Disclaimer: I do not presume to own Downton Abbey by writing this fanfic.


It was late. So late nearly the entire house was asleep, including the ever-working staff. But Mary's eyes refused to remain closed. Bored and feeling very alone, she stumbled out of bed, not even bothering to throw on a robe. Her wanderings took her to the library. With the quietest maneuver, she creaked open the door and slipped in, only to find someone already within.

She squeaked involuntarily and the door clacked shut. Exhausted and surprised, her normally icy personality dropped away, and Mary stood in the pool of light, blinking like a bat.

"I can't say I was expecting you, but it is a nice night for company." Tom's voice echoed out from the sofa, and as Mary's eyes adjusted, she squinted to see his outline.

"I couldn't sleep." Her voice crackled.

"I can see that." Tom said with the vaguest chuckle, gesturing at her nightgown. Mary only then realized the impropriety of her dress, the thin material revealing most of her form. With only the slightest hint of a blush, she sat down determinedly beside him, acting as elegant as if a jeweled gown lay on her back instead of a thin sheet of cotton fabric, deciding it was too late to adjust anything now anyway, half too tired to care.

"You couldn't sleep either, I presume." Tom was dressed, but the bags under his eyes said he hadn't closed them for a moment.

"No. Not sure why, but I figured I might as well read a bit, if I was going to be awake anyway."

Mary smiled. "What novel would you recommend for the insomniac, then?"

"This one!" He waved the book he was holding about dramatically in the air, in a half-asleep drunkenness of mind. "I'm not even sure what exactly it's about, but it's dreadfully boring!"

Mary leaned back into the sofa and quietly scooted closer to him. "Read to me, then." A bit of her mouth pulled up in a smile.

Tom's eyebrows raised slightly, but complied, shifting almost imperceptibly towards her too, flipping the book open. "And so, Annie discovers the power of goodness, but Howard was not done yet; the psychology was underwhelming…"
Mary drifted off almost instantly, coaxed to sleep in the comforting rise and fall of Tom's Irish accented voice. The moment her head fell to his shoulder, Tom's face softened, and he looked at her peaceful face for some time until he nudged her awake enough to half-carry, half-walk her to bed.

"Goodnight, Mary."

"G'ngggggg tmmmm…." Her eyes were sealed shut, but her hand came up to stroke his face. He breathed in sharply, but the moment ended as suddenly as it had begun. He retreated to his own bed, at last prepared for the oblivion of sleep.

The only evidence of the night's affairs was a novel on Mary's floor the next morning, which she tucked away from Anna with a mysterious smile. "It's the silliest thing, really."

She would say no more.