places that affected her most. She sank into the sensations and muffled her own sounds of pleasure against him, letting him know in no uncertain terms that she wanted him, that she loved him. He held her tight to him throughout, and when they found their pleasure they found it together, in a burst of rare, pure wonder.

When she had finished trembling, Anna slipped from his body to snuggle into his side. They wouldn't be able to linger like this for long, with the chance of being interrupted by their children, but for the moment she cherished how it felt to be in her husband's arms, pressed close to him as he slipped a hand between them and pressed a soft palm over her stomach, over their sleeping child. She pressed a sleepy smile to his shoulder and squeezed him tighter.

"I love you, John," she murmured for the final time that night, and he pressed a kiss to her hair.

"I love you too," he whispered. "I promise, I won't let anyone put me down any longer."

"Good," she said simply. "Because there's no one else. No one else can compare to you. You ruined all other men for me the moment I got to know you, and I have never been more grateful for anything."

They dozed together in a happy afterglow.

July

July brought the birth of their second daughter, Lily. The Bates tribe was complete and, more importantly, happy. No more thoughts were given to the past. Steve, like Vera, was never mentioned again. They could look ahead to their bright future.

December

All was quiet in the Bates house; nothing stirred, not even a mouse.

Anna groaned as she reclined back against her pillows, rubbing her sore back. It was past midnight, and she had just finished helping John take the sackfuls of presents downstairs for the children. Or at least she had tried to help. John was fussy about letting her do too much. She had been permitted to carry the stockings downstairs, but he had struggled with the rest of them. His knee would not thank him for it, but it was pointless trying to argue with him when he had set his mind on something. He'd been exactly the same over the previous pregnancies. And, she had to admit, it was lovely to have someone cluck around her like a mother hen.

John limped into the room then, a little more lopsided than usual, no doubt down to that extra pressure he had been inflicting upon his knee joint without his cane to support him. Still, he managed a smile for her.

"Santa has been for his mince pie and glass of milk," he said, pulling back the covers so he could slip into bed beside her. "And Rudolph's carrot has mysteriously disappeared."

"To be eaten on the dinner tomorrow," she giggled, then prodded him in the stomach. "Which is what should have happened to the mince pie, too."

"You're grateful for the extra insulation in winter," he retorted good-naturedly, propping his pillows up so he could mirror her position.

"Not when I'm six months pregnant, I'm not. I sweat through the sheets enough as it is."

He chuckled. Anna was glad that he had finally got to the point where he could laugh about it. He had taken it hard when he'd started to put weight on after the injury. He had never been a small man by any stretch, but the rigorous army routines had helped to keep him fit. They were things he could no longer do, and bit by bit the extra weight had crept on. It had taken a lot to reassure him that none of that mattered to her, that in her eyes he was beautiful no matter what. In actual fact, she liked that bit of extra padding. It made her feel secure, safe. Which he said was silly, but she didn't care.

In the end, the sheer force of her love, the sheer force of her desire for him, had broken through and made him at least accept that the new model was still perfect in her eyes.

And it was true: she did like that he carried a bit of extra padding to keep her warm on the coldest nights. Unfortunately, two of the last six Christmases had involved her being pregnant, first very heavily to the point of almost bursting with Jack, and now a more bearable six months with their third child. She was dreading the sweats that would be getting even worse sooner rather than later now.

"Well, now that you've bruised my ego enough, I think it's time to go to bed," said John. "I have a feeling that we won't be afforded a lie in."

"We won't be getting one of those for many, many more years to come," Anna sighed, but she didn't mind. Nothing brought her greater joy than seeing the looks on her children's faces on Christmas morning, especially now that they were old enough to appreciate what it was all for. Their excitement was contagious. "Goodnight, then."

John did not move to turn off the light. Anna raised her eyebrow.

"What is it?" she said.

He was wearing that silly grin she loved so much. "You know what I want."

She groaned, wriggling her legs beneath the bedsheets, even as she couldn't stop her own smile. "Absolutely not. It's far too cold."

"You were complaining a minute ago that it's too hot. You can't have it both ways."

"I think you'll find I can."

"Please, Anna. Don't deny me…"

"You're not touching me with those cold hands. Warm them up first."

He sprang into action dutifully, and she giggled as he rubbed his hands together and blew into them to create warmth from the friction. He really was a silly beggar.

"They're warm," he announced.

"All right…" she said, as if she was still reluctant; inside, the anticipation grew. She pulled the covers down over the swell of her stomach and pulled up the top on her maternity pyjamas, exposing her stomach to the cold air. John was practically beaming now, and his hands swept down to that uncovered skin, his touch making her shudder. His hands weren't quite warm, but they were certainly better than the air around them, and the look of sheer joy on his face was more than enough compensation.

