Crumbs (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

Jesus, Mary and Jelly Doughnuts

I open the front door to the cottage, after Tom spends about fourteen minutes standing outside it, commenting on how nice it is, and how much it looks like the stereotypical east coast beach house.  He can’t get over the widow’s walk, and I keep telling him we can actually go inside and stand on it, but he seems to be happy just staring at it for awhile.

“You’re kidding me, right?” He walks inside, setting his bag and suitcase to the side.  I walk in after him, close the front door and lean against it.

“Home sweet, sweet home.” I smile.

“Charlie, you’ve been here for how long? And you’ve got a bean bag chair, a television and a folding table.” He turns slowly and looks at me with a furrowed brow.

“Are you judging me? I’m feeling judged.  It’s suddenly very judgey in here.” I push off the front door and walk toward the kitchen to put the beer in the fridge.

“No, I’m not judging—“

“Bring me the wine and the whiskey.” I say, cutting him off as he follows me toward the kitchen.  He turns around and goes back, grabbing the bottles from his bookbag.  It’s strange having him here.  It’s more than strange.  It’s not exactly my place, but it feels like there’s been a sudden invasion.  Having Tom here in Maryland, let alone the hobbit hole, is surreal. 

He walks into the kitchen, all crazy long legs and bright white teeth.  He’s smiling though, and that’s a good thing.

“I’m not judging you, Charlie.  I just can’t believe this is how you have been living for two weeks.”

“You should see the bed room.  It’ll really get you in the mood.” I wink at him and he grins bigger as he crosses his arms over his broad chest and leans against the counter.

“Oh we’ll get there, don’t you worry.” He teases, and I feel my face flush.  I turn around quickly and shove my head in the fridge.  No particular reason except that the beer should be super cold, so I need to make sure it’s all the way far, far in the back of the fridge, right before you get to Narnia.

“So you’re staying here with me then? Nice of you to invite yourself.” I mumble as I close my eyes for a split second, feeling the waves of chilly air waft against my warm face.  Tom is moving around the kitchen, opening and closing drawers and being all in all rather nosy.

“No, I’m not staying with you, actually.” He says in a lovely, pompous voice. I close the fridge and watch him as he keeps opening drawers and shutting them, until he pulls out a wine key.

“Where are you staying then?” I frown.  He expertly opens the bottle of red wine, pulling the cork out and then setting it on the counter.

“Some place nearby. I think it’s a Bed and Breakfast.  There aren’t really any hotels that are close.  It’s called the Smokey Oyster.” He grabs two mugs out of the cabinet as I feel my head retract back, doing a pretty good impression of a slug shriveling under salt.

“What?” He notices my face and he stops pouring the wine.

“That’s my mother’s B&B.” I breathe deep.  He gets a huge grin on his face, and it almost makes the dark half circles under his eyes seem less noticeable.

“Darling, really? That’s absolutely lovely.  Amazing.  I’d love to meet her.” He hands me a mug, and I notice that there is a cat on the side of it.  He’s drinking out of a mug that says “World’s Best Grandma” on it, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“No. Weird.” I gulp down my wine.  He shakes his head.

“No? Weird?” Tom hoists himself up onto the counter and sits, his long legs dangling over the side, his feet softly banging against the cabinets.  I still have not gotten over the fact that he is here.  The kitchen is small, but with him in it, it seems positively doll house sized.