Chapter Text
It was never truly dark in the city. Street lights, car lights, lights from the windows of nearby houses and flats – they drowned out the starlight, the moonlight, and flooded the city with artificial light. It was dim, yellowish, or bright neon blue and white and red and orange. It came swiftly blinding, then disappeared just as quickly, leaving behind a trail of red and the sound of an engine getting further and further away.
She’d learned when she was little that some lights you could see, and some lights you could feel. And she could feel him coming closer at a measured pace. Not hurrying, not stalling. Determined. Purposeful. With each step he took, he grew dimmer, but with each step he took he was getting closer and so she felt him nonetheless. So she waited, looking over the spiked railing of the bridge down at the road. It was mostly empty this time of night, but never truly empty. Not in London. Like all big cities, London never truly slept. The lights always shone, there was always some level of noise, some degree of movement. She loathed big cities. But she came anyway. A moth to a flame. And just in time, too.
He treaded lightly on the ground, his footsteps barely heard on the pavement, tapping lightly until they stopped somewhere behind her, on the other side of the road. She didn’t need to look to know exactly where he stood. She waited. He waited. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t a last-moment attempt to change his own mind, to talk himself out of it. It was just waiting for the right moment. She turned, crossed the street, stood right next to him. He had put his coat over the spiked railing and was leaning on it. They had put up the spikes after too many people jumped off. It didn’t seem like they’d hinder him much. She wrapped small hands around two of the spikes.
“It’s not gonna kill you,” she said, looking straight down. It wasn’t very high, but the pavement was hard below the bridge. It would kill some, but it won’t kill him.
He turned to her but said nothing. She looked up, curious to see his face. Her eyes widened with recognition. What the hell was he doing here?! But she knew. Of course she knew. Him being there was the reason she was there. And it didn’t matter who he was.
“Go home,” he said quietly.
“I can’t,” her fingers tightened around the spikes. He wouldn’t understand. No one would understand. “Not while you’re here.”
“I won’t be here long.” He turned away, looked straight ahead.
“That’s exactly the problem,” she mumbled, but wasn’t sure whether he’d heard her or not. She could feel it, standing this close to him. Could feel everything that’s brought him to this place, to this moment. Everything that was making him fade away. It wrapped a fist around her heart and shoved it up into her throat, making it hard to breathe. It welled behind her eyes and started leaking out slowly, one drop at a time. She could feel it, but she couldn’t take it away.
He moved and her hand shot out, latched onto his wrist as if onto life itself. In a way, that was exactly what she was doing. “Don’t,” she said.
“Go away,” he said again, just as quietly as before. He tried to shake her hand off but couldn’t.
“Tom, please,” he flinched when she said his name. He knew that she’d recognized him the moment she looked at him, but he flinched nonetheless. As if until she had said it out loud, it wasn’t real. “It won’t kill you,” she repeated. But it would turn off the light, and that just might kill her. She blinked and another tear rolled down her cheek. She reached with the back of her free hand and brushed her cheeks, drying them with the edge of a sleeve.
He seemed to give up on trying to untangle himself from her grip, and relaxed his arm back on the coat-covered spiked railing. “You don’t know that,” he said.
“I do.”
“How?”
She shrugged. “I just do. You’ll get really hurt, but it won’t kill you,” she said. “It might kill others, though,” she added. A light so bright going off, it would create a ripple turned wave turned tsunami. She’d be the first, but not the last. Most people didn’t even realize how much they needed someone to be, even if it’s someone they’d never met, never seen, never knew of. But not realizing didn’t save them from the ripples, it just confused them because their world turned darker and they couldn’t ever figure out why.
“You’re insane,” he said, but there was no real feeling behind the words, no passion, no conviction.
“You’re the one that wants to jump off.”
“You don’t know what I want,” Tom tried to shake her hand off again, briefly, but she had none of it. If the hand was the only thing that kept him on that side of the bridge, she wasn’t ever letting go.
“I know exactly what you want,” she answered. “That’s why I waited for you,” he turned to look at her again, a storm of grey clouds studying her from high above. “You can’t always get what you want,” she added, blinked a tear away and tried for a little smile, “but sometimes you can get what you need.”
He laughed, a bitter sound that sounded nothing like it should have, “And you’re what I need then?” the words stung more than they should have, the tone stabbed, and it showed on her face because his expression softened a moment later and he said, “I’m sorry.” For a moment right before he said those words, he shone just a hair brighter.
“You shone like a beacon in a dark world,” she said, quoting without even remembering where from. It was an accurate description, it stuck in her mind. She was looking right up into the storm behind his eyes. “I felt you from half the world away. I could close my eyes and point to your exact direction. Like the northern star,” she looked away then, down at the scarce traffic below. He followed her gaze, said nothing. “And then you started fading, and I knew.” She added. “I didn’t know why, but I knew. So I came here to stop you. Because even if you don’t die, you’ll never shine like that again. You’ll never shine again at all. A body can stay alive without a soul, you know.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
She sighed, “Nothing,” she said. “You wouldn’t understand,” she added. “The point is you can’t jump.”
