#annaxbates

Roberts nods his consent, and John pushes his chair away from the table, grabbing hold of his cane and wending his way between the empty tables towards the fire exit. Most of the staff are on the dancefloor, partaking in an enthusiastic Macarena. It’s one of those times that he’s fiercely glad that he can’t dance any longer—the only thing that he wishes he could do was slow dance, so that he’d be able to ask Anna for her hand. But it is a stupid notion, one that he will never be able to fulfil, and it’s probably better that way. Anna has her whole life ahead of her, and it does nobody any good to be given false hope. She can do so much better than him, washed up and jaded as he is. She needs a proper man, not one tarnished by the mistakes he’s made in the past.

The air is blissfully cold on his face as he emerges outside, and he breathes in deeply, enjoying the way that it slaps his cheeks. He ferrets in his pocket for his packet of cigarettes—he’ll make giving them up his New Year’s Resolution—and shields the flame from the lighter against the tip of the cigarette as the wind blows. He takes a deep drag and taps ash from the end of it, tilting his head back to the sky.

“Hey, you.”

Anna’s voice behind him makes him jump, and he turns around quickly to find her standing in the doorway, shivering violently in the breeze. She’s left her outer layers inside, and he can see the goosebumps on her arms.

“You should get back inside before you catch your death,” he tells her. She ignores him, taking a resolute step outside.

“I’ve barely had the chance to talk to you all evening,” she says.

“Molesley’s been monopolising all of your attention,” he replies. He doesn’t quite succeed in keeping the resentment out of his voice, and hates himself anew.

If Anna senses it—which she surely has to—she doesn’t comment. Instead, she steps nearer, almost close enough to touch. “I’d rather have spent the time with you. I’ve missed you this evening.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he says. He cannot lie to her about that. She is the best friend he has, has been from the moment that she defended him that first day at Crawleys’.  “Have you been having a good time?”

“It’s been okay,” she says. “But it would have been better if I was with you.”

“Well, you’re with me now,” he says. His heart does a funny drumroll in his chest at the thought that he could have made it better for her, when she has spent the whole evening surrounded by young, vibrant men. He shakes the egotistical pleasure away.

“Yeah,” she says. “I’ve had a drink.”

It’s a strange thing to say. He waits without comment.

“I needed some Dutch courage,” she clarifies.

“Why?” he asks.

“There’s something I want to do.”

“What’s that, then?”

She doesn’t answer him with words. Instead, she steps closer to him, so close that he catches the seductive fragrance of her perfume, the sweet smell of her hair. She looks gorgeous tonight, in a black cocktail dress and lethal heels that should not be allowed. They’ve spiked her height by several inches, but even that addition still leaves her craning her neck a little when she looks at him. It’s a sight that endears him and heats him in equal, guilty measure.

He doesn’t have the time to think of anything else before her arms are around his neck, and her body is aligning itself with his as she rises on her tiptoes, and he feels the warmth of her breath on his mouth, and then her lips—

It takes his addled brain several moments to realise that she’s kissing him. Anna is kissing him. It’s a scenario that he has dreamt about for months now, hating himself all the while. He cannot deny the truth to himself: he’s been falling for her. It was inevitable, really; Anna has such a good heart, such a sunny, caring attitude, that it’s impossible to stand in her light and not be affected by it. She’s his best friend, the one person who has brought a smile to his face some days. She understands him in a way that nobody else does, knows when to offer a quiet word of reassurance and when to leave him to his own thoughts. She’s let him into parts of her life that are dear to her, taking him to all of her favourite places in Yorkshire and giving him an intimate look at the things she loves the most.

She has never seen him as less than a man.

Even so, this cannot be. They are good friends; he thinks the world of her, and even though it kills him inside, this is why they can never have anything more. She deserves more than what he can offer her, a lifetime of mistakes and regrets. He pulls away.

“No,” he breathes against her, even as he pushes away the hair that has stuck to her cheek, completely outside of his control. “Anna, we can’t—”

“We can,” she says, bold and self-assured. “There’s nothing wrong in it, John.”

“Of course there is.”

“Why?”

He makes a helpless gesture, trying to articulate the hopelessness of it all. “Christ, Anna. I’ve made so many mistakes.”

“You and the rest of the world.”

“I won’t ruin you. Vera—”

“Sod your ex-wife,” Anna says fiercely. “I don’t care about her, or about any of the other stuff. None of that has changed my opinion on you.”

It should have done. She knows the worst of him. The struggle against alcohol, the bitter relationship with Vera, the disability that plagues him every day.

“You deserve so much more,” he tries.

“Don’t you dare presume what I do and don’t deserve,” she snaps. “I’m the only one who can decide that for myself, John.”

And she moves to kiss him again, and he is powerless to stop her. Her mouth is soft and yielding, the kind of mouth that coaxes a man into the deepest of forbidden temptations. John’s eyes slide closed as the dam breaks inside him, flooding him with all of the emotions that he has tried to keep buried for so long. He curls his fingers through her hair, tilting her head further up to him. She sighs, her mouth opening beneath his, and he feels the tip of her tongue—

“Anna, it’s just about to—oh!”

Gwen’s startled voice brings John back to the present with an unpleasant jolt. Stumbling over his cane, he pushes Anna away from him. Gwen stares at them, her cheeks flushing pink.

“I—um—sorry, I didn’t know I was interrupting anything,” she says lamely.

Apparently unconcerned, Anna pats her hair down and says, as if she’s been interrupted doing nothing more interesting than staring at the night sky, “Is it time for the Secret Santa?”

“Y-Yes,” says Gwen. She’s not looking at either of them. Well, that suits John just fine. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to look Gwen in the face ever again. He can feel himself burning up despite the cold temperatures, and knows that no one will be able to mistake his colour for wind-chill.

“Well, we’d better not dawdle,” says Anna, moving briskly towards the door. “They’ll have our guts for garters if they do.”

John remains rooted to the spot as she disappears back inside. Gwen glances at him, face clashing with her hair, then hurries after her. He has little doubt that she will be questioning Anna furiously on what she has just walked in on, and he finds that his desire to go back inside has dropped even further. He can’t face it. He can’t go back in there and pretend that everything is okay, not when he is disorientated and confused. He never got to question her, to see the conversation through to its proper conclusion. He is a man, and men like things to be laid out in clear, unmistakable terms. He likes finality.

Christ, how is he going to get through the rest of the evening when he finally knows the texture of Anna’s mouth, and the little breathy sound that she makes in the back of her throat when she’s kissed? Hell, how is he going to get through the rest of his life after this revelation? He should never have had this knowledge.

Knowing that he can’t put off his return any longer, no matter how much he might like to, he slowly drags himself back inside. The muffled, raucous sounds emanating from the main room make his stomach flip unpleasantly, but he takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, grips his cane tighter, and forces himself inside like a man might force himself to make the final journey to the gallows. He’s sure that what will meet him in there will be worse than any kind of hell that could possibly exist.

-- --

Three Days Later

There are just three days to work before the Christmas break, but John doesn’t feel like going back to the office on Monday morning. There’s too much going through his head for him to be able to function properly, and Anna is not going to be there. She’d requested the time off months before so she could fly out to America to spend the holidays with her sister and her nieces and nephews, and she won’t be back until after the New Year.

It means that he won’t be able to confront her about whatever the hell happened at the Christmas party. There was no opportunity to on that night, for after the gift-giving she had been inundated with more dancing invitations, which she had taken, and he had been unable to catch her alone to try to get his head around what had transpired. She’d left with Mary before he could say anything else, and when he’d texted her, asking if they could talk, she’d replied by asking if they could do it when she returned from America, because it wasn’t something she could do right now.

He isn’t sure how he feels about that, because it means he’s going to spend the entirety of the Christmas break in a complete head spin, floundering under the weight of what has occurred. Every time he closes his eyes he remembers it, her mouth softening over his, the taste of the wine on her tongue, the way her fingers felt winding through the hair at the nape of his neck, that little noise she made as she rose on her tiptoes to align their bodies.

He burns for her.

It shames him and frustrates him, and the last three nights have been sleepless, haunted by her phantom touch. His phone has stayed ominously quiet since their encounter. That’s never happened before. Usually, Anna texts him at least four times a day, whether it’s just to express a wish that he’s having a good day, or else to spark conversation with some silly meme that he’s far too old to understand. Until this radio silence, he’s never noticed just how much he takes her presence for granted.

Several times he’s picked up his phone to text her first, but as good as he can be with the written word, all sentiments have simply abandoned him, leaving him staring at that last message with a sense of hopelessness that eradicates all else.

And so he is resigned to wait until after the New Year to discuss the Christmas party, and he isn’t sure that he’ll survive it.

He goes about his morning ablutions with a heaviness that he’s never known. Anna has had holidays before, of course, but she’s never felt as far away as she does now—figuratively as well as literally. He drags himself to work, wondering what the day has in store for him.

At first, it doesn’t appear as if there will be anything out of the ordinary. He greets Gwen on reception and although she blushes bright red and returns the sentiment in a rushed, muttered voice, evidently still not quite over the fact that the last time she’d seen him he’d been locking lips with her best friend, she still sounds friendly enough. The others greet him with the same jovial, courteous cheeriness that they always have, and he resolves to put everything to the back of his mind and concentrate on the day he has in front of him.

All of that changes when he reaches the staffroom. He’s just about to push open the door when he hears the low strain of voices. Frowning, he debates what to do. He does not enjoy eavesdropping on conversation and is just about to turn away and try again in a few minutes when he catches his own name. Whoever is inside is talking about him. For a moment, he is indecisive, but it’s one of those situations where a person knows that they should look away from something horrific but can’t. Making sure that his cane doesn’t thump against the carpet and give him away, he leans closer to the crack in the ajar door and strains his ears.

“…I don’t believe you do know anything about Bates,” comes the dour, bored voice. John’s heart sinks. Sarah O’Brien. Of course. He should have known. Nothing ever good happens when she is at the heart of it. He dreads to think what’s being plotted in there—there can be no doubt that Thomas Barrow, her constant partner in crime, is the person she is talking to. They’ve spent most of the two years that he’s been working here trying to get him sacked, apparently out of some misguided belief that Thomas should have been promoted over him being hired. Anna had been almost apoplectic over their attempts and had planned her own careful revenge which had resulted in them being publicly humiliated for their crimes, and it had been one of the many, many things that had made him fall all the harder for her. He wishes she was here with him now. He’s not a stranger to standing up for himself—he’s had to do that all his life, and not always in the most positive way—but Anna has always been so much better at it, his very own champion.

And this presents a very alarming question: what does Thomas think he knows about him? He’s always been careful to play his cards close to his chest, keeping his private life as separate from his professional one as possible. People still think him an enigma, distant and unfriendly. It’s something Molesley is always keen to point out, though John suspects that that has something to do with the fact that the other man carries a torch for Anna too.

Whatever it is, if Thomas is involved, it can’t be good news for him.

Carefully, he edges even closer to the door, until his ear is almost pressed up against the crack. He doesn’t have to listen all that hard; Thomas’ voice carries like a foghorn.

“You’re never gonna believe it. It’s totally disgusting. Not to mention unprofessional.”

“What is?” says O’Brien impatiently.

“Bates and Anna!” Thomas says triumphantly.

The pit drops out of John’s stomach, and he swallows hard against the sudden rise of bile in his throat. How? How does he possibly know anything!?

Evidently O’Brien wants the same answers. “What do you mean, Bates and Anna?”

“At the Christmas party!” Thomas crows. “Tonguing each other!”

For once, it appears that O’Brien is completely lost for words. John barely restrains himself from banging his forehead against the wall.

“What did you just say?” she manages at last.

Thomas speaks with the air of communicating with a very slow child. “Bates and Anna. At the Christmas party. Caught with their tongues down each other’s throats.”

“You’ve not just pulled that out of your arse, have you?”

“No!” says Thomas, affronted. “I heard it straight from the horse’s mouth.”

“Come off it, old Bates wouldn’t share something like that with you if you were the last person on earth, and Anna is a saint who cosies up to him like a leech. She wouldn’t dare do a thing to hurt his precious feelings, so she isn’t going to talk to you.”

“Well, maybe she didn’t tell me directly,” Thomas amends, “but I overheard her talking to Gwen about it. It’s definitely true.”

John clenches his fists. So the rat had been eavesdropping again. He should have known. Thomas is like that, seeping the air like poison, sticking to the shadows and striking when people least expect it, like the coward he is.

“Well.” O’Brien sounds distinctively disgusted. “I’m not sure I want to know the details.”

“But you’re gonna love it,” says Thomas. “It’s hilarious, really. He hobbles about acting so high and mighty, but he’s no better than the rest of us. Worse, really, slobbering over poor Anna like that.”

“I don’t know how she could have stood it,” says O’Brien. “If he’d come anywhere near me, I’d’ve let him have both barrels.”

Like O’Brien has ever had anyone ever come near her, with the constant expression she has on her face like she’s inhaling an unpleasant smell, John thinks viciously, his shame sharpening his anger.

“Tell me about it,” Thomas agrees. “She’s got to be blind or something. Or maybe she’s just desperate. I’ve never known her to date anyone while she’s worked here.”

John clenches his fists so tightly that his nails bite into his palms. He’s shaking with anger. It’s one thing for them to insult him—while it’s demoralising, he can understand their disbelief, for he doesn’t believe it himself—but to bring Anna into the equation, to say such disparaging things about her, is quite another thing. He’ll show them. Right now he is spoiling for a fight, and taking his frustrations out on those two snakes would be most satisfying.

But before he can push open the door, O’Brien presses on,” So, come on, spill the details. What happened?”

Thomas laughs. “Well, apparently Anna was the one to grab hold of old Bates.”

“What?”

“Yep. I heard every single detail. Apparently Anna went outside to find Bates because he’d done his usual disappearing act, and while she was out there she was just overcome with the urge to kiss him.”

“Revolting.”

“Tell me about it. So that was when Gwen walked in on them and caught them trying to eat each other alive.”

“Poor girl is probably scarred for life.”

“She asked Anna what the hell had got into her.”

“Reasonable question.”

“And you know what Anna said?” Thomas voice rises an octave as he tries a crude, cruel imitation of Anna’s thick Yorkshire accent. “She said, ‘I’ve just wanted to do that for a long time, Gwen. It was perfect’. Perfect!”

