This idea came to me in the middle of the night (as all ideas inevitably do) and wouldn't let go. Set loosely around 4x04 and comes with all associated content warning, but veers frantically AU almost immediately.

I was and remain quite sad that we never got to see Anna and Bates working through the emotional aftermath of her assault, so it's something I've always wanted to explore in fic. I hope I do it justice.

Also huge shout out to lemacd who told me how to tag characters and pairings properly. I'm an AO3 girl primarily and I'm still getting to grips with FF!

It's been a month.

A whole month since they'd walked through the grounds, hand in hand, with spring in the air and promises for the year ahead nestled in the sheets. A whole month since he'd returned to a shell of a wife, who'd spent the bare minimum of time in their bed and vanished in the grey morning light.

Anna might have moved back to the Abbey, but she haunts him nightly in the cottage. Every look of fear and horror and misery that she can't quite mask follows him home

even though it isn't home, not any more, not without her

and he tortures himself, penance for his ignorance as the lamp burns low, leaving him exhausted and frustrated and heartsick. He knows he's missing some fatal misstep on his part, but all he can come up with is their quarrel over the card game. And they'd been on reasonable terms during the concert.

hadn't they?

He should have gone with her. Something happened to her down there on her own, something to cause her injury, and bad leg or not, god knows he'd have done anything to stop her from coming to harm -

"We're going to America," His Lordship says by way of greeting the moment he enters the dressing room.

And just like that, John Bates' world fall apart again.

Anna broke her arm when she was four. She'd taken careful inventory of the pain and stiffness in the bone and muscle, the way it felt better every day over the weeks until her arm was back to normal. Good as new.

Every morning for the past months she's watched her body heal. The bruises have faded, replaced by skin that never quite stops being grey. The marks where she'd cut her lip and forehead stand out against her pallid complexion, but they too have closed over. The pain when she walks, when she sits, has dwindled.

But the agony that cleaves her soul never leaves her.

Guilt, shame and grief war within her every waking moment. She misses her husband, misses him fiercely, but she's too cowardly to face down the self-loathing that flares whenever he turns those eyes upon her. She doesn't deserve his love, not anymore.

but he doesn't deserve this, you beast

Lady Mary is in good spirits this morning, and Anna tries her best to smile back. Her mistress already suspects something is gravely wrong, both with her and with her marriage, and while she's absolutely right Anna can't bear the questions, the gentle offers of support. She deserves none of it, and she's not sure she's strong enough to endure the guilt.

"Anna?"

She nearly drops the gown she's holding.

"Where were you?" Lady Mary says. There's genuine concern in her tone.

"Sorry, milady," she offers. "I'm...just tired."

The words fall out before she can stop them, and she kicks herself.

"Anna..." Lady Mary says haltingly. "Is everything all right Carson tells me you're still in your old room, but Baxter's been here for a while now..."

better a broken heart than a broken neck

"It's just easier, milady."

A little part of her cringes at the desperation in her voice, but it has the desired effect. They descend into an uneasy silence, as Anna works on her mistress' hair while avoiding her gaze in the mirror.

"The thing is, Anna," Lady Mary says finally, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. "Papa received a letter this morning, from America. It seems Uncle Harold has gotten himself into a spot of bother, and Papa's to go out there and help sort it out."

Anna freezes with her back to the mirror.

"To America?" She says. Her heart starts to thump in her throat.

"Yes."

"And Mr. Bates..."

"Will be accompanying him, yes. But Grandmama wants to meet George, and Papa wants the company, so I'm to go with them. I hate to bring this up if something's gone wrong between you and Bates, but..."

For a second she thinks her legs might give way beneath her. Clutching the back of the chair, she blinks back the tunnel vision as horror seeps through her.

"When do we leave?" She says faintly.

"Tomorrow," Lady Mary says. "But Anna-"

"Very good, milady," Anna says briskly, pulling herself together as much as she can. "Will that be everything?"

better a broken heart than a broken neck

There's a long pause, a searching gaze. One heartbeat, and then two.

Finally Lady Mary sighs and says "Yes, that's everything. Thank you Anna."

She gathers up the laundry, nods with a tight smile, and leaves.

It is only when she has closed the door behind her and started down the hall that she lets go, stifling a sob with the back of her hand as the world disappears from underneath her.

John leans heavily on the wall as he leave His Lordship's dressing room. In any other situation the thought of a trip to America with his wife would have been beyond his wildest dreams. Now it feels like he's been sentenced to imprisonment again.

Anna can hardly stand to be in the same room as him. Tomorrow they'll board a ship, heading to a foreign country, and she will be trapped while he remains ignorant of whatever trespass he has committed. He swore when he found out she'd secured his release that ensuring her happiness would be his sole purpose. He has failed her, as he always maintained he would.

Worse, he is too ignorant to recognise how.

It is some small blessing that, aware of the problems that they've been having, His Lordship gently assured him that he would make sure he and Anna were in separate quarters. To stave off any awkwardness, he'd said gently. John had wanted to weep.

Awkwardness.

There had never been awkwardness between them. Not like this. Not when they'd first met, not after she'd told him she loved him and he, fool that he was, had rebuffed her. Not even on their wedding night, when she'd been nervous and he'd been reduced to a trembling boy once more.

They had never been awkward. Anna had made sure of that, with her constant optimism and gentle hand. But now she's not there to guide him.

He is helpless.

Mrs. Hughes comes across her in a daze outside the servants' hall and sweeps her into her sitting room with a concerned look.

"I'm going to America," she says, ignoring the proffered chair. The housekeeper looks horrified.

"What are you talking about?"

"His Lordship and Lady Mary...they're going to stay with Mrs. Levinson," Anna quavers. "They leave tomorrow morning."

Something flickers over Mrs. Hughes' expression as the words sink in.

"His Lordship...so Mr. Bates will be going as well?"

Her husband's name is enough to crumble the final dam

god, she loves him so

and she sobs. There's a hand on her elbow, guiding her so she can sit down, but she barely feels it. Alone and in a strange place with the man whose heart she's breaking

better a broken heart than a broken neck

how can she bear it? How will either of them?

She jumps slightly as Mrs. Hughes dabs at her eyes with a damp flannel.

"Maybe this is a good thing?" She says gently. "A chance to get away, to put some distance between yourselves and this place...perhaps you can -"

"No, you don't understand," Anna says, in a voice thick with tears. "He doesn't give up. Every morning he's waiting for me, every time I walk into a room he looks at me like...like he's seeing me for the first time all over again."

"My dear girl," Mrs Hughes says, sounding uncharacteristically stricken. "Is there anything I can do? Perhaps if I spoke to Lady Mary -"

"No!" Her chest constructs. "No, nobody must ever know. If Mr. Bates finds out -"

"Lady Mary wouldn't tell him, surely!"

"She might if he asked. I can't have him over there thinking about it Mrs. Hughes, it'll tear him apart, but if Lady Mary thought it would help..."

i will find out

Mrs. Hughes looks as though she's inclined to agree with Lady Mary, but she doesn't press the issue. Instead, the housekeeper lets her go with a sympathetic pat on the arm. Anna ignores the pleading look in her eyes.

better a broken heart than a broken neck

He's at the door to the servants' hall when she leaves the sitting room

waiting

trying to catch her eye.

wishing

Tears make twin tracks down her cheeks, and she sees his expression change to one of abject agony before she hurries off without giving him a chance to catch up with her.

hoping