Before The After (Tom Hiddleston Fan-Fic)

Chapter 46

Kate's Perspective

There's this weird feeling you get when you realize that the drive or the walk you're on is so engrained into you that every muscle and bone in your legs and feet already knows where to go before your brain does. Like you've driven or walked that same path so many times that it's physically impossible for your body to forget what your mind may not want you to remember. Like when a muscle you didn't know you had is sore and achy.

That's what happened when I saw Tom at the bakery, and it's exactly what happens when I find myself standing in front of our old home almost two weeks later after his interview. From across the street, I can see his Jaguar parked out front of the townhome instead of hidden from sight in a garage two blocks down. He'll probably be leaving somewhere soon, and I start to use that as legitimate excuse to turn back around and walk back to Ben's place. But then I remember why I came.

When I woke up this morning with a hankering for alcohol—as I do most mornings—I decided to substitute a potentially destructive behavior with a creative behavior instead. And then I remembered that Tom still had all my favorite oil paints and biodegradable paintbrushes—the nice ones I'd spent a small fortune on when I was pregnant with Dan—

I swallow, zipping up my jacket further in the hopes that it'll stop me from shivering, even though there's no breeze to speak of.

-

Tom's Perspective

It's sort of bizarre to see Kate walking around in the room that used to function as her old studio, seeing her among all her old creations of pottery and sculpting. I imagine her as a god walking in Eden, her eyes sparkling with nostalgia and muted joy as she recalls the exact time each piece came into being. She's been at it for about an hour, separating items she wants for herself from the group of things she's willing to donate or sell. At her insistence, I'd busied myself elsewhere, tidying things that were already clean and reorganizing things that were already in their correct places. Inevitably, though, I was drawn back to the threshold, content to just stand and watch her work.

"Do you mind if I keep that one?" I suddenly speak, and Kate jumps. We've been mostly silent this entire time with her quietly working and muttering to herself while I looked on, mildly unsettled at watching her further dismantle our life together.

Kate turned to look at the painting I was gesturing at. She'd put it in the pile of things she didn't want, but now looked at it with renewed interest. She turned to me, her forehead slightly damp with exertion and her sleeves rolled up to reveal the ugly, jagged lines of scars lining the inside her wrist and forearms.

"This one?" She said, frowning. I tore my eyes from the scars to look at her face, afraid that she would catch me staring. "Sure. Why's it so special to you?"

I tried to mask my offense, unsure if she was acting out of spite or if she truly didn't remember. "You gifted it to me. A few weeks after we met."

Kate's brows scrunched together all the more as she struggled to recall, and I leaned away from the door frame, walking over to where she stood by the window.

"I did?" She asked, a little breathless. "When?"

"I'd only ever seen your photographs and sketches. You'd shown me a couple of your paintings, but when you found out I wanted to purchase one of them, you made me this," I said, a smile touching my lips as my finger traces the outline of the large canvas. "Free of charge."

"Right," Kate blinks a few times as the memory visibly resurfaces, a strange look on her face. "It's not in the foyer anymore, though. It's in here."

There's a question in there, and though it's not explicitly stated, I'm sure will disturb the moment I'm trying to create. If you love it so much, why is it in here where no one can see?

"I had the Vanity Fair UK shoot here," I sighed, figuring that the truth was better than a lie. "It happened shortly after our split, and Luke didn't think it wise to have your things—"

"You were still doing damage control," Kate says, bluntly summarizing what I meant to water down. "Didn't want anything up that would remind everyone of what happened. I would've done the same. It makes sense."

"I do still want it," I try to say, but Kate's on the other side of the room now and is paying me very little attention. "I was planning to rehang it sometime this week."

"That's fine," Kate turns to throw a smile over her shoulder before she gets back to taping a box shut. "If you want it, it was a gift. So it's yours."

She doesn't want to argue with me, and her attempts at domestic diplomacy have the opposite affect of subduing me. The indifference in her tone scares me.

"So," I hurry over to her side when I see her struggling with a particularly heavy sculpture. "I thought you were going to have someone else come by. I wasn't expecting to see you personally when I opened the door."

Kate's eyes narrow until I'm sure she's going to spit something hateful at me, but she eventually laughs. "I didn't have a good grasp of the inventory, but I did figure it'd be larger than anticipated. Didn't wanna send anyone over that didn't know what they were looking at, you know? The appraisal values, the sentimental stuff. I thought it'd be easier to do this part myself and then hire the team of movers later."

The donation pile was steadily growing larger, and in it, I saw several sketches and photographs that had my face or likeness at the center. I swallowed. It was the first time I realized the high probability that all my efforts to win her back could possibly be in vain.

"Oh, and I saw your car out front," Kate panted, wiping some of the sweat from her forehead. "If you've got somewhere to be—"

"I don't," I quickly lied. Damn the convention. I'd be absolutely insane to leave now when I had her this close. "It's fine."

My enthusiastic response was too on the nose, however. Kate's smirk was telling. "Well," she hummed, "if you do, that's also fine. I'm mostly done here, anyway. I can send instructions for the rest of this—"

"Are you taking this with you?" I motioned towards the small pile of this she elected to keep. I didn't want to encourage or entertain the idea of her leaving. "When you return to New York?"

She nodded, her homesickness suddenly apparent. "Some will probably go to the gallery, yes, but the rest will come home with me. He's been begging to see some of my new stuff, so—"

"Wait—you're seeing someone?" I blurted the question before I could remember it wasn't my place to ask. "In New York?"

"I am," Kate's face was entirely blank as she tilts her head, eyes gravitating to gaze into my own. "Is that really such a shock? That I didn't wait for you?"

My ears had started ringing. Unwilling to risk the scene bound to unfold once my knees buckled underneath me, I found a bit of unoccupied wall and carefully slid down it until I was safely seated. If Kate notices the color draining from my face, she says nothing, and continues to pack and label her things on the other side of the room.

We resume our silence then, and when she leaves half an hour later, I've regained my voice and end up walking her to the door.

"How are the twins?" I ask as she's walking down the stairs. "I was thinking about them just the other day."

Kate grins at the mention of her eccentric aunt and uncle. "Jo is seeing someone and Simon is disapproving, of course. Same old, same old."

"Tell them I said hello." I hesitate at the door, not quite ready to surrender to reality. "I'm probably the last one they want to hear it from, but will you tell them anyway?"

"I will," Kate's eyes have softened. "They're not really into grudges, those two. They're advocates of the whole 'forgive and forget' thing."

"And you?" I ask, unlocking the door her for her, though Kate's eyes are glued to mine now. I'm standing so close to her, I can smell the perfume that still lingers on her neck. It's not from any bottle I ever gave her. "Have you forgiven me, Kate?"

"Forgiveness and trust aren't the same things, Tom," Kate reminds me, the hazel of her eyes infinitely somber as she opens the door. "Might be helpful for you to remember that."