“Perfectly nasty,” says O’Brien. “I can’t believe it.”

“Yeah, I know. Bates has always had the stick so far up his own backside that I didn’t even think he knew what the definition of ‘passion’ was. And how Anna can find anything interesting about that stuffy old git is mindboggling.”

“The less I think about that, the better. I’m already having a difficult time keeping my breakfast down. I don’t want to think of old Bates getting his leg over as well.”

“I might have to dig a bit, see what I can find out. If they did end up shagging on Friday then it’d be great. We’ll have so much ammunition.”

“They left separately.”

“So? Doesn’t mean that they couldn’t have met up later. And if they did, it’ll show us just how much of a hypocrite he is. He’s always so pious, the sanctimonious bastard. This’ll show him. It’ll do him good to be brought down a peg or two.”

John trembles. Blood pulses through his head, making it difficult to hear. He would like nothing more than to storm in there and grab hold of Thomas, shaking some sense into him. He pushes and taunts him time and time again and now, with the shock of him knowing about what transpired on Friday night, his nerves are frayed. He has no doubt that Thomas will push this to the limit, accusing him and Anna of all sorts of things. He can’t bear for them to be paraded around like exhibits at a museum.

At that moment, however, O’Brien’s voice changes. “Christ, look at the time. We’re five minutes late already. Carson is going to have our heads.”

“Let the old dinosaur,” says Thomas viciously, but John hears sounds of movement nevertheless. Hastily, he moves away from the door, backing back down the corridor. It won’t do for him to be caught there now.

At least he hasn’t been caught totally unaware, he tries to console himself. When Thomas comes at him with this—which he undoubtedly will—at least he won’t be caught wrong-footed by the knowledge that the other man has. He just has to be patient and find a way to fight back against it.

No longer feeling like he wants a cup of tea, he trudges towards his office and throws down his things when he gets there. Now he needs to fill his day with as many tasks as possible, so that he can avoid the stares and whispers that are sure to come.

It’s probably going to be easier said than done.

-- --

At ten to eleven, he receives his first test. There is a knock on the door, and it’s Charles Carson himself.

“May I come in?” he says.

What choice does he have? John nods. Mr. Carson edges into the room and closes the door firmly behind him, glancing through the glass windows at the office beyond as if to ensure that they’re not being watched. Everyone has their heads down studiously, but John is not fooled. They’ll all be watching out of the corner of their eyes, silently communicating, trying to lip read. There’s only one reason why Mr. Carson is here so early in the day, when he rarely drops by at all. Thomas hasn’t wasted a moment in spreading his poison, and the vitriol has reached his superior. He steels himself.

“Would you like to sit down?” he says, gesturing to the seat across from his desk. Mr. Carson shakes his head.

“No, thank you, I’m fine where I am.”

John suspects that it has everything to do with the power play. If Mr. Carson was sitting opposite him, it would look as if he’d been called there, not the other way around; by remaining standing, tall and forbidding as he is, it leaves John in no doubt as to who is really in charge, no matter the domain.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Carson?” he asks as pleasantly as he can, hoping that his voice doesn’t shake and betray him.

Mr. Carson lingers awkwardly by the door. “I won’t beat about the bush, Mr. Bates. Something’s come to light.”

“And what might that be?” He hopes that he sounds politely puzzled. Beneath the table, his fingers twist together.

Mr. Carson sighs. “It’s a delicate subject.”

Here it goes. “I’m not a delicate person. Please, Mr. Carson, I’d rather we speak frankly.”

Mr. Carson sighs heavily. “Very well. I have heard…a rumour being bandied about the office, about something that went off at the Christmas party on Friday. Something that happened between you and Anna.”

There’s no use acting coy and prolonging the embarrassment further. “I’m assuming you’re referring to the fact that Anna and I kissed.”

Mr. Carson turns the colour of beetroot. Obviously talking about anything the least bit personal is far out of his remit. John has never been able to imagine him as anything but stern and upright. Mrs. Hughes is usually better at navigating through delicate situations like these, treating all of the women under her like surrogate daughters, but she can also be stern, too; John has no doubt that he would be in for an even rougher time if she was here now, interrogated like a suspect in a murder case about his intentions.

“Well, that’s what the rumours are,” he blusters.

“They’re true,” John says flatly. He sees no point in delaying the inevitable admission.

“Mistletoe?” Mr. Carson says hopefully.

“No,” John sighs, busying himself with the papers on his desk. “There was no mistletoe.”

Mr. Carson looks crestfallen. Clearly he could have coped if he’d been told that mere tradition dictated it. He likes tradition. “I see. Well, you know more than anyone that this is a highly unusual situation.”

John doubts it; how many stories are out there of drunken fumbles at work parties? Their company itself isn’t infallible—there was some kerfuffle between Daisy and William last time, Mary and Matthew had a fling that started at one of these functions, and there had been that mad game of truth and dare at the ‘No Managers Allowed’ party, which thankfully he had not been invited to. Anna had shared all the details of that with him, and there were some that he’d rather not have known. He doesn’t say anything, waiting for his superior to continue.

He does so, looking more discomfited by the second. “I’ll be honest, I would rather not be having this conversation with you, Mr. Bates. I don’t like treating you like you’re some young boy behaving drunkenly and recklessly, but I have to be seen treating you the same as I would someone like James.”

Which John thinks is very unfair, considering the fact that his behaviour is nothing like Jimmy’s. “I understand.”

“We have a reputation to uphold, and we, as senior staff, need to ensure that we are setting the right example for the younger individuals in our teams. I know a lot of them can be easily led astray, and we don’t want to encourage such behaviour in them.”

“What do you mean?” John says before he can stop himself, the words coming out a tad more biting than he’d intended. But his temper is rising once more. It’s so early in the day and he’s already tired of the way that people are insinuating that what he and Anna did was dirty and wrong. It does not make him feel any better about the situation, and he wishes all over again that Anna was here with him, that he could see her reaction and at least know what to do one way or the other.

“Well,” says Mr. Carson, “we can’t have members of staff having drunken flings here, there, and everywhere. It will only cause a bad atmosphere and could lead to any number of disasters. If they look at you as a trusted senior member of staff and see you having a meaningless relationship with another member of staff, they’ll think that they’re fine to do the same.”

“I respect what you’re saying,” John says quietly. “But you’re wrong.”

Mr. Carson’s impressive eyebrows rise. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re wrong,” John repeats, louder this time. “It wasn’t a drunken fling. I don’t drink. Anna had had a couple, but she wasn’t even tipsy. We were as clear minded as we would have been at any other time.”

“I see,” says Mr. Carson. His eyebrows are still somewhere in danger of falling off his head. “I see.” He doesn’t seem to know what to say now that he’s confirmed that it was more than what he’d thought it was.

And now John has to acknowledge that fact too. Even though he doesn’t know what the hell it really was to Anna, since she hasn’t said a thing to him, despite what Thomas alleges she said to Gwen—which could be a lie, for all he knows—he has to admit the truth to himself: what transpired between them meant everything to him. He’d always told himself that nothing could happen between them, but now that she’s kissed him…He knows that it will be impossible to go back to pretending that nothing has transpired. He’s wanted her for so long, and now that he’s had a taste of her, he isn’t sure how he can go back to pretending that they are just friends. Not now.

“So it’s serious between you, then?” Mr. Carson asks at last, the words seemingly difficult to get out.

“I don’t know,” John answers truthfully; it would be silly to do anything else when he doesn’t have a clue what’s going on. But he can at least be honest on his own behalf. “Anna means a very, very great deal to me, Mr. Carson, and I certainly have no intentions of leading her on. My main concern has been, and always will be, her happiness.”

“Well, very good. And Anna feels the same?”

“That’s a conversation for when she comes back home,” he says carefully. “I wouldn’t like to be presumptuous.”

“Very well,” says Mr. Carson. “I’ll say no more for now. I just wanted to hear your side of the story, not just the rumours that are going around.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you.”

The older man does not make to leave, however, shuffling uncomfortably. “There’s one other thing.”

John has a feeling that he knows what that is. “Yes?”

“I’m afraid that I’m going to have to tell Robert about this.”

John’s heart sinks. Yes, that’s what he’s been fearing. It’s not as if his best friend will be unhappy—hell, he’ll be over the moon—but that is part of the problem. He would have preferred to keep this whole thing under wraps until he’d ironed things out with Anna, but that’s an impossibility now. And if Mr. Carson doesn’t tell Robert, then he’ll have to. He’s going to hear anyway, if the rumours are flying about as Mr. Carson is insinuating.

“I understand,” he sighs.

“I don’t like playing the part of Pontius Pilate, but I feel I have no choice,” says Mr. Carson with the air of someone with a great burden on his shoulders.

“I understand,” John repeats. “But I appreciate your frankness.”

“I think that will be all for now,” says Mr. Carson. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Bates.”

“Not at all.” John rises and waits as the older man turns away and closes the door behind him. Only when he is out of eyesight does he sink back down into his seat, refraining from burying his head in his hands only because he knows that people are still watching him through the huge glass windows.  He can’t show any weakness.

Even so, he finds it difficult to focus on work for the rest of the day.

His phone remains ominously quiet.

-- --

He manages to spend the rest of the day holed up in his office, leaving it only to collect his lunch and sneak back in before anyone can confront him. He leaves long after everyone else has gone home, returning to his cold and empty flat, still with no word from Anna.

-- --

One Day Later

By now, he deduces that the rumour mill is rife; everywhere he goes he garners open stares from his fellow employees. He tries to tell himself that it doesn’t really bother him, but it does. He’s never done well being the centre of attention, and certainly not since his injury.

He had another poor night’s sleep yesterday, too, tossing and turning and watching the hands on the clock move by as his mind whirred and buzzed. He spent the whole time wondering what Anna was doing, if she was having a good time, if she was as preoccupied by what had occurred as he was, if she even cared at all.

Coffee is what he needs. It’s still early, much earlier than what most people find to be an acceptable time to be in work—he found the tossing and turning to be absolutely pointless, and decided that he might as well get a head start on the day. It suits him just fine. At least this way he can be hidden in his office before the masses start arriving.

Making his way towards the kitchen, he is once again given reason to pause; the Yorkshire lilt he hears is unmistakable. It’s Mrs. Patmore, who runs the staff cafeteria. Her voice carries, klaxon-like, and his heart sinks once more.

Even here he is the topic of conversation.

He desperately wants to turn away, but he also needs the coffee. He just needs to get in and out as quickly as he can. He stumps down the rest of the corridor, but before he can push open the door and stop the conversation in its tracks, he hears Daisy say, “…So it’s true, then? About Anna and Mr. Bates?”

“According to Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes,” says Mrs. Patmore. “Mr. Carson says that Mr. Bates admitted it himself. But don’t you go talking about it with anyone else, you hear me?”

“Thomas has been talking about it,” Daisy points out.

“Thomas is a scoundrel. You’ll do well to listen to me, Daisy, mark my words. We don’t want to embarrass them.”

“Why should they be embarrassed if they wanted to do it?” says Daisy.

Mrs. Patmore tuts. “I highly doubt that this is the way that they wanted it to come out.”

“Why not?”

“Lord, girl, are you daft? Who in their right mind would want everyone to know about something as personal as that when they haven’t even had time to grow into it themselves?”

She’s hit the nail on the head there, John thinks ruefully.

“I never would have guessed it, though,” says Daisy. “Not our Anna!”

“She’s a young woman who knows what she wants,” says Mrs. Patmore sagely. “We’ve always admired that about her. It’s what made her such a good protégé for Mrs. Hughes. But I think we’re sometimes prone to forget that just because she’s always here for people inside of work, she leads her own life outside of it.”

“But Anna and Mr. Bates!”

“I was shocked to hear it at first,” Mrs. Patmore admits. “But now that the shock of it has worn off, it’s not actually that surprising.”

“I suppose so,” Daisy concedes. “They do seem very well matched. They’re always together, aren’t they? And Mr. Bates does make Anna smile a lot. That’s always a nice thing.”

That gives John reason to pause. It’s unlike anything snide that Thomas and O’Brien were sneering about yesterday, and it’s actually heartening. He’s never really considered what their relationship might look like outside of his own tortured belief that people would look down on them. It’s nice to think that that might not be the case. And if Daisy and Mrs. Patmore think that he and Anna suit each other well…well, perhaps things aren’t as hopeless as he’d thought.

“I’m glad,” Daisy says decisively, at last. “I’m glad Anna has found someone she likes, and Mr. Bates too. He’s always been very kind to me.”

“Aye, that’s true, lass,” says Mrs. Patmore. “They look well together, and it’s about time Mr. Bates found some happiness after what that harpy of an ex-wife did to him. I’m sure it can be the start of something beautiful.”

The start of something beautiful. Christ, he hopes so. Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s time that he did put his demons in the past and do them justice. Do Anna justice.

Feeling buoyed, he bangs his way down the corridor, giving Mrs. Patmore and Daisy plenty of warning that he is arriving so that they can change the subject. When he enters the kitchen, he finds them both working hard to set the place to rights before the start of a new day.

“You’re here early!” says Mrs. Patmore.

John spins off the same tale of getting a head start on the day, and busies himself with making a cup of coffee as they finish off what they are doing. They bid him goodbye and he returns it, then waits until the door snaps to behind them before pulling out his phone. He might as well start to make some kind of amends now. Dawdling for a few minutes, he tries to find words to express how he feels. In the end, after deleting several options, he settles for something short and sweet.

I do miss you, you know.

He dallies for a few more seconds before adding the decisive, fateful kiss. He’s never used it before, not even with Anna, and he hopes that it signals to her just how much he does so.

He isn’t sure what the time differences are between Downton and where Anna is, but by the time he’s reached his office, his own message tone has pinged. He snatches his phone.

Her reply, too, is simple, but it raises his spirits more than he could possibly articulate.

I miss you too. X

-- --

Whilst Anna is not here, it seems that people are less inclined to openly make too many comments about what transpired at the Christmas party. He still catches sight of people whispering behind their hands, glancing his way when they think that he’s not looking, but it bothers him less than it was. He knows he’s going to have to stand up and face it in the New Year, but he finds that the prospect is less scary than he’d initially thought. He hasn’t heard anything from Anna since her last text, but somehow he feels more settled about it.