"Hello in there, little baby," he murmured. "You're not moving about. Are you sleeping? That's a good girl. You should be sleeping nice and snug, otherwise Santa won't come and leave you any presents. And you know Mummy needs her rest too. Don't worry, you'll be here with us properly next Christmas. Then you can join in all the fun with your big brother and sisters. And us, of course. We'll have so much fun, little darling."

Anna's heart felt like it was doubling in size hearing John speak like that. He had a similar conversation with her stomach nearly every night, adamant they were having another girl, but it still didn't become any less powerful over time. She moved her hand to the back of his head as he bent in closer, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin.

"Sleep tight, little one," he whispered, and he kissed her there. When he pulled back, she moved her other hand to his face, guiding him closer to her. Without saying a word, she meshed her mouth against his, kissing him softly, pouring all of the love she felt for him into that series of kisses as his lips curved beneath hers. She didn't let him go until she'd had her fill of him, and when she did, his eyes were heavy-lidded.

"I love you," she told him.

"I love you too," he said. "My Anna. My darling Anna."

He moved in to kiss her one more time, lingering, then shuffled back so he could resume his place on his side of the bad. With a little bit of clumsy manoeuvring, Anna settled herself down onto her side, pulling the quilt snug around her bump, leaving her upper body exposed to the cool December air. Not that she would be cold for much longer; John moved closer so that his front was pressed to her back, his arm draped across her stomach, keeping her close. At some point in the night, she would probably push him away from her so that she didn't feel like she was going to spontaneously combust. For now, she pushed back against him, closing her eyes, relishing everything she had struggled for and won.

"Mummy! Daddy! Wake up, wake up, wake up!"

The shrieking chorus of three children brought Anna abruptly back to the waking world. She was still tangled up with John. It was pitch black outside.

John was the first one to shift, pushing away from her and up into a sitting position. His voice was sleep-drunk. "Bloody hell, it's four thirty!"

"Don't swear," she mumbled, her voice coming out just as slurred, then realised what he'd said. "Four thirty!?"

"And Santa has been!" said Jack happily. "He's been!"

With a gargantuan amount of effort, Anna struggled up into a sitting position, her hand immediately moving to soothe her bump as the baby wriggled inside her, evidently none-too pleased at the disturbance. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she found her three elder babies standing at the foot of the bed.

Jack, seven in just a week's time, was practically bouncing. "Ciara was too scared to look downstairs in case Santa was there, but I dared do it! And he's been already and left us presents! They're everywhere!"

"It's half past four in the morning!" said John again. It seemed to be the only thing he could articulate.

"But Santa's been!" Jack said impatiently. "Get up, Mummy! Get up, Daddy! We've got to open our presents now! I'll go and get Granny up."

With that, he stampeded out of the room, his baby sisters on his heels. John swore again, burying his head more firmly against her neck.

"They're getting worse every year," he mumbled. "Before they were always too scared to look downstairs before it got light in case Santa hadn't been yet."

"I know," she sighed. "But it's probably going to be the last time Jack ever believes in Santa. We ought to make it memorable and fun for him."

"True," John conceded. "God, they're growing up so fast."

"Don't you start getting maudlin, Mr. Bates. Today is a day of celebration, and we're going to celebrate."

"Spoken like a trooper," he said. "I am at the mercy of your demands, Mrs. Bates."

"Mummy! Daddy! Come on!"

Anna smirked, pushing his hands away. "You're at the mercy of your children's demands, John. Now, let's go."

They gathered in the sitting room together, armoured in their warmest dressing gowns and slippers. Margaret yawned widely, rubbing at her eyes.

"Lord, my bones are too old for this," she complained.

"You were the one who wanted so many of them," John reminded her cheerfully. "You've got to pay the price for them."

"I'm quite sure, whether I wanted them or not, I was always destined to end up with a fair few grandchildren, what with the way you two carry on. You said that Lily was going to be the last, and this little bairn has slipped through the net. Which I am absolutely chuffed to pieces about, but it does prove my point."

"What point?" said Jack.

"Nothing for you to worry about," said Anna quickly, feeling her cheeks burn. "Now, why don't you look through the sacks and see what Santa has brought?"

With great enthusiasm, the children dived in. Ripped paper flew in every direction, like colourful confetti. Leo, as lazy as ever, did not seem to approve of this; whenever one of those floating pieces came near him, he hissed, as if that would somehow keep it at bay and restore some order to his world. Jinx, his new companion, bought a few months after Tiger's passing because he was mourning, by contrast, leapt up amongst it all, catching it between his paws and rolling on the floor when he'd secured it.

The presents were a success. With every gift opened, the children squealed with glee, clamouring to show the three of them just what Santa had brought. They went through the usual feigning of surprise and delight, remarking that they must have been especially good to get so many different things. It took just over an hour for them each to open all of their presents, and when they were done, they turned their attentions back to their gifts so they could have a proper look at every individual thing that had been bought.

