Darling (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

25: news, missing, crash the party.

Tom poured shots for a group of guys at the end of the bar, and white wine for two women sitting toward the middle of the u-shaped counter. He wiped his hands on a bar towel, and then wiped down the worn wood. All things he'd done hundreds of times, maybe even thousands. He tucked a pen behind his ear as he went to print out the check for the couple on the far end.

His life was slowly returning back to routine. The same things, day in and day out. "The grind" as some people liked to call it. And he was definitely in deep. The return of cooler weather meant weekday hours would be spent teaching, and the evenings with Gemma and Rosie. Some nights he'd spend at the Bar, and most weekends. If he was lucky, he'd get the odd Sunday or Saturday morning free. The sweetness of summer was over.

It felt like weeks since he'd talked to Billie. Months, even. Entire lifetimes. He laid in bed at night, and thought of her. He missed her voice the most, perhaps. The conversations they'd have, idling away the early morning hours. He of all people knew that physical attraction could fade, and the most important base of a relationship was—what you had to talk about at the end of the day. And he felt, with Billie, he had everything to talk about.

But it wasn't as if he didn't miss her physically being there as well. The smell of her skin. The feel of her hands. Thoughts of the way her body felt next to his. The sighs she made. The comfort of having someone to sleep next to—and not just anyone—this one woman in particular. She liked to sleep curled on her side, hand under her cheek, a pillow tucked under her shoulders, and wedged behind her back. Like a little fortress.

He didn't like to think about all the things he'd done wrong. He knew it would drive him insane if he did. He knew he couldn't change the past, couldn't say words that hadn't been ready at the time. And now, Billie was in Los Angeles, and getting ready for an opportunity of a lifetime. A show in Las Vegas. He wasn't sure he had any right to contact her. To tell her things that she deserved to hear weeks ago. It felt selfish. It felt self serving. And he only wanted her to be happy. To finally find her way, her peace. He wasn't sure that he was a part of that anymore.

More than once he'd thought he'd heard her voice. Like a song coming from the ocean, drifting on the breeze. On occasion, he found he wasn't just going crazy. Gemma had taken to playing Billie's music. Or, Baby Darling's music. Apparently, Rosie had let her download some of Baby's tracks to her iPad. Softer songs. Music that was better for surfing or spending time at the beach, than partying in a club. It drove Tom crazy, but he didn't keep Gemma from listening.

He knew he wasn't the only one that missed Billie.

Tom checked the clock over the bar, noting that he'd only been there for half an hour, and had a long night ahead of him. The season had slowed down, and now things were back to the regulars. The odd work cocktail hour, girlfriends out for drinks, single guys drinking alone. Same old, same old.

Tom lugged a rack of clean pint glasses from the back, and began putting them away, trying his best to stay busy.

"Your girlfriend is all over the news." Chelsea walked up behind Tom, amusement in her voice. Tom looked up, frowning. His coworker nodded toward the flat screen hanging to the right of the bar. Tom raised an eyebrow at her, and then looked at the tv.

It was programmed to one of the entertainment channels. Usually good bar fare. The volume was down, but the captions were on.

And the face on the screen was unmistakable. Only, it wasn't Billie.

It was Shorty.

Footage of Shorty, his head down, being lead, handcuffed from a house. Multiple cop cars, lights flashing, illuminating the otherwise dark night footage. Shorty was lit up by spotlights, and the sight of him being arrested made Tom's blood turn cold. He froze, watched the television for a minute, trying to gather as much as he could from the spotty information.