Halfway through the day, his phone rings; the internal number flashing on the screen indicates that it’s from Robert. Which means that Mr. Carson must have broken.

“Hi, Rob,” he says, pressing the receiver to his ear. “What can I do for you?”

“Don’t you take that bloody innocent tone with me. Carson’s just told me something very interesting.”

“Oh?” John tries to keep his tone light, and probably fails horrifically.

“Yes, ‘oh’. You’re a dark horse. Come and see me. Now.”

“Am I in trouble?” he asks.

“That depends. Now, Bates.”

The line goes dead. John rolls his eyes. Robert would never go too hard on him, not after everything they’ve been through together, but even so, he’d rather not be subjected to the chat he knows he is bound to be. Anna has been an integral part of the Crawley family for years and is almost a sister to Mary, and he knows that Robert cares deeply for her well-being. Since Anna’s father is not around anymore to subject him to the uncomfortable parent chats, it seems that Robert is going to take up that mantle. Still, he cannot avoid it. Heaving himself to his feet, he limps out of the door and makes his way towards Robert’s office, ignoring the stares that have become customary now. He knocks on the door.

“Enter,” Robert calls, like a king in his castle. Pushing his shoulders back, John does so.

“You summoned me,” he says, a little sarcastically.

If Robert picks up on it, he does not acknowledge the insubordination. “Close the door, Bates.”

He does so. When it clicks closed, Robert stands up and drops the blind. As soon as they are hidden from view, a broad smile breaks across his face, and he is his boss no longer, but the friend he has known for so many years.

“You old scoundrel, Bates,” he crows. “Snogging our Anna. Gracious me. When Carson told me I almost fell out of my chair. If it hadn’t been for Carson with his face so screwed up in concern, I would never have believed it.”

“Is this going to take long?” says John, crossing his arms across his chest. “I have got other things to be getting on with, you know.”

Robert’s grin widens. “Don’t be such a spoilsport. You’ve got to let me have my moment. I never thought I’d get it again with you. You’re so stubborn that I thought I’d be forced to watch you live the rest of your life as a monk. Doesn’t look like it’s going to be that way anymore, does it?”

“Don’t be crude,” says John.

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me that you haven’t thought about it. Pretty girl like Anna…”

“I thought you were supposed to be doing some kind of fatherly chat?” John interrupts. “You know, you’ll break my kneecaps if I do anything to hurt her?”

“And I would. It’d give you something else to complain about. Not to mention what Mary would do to you if you ever did anything to break Anna’s heart. But you’re my friend too, and I want to see you happy. I am a firm believer in second chances, and I think this one is yours. Take it, Bates.”

John considers his friends words, knows that he’s speaking from a place of experience. After all, his friend has been on the receiving end of that kind of forgiveness and second chance in the past, after a stupid mistake he made with Jane, one of their ex-employees. John firmly believes that Jane had never wanted to cause any trouble, for she had been conscientious and kind, but sometimes feelings are difficult to control, and she had not removed herself from the situation in time. Cora had, completely understandably, hit the roof when she’d discovered the truth, and her twenty-five year marriage had been on the rocks for a while. But love had also won out, and although it had taken time to rebuild the trust between them, they had decided to put the past in the past. His situation with Anna is far from the same thing, but she is offering him something that he’d never thought he’d have again, and that is trust. Companionship. Affection. Quiet intimacy. They’re all things that he’s been longing to have and has been too scared to take.

He has to take them now.

“So what happened?” Robert asks suddenly. “And how come you didn’t breathe a word to me about this during the rest of the night?”

“My mind was all over the place,” John says honestly. “I didn’t know what the hell to think. I couldn’t even begin to tell you any of that when I didn’t know what to think myself. To think that Anna actually wanted to kiss me was mindboggling.”

Robert smirks. “And very nice, I’d wager.”

“Yes,” John concedes. “It was. It is.” He thinks of her soft mouth and goes warm all over again. Christ, he wishes that she was here now, so that they could have that conversation…and so that he could kiss her again.

“So, come on, you’re still holding out on the details,” Robert persists. “I want to know everything.”

“There’s not much to tell. She followed me outside. We talked for a few moments and it just sort of…happened.”

“Just sort of happened, eh?” snickers Robert. “You finally snapped, did you? I thought you might. The way you’ve always looked at her…”

“I’ve never looked at her in an unprofessional way,” John argues.

“Of course you have. We all knew you fancied her something rotten. Mary teased Anna about it constantly, apparently.”

“About me fancying her?”

“No, you idiot, about her fancying you.”

The matter-of-factness of the statement makes John pause. It’s yet another thing that he’s never stopped to consider before. That Anna had made it obvious to her friends that she fancied him simply beggars belief. He is not some Greek-god type, the kind of man who inspires lust and fanciful fantasies in women.

“Oh, well,” he says, “that’s nice to hear.”

“Nice to hear? Bloody hell, Bates, if that was me, I would have been doing a victory dance. You’re not going to fuck this up, are you?”

The abrupt question takes him by surprise; he folds his arms across his chest. “Of course not.”

“Are you sure about that? If there’s one person who’s good at pushing away good things in his life, it’s you.” Robert softens. “Look, I just want you to be happy. Anna wants to try. At least do her the courtesy of letting her.”

John stares at his best friend for a long moment before scrubbing his hand across his face. For the first time, he admits the thought that has been plaguing him. “What if…what if I’m not enough for her?”

“You will be.”

“But you don’t know that. I’ve never managed to maintain anything before, have I?”

“That’s because you’ve never had the right woman before. Vera was completely insane. There’s no wonder that didn’t work out. It was a recipe for disaster from the beginning. Then again, you married her for all the wrong reasons.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” says John. “I don’t need to be reminded of those right now.”

“You’re right. Best leave that in the past, and focus on what’s actually good in your future. And Anna is that, Bates, I know she is.”

“I know it too,” John says softly. She could never be anything other than good for him. He just hopes that he can be worthy of her in turn.

Robert slaps his knees. “Anyway, I think that’s enough soppy talk for one day. Time is money here. Get back to work, and when you’re done for the day you’re coming out for a drink down the pub, no arguments. I still need a blow-by-blow account of exactly what happened that night, you hear me?”

John knows that he has no other choice, for his best friend can be as dogged as his eldest daughter when he wants to be. “All right. As long as you buy the first round. I’ll need some sort of incentive to spill my secrets.”

“A pity I can’t get you drunk for that,” muses Robert. “Ah, well, I’m sure Mary will tell me anything that you don’t. Women like to gossip, don’t they?”

“I have no idea,” John says lightly, but he feels the heat rising in his face at the thought of Anna giving Mary a detailed account of the way that they had kissed each other. He isn’t sure how much he really wants Mary to know; after all, she has been almost like a niece figure to him over the years, and he knows that he would feel beyond awkward if she were to ever bring it up with that arrogant, knowing smirk.

“Well, I’m sure I’ll find out. Now, get out of here, Bates.”

John bows mockingly, but backs out of the room with relief. As much as he loves his friend, he’s tired of the questions. He just wants to be left alone in blessed peace for the rest of the afternoon.

And if that gives him a quiet opportunity to think about Anna…well, for once, he’s not going to stop himself.

-- --

Eight Days Later

Christmas has come and gone in a rare flurry of snow. John spends the time quietly at home with his mother. They have a small Christmas dinner with all the trimmings, John insisting on doing all the work to give her a rest. They exchange gifts between them, and his mother coos over what he’s got her. It gives him a purpose, knowing that he can do something like that for her.

Throwing himself into taking care of his mother also means that he has less time to brood on Anna. He still hasn’t heard from her since that text telling him that she missed him, and every time he contemplates sending her a quick message his brain freezes, unable to come up with any casual conversation starters. Above everything, he wants to respect her wishes.

If his mother notices that he is distracted, she is good enough not to say anything, though he does catch her gazing at him calculatingly a couple of times, and he has no doubt that she has put two and two together and reached four. She has always been very shrewd where Anna is concerned.

Once Christmas is over, New Year comes around in a flash. He had tried to persuade his mother to come to the Crawleys’ gathering too, but she had stood her ground.

“I’m far too old for any of that,” she’d complained. “All the noise would give me a headache, and I’m past the days where I enjoy a lot of company. Leave me here, son. I’ll be as happy as Larry with the TV and a book.”

John had made up his mind to stay with her too, but she was ferocious in her insistence that he go to his friend’s and have a good time.

“Do something for you, for once,” she’d told him. “I’ll still be here when you come home. You deserve to have some fun.”

And so that is where the hours leading up to the New Year find him, nursing a glass of water in the Crawleys’ huge house. If he is honest with himself, he would rather be at home with his mother. He has never been one for large crowds and lots of noise, and the surroundings make him feel rather claustrophobic. The music is too loud, the chatter grates on him, and apart from the Crawleys he doesn’t know anyone else. Under normal circumstances he could force himself to at least join in, but tonight, with so many things still unanswered, he does not feel like doing so. Likely Robert will accuse him of being unfriendly when it’s all over, but for the moment John can’t bring himself to care.

When the DJ invites the revellers onto the dancefloor for a lively rendition of Gangnam Style, John sees his opportunity to escape for a short while. He’d rather lose his right leg entirely than be forced to watch something quite so horrifying. A cigarette is the perfect excuse for him to get a breath of fresh air, and he waves the packet pointedly across the room at Robert when his friend raises a questioning eyebrow.

Outside, the air is deliciously fresh, and John inhales deeply, tipping his head back to contemplate the sky above him. Unfortunately the night is overcast, and he can’t see any stars winking through the thick black cloud. It’s a shame. He likes being beneath the sky like that. It makes him feel safer, less vulnerable. Which is odd, really, considering that he lost the full use of his right leg on the open battleground.

Pushing the thoughts aside, he fumbles in his pocket for his lighter and flares up, taking a deep drag and closing his eyes as the nicotine enters his bloodstream. There, that’s better. He leans against the wall and takes another drag. It’s nice, being out here in the quiet, far away from the other party-goers. At the moment he’s the only smoker out here, and he relishes the solitude—no doubt before long he’ll be joined by someone else and will be forced to make small talk over his fag.

He’s right: all too soon the door swings open again, and footsteps spill out onto the gravel. John closes his eyes, allowing himself to feel a stab of disappointment for a second before mustering a smile. He turns in the direction of the newcomer, ready to make a polite greeting—

The cigarette tumbles out of his mouth and hits the floor, where it continues to smoulder sadly.

“Whoops,” says Anna cheerfully.

Words will not come; he simply continues to stare, gaping like a goldfish. This can’t be real. He’s hallucinating. Dreaming. Anna is in America. She’s not due back until after the New Year, when they return to work. It’s not real. It can’t be.

If she isn’t, she’s doing a pretty good job of convincing him that she is. She comes to a rest at his side, folding her arms across her chest. She’s wrapped up in a thick winter coat that absolutely swamps her. It’s still one of the most attractive sights that John has ever seen. Her cheeks are rosy, from the wind or from the heat of the party he can’t say.

“What are you doing here?” he blurts. It comes across a little rude; he does his best to back-peddle. “I thought you were supposed to be in America until later this week.”

“I was,” she says, unfazed. “But I decided to catch an early plane back.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to spend the New Year here. I wanted to see you.”

The words linger between them, pointed and unashamed. John turns his gaze away from Anna’s. The way that she’s staring at him, with an intensity that he’s never known before, is disconcerting. It’s as if she’s staring right into his very soul, and just like that his insecurities come rushing back. She’s standing right there in front of him, looking all the more beautiful for having not clamped eyes on her for so long, and he feels so inferior by comparison. She could do so much better than him, and deserves to.

“I see,” he manages. “Well, did you have a nice Christmas?”

“I’m not doing that.”

“What?”

Anna gestures between them, defiance alive in her expression. “That. Brushing things away, pretending that we don’t have things to talk about. I’m done with that. We’ve done it for two years. Now is the time to iron things out once and for all.”

“I don’t understand what you mean—”

”Yes, you do. It’s time we talked about that kiss.”

He’s been trying to fight off the memory of that night from the moment she appeared behind him, but it’s irresistible; as he stares at her, half-terrified, it rises up in front of him like a phantom, consuming him. As he watches her mouth form words, he can still feel the soft weight of it upon his own. Tingling. Wrong.

Right.

“You know why I kissed you,” Anna begins without preamble. “I kissed you because I couldn’t stop myself from any longer.”

“And I told you why we shouldn’t,” he says, scrubbing a hand down his face. So many reasons, so many failures are back once more, acting as barriers to any happiness he might want to fight for, drowning him.

“And I told you that I don’t care about any of that,” she retorts, dismissing it with a wave of her hand. “The past has no bearing on the present.”

“Of course it does—”

“Are you drinking yourself into oblivion every night? No. Are you still married to that harpy? No. Are you doing everything in your power to make yourself a better man? Yes. That’s what’s important, John. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Not as calamitous as mine.”

Anna rolls her eyes, huffs, changes tack. “You kissed me back.”

The frankness of her words disarms him; he hadn’t expected her to simply state it as fact, with no shyness at all. He’s seen no-nonsense, unafraid Anna plenty of times before, but he hadn’t expected to see her here, in this situation.

Clearly he’s underestimated her again.

“That was…” he begins, unable to hold her unflinching gaze. “I didn’t—”

“You did it because you wanted to,” she overrides, blazing and beautiful. “It was instinct. It was your heart giving you away, John.”

And as much as he hates to admit it, he knows that she’s right. He’s always kept himself carefully restrained around her, contained and compartmentalised in all of the little boxes that he allows himself, personal and professional never allowed to intertwine. That line had blurred more and more the more time that they spent together, until it was impossible for him to keep his distance from her. But he had been determined to keep a lid on the feelings that had grown incrementally inside him, because he could not bear to make her uncomfortable or, worse, to ruin her life.

He’s failed on all counts.

“I know you feel the same way that I do,” Anna continues, oblivious to the war raging inside him.

“That doesn’t matter,” he says now, hating himself for confirming her words but seeing no alternative.

“It matters more than anything,” she counters. “It’s time that you were honest with yourself, John. With both of us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She juts her chin out in defiance, tilting her head back a little to look at him. She’s so short, but somehow the look in her eyes makes up for her small stature, and John finds himself taking a step backwards.