"How about some cocoa?" said Margaret, getting to her feet. "It's the most perfect time of the year for it."

"Yes!" squealed Lily.

"With cream," Ciara said. "It's my favourite."

"And marshmallows," Jack added. "They're the best bit."

"Ach, you and your orders. What about you, Johnny? Anna?"

"I think a coffee might be prudent if you don't want me dropping off over the Christmas dinner," said John.

"I'll have a decaf tea," said Anna. "Here, let me help."

"You'll do no such thing. You stay right where you are. You need to be slowing down now."

"You sound like John," she pouted.

"John is right. You're six months pregnant."

"You hardly let me do anything as it is."

"Which is exactly how it should be. We've got to keep you happy and healthy. I'm sure Mr. Carson feels the same."

"I think I make Mr. Carson uncomfortable. I'm not sure he really knows what to do around pregnant women."

"You can't be the only woman who's ever got pregnant there."

"True. And it's not always the teachers, either. But he's a little bit on the old fashioned side. And I think he's more than a little tired of my ability to get pregnant if John so much looks at time."

"Daddy's eyes bring babies!?" said Jack.

"Little ears shouldn't be listening to this conversation," said John. "Come on, trouble, let me help you set up that electric trainset."

"Then you can help me set up my dressing table, Daddy!" said Ciara, launching herself onto his back as he crouched down with a groan. "I will make you look all pretty!"

"And me!" Lily insisted. "I want to be a pwincess, Daddy! Like Elsa!"

"You're already my little princess, my darling. The prettiest princess of all."

"What about me?" Ciara pouted.

"Well, you're beautiful too!"

"But you just said that Lily is the prettiest of them all."

"You and Lily are both the prettiest of them all."

"There can't be two prettiest. Only one. That's what they always say in fairy tales."

"This isn't a fairy tale. This is Daddy's family. And I think all the girls in this family are the most beautiful girls in the world. Now, do you want to help build the trainset?"

Margaret stood and slipped away; Anna leaned back in her seat, her hands moving to cradle her bump. John had always been a fantastic dad. She had never doubted his abilities for a moment. He had had his worries about it, but they had all proven to be unfounded. He couldn't have been more perfect. He loved his children with a fierceness, treasured everything they did. In turn, the children doted on him. Jack tried to model himself on his daddy with everything he did, his spitting image except for his blond hair and blue eyes. Similarly, Ciara was the apple of his eye, dark haired and dark-eyed, with the striking round cheeks and the shape of his jaw. By contrast, Lily was more like Anna was, which pleased John to no end. He had made no secret of wanting the children to look like her, and had felt sorry for his eldest two taking after him so closely. Poor buggers, he was fond of saying, which Anna thought was silly. Her husband was a handsome man, so it was not surprising that their children were so good looking. They made a very good team in that department. And, Anna had to admit, it was nice to see a reflection of herself staring back at her in sweet little Lily. And now they would have a fourth to do it all over again with. It was an exciting prospect.

She couldn't wait for it to begin all over again.

After their hot chocolate and toast, Anna took the children upstairs to get them showered while John made a start on the vegetable preparation. Jack was old enough not to need help anymore, so she left him to his own devices as she sorted out the girls' clothes. There was one thing that she absolutely insisted on: all the family had to wear ugly Christmas jumpers. It had become a Bates family tradition ever since that one that John had spent in the hospital. She was quite proud of the ones she had hunted out this year. Margaret's looked like a Christmas tree, complete with pompoms for baubles and tinsel criss-crossing along it. Jack had started to complain about it, so she had bought him one with the iconic Grumpy Cat wearing a Santa hat. Ciara had wanted one with dancing gingerbread men in a garish red, and Lily had a Rudolph pulling a goofy face. John as enthusiastic as his son, had been forced to accept a mistletoe jumper, a throwback to the Christmas that had brought them together. Her own this year was less ugly. This was the second time she'd been pregnant at Christmas, but her old maternity jumper was far too big for her; she'd been almost fit to burst with Jack the last time around. This one had the image of a Christmas pudding that pulled tight over her bump, and the missive we made a Christmas pudding which she found amusing and the children didn't understand at all. "You tell us not to lie, Mummy. But you are. Where's the Christmas pudding you and Daddy made?" Jack had been asking all week.

When Jack had done with his shower, she helped each of the girls in turn, then sent them back downstairs to their granny. Her shower time would be the only peace she got all day, and she was determined to enjoy it. She stripped off and relaxed under the warm spray, closing her eyes.

The bathroom door opened.

She opened her eyes. John was standing at the threshold.

"How would you feel about me joining you?" he said. "Would you prefer to be alone?"

