A/N: So I had the idea for this story over a year ago back when Bates's future was more up in the air, but I got wrapped up in writing Hours 'Til Dawn and I never got around to starting it.

This is sort of a hybrid attempt between a modern AU and the traditional canon. It does take place mostly in current day, but it is very much John and Anna of the past trying to reconnect. I intend for this story to be a mystery, to see if they can figure out who they were, who they are and whether or not they are meant to have a second chance together. And oh yeah, along the way find out who killed Vera (because we need a better ending than Mr. Fellowes provided).

You will only see a few other characters pop up in John and Anna's story-because would everybody really be reincarnated as the same people with the same names? Not likely. But there are a few, ones that were so important in their lives the first time around that they would cross paths with them again.

Since this story is a bit out there, I totally welcome any comments or suggestions. Thanks! :)

Hope you like it…

Across the Universe

"What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us." Ralph Waldo Emerson.

January 21, 1920

The rope was smooth, braided, not scratchy at all. But it was heavy . . . sturdy. Meant to snap a man's neck.

Voices mumbled behind him. The sun peeked out from dingy clouds. He could feel its warmth upon his face. It felt good. He was about to die, but the sun felt good.

"Do you have any last words?"

Last words. Sure, he had plenty.

I love you . . . Please be happy . . . I want you happy. . .

"No." They were all for her, no one else.

I'm so sorry . . . I wish we had more time. . . God, I love you . . .

A metal door creaked open. First a guard . . . then her. God damn it. What was she doing here? She was supposed to stay back. Not witness this end. Their end.

The noose was tightened. He didn't want to, but his eyes sought hers. Were desperate for hers. For one last conversation. No words this time.

The guard's feet pounded across the gallows. Down the stairs. He was alone.

But he wasn't. She was right there. Her blue eyes startling clear as she declared her love one final time.

Sweat beaded on his brow. He wished he could brush it away but his hands were bound. Those who claim to not fear death were liars. He was scared. Terrified. This was it. The end of all he was. The end of all he knew. She would be lost to him forever.

Out of the corner of his eye, the warden raised his hand. He returned his focus to her. A vision to leave this world with.

" 'Til we meet again," she mouthed followed by a trembling smile. Heaven. A fanciful notion. A chance to be reunited. She held on to that. He too wanted to believe too . . . but couldn't. There was no heaven, no God. He wouldn't be standing here if there was.

He smiled back. It hurt. Hurt so much to do so. But she deserved a smile and to believe they would meet again. He knew better. This was their final moment.

The warden's hand came down. His eyes closed. Wood creaked. He was falling. The last thing he heard was her scream as he dropped into darkness.

April 15th, 2012

John Bates awoke with a start. His hands immediately found their way up his neck. He rubbed from chin to his collar bone massaging away the familiar phantom soreness. He was having the old dream again. Funny, he hadn't dreamt it in years. There had been a time when he awoke to it every night, but that all changed with his last tour. He had real horrors to keep him awake not just ones conjured up in his sleep.

"You okay? That must of have been some dream."

John shook his head slightly before turning to focus on the voice coming from two seats away.

"It was nothing. I hope I wasn't causing a scene."

The owner of the voice, a petite blonde waved her hand with disregard. "Not really. You just seemed to be reliving something unpleasant." Her voice was friendly with an air of concern. And British. She must be on her way home he briefly thought. "No worries anyhow, not too many folks are looking to catch a 5:30am flight out of Bucharest."

John glanced around Otopeni Airport. The shadows of night were only now beginning to disappear. Travelers spoke and moved with deference to the early hour. A few people perused the duty-free shop, while a small line existed in front of the one food kiosk for the entire airport. At their gate, a dozen or so passengers waited for the flight to London. Across the aisle a young man, a college student from the looks of it, sprawled across a row of seats, his carry-on serving as a pillow. Probably backpacking through Europe. There had been a time when John had wanted to embark on such a journey. But he had no regrets really; he had ended up seeing much of the world albeit through a different lens.

He turned back to the woman. She was rummaging through a satchel. Her straight chin length hair fell loosely around her face. After a second or two, she pulled out an apple with a self-satisfied grin. She proceeded to polish it against her sweater before bringing to her mouth.

She was quite pretty. There was no denying it, but John wasn't prepared for the unadulterated wave of attraction that swarmed him by her simple act of bringing an apple to her lips. Her lips were perfect. He knew how they'd feel. Soft, warm, welcoming. He shook his head. Jesus, where was this coming from? He really needed to get more sleep.

He must have been staring because she paused before taking a bite. "Oh, I'm being awfully rude, aren't I? Here I am eating right in front of you. Would you like a snack?"