“You look me in the eyes now and tell me that you can live your life without me, and I’ll leave you now and we’ll never speak of this again,” she says. “We’ll carry on exactly as we are. You’ll still be my friend. I won’t resent you or treat you any differently than how I do now when I see you. But that’s as far as it will go. We’ll be friends. I won’t be able to spend all of my time with you like I currently do, because it would be painful for me. You know I have feelings for you, and it would be unfair of you to expect any different. Wounds won’t heal if you keep scratching them open. Do you understand?”

He understands completely, wonders if she’s alluding to more than just her own wounds. Has he not spent the last five years doing just that, preventing his own festering wounds from healing because he doesn’t think that he deserves it?

“Say it, John,” she says. “Say that you can live without me and I’ll drop this, I promise. If you can honestly say that you’ve been happy this week, then say it.”

And that’s the catch, he realises, the Kairos moment. Because that’s something that he could never, ever say, and he’s sure that she already knows that. He’s never known such misery as he has done this past week, living in a fog that hasn’t once lifted. He’s been living his whole life on a knife edge, desperate to know what she was thinking about the kiss, desperate to know that she’d felt what he had. Desperate to know if she had been thinking of his mouth as often as he had been thinking of hers, desperate to know if she had sat there with her finger hovering over the call button on her phone, too scared to call him and break this odd spell.

Desperate to know what he was to her.

He can’t live without her. He wants her in every aspect of his life. Wants her triumph, her disappointments. Her happiness, her tears. Wants her sharp wit and soft manner. Wants every inch of her with everything within him.

His silence speaks volumes.

Anna takes a determined step forward, her hand just shy of resting against his chest. Her blue eyes burn into him, a shade of sapphire he’s never seen before.

“Well?” she prompts.

The words are stuck in his throat. He cannot speak them.

Anna senses her victory, closes the distance between them, and rises up on her tiptoes so she can press her mouth to his. Before he can top himself he’s kissing her back, two weeks’ worth of confusion and anxiety manifesting itself in an explosion of desire. Her arms wind tightly around his neck, and she pushes her small frame up against his. He can feel every inch of her against him, is helpless to stop his arms from moving to her waist, pulling her even closer to him. He’s never needed anyone the way that he needs Anna, and it’s terrifying and exhilarating in equal measures. Right now he can’t even bring himself to even try to disentangle the two emotions. They are a part of his DNA. For the first time in a long time, he allows his eyes to drift closed and simply enjoys the moment. Enjoys the intimacy of her mouth on his. Enjoys the softness of her fingers in his hair. Enjoys how small and strong she feels in his arms.

At length, Anna pulls away from him. It hurts to lose contact with her mouth, but John forces himself to open his eyes again, finding Anna’s right below him as she juts her chin up towards him. There’s a smile on her face, pleased and triumphant. She runs her tongue over her lips, and he feels something deep and primal tug at his insides. He clears his throat.

“See?” she says, oblivious. “Isn’t this so much better than fighting?”

“I can’t deny that,” he acknowledges weakly; to lie to her would be to insult her. “But that doesn’t mean that this is right, Anna. I would hate to bring you down or ruin your life.”

“The only ruin I recognise is to be without you,” she says, with such surety that it makes his heart contract. “Please, John, don’t make us both unhappy.”

He doesn’t want to see her pale, drawn, miserable.

He doesn’t want to see her flourishing again one day, all because of another man.

Selfish or not, this is the chance he has spent the last two years longing for. If he doesn’t take it now, he knows that he will never get another one, and he will have to live the rest of his life knowing that he wasn’t brave enough to take the opportunity when it came.

Anna is brave enough to take that chance.

He owes her the same bravery in return.

“I never want to make you unhappy, Anna,” he says. “I care about you too much. I just want what’s best for you.”

“Then accept that you’re what’s best for me,” she says. “Accept that I know what I’m doing and what I’m getting into. Accept that I don’t care about your past, just what the future might hold. Accept that you’re the right man for me.”

It’s time to stand up and be counted. He might not agree with her sentiment that he’s the right man for her, but he knows that to deny it for any longer is foolish and causing them more hurt than they need.

“I do,” he says at last, and the tide floods against them, rushing in, sweeping him away in a tidal wave of relief.  “I love you, Anna.”

Anna’s smile is enough to light up the whole world, and she launches herself into his arms with a laugh, almost winding him as they stagger back a few paces. He feels tears on his face—her tears of happiness—as she kisses him hard, squeezing him so tight that he very nearly forgets what it is to breathe. He doesn’t care. He simply holds her just as tightly in return and matches her kiss for kiss. This time, there are no interruptions, and by the time that the fireworks go off overhead with the distant oohs and ahhs of the crowd out front, he is lightheaded with joy. Anna pulls away from him, pressing her cheek against his chest, her smile so wide that it must physically hurt her face. He leans down and brushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and she sighs, leaning further into his touch.

“I love you,” she whispers, and he only just realises that it’s the first time he’s heard her say the words too. He holds on to her that little bit tighter, his heart swelling. “Happy New Year.”

There will be many, many more to come.

-- --

Two Days Later

On the second of January, they walk into work together hand-in-hand, heads held high. John’s heart is pounding but having Anna by his side, matching him step for step, is all the reassurance he needs. Almost as soon as they walk in through the doors all eyes are upon them, and the whispers ripple through the room like a soft breeze as they pass on through. This time, John can’t bring himself to care. Let people say what they want. Anna’s opinion is the only one that matters; the rumour mill is nothing compared to the truth they hold so dear in their hearts. It might take a little while for people to come to see that, but he knows that one day they will. The truth will out, after all.

And this is the truth of the matter: he is in love with Anna May Smith. She is in love with him. He wants to spend the rest of his life with her.

He pauses in the doorway as the thought strikes him. Anna halts beside him, a little frown creasing her face. She squeezes his fingers.

“What’s wrong?” she murmurs.

“Nothing,” he tells her, then raises his voice, moves his gaze around the room and meets each and every person unmovingly. “I’m in love with Anna.”

Anna’s intake of breath is sharp; clearly she had not been expecting him to make such a bold declaration. He’s taken himself by surprise, too. But it had to be said. He’s spent too long skulking in the shadows. He’s spent too long letting other people speak for him and create their own stories about him, sordid or otherwise. It’s time to take his destiny into his own hands. It’s time to stand up and be counted.

“I’m in love with John,” Anna adds cheerfully, her whole face alight. “We’ll take any questions you have later.”

Giggling, she tugs him after her, and he goes with a grin of his own, excited for what the future holds.

-- --

A/N: The prompt this was inspired by was:

He just wished that he’d been able to afford something a little better than this. Vera was trying to bleed him dry in the divorce, and until all that was settled, he couldn’t begin to build up his savings. For the time being he was stuck here.

“You’re right,” he said. “The only good thing about this whole shitty situation.”

“Don’t be like that. There’s always a silver lining, no matter how small. Sometimes we have to take small steps to achieve big things.”

“Are you just going to stand there and spout nonsense from self-help books at me?” said John, reluctantly amused.

Robert put his hand over his heart, pretending to be mortally wounded. “I’m just trying to help you, Bates. But if you don’t want that, then fine. I’ll go.”

John checked his watch. “That might not be a bad idea. I’ve still got to get these things sorted out, and I’m going to have to nip to the corner shop to get some things in for tonight.”

“I can do that for you. Or you can come over to ours for tea. Cora would be happy to have you.”

John wasn’t sure how true that was; he and Cora were polite and civil to one another, but he had the feeling that she wasn’t overly keen on him. She’d told him that she was very, very grateful that he had saved her husband’s life but he thought that she was a little jealous, too, of the tight bond they had shared for so many years. After all, there were things that John knew about Robert that he doubted his friend would ever breathe to Cora, no matter how strong their marriage was.

“No, it’s okay,” he said. “I ought to go out and get a feel for the surroundings. But thank you. I do appreciate it.”

“No problem. You know where I am if you need me. And I insist that you come over at the weekend for Sunday dinner. I don’t trust you to look after yourself. You’ll need a good feeding, and I won’t see you going down the nick.”

“You’re worse than my mother.”

“I know what you were like during our time in the army, that’s all. And you couldn’t cook for toffee.”

“Neither could you. In fact, you were a lot worse than I was. Who was the one who almost set fire to the whole camp?”

Robert waved his hand dismissively. “Details, details. Besides, I lucked out with Cora. She’s clever, gorgeous, and can cook a decent meal. I’m forever in her debt.”

“And never forget that again,” said John mildly. “If you really don’t mind having me, I suppose I’ll come over.”

“Excellent. See you soon, then, Bates. Good luck with the unpacking.”

John glanced around dismally at all of the cardboard boxes, the categories that his entire life had been packed into. It was rather depressing, really, that his life had become this. All of his achievements, all of his milestones, everything had been condensed down into a few paltry boxes. “Thanks, mate. See you soon.”

Robert waved, and was gone. Resigned, John set about emptying the boxes, decorating his sparse new space with a few more homey touches. It would probably take quite a while before it began to feel like a true home.

After a while, however, his stomach began to growl insistently. It had been a long time since the soggy sandwich he’d scarfed down at dinner. He wouldn’t be able to carry on without some sustenance. The supermarket was a drive across town, so the corner shop would indeed have to be sufficient for tonight. He grabbed his wallet and keys from the side, locked the door behind him, and set off.

He enjoyed the walk to the shop, glad to be away from the chaos of his flat for the time being. He certainly wouldn’t be able to avoid the mess when he returned, and his knee was beginning to ache with the repetitive motion of lifting the boxes onto the sides for unpacking, but it was nice to be carefree for the moment. He picked up a basket when he arrived and strolled around the tiny aisles scrutinising the goods. Figuring that he’d do a good shop at the supermarket tomorrow, he settled on the essentials: bread, milk, butter, cheese, ham, eggs. If nothing else, he could make himself an omelette. One step at a time; he didn’t have to channel Jamie Oliver on his first night. He paid for his goods and stepped back outside into the cool evening air.

Transporting the goods home, however, proved to be a trickier feat. Saddled as he was with the cane, it meant that he had to gather all of the carrier bags in his left hand. They were not heavy, but they still left him feeling decidedly lopsided, and he knew that he must look a right sight to anyone peering through their curtains. Poor cripple, they would probably be thinking. Or lazy lout. It was usually fifty-fifty these days.

As much as he hated to admit it, by the time he reached the building’s doors, he was a little breathless. The brisk walk, coupled with the strains of the day, had left him feeling sore, and he paused to gather himself before he pushed on to the final leg of his journey. The lift wasn’t an option; there was a limp ‘Do Not Use’ sign taped to it. He would have to struggle up all the flights of stairs.

He was just worrying whether his knee would let him face it when he heard a voice behind him say, “Need a hand with any of that?”

He turned at once to find a petite young woman walking towards him, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. His first instinct was to stiffen in self-defence, ready to fight yet another battle against someone who wished to pity him, but the sunny smile she sent his way disarmed him. She had a kind, open face, and as ridiculous as it sounded, he had no wish to offend her; he had the distinct impression that showing kindness to strangers was a regular weapon in her arsenal.

And, though he hated himself for even thinking it, he could not help but notice how beautiful she was. Her features were pale and delicate, with light blue eyes which sparkled like the cerulean sky above. Her blonde hair looked so silky, the sort of hair that he’d be able to run his fingers through for hours without ever getting bored. She was small in stature, but slim, the kind of enviable physique that seemed to come naturally to some women.

With the way that the sun was shining behind her, making her almost glow, she looked like an angel sent from God, the answer to all of his prayers. All she was missing was the damned halo.

“I’m fine, thank you,” he said instead, as politely as possible, hoping to dispel the disconcerting thought. He’d been raised a Catholic by his fierce Irish mother, but it had been a long time since he’d given any kind of thought to religion, disillusioned as he’d become by death and destruction. There were no such things as angels, even if this gorgeous stranger almost fit the bill to a tee.

“Sure,” said the woman. “I’m glad. Don’t mind me. I just know what a pain this place can be.”

“You live here?” said John, surprised.

She laughed. “Of course I do. Though I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

“I’m new to the area, moved in today,” he supplied. “John Bates.”

“Anna Smith,” she returned. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

She held out her hand to him to shake. He scrabbled to shove his cane in his left hand so he could return the gesture, but he must have caught it in the plastic carrier bag, because the next thing he knew there was an ominous ripping sound. Time seemed to slow as he lurched to stop the contents of his shopping from falling out the ruined sides.

No such luck.

Anna squealed as the bread bounced and rolled, the cheese hit the ground with a flump, and the milk burst and pulsed in the street like the blood of a dying animal.

And the eggs made a horrible, dull thunking sound, like a head being cracked open.

“Shit!” John yelped, stumbling backwards away from the wreckage. “Shit. There goes my tea.”

“Bugger,” said Anna. “I didn’t intend for that to happen.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I offered you my hand.”

“Because you were being kind. Here.” Now hands free, John thrust his hand towards her again. “You might as well finish the deal.”

Tentatively, she did so. She had a nice grip, confident but not too firm. If John allowed it to, the frustrations of the last few months could come bubbling over, culminating in his irritation that his meagre tea plans had ended up all over the floor. It meant that another trip to the shops was on the cards. But none of this was Anna’s fault, and he was trying his hardest to be a better man. He would not take that out on her, especially when she had been nothing other than friendly.

“I’m so sorry,” she said when she dropped his hand. Her accent was soothing. He liked the way that she elongated her vowels. He had a good ear for accents, having spent a lot of his time travelling with the army, and he knew a native Yorkshire tongue when he heard one. There was something very attractive about it. “What were you planning on making?”

“Please don’t apologise,” he told her, rapidly shaking away that treacherous last thought and bending with a huff to pick up the bread, cheese, and ham to give himself something else to focus on. Those, at least, appeared okay. The ham was the only thing that had escaped unscathed; the bread was a bit squashed and the block of cheese had lost its shape a little, but otherwise they were edible. “It was an accident. I wasn’t planning anything spectacular, just an omelette. I can hardly manage anything else. All the same, I’d better get this bread upstairs before I head back down to the shops.”