Her relaxing shower could wait until another time, she decided. Christmas was rightfully about the children, but she wanted them to have some special moments of their own. This could be one of them. It had been a long time since they'd last been able to share a shower, what with three young children and Margaret around to disturb them at any moment. Right now, the kids would be far more interested in testing out their Christmas windfalls, and Margaret would be keeping a watchful eye over them. They could spare a little bit of time for each other.

"No, that's okay," she said. "Come here."

He shed his pyjamas with an amusing speed, clambering clumsily into the shower with her. It was a much tighter squeeze than normal, what with the bump, but he didn't seem to mind. Anna certainly didn't. She enjoyed being in her husband's arms, pressed close to his body. It was a little less close with her bump, but it wasn't deterring John—the way that his hands had travelled round and lower couldn't be mistaken. She enjoyed being pregnant, feeling sexier than ever until the final stages, and it seemed to be a woman's complaint that they felt less desirable to their men in those late months, but Anna had never felt that. John seemed to desire her however, whatever, whenever.

"There's no time for any of that now," she scolded, moving her hands to his wrists to stop his hands from moving any lower over her bum.

"How would you know?" he murmured against her neck. "I'm quite sure I could set a new record for speed."

"Which does not sound appealing at all, Mr. Bates. A pregnant woman has got to feel loved and worshipped. Later, if we can manage it."

"You are a cruel mistress, Anna May Bates," he groaned.

"I'm a wife, not a mistress. Pass me the soap. I'll scrub your back."

She enjoyed running her hands over his strong muscles, teasing him. She enjoyed the way they flexed beneath hr hands, and the way he pushed back into the scratch of the sponge, like a bear on the bark of a tree. He was such an idiot.

Once they had rinsed off, they stepped back into the bedroom and began to towel off. As Anna slipped on her undergarments, her mobile rang. A FaceTime call. She pulled on a robe and accepted it. Mary's pristine face materialised.

"Merry Christmas, darling!" she said, then screeched dramatically and covered her eyes. "Oh, God, maybe not."

"Mary? What on earth is wrong?" she asked in confusion.

"Your husband is walking butt naked around behind you! I think I'm going blind!"

Anna turned to find the statement to be true; John paused in the middle of pulling on his boxers and almost fell over, horror alive in his eyes.

"Bloody hell, move that thing away!" he yelped, staggering out of Mary's eye line. "And, Mary, I swear to God if you tell Robert…!"

"Don't flatter yourself! I never want to have to repeat this! I think I threw up a little in my mouth."

"He's not as bad as all that, thank you very much!" Anna said indignantly. "I'll have you know that John's bum is very nice. Peachy and firm. It's the kind of bum perfect for grabbing."

Mary mimed gagging. "Disgusting. Way too much information."

"Oh, like I haven't heard enough of your gory details over the years. Do you think I was really interested in hearing about how big Matthew's di-"

"Now I'm going to be sick," John grumbled. "Please, change the subject."

Mary harrumphed. "I was just ringing to wish you a Merry Christmas."

Anna relaxed. "You too. How is everyone?"

"The same as usual. It's like a madhouse here. Papa is acting high as a kite, and you know what Sybil and Tom are like when they're over from Ireland. Mama is beside herself with joy because she doesn't get to see her every Christmas anymore. The children have been screaming for the last hour. Honestly, I think I'm the only sane one left in this house."

"That's saying something," Anna heard John mutter behind her, and stifled a giggle.

"They're only children," she said.

"I know that. I just wish they'd do it more quietly. I've got a simply pounding headache from the prosecco I was drinking last night. I think I'm going to need another drink just to help me forget about it. What about you? Do your darlings like their gifts from Santa?"

"They seem to love them," she said happily.

"And you're all set for your mum coming tomorrow?"

"Just about."

It had been a long process, getting back to some semblance of a relationship with her mother. Deep down, Anna knew there could be no forgiveness for what she had turned a blind eye to—and, worse, validated by shipping her off and staying with him. The financial security should have meant nothing in comparison with a daughter, but it had, and there was no real coming back from that. But, at the same time, Anna didn't want to poison her own children against the maternal side of their family. They saw Auntie Kate and Uncle Kyle sometimes, when Kate wasn't too busy with her work, and Anna allowed her mum to come down and see her only grandchildren whenever she wanted, as long as she did not breathe a word of their whereabouts to that monster. John would probably kill him if he stepped foot anywhere near, and that was no exaggeration. Relations between John and her mother had been very frosty at first, for he had not believed her fit to be a mother, and she had not believed him to be fit to be a husband or father. That didn't even begin to cover the dislike that her mum had shown for Margaret. Margaret had never, ever been told of the damaged relationship, but her mum seemed to see Margaret as a threat, a replacement mum, the jealousy exacerbated more by the close relationship they had. Those animosities had had to be pushed to one side after the children had come along, for no one had wanted them to pick up on a toxic atmosphere.

