Just in Time (A Tom Hiddleston Fan Fic)

Chapter 5: Cleaning House

We arrive in London right on schedule, which is a good thing considering a weather front is about to move into the area. Though there's only supposed to be the generally rainy weather that London is known for, the temperatures are supposed to be close to freezing at night, and around 50 degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius) during the peak of the day.

"Do you have a fireplace?" I ask as we leave the airport in the car that arrived to pick up Tom...and me since I'm accompanying Tom.

"Yes."

"Do you need wood?"

Tom just looks at me for a moment. "That could be quite a provocative question, Kenneth, if I didn't know your true meaning."

I blush slightly, and I fan myself, trying to pretend the heater in the car is a bit much. Tom smiles and looks at his hands, giving me time to recover my natural coloring. "It doesn't need wood," he says finally.

We arrive in front of what would be called a group of row houses in the States. "What do you call these in London?" I ask. Tom looks at me, then at the house behind him, then back at me. "Do you mean the building behind me where I eat and sleep and generally live?"

"Yes, what's it called?"

"It's called a house," Tom says slowly, widening his eyes at me as if he's talking to a small child. The driver who has been pulling our luggage from the trunk...or boot...or whatever the damned thing is called let's out a small guffaw. Tom looks at him from the side of his eyes, and the driver straightens and says, "Sorry, Sir." "It's alright, Patrick. I think jet lag has made my friend a bit dense."

With that, I grab the first bag I can from Tom's reach and start marching toward his house. "Come on, Baby, don't be that way," Tom calls after me in a pretty good American accent. As a way of acknowledging his spot-on impression, I give him the universal American sign that uses the middle finger on either hand, your choice. Tom bursts out with "eheheh," then he grabs the remaining bags and joins me on his front stoop.

Tom unlocks the door, explaining that he would like to enter first so he may disengage the alarm system. As I follow him inside and set down the bags I was carrying, I see that Tom is not only disengaging the system, but he is also looking about with an expert eye for signs that something is amiss.

"Expecting someone?" I ask.

Tom runs his hand along the back of his neck before answering. "Well, though I have Luke and others to check in on my place from time to time, I just like to make sure that everything appears as it should be. You know, out of an abundance of caution and all." Tom seems a bit embarrassed by his confession, and I realize not for the first time how hard it must be to be a celebrity in this day and age. I mean, there are so few boundaries people are willing to acknowledge today. Some of this new freedom is good, but some just makes it easier for whackos to invade the personal space of others, not just celebrities.

I follow Tom through the house until he's investigated everything to his satisfaction. Along the way, I've been able to see how Tom lives and gain some insight into this side of him.

His home is not minimalist, but I don't consider it bursting at the seams in any way. It's more like the items here, like the chair next to the bookcase in the living room or the cozy nook table in the kitchen, have been chosen with love and attention, to be both appealing to the eye, but also to the heart of the owner. Maybe these are treasures Tom has possessed for a long time or only recently discovered, but every piece seems to have an equally important role in his home and, hence, are a reflection of Tom himself.