“You’ll do no such thing.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, I bet you’ve got loads of things you need to be getting on with if you’ve just moved in today. Whatever you say, I do feel partially responsible for this, so the least I can do is the neighbourly thing and offer you some eggs.  That way you can at least still make your omelette.”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly. The last thing he wanted to do was start accepting charity.

Anna, however, seemed determined to ignore him. “No, really, I insist. Which flat is yours? I’ll hurry inside really quickly and bring them up to you.”

She jutted her chin defiantly and, as much as he hated it, he knew there was no arguing with her. He knew nothing of her, this stranger, but he could tell that she was a little spitfire. It was a refreshing change to see that fire used for good and not ill, as had always been the case with Vera. It was the thought of his wife that made him nod now.

“Okay,” he said. “Thank you. I’m flat 4D.”

Anna brightened. “You’re right above me! I’m 3D.”

She was almost a neighbour. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. Clearing his throat, he gathered his things together and said, “Well, I’d better be heading up.”

“Sure,” she said. “I’ll see you in a minute.”

She was quicker than he was, and bounded off in front of him like a little fawn. He watched her go for a moment then set off at a much more sedate pace, gritting his teeth against the wrench in his knee—he must have injured himself when he tried to catch his wayward things. By the time he’d got back to his flat and laid his things out on the worktop, Anna was only a few minutes behind, offering him a sheepish smile and half a dozen eggs in a neat little carton, along with some mushrooms and tomatoes.

“I thought you could spruce your omelette up even more,” she explained. “I know it’s not a lot…”

“It’s lovely,” he interrupted her, touched by the gesture. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Welcome to Downton, Mr. Bates.”

She walked away then, and he closed the door behind her, unable to keep the smile from his face.

Perhaps there really were some angels in disguise after all.

-- --

Wilting Flowers, Blooming Hope

Life in Downton was certainly not perfect, but it was a damned sight better than what he’d been used to in the past five years. There were no screaming matches, no drinking until he passed out, no rutting that bordered on the painful. He was free in a way that he had not been for years, and bit by bit he was finding his feet and beginning to enjoy his life again. Most people would not find it the least bit fulfilling, but after being trapped for so long in such a stranglehold, it suited him down to the ground.

All of it was significantly improved by the presence of Anna, who had become a firm and steady friend, almost to the point where she overtook Robert, though if the latter ever found that out then he’d probably throw the biggest most moping fit of all.

At first, they had simply exchanged pleasantries when they saw each other, asking after each other’s welfare, with John never leaving without a smile. But, when they had bumped into each other at one of the Crawley gatherings and realised that their ties ran deeper than they’d initially thought, they’d grown even closer. Mobile numbers exchanged, trips to the cinema taken, days out to the nearby beaches organised, meals cooked in or eaten out, TV shows binged. It was amazing just how quickly he’d felt comfortable with her, when usually it took him a long time to see anyone as more than a passing acquaintance, but there was something almost fey-like about Anna’s abilities to get him to open up to her. He’d told her things that he’d never thought he’d share with anyone else again, and she in turned seemed to trust him with some of the more intimate details in her life. And he had to admit: it was nice to have a friend so close to hand, and a friend who never judged or pushed him to be anything other than he was. Robert was a wonderful man, but he did not have the listening skills that Anna possessed. With every day that passed, it became more and more apparent that he needed her in his life.

Which terrified him. Because the longer he spent with her, the more he began to realise that she was the kind of woman men dreamed about. She was funny, she was kind, she took no shit, and she was gorgeous to boot. His early thought that she’d looked like an angel had only been cemented further with her every action, and with someone like that, it seemed almost inevitable that the soft feelings he had for her would melt into something more.

He’d told himself that he would keep all women at arm’s length, and he’d failed miserably. She made him feel things that he had never, ever felt before.

It was all futile, of course. Anna would never look at him the same way he looked at her, and that was the best thing all round. What could he possibly have to offer her? In the last stages of his divorce he was poorer and more bitter than he had ever been, and well aware of the mistakes he had made which would prevent him from loading his baggage onto someone else’s back. Anna did not deserve that. She deserved someone young, vibrant, free.

Which no doubt she was getting now.

John pushed his food around his plate moodily, trying very hard not to imagine what might be going on at this very moment. When Anna had come to him asking if he would check in on her flat during the weekend because she was going away, he had agreed readily. She was a trainee nurse and worked hard every single day caring for those around her, and it was about time that she got some time away from work to relax and do something for herself.

But that was before he’d realised that she was going on a mad weekend with Mary and Sybil to Magaluf on a hen party. Magaluf, of all places. Or Shagaluf as Mary had candidly told him on the day the minibus had arrived to whisk them all away. The place of drinking until dawn, of no inhibitions, of hooking up with someone new every night.

The thought of it made John’s skin crawl. Anna was, of course, entitled to go out there and do whatever she pleased. She was a young woman in the prime of her life and deserved to have fun. It was on him that he’d started to develop feelings for her and did not want to think about her in bed with some young Spaniard with rippling abs and irresistible brown eyes.

Even though he knew it shouldn’t, it had put him in a bad mood for the rest of the weekend. He had shut himself in his flat and tried to concentrate on the book that he’d been neglecting for the past few weeks, but his mind wandered constantly, wondering who Anna was with now. He would not ask her—it was none of her business—but his heart ached with the thought that right at this very minute some gym buff was running his hands all over her body.

If only drowning his sorrows in the local pub was an option.

In the end, he’d decided to buy a last-minute ticket at nearby Elland Road. At least being in the zone of a football match would work for a little while.

It certainly did help for a short while, but the brooding thoughts returned when it was all over, and there was nothing else to distract him. Sunday passed slowly and Monday even more so, his eyes straying to the clock to count down the hours to her return. She was due back at some point later that evening.

On the way home, he was struck by a stupid, rash urge. He should do something nice for her, something that would hopefully brighten her mood after a long, tiring few days.

He should be careful. It was a reckless move, would likely imply more than he should say. But he could not stop himself.

He stopped off at the supermarket and dithered in front of the flowers. He was disappointed with the range. Where were all the pretty, vibrant bouquets? These ones were on their last legs, heads drooping, leaves on the turn. He stopped one of the workers, a bored looking young man.

“Is this all there is?” he asked desperately. “I was hoping for something…else.”

“Sorry, mate,” the lad replied, not sounding the least bit remorseful. “We’ve had a bit of a problem with the flowers over the last few days. Someone hasn’t been watering them properly. These are the best of a bad bunch. We’re not due another flower order until mid-week.”

“Shouldn’t be selling them, then, if they’re all so bad,” John said grumpily, but in the end he chose the least battered bunch he could find. They were not worth the five pounds that the sticker demanded, but he paid it anyway. He just hoped that Anna wouldn’t be too disappointed with them. He’d have to explain himself to her.

He made his way back across town to the block of flats and dithered for a moment. When he stopped to think about what he was doing, it was ridiculous. What man went out and bought flowers to freshen up a friend’s flat? He could not imagine any of the men he knew doing something like that. What if it aroused Anna’s suspicions? What if it made her uncomfortable? That was the last thing he wanted to do. And yet he could not back out now. It was too late. He had to go through with it, for better or worse.

Taking a deep breath, he fished her key out and let himself into her flat. It was pristinely clean and sunny. He liked coming here; its warmth and brightness felt very much like coming home.

Much like being with Anna always did.

He shook that thought away because it was not constructive. He did not want to pry into her personal things too much when she wasn’t here to know about it, but he located a vase in one of her cupboards and set about arranging the flowers. They looked feeble when he’d done, made even worse by his poor handiwork, but there was nothing he could do to change that now.

He was just debating where he should put them to give them maximum effect—Christ, he needed something to make them look better—when he heard a scuffling out in the corridor. It was probably the young couple that lived across from her. They were always having some kind of argument. How Anna put up with them was a mystery to him. They’d drive him mad. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the flowers. Would putting them on the coffee table be his best bet?

The door behind him creaked open. He whirled around at once, his heart pounding, clutching the vase of flowers as if it was going to ward off whatever was coming…

…And he came face to face with Anna.

She blinked, as if surprised to see him there, but a broad grin soon overtook her features. “John! It’s so good to see you!”

“You too,” he managed, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up his neck. He wished that he could put the flower down. What a prat he must look, standing here with them like this…

True to form, Anna’s eyes honed in on them at once. “Oh! What’s that you’ve got there?”

“Flowers,” he muttered, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. “I just…I thought they might cheer your flat up for your homecoming. I wasn’t expecting you back until later tonight. I wouldn’t have been here otherwise.”

Anna dismissed this with a wave of her hand. “Oh, don’t worry about that! I’m glad you’re here! I’ve missed you.”

Those words were hard to process. To think that someone like Anna, someone beautiful and kind and funny might miss him when she’d probably had men falling over themselves to keep her company this weekend, was mind-boggling.

But he didn’t have time to even reiterate her sentiment before she had moved on, as if her words had been nothing more than a casual observance. “And you’re right, we were supposed to get home later, but our flight was changed last-minute. The one we were supposed to catch has been cancelled because of air miles or something, and so the airline managed to squeeze us on to the one before. Not everyone has been as lucky as that. Some have had to stay an extra day. I think Mary was gunning for that, to be honest. She met a bloke whilst she was over there and I don’t think she would have minded seeing him again.”

That did not surprise John in the least; Mary was as fickle with her men as she was with her clothes. “I see. Spare me the details.”

Anna shuddered. “Don’t worry, I will. It’s enough that I’ve had to know about it. I don’t fancy bringing the memories up again. I think I’ve seen more of her this week than I ever wanted to. I will admit, he was nice-looking though. A Turk.”

John’s mood soured further at that. “I see.”

Seemingly oblivious, Anna smirked. “You know what Mary’s like. Nothing but the most gorgeous things for her.”

“As long as she had fun,” he managed.

“Oh, she definitely had that,” said Anna, pulling a face.

“And what about you?”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them; they seemed to hang for an eternity between them before Anna shot him that smile, the one that was slightly crooked and altogether too beautiful. “Well, I enjoyed the relaxing in the day, but the rest of it wasn’t much fun.”

“It wasn’t?” John did not dare get his hopes up. He would not be able to take it if she admitted that she had met someone out there. But nor could he stop himself from wanting to know, from needing to know, like the witness unable to look away from the most gruesome of sights. “I would have thought you’d have enjoyed yourself.”

“I did, mostly,” she clarified. “But I must admit that I started to feel my age. The others are so much younger than I am. They spent all of their days sleeping away their hangovers and all of their nights drinking until seven in the morning. I couldn’t keep up with that. I’d had enough after the first day. I don’t think I’ve ever been as sick as I was then. I made sure I took it steady after that.”

John had to smile at that. He could well imagine Anna lying there, groaning, swearing that she was never going to drink ever again. He knew that the Crawley girls could be bad influences, especially carefree Sybil and reckless Mary. It would not be difficult to be led astray by the two of them. And that wasn’t even taking Ethel into consideration, and she could be worse than anyone.

“Well, I can empathise with the raging hangovers,” he offered. “I’ve had more than enough of those in my time, much to my regret.”

“I definitely regretted that one,” she agreed. “And I’ll be honest, I rather turned into the mother of the group after that. It made me feel ancient.”

“You’re twenty-six,” he scoffed. “Hardly ancient.”

“Compared with Mary and Sybil I am. Sybil’s only eighteen, for goodness sake. I felt like I had a duty to keep my eye on her. I think Robert and Cora would have killed me if anything bad had happened to her. Though I must confess that I didn’t do my job all that well…”

“What does that mean?” said John. “Did she do something outrageous? Get a tattoo while drunk or something?”

“Worse,” Anna shuddered. “She met someone.”

“Ah,” said John. It was coming back to sex again, and thinking about his goddaughter in that position was even less appealing than thinking of Mary. Sybil was still a baby, to be kept wrapped in cotton wool and protected from the world.

“Yes,” said Anna miserably. “Though he wasn’t too bad, I suppose. He spent the whole weekend following her around like a little puppy. He did seem to really like her, and he took her phone number with him. I’m not sure it’ll last, though. He’s from Ireland.”

“Oh, that’ll really please Robert if he ever finds out,” snickered John. “You know his feelings towards the Irish. He’s a prejudiced patriot at heart.”

“Tell me about it,” said Anna. “But I’m going to deny all knowledge of it. I’ll say it happened out of my eye line.”

“And what could you have possibly have been doing to keep you so distracted?” said John, then immediately wished he hadn’t; although it had been meant as a joke, it brought the image of Anna wrapped around some tanned athlete to his mind.

Anna rolled her eyes at him. “Fishing for details doesn’t suit you, you know.”

“I wasn’t—” he began, blushing like a damned schoolboy all over again.

Anna’s mouth curled upwards in a teasing smile. “If you say so, Mr. Bates. Now, give me those flowers. I think I ought to put them pride of place.”

“They’re not very nice,” he said tentatively as he handed them over dutifully. “I’m sorry. I wanted to give you nicer ones than that.”

“Don’t apologise,” she said. “They’re lovely. It’s the nicest thing that anyone has ever done for me, buying me flowers just to cheer the place up.”

“I doubt that very much,” he said. She was the kind of woman who would inspire anyone to make grand gestures. Surely she was teasing him about his weak, wilting flowers, so very pathetic in the light of all she really deserved.

A reflection on him, perhaps.

But Anna shook her head. “No, I mean it.” She brought them to her nose and inhaled deeply. “See? They still smell heavenly. I’ll give them some water and I’m sure they’ll bloom beautifully. Some things just need some time and attention, Mr. Bates. You shouldn’t give up on something just because it looks a bit battered on the outside.”

John cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “Yes, well. I’m glad you got home safely. But I ought to get going. I’ve still got some things to sort out of myself.”

“Of course,” said Anna, stepping aside. “We’ll catch up soon?”

“Yes,” said John. He debated bending in to kiss her cheek—Christ, he’d not seen her in a few days and he’d missed her so much—but he resisted the urge. Limping past her, he made it to the door and wrenched it open a little more roughly than intended.

“John.”

He’d already stepped over the threshold; her voice made him turn.

“Yes?” he said, frowning. “What is it, Anna?”

She stared him down for a moment, before tilting her head to the side. “I didn’t meet anyone out there, you know. I’m very, very happy with the way things are at the moment.”

