A Collection of Odds & Ends

On the Rocks - Pt 8 (Tom Hardy)

The question seemed to be, what did Charlotte want? Well...

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Part Eight

"Tom." You grumble, folding a pillow over your head and groaning. "Tom!" You whined from the security of the pillow. "Tom!" You shout, this time smacking him in the back of the head.

"Fucking hell!" Tom grumbles back at you, snapping awake and grunting. "Don't beat me." He rubs the back of his head and scowls at you.

"Make it stop." You demand with little regards as to how he is currently feeling about the smack.

For the last three, maybe five minutes, there has been a shrill and deafening cry coming from the living room. To any normal person, the light cries of the child really weren't that terrible, to you however, it was what you imagined hell to be like. Only chillier.

Tom rubbed his eyes, allowing himself to become fully awake before moving. From under the pillow, you grumbled at him to go turn off his child. Under your breath you may have added a few other comments, but you would never let the father actually hear those.

"Please, Tom." You whine at him, again.

"I'm going. You cry just as much as him, you're just as annoying, did you know that?" He asks getting out of bed.

"Humph." You snort and refuse to give him any sort of dignified reply to that. You may whine, but you are certainly not that annoying, when you do.

Foot steps pad across the bedroom and you hear them leave, in your mind you can see Tom's every movement. Dressed in his sleep pants, his hair stuck up in different directions, and his blue eyes still half closed. He would be walking down the short hall, a grumpy frown about how you'd hit him and bossed him around would melt when he took sight of the baby.

In an attempt to soothe the disoriented child, he'd bring them into his arms and cuddle them against his chest. Rocking the little one back and forth a little to further soothe them, he'd talk to them in a low voice. Telling them it was "Okay, baby.", "You're fine.", "Daddy has you, no need to fuss."

If you were a normal, overly hormonal, baby crazed female the mere idea of a tough looking man like Tom cuddling his child would melt your heart. Because you are the person you are, none of this did a thing for you. Aside from the fact the image did send a hopeful feeling fleeing through you - the noise had stopped! Thank God!

Taking a deep breath, you slowly breathe out and smile. Tom running to the rescue had been just what his youngest son had needed. You imagined that in most cases, bringing the baby back to bed to sit and fuss over them would be the thing to do.

Tom knows better than to even try that move.

Poking your head out from under the pillow, you glance quickly at your phone to see it isn't even 6AM. There is no debate on your next move, placing the phone back on your night stand you roll over and close your eyes. It's your weekend, you are not getting out of bed any time before 8AM.

Sleep is a beautiful thing. Nobody would ever argue that logic, you reason with yourself as you stretch your arms and make your way to the kitchen. When you'd woke, for the second time - this time on your own schedule, not a crying child's - the delicious smell of coffee was filling the flat and if you weren't mistaken, there was a faint aroma of bacon as well.

"Morning." Tom didn't bother to look at you, when you turned the corner into the small kitchen.

"Morning." You reply setting up to make yourself a cup of coffee.

Tom is on the couch, his son perched on his lap, playing with a plastic set of keys and babbling away. You try to find something else to say, but can feel the uneasiness lingering in the air. Coffee poured, you smile to find the frying pan on the stove top.