Crumbs (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

Flying Croissants

A/N: I am having so much fun writing this.  Thank you all for the feedback,votes and generally awesome comments.  It means so much to me!

I pack up two croissants in waxed brown paper and put them carefully into my messenger bag.  My hands shake as I do it, but I continue to ignore them.  I don’t know that I’ll have an appetite later, but I certainly don’t have one at the moment.  I’m sort of moving out of habit and I always pack two croissants before I leave. I wasn’t lying to Mandy when I told her that I hoover croissants after hours.  I’m like some sort of croissant troll, sitting in my empty cottage, eating flaky pastries by the handful.

I should go home.  I should really go home, take a shower and then call it an early night.  But I feel anxious and upset, and I can’t stop checking my phone.  It’s in my back pocket, and I keep pulling it out, thinking that I hear it or can feel it vibrating.  But no, nothing.  I am so ridiculously, inconveniently worried about Tom that I have a stomach ache.  How is this all happening, and I’ve heard nothing from him? Sometimes he calls me just to tell me what he had for lunch but now his fiancé cheats on him and I’ve got radio silence?  All I can think about is our conversation from last week.  He seemed upset about something—could it be this? Did he know Keegan was cheating on him? My chest squeezes tight, thinking of Tom dealing with that all on his own.  I had tried to get him to open up, but he hadn’t been ready.  Now…now it’s happening whether he is ready or not.

I throw my bag over my shoulder, shut off all the lights and lock the back door behind me as I leave.  The idea of going back to the hobbit hole is not appealing and my mind is racing over my options.  Take the long way home and sit on the pier, go visit my mother (no), head to the Ink Pot.  I know I told Mandy no, but it’s sort of sounding like the best option.  It’s only a block away, and so I steer my flour covered self in that direction.  I’m well aware that I’m not dressed for public consumption but really, all I want is a beer and maybe some conversation with some drunk locals in hopes that it will clear my head a bit.

I’m half way down the road when I feel my phone vibrating.  I wrench it out of my pocket, feeling my heart jump to my throat.  A text.

I guess you’ve heard by now.

It’s Keegan, not Tom.  I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, staring hard at my phone.  I’m a little surprised she is texting me, but not completely shocked.  We don’t always see eye to eye, but we’ve had some good memories, some fun times together.  Even so, she should be 100% aware of where my loyalties lie.

You are a terrible person, Keegan.  What were you thinking?  My fingers move faster than they ever have before and I hit “send” before I can really think about what I’m saying.  It’s all from the gut.  Okay, so I know it’s not the most mature thing to say, but it’s also not the worst thing I could say.  I’m practically shaking with anger at the moment, and so calling her “terrible” is pretty tame.

I’m sorry! I feel so bad.  I lost my head for a minute. I still love Tom.  Will you tell him that? He won’t speak to me.

I turn off my phone and I close my eyes and I count to ten, and then twenty and then pretty much all the way to one hundred before I can breathe without it hurting.  She is going to kill him, I know it. 

I haven’t spoken to him either.  I’m not your messenger.  He deserves better than you.  You made your bed. Sleep in it.

Again, not the most mature, but all I can think of is Tom.  I wait and she doesn’t respond, so I guess she realizes I’m not going to be quite the sympathetic shoulder for her to cry on.  My mind switches back to Tom.  Where is he?