The In-Betweens

Between Tonight and the Rest of Life

This takes place after the New York Comic Con and the chapter from His English Heart titled "Quite Frankly."

You are standing in the hotel bar with Luke, tapping the edge of a coaster emphatically against a high tabletop. You aren't nervous to see Tom. He'd already sent you a couple texts, both sweet and very much Tom so you know he thought the exchange at the Conference was funny. But seven fangirls had already spotted you, the majority of who seemed to be staring daggers at you as they slowly walked through the room. Okay, all of them had wanted to shoot lasers from their eyes, according to Luke who chuckled under his breath as one ran into a pillar and, red-faced, stumbled away.

"How does Tom deal with this stuff all the time?" you grumble, spinning the cardboard between your fingers.

"They're usually throwing underwear at him. Not dirty looks."

Your eyes widen to where you think you can hold quarters between your lids but before you can ask if he's joking, the crew from the panel wanders in boisterously. A freshly shaven Tom has his arm around Mark's shoulders and Chris is leading them, a thumb pressed to the corner of his eye as he guffaws at something Tom is saying. Joss and Colby follow behind them, a bit more serious with their heads turned toward each other and you wonder if they're talking about an upcoming movie.

Tom's grin increases in wattage when he sees you and Luke and he directs the others your way.

"Hello, Tonight!" Chris calls, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. It's heavy and warm and you slump slightly from the weight, leaning toward him and the comfort he provides.

"By far the best part of the day," Mark supplies, tapping his fists against the table a few times, looking around for a waitress. He spots one near the bar and waves her over.

Tom sidles over between you and Luke, his arm snaking around each of your waists. "Hello, darlings. Been waiting long?"

"Not too terribly," you lie.

"She's lying, you ninny," Luke reveals. "Any longer and you'd need to be a necromancer."

Tom puts a stilling hand over yours as you are tapping the coaster rather vigorously. "How so?"

You roll your eyes. "Apparently your fangirls weren't too keen about my observation skills at the panel. I thought you were going to start making mini-dreads in your beard with how you were twisting it."

The others stop their conversations to stare at you then simultaneously burst into laughter.

Your cheeks burn a bit but their attention is appreciated. It's comforting how they've welcomed a commoner like you into their tight-knit group. You're not exactly on the same pay scale as them but you never feel like that's an issue among them.

The cute, young waitress pointedly walks over but you can see the slight tremor in her hands and give her a sympathetic smile.

"Can I get you guys something from the bar?"

"Jameson, please."

"Make that two."

"Rittenhouse whiskey."

Well, nearly never feels like an issue.

"I'll stick with my Diet Coke," you say, tipping the glass and sucking on the ridiculously thin cocktail straw.

"Nothing for me, darling, thank you." Tom is distracted, looking at his phone, and you assume he's touching base with his Twitter followers. A necessary evil, you've heard him call it but he does indeed enjoy conversing with his fans in such a manner that allows him some privacy. He tips the phone in your direction to show you a picture someone took of him at the con with 'perfection' plastered at the bottom.