It was past midnight, and Daisy swept the floor and cried. The droplets fell continuously onto the grey surface, and she swept across them too, smearing the water all over.

The kitchen was clean long ago, but she didn't seem to be aware of it.

She had been working at Downton for several weeks now and nothing seemed to be going right. It wasn't that anything had gone terribly wrong – it was more of a feeling lately that there was a cloud of misery hanging above her head, following her every move and raining over every tiny problem. She was also exhausted and couldn't imagine ever getting enough rest, and on top of everything, she'd dropped a crystal bowl earlier that evening. Mrs Patmore had yelled at her for what felt like an hour, then left her to clean up the mess as everyone else went to sleep.

As if all that wasn't enough, her belly hurt. Daisy was used to the hunger pangs deep within that came with being poor, a pain that was not so much pain as a gaping hole in her abdomen biting through her ribcage – though she was happily on the way to forgetting that since she moved into Downton. No, this pain was low and strange and unlike anything she'd felt before. It made her want to curl up in her bed and forget about lifting heavy objects for a while.

She tried to look for any remaining shards of crystal as she swept, but tears blurred her vision until she felt half-blind, which only made her want to cry even more. Keeping it up seemed pointless, yet she knew that she shouldn't go to sleep until the kitchen was pristine. And even if she could, it would have been cold comfort since in a few hours she would have to get up and do everything all over again.

Steadily, tears fell onto the floor, and Daisy kept sweeping.

Thomas tiptoed through the hall, stopping every so often to listen. There was no sound. He knew they were all asleep, but one could never be too sure.

He reached the drawing room, carefully opened the door and sneaked in, leaving it open a little so he could see enough to make his way inside.

He cast his gaze deep around the room. The light from the corridor shone like a beacon upon his target. He smiled.

He reached the desk where the box sat, dug his nails into the lid and gingerly lifted it up.

At the bottom sat eight chocolate candies.

Thomas pursed his lips. The box had arrived not half a week ago, and already they had finished it off! He placed the lid aside and glared at the contents.

It was three days ago that the Dowager Countess brought an ornate box as a birthday gift for Lord Grantham. The lid had a gilded frame, the inside of which depicted a woman sitting demurely in a field of pink flowers. Upon seeing it, Thomas just rolled his eyes. As if there weren't enough things to gather dust in the drawing room.

However, the box turned out to be filled with chocolate candies, and Thomas was soon enjoying the privilege of watching people eat sweets in front of him and marvel at the taste. Of course nobody had thought to offer the footmen, and why would they?

With a carefully neutral expression, he'd crafted a devious plan. That evening after everyone had gone to bed, he snuck into the drawing room and liberated five candies from the box, then went back to his room.

He had laid out his treasure on the bed and observed it for a few moments, savouring the fact that he was about to try something made exclusively for the upper class. He vaguely considered saving a candy for Miss O'Brien… but then he actually tried one, and all consideration went out the window.

Never in his life had he tried anything so delicious. The outside of the candy was dark chocolate, but when he bit into it there was scrumptious hazelnut cream that filled his whole mouth and his senses with a taste of what he imagined heaven to be like. He sat on the floor, leaned his head on the side of the bed and closed his eyes, forgetting for a moment where he was and who he was. It was bliss.

He returned to his body with the profound knowledge that chocolate was too good to be shared. Besides, as loyal a friend as she was, he couldn't imagine Miss O'Brien actually enjoying anything. All that came up in his mind was the nasty expression on her face that she usually wore when complaining about something, and associating the creamy pieces of delight to that simply didn't work. It would have been a waste. Practically a crime. He ate them all and fell asleep with a smile on his face. He returned each night afterwards, finding the box a little emptier each time, but still full enough that taking four or five candies wouldn't raise suspicion.

Now, however, there were only eight remaining and Thomas gazed at them sadly. He'd discovered that it was much too easy to get used to the new taste, and he found himself craving the sweet, comforting taste every evening after dinner. This would be his last chocolate-filled night for heavens know how long. He would have to save money and buy some the next time they went to London, definitely.

Or just hope that the Dowager wasn't particularly imaginative when it came to birthday gifts.

He took out a clean piece of cloth out of his pocket, specially prepared for that occasion, and placed a single piece of candy into it. After some deliberation, he took another one. Six somehow seemed more similar to eight than seven… but any more and it may raise suspicion. He put the lid back on the box and crept out of the room.

The Abbey was silent during the night. There was more darkness than light, and the corridors were cold and unwelcoming without the fires from surrounding rooms to warm them. For most, this would have been almost sinister, but Thomas had chocolate in his pocket and nothing could ruin his night. He reached the stairs that led to the men's quarters with a quiet spring in his step. But as he placed his hand on the railing, he winced.