They'd manage. They always did.

"No doubt Robert will have you planning the New Year's party with military precision."

Mary groaned. "Don't remind me. I'll need to be drunk to get through that, too. God, I shall have liver failure by the end of the week."

"I'm sure you'll survive. How are George and Izzie?"

"Beyond excited. And Sybbie is the little ringleader making all the trouble, of course."

Anna grinned. Sybbie was the cute as a button. She had her Donk—Robert's title as grandfather, which John found absolutely hilarious—wrapped around her little finger. For someone who had not been at all enthusiastic about Sybil and Tom's relationship, he had certainly melted quickly when met with that cherubic little face, the very image of her mother. Children could do that to people.

"Well, we'd better get going," she said. "John has got the dinner to keep an eye on, and no doubt the kids will want us to show the proper enthusiasm about their new spoils from Santa. We'll see you New Year's Eve. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Anna. John, I hope you've put some clothes on. This isn't the Nightmare Before Christmas."

John muttered some choice words as Anna ended the call, rolling her eyes.

"That friend of yours has the worst timing in the world."

"She's always mine when she acts up," she teased. "Never mind that she's practically your goddaughter."

John was saved from arguing by Lily's appearance in the doorway. She was clutching at her new stuffed toy, a Disney character from a recent franchise that she had fallen in love with.

"Want to play," she complained, holding up the toy to illustrate her point. "Come now!"

Anna exchanged an amused look with her husband. "All right, my darling. We're coming."

"Be careful," John warned as she crossed the room and picked her up, settling her over her hip.

"I'm fine," she reassured him as Lily wrapped her arms around her neck and snuggled into her.

With her family around her, she'd always be fine.

The rest of the morning passed peacefully. The children played with their new acquisitions, while Anna bobbed between playing with them and popping her head in to check on John, who in turn shooed her out of the kitchen and back to relaxing.

All of the Bates traditions that Anna had been introduced to so long ago were continued, and so the usual cracker ritual was honoured. There were a couple of squabbles between the children over who should get what little prize, but Anna smoothed them over with expert ease and soon they were consuming their spoils. It was always a rowdy occasion, and in her eyes, nothing could be more perfect.

Margaret was instructed to keep an eye on the children afterwards, and Anna insisted that she help with clearing away, since John had worked so hard on the dinner. She could tell that it didn't sit well with him—no doubt he was thinking about her pregnancy—but she was firm. He did most of the manual stuff, but he did allow her to straighten the table and wipe the worktops.

After, they returned to the living room. John sank down onto the sofa, propping his feet up on the coffee table. Anna snuggled up against his side, and he lifted his arm so he could drape it around her shoulders, pulling her closer. She had just started to doze—the combination of the early morning and the full stomach was taking its toll—when she was jolted back to life by a shriek. Jack, Ciara, and Lily were crowded round the window, so close their noses were practically pressed to the glass.

"Look, Daddy! Look! It's snowing!" Ciara yelled, slapping her palm against the glass.

"Can we go out in it? Please?" Jack begged.

"I don't know," he teased. "What do you think, Mummy?"

"I suppose it can't hurt," she said with a smile, ruffling her son's thick blond hair. "Why don't you all go and get your hats and scarves on? Make sure you wrap up warm. We don't want you to come down with a cold."

All three of them nodded eagerly, and were back in five minutes flat, togged up to their ears. Anna inspected each one in turn, pushing Ciara's hat further down over her ears and fastening Lily's coat up before passing them as acceptable.

The crisp white snow was not untouched for long. Three overexcited children stampeded out into the garden with shouts of delight. Jack promptly threw himself face first into the powder, shrieking, "It's cold! It's cold!"

"Ladies?" said John, offering his arm. "Shall we?"

"Lord, what a transformation," said Margaret. "I tell you, Anna, when he was a lad, he hated the very thought of snow. He complained that it was too cold and wet and refused to step out in it. I suspect it gave him more of a reason to bury his head in a book."

"I was the total opposite," Anna confessed. I used to pray for it to snow, even in the middle of summer. There was nothing I loved more than trudging through it in my wellies."

"Let's recreate it today, then," said John. "I promise, I won't let you slip over."

"All right. Give me a minute."

It was a bit of a struggle to get her wellies on what with her expanding stomach, but eventually she was kitted out. Margaret settled herself at the table with a cup of tea and the Queen's speech, leaving them to it.

The cold slapped Anna in the face as soon as she stepped into the garden.

"God, it's cold out here!" she said, shivering. Even Baby wasn't keeping her warm. John chuckled, pulling her closer.

"I'll keep you warm, if you like," he said teasingly. "Look, share my body heat."

