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

Author's Note: I'm afraid that all other stories will be on hiatus for a while as I write "You're a Masochist for Falling for Me", because it was a requested story. Nevertheless, I fully intend to get back to the others as soon as this one is completed. xoxo. Title is a reference to Ingrid Michaelson's "Masochist".

Mary woke up at midnight in an unfamiliar Liverpool hotel room. Gritty streetlights shone through the elegant windows, creating an antagonistic contrast between the town and the small heaven Tony tried to build for her—between the person she had developed into and her twisted past. Sitting up in the bed, she drew her bathrobe tighter as she looked down at his sleeping face. She breathed in, attempting to sort out her feelings towards this man she shared her bed with, and could not find any feeling at all. A chilly hand seemed to grasp at her throat as realization crept up her spine. Cold, cold. Tony had made her laugh and his romantic overtures were undeniably charming, but as she looked at him after a disappointing night—she did not love him. They could have been perfect, Mama and Papa would have been pleased, and she would have someone for her own again. No. Emptiness settled over her, and a single tear trailed down her cheek in mourning for a could-have-been. He looked so vulnerable asleep, and Mary felt a twinge for breaking his heart. But she couldn't stay with him out of pity. So, with a shudder at the image of his weeping face once she broke the news to him, Mary crept out of bed. Dressing quickly, she stuffed her things into a bag and stepped into the hall. The door closed with a quiet click. She didn't look back.