He did not know what to say in answer to that, but it sent him back up to his flat with an extra spring in his step.

Perhaps…perhaps, as insane as it sounded, something could bloom after all.

-- --

Burned Toast, Raw Emotion

John woke early on Saturday, to the low morning light and the chirping of the birds. For a moment he simply lay there, exulting in the nothingness, before pushing the sheets away. It was time he got up and did something. What, he wasn’t quite sure. But he was meeting Anna later for a coffee, and as much as he was looking forward to seeing her, he had to take some time out to reconcile the war in his heart with the future that was now sure to be in front of him.

Anna had been on a date last night.

No doubt she would fill him in on the details today, and he had to practice looking pleased for her when inside his heart was breaking. He’d had opportunities to do something about the vortex of feelings that swirled around inside him, but he’d been too cowardly to face his fears, and now all opportunity had passed him by. This was different to the holiday in Magaluf; he’d spotted them leaving through the window, and the man that Anna had been with was nothing like those immature prats who had swarmed her abroad.  Whoever this guy was, he was clearly well-groomed, in a sharp suit and a crisp white shirt. He obviously knew what money was, and would be able to treat her like a princess. They hadn’t been holding hands when they’d gone out but they might have been when they came back; he hadn’t gone to look, but he’d heard their voices through the wide-open window after midnight, and it had sounded as if they’d had a good time.

He swore to himself and scrubbed a hand down his face. It was time to accept the facts of life, no matter how much he didn’t want to.

He shaved off his overnight shadow and showered, then headed to the bedroom to pull on his customary jeans and shirt. It promised to be another scorching day outside—Britain was in the throes of its first heatwave in years, and it was horrible—then decided that the best way of getting rid of some of this pent-up frustration would be to go for a morning walk. The experts always said that exercise was good for that kind of thing, didn’t they? Well, there was no better time to try it.

As he was swiping his keys up from the coffee table, however, he heard it below his feet. A bang and a shriek. Christ, that hadn’t sounded good. Had Anna hurt herself? Heart hammering, he snatched the keys up, locked the door quickly behind him—it took him three attempts to get the key into the lock—and hurried for the stairs as quickly as his knee would allow. He’d take a detour on the way down, just to make sure that she was okay. He’d never be able to go out now without checking that she was fine, and he’d never forgive himself if she’d hurt herself and he’d not gone to see if she was all right.

And what if her bloke is there? a sly voice in the back of his head said. What if she asked him to stay for the night?

He shook the thought away, taking a shuddering breath even as the thought made him feel sick to the stomach. If that was indeed the case, well, he’d have to face it like an adult and get on with it. There was nothing he could do to prevent the tide, and he could not take out his bitterness on Anna, not when she was the person who meant most to him in the whole world. He would simply have to deal with it. She’d never been meant for him, anyway.

He drew up short when he reached her door, taking a second to compose himself before raising his fist and rapping his knuckles against the wood.

“Anna?” he called. “Anna, are you all right?”

He could hear shuffling behind the barrier. “I’m fine.”

“Can you open up? I’d like to see for myself. I won’t keep you long. I’m just heading out.”

There was more rustling, then the door creaked open.

His breath caught in his throat.

He’d never seen her like this before, and the sight of her in her natural environment simply took his breath away. This was not the carefully composed, sunny Anna he was used to seeing. The Anna before him was a little puffy-eyed from not having enough sleep, her hair was a tangled mess, there was no makeup in sight, and she was wearing a baggy t-shirt and oversized shorts that had slipped over her hips.

She was gorgeous.

“’M all right,” she mumbled, not quite meeting his eye. “I dropped something on my foot.”

With a lurch, he realised that her feet were bare. As petite as the rest of her, the intimacy of the sight made him flush all over. What a stupid thing to touch his heart. And yet he couldn’t stop it. There was indeed a darkening patch there, which suggested that it would bruise.

“What did you drop?” he asked.

“That bloody paperweight Mary bought me. I was trying to get my papers out from under it and it slipped off and hit me. Came bloody keen as well.”

“Ice it or something,” he advised.

“Don’t have any in, do I? Stupid really, given what this weather’s like.”

“I could pick some up for you on my way back round,” he offered. “I can detour to the corner shop.”

For the first time all morning, her eyes met his, peeking up at him shyly. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course I wouldn’t. I’d do anything for you, you know.”

The words lingered between them, and he cursed at their implication. He cleared his throat, shuffling his feet.

“Well, thank you,” Anna said softly. “That would be most kind. Do you want to come in a moment?”

“I’d better not,” he said, checking his watch. “I don’t want to intrude.”

Anna furrowed her brows. “Since when have I ever said that you’re intruding?”

He shrugged, careful to keep his gaze well away from her. “You might have company for all I know.”

From the look on Anna’s face, he knew that she’d cottoned on to what he was inferring. She coloured delicately, but shook her head. “There’s no one else here, John. Just me.”

The admission lightened some of the load on his shoulders,, but he did not change his stance. “Still, the longer we put off icing that, the worse it’ll be.”

“Well, perhaps you can stay for a cup of tea afterwards?”

“I’d like that,” John admitted; he could not lie. “I won’t be too long, perhaps half an hour or so. In the meantime—” He broke off, sniffing the air. “Hang on, do you smell burning?”

“Burning?” said Anna, puzzled, taking a deep drag of air herself. Her eyes widened. “Shit! The toast!”

With that, she scarpered back into the room, leaving John blinking after her. Deciding that he’d rather not be lingering on her doorstep like an uncertain teenager, he followed her inside. He could hear her banging about in the kitchen, and he followed the sounds there. The toast under the grill was almost on fire, smoke coming off it in an alarming manner, and Anna was frantically searching through her draws for something to get it out with. If they left it much longer they might have a fire on their hands, so John gritted his teeth, grabbed hold of the nearby tea towel, and wrapped it as best he could around the grill pan. He managed to hook it out and Anna dodged out of the way so he could fling it in the sink. It sat there smouldering dangerously, the acrid smell almost making him gag. Anna ducked under him and scrabbled to get the window open, flinging it as wide as she could.

“I had you down as a better cook than that,” he managed, hoping to lighten the mood.

Anna glared at him, but it was playful. “I’ll have you know that I am. I blame you for this.”

“Me? What have I done?”

“Distracting me with your gallant behaviour. I would have had perfectly nice toast if you hadn’t come sweeping in like a knight in shining armour.”

“Well, excuse me for caring about you.”

These slips of the tongue, weighted with so much, would be the death of him, he knew. Anna looked at him steadily and he turned away on the pretence of checking on the charred thing in the sink.

“How about I bring some kind of pastry from the coffee shop on the way back?” he said. “Would that make it up to you?”

“It might,” she said. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

“Go and sit down,” he said. “I’ll make you a cup of tea to drink while I’m gone, and I’ll just pop out for you.”

“What would I do without you?” she murmured, hobbling towards the tiny sitting room. John waited until she was gone, taking the time to gather himself, before switching on the kettle to boil. He listened to the sounds of Anna getting comfortable on her couch, and banged about making her the perfect cup of tea. That, at least, was one thing he was guaranteed to get right. He could make a mean cup of tea.

Once it was done, coupled with a few biscuits to satiate Anna’s sweet tooth, he limped back into the room. Anna had her foot elevated on the coffee table, and he kept his eyes on her face as he handed her the cup. “Here you are, milady. Now sit tight.”

He’d half-turned away when her soft voice stopped him. “John.”

“Yes?” he said.

“Wait a minute. Lean down a little.”

Confused, John watched as Anna placed the mug on the coffee table. “What?”

She huffed. “I’m not in the best of states to come to you right now, so I want you to come to me.”

“Why?”

She huffed, a definite edge to her voice now. “If you keep questioning me, I’ll lose my nerve.”

“Lose your nerve to do what?”

She huffed again, almost grinding her teeth in frustration now, and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. John barely had time to register alarm that she would probably be able to see his hairy belly underneath before she tugged him towards her with surprising strength. He flailed about, narrowly missing hitting Anna with his cane as he dropped it so he could put a steadying hand against the back of the sofa just above Anna’s head.

“What the hell—” he yelped, heart beating far too fast in his chest, but Anna’s spare hand snaked between them, yanked the collar of his shit still further down towards her, and angled her head up to his.

Time stopped.

Anna was kissing him.

Anna was kissing him.

His brain was frozen, as if he’d plummeted into icy depths and could not make himself function again. It was the one overwhelming thought in his mind as Anna’s mouth moved softly over his, that Anna, his best friend, the woman he had been longing to kiss for so goddamned long, was actually doing this.

Before he could even stop to enjoy it, however, she pulled away from him. With a jolt, he realised that she was scowling. Christ, that was all he needed, for her to regret it as soon as it had happened. He had not been the instigator, thank God, but how could he laugh it off when inside his heart was already beginning to crack…?

“Bleedn’ hell, John,” she said.

“What?” he said, his mouth feeling thick. He could still feel the weight of her mouth on his, like a phantom.

“I’m putting myself out here! The very least you could do is give me a sign!”

“What?” he repeated. Her eyes flashed, and he had a nasty feeling that he was sailing perilously close to the wind with his inability to form any other words.

But how could he? Words had fled the moment that Anna’s mouth had touched his, so soft and warm. He had dreamt about that moment over and over, had ached for it so desperately, and it had happened like that, completely out of the blue, robbing him of all intelligence. How was he supposed to articulate the things that were going around in his head, his question of what the hell was going on, of what this meant for them?

“Give me something!” Anna said, and there was a definite edge to her voice now. If he didn’t answer her, he had a feeling that he would be facing down her wrath. He had never seen Anna lose her temper—she was so sweet-tempered and measured at all times, a stark contrast to Mary’s wild changes in mood—but even the most placid person would reach breaking point at some time. Apparently this was Anna’s.

“I—just—what?” he managed, then, realising that he had said the dreaded ‘W’ word again, hastened to add on, “Did that just happen?”

“Yes,” she ground out. “Yes, John. That just happened. I just kissed you.”

“Wow,” he said. “Wow.”

“God, you’re terrible at this,” she snapped. “I still don’t have a clue whether I’ve just screwed everything up for us or not.”

John blinked at her, brain sluggishly beginning to work again. “Oh, no. No, you haven’t messed anything up.”

“But are you just saying that because you’re such a gentleman, or do you actually mean it?”

He thought back on all those days of longing, all those nights of aching for her and torturing himself on how much he wanted to confess how he felt. He thought on his determination to let her go and live the life she deserved with a man that he could never be.

The right thing to do for her would be to let her down gently, to tell her that he loved her as a friend but they could never be more than that. It would kill him inside, but it would be wrong to tie her down. If one of them had to sacrifice happiness it should be him, to atone for all of the sins in his past.

But the words got stuck in his throat, like cement, and he could not force them out. The plain truth of the matter was that he wanted this woman, and he didn’t think that he’d ever recover if he watched her get on with her life with someone else. Hadn’t the date yesterday proven that to him? This would be his last chance, of that he had no doubt. If he did not seize it now, he would never get another.

He bent his head down and caught her lips again.

Anna made a muffled sound of surprise against him, but her arms wound eagerly around his shoulders and she kissed him back in earnest, her mouth opening up beneath his with such enthusiasm that it made him shudder. She tasted of tea, and he pushed closer, desperate to have more of her. He was walking through an oasis after years of being denied; he couldn’t remember the last time he had kissed someone, and the simple pleasure of it was crashing over him now, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The movement of her mouth was sending pleasure arrowing straight down to the pit of his stomach, and he cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand, angling her head just slightly so he could meet her tongue. Electricity exploded down his spine, and when Anna ran her hands down his body to pull him even closer, he broke the kiss, burying his head into her shoulder and taking deep breaths, trying to control himself. He resisted her attempts to bring him closer, hyper-aware that if his body touched hers he would embarrass himself by letting her know just how much he wanted her. She seemed to understand his desire to pull away this time; her hands smoothed down his back reassuringly, and she pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, nestling her nose there. For long moments, neither of them said a thing.

“I think that answers my question,” Anna said at last, then started to giggle. He couldn’t help himself, laughing too; it seemed the best way to release the disbelieving, relieved tension in his body. Christ, he was trembling. He’d never been like this in his whole life.

“So I take it you won’t be seeing your date again?” he asked.

She shook her head, wrinkling her nose. “No. He was nice enough, but…”

“But?”

“He wasn’t you,” she said simply. “Mary insisted that I go, but I wasn’t quite ready to give up on you.”

“Mary knows?” he said, not quite sure how he felt about that. He tried to remember if she had ever dropped any obvious hints that he hadn’t picked up on at the time, too busy wallowing in self-pity.

“No,” said Anna. “No, I didn’t tell her. I didn’t want her to make things uncomfortable for you if you didn’t feel the same way. I know how awkward she can be about those kinds of things sometimes. But I’ve been single for a long time now, and I suppose she decided that it was time I got back in the saddle. I didn’t really know how to tell her that I wasn’t interested without having to confess that I had my eye on someone, so I went along with it. He wasn’t a complete arsehole, which I ought to be grateful for. Mary does like to pick them.”

John knew that from experience; Mary had dated some frights in her time, including that awful Tony Foyle, who had stalked her for a few months after she had broken up with him.

He could well imagine that Anna’s type of bloke was a long way from Mary’s, and the idea of the younger woman match-making for her was laughable in its own way. Still, the knowledge that Anna hadn’t had the best time in the world simply because the bloke hadn’t been him cheered him no end.

“And you’re sure that you’re making the right choice?” he ventured.

“Yes,” was the instant response. “I want you, not him. I’m not going to pretend that he wasn’t nice. He was. But he didn’t get my heart racing, and he didn’t give me butterflies.”

“I give you butterflies?” he asked, nonplussed. It was a thought that he couldn’t get his head around; what on earth about him could make Anna feel that way? He had much more flab than muscle, and at fifteen years her senior he would hardly be the sort of person that most women in their mid-twenties found attractive.

“You always have,” she said vaguely. “I thought I’d been pretty obvious on that score, John.”

“I’ve never been much good at reading women,” he admitted. The only woman he’d read with ease had been Vera, but she’d been so obvious about everything that only an idiot would have missed the signs; she’d set out to snare him with her sexuality, ad young and stupid as he’d been, she’d succeeded. In the years that had followed, it had been impossible to miss her venom and indifference towards him. After the injury, that had only got worse, and there had been too much poison for their relationship to possibly survive.