She leaned her bag towards him so he could have a look inside. Much to John's surprise, she was walking mini-mart of snacks. A few small bags of pretzels and potato chips, a Flake candy bar, a package of biscuits, a tin of Altoids, a banana, Jelly Babies, Cadbury mini-rolls, a box of raisins and a small jar of orange marmalade. He momentarily pondered how she got the marmalade through airport security.

"That's quite an impressive stash you have," John noted, one side of his mouth hitching up in a grin.

"I know, I know. I'm a junk food-aholic. I travel so much I hardly have time to eat properly and I always seem to want to nibble on something. But I know one day it will all catch up with me," she admitted giving John an exaggerated frown.

"Well, it hasn't so far."

"Aww, thanks. That's nice of you to say. And for that kind remark, I insist you take a snack." With a genuine smile, she pushed her satchel towards him. "Please take one."

John paused for a second. "Well . . . if you insist."

"I do." Another smile, this time their eyes met. He couldn't help but think what a lovely lady. He seldom applied the term to women these days, a bit antiquated for his tastes, but there was something about her. . . he wasn't sure what. . .maybe it was her carriage or the accent or the friendly smile. But whatever it was, this woman was a lady.

"Okay, I'll try the mini-rolls."

"Here you go," she smiled handing over the snack.

John looked down at the chocolate rolls and laughed to himself. "You know, this is first time I've had junk food in six months."

A look of horror spread across the woman's face. "Oh my God, you're on a special diet or something and here I am trying to force crap down your throat. I'm so sorry."

Before thinking, John reached over and placed his hand on hers. "No, stop. It's nothing of the sort. It simply wasn't available where I had been living."

"Well, that's a relief," she sighed patting his hand with her free hand. Her hands felt so soft and soothing. He started to brush his thumb of her knuckles. John, what the hell are you doing? This woman is a complete stranger.

He quickly removed his hand. He hoped she didn't think him an idiot because that's sure how he felt.

"So in what fantasyland were you living that junk food did not exist?" She continued on seemingly unaware. "I'm not sure I would survive."

Normally John was quite guarded about his personal life especially with strangers. He was a consummate gentleman to all, his mother had beat courtesy into him at an early age, but he felt it difficult to move past pleasantries with most people. It was just his nature. He didn't have a huge amount of friends, but those he had were cultivated over many years. Yet . . . this young lady was different. He didn't mind talking . . . sharing . . . with her. It was strange.

"I was in Afghanistan . . . just outside Kandahar."

"Christ! You just came from living there? Are you in the military?"

"Used to be. Now I work for an international relief organization."

"Well, I am suitably impressed," she said admiration tingeing her voice before taking a bite out of her apple.

"Just doing my job."

"Well, it's still impressive."

Compliments made John uncomfortable. He didn't want them when he had been a Navy SEAL and he didn't want them now. He had seen far too many men seduced by the praise and rewards that came from working in such fields. When you start thinking of yourself exalted, you put yourself and those you work with in danger. And while John had no problem talking at length about the importance of Robert's charity, A Mother's Dream, to potential donors or media interests, he did not like to elaborate on his personal connection with the organization.

But he didn't want their discussion to end just yet.

"So what job has you traveling so much that you feel compelled to carry a survival pack of junk food with you at all times?"

She giggled. John couldn't help being charmed at the girlish sound. God, she was young. He probably had a good fifteen years on her.

"Well, I work in acquisitions for Concord Hotels and Resorts, specializing in historic properties."

"Meaning you buy up old buildings?"

"In manner of speaking, yes. But there's more to it than that. I have to ascertain whether or not a property is a good fit for our company which involves a ton of research in addition to my site visits. I have to be able to justify to my bosses why I believe a property would be profitable. There has to be a hook."

"A hook?"

She paused a moment adjusting her body in the hard plastic airport chair. She effortlessly brought her legs up and crossed them like a small child sitting in a preschool circle. Not only was she young, but she was limber. John inwardly cringed by how decrepit he felt in comparison sitting next to her.

"Well . . . I have to be able to show . . . Are you sure you want to hear about this? It's probably not all that exciting to people who spend their time in war zones," she said grinning up at John.

John couldn't remember the last time he simply enjoyed friendly banter. Sometimes he and Robert engaged in it, but it had been a lot less since Cora's death. Yes, he did go back and forth with his sister, but that was usually over the internet which wasn't the same.

"I would love to hear about the inner workings of the hotel trade. War zones are highly overrated," John assured her with a smile to match hers.

