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The plate in the dressing room held all kinds of delicacies, but Tom's favorite, as it had always been, was the cheesecake. It was pretty good for not being in New York. James Corden filmed his show, the Late Late Show, in Television City in Los Angeles, and Agnes was happy being back at Angela's house again, while Tom was doing this PR tour. He didn't have to push too hard to get her to come with him tonight, as the tour was going to end soon and they'd be off to Europe to spend some time together. The final stop, of course, was London, and finishing setting up house before he had to go to Australia (again) for Thor 3, for which of course she was going to accompany him because it was going to be a long shoot. He knew all this was tiring her, but assured her (and himself) that it was just temporary and unfortunate timing, all these things happening at once.
She lounged on the couch behind him while Tom did the bit for the show, their knocking on his dressing room door. The comment about impregnating women just by licking his finger earned him an amused snort from behind. Once the door was closed, he gave her a wink.
"Only one woman I'm making any effort to impregnate, darling," he said.
She rolled her eyes but she was smiling as she stood. "If you're not going to eat that broccoli, I will. That dip they provided was pretty good."
Tom scoffed. "Broccoli...here, try this." He scooped more cheesecake on his finger and offered it to her. His little eyebrow wiggle was his answer to her wry look, but she let him feed her. And nipped his finger in the process which made him gasp. "You are so paying for that later."
"Promises, promises," she sighed, taking the plate from him as the real knock came.
They put him in the hallway, where he looked at the various pictures of previous guests posted along the wall. Agnes was shown to a prime spot in the audience, along with Middleditch's wife. They had all met when they arrived at the studio. But it wasn't until the show that Tom found out Thomas' wife was a fangirl.
Then all was forgotten when they brought out the baby snow leopards.
Getting to hold that cub...it was not like holding a cat, because he could feel how much stronger this little thing was. It was sweet, beautiful, with its spots of black and grey, the different designs. He could have sat and stroked the thing for hours but there was so much going on. Plus the thing kept trying to climb him! But Jack Hanna did say the thing lived most of its life in a tree, so it wasn't that surprising. By the end, though, he could absolutely not resist pulling a Simba -- and when they went to credits, he started to sing, softly, "The Circle of Life!"
Tom was used to staying focused when on stage, so he didn't really catch Agnes' eye until the very end, when they took the lights off. She was grinning so hard she looked like her cheeks ached. He turned to Hanna.
"Is it all right if I let my wife come up?" he asked. "I think she is dying to touch this snow leopard."
"Oh yeah, sure, just be careful," Hanna said quickly. The man had a rapid fire way of talking, and he was good with his animals, but he wasn't quick to take back the cubs from either him or Middleditch, as both of them had handled them gently and the cubs seemed happy.
One of the PAs brought Agnes up to them, along with Middleditch's wife, who was blushing furiously and laughing at her husband. "You get the nice one!" Middleditch teased him. "I get the one that bites. Figures."
Hanna was watching them closely as they all went backstage. Tom had the cub firmly in his grip, concerned it would try to climb again if he relaxed at all. Agnes ran her hand over the soft coat, a look of wonder on her face.
"I think you crossed off a bucket list item tonight," she said, looking up at him. "That Simba bit."
He chuckled. "I simply couldn't resist the chance," he said. "Probably the only time in my life I'll ever get to hold an actual wild animal, let alone a feline one."
"I thought I was gonna cry, the way James reacted to the penguin," she giggled. "And your face when this thing started to nuzzle your cheek, I swear, I want a picture of that to hang in our house."
"I'm sure we can arrange it," he said, as the cub lifted its face to Agnes' and sniffed her fingers, curious. She was short enough to look it in the eyes -- it was too young to treat it like a sign of aggression -- and it seemed to like her enough, its little paw reaching over his arm toward her.
"It is all right if she holds it?" he asked Hanna.
Agnes immediately started to object. "No, Tom! I don't want to---"
"If she's scared, man, don't push her," Hanna said.
"She's not scared," Tom insisted. "She's dying to hold it and she doesn't want to ask."
"I don't want to manhandle the poor thing," Agnes argued.
"Oh, no, you won't sweetie, don't worry about it. Should be fine. Just keep a firm grip," Hanna assured her.
"I don't have your long fingers to grab it if it tries to get away," Agnes said.
"I'll stay close, don't worry," he assured her.
Slowly, Tom started to hand the cub off to her. It mewed a bit, and she cradled it like a baby. It quickly righted itself, but Tom stayed close in case it started to climb. Its claws were sharp and his suit had been enough to protect him, but Agnes was wearing a very pretty pink dress of much softer material. And the first thing the cub did was sniff the space exposed by the neckline, right between her breasts.
"Oh, hey, now, none of that!" Tom told it. "That's my spot!"
Agnes turned bright pink. "Tom!" But it was clear she was utterly delighted for the full five minutes she got to hold the cub, until Hanna had to put both of them back where they belonged.
They all went to dinner after, the five of them: James, the Middleditches, Tom and Agnes. It had been Agnes' idea -- although she got some good-natured ribbing about being the lucky woman that got to sleep with Tom when there were so many takers in that line. She smiled and laughed and took it well, but Tom knew her well enough to see the twitch of her lip and the way her eyes drifted off.
He did what he usually did to keep her present. He put his hand on her knee, very slowly moving up throughout the evening. His arms were long enough that he could do this without rousing suspicion or embarrassing either one of them. Whenever she got distracted -- Agnes was always distracted, her own thoughts never seemed to leave her alone -- he would start to pull on the skirt of her dress and move his hand higher, which would always make her give a little jerk and attempt, vainly, to get him to move his hand back down. Which he didn't do.
The dinner was long enough that he'd gotten pretty close to his target and bared most of her thigh before she finally shoved his hand away so they could stand up. He just grinned his little grin until they were back at Angela's house (who was thankfully out on a date that night).
He felt a certain thrill, going up to her room. So many times he had wanted to follow her, and so many times she had put him off. Then, even on the rare occasion he was allowed into the first room, she never let him so much as glimpse the bedroom. Now, they were going to spend the night in her old bed. Which excited him, for some odd reason.
He would have attacked her, but instead she attacked him -- or rather, his suit coat lapels, which still had bits of hair from the snow leopard on it. She plucked off the strands and collected them in a little plastic bag. "I want to get these framed with the picture of you and the cub," she said with a little grin. "You know how rare those things are? They don't call it the elusive snow leopard for nothing."
"Just a big pussy cat," he mock-scoffed. "Who needs to keep its nose out of my wife's cleavage."
She shook her head at him. "After hearing about how that woman has a boner for you, you have the nerve to be jealous!" She moved away from him and sat down on her (their) bed. Tom hung up his suit jacket and then started to work on his tie. He checked it for more hairs before folding it, and handed a few more to Agnes, which she gleefully took.
"Thank you for letting me hold it," she said, smiling up at him that way she had, that softness that made him just want to wrap himself around her. He brushed his fingers under her chin.
"Are you okay?" he asked her, unprompted.
She blinked, and he saw the momentary confusion. Then she gave a little giggle. "Not the first time you've been offered pussy, Tom. Although tonight brought that to a whole 'nother level." At his blink she clarified. "The snow leopard?"
At dinner, that would have been funny. And while Agnes did have a crude sense of humor she tried not to let others see it in public. But Tom also knew when she was using humor to throw him off a line of thought.
"Agnes," Tom said, and he saw the affect that tone had on her. How she would momentarily stiffen, as if caught, and then melt, yielding to him gently.
"I wouldn't have married you if I didn't think I could handle having every woman on the planet lusting over you," she said. "Besides, it's a compliment. Of all of them, you picked me. They can look but not touch. It's their problem, not mine." She wiggled her nose as she added, "And I was impressed that you knew the definition of monogamy. Although most people today would only think of it as being with one person in a committed relationship."
"That's serial monogamy, Aggie."
"See? You know that one, too."
She lay along her side of the bed, propped up on her elbow and looking down at the little plastic bag that held the snow leopard's hairs. He crawled up the bed to curl behind her. The dress she was wearing that night was one of his favorites -- the skirt hung down at different lengths, and the top cut just low enough so that at the right angle he could---
"You're going to be a good father someday," she said suddenly, looking up at him over her shoulder. He gave a little start.
"Handling an animal is much different than handling a baby," he said.
"Yes, but...you were so patient. I like to think you'll be just as patient."
"You were patient, too."
She shook her head. "I fake it a lot. Mollie was so embarrassed when Thomas made that crack about her having a boner for you. You were very sweet to her without being flirtatious. I appreciate that, but I wanted to whack him upside the head when he basically gave her to you after your Shakespeare tequila crack."
Tom pulled her so she was lying on her back. He bent down and kissed her, reminding her that she was his wife. When he pulled away, he whispered, "I really need a shower."
She reached up and traced her finger along the same path the snow leopard had when it was nuzzling and sniffing his face. "Want to wash snow leopard spit off your face?" she teased.
"No. Want to get my wife out of her dress. Besides, after all the times you wouldn't let me into this room, now I get to get naked with you in it. You think I'm not going to take full advantage of that?"
8 8 8
Agnes had been going to San Diego Comic-Con since long before she even knew who Tom was. So every year, Tom knew, she was going to be booked there. This summer, Tom was going to be there, too, promoting Skull Island. He was doing a massive press tour for it, and was only scheduled to be in San Diego for the one day and night. Agnes was already checked into the hotel where most of the guests stayed, and Tom drove out from Los Angeles with his entourage of PR agents and the like bright and early on Saturday morning.
He hadn't seen his wife in over a month. It was all so new, being married, and the disappointment was separation was particularly keen. June had been a difficult month, her commitments couldn’t be put off, so she had to go. He wanted desperately to see her, and knowing she was there, but unable to connect with her for more than a few minutes by phone, even it was three or four times a day, or over their extended text messages, which were a continuous thing between them, having to be parted this long so soon after their vows -- it made him a bit nuts.
But Tom was a social creature. Talking to people, promoting the movie, feeling the enthusiasm, meeting other celebrities and various interested parties -- it was a vortex that he got sucked into.
When he finally got a break at around four o'clock in the afternoon, he just wanted to be with his wife. He sent his assistant to go find her, knowing they still wouldn't be able to retire to their hotel room, as there was a dinner date that he wanted to bring her along to, and then the party later on. More rubbing shoulders, greasing palms.
He didn't even think. He didn't even think about it.
Agnes looked tense, and annoyed. He assumed that it had to do with all the signing she had to do, the panels -- another movie based on one of her books was coming out, and while she usually had minimal involvement, she still got attention from her own fanbase over it, and she'd been booked a few speaking events. Agnes was good in front of a crowd but it taxed her heavily later. She brightened up a bit when she saw him, but she was distant again.
"God I've missed you so much," he sighed, pulling her into his arms. They were in one of the green rooms, reserved for the talent when they needed a breather and some quiet, but it still wasn't completely empty. They sat down on a couch, and he massaged both her shoulders and her dominant hand, parts that usually bugged her when she was in high activity mode. While he did this, he rambled on about his day, all the things he'd done, but when it was her turn his phone interrupted them and it was time to leave to meet their dinner party.
Dinner, in his opinion, went very well. Although he did notice that she didn't each much, he was too busy talking and talking to give it much attention. She even turned down dessert, which at that point should have made him drag her away from the table and find somewhere private where he could figure out what was wrong. But he couldn't, he couldn't neglect these people who had such interest in him, who could continue his career on the path which he had worked so hard to get it. Skull Island, not a movie of serious substance but the kind of movie he'd always wanted to star in, had enormous potential to rocket him upward, and he had to be so careful to keep everything going smoothly.
Once dinner was done, they were back in the car on the way to the hotel, where a private party was being arranged for all the talent, complete with a DJ and dancing until the wee hours, if desired. Tom finally had the private moment, not so much out of seeking it but because they were alone in the car and it was just convenient.
"How are you feeling?" he asked her.
She looked at him, and for the first time he saw it. The utter exhaustion in her face. She'd been here since Thursday, signing and speaking and doing whatever else, for a full seventy-two hours, and Agnes by nature was an introvert. It wasn't that she couldn't be social, she could be incredibly social, but it drained her to do so, and now she was at her limit. But she gave him a brave smile.
"Just tired," she said, holding his hand and leaning into him. She shut her eyes as she settled herself against him, and he wrapped his arm around her as the car sailed along the San Diego streets. Gently he kissed her temple.
"I love you," he whispered.
"I love you too," she sighed.
"Why didn't you have desert tonight?"
"I've been living on rich food for almost a week now. It's starting to make me a little sick." Of course. She would have been wined and dined to a certain extent, having to eat room service and restaurant food, which was very heavy fare. Too much of it started to make her sluggish after a certain point.
"You up for the party?" he asked.
She looked up at him. "Why? Did you have something else in mind?"
"Well, if you wanted to just go back to our room and lie down, it's fine with me," he said.
Her face fell. He would play it back in his head later, and see it for what it was -- disappointment. But at the moment he was in Tom Hiddleston mode and what he saw was her considering her options. "No, I want to go. I haven't gotten to see you much."
He should have caught the words. But he didn't.
The party started out like they always did -- a bit slow, people talking, drinks flowing. Agnes turned down any offer of alcohol, opting for a ginger ale. She stayed with him for a few hours, trying to involve herself and doing a pretty good job of it -- he shot several winks at her during their conversations and saw her flush with pleasure. It was his way of complimenting her when in mixed company, when she played to their strengths and their banter and made them memorable.
But she hit her point after the music started and Tom desperately wanted to dance. He whisked her to the dance floor and she managed to get through two songs with him, but she was slower than normal, and begged off the third dance, and when he was reluctant to stop she told him she was just going to go sit down.
Two hours passed.
Whether he just got caught up, running into people between sets of songs and getting talking, or it was the alcohol, of which he'd consumed entirely too much at some point, he totally lost track. When he did realize he hadn't seen her in too long, he went to look for her, but she wasn't at the tables, nor at the couches that lined the room. He asked a few of their shared acquaintances if they'd seen her, but nobody seemed to be able to place her location.
It might have been the alcohol, or the party. He hadn't really been able to cut loose in a while, having to do this interview, go to that dinner, impress these people, go to bed early because he had to get up at an ungodly hour to catch this flight to this place. But for whatever reason, he just assumed she'd gotten tired and went to their room.
So he stayed a bit longer. If two hours could be counted as "a bit."
It was three in the morning when the combination of exhaustion and alcohol finally made him stop for the night. He hadn't really kicked back and partied like that since…he just didn’t know when. He hadn't even really partied so hard at his own wedding, as his focus had been on...other things.
When he stumbled into his own room, which he had not been in all day, and to which his assistant Chad had given him the key before Tom had gone off to dinner, he saw his own stuff sitting there, like he was told to expect.
But the bed was empty. And so was the bathroom. And the closet. Nothing was there of Agnes'. Not even her.
Now adrenaline, brought on by panic, added itself to the mix. Alcohol, exhaustion, and adrenaline all combined to turn him into a sudden raging idiot. He picked up his phone and called her number, but it went to voice mail. Again and again and again. Some gear in his brain switched and he called Chad, thinking maybe his assistant might know something. The man was groggy and confused, and unable to make much sense of Tom's ramblings, just that he couldn't find Agnes and needed to find her "right fucking now! This is a deafcon four emergency!"
"You mean deafcon one," the young man replied hazily. But he was up and at Tom's door within minutes.
Chad scrolled Tom's phone and found Agnes' assistant's number. It went to voice mail, and Tom started to panic again.
"Where the fuck is she? What if some unhinged fan did something awful and she's injured somewhere?" he babbled. "Or worse?"
"The party was in this hotel," Chad pointed out. "The hotel has security. She would have been completely safe coming up to her room from the ballroom. We made sure of it, for all the celebrity guests. We can call the lobby and ask for camera footage if it comes to that."
"But what if she left?" he ranted without pause. "What if she's on the road in the middle of the night!" He paced back and forth in his room, trying to get the alcohol out of his system. Chad had made him some coffee to try and sober him up as well as wake him up, as it seemed only sheer terror was keeping Tom's eyes from falling shut.
Chad drew a breath and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, a clear sign he was trying to stay calm with his boss and not lose his shit. "Tom, she didn't leave. She has a panel at noon tomorrow. She wouldn't leave."
"She could have driven back to L.A.," Tom insisted. "She could have gone back to Angie's house, it's only a few hour's drive, and could have planned to come back up in the morning before the panel!"
Chad fixed him with a puzzled stare. "Why would she do that? Why would she even leave?"
Tom wanted to say because he'd been a neglectful tit and had pretty much deserted her on the one night they were to be together in this crazy press tour he was doing, but couldn't bring himself to admit it.
"I mean, you're sure she's gone? You checked her room?"
Tom stopped, stared at him for a moment. "What did you just say?"
"Her room, Tom. Agnes has been here for a few days, I just checked you in today. The studio insisted I get you this room out of the promo budget, but she has her own room, I'm sure--"
"WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU JUST TELLING ME THIS NOW???" Tom exploded, screaming so loud he hurt his own voice. Then he threw out his hands, palms forward, at Chad's sudden an-oncoming-train-is-going-to-hit-me look, and reigned himself in as hard as he could.
"I'm sorry, Tom. I thought the two of you knew about it. I figured you were together, you would have been in your room at some point. Besides, there wasn't much..."
Whatever else he said was drowned out by Tom's conscience, telling him that he and his wife had hardly exchanged more than two words that wasn't about work, or rather HIS work, all day. That he had dragged her from place to place, knowing she was tried but too excited about all the things that were happening to take the time to do his damn duty to the woman he married and take care of her needs.
But she never complained. Sure, she looked off, but she never tried to persuade him otherwise.
Fuck.
"Find her room," he said, his voice rock steady, even if he wasn't.
Chad nodded, called downstairs. He used Agnes' maiden name, and Tom wanted to smack himself -- of course she wouldn't use "Agnes Hiddleston" when she was working. Chad wrote down a number on the hotel stationary and handed it to Tom.
Tom took it, but knew going to Agnes' room at this time of night and knocking on her door would just wake her and make things potentially worse. So he told Chad to go back to bed, thanked him, and considered his options. He could call her, but that would wake her up, let her know he wasn't even staying in her room, and that would really mess everything all to hell. Besides, he couldn't take the tension, couldn't take not seeing her, not being with her, even though he knew the hypocrisy of that, that some hours ago he had been so far shoved up his own ass... in the end headed down to the lobby to work his charm on getting a key to his wife's room.
Of course it worked. The woman stationed at the night desk was a fan, although a reserved one, but she gave it to him, knowing perfectly well that Agnes was his wife and that he may of course have lost his key in the hectic activity that was his visit to comic con. They joked about the Night Manager for a few minutes and then Tom went to find Agnes' room.
The coffee had done little to help him. Sure, it had momentarily steadied him but he still had a lot of alcohol in his blood, it didn't dissipate that fast. The adrenaline was leaving him in a jittery state, and his exhaustion, which he'd been ignoring, was not going to be denied any farther and was making him a bit slap-happy. So when he got into her room, fully dressed without any of his stuff, at approximately four in the morning, and saw her curled up on her side of the bed, he lost it a bit. He shed his clothes -- every single stitch-- and crawled under the duvet with her, wrapping himself around her.
And because the fact that they'd been apart for the last six weeks, his libido suddenly decided to remind him how long it had been since he'd had sex.
Plus, she was so soft and warm, and she smelled so damn good.
"Tom?" she muttered groggily as his ministrations brought her back to consciousness. "What the f---"
"Mmmm...sorry, darling. I've just missed you."
"Oh, now you've missed me?" She turned, getting her arms between them and giving him a good push, as much as she could manage in her state. "Geeze, Tom, go to sleep. I have to get up early!"
Her tone had gone into that whiny mode when she'd hit her limit and simply could not take any more.
That tone went right into his head and hit the defensive spot in his brain.
"Why the fuck didn't you tell me you were leaving, and that you were in a different room?" he demanded.
She blinked, gawped at him. "Seriously? You're seriously asking me that at--" she glanced at the clock -- "FOUR IN THE FUCKING MORNING?"
He winced. Apparently the alcohol was going to give him an early hangover.
"You were too busy partying and having fun!" she growled at him. "I'm surprised you even noticed that I left! I have things to do tomorrow, Tom! I have Mass in the morning before I have to get back to signings and panels! I was really looking forward to you coming here and instead I just get sucked into the Hiddleston Machine and you just forget that I'm even there, and--"
It was probably the hour, and the stress, and the fact that she'd been woken from a dead sleep. But her voice cut off with the sob she was desperately trying to shove down before she said her next words.
"And now you come in here for a booty call? Seriously, Tom, go the fuck back to whatever fancy room your fancy studio had booked. I'll see you back in London in another month."
She grabbed the comforter and yanked it over her as she curled away from him. But he heard her crying, even though she tried not to make any sound as she did so.
Tom watched her back for several minutes before lying down again. He did not go back to his own room. He did not try and talk to her, or even touch her, although he desperately wanted to. He knew she knew he was there, but she didn’t talk to him, either. They just lay there, until eventually she dozed back off.
He did not sleep much that night -- maybe a fitful, uncomfortable hour. At around six a.m. he got up, heard Agnes' gentle snoring, took his phone to the bathroom with the door closed, and made a few plans.
When Agnes finally woke up at nine that morning, she almost had another fit, as she was supposed to be up at seven to get to mass at eight. But Tom was ready.
"I checked, and there's a five p.m. mass at St. George that we can go to," he said as he set up the breakfast he had ordered from room service. "I called your assistant and checked your schedule to make sure you could go. You're done here at three. We can keep the room for another night. You don't have anything early on Monday, so we can have tonight."
"For what? For me to stare at the four walls of an empty hotel room?" she asked as she trudged to the bathroom.
"No, so you and I can have a night together," he said.
She snorted before shutting the bathroom door. "Determined to get your booty call, aren't you?"
Tom waited at the small table he'd set up with more patience than he thought himself capable. He supposed he deserved that. He'd been a massive tosspot. When she came out of the bathroom, dressed in her jeans and T-shirt and ready to leave for the day, he had to make her sit down and eat some breakfast with him.
"I'm sorry," he said to her, wrapping his arms around her, keeping her from gathering her stuff. She stood with her own arms folded, stiff against him. "I'm so, so sorry. I just got caught up in that promo mode and I--"
"I know when you were single, you'd take time for yourself, and you know it too," she said, still obviously very hurt. "But for some reason you got all sucked in this time. I know we haven't been married for a long time but I didn't think you'd get sick of me so fast."
"I'm not sick of you!" he insisted. "I'm a totally arse and every other horrible thing you can think of for ignoring you, I have absolutely no excuse."
She shook her head, backing away from his hands, with which he had been trying to cradle her face. "You just seem to be all in with this promo tour," she said, pouting. "I mean, I expect it, that's you, but...I guess I just expected you to miss me more after being separated for six weeks. I mean, we’ve barely been married a few months and you just seem too fine with it. That's all."
"And that's why I've gone through lengths for us to spend time together tonight. And not for sex," he added at her look.
"Yes, now you have, now that I've gotten mad at you. I had to get angry for you to decide to do this," she said with a resigned sort of sound.
"I know. I feel horrible," he said, combing his fingers down the length of her hair and giving her the best puppy eyes he could manage. It was easier when they were real, which they were.
"Don't you have to leave later today?" she asked, eyeballing the bacon he'd ordered for her.
"I put it off until tomorrow. Said I needed a day of downtime. They were able to make arrangements. Plus I had to give Chad a day off after I screamed at him last night."
"You screamed at Chad?"
"When he told me you were in a separate room and he'd booked me somewhere else. Yeah. I had no idea where you were and it scared the holy hell out of me."
"It wasn't his fault."
"No, it wasn't. But I freaked out. Agnes, I...I thought maybe you'd left."
She looked up at him. For the first time, something like compassion appeared in her expression. He distinctly felt her posture loosen. "I...wouldn't do that. Not at least without telling you."
"Well...after I figured out how I'd been acting I would have deserved it, but still..."
Her arms, which had been firmly folded the entire time he'd been making his plea, gently shifted to rest on his before she moved to go sit down and eat the breakfast he'd ordered. "Well, come on. Let's not let it get cold."
That night, he went with her to Mass at St. George and held her hand almost the entire time. They had a quiet dinner in a restaurant away from the remaining crowds of comic-con, although so many people had left after the closing ceremonies. He'd caught up on his sleep when she went to her panels, and they stayed up together, talking about anything and everything, like they liked to do when it was just the two of them. She got tired long before he did but tried to stay up, and he finally had to make her go to bed, while he just held her. They didn't have sex that night, and Tom knew she was still hurt, but she was trying to forgive him. She knew it would not be good to leave things like that between them for the next month.
She went and did her book tour of the Midwest, stopping in briefly while she went to visit her family, while he did Asia and the Orient. She got home to London before he did, by a full week. And when he arrived, late and exhausted, she greeted him at the door with everything ready.
The bathroom was prepared for his shower, his bedclothes laid out, the thick comforter turned down. Tom was always cold, which never surprised her, as he had nearly no body fat, so she had hot tea waiting in a S'well bottle by the bedside and a mug for him to pour it into.
"You went through some trouble," he said, dragging his bags into the bedroom.
"I just wanted to welcome you home," she said, embracing him once his hands were free. She was in a robe, her hair freshly washed and just having dried. "I turned on the electric mattress warmer, should be ready by the time we get into bed.
"It's past 1 a.m. and you waited up." It was difficult to remember, sometimes, how new all of this still was for them. He felt extremely touched by her considerations.
"Are you hungry? I have some things ready in the fridge in case you were and I can put something together while you're in the shower."
"Sweets or savory?" he teased as he pulled off his shoes, glancing into the bathroom. A towel waited for him on the edge of the sink for his shower.
"Whatever you like," she said, taking his shirt, which he'd removed, and putting in the hamper.
He bent down, kissed her again. "You're wonderful. Cheese and pickle sandwich?"
"Coming right up."
The hot water warmed him -- he loved London, but even in the summer it could be chilly, and this particular night was one of the chilliest. He wanted to stand in the hot stream for much longer but the thought of her preparing a snack for him pulled him from the shower. He toweled off, listening for where she might be. He stepped into the bedroom, grabbing his sweats and the hoodie he sometimes slept in, and heard Bon Iver playing softly from the iPod speakers at his side of the bed.
"Agnes?" he called.
"Kitchen!" she called back. His cheese and pickle sandwich was sitting at the table with his hot tea steaming from a mug, and he tucked in eagerly. He knew Agnes was always hungry when she returned from a trip, the nerves of travel having knocked the ability to eat from her until she was safely at home, and he felt a serious twinge of guilt. Holding half the sandwich in one hand, he captured her with the other, pulling her onto his lap.
"I made some cookies today if you're feeling like dessert," she said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
"What kind?" he had to ask.
"Chocolate chip walnut."
He planted a third kiss on her. "I adore you, beloved wife," he murmured. But as he lowered his head a huge yawn caught him and he wound up muffling it against the soft fabric of her bathrobe, against her upper arm.
"You're exhausted. The cookies will be there in the morning," she reminded him. She took the empty plate and slipped off his lap to put it in the sink. "Come on." She held out her hand, which he took, letting her guide him back into the bedroom.
Under the covers, with his hoodie removed, Tom wrapped himself around her. As he was always cold, she was always warm. He hadn't really thought of himself as a cuddler, but when it was damp and cold, he sought her heat. It had been a good while since they were together and his body reminded him how much he had missed her.
"Tom," she giggled, "you're too tired."
"Am I? Or are you too tired, waiting up for me?"
"I had a nap earlier so I could wait for you," she said. "But you don't have to..."
"Darling, if you don't want to, it's fine, but trust me when I say, I can manage a little bit longer for this...bit of dessert."
So they did. And it was very sweet, if not as lingering as it normally was with them. Still, it wrung out the last bit of energy he had and he was able to fall asleep quickly.
Possibly too quickly.
"I didn't fall asleep on top of you, did I?" he joked the next morning, voice still gravelly from sleep. It was long past ten, and she was much more awake than him, but he knew her, she just hated getting up and had probably stayed in bed playing with her phone, waiting for him to wake up. He was usually the earlier riser, his habit of running getting him moving most days. But exhaustion still tingled around his limbs, pleasantly, and he was more than happy to get his cardio in other ways.
"Want breakfast?" she asked, knowing that magic word would interest him.
"I do. But something else first." And this time it took much longer. He was much more awake after, and it was past noon, so even though she made a lovely breakfast, they had it for lunch.
Agnes made the best pancakes he had ever had in his life. She'd gotten the recipe years ago, modified from a buttermilk pancake recipe, but she didn't like buttermilk so she substituted heavy cream and it was magic. She baked the bacon instead of fried it, and she used cream cheese to fluff up the scrambled eggs. And all of this she did after two rounds with an overly enthusiastic husband, with a smile and a wink as she served him a full plate.
"I feel like a barbarian," he sighed. "You worked just as hard as I did and here you are, spoiling me."
"I just wanted to give you a nice homecoming," she said, sitting down opposite him.
"Well, I'm taking you to dinner tonight, you get to pick the place. I don't care what it is. And I'm washing those dishes." Which he knew, for her, was a bigger treat than the dinner. She hated washing dishes.
A thought occurred to him. It had been drumming through his head the whole time, but he had enjoyed her spoiling him so much, he hadn't voiced it. "This isn't all because of that crap in San Diego, is it?"
She raised her eyes to his, although her smile faded. "Well, come on, Tom, it wasn't exactly a nice parting of the ways between us. You tried to make it up to me and I wasn't as...receptive to it as I should have been. I just wanted to remind us both that we like being together."
He reached across the table, took her hand. "You're just trying to pick up where I left off, then?"
Her smile returned. "Yeah."