The Journalist (A Tom Hiddleston Fanfiction)

Six

You reach out to take your keys from him, carefully slipping them off his hooked index finger. The worn metal gives you something else to look at other than Tom. Your heart and mind are both lurching about unsteadily. Mercifully that doesn't translate to tremors in your hands. Outwardly you are calm.

He wants to replace your phone and send you a new one? No. That will keep you beholden to him, effectively extending this period of time in both your lives. You can take care of it yourself. As for his explanation as to his actions a week prior - it both mollifies and infuriates you. It was so much easier to maintain your anger when he wasn't sitting there opposite you, before you'd heard him begging for forgiveness, before you'd heard his reasons why...

Why won't your heart cooperate? Stop caring. Stop caring! Your heart is determined to betray your head.

So he's been wounded before by someone else in your profession. You are not that person.

It probably took him an enormous amount of persuasion to be able to trust again - let alone develop a friendship, then relationship with you. But again, you are not the person that had betrayed him in the past.

Maybe his hesitance to trust again was the reason he had held that vital story so close to the chest. Maybe if he'd shared it with you, you would've been able to take more care.... But it wasn't as though you'd intentionally left your phone out with a note that said: Come one, come all. Nudes of Tom Hiddleston held within!

Then there's the fact that on some level he had believed, even for a moment, that you would be party to such a betrayal. Your reaction to him that day should have been enough to stall those thoughts and put an end to the rampage.

Anger has the capability of blinding you. His anger had made it impossible to reason with him. You're trying to make sure you don't let your anger get the better of you. You don't want to end up saying things you don't mean - things you can never retract.

He's cautiously encouraged by your silence and the fact that you're still sitting there in the kitchen with him. You can hear the hope in his voice when he speaks. "I'm probably going to regret this, but... Say something?"

His intense focus on you in this moment is yet another reason to keep your eyes averted. You can feel those damn baby blues boring into you, observing and absorbing every iota of emotion escaping you at the moment.

You twist the keys about on the ring, hesitating further. If anybody had cared to ask this morning whether or not you were ever going to so much as give Tom the time of day, your answer to them would have been: NO - no with a few expletives thrown in for good measure.

Ok maybe that was going a bit far. Professional detachment - that's what you would have gone for - and probably could have achieved given enough time and distance from this emotional turbulence. Then you had gone and gotten a little stir crazy - somehow coming to the conclusion that it was a good idea to rescue a few of your belongings.

What had you been thinking? Closure? One last ill-advised glimpse at the life you had?

Masochist.

But he wants a reply. Can you grant him that - can you say anything without wounding the both of you further?

The list of all the colorful names you'd wanted to call him only minutes previous scrolls through your head. "I... don't think that's wise," you respond, again turning the keys over in your fingers. Each key holds such importance, such value to you. Despite everything that has happened it is difficult to think of the whole minus one of the keys currently present.

Car. Office. Home.

Ex. Ex-home.

You make a fist, squeezing the keys into your palm. It doesn't do much to distract from the pain currently pulsing in your chest but it's something.

"I don't care if it's wise. Please. Talk to me. At least look at me." He reaches out and presses his fingers lightly down onto your kneecap. Damn that man's extended reach. Upon contact your eyes immediately trail up, following the appendage to meet with his torso, his neck, his jawline, and those damned eyes.

You wet your lips with your tongue and take a breath before speaking. "Why are you so set on making this difficult?"

Up go his eyebrows, causing all those intricate little creases that you love to appear. You try to force your eyes back down to the keys now cutting into your palm but he gives your knee a light squeeze, directing your eye line right back up its previous path to his face again. "Because I want this to be something we survive. I want it to be nothing more than a speed bump."

If only a consistent emotion would present every time you looked at him. "Tom..."

"Can I apologize again?"

"I wish you wouldn't." You unclench your fingers to push his hand off your knee. "And for fuck's sake, if you consider this just a speed bump -"

He's quick to hold up his hands in submission, "Poor choice of words. Poor choice of words."

You bite down the flare of anger with care. It pisses you off so much because he so clearly wants you in his life, just as you want to be a part of his - but can you trust him again? Is he worth going through the long battle of repairing this relationship? He threw you out without batting an eye.

You look momentarily down at the keys in your hand. "Tom. I'll make you a deal. I'm going to go deal with my phone. On. My. Own. I'm going to go back to my hotel. On. My. Own."

"Again with the hotel...." Tom starts to gripe.

"No. Hush." You wave your empty hand at him, "Hush or I'll remove the house key and walk out that door and that will be the end of this." You wait, holding your keys to demonstrate it isn't an empty threat. After a few prolonged beats of silence you continue. "I'm going to go back to work and you're going to give me some space to sort all this out."

He grumbles out a sentence under his breath. "I can't believe you're considering staying on there..." When you stand he immediately does the same. "Sorry! No no. Continue. On your own. Space. I'm to give you space."

You shake your head at him, "God this is - I have ever right to just walk away. I should be walking away. You get that, don't you?"

Tom nods. He takes a step towards you before remembering that you just asked for space, and in a show of taking it literally, he takes a step back again.

You retrieve your phone from the counter, holding it with care. You'll be rid of the thing soon, thank God. You pause after stooping to pick up your bag again and tossing the phone into the side pocket again. Tom is following you at a cautious distance. "And just to make it clear, if I decide that we're going to try to make things work... and that's a big if... I'm not moving back in here right away. I'm going to find a place..."

"On your own?" He supplies.

You jangle the keys in your hand and shake your head. "I swear to God, Tom. I'm still pissed at you. Stop making it worse."