“I’ll say,” said Anna, rolling her eyes. “Honestly, no wonder I’ve never been one for dating. It’s utterly exhausting.”

“But you’re willing to give it a go now?” he said hopefully. Perhaps foolishly. There was no such thing as plain sailing in his life, and he doubted he would be lucky with this.

She tilted her head just so. “Yes. Though I’m going to have to let Lee know, which I expect is going to be a horrendously uncomfortable conversation. I at least owe him that after everything.”

“‘After everything’?”

“Well, you know. He did take me out to dinner and walk me home like a true gentleman.”

“And kissed you on the doorstep?” said John. His heart lurched horribly in his chest at the thought of this bloke with his hands all over Anna’s body, perhaps holding her in the places he himself had been holding her only minutes before.

Anna smirked at him. “Jealous, are we?”

“No,” he lied, pulling away completely. “You have the right to kiss whoever you want to.”

“How kind of you to say.” She kept the tension going between them for a few more seconds before shaking her head. “Honestly, men are ridiculous, pouting over every tiny thing.”

“I’m not pouting.”

“Yes, you are.” She reached up and ran her index finger over his lips. He promptly relaxed his mouth, scowling at her. “Don’t look so worried, of course I didn’t kiss him. I think he wanted me to, but he was a perfect gentleman about it all. And I’ve already told you: it’s you I want. I’m not going to go around kissing anyone else when as far as I’m concerned you’re the only one I want to kiss.”

Her words placated him, and he ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry if I was a bit of an arse. It’s just…I’m not used to the idea that you might have feelings for me. It feels too good to be true.”

“Well, believe,” she said softly. “I’d never lie to you, John. You’re my best friend, and I’d never want to hurt you.”

“I know,” he reassured her. “I feel the same way. It’s just…surreal.” He couldn’t stop his grin from spreading. “Christ, I can’t believe you kissed me.”

She ducked her head, suddenly shy. “Neither can I. It was…rather forward of me. I didn’t mean for it to happen like that.”

“I’m glad it did. I liked it. And if we’re being honest, I don’t think I would have had the courage to make the first move.”

“Then I’m glad I did. It felt right. You were being so caring, I couldn’t have stopped myself if I’d tried.”

“It did feel right,” he agreed softly. So right. More than he could ever put into words. As clichéd and pathetic as it sounded, it felt like coming home, as if he’d found the missing part of his soul after so many years of searching. He’d had feelings for people before, and he was sure that Anna had too, but there was something about the way he felt for Anna that transcended everything he’d ever felt. The idea of soulmates was corny…but on some level he truly believed that that was what Anna was to him. He could have this was someone else and no doubt be comfortable with it…but there would always be the sense that something was missing, just some tiny piece, like the final one in a jigsaw that prevented the full, glorious picture.

Anna shifted with a wince, and he suddenly remembered the purpose of this mission before he had been distracted by the delights of Anna’s mouth.

“Ice,” he said. “I was going to get you ice.”

“You needn’t bother,” she said. “I can manage. You can stay here and keep me company.”

A tempting as the prospect was, he was determined to do this properly. He would not jump into bed with her at the first invitation, no matter how agreeable that sounded to his body, which had been without the touch of a woman for so long. No, he did not want her to think that that was all he wanted her for when her mind, her cheerfulness, her wit, all was so much more appealing to him. “I’m a man of my word. When I say I’m going to get you ice and something for breakfast, that’s what I’m going to do. But then I’ll come back and perhaps we can sit and watch a movie?” A movie would be safe. It would give them the opportunity to cuddle up with each other, but he was determined that it would go no further than that. Escaping for a little while would give him time to regroup and strengthen his resolve. He’d had to have nerves of steel during the war, and he could rediscover them now.

Anna looked slightly disappointed, but she nodded her head. “Sounds good. See you soon.”

He bent his head one more time and kissed her, pulling away before she could deepen it too much. Taking a moment to breathe in the scent of her skin, he pecked at her forehead, gathered his cane from where it had fallen, and stumped towards the door. In the doorway he turned to look at her one more time, mussed and beautiful as she was, and felt a surge of deep, deep affection for her. It was too soon to tell her he loved her, but the feeling was growing nevertheless, sweeping him away on a riptide.

What a lucky, lucky man he was.

-- --          

Sour Milk, Sweet Victory

The text came when he was halfway through the day. There was nothing to suggest that there was anything inherently wrong, but it gave John a reason to pause nevertheless.

If you can get away ASAP, I think you should. It’s important. x

It was precise and to the point, and very unlike Anna. Emojis were the bane of his life, but she loved them; she wrote him essays by text message, to let him know that she was thinking about him, that she couldn’t wait to see him.  The kiss was reassuring, but there was something ominous about it, and it put him on edge. Had something happened? Was she ill?

Christ, had she fallen pregnant?

That would certainly be a speedbump in the road. It wasn’t as if he might not want children with Anna in the future—she would make a wonderful mother and he was certain that he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life without her—but these were still early days, and if he was truly honest with himself, he had not planned children into his relationship until further down the line. Realistically, there was no question about what they would do in his mind, but it was something that would need a great deal of consideration—after all, it was Anna’s body, not his.

He was probably getting ahead of himself. There was probably nothing to worry about. Still, he needed to put his mind at rest.

Thankfully, begging off work early was not difficult. Robert was quick to point out that he always worked more hours than he needed to, and he was happy to let him take the afternoon off. Grateful, John shot off a text. I’ll be there in ten minutes.

Anna did not respond on the way home, and he parked his car and practically ran inside, damn his leg. He hammered on Anna’s door for a full minute before realising that she might be up at his flat. They’d exchanged keys a mere two weeks ago for convenience, and he used his now to quickly check that she wasn’t anywhere in the flat before heading up towards his own. His key scraped in the lock as he pushed open his own door.

He stopped short, feeling as if the bottom had just dropped out of his world.

“Hello, Johnny,” said Vera. She was standing in the little kitchenette, leaning against the worktop. “You’re out of milk, I’m sorry to say. It’s gone off. Which is a shame, as I rather fancied a cup of tea. Of course, I wouldn’t say no to a nip of something stronger if you have it. I can usually rely on you to have that.”

The absurdity of the statement, of her standing right there in his flat when he had not seen her since she had signed her name on the dotted line in the solicitor’s office was simply overwhelming. Surreal. She was talking about sour milk as if he’d just gone back in time five years.

“What the hell are you doing here?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, spat with more vehemence than he wanted to show her.

Vera folded her arms across her chest, her icy blue eyes flashing with gleeful malice. “That’s not a very nice way to greet your wife, Johnny.”

“Ex-wife,” he spat back at her.

“Ah, of course, you wouldn’t let that little detail slip me by, would you? It’s no surprise you’d want to remind me of that fact, not when your pretty little piece is here. Didn’t take you long to get your end away, did it? There’s no wonder the milk’s gone sour. I bet you’re never here to use it.”

It was then that John realised that Anna was indeed there too, standing quietly behind the sofa, analysing the scene in front of her. He hardly dared look at her, terrified that he would see regret and judgement in her gaze. He could only imagine how this scene must have played out. Vera had never been known for her grace, spouted vitriol on a regular basis. If Anna had already been here when she had arrived—and she must have been, given the text, given her presence here now—then he could only imagine the things that she might have said. It did not bear thinking about.

“What are you doing here?” he repeated, closing the door behind him.

“I came to see how you are.”

“Bullshit.”

“Don’t be like that, Johnny. I won’t stand to be talked to like that.” Vera turned towards Anna, a snake-like smile curling her mouth. “Do you know that he’s got a horrible temper, dearie? Snaps at the slightest thing and says the most awful things. I feared for my life sometimes.”

“Like hell you did.”

“See? I feel sorry for you, putting up with someone like him. You must be desperate.”

Anna rolled her shoulders back, jutting her chin defiantly. “On the contrary, I count myself fortunate.”

“And that’s the most unfortunate thing I’ve ever heard. Your standards must be exceedingly low if you consider yourself fortunate to be with a broken down old drunk. Has he told you about that, eh? That he gets so pissed that he shouts and breaks things and sometimes wants to fuck you even though he says that he hates you?”

John felt himself going cold all over, bile rising in his throat. He could not bring himself to look in Anna’s direction, terrified of what he might see in her face. Revulsion. Horror. Belief in Vera’s words.

“John doesn’t drink,” Anna said calmly.

Vera’s face twisted in an ugly sneer. “How naïve you are.”

“He hasn’t touched a drop in five years. Since splitting from you, in fact.”

“He told you this, did he? And you believed him. What a silly little girl you are.”

Anna shrugged. “I believe him because he’s telling the truth.”

“And has he told you about all of the other ugly skeletons in his closet? Has he told you about prison?” Vera’s eyes gleamed with triumph; clearly she believed that she was going to shake the very foundations of their fledgling relationship.

“Of course he has,” said Anna without missing a beat.

“Really?” said Vera scathingly.

John stepped forward. “Really. People have the right to know the worst of me.”

“It just helped me to see the best of him,” said Anna. “He’s made mistakes in his past, but he’s not the same man anymore.”

“Mistakes!” cackled Vera. “You call having a criminal record a mistake? Men like my husband never change.”

“Ex-husband,” said Anna, sounding bored. “Look, is this all you’ve come to do? Try to intimidate me out of being with John? Because it’s not going to work and I’ve got better things to be doing with my time than listening to a jealous ex.”

“Jealous? Don’t make me laugh.”

“I’m not. That’s what you sound like. A bitter old woman who can’t stand to see anyone else happy.”

“Batesy doesn’t know how to make anyone else happy.”

“He makes me happy,” said Anna defiantly. “He makes me very happy. So if you’ve come here hell-bent on revenge, I’m going to have to burst your bubble. I know that he struggled with alcoholism. I know that you were poorly matched. I know that he’s had a suspended prison sentence.  Nothing you’ve come to say will shock me, so let me save us both some time.”

“You’re an arrogant little bitch, aren’t you?” said Vera.

“Don’t speak to her like that,” John snarled, taking a step forward, but Anna held up her hand.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, John,” she said.

“But you’re quite happy to fight his,” sneered Vera.

“Because he’s too much of a gentleman to do it himself,” Anna retorted. “He’ll fight with honour, but I can fight as dirty as the rest of them. So go on, I dare you. I can take you down any day of the week.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Are you willing to test it?”

The two women stared each other down. Anna was several inches shorter than Vera was, but she stood tall and unafraid, and in that moment John felt, despite the sickening pounding of his heart, such a warm surge of affection for her. She really was the best of women. No one had ever defended him like this before, and it did not make him feel vulnerable. In fact, he had never felt more powerful. Taking a deep breath, he limped around the room to Anna’s side, positioning himself protectively at her shoulder.

“I think it’s time you left,” he told Vera quietly.

Her eyes flashed. “I don’t think so, Johnny. I’m not going to make this easy for you.”

“Then allow me to make this easy for you,” said Anna, taking a step forward. “If you don’t leave now I will call the police. John owes you nothing. If you continue to harass him then I will personally make sure that you get your just desserts, starting with breaking and entering. I have a friend in the police force, you see, and he’d be very happy to take my case up. A quiet word in the right person’s ear and you’ll be behind bars in no time. I suspect that you wouldn’t like it there.”

“Are you threatening me?” Vera hissed. “Because I can have you tied up just as quickly.”

“I’d like to see you try,” said Anna. “Who would believe you over me? I’d be willing to wager on that outcome. So go on, try me.”

Vera glared at them with a stare icy enough to freeze before turning on her heel and storming to the door. In the threshold she turned.

“This isn’t the last you’ve seen of me,” she said.

“Yes,” said Anna, “it is.” She marched across the room. “Darken this doorstep again and you’ll be sorry you ever did.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No,” said Anna. “It’s a promise.” With that, she slammed the door in Vera’s face.

Ringing silence followed. Every muscle in John’s body was tensed, as if ready for battle. He strained to hear Vera’s footsteps fading away.

“That won’t be the end of it,” he said softly.

Anna was breathing hard. “I beg to differ. I don’t think she’s stupid enough to test it.”

She wasn’t stupid, no, but she was cunning, and would not take kindly to being made a fool of in front of him. Still, John pushed his disquiet away for the time being. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t be. I always knew that she was a bitch, but I never realised just how much until just now.”

“I can’t imagine it was a cosy atmosphere.”

She laughed. “Oh, it wasn’t. I think I took her by surprise, actually. She was probably expecting to see you coming through the door and instead she got me. For a split-second I think she thought she’d broken into the wrong flat before she put two and two together. It was an interesting fifteen minutes to say the least.”

“I’d understand if this changed things between us.”

“Don’t be silly! I meant what I said, John Bates. You’re a wonderful, wonderful man, but you’d let her walk all over you. I won’t let that happen. And I certainly won’t let her ruin what we have. It’s good, isn’t it?”

He looked at her. Yes, it was good. Better than good. He’d never known relationships could be like this. Such bliss.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, it’s good.”

“There we are, then,” Anna said simply. “That’s all there is to it. She’s not going to win. I won’t let her.”

“I just can’t believe meeting her hasn’t put you off me.”

“I know you have a past, John. So does everyone else. I meant what I said. I know you’re not the same man as before, and I like you just as you are. She was right about one thing, though.”

“Oh?” said John, his heart twisting.

Anna gave him a little smile. “Your milk has gone off. So how about we do what we’ve done all week and go down to mine?”

She came over to his side and wrapped her arms around him. John squeezed her back tightly, stooping to rest his chin against the crown of her head. He couldn’t share her certainty that Vera was gone for good, but there was one thing that he had total confidence in:

No matter what, Anna would be right there, fighting tooth and nail for what they could build together.

And he’d never been happier.

-- --

Melted Chocolate, Gooey Hearts

These days, Robert frequently liked to tell him that he had become one of those exceedingly dull people whose personalities all but disappeared when they met someone they liked. John rolled his eyes in return, though he suspected that there was some truth in his friend’s words, and more than a little fear that things were changing. As happy as Robert was for him, their friendship was entering unchartered waters; in all of the years that they had known each other—over two decades now—Robert had never known him to be in a happy, stable relationship. It was bound to be weird for him. Hell, it was weird for John himself.