"That's when they zip themselves naked in a sleeping bag in clichéd romance films. I value my fingers, thank you very much."

"It's rooted in medical fact, we all know that. Besides, I was thinking of saving the stripping naked until later."

"You are insatiable, Mr. Bates," she said.

"I have to be, to keep up with you, you racy minx," he said, and pulled her to him before she could object. His mouth was cold on hers, but he sent warm shivers down her spine at the contact. Damn the man. He had always been too good at that. She clung to his jacket with one hand and wrapped her other around his neck, bringing him further down to her level. For some reason, he loved having to stoop to kiss her. It was another of his oddities. Although maybe that wasn't strictly fair—she loved having to stretch up on her tiptoes to meet him, feeling like a munchkin in the presence of a giant.

"Ewww! Gross!"

Anna didn't even have time to pull away before a cold, hard ball hit her square in the back. She squeaked, the wet soaking through her layers, turning to berate her son.

Only to be hit square in the face with another ball.

"John Daniel Bates!" she shouted. "What on earth was that for!?"

Jack tossed another perfectly rounded ball up into the air and caught it in his palm.

It promised a threat.

"Kissing is gross," he said matter-of-factly.

"Is it, now?" said John. "Wait until you're older, son. Then we'll see how gross you think it is."

"I always will!" said Jack defiantly, and launched the snowball at them. It hit John in the arm.

"Oh, you're in for it now…" he growled, stooping to make his own ball. Jack squealed and bent down with lightening quick speed, hurling another snowball. John dodged it easily and launched his own in return. It hit Jack in the chest.

"No, Daddy!" he shouted. "Ciara, Lily, help me!"

Ever the dutiful sisters, the two bent down at once, scraping snow into their little hands. John turned to her.

"You're on my team," he said. "I can't fight a war on three fronts. Let's get these little monsters together."

Anna was only too happy to oblige. Bending to pick up the snow was a bit of a laborious task, with the constant bobbing making her short of breath embarrassingly quickly, but the looks on her children's faces were more than enough compensation. They weren't particularly good with their aims, either. More often than not, the snow sailed past their heads, and John returned the fire with deadly precision, his army training showing through with the casual flick of his wrist. The shrieks and shouts rang out through the yard.

"We need a different plan!" Jack shouted. "We should get Mummy instead!"

"Why?" said Lily. Her little face was bright red, and she was dropping more snow than she was packing into a ball.

"Because Mummy is really slow," Jack reasoned.

They seemed to be forgetting all about John's limp in the face of his spectacular snowballing. Anna turned to him.

"Don't you dare let them get me," she gasped. "I don't want to be soaked to the bone."

"That's the whole point of the game, my love," he said lazily, hurling another snowball. It missed Ciara's ear by mere millimetres. She screamed and returned the fire, a little less closely.

"John Bates, I swear to God if you let me get hit, there will be no promise of what I said in the shower this morning!"

His eyes widened at that. "Duly noted."

As the kids geared up for a triple attack, John moved his body so that he was shielding her from view. That was better. Her own brave soldier to the rescue. Or maybe not. He was thinking with other parts of his anatomy, just like most men.

"Let's leave Mummy alone," he said. "We've got to be very careful of her because of the baby. I'm afraid you're going to have to throw the snow at me if you want a target, but I'm not going to make it easy for you."

"We do it," said Lily, her confidence undermined by her poor throw.

"Oh, yes?" John taunted. "How are you going to do that, then?"

"Like this!" Jack yelled. "Come on, Ciara, Lily! Follow me!"

With that, he pelted across the tiny garden, launching himself at his daddy's legs. Caught off-guard, John wobbled and almost lost his footing. Anna stepped neatly out of the way, watching in amusement as her two daughters followed suit, throwing their little bodies at John's. With the slippery surface underfoot, he had no chance. Down he went, like the slain Goliath. The children cheered and high-fived one another, as if they had pulled off the greatest win in history.

"We got you, Daddy!" Ciara sang, smudging snow into his face.

"Bloody hell!" he gasped, shaking his head. "That's cold! It's going down my neck! Jesus!"

His protests only encouraged them more, and soon all four of them were rolling in the show, laughing and shrieking. Anna shook her head, her hand coming up to soothe the baby's flurry of kicks. It was a madhouse.

"All right," she said. "I think that's enough."

Four pair of eyes turned to look at her, two brown, two blue. All so very, very beautiful to her. She shook her head, put on her best commanding voice.

"I think it's time we went back inside," she said.

"No!" Lily protested. "Want to stay here!"

"No, that's enough," Anna said more firmly. "I don't want any of you to catch a cold."

"Mummy is right," said John, pushing his hair away from his face. "Let your old dad catch his breath."

Ciara wrinkled her nose, but relented.

