Darling (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

17: heat stroke, a lawyer, an invitation

A/N: Really sorry about the long space between updates. Life. Anyway, it's summer break for me, so hopefully I can update much quicker! Here's a bit of an update...sorry for the slight cliffhanger! You know how I do... (P.S. Thanks for reading! Hope you're all still there with me!)

Summer was fully set in. The heat was nearly oppressive in it's weight and consistency—the mornings offered no relief, and neither did the nights. The humidity made the air thick and soupy, like wading through a steam bath. Tom groaned softly as he stood up straight, feeling the sun beating down on him as he did. He yanked his shirt off in one quick movement, and then used it to mop the sweat off his brow.

The morning had started with a run, this time alone and not with Sam. Tom needed the time. He'd run through the early morning din, the air hazy and heavy with heat. He'd pushed himself as far as he could, until he was close to passing out, and then he'd pushed a bit further. After coming home, he'd done his normal routine. Showered and changed, his muscles both fatigued and somewhat energized from his rigorous run. He made breakfast for Gemma and Rosie. Did laundry and straightened up. Then set about to some more chores around the house. It was so hot out that Gemma had no interest in playing outside, like she normally did. Usually, he had a tiny shadow—following him around as he did yard work, or repaired something on one of the two rapidly aging cottages. Today, she had opted to stay inside with the air conditioning, drawing pictures and making fresh, home made ice cream with Rosie.

He was glad for it. He needed the quiet, the time in his own head, without worrying about stepping on a tiny figure at his heel. He was working on fixing the gutters along the house, and though it was hellishly hot outside, he somehow enjoyed it. Tom felt he needed the exertion, the sweat, like a filter, cleaning out all the jumbled thoughts in his hurried mind.

And his thoughts were all on her. Billie. And he hated it. He knew she wasn't staying. And he wasn't the sort to get attached. He'd squashed that particular habit long ago. But there was something about her. Her strange, intoxicating mix of fragility and strength. The haunted look in her eyes, that he somehow recognized when he looked at his own reflection. The easy, gentle way she interacted with his daughter. That had been the most surprising thing. He could get lost watching them interact.

It was too much to fantasize about what life with Billie Darling would be like. Billie Darling didn't truly exist. Baby Darling was the real person, and Baby was going back to where she belonged.

Tom took a deep breath, resting his hands on his hips as he looked at the cottage. It needed work. A lot of work, that he was slowly getting through. But he lacked time, and funds to truly make a dent in the ever growing list. This short break from his teaching schedule gave him time when he wasn't with Gemma, or working at the Bar. But soon, classes would start again, and he'd be swamped under papers and assignments and lesson plans.

There was no room for a woman in his life. Let alone a woman like Billie. He barely had time to breathe, to raise Gemma, to keep his head afloat. What did he really have to offer a woman? Definitely not money. Not any more, thanks to Becca. Financial security was somewhat out of the question. He had a lot of baggage, including an increasingly sassy five year old, and a very wary, still smarting scar from a terrible ex-wife. He shook his head as Becca flitted through his memory. He'd been completely overwhelmed by her.

When he'd met her, she'd been exhilarating and surprising. She had seemed carefree and full of wanderlust, and he'd been captured by that. Completely captured. And then reality had come crashing down. She was anything but carefree. Anything but uninhibited. Their relationship had changed nearly overnight from something sweet, passionate and all consuming to something sour, and distrusting and confused. When he'd come to Delaware with her, and she'd introduced him to her nearly one year old daughter that she herself was a stranger to, he'd felt as if he'd been living in a dream. Or perhaps a nightmare.