"All right, as I was saying I have to be able to show why travelers would want to stay at a property, what would hook them. For some places it's the location . . . a beautiful beach, mountains, a glamorous city, etc. Other times it's the actual facility and its amenities that are key. And still other times, especially with properties that are run-down and falling apart, it's the story that matters. It's in our human nature to be compelled by the past whether it's hauntings, mystery or romance. People love to walk in the footsteps of those who came before them, to sleep in the same bedrooms as royalty, to wander the same corridors as lords and ladies. They want to reconnect with the past."

"So where did this trip take you? Transylvania . . . perhaps Dracula's Castle?"

"I wish. Now that would have made for a good story. I ended up looking at an old mansion in Bucharest. Quite dilapidated. A local baron had built it back in 1800's. Turns out he was a real bastard. He was fond of abusing everyone around him. He beat his servants regularly with a board and occasionally his wife and children."

"Sounds like a nice guy."

"Yeah, real nice. Then eventually the property was confiscated during the Ceausescu era and used as some sort of ministry building."

"So I take it you're passing on this property?"

She nodded taking another bite. "No hook, but at least I got to travel somewhere new. I had never been to Romania before . . . So, speaking of traveling . . . Are you on your way home?"

Home. If you could call a sparsely furnished, one-bedroom apartment that John only slept in a few months out of the year home, then yes, he was headed home.

He just nodded. "I have a short layover at Heathrow, then onto D.C."

"Is that where you live?"

"Yes, when I'm not overseas. It's where our organization is based out of."

Pause. Not because of lack of interest on either end. She was eyeing him. He could almost see the wheels working in her head. She took another bite of apple. She was contemplating.

"May I ask you something . . . and if it's too personal just tell me."

Okay, now he was really intrigued and nervous. What on earth would she want to ask him about that might be too personal?

"Go ahead . . . shoot."

"What were you dreaming about? . . . Was it what you saw over there . . . in Afghanistan?

John let out a small sigh of relief that he hadn't even realized he had been holding. His old dream wasn't personal at all. It was odd, for sure, but not revealing. Oh, it probably had some deep hidden meaning but he didn't particularly buy into dream analysis mumbo jumbo.

"Not at all. Actually it's this strange recurring dream that I've had since college. I dream that . . . Are you sure you want to hear this?" John questioned with a skeptical half smile repeating her question from earlier.

"I'm all ears. I am quite certain it's much more fascinating than the hotel industry. . . That is if you want to tell me. No pressure, really."

"I don't mind, but it's just . . . I've never told anyone about it."

"Really . . . Nobody asked about it? Not a wife or girlfriend or anybody?"

"Nope," John confirmed shaking his head. He didn't want to admit that most women he slept with often didn't stay the night. Not that he slept around. It's just that he had never got close enough to a woman to consider sharing an apartment, not to mention marriage. His choices of professions didn't help. He was home sporadically at best. Truth be told, he hadn't had sex in. . .God, years . . . back before his injury when his life had been a lot simpler, less baggage. He looked back up at her and could feel his whole body heating up. Yes, it definitely had been years. She took another bite. As a blush crept up his face, he decided watching her eat an apple was not a good idea with sex on his mind.

John hoped his face wasn't too tell-tale red as he continued, "Anyway, my dream is that I'm being hanged."

"Well, that's rather disturbing."

"Isn't it?" John agreed turning in his seat and leaning in. It did feel good to finally share the dream. It had always been a mystery to him and he felt silly telling anyone about it, but somehow he didn't feel silly telling her.

"Is it the same each time?"

"For the most part, yes. I am walked up some sort of gallows. It's outside." John paused collecting fleeting images of the familiar yet elusive vision. "It seems so real. I can feel the sun shining down on me. A noose is put around my neck. And the woman's there. She's always there."

She scooted a little closer to John, drawn in by his story. "Who?"

"I don't know. I can't see what she looks like exactly. It's all kind of a blur when I wake up. But her eyes, I can remember them. They're blue and vivid, haunting really."

"How does it end?"

"It ends the same way each time. The wooden trap door opens beneath my feet and I begin to fall. The last thing I hear . . . and I always hear it . . . is the woman screaming."

"Wow, that's pretty freaky."

Great. She thought he was a freak. Well, the way he was babbling on about dreams who could blame her.

"I know it all sounds crazy."

"No, no, not in the least," she reassured scooting a seat closer and placing her hand on his forearm. A light touch, but his heart sped up. "You're not alone, you know . . . with dreams and all."

John raised an eyebrow in question as she went on. "About the time I went away to university, I started having this regular dream, well nightmare to be more exact. . ." She trailed off and looked down with a sudden huff of embarrassment.

"Come on now, I told you mine," John cajoled. "It couldn't be any worse than being executed over and over."

