Chapter Text
Be Here Now
I stood next to Tom Hiddleston on a cold, grey, misty evening in my little-bit town. He was here filming. I'm sure there were other actors, crew, extras, and et cetera. But for me, that moment, there was only Tom. A frozen, timeless tableau, a photograph in my memory.
I’d been in the little pub in the centre of town, dark heavy beams overhead in the low ceiling, not far above Tom's head. Standing at the bar, I was chatting to Jamie, my best friend and barman, while he poured my Guinness, asking after his family. He was laughing as he described the antics of his four year old nephew, Trevor.
Jamie was a man after my own heart. Unfortunately we were too much alike to ever make a go of it. The thing is, I like men. And so does Jamie. Sigh. So he's my best mate instead.
The warm, earthy smell of Guinness rose from the glass he had tilted under the tap as he laughingly told me that Trevor had called him a wanker for not going outside that very minute to see him ride his new bicycle.
"Little tyke's first swear!" Jamie said proudly.
Chuckling, I felt a draught of cold air brush against the back of my neck, and heard the heavy door thud closed over the quiet voices of tonight's pub patrons. Glancing over my shoulder my laugh died, strangled as I looked straight into a pair of lightning blue eyes.
Oh, god. What the hell is he doing here, of all places?! Why hadn't he gone a few towns over to the much larger, more anonymous town? For fuck's sake, it was Stratford-upon-fucking-Avon! You'd think that's where a famed Shakespearean actor would gravitate, wouldn't you?
But no. Here he is. In my village. In my pub. Staring into my eyes from across the room. Fuck. All the noise of the room disappeared, vanished into a vacuum along with my breath, my lungs frozen.
Suddenly, I could hear only the loud thump of my heart for the space of two heartbeats. Lub-dub... Lub-dub...echoing in my chest, and in my head. I wrenched my gaze away from his, sliding my eyes around the room as time resumed. My lungs labored into motion again, the rush of oxygen to my brain making my head spin almost as much as the recent momentary lack of oxygen.
Shaking my head lightly, I turned back to the bar as Jamie set my Guinness down with a thump in front of me. I picked it up and took a healthy draught.
"Cheers, Jamie," I said, licking the foam off my short upper lip. I risked another glance over my shoulder. A blonde man a bit shorter than he had stepped through the door and stood next to him, surveying the room.
Tom tilted his head down and spoke, gesturing toward an empty table on the leftward, quieter side of the room, and they moved together toward the table.
Good enough. They obviously wanted a bit of privacy to chat. I turned my gaze away resolutely, and had another drink from my glass.
"Evening, dear." I glanced to my right, only then realizing that old Mrs. Whitaker had stepped up to the bar beside me. Somehow I can’t stop thinking of her as Mrs. Whitaker, though she insists I call her Julia.
"Evening, Julia. What brings you here? You know I'd have brought your sherry over to you as always." I chided her gently.
"Well dear, I did try to catch your attention, but it seems you were focused elsewhere..." Her eyes slid over to the left side of the room and back to my face with a small smile.
Jamie interrupted us to ask for my mobile. As I dug it out of my pocket I laughed lightly and mildly scolded her.
"Has anyone ever told you that you're entirely too observant, Julia?"
She chuckled at me, her faded blue eyes twinkling up at me from a mass of smile wrinkles and snow white, fluffy hair.
"Not since my daughters moved away, dear," she said ruefully. "So, who is that young man who made you forget how to breathe? He's very pretty, isn't he?" She glanced around me at the table occupied by sex on two (very long) legs.
"You could tell that I stopped breathing? Julia, you need a new hobby!"
"Yes, dear. Now answer my questions, if you please."
"He's nothing to do with me! He's a film star here with the film crew that's been tearing up the High Street. And yes, he is pretty." I smiled at her.
She glanced over again and a sly smile crept over her lips.
"Perhaps you would introduce me then, dear?"
"I can hardly introduce you! I don't even know him! I only know of him."
"And where do you know 'of' him, dear?"
I chewed my lip, not willing to lie to her, but not entirely sure I wanted to explain tumblr, or run the chance of setting this mischief maker loose in the tumblr community. But from the sparkle in those blue eyes, I thought maybe introduction to tumblr might be superfluous. Her eyes darted to my other side again.
"Perhaps now would be the time for that introduction, dear?" she murmured lowly.
I stiffened and glanced up at Jamie over the bar. He was fiddling with my phone and grinning. My glance moved further to my left, and I became aware of the tall, warm body beside me. My gaze tracked upward, so far upward, to find him staring down at me, his eyes crinkled and a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His eyes traced over my face, noting my short, spiky, disarranged dark hair and my multiple ear piercings with the complicated knot work ear wire that one of my sisters had made for me.
Well, crap. I huffed under my breath as I realised Mrs. Whitaker had neatly trapped me. I took a breath and straightened my shoulders. What the hell, right? Taking a step back from between them, I cleared my throat lightly and unearthed my best Miss Jane Austen.
"Mr. Tom Hiddleston, may I present Mrs. Julia Whitaker? Tom, Mrs. Whitaker is our village mischief maker." He smiled down charmingly at her and took the small weathered hand she held out to him. "Julia, Tom is an actor of some renown."
I moved another step back, relieved that I'd managed to uphold Miss Austen's standards of introduction, curious to see the interaction between the two. I wondered if I had just introduced Trouble to Troublesome.
He twinkled down at her, his lovely smile breaking over his face, again stopping my breath. I glanced at Mrs. Whitaker, sparkling up at him, and knew immediately that if there hadn't been 50 years separating them, she'd have had him at her feet in a trice.
Was he really going to...? Yes, he was. He stood tall, lifted her hand and bowed over it, turning her hand and brushing a light kiss over her knuckles.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Whitaker." he murmured. I was astounded to hear a girlish laugh from her.
"Yes indeed, young man." She glanced at me, all her mischief to the fore. "And have you met our young Pix, here? She's the granddaughter of my best friend from finishing school."
Both sets of eyes swiveled in my direction, faded, twinkling blue and hot, searing blue, pinning me to the spot. I could feel the pink creeping across my face. This is so not me. I do not blush! I drew in a deep breath as unobtrusively as possible, and extended my hand to meet his. He took it, utterly engulfing it with his large palm, smiling down at me, covering our clasped hands with his other. I was relieved that he didn't try to kiss my hand as he'd done Mrs. Whitaker's. No, really.
He opened his mouth to say something when Jamie interrupted.
"Mrs. Whitaker, wouldn't you like a photograph of you and the film star to send to your granddaughters? Would you mind, Mr. Hiddleston?"
I watched his face fall slightly, before he put on a practiced, professional smile.
"Of course not. And please, call me Tom!"
He let go my hand and wrapped a long arm over tiny Mrs. Whitakers shoulder as they smiled and posed together. After Jamie snapped several photos, Tom thanked Mrs. Whitaker, and then turned back to me.
"Shall we, darling?" he gestured at Jamie holding my mobile as he reached for my shoulder to recreate the pose he'd done with Mrs. Whitaker. He was already looking into the lens with that practiced smile.
"Tom?" I asked, unable to believe I was going to be so forward. But, oh my goodness this man needed to get a little zen...
"Yes?" he glanced at me before turning his attention back to the camera lens.
"Tom." I waited until he turned and looked at me. "I'm sure that if I need a photograph there ought to be one or two on the Internet."
His eyebrows shot up as I smiled wryly at him. He nodded cautiously, creases appearing between his eyebrows. At least I could see that he wasn't offended, only intrigued.
"May I have a small moment of your time instead?" I asked. The cords in his neck were so tense and his shoulders so rigid. He was so tightly wound that I thought he might shatter.
His gaze flicked up at the mobile that Jamie was lowering, then over at his companion, and then back to me.
"Certainly, darling," he said with a cautious, curious lilt.
I lifted my hand, my silver bracelets chiming on my wrist, and took a step toward him so that we faced each other.
"May I?" I murmured, my hand hovering a few inches from his chest.
He paused, sensing that this was different to his usual fan encounter, searching my calm, solemn face for a clue. I think that photos with fans had become such a routine for him, and that fans just took for granted that they could touch him freely, that they were just blurred faces in a crowd. I was deliberately pulling him out of that mindset, and I'm sure he was a little uncomfortable. After a brief moment of searching my face, he nodded.
I set my hand gently over his heart, feeling the thump under my palm. I bent my head and closed my eyes.
"Breathe. Just breathe." I said in a low voice. He went utterly still beneath my hand as I stood tranquil, absorbing his undistracted presence, slowly breathing in his scent and simply sharing this moment in time with him. His hand crept up and covered mine.
I slowly breathed in and out, forming a rhythm, and I saw that Tom was matching my pace, in synch with me. Breathing in clean, slightly cool air, then expelling his dark stress and tension with each exhalation.
I could feel him relax. His heartbeat slowed and for a second I was reminded of that Dirty Dancing scene where they danced to a heartbeat.
Where had that thought come from?
I stepped back and looked up at him, lifting my hand from his chest. He squeezed it briefly. He took a deep breath and looked down into my eyes, something lurking there...
"Thank you, Pix. Sometimes I forget..." he murmured.
"Thank you as well, Tom." I grinned at him. "Now, I’ll let you get back to your friend. Enjoy your evening." I picked up my glass and walked away toward Mrs. Whitaker. I saw she was looking over my shoulder before she switched her gaze to me. She beckoned me. I leaned down close to her.
"Hook, line, and sinker, dear." She smiled conspiratorially at me.
"Don't be ridiculous Mrs. Whitaker! Julia. That was just a moment, not a play for him!"
"If you say so, dear." She smirked at me. I huffed in exasperation.
Just then the pub door opened and in waltzed Serena Whitaker-Jones in all her hoity-toity hyphenated glory, peering around disdainfully, obviously looking for her mother. From her expensively coiffed hair to her thousand quid shoes, she’s a pretentious snob. Serena treats me as an unskilled servant, rather than the skilled and experienced home help aide who cares for the mother that she usually can’t be bothered with.
I don’t see how Julia can stand her, but there’s no accounting for a mother’s love, I suppose. We had long since come to agreement that it was best that, since her daughter and I invariably got up each other’s noses, I would make myself scarce when Serena comes around.
"See you tomorrow morning, Julia," I jerked a slightly irritated nod and strolled over to the bar, finishing the last swallow and leaving my glass, heading out the back door, with a last glance over my shoulder to see Serena’s superior sneer. That woman could do with a kick in the pants from Lady Karma.
Speaking of Karma, I stole a last look at Tom to find him following my progress to the door, a faint look of regret on his face as his blonde friend made some point to him.
I shoved the door open on the night air.