Melancholia [Tom Hiddleston] {EBT book 4/4}

3

A/N: Brief mention of domestic violence in Kate's past. The original story goes much deeper into it, this one just mentions it because it's relevant.

Kate didn't wait for a reply, she walked through the conservatory and out into the garden where a cold breeze made her hug her arms around herself. She wandered out in the garden for what felt like hours, until her teeth were chattering and her fingertips were blue and she couldn't stand it any longer. When she opened the door the first sound she heard was Matilda's joyful laughter filling the house, and she sighed with relief. At least for now the argument was over, she knew Tom wouldn't continue it while Matilda was awake.

Following the sweet sounds of daddy and daughter playing together, Kate found them in the living room. Tom was sitting on the floor, his long legs splayed out on the carpet with Matilda laying between them on her back, staring up at him with a huge open-mouthed gummy smile, arms flailing and legs kicking wildly. Kate couldn't help but smile at the adoration emanating from both of them, Tom contorting his face into various smiles and frowns, poking out his tongue, wiggling his eyebrows and beaming every time Matilda reacted. There were times, like this one, where everything was right with the world and Kate felt that her entire life had fallen into place perfectly. She stilled for a moment in the doorway, relishing the moment and holding on to it as though her life depended on it, staying until Tom looked up at her and motioned for her to come over.

"Show your beautiful mummy your new trick, little one," he said, turning Matilda over onto her tummy and planting her near his feet. "Come on, baby girl," he tapped his long thin fingers on the floor. "Come to daddy."

Digging her toes into the floor, Matilda made the slow, cumbersome trip back to Tom's hips, and he laughed gleefully, scooping her up and laying on his back, holding her up so she was flying above him. Kate's eyes filled with tears, seeing how happy he was with their daughter and how exasperated with his wife. In that moment she realised it was her own anxiety that stopped her from leaving Matilda with Tom, her own fear of being parted from her child, rather than her child's need for her mother. For a fleeting second, Kate wondered if Tom and Matilda would be better off without her, and when he cuddled the giggling bundle back into his chest, beaming with love and pride, she had to escape upstairs to hide her tears.

Over the coming days, Tom continued trying to get Kate to open up, and each time she pushed back a little harder, shutting herself away from him more and more. She began to resent his constant efforts to snap her out of it: as though just one more pep talk, one more quote-worthy spiel about positivity and living your life in the present moment might just make it all better.

One morning Tom woke early, he could see the clear sky outside as the dawn painted its pink and golden hues. Kate was curled up on the edge of the bed, as though even in her sleep she was pulling away from him. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back, pressing her against his chest.

Nuzzling into her brown hair, he inhaled the coconut scent of her shampoo, felt her warmth against him and listened to her breathing change as she rose from sleep. She tried to roll away and found herself trapped by his arms, rolling over to face him instead. He stroked his fingertips down the side of her face, brushing the hair away, and she opened her blue eyes to look up at him.

"Good morning my beautiful wife," he said quietly.

"Good morning," Kate said. "What time is it?"

"Early. I was just watching you sleep and thinking about taking my girls on a picnic today."

Kate used every ounce of energy she had to stifle a reaction. Every day he had been trying to get her out of the house, and she suspected it was just another ploy to make her see what she was missing out on, like he could just remove a blindfold from her eyes and she would be cured.