"Right you are," she looked up combing her hair back behind her ears. "It's just like you . . . I've never really spoke of it. Oh, I tried to tell my ex about it the first time it happened after we were married, but he just told me to stop yapping and go back to sleep."

She noticed John's frown. "Mac was a real bastard. It's a wonder we stayed together as long as we did." Embarrassed again, she ducked her head. "Sorry, didn't mean to . . . I'm sure the last thing you want to hear about is my slug soon-to-be ex-husband."

"It's okay. Sometimes we all need to vent." Jesus, where had that come from? John was someone who very much believed in keeping things to one's self. "Now about your dream . . ."

"Yes, my dream. . ." She continued with a grateful smile. He could tell she appreciated his tact concerning her ex. "It starts the same every time. I'm standing at the end of a long corridor. It's rather cavernous and seems to go on forever.

She stopped to laugh, but not a real laugh, more one of confusion. "I can't rightly tell you what is going on. All I know is a man is being taken away from me. I don't know who he is but he's being dragged away by two other men. And . . . and it's devastating to see him go. I can't see his face or make out anything else about him other than he is tall and dark haired, but I know he means something to me."

"And you have no clue who he is?"

"None. I always figured it had to do with some repressed fear of abandonment." At John's confused look, she continued, "My parents died in a car accident when I was five. After that I bounced between relatives until I turned eighteen and went away to school. I never really had a place to call home."

Hurt lingered in her eyes. Everybody had their share of pain. He knew better than most, but his family had never caused him any. He was blessed with amazingly functional and . . . well, normal family. There had been times in the past when he had pushed them away, but he always knew they would be there for him even when he was acting like an ass.

"I'm sorry," he offered what little he could.

"It's okay; it was a long time ago. I really thought the dream had something to do with my parents or maybe even after I got married the fear of Mac leaving me. . . The thing is I left my husband and I couldn't be happier. . ." She spared a smile for John. ". . . but I still have the dream."

"Maybe we'll never know why we have them. I don't think on it too much anymore. The conscious world can be enough to decipher by itself."

She was contemplating again. Another bite. She chewed slowly. The gate area was beginning to fill with travelers.

"You might be right . . ." her voice trailed off. "You do realize we've been talking for some time now. . ." She paused with a grin and added dramatically, ". . . and baring our souls . . . well, at least about dreams and I don't even know your name."

"It's John. John Bates." He held out his hand to her.

She took it. Another time and place flashed through his head. He was there. So was she. In a stairwell . . . no, not in one . . . near one. It was her. Most definitely her. Her arms were full, but she still managed to shake his hand.

"And I'm Anna Smith."

Anna. Her name was Anna.

He held her hand in a bit longer than customary but neither seemed to mind. An attendant's voice came over the speaker in a language John could only assume was Romanian. They jumped apart at the sound. People around them began to gather their bags. The announcement was repeated in English. First class passengers were to begin boarding.

"I guess that's me." John stood up and gathered his carry-on bag.

"You're in first class?"

"It's one of the few luxuries I indulge in," John admitted, but he wasn't going to tell her the real reason behind such a splurge. Two hours in coach and his side would be aching for the rest of the day.

Anna stood up too and threw her apple core in a nearby trashcan, as John slung his bag over his shoulder.

"Well. . ." she began turning back to face him with a grin.

"Well. . ." he followed suit.

"It was lovely chatting with you."

"You make for exceptional company. And thanks for the mini-rolls."

"It was nothing. A small compensation for listening to me ramble about hotels, ex-husbands and crazy dreams."

John lips curved up. "Have a good flight, Anna."

"You too."

With one last look, one last smile, he began to walk towards the gate.

"John. . ." he heard her call out.

Her voice stopped him in his tracks before he even knew what he was doing. Turning around, Anna was a few feet in front of him.

"I just want to say. . . " She rocked nervously from foot to foot before looking him straight in the eye. ". . . I know we'll not see each other again, but when you go back to Afghanistan . . . please be careful . . . or else I'll worry."

"Well, we can't have that." His face lifted in a half smile. "If it will ease your mind, I promise to be extra cautious next time I go over."

"Thanks. It does make me feel better."

Before he could turn away, she reached up and kissed his cheek. John swore his heart skipped a beat from the brief brush of her lips.

This time she let him go. He handed his boarding pass to the attendant and started down the jetway. All he could think as he walked along was . . . God, she had the most amazing blue eyes.

A/N: Yep, you read that right. John is an American. I hope that's not too sacrilegious. But trust me, there is a reason for everything in this story.

Astute reader challenge: What is the significance of the day they met?