“I’m so, so tired,” he said, slumping against the railing. The spikes stabbed through the coat and he straightened up immediately, rubbing at his arms. She let go the hand that was holding his wrist to allow him more movement, and rubbed her own arm. He looked at her curiously when he realized she was mirroring him. She stopped, forced her arms down to hang beside her body.
“I know,” she said. Tired wasn’t an apt word for it. He was bone-weary. She reached and wrapped her hand around his. “Come,” she tugged at his arm, “tell me all about it.”
Down the street there was a park. He followed her numbly, his hand still in hers, as she led the way to the nearest entrance. It was closed this time of night. She looked around, then up at the fence. “What do you think?” she asked, looking back and up at him. “You think we can do it?” She knew he could. His legs were long enough. She, on the other hand, might not make it.
Tom nodded, still slightly dumbstruck. She motioned and he climbed over the fence, then helped her do the same, catching her when she nearly fell. He had an arm around her waist, another holding onto her own arm. Heat radiated from him, together with the faint smell of soap and fabric softener. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring neither the heat nor the smell, but the flash of light. It faded a moment later and he let her go, stepping away. He followed her in silence deep inside the park. Life moved around them, rodents and foxes and insects, rustling leaves. Even there, surrounded by nature, there was no quiet. But there were no artificial lights as well. The lamps were there, but they were off.
“Slow down,” the first words he’d said since they left the bridge. “I can barely see a thing.”
“I can see,” she said and took his hand in hers again. She slowed down however. “Trust me.”
“I don’t know you,” Tom said.
“You don’t need to know someone to trust them,” she said, slowing down to a stop near a bench. “Besides, we’re here,” she motioned and he sat down.
“How did you get me to follow you here?” he asked as she sat next to him. “I didn’t mean to walk off that bridge.”
She shrugged, “I didn’t mean for you to jump off that bridge. I won,” he couldn’t see her smile in the darkness. It didn’t last long anyway, winning a battle wasn’t winning the war, and even wars had a tendency to repeat themselves too often for comfort.
“I hope you’re not expecting gratitude,” he said.
“None.”
“Good,” he nodded, “What’s your name?”
“Anna,” she said. “Now talk,” she found his hand in the darkness, wrapped her fingers around two of his and waited. Eventually, he started talking. He talked about how he was tired. About how he was tired of people constantly wanting things from him, expecting things from him. About how he was tired of being Tom Hiddleston, instead of just being Tom Hiddleston. About how people were constantly trying to use him now, to get this or that or just a taste of what it’s like to be him or near him. About how the world was falling apart and he couldn’t do a damn thing to fix it, to help. About how people had the potential to be wonderful, amazing, fantastic, extraordinary, but they chose not to. He talked and talked, pausing only for air or to swallow against the dryness of his throat from all the talking, and then he talked some more. All the while, Anna’s fingers were wrapped around his. She listened. She couldn’t take his pain away, but she shared it with him. He talked and talked, and she could see, through the blur of unshed tears in her eyes, the weight lifting off his shoulders. He sat up a bit straighter, he breathed a bit easier. He talked, and she could feel the light growing brighter once again. People forgot. They forgot that sometimes all they needed was to talk and have someone listen. Just that. But they had to really talk, and someone had to really listen. Both skills rare in the technological word where talking was just sounds to fill the silence, and listening was just nodding your head waiting for your own turn to say something, anything, just to be heard and validated.
Eventually Tom stopped talking. They sat in silence. She could hear him breathe. Could feel the heat radiating from him in waves. Wondered whether she felt it so strongly because she herself had grown cold, her fingers frozen, now tucked into his large, warm hand. It took a toll, even if it seemed she’d done nothing but sit there and listen. Listening was easy. Sharing took a toll. But he shone again. Not as bright, not nearly as bright, but it was there, as warm on her mind as his hand was on her skin.
“You’re cold,” he said into the silence.
“I know.”
“What did you do?” he asked. “How did you do it?”
It made her smile that he felt it, that he knew it was her and not just something.
“I listened,” Anna said.
“That’s all?”
She shook her head, “It’s hard to explain.”
He looked at her for a long time, his eyes that have adjusted to the darkness, pupils wide and dark, still strained to see her properly. She held his gaze for as long as she could, as long as she dared, before she looked away, eyes focusing on the neckline of his sweater instead. Some things were easy. There was an intimacy to listening, to sharing, to knowing what others felt. But being looked at like that put her on the other side. She was the naked one. And she was so very, very cold.
Tom chuckled, his chest shaking with the motion, the sound going slightly over her head. She looked up and he caught her, held, his eyes a prison. Trapped with a chuckle. “You talk a man off a bridge, listen for god knows how long while he talks, but run away the moment he looks at you.”