Shivering, they returned inside. Anna helped the girls out of their wet clothes and into their pyjamas, taking them back downstairs to have a warm by the roaring gas fire. Margaret supplied them with more hot chocolate to warm their cockles. John returned with Jack in tow. His hair was still damp from where he had been in the snow, and his face was bright red.

"I hope I don't come down with something," he said mournfully as he flopped down on the sofa beside her.

"Poor man," she cooed. "Come and have a warm under the blanket with me."

Pouting, he shuffled closer, and she threw the thick throw over them, tucking it tight around them. Margaret tutted.

"Well, I don't feel sorry for you," she said. "Throwing yourself in the snow like that. Silly fool. I hope that knee of yours doesn't seize up."

"I'll put a warm compress on it later if it does. I'll survive."

"Brave soldier," Anna cooed, kissing his cheek. He grinned at her.

"Lordy," Margaret muttered. "I'm going to make myself a turkey sandwich. Anyone else want one?"

The antics of the day had worn the kids out completely. Lily was sound asleep by seven. Ciara had followed her by half past. And by eight, Jack's eyes were drooping too. Between them, Anna and John got them upstairs and into their beds. Jack was asleep before his head hit the pillow, and the girls never even stirred.

They returned downstairs to Margaret. The period drama that she had loved so much was still going strong, if not quite as successfully as the early days. The quality of the storytelling wasn't quite what it had been before, but Anna still enjoyed it, and the valet and the housemaid captivated her as much as they had at the beginning. They too had reached their happy end, with their children around them.

When the episode had finished, Margaret bid them a tired goodnight.

"It's been a long day," she said, bending to kiss them both. "My old bones are tired. I'll see you in the morning."

"I think we'll turn in too," said Anna. "I'm shattered as well."

John nodded, rising obediently. "I'll tidy things away down here. You go and get sorted."

Anna followed her mother-in-law up the stairs and parted with her on the landing. She went into the bathroom and cleaned her teeth, then searched through her drawers for a pair of pyjamas. She paused when her fingers came into contact with the crinkling paper hidden right at the bottom. She had almost forgotten all about it. She'd made the purchase before she'd found out that she was pregnant, and had intended at the time to save it for today. Her growing body had changed those plans. What should she do? Should she wait until she'd had the baby and had returned to a more natural state? She fingered the paper thoughtfully. To hell with it. She had always intended it as a gift. Why shouldn't she give it to him now? They would have to wait a while before they could enjoy it, but it would give them something to look forward to after the baby's birth. She pulled it out.

Five minutes later, John appeared in the doorway, his hair slightly damp from his washing in the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and cocked an eyebrow at her.

"What's that you've got there?" he asked, gesturing to the package, which she held in her lap.

"It's a Christmas present."

"Another one? You've spoiled me enough this year."

"Well, it's more of a promise than something that can be used right now."

"Sounds intriguing." He crossed the room, settling on the mattress beside her. She held out the package and he took it in his hands, peeling the paper away carefully. Always so meticulous, her husband.

His breath caught as he held it up.

"…Oh," he managed.

"Do you like it?"

He licked his lips. "I think I am going to love it."

Anna turned her gaze to it too, to the skimpy material that would leave very little to the imagination once it was on. She had tried it on once, in front of the mirror, and she had to admit that she had looked pretty good in it, the cut of it enhancing the flare of her hips and pushing up her breasts, which John had always loved.

"It doesn't fit now," she whispered. "But when I've had the baby and I'm back to a more normal shape, I'll model it for you. It'll give us both something to look forward to."

"You look beautiful all the time," he answered breathlessly. "It's something that I'm definitely looking forward to. But I don't need it to want you, Anna. I want you all the time. You're perfect."

He opened his arms to her, and she went to him willingly, wrapping her arms around him in return as she kissed him. Gently, he shifted their positions until they were lying facing each other, his hands creeping to her clothes. She encouraged him with a sigh, moving to reciprocate. She loved intimacy in this position when she was pregnant. It meant that they could still make love facing each other, able to kiss and look into one another's eyes. Nothing in the world meant more than being able to look at him while they were intimate, and she was glad that they didn't have to lose it. He kissed her, touched her, looked at her with such love that it almost made her burst.

He kissed her again, and she lost herself in his touch.

She trembled as the currents of the aftermath ran through her, making her tingle in pleasure all over. John continued to kiss her, slowly, softly, his right hand twined through her hair, his left still moving in slow circles in the place that felt so very good. Her breaths were coming in rather embarrassing little whimpers, but she couldn't bring herself to care. All she wanted was her husband's closeness.

She whined when she lost the intimate connection with him, but it was only for a minute; once he'd taken care of things, he was back, wrapping his arms around her and snugging her tight to his chest.

"I love you," he whispered into her hair, and she smiled against his chest, breathing in the musky scent of sweat and sex on his skin. She could relish it for a moment longer.

