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

Part 34: The Roast

Mystery Guest

As he walks directly toward me, I plant a smile on my lips. "Miss DC, don't you look lovely in your native element," RDJ says once he's standing in front of me. I'll try to describe the ensemble he's wearing, but I'll fail miserably.

There's jeans and some really bright orange and neon green tennis shoes. His shirt, though, is totally RDJ: it's a Hawaiian print, but when you look very closely, you see there are mini Iron Men amongst the fabric's flowers. He finishes the look with an old-school Dodgers baseball cap and sunglasses that he must have stolen from Elvis' collection when Bob visited Graceland.

"Mia, you remember Susan," he says, taking his wife by the hand. "Of course I do. Hello, Susan, welcome to our little soirée," I say, smiling and hugging her. She smiles back, with a little bit of a knowing look like I'm about to face a firing squad, or at least one of Bob's interrogation sessions. "I think I'll grab something to drink. Baby, do want anything?" Susan asks. "Not just yet, Sus. I'll grab something in a minute."  With that, Susan's off to find the drinks.

"So, I leave you and Tom alone for, what, five minutes, and you manage to fuck up everything you've...we've...worked so hard for," Bob says.

I look at him, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, I said 'we.'  Don't think that I'm not emotionally invested in this, too!" 

For the first time since we've stood eye-to-eye, Bob takes me into a hug and I feel like I may cry. "Take it easy, Mia.  We'll get all this shit worked out. I promise," he says, then he leads me to a quiet corner of the yard to sit on a bench and talk.

Mystery Guest (Tom's POV)

I stand at the gate to the garden where the barbecue is taking place. I take a deep breath and hope that Melissa's plan works. That's right, I am acknowledging the fact that all of this is really Melissa's plan and I'm just a puppet. A very willing puppet, mind you, but a puppet just the same.

As I know there's no time like the present, I push open the gate.  The party looks to be in full swing, and I go in search of the host. I spot him with a group of our mates. "Tom, you made it!" Chris Hemsworth exclaims. He takes my hand to shake and simultaneously hugs me.

"Hi Chris. Thanks for inviting me." Chris has taken advantage of the short break we have in filming to come to LA for his daughter's birthday party.

Chris Evans is here as well, but he hasn't said anything since I've arrived. "Hi Chris," I say, extending my hand toward him to shake.

Chris looks at it for a bit and then takes it. "Tom," he says coolly.

"Have you got a minute?" I ask.

"Sure," Chris says, again hesitating.

I walk away from the group with Chris in tow until we are in the corner of the garden with some shrubs for privacy. Everyone seems a bit tense at what's about to happen, but no one makes a move. Once we're alone, I start. "Chris. Listen. I don't know really how to say this except I am sorry. I was wrong about you and Mia, and I regret not listening to you when you tried to explain," I say, looking at my hands, my feet, anywhere but Chris' eyes. After all, I was a bloody arse to him when we were last together on set, so I wouldn't blame him if he told me to sod off.

Chris seems equally reluctant to make eye contact. "Yeah, well, it's not like I didn't deserve some of what you dished out." When I lift an eyebrow at this, he says, "Not Mia. I mean Emma." Chris looks at the ground and shuffles his feet a bit like he's trying to loosen an imaginary rock that's lodged in the soil.