He had left his cigarette pack in the servants' hall.

He cursed silently. He'd been playing with the cigarette pack on the dinner table, and he'd been so eager to realize his plan that he completely forgot to put it back into his pocket. He could leave it there and get it in the morning… but what if it mysteriously sprouted legs and disappeared before he came down? He was not the only smoker in the house. He couldn't be sure.

Cursing again, he turned around and headed for the servants' hall.

He found his cigarettes on the table, right where he had left them, and returned them where they belonged. He was just about to turn back, when suddenly, the faintest noise came from the direction of the kitchen.

Thomas stopped moving. He hadn't even bothered to be quiet coming down; he was sure everyone had gone to bed. So what could it be? Who could it be? For a minute he hesitated. It seemed like a rustling noise, but he couldn't pin it down. The sound didn't seem to be traveling. He crept towards it and peered inside the kitchen.

It was the girl that was employed as the scullery maid a couple of weeks before, sweeping the floor. Nothing alarming, but Thomas frowned. Her face was as pink as her dress, and tears streamed down her cheeks as she swept with less eagerness than he cleaned the silver with.

He stood there for a couple of moments. She didn't seem aware that anyone was watching her. Every so often she wiped her cheeks with her sleeves, but tears kept falling and falling.

It was just too curious to ignore.

He stepped into the kitchen. The girl, too caught up in her crying and her back half-turned, didn't notice him.

"What's this?" he asked softly.

The girl whirled around and jumped, almost dropping her broom, then froze. He took a few slow steps forward and tried to be as unintimidating as possible, but it was difficult seeing as he was so much taller than her.

"You're the new scullery maid, aren't you? What's your name?"

"D-Daisy, Mr Barrow," she said in a broken whisper.

"It's just Thomas, actually." Though Mr Barrow had a nice ring to it. "Well, what's the matter, Daisy?"

She stared at him with huge, tear-filled eyes, and her lips trembled but made no sound. Almost as if she was afraid of him. The thought made him feel slightly nervous, though he wasn't sure why.

"Want to sit down?" he offered, gesturing at a chair.

She nodded tentatively, but made no move. He extended his hand and slowly removed the broom from her slack fingers. He met her eyes and smiled, then leaned the broom against a nearby wall. He sat down and motioned for her to do the same. She sat on the edge of the chair, her hands in her lap, her back ramrod straight, never taking her eyes off him.

"So what's wrong, Daisy?" he asked again, to much the same result as before. "Do you not like it here?" he tried, but it turned out to be a mistake. Tears spilled as she shook her head vehemently.

"No, it's not so – I'm ever so grateful to be here, I swear it –"

"I wasn't asking so I'd tell on you, alright?" he interrupted gently. He couldn't help a small smile as she promptly stopped talking. He raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. "I promise. So you needn't say you're grateful just for my benefit if you're not. I'm not going to tell Mrs Patmore or Mrs Hughes –"

"But I am," she whispered, "I am grateful, truly." Not that she looked like she was, but he let it go.

"Do you miss your family, then?"

Daisy looked down.

Thomas watched her. He had learned that if you waited long enough, people would start talking, if only to fill the silence.

Soon enough, Daisy shrugged. "I can't say that I don't and I can't say that I do neither." She lowered her head and pierced him with her eyes, as if she was about to tell him a grave secret. "Sometimes when I'm very busy I never think about them at all, and then later when I do it's only to realize I'm starting to forget about them."

She fixed him with her gaze. Thomas looked away, shifting in his chair. No one had ever looked at him with nearly as much open trust and innocence before. It made him feel oddly uneasy, as if he wasn't in control of the situation anymore. But at least they were getting somewhere.

"Do you miss your family, Thomas?"

… And that was not where he wanted to get to.

"Can't say that I do." He thought about more things he could say, anything to distract her from going down that road, and remembered the sentimental twaddle he'd overheard Mrs Hughes use to comfort young newcomers. "But if you do, there's nothing wrong with it. Just means you've got someone worth missing. Is that what's got you in such a state?"

Daisy shook her head. He searched in his head for more possible reasons a girl like her could be crying.

"Was someone being nasty to you?"

She quickly looked down, which seemed like confirmation.

"Was Mrs Patmore being harsh?"

Daisy's eyes welled up again.

"It's all me own fault. I dropped a crystal bowl and it broke, there were millions of shards all over the floor –"

"Well, that's not so terrible! These things happen in the kitchens. And they've got a thousand crystal bowls, trust me, nobody will miss the one. Just be more careful next time and you'll be fine."

