A/N: Thar she blows! Here's another Tom fic. This one is different for me. I'm scurred. Someone hold me. Here we go!!! P.S. Thanks for reading! Here, I made you a cookie!
Tom lifted up the thick pack of papers in the plain manila folder, looking them over but not quite reading the words. His lawyer had delivered them herself—two different packets, just last night. He’d been surprised when the headlights had illuminated his living room, as he didn’t often get visitors so late at night. Or visitors at all, really.
He’d stared at the papers, a mixture of emotions rolling through him. It was interesting how something so simple as a few papers and a couple signatures could mean so much. It was like relief, freedom, and the opportunity to finally close a door, end a chapter in his life that had gone on for too long. The signatures hadn’t been easy to acquire, and they’d been working on it for quite some time. It was over two years at this point. He swallowed hard, ran a hand through his unruly, sandy brown hair and then took a long swallow from his coffee mug. The coffee was hot and bitter on his tongue, but he savored the taste. It was early, but he felt his body start to wake up, itching to move and stretch.
The blue gray light from the misty morning filtered in through his kitchen window. The window was large, almost oversized in comparison to the tiny kitchen. The room was just barely big enough for the tiny island, stove top, a bit of counter space and a fridge that he was pretty sure was older than he was. It worked for him though. He enjoyed the simplicity. It was what he needed to stay sane. And the view out the front—the gray sky with the mossy green ocean, frothing and rolling just yards away. It was all worth it. He set his mug down, took one more glance at the stacks of papers, as if making sure he hadn’t imagined them, and then headed outside.
As he’d predicted, though it was overcast outside, it was surprisingly warm and muggy. His thin gray tshirt clung almost instantly to his chest, and he felt a fine sheen of sweat and ocean mist on his face, arms and legs as he began to run.
He had to admit it, he was a creature of habit. Every morning, rain or shine, he would leave his little bungalow around 6. He’d run down the beach, some days taking his time, enjoying the scenery, other days running hard and fast as if in a race only he knew about. Today he took a slower pace. He felt light and carefree, and it had been quite some time since he’d felt like that. Years, perhaps.
Once he ran the quarter mile, barely even feeling the exertion, he turned left off the beach and went down a sandy dune path, lined with tall mint green sea grass. A jog down the twisting path led him through a thatch of trees, all knotty, scraggly pine, and then to a clearing. The house there was only slightly bigger than his own, two stories instead of one.
He let himself in, barely out of breath, just starting to feel his muscles wake up. The house was quiet, as it usually was when he came over. If there was any noise, it was usually giggling or shuffling about upstairs. Normally he could keep quiet, go in through the side kitchen door and make coffee. Today, the house was silent and calm with sleep.
He put the pot on, making it strong like Rosie liked it, and then started to cut up some fruit that had been slowly ripening on the counter. He put most of it in a big bowl, and then he saved some of the smaller pieces for a small bowl, that was shaped like a cartoon character’s face. Some mornings he’d make parfaits with granola. Other mornings he’d get things ready for oatmeal. This morning, it was going to be blueberry pancakes. So he rinsed the blueberries, set them to the side, then checked the make sure the coffee was going.
When breakfast was set aside, ready for later, Tom let himself out of the house, undetected. He went back down the path, and onto the deserted beach. The fog from earlier was beginning to burn off, but just barely. It was only half six, and he knew it wouldn’t be until seven or eight before they might see the sun. He turned back down to the beach, set his pace and began the half mile run to his next destination.
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Darling (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)
FanfictionBaby Darling has fallen from grace. Once an award winning pop artist, she now finds herself stalked and hounded by paparazzi, surrounded by people who don't have her best interests at heart. The only thing she can think to do is run home. And so s...
