Held To Ransome

You Promised

He didn't do it tomorrow or the next day. In fact, it took almost another fortnight for Tom to man up.

She walked into the garden and, as had become his habit of late, he was on the phone to Luke, trying to be super quiet.

"What you up to, Mr?" she said as she crept up behind him once he'd hung up. Tom jumped about six feet in the air and clutched at his chest.

"Bloody HELL Callie!" he snapped."Gave me a bloody heart attack!" his face was like thunder and his voice as harsh as she could remember. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she recoiled back.

"S-sorry love, it was just a... sorry." she looked at his face, a picture of... something. No, not anger, something else. She wasn't going to make it any worse. His temper had been getting shorter all week.

Her face, her reaction, made him pull up short. This wasn't her fault. His guilt wasn't her fault. He forced himself to smile.

"How did I ever end up deserving you, love? I can't remember doing anything so good." he hugged her gently. She looked up at him.

"I won't break Tom. You can hug me properly!" she smiled, and his heart lurched. She was truly beautiful. He had every intention of making her the happiest woman in the world if he could.

But as everyone - even Tom - knows the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

"Callie, come through here, love. I have something to show you!" he called out from the living room. Callie was in the kitchen grabbing a peanut butter and pickle sandwich when he called out to her. Munching it greedily, she walked back through and curled up on the sofa next to him.

Tom, as always, was reading. This time from a bundle of notes that he'd come home with a couple of days previously.

He looked across and winced. "That's still disgusting you DO know that, don't you?" he teased, knowing full well she quite literally craved it. She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue at him in a really grown-up gesture, and he laughed. "Well, I can see the years at finishing school paid off then?"

"Of course! There's no one as posh and polite as what I is!" she said with a superior sniff and a giggle. "So, what's up that you need me to kneel at your feet, my Lord and Master." she laughed.

"As well you might wench, as well you might." he glared at her with icy frost giant eyes, then relented. "Actually, I wanted to show you this..." he held up a picture of a man, fairly similar age to Tom, bald head and the look of someone with a story to tell.

"Who's he?" she was curious and took the picture from Tom, examining it closely. It was in black and white, giving it the air of age, but in actual fact, it was quite modern. "He looks... driven."

"Yes, exactly. His name was Henry, and he was an explorer - a bit like Shackleton or Amundsen." he took the photo back. "He died." he put it in the folder on his lap. "I'm going to play him in a new series. It's for the same producers that are doing this one."

"That's fantastic... isn't it?" she looked at him, and her heart froze. His face was about as miserable as she had ever seen. "When?" She could barely bring herself to ask. Suddenly, the ticking of the clock was like thunder, the noise in the trees outside an express train. Her heartbeat, a drum accompanying her to the executioner's block.

"After we finish the post production and press for this one." he said quietly "in about 4 months' time."

"Oh. How long will it take?"

"About four months on location in the arctic plus studio"

"Tom, that means..."

"Yes. I know...." there was a thunderous, agonising silence. " I'm sorry." he looked at her, and she could see the tears in his eyes.

"You promised me Tom. You promised me you would be here for me." she didn't shout, she didn't cry, she just sat. Quietly dying inside. They'd fallen at the first hurdle.

"I know. I don't know what to say. I even asked them to postpone until just after so I could be here, but it just wasn't happening. There's such a short season there, and there's all the crew and the logistics and...." he trailed off as she stood up. "I asked Emily to look after you. She said she would be honoured."

"You what?" she turned and looked at him as if he had just suggested kicking puppies. "You asked Emily? When?" her voice was low and terrifyingly calm. He swallowed.

"That Sunday. The first Sunday."

"You KNEW, you've known all this time, and yet you STILL said all that? Why didn't you just tell me Tom? Why?" she was getting more agitated now, her blood pressure rising.

"Calm down, it's not good for you or the baby. Don't get upset, I was scared, love. I thought I was losing you. I thought I could do something about it before it became important."

"Don't you tell me what's good for me or my baby." she pointed angrily at him and saw his look as she said it. Fuelled by irrational hormones, shock disappointment, anger and overwhelming despair, she just wanted him to hurt as much as she did in that moment.

"Yes Tom MY baby, not YOURS or even OURS it's MINE." Now, she really was shouting. "Get out of MY house, YOU go and stay with Emily - seems she's into looking after the destitute and the lost. Just get out of my sight. NOW!" she hurled the nearest object, a small mug with Loki's emblem on, at him, and it smashed into the wall beside him.

He knew he deserved her ire, he was beaten. He had to retreat and let her calm down. She was hormonal, upset, and more importantly? In the right. Let her calm down and speak to him when she was ready. Then he would beg. On bended knee. In sackcloth and ashes if he had to.

"Ok, ok." he held his hands up in surrender. "I'm going love. Calm down, though, please?"

"GET OUT!" she roared, lifting another missile, and he grabbed his jacket and left. He didn't go next door, he couldn't involve them in this any more than he already had. Instead, he got in his car and drove away. Like he stole it.

She threw the door shut after him, knocking a picture off the wall. A picture they'd painted together in one of their few and far between afternoons. As promised, in return, he'd taught her Invictus by William Henley. A line from it rattled around her head.

"I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul."

She was the captain alright. And now, SHE decided where the ship sailed and who with. Not him. Not the father of her child. Not the love of her goddamn life. Not the man who now made her want to scream and cry and beat the living crap out of the wall.

She slid down it and began to sob. Knees drawn up to her chin, head on her folded arms, she broke her heart.

She was still sitting there when darkness fell and there was a tap at the door. She raised her head, eyes puffy with tears and exhausted from the crying. She could make out Terry's silhouette through the door.

Slowly, she hauled herself to her feet. Opening the door, she looked at him sadly. "Hi, I suppose you've come to tell me I'm an idiot and he loves me?"

"No lass," he said. "I've come to tell you that he's an idiot and WE love you." Terry smiled and opened his large arms."Now, come on with me. Emily - Yes, I know you probably hate her too right now - Emily has some tea on the go and a nice warm blanket. You can stay with us until you're more at yourself. And no. I'm not taking anything but 'yes Terry' for an answer, ok?"

She smiled, a defeated but grateful smile. "Yes, Terry." she walked out and into his huge hug.

"Now, that shouting, made him see he's a fool eh? You tell me all about it..."