Eventually, though, they had to part. Any one of their children could walk in in the middle of the night after a nightmare, and it would not be good for any party involved if they were discovered with no clothes on. So, after a lingering kiss and an embrace that she was reluctant to pull away from, Anna slipped out of bed and padded around the room in search of the clean set of pyjamas that she hadn't managed to put on before. John shuffled to the end of the bed, ruffling his hair, and rummaged in his drawer for a clean pair of boxers. In the warmer months he tended to sleep in nothing else, but the winter always sent him scurrying back to the comfort of a pair of pyjamas. He looked utterly endearing in them.

Once Anna had been to the bathroom to relieve herself, she returned to the bedroom to find John lying on his back, one arm thrown over his forehead, the light from the lamp throwing light on the little frown on his face. Anna wrinkled her own brow. She'd know that look anywhere. It was John's brooding expression.

"John?"

He stirred, seeming to come back to himself. "Hmm? What is it, love?"

She made her way back over to the bed and hopped under the covers so that she was beside him once more. "You looked a million miles away just now. What were you thinking about?"

"Oh, nothing much."

"It was more than nothing. You were wearing that frown of deep concentration. You know, the one I've always found such a turn on."

Her teasing brought a weak smile to his lips, and she leaned across to feel it under her mouth.

"You'll think me stupid," he said. "Or worse, a morbid tosser."

"I've lived with your brooding all these years. I already know how your mind works," she teased. "So, come on, out with it, Mr. Bates."

"Let me get settled, first," he murmured. "I'll tell you then."

It seemed a fair deal, so Anna wriggled about until she was comfortable on her side. Sometimes John found it easier to speak his mind if he wasn't looking into her face. Under the cloak of darkness, it seemed to give him the courage to open up about anything. She would turn to look at him in time, but for now he needed that safety. She pushed back against him instead, bringing his hand around to press against her stomach. He sighed and relaxed.

"I was just thinking," he murmured, "about how I'm glad that I was injured all those years ago."

Shocked at his words, forgetting her promise, Anna half-turned at once. "John, how can you say that?"

"But don't you see?" he said. "If I hadn't…if it hadn't destroyed my life, I could never have rebuilt it. Things would have carried on as before. You and I…well, I probably would have continued to deny that there could be anything more between us. I would never have thought myself worthy of you. I still, don't, in fact. But it was you who helped me to see the light of day, that if I let go enough, I could find happiness. I never would have imagined this kind of happiness. I can't bear to think of a life without Jack or Ciara or Lily or this little one in here. If my life had carried on as before, their perfection wouldn't have been in the world. You might still have been on the other side of the continent. I would have spent the rest of my days miserable without you. All of it would have been my fault, but I would have seen my life as pointless without you. Getting injured, losing William, having this limp…at the time I wondered how I would ever recover from any of it, but you were there. You were always there. You are too good for this world, Anna Bates, and I hope you know just how much I love you and appreciate you for all that you've done for me. You gave me back my life when I least expected it, and you have continued to give ever since then. I will never be able to match it, but I promise that I will do my best every day to make you as happy as I can."

"You don't have to promise me anything," she said. "You already do make me happy. The happiest woman in the world, in fact. I did have my doubts for a while, before you were injured, but I have never doubted since then. And you have given me so much. You've given me four beautiful children, for one thing. I couldn't have made those on my own. You gave me your name, which was the thing I wanted more than anything else in the world. You gave me the courage to stand up for what I believed in and to never stop fighting for it. And you gave me the ability to see that I was wasting myself on any man who wasn't you. I could choose to wish that we hadn't had any of those struggles, or I can choose to think that we were supposed to have them in order to make us the best us we could possibly be. And I truly believe that, John. I believe we had to go through what we went through to become the people we were always meant to be. We value and appreciate every single moment, in a way that we never could have done if everything had been smooth sailing. And if you're happy, I'm happy. I couldn't be happier, actually. I lost a part of my family a long time ago, but I've got it back thanks to you, and your mum, and Jack, and Ciara, and Lily, and this little one. So thank you, John Bates."

"Happy Christmas," he whispered. There were tears in his eyes. She shuffled closer and rubbed her thumb over his cheekbone, kissing him sweetly.

"Happy Christmas," she echoed.

She knew there would be many, many more to come, with their family all around them. Ten years ago, she could never have imagined that she could be this happy. She and John had had their struggles, but being tested had only made them stronger. At the crossroads, she had chosen the path that had allowed her to follow her heart, and they still had many, many pages in their story to fill, the rest of their lives stretching out ahead of them. The chapter on their struggles had been finished forever. The last full stop had been put in place.

With their baby wriggling inside her, Anna couldn't wait to pick up her pen and start the next chapter in their lives. It was sure to be a masterpiece.