“I’m sitting right here,” her eyes ran wild around his face, escaping their prison when he blinked. She knew it, the same way she’d known him before she met him tonight, but it was different now, the same way he was different now that she’d actually knew him. Knew more of him than most, she’d guess.
“You know what I mean,” he said. She nodded. Of course she knew what he meant. “Why?” he asked.
“It’s easier to talk a man off a bridge,” Anna said. “You look at me like that and I’m naked,” she added. “And I’m cold enough without it.”
“Come,” Tom said, tugging her until she got up. He wrapped his coat around her, led the way out of the park. He walked slowly, struggling to see in the darkness, and sometimes he’d follow her direction. They reached the same gate they came in through and he helped her go over to the other side, then followed her. He took her hand in his, large fingers wrapping almost completely around her small hand, and led the way. He was growing brighter with each step. Soon, he’d shine again. Bright like the sun. Soon. He was growing brighter and she was getting colder. He led her up one street, then turned and up another, then turned again. She knew where he was going, knew they’d be there soon.
It was cold inside his flat. He’d turned to heating off before he left. He turned it back on the moment they stepped through the door. He made tea while Anna sat, shivering inside his coat. She wrapped her fingers around the hot mug he presented her a few minutes later and drank slowly, the hot liquid warming a path down her throat and into her stomach. The heat didn’t catch. She was still shivering.
“Why are you so cold?” he asked.
Anna just shook her head, finishing the last of the tea. She stood up with the mug in her hand, lost for a moment. Did she put it in the sink? Did she leave it on the coffee table? He took the mug away, warm fingers brushing cold ones, and placed it on the coffee table next to them.
“Tell me,” Tom insisted. She shook her head once again. Some things were better left unsaid, unexplained. Even if they were simple.
His hands cupped her face and she closed her eyes. He was warmth and light against her skin. She leaned into it, into the warmth, into the growing light. She could feel his lips curve into a little smile without opening her eyes. Could feel him moving closer, until there wasn’t anywhere closer to move. It was still a surprise when his lips brushed against hers. It was a brief kiss, but it left her tingling. She held her breath, opened her eyes. He was waiting to capture her, and there was nowhere to run. Fingers brushed against her lips gently and his smile grew a bit wider, “that seemed to warm you up a bit,” Tom said, eyes twinkling. Anna nodded.
“Come,” he said, his hands left her face, slid down her neck and into his coat, pushed it off her shoulders. “You don’t need this,” it fell to the floor. He left it there. He took her hand again and pulled her after him into the bedroom.
Anna looked around, heart hammering in her chest. It was just a room. There was nothing special about it other than being his room. The bed was just a bed, large and soft and, she imagined, warm when he was there. Not so warm now, empty in the still-chilled room. She was shaking, the cold seeping into her bones, the brief warmth of his kiss already faded. Her heart was beating so hard she was sure he could hear it.
He couldn’t, but one look at her face and he paused, “Are you scared?” he asked. Anna nodded. “Is this your first time?” his eyebrows shot up in surprise. She shook her head. He relaxed a bit. “Then why?” she just shrugged.
“You don’t talk much, do you?” he asked, a smile playing on the corners of his lips again. He was standing close again. So close. Not close enough. There couldn’t be close enough with him. Too close wasn’t even an option.
“No, not much,” Anna agreed. There were other ways to communicate. And she was more of a listener anyway. She reached for his hand, pressed his palm just above her breast. Looked up at him. Her heart hammered against her ribcage, vibrating through her skin, through her jumper and right into his palm. He slid his hand up, up her long neck, to cradle the back of her head, and leaned down, tracing kisses down her temple and to her ear, “Shhh,” he whispered, his breath making her shiver.
She was still shaking, frozen, when Tom pulled the jumper over her head and tugged her trousers down. She stood, mostly naked, her skin covered in goose bumps, hands wrapped around herself, and watched as he undressed. He didn’t waste any time, and had her under the blankets within minutes. She burrowed into his warmth. He kissed her lips, her skin, his hands tracing paths up and down her body. He rid her of her undergarments and she didn’t mind. This was an entirely different kind of naked, and she wasn’t so cold anymore. And then he filled her, stretching, tugging, and she hissed from the pain, fingernails digging into the skin of his shoulders, but she wasn’t cold at all. He waited for a few moments, allowing her to adjust, and started moving. The room was warm, the sheets were warm, there was a sheen of sweat on his skin and she was starting to develop one to match. He was so hot, his skin burning against her, and wherever it touched her, she grew hot, too. He whispered her name, bit into her shoulder. Enough to leave a mark, not enough to break the skin. Anna barely even felt it.
In the early hours of dawn, he slept with an arm draped around her. She lay still, counting his breaths, wondering whether anyone else could feel it. A beacon of light in a dark world. This close to him, the world didn’t seem quite as dark. She wished she could stay longer.