Life Is What You Make It (A Tom Hiddleston Fanfic)

Part 10: Just One Prince Remains

Will That Be One Lump or Two?

As Tom and I head toward the bank of elevators to the lobby, I finally take this opportunity to see how he's dressed. Tom is wearing his Tom uniform - black trousers, button-up dress shirt (today it's blue) and black wingtips. He's also sporting a thick black cardigan that, though in good shape, appears to be well worn. It must be his favorite, I think.

I also see in his free hand he's carrying a pair of sunglasses. "I didn't bring mine," I say absently.

"Your what?" He asks, looking down at me. Yes, even at 5'9", Tom Hiddleston looks down at me.

"My disguise, my sunglasses," I reply.

I somehow know that Tom's need for a disguise has nothing to do with being seen with me and everything to do with trying to maintain a sense of normalcy in his life. With the little bit of fame I've experienced and the recognition that goes with that, I can't imagine what it must be like to deal with it 24/7. Best get prepared, Mia, my inner voice says. You may be in the same situation once Wonder Woman opens at theaters.

At this thought, I shiver slightly. Tom takes notice. As we get in the elevator, there are three other people already aboard. "Cold?" he asks softly. "No," I reply just as softly, and glance at his sunglasses. Tom then looks at them and back at me. From the clouds that appear to roll across his eyes, it seems he thinks that I think that he doesn't want to be recognized with me.

As we exit the elevator, I say "Tom..." to explain my understanding of his need for anonymity. Instead, he holds up a finger to silence me and unceremoniously drops his sunglasses in the waste bin just to the side of the elevator.

"Tom!" I exclaim quietly, then I move toward the bin to retrieve his glasses. "Leave them," he says, grabbing my outreached hand.

"I can't... you can't... what if... what if there's a solar eclipse and you're not supposed to look directly at it without some sort of eye protection? I know I could resist, but not you, Tom. You're just too curious," I spout, not looking at Tom and trying to make the situation humorous so Tom will take his glasses back.

When I look to him, I see a serious yet soft look in his eyes. Gone are the clouds, and the ice blue clarity has returned.

"You have no idea how free I feel at this moment. With you, standing here, with those bloody sunglasses in the waste bin. Since I've met you, Mia, I feel more alive than I have since... well, since before all this," Tom says, sweeping his arms around to take in all the entrapments of fame and popularity that are embodied in the hotel.

"Please don't misunderstand. I'm happy, in fact, very happy with my career choice. If I could, I would not choose any other calling, even with the insanity that sometimes comes with being an actor. It's just, sometimes, in small moments that either happen randomly or to my choosing, I like to be just Tom, nothing more and nothing less. And when I'm with you, when we talk or laugh, or we just hold hands or even kiss, I feel I get so many more of those moments than I do anytime or anyplace else."

With that, Tom smiles his sweet little smile at me. As we've not had a chance to discuss his views on public displays of affection, I step close to him anyway and plant a passionate kiss on his lips. Sometimes it's better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission.

He seems a bit surprised at first, then he wraps me in his arms and returns my kiss. As we break free gasping a little for air, Tom says, "Bloody hell, Mia. Make up your mind. Do you want lunch or to return to your room for a little dessert?"

I pull away from his embrace, and place by hands on his chest. "Lunch first, then maybe dessert later," I say playfully.

"Okay, where would you like to go, my darling?" Tom asks as we start to walk hand-in-hand toward the front of the hotel. "You pick since this is your hometown," I say, then quickly add, "Anything but haggis."