You've Only Just Arrived (a Tom Hiddleston fan fiction)

Part 58

Two days. Two days of near constant hammering, the clipping of tiles with pieces shooting off in random directions in the kitchen and nearly taking out innocent bystanders [yet another reason to stay out of the kitchen, for the time being] - and idle chatter regarding the kitchen 'refresh'. It's about two days past your limit for such things. Thankfully they appear to be nearing completion, following your father's promise that all work would be done before he returned home. Soon your father will leave, both you and Tom will go back to work, and everything will finally settle once more.

After your not-mandatory-but-mandatory visit with a psychiatrist.

This morning the last of the tile was sealed into place. At the moment your father and John have ventured off to get the last few items needed for full-completion of the project. To your eye all it will take is a final coat of paint on the backsplash and your kitchen will look whole once more.

Mark refuses to budge on the temporary hiatus of all things related to work. No Touring Sundays sequel, no interviews, no photoshoots - he's even put a stop on all fan mail - something ensured by Richard's presence. Pure "you time". None of them can stop you from going online, but after reading a few negative comments regarding the situation you decide against that method of distraction - and there's only so many times you can review the few pages of scenes you have in your possession.

Through the open door to the bedroom you can hear Tom and Bruce in the living room, Tom pacing and rattling off lines while Bruce rattles pages, responding when needed. You feel a pang of guilt and head back out into the main room. Tom was staying here to be on hand if you needed him and you're hiding away - trying to get your fix via secreted texts. At your request Matt and Andrew have been keeping you up-to-date with the goings on at the sound stage. The feed of information just magnifies your desire to be back and complete the trio.

Richard has stationed himself at the kitchen table. When you pass by the doorway he looks up from the paper. You'll rejoin him when your father returns, but plan on staying out of the room until then. Instead you opt for peering over Bruce's shoulder at the pages Tom is reviewing, following along and sometimes playing as an additional needed character in the scene. If only everyone understood how slipping into a character helps to relieve the steady tension you've felt ever since leaving the hospital. But you can see the validity of their viewpoint - hiding in a character just pushes the feelings aside, it doesn't do a thing to heal. You try not to jump at unexpected motion in your peripheral vision, only sometimes succeeding.

When your father and John return from their shopping adventure Tom settles back into his seat to fill the margins of his pages with a few more notes. Rather than claim the seat next to him you follow your father into the kitchen, keen to see what the shopping bag in his hands holds. A can or two of paint and another can of sealant. They're taking no chances with the walls, apparently.

"Worried that I didn't match the color, honey? We took samples with us." Your dad takes a sip from the drink in his hand as you examine the colors he purchased. "Surprised you didn't keep the information on hand when you painted the place."

You'd vowed, long ago, not to have a cabinet in the house that was filled with nearly empty paint cans as your father did. Half the time he never had any intention of ever using the particular paint color again. It had been a blessing when you needed something for an art project for a class but otherwise just seemed to take up storage space.

Besides, your mind had been elsewhere at the time, occupied with other concerns than retaining paint pallet or brand name - namely the struggle over doubts in your relationship with Tom.

"Benedict and I both suggested it but she wouldn't hear it." Richard sets the paper down, flattening it out to cover the tabletop. "Insisting on throwing out what little was left."