But Daisy continued to stare at her hands.

"It's not that either?" he asked wearily.

Two large tears rolled down her cheeks in response.

Thomas huffed. He should have been in his room eating his chocolates by now, and damn if he knew why he wasn't. "Well, what is it then?"

The impatience that had seeped into his tone seemed to be the trigger. Daisy's face crumpled and she burst into tears. She bowed her head into her arms and sobbed on the table.

"No, don't…" he began, but the words drowned in her misery and he had no clue how to finish the sentence. He didn't even know if she heard him or not, and what he'd say was useless in either case. What words could ever stop tears?

Feeling utterly out of his depth, Thomas reached out and timidly patted her shoulder. But it made no difference. For a moment, he wondered whether he might just get up and leave, but for some reason he didn't seem to be able to muster enough strength to do so.

He sat and waited.

After what seemed like eternity, she slowly lifted her head. Her face was wet with tears and snot and Thomas rummaged in his pocket for a handkerchief. He gave it to her without words and she started wiping her face. He wanted to look away, but he found that he couldn't do that any more than he was able to leave while she was crying. He didn't think he'd ever seen anything so small and sad in his life.

Before he knew what he was doing, he took out a chocolate candy from his pocket. He put his hand on the table between them, the candy sitting on his palm, and extended it to her.

"Here," he said.

Red-eyed, Daisy stared at the offering. "What's that?" she asked in a broken voice.

"Just try it."

She picked up the chocolate with her thumb and index finger, examined it dolefully and plopped it into her mouth. Frowning, she gave it an experimental chew.

It was as if a ray of sunshine illuminated her countenance. Her eyes widened and cleared and all the lines from crying smoothened, leaving her face fresh and bright. She stared at Thomas as she ate, blinking slowly in wonder.

"I've never tasted anything so amazing in me entire life," she declared after she was finished.

Thomas chuckled. "It's called chocolate, and I know." He tried to ignore the faint feeling of regret that rose within his chest. He still had one candy left.

"Where did you get that?" Daisy asked. "Could I have some more?"

He gave a short laugh. Of course she couldn't – he would sooner die than give up the last piece of chocolate he'd have in ages. He opened his mouth to refuse, and…

…to his horror, before he could think, he found himself reaching into his pocket and taking out the remaining candy. For the briefest moment he thought about quickly stuffing it back and no harm done, but Daisy had already spotted it and her eyes went as wide as saucers. She gave him a look and he nodded in resignation. She grabbed the chocolate from his hand, and then it was too late to change his mind. His taste buds screamed in protest.

"This'll be our little secret, alright?" he said glumly as delight spread across her face.

"I won't tell a soul," she gushed. "Is there any –"

"No."

"Oh."

Thomas sighed. His eyes were starting to twinge from fatigue. He hadn't found out why Daisy had been crying, but at least she wasn't anymore, and he didn't think it'd be wise to bring it up now that she'd calmed down.

"Now, don't you think it's best you went to sleep?"

"I do." She stood up, dusted off her apron, took it off and placed it on the chair. "Thank you ever so much, Thomas. I will never forget this, not as long as I'm alive. Not ever." She beamed at him. "Good night."

"Good night, Daisy," he said, and he couldn't suppress a small smile. She flashed him another grin and skipped out of the kitchen.

Thomas made his way back to his room and changed in a stupor. Alone and chocolateless, he took out a cigarette, and then remembered the creamy sweetness of the candy. His mouth filled with saliva. He crammed the cigarette back into the pack and plopped down on the bed. He stared at the ceiling.

A long time had passed since Thomas was last selfless, and he had trouble understanding his own motives now. Doing someone a good turn, not having any benefit from it and losing something invaluable in the process was a completely bizarre thing to do, and he had done it voluntarily. He was an idiot.

But Daisy had been crying, and then she was happy, and she went to bed with a smile on her face and the thought made him smile. He had no idea why. There was nothing in it for him. Why, then?

He closed his eyes and turned around, missing the comforting taste of chocolate as he drifted off to sleep.

Well, at least, if his intuition was right, he now had Daisy wrapped around his little finger. There would be no pleasure in manipulating someone like her, and he couldn't imagine how she'd ever prove useful...

But one never knew.

As she lay in her bed that night, Daisy was sure of two things.

One, chocolate was the most delicious food she'd ever tasted.

And two, Thomas Barrow was the kindest, loveliest and handsomest man in the world.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Leave a review if you want, I appreciate them a lot!