But as incomprehensible as it all sounded, things were going better than ever with Anna. She was endlessly patient with him as he navigated through feelings and situations he had never known before; after their first real fight, he had been sure that it was all over, that she would scream that she never wanted to see him again. That was something that Vera would have done, screeching abuse at him about everything from his worthless disability to his inadequacy in the bedroom, before she would have stormed back into his life as if she knew that no one else in the world had a right to be there but her.

His tongue, often sharpened by the drink and by Vera’s goading, had not completely forgotten how to injure, but he had been racked by a crippling guilt he had never known before as soon as he’d uttered harsh words to Anna. She had not flinched, but he had sensed the hardening of her mouth, and her request for him to leave had not been an unreasonable one. He’d gone at once, too cowardly to do any different, and had spent the following day with his phone in his sweaty palm, trying to work up the courage to speak to her, to grovel at her feet like she deserved. In the end, inevitably, Anna had come to him, still stony and barbed, but at least willing to work on his awful imperfections. He had not been able to thank her enough for giving him the second chance he did not merit, and had promised himself that no matter what it took he would master that stupid Irish temper of his, because Anna had already sacrificed so much for him, and he would not pay her back more poorly than he already was.

They’d worked through it, like adults should, and he marvelled at the fact that he was able to have a mature, normal relationship with a woman that did not involve constantly breaking-and-making up. Anna stoked his desire to be a better man, and if there was anyone he was determined to succeed for, it was for her.

So they had gone from strength to strength, and now John finally felt in a place of peace.

On their six month anniversary, he splashed down the high street. The warm August rain was a welcome change to the unbearably hot weather they’d been enduring recently, and he tilted his head up to it, enjoying the feel of it against his face. It brought back decent memories of his time in the army, when any kind of relief from the searing weather abroad had been seized with both hands, and his comrades had whooped and run out into it, relishing the novelty of being cool once more. Anna too enjoyed the rain, and he would never forget the first moment that he’d seen her out in it, drenched to the bone in a summer monsoon, arms wide as if welcoming it; he’d joined her there, kissing her fiercely as if they were in some corny movie, her mouth warm and wet, rivulets running down her skin. It was another memory he’d treasure forever.

He was just splashing past the bright lights of the big name department store when he saw it. The local chocolatier’s shop window was cosy and inviting, filled with all manner of delectable treats, and John was drawn to them at once. He pressed his palm against the cool glass, peering closer at the display.

They’d already exchanged presents that morning, of course. He’d bought her a delicate piece of jewellery, his anxiety rising all the time as he tried to decide what was a suitable gift for a first, small anniversary; in return she had surprised him with a thoughtful weekend away to Harrogate, a quaint little Yorkshire town he had always been interested in visiting.

But Anna loved chocolate, and he had many happy memories of her sneaking the last one, or choosing the sweetest, chocolatiest thing on the menu to satisfy her cravings. Chocolates were a simple gift, but he had already gone for the overt declaration, and he knew that she would appreciate this small gesture just as much as any other. Shaking his head like a dog to dispel some of the excess water, he shuffled inside the shop.

There were so many things that he was spoiled for choice. In the end he plumped for the personal box, which meant that he could fill it with whatever chocolate he wanted. He chose all of Anna’s favourites, from strawberry-centred to caramel, and the shop worker kindly wrapped it up in a neat bow, much better than anything he could have done. Satisfied, he continued with his journey home.

Once there he laid the box down on the table and headed for the shower. It would be nice to scrub the grime from the day away, and he wanted to look his best for Anna. They were not going out to dine tonight—they had reservations for the weekend—but he still wanted to make the best impression he could.

By the time he got out of the shower, however, it was to a missed call on his phone from Anna. Frowning, he swiped it open. What could be wrong? He hoped she was okay. He hadn’t expected to hear from her before he met up with her. He hit the speed dial that she’d inputted for him and thrust the phone against his ear, waiting for her to answer.

She did so almost immediately.

“Hi,” she said, sounding tired.

“Hello, my darling. I’m sorry I missed your call. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she sighed, but she didn’t quite sound it. “Just…I’m sorry, John.”

“Sorry? For what?”

Now her voice trembled slightly. “I think I have to cancel tonight.”

His stomach plummeted in disappointment, but he kept his voice even. “Oh, okay.”

“I hate myself for having to do it.”

“Can I…can I ask why?”

“Oh! Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry, my head’s all over the place at the minute.”

It was all the work she was doing at the moment. When she wasn’t working out in the real world she was coming home to pore over her assignments, determined to get the best grades and achieve her dream of helping others as a career. John was so proud of her, but it was troubling too—he was trying to find that fine line of supporting her with every fibre of his being and also stepping in to make her take a break when he thought that she was doing far too much. He did not want her to think that he was trying to control her life in any way—Christ, that was the last thing he wanted to do—but at the same time he wanted to let her know that he was concerned about her, that he cared about her.

That he loved her.

The words had not yet passed his lips, but that did not make his feelings any less true.

“I’ve got to finish my assignment.” Anna’s voice pulled him back to the present, and he forced himself to focus on her words. “I thought I was done but…well, I think I must have pressed the wrong button last night and it hasn’t saved it and I didn’t notice it because I didn’t go to bed until gone one, so I’m going to have to do the final bit all over again and it’s due on Friday so I have to get it done—”

“Say no more,” he interrupted her. “I get it. We didn’t have any plans.”

“You really don’t mind?”

“Of course I don’t!”

“I wish things could be different,” she said fretfully. “I just feel like a horrible girlfriend, not wanting to see you.”

“I know you want to see me. And it’s not like it’s a proper anniversary. Hell, it’s not a year’s. It’s fine, Anna, honestly.”

“But…”

The idea occurred to him then. “Well, how about…how about I come down to yours anyway, then? I won’t get in your way. I’ll be like a little ghost in the flat. I’ll bring a book to keep me occupied but I could cook you something so you don’t have to stop what you’re doing. And I promise that I won’t speak a single word to you until you’re done for the evening. How does that sound?”

“That sounds wonderful,” said Anna gratefully. “But are you sure you don’t mind?”

“No, of course I don’t. I’d do anything for you. You know that.”

The words lingered all over again, like they had the first time he’d spoken them, and he heard the smile in Anna’s voice. “Then please, come on down. I’d love to see you.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he said. Feeling happier than he had at the beginning of the conversation, he pulled on his clothes, swiped the chocolates from the table and then, as an afterthought, raided his fridge for some ingredients. He knew what Anna could be like, and when she was in the zone as she had been this week, she often forgot to check to see what she had in stock. He did not want to be confronted with an empty fridge when he arrived and, since meeting Anna, he had become a lot better about making sure that he had actual food to work with and not just microwave meals for one.

Satisfied that he had everything he needed, he set off down the flight of steps for Anna’s place. He keyed himself in. She was sitting at her little desk in the sitting room, but she swivelled around on her chair when he entered, giving him a beaming smile.

“Hey,” she said.

John mimed zipping his mouth. “I’m not here, remember?”

“So I can’t even say hello to you?”

“Not if it’s going to distract you from what you’re doing,” he teased.

She pouted. “So that means I don’t get a kiss?”

“You’ll get a kiss goodnight when I leave. Or you’ll get one as a reward if you finish your paper before then.”

“Is that a challenge, Mr. Bates?”

“It might be. The question is, are you up for it?”

She jutted her chin. “I think I might be.”

“Great. Well, you get on. I’m going to go through to the kitchen and start cooking. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

“Okay,” she said, turning back to her work. John watched her for a beat longer before moving towards the kitchen. He enjoyed being in here. It was laid out in exactly the same way that his was, but she’d filled her cupboards differently, and each time he opened one expecting to see one thing and finding another he felt like he was getting to know her just that little bit more intimately. It was a nice feeling.

He was certainly no connoisseur, so he stuck to something tried and trusted. His mother had once shown him how to make a mean lasagne, and it had become his signature dish. He chopped potatoes for homemade chips and cleared away his mess whilst his basic creation cooked, determined that Anna wouldn’t have anything to fuss with tonight. When that was done he sat himself down at the table and pulled out his book. The longer he could leave Anna on her own, the better.

Once tea was cooked, he popped his head in on the sitting room.

“Love, it’s ready,” he said.

Anna glanced up, rubbing at her eyes. She was looking sleepy now. “Oh, thank you, John. I’m coming.”

She pushed her chair away and made her way towards him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead as she passed, and it made her smile brighten. That only made the warm glow in his chest kindle more vibrantly. Following her, he plated up the meal and took it across to her.

“Do you want any wine?” he asked her as he sat himself down.

“Better not,” she said. “It’ll send me straight to sleep and that won’t do me any good. I can have a celebratory glass later.”

“Fair enough.” John chewed a mouthful of food, gathered his courage, and said, “I have something else for you.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I know we’ve already exchanged gifts but it’s only something small.” He pushed his chair away from the table and fetched the chocolates, which he had left on the side. Anna’s eyes widened when she saw the box.

“Oh, John, you didn’t have to!” she cooed, taking them from his hands. “You’re so thoughtful.”

He shrugged. “I wish it was something better, but…”

“It’s perfect,” she told him firmly. “These are my favourites. Thank you so much. These will make the perfect dessert.” She leaned across the table and pressed her mouth to his, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

“You’re welcome. Now, how about we eat so you can get back to work?”

“That eager to get rid of me?” she teased.

“No, of course not!” he said. “But the quicker you get done, the quicker we can spend some quality time together.”

She beamed at him, and attacked her food with gusto. When they were done, John insisted that she leave the tidying up to him so that she could concentrate on what mattered. She protested a little but soon disappeared back into the sitting room, taking the chocolates with her. John hummed to himself as he returned the kitchen to its pre-tea state.

Once he was finished, he decided that he couldn’t hide in the kitchen any longer, and took his book though to the sitting room. He had no intention of disturbing Anna, but he reasoned that he wouldn’t be too much of a distraction if he just sat on the sofa quietly whilst she worked.

The book was less than enthralling when compared with Anna .He tried reading a few pages but he kept catching his gaze slipping away from the page and latching on to Anna instead, studying her as she studied her notes. The warm glow in his heart spread further, warming him to the tips of his fingers and toes. She had her feet tucked up beneath her, chewing whimsically at the end of the pen she had in her mouth. She looked unbearably adorable like that, the little frown of concentration creasing her brows.

“What are you staring at?” she murmured without looking up from the page.

“How did you know I was looking at you?” he grinned.

“I can feel the weight of your gaze on me. Besides, I haven’t heard you rustling the pages on your book for ages.”

“Guilty as charged,” he said. “I was just thinking.”

“Hmm?” Anna turned the page of the medical book she was using as a reference, her finger moving lazily over the lines. “What’s that then?”

“I was just thinking about how much I love you.”

He could tell that she hadn’t truly registered what he had said, too preoccupied with what she was reading. “That’s good.”

He stretched, abandoning his book to one side. “I hope it is.”

Anna didn’t immediately respond, bending to write something else on the page. This had not been his plan for the evening. He still did not want to distract her from what she needed to do. She was so close to realising her dream of helping those around her. Qualifying as a nurse would be her greatest achievement, and she was a mere two assignments away from doing just that. He wanted to support her every step of the way, but now that he had given voice to the thoughts that had been clamouring in his head for so long now, it was difficult to box them back up.

He’d been careful to hold himself back, not wanting to get too carried away in what they had, but since she had sent Vera packing so admirably, never swaying away from any of the barbs that had been thrown at her, it had made him fall even harder for her, and no matter what came now, it was time that she knew.

“It is,” she murmured, scrabbling about on her desk for a chocolate without looking and popping it into her mouth. They were melting; he watched as she popped her thumb into her mouth and sucked off the excess chocolate. How beautiful she was.

“Well, that’s good, then. I was half-afraid that my confession of love would go down like a lead balloon.”

“Of course it wouldn’t,” she said absently, then froze halfway through turning the page. Very slowly, she turned to look at him, as if she didn’t quite dare believe what she thought she’d heard. “Wait, what?”

John couldn’t help grinning broadly, folding his arms across his chest. “I said that I’m glad you’re not against hearing that I love you.”

“What?”

“Are you going deaf?” He paused for greater effect, then said with slow deliberation, dragging out the words, “I love you.”

Anna blinked at him a few times, as if that would help her to process the information better. “You…love me?”

“I do.”

“You love me.”

“Yes.”

“Bloody hell,” she said, throwing down her pen; it hit the edge of her desk and bounced away. She didn’t seem to notice, leaping to her feet and sending her chair clattering sideways. “You just said—you love—bloody hell!”

“Are you all right?” he asked her, amused. His glee quickly softened into something soft and all-consuming as she turned those blue eyes on him. They were shimmering with unshed tears, and when she spoke again, her voice was quivering.

“I don’t believe it.”

“Believe,” he told her, echoing her word from all that time ago. “And…and it’s okay? You’re not put off or anything?”

She gave a shaky laugh. “You silly beggar! As if I’d be put off by that! In my whole life, I’ve never been as happy as I am in this moment. You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those words, John. I love you too.”

Now it was his turn to be momentarily paralysed. “You do?” In his most hopeful imaginings he’d yearned to hear her echo those words back at him, so that they could have the fairy tale ending that they both deserved. But somehow, hearing those words in reality blew away every single visualisation that he’d ever had. He’d never been able to conjure up that level of emotion in her voice, an overwhelming mix of delight, desire, and giddy disbelief.

“I love you too,” she repeated. “I love you so much, John.”

She swept towards him then, and practically launched herself at him. He huffed as her full weight careened into him, instinctively moving to wrap his arms around her. She buried her head against his shoulder, squeezing him tight in return.

“This feels like a dream,” she said, her voice muffled. “Please don’t wake me up.”

He toyed with her hair, cradling the back of her head in his hand. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

Although things had hopefully changed forever—and for better—between them, life still had to go on. Anna still had her assignment to finish. He still had to play the role of overseer to ensure that she didn’t get too side-tracked.

Anna pulled back enough to press her mouth against his, tasting of the delicious chocolates. As he held her in his arms, John supposed they could delay for just a few more minutes to bask in this perfect golden moment.

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The prompt was: