Author's note: I was sure I was done with modern settings, but this idea happened and I couldn't let go of it. It's certainly different territory for me - more angsty and a lot darker. I know many of you don't enjoy modern AUs but I'll be annoying and ask you to give it a go. I'd absolutely love any feedback on this, as it is my first time writing an angsty WIP. Special thanks to my friend Terrie who edited it and actually came up with the idea for this story. :) Thanks so much for reading!

Disclaimer: Don't own Downton Abbey.

Chapter One

The revolver felt heavy in his hands. His fingers traced the pattern of the cylinder. It was tempting. What would it be like, if he pulled the trigger? Would it be fast? Would it hurt? What would it be like for those who stayed?

He thought of everyone he knew, important people to him. He thought of his son. Of his ex-wife. Of his parents, long dead now. Of friends. Of Anna.

She wouldn't understand, he thought with a bittersweet smile. She'd never understand. The revolver felt even heavier in his hand. It glistened in the pale moonlight. He looked up at the sky. The storm that had graced them in the previous day seemed long gone now. He put the cylinder back in the gun, and shifted his gaze to it. It would have been quite simple, he figured. A simple way to end it all. Could he do it?

He raised the revolver to his head, touching his temple. It would be fast, he was sure it would. Could he do it?

No, he couldn't.

In the back of his mind, he heard a scream.

He pulled the trigger.

Three months earlier

The air was a bit chilly and the sun was setting in the distance. He had to admit: this was a beautiful place. He passed by some small buildings to his right; there weren't many people around. It was quiet too. There was a nice breeze outside. Maybe this place would be the cure to his troubles, after all. He passed by a big lake, driving slowly and admiring the view. There were some people on the docks, mostly couples. He kept one hand at the wheel and put his elbow on the side of the car, watching everything and feeling slightly better. He wasn't here on vacation. He was here to work.

After months of no new material to send to his publisher, his editor and friend, Max Russell, had been benevolent and offered him a place to try and finish his book. A quiet place, he had said. Calm Waters was its name. John figured it would be nice to change the scenario a little. He sure wasn't writing much in his own house; in fact, it had been weeks since he wrote one full sentence for his book. He needed to finish it. Its deadline was approaching and he wasn't even halfway into it. If he lost the deadline, he'd lose his contract. He shook his head. He had lost enough already.

He turned to the left into a narrow road, and kept driving until in the middle of many trees, he saw stone walls and a wooden gate; a big house could be seen behind it, a huge stone stairwell stealing all the attention to the house. This must be Calm Waters.

He was feeling somewhat hopeful today; he needed to finish the book in a matter of few months, and this time was his last chance. He couldn't risk losing his contract, but he simply couldn't write in his own place, in London; the house held too many memories and once he had realised he couldn't write there, he had resorted to cafés and libraries, with no such luck. His thoughts weren't focused on the book anymore, as it had once been. He needed to prove to them – and to himself – he could do this.

He kept driving, passing by the great house, remembering Max's directions, and not ten minutes later found the cottage. Max had told him the house was in the family for years, but no one seemed to use it much nowadays, and he had even been thinking of selling. John took in the appearance of the cottage. Well-maintained, lots of vegetation around and he knew the lake was nearby. He got out of the car and pushed the small gate open to the property of the cottage. He could see the main house in the distance, right ahead of him. Walking around the house, he even smiled when he turned a corner and saw a small backyard, with a table and two chairs, the wild flowers colouring the place as it was a nice summer day. The lake could be seen, and he was sure the trail by the end of the property would lead straight there.

Max had mentioned the place would give him inspiration, and he agreed some time away from the city would do him good.

He walked back to the car, taking his bags out of the truck and walking towards the door; opening it with the key Max had gave him, he looked around briefly. Max had mentioned it was a small, simple place, but to John it seemed perfect. The decoration was perhaps a little old-fashioned, but it gave him a good feeling. It was so different from home that he felt a little better already. There was just one bedroom, one bathroom, a small living room with a nice fireplace and the kitchen. He could see the lake from the bedroom's window. This was perfect.

A month later

Anna knocked briefly on the door, opening it slowly when she heard a voice telling her to come in. She smiled as she entered the big room; it was a big, nicely-decorated office, and its owner smiled brightly upon her arrival. It wasn't a pretty day in London; the rain was pouring heavily outside, and Anna supposed the weather was matching her mood. She felt tired – drained, even – and she wished she had stayed home, as she normally did nowadays; she more often than not worked from home, but upon a request for a meeting, she had agreed on going to the company today. Walking towards her boss' desk with a stack of papers in hand, Anna jumped straight to business.

"I finished Kim Masterson's book this morning," she told him, handing him the papers and sitting down on one of the comfortable chairs in front of his desk, "Good book. Can't see it as a best-seller, but it is a good book."

"Would you read it again?"

Anna pursed her lips, "No, because I don't have much time. But if I did… No, I probably wouldn't. But it is a nice book. I've sent my analysis over to you this morning."

"I know. I didn't call you here because of the book, Anna," his voice was stern, and Anna looked down to her lap, occupied with fidgeting her fingers. "Your aunt and I are worried about you."

Anna sighed. She wasn't surprised at this; Uncle Max always knew when to pick conversations she didn't want to have while at work, because then she wouldn't be able to escape. She almost rolled her eyes when he spoke, but she refrained from doing so. She should have known; both her aunt and uncle had been trying to get her into these talks for the past few weeks. She knew they were just concerned about her; instead, she took a deep breath and smiled.

"I'm fine, Uncle Max," she tried her best to look relaxed, but deep down she knew her fake smile wasn't reaching her eyes. "Don't worry about me. I don't."

Uncle Max smiled at her, but it wasn't comforting to Anna. He didn't believe her. His smile was sad. It didn't feel right.

"That's just it, Anna," he said softly, "You don't worry about yourself, but we do. We worry about you. All you do is work. Go out with your friends, meet new people. Have fun. Live life."

Anna rolled her eyes, "I like my life the way it is, Uncle Max."

"Do you, really?" he hesitated, "It's been almost two years, Anna."

At this, Anna averted his eyes and looked down at her lap. Her hands were fidgeting more nervously than before now. She wished she had stayed home today. Had she known this was the topic of the so called meeting, she wouldn't have even considered coming to the company.

Her uncle sighed loudly, tiredly, but Anna remained silent.

"I was talking to your aunt and we think you should take some time away," he said, his voice stronger than before, "You probably have about five months worth of vacation that you haven't used, you could have that trip you had been planning some time ago…"

"I decline the offer, but thank you," Anna cut him off, standing up. "I don't want to stop working, and I'm not in the mood for traveling."

"Sit down, Anna. This conversation isn't over yet."

His tone was firm, and Anna slowly sat down again, a pout in her lips. This definitely wasn't going like she had thought it would.

"It's just… I appreciate the offer, I really do," she started, "It just doesn't seem very tempting. To go on a trip by myself."

Uncle Max smiled.

"Fine. Don't go on that trip. But take some time off. It doesn't need to be those five months," he offered, "Maybe one or two?"

Anna pursed her lips. She had a feeling she wouldn't have much of a choice.

"I'm not going to be able to refuse it, am I?" at that, Uncle Max shook his head, "Fine. One month. That's it," she warned him, then let out a tired sigh.

"It'll do you some good, Anna. You could go to that place up in the north, that hotel spa you and your aunt used to go together," he told her with a pleasant smile, grateful that she had accepted his offer, "Just have a relaxing time. It'll do you some good."

Anna pursed her lips, another idea on her mind. "No, I was actually thinking about the lake. It's been years since I've been to Calm Waters."

Uncle Max gave her a pointed look, "Anna, what would you do there? Summer is just over. There's nothing to do there now. And you do know we're trying to sell the house. We barely even visit the place nowadays."

Anna arched her eyebrows, "And you know I'm against it. You said you want me to enjoy the free time and relax. I can relax in Calm Waters. And don't worry about the house, I'll stay in the cottage. You wouldn't even have to warn Mrs. Abbott that I'm going over."

"Stay in the house, it's no problem," her uncle promptly said, "I have one of our writers staying at the cottage. He's been dealing with writer's block and I lent him the place for a few months. But he keeps himself to himself, he won't be a bother."

"Oh, that's just what I need. To share the propriety with a writer," she rolled her eyes good-naturedly, "Which one? Do I know him?"

"John Bates. You've approved some of his books," he added, "I know you used to like his writing, but he hasn't written anything in years."

Anna smiled, thinking about his books. Her uncle was right; she was a fan of his work. She had never met him, though; she doubted he'd want to see her there anyway, especially if he was dealing with writer's block. The last thing he needed was one more person urging him to write.

"But he's a good man. A good friend," her uncle continued, "You won't bother each other, I'm sure. Well, you could call on him and ask about the book. He hasn't returned my calls," he frowned, "But no work for you. I want you to have a nice time there and you can stay more than a month if you want to. You have my total permission."

Anna stood up and smirked, "You make it sound as if I have a choice."

He smiled, "You can go right away. We'll cover for you. I don't want to hear from you for a month."

"Alright, alright," Anna said, "I'll have a little talk with Aunt Claire about it. It's not fair to be forced to take some time off. This was probably her idea."

Uncle Max grinned, "You know it was."

Exchanging a ghost of a smile with him, Anna turned to leave with a sigh; despite everything, she felt tired. Maybe some time off would do her some good, after all. And she had always loved spending time by the lake. She could remember happy summers there, with her aunt and uncle and her cousin, Ryan, who also worked at the publishing house; they had been certain of their decision to put the propriety on sale, but Anna had been against it from the start. Maybe this would be her final stay at the house; she might as well make use of it.

It might not be a bad idea, after all. It would make her family glad to see her taking some time off, and she could enjoy the place by herself. In a month she'd come back and everything would remain the same.

That sounded like a good plan.