The Heart of a Villain (a Tom Hiddleston fanfiction)

Errands

[Tom]

Considering the pros versus the cons of leaving instead of waiting for Rose to change, Tom opts for pacing in the foyer, walking the long hallway from one end to the other. Walk to the wall, turnabout on his heel, and walk the half-dozen paces to pause at the foot of the stairs and glance up at the landing. No Rose. So continue to the opposite end of the foyer and turnabout again.

It had only taken a few minutes to confer with Hadley after relenting to Rose's demand to accompany him. While he and Rose were at the Crime Lord estate talking to Mark and Tempest's men, respectively, Hadley would continue to dig for any further information regarding who had been watching Rose back in Nebraska. There was also the matter of waiting to hear back from Ethan, Jacob, and Paul to alert them that Margaret and her family were safe and on their way to London.

So many variables and nothing seems to fit, no matter how he tries to bend the pieces to his will.

He alternates staring at his watch and checking the top of the stairs for her presence. The idea was that he was proving he was worth a second chance, worth allowing to experience the growth of their child. She'd said it to him, uttered those words to make that distinction and give him hope. William was theirs.

Once they found William he could hold to his promise, send Rose and Will somewhere safe and be involved as much or as little as she would allow. The deal she'd set up with her parents didn't sound terribly satisfying, but he could learn to love photos and phone calls. Whatever lines of communication she would offer, he could learn to love. She'd never stay – and he can never leave. It's in the contract. The mantle of Crime Lord is one that is removed in one way and one way only.

She appears on his twenty-seventh pass of the staircase.

Staring up at her standing there at the top of the stairs he knows he should have left for the estate while she was changing. He recognizes the deep grey dress instantly. From this angle it appears almost black but he knows the true color of the thing just as he knows every other piece of clothing held within her wardrobe. Every single piece has been committed to memory.

She's even wearing the leather gloves he'd gotten to match – with little crop circles of bright silver studs accenting the knuckles. He'd purchased the dress to replace one of her cocktail dresses that hadn't survived his whiskey period... At the time he'd been of the mind that she would look lethal in it.

He's not far off in that estimation.

He hadn't anticipated she'd wear the thing, particularly not to spend a prolonged amount of time with Mark. The plunging neckline, fitted bodice – the dress fits her just as he imagined it would. It evokes more his own darker, streamlined tastes than her gentle flowing tendencies when it comes to clothing. Well, the skirt perhaps has just enough body to it.

The fact that she's armed – or at least is supposed to be – doesn't faze him. "No. No, you're not wearing that."

Rose puts a glove-clad hand on her hip, remaining on the top landing to talk to him rather than start her descent. "You bought it for me. I'm just putting it to use. Do you want me to wear the pink one instead?"

Pink. Pink. The corner of his mouth twitches while trying to mentally sort through the dresses that he'd chosen to refill her wardrobe. He recalls a pink outfit that has an even more daring neckline, that is to say it exposed a ribbon and lace bustier.  Wasn't the rest of that particular dress also partially sheer?

He jerks his head in the negative. "No, Rose," he says before clearing his throat and holding out his hand to indicate she should descend the staircase. "No this one will do."