Archive of Our Own

Hanna sways a little, gripping the counter top of the little kitchenette in their hotel room tighter while she waits for the morning coffee to brew. And for the aspirin to do its job.

Maybe that was one Campari too much last afternoon - but heck, she had so much fun with the girls.

A blush rises when she remembers what ‘fun’ she had with Tom afterwards. The balcony, goodness. Looks like she won’t be the odd one out in naughty drinking games anymore.

She’s still a bit sore. Which might be because she woke Tom up in the middle of the night for an encore–in the sheets and not on a chair that must’ve been hellishly uncomfortable for Tom (not that he complained, quite the contrary).

Giggling despite her headache, Hanna pours herself a cup of amazing Italian coffee and pads into the living area of their suite-like room.

Tom still hasn’t returned from his morning run, and she doesn’t mind the few moments to herself. Perhaps she should check in on the other wives (whoa, she’ll be a wife and not fiancee soon too)?

She walks over to where her handbag carelessly thudded to the floor last evening in her drunk on spirits and drunk on horniness stupor.

Her phone screen remains black. Ugh, battery low. Shuffling back into the bedroom, she plugs the charger in and switches it on.

There are so many dings and notifications at one time that Han nearly spits out her coffee.

What in the world?!

An odd feeling of foreboding settles in her stomach, which is suddenly queasy.

God, no! Please don’t let someone have filmed her karaoke number and uploaded it to social media. She’d die of embarrassment.

Randomly tapping on one message–it’s a link–Han waits for it to load. A headline screams out at her.

Risky frisky business: the Night Manager likes his loving ‘al fresco’
Last night, famous British actor Tom Hiddleston - best known for his role as trickster god Loki in the Marvel cinematic universe and as Jonathan Pine in the television mini-series The Night Manager - showed the world just what kind of mischief he is up to in Italy–on a balcony!

The coffee cup slips through Hanna’s lifeless fingers and crashes to the floor.

It’s kind of a strange run today. Not just because he’s sore from the uncomfortable chair yesterday and the continued activities during the night.

Tom can’t help the smirk on his face. Han was positively adventurous yesterday and he loved it.

And he also needs to hold the two coffee cups he’s gotten from the bakery a little tighter when his running shorts do just that - getting a little tighter in the lower area.

They have amazing room service and coffee at the hotel, but Tom guesses Han needs all the drinks she can get this morning.

No, the run is also a bit strange because he’s met by paps. He’s used to it by now, he’s just not really sure why they know they’re here.

But maybe two wives and one fiancée - cue crazy grin - of well-known actors tend to draw attention to themselves when out and about.

Ah well.

When Tom is finally in their room, he’s greeted by the smell of coffee.

“Hey, love,” he calls into the room. No answer. Okay.

Maybe she has a headache?

His poor darling. He’ll just have to cuddle her close and wait it out with her. They packed aspirin, didn’t they? Perhaps he should leave the coffee for later and bring her some water.

“Han? Do you need anything?”

Still no answer.

Seriously, is she still sleeping? Well, they did…um…wear themselves out last night. Twice.

Blushing and grinning again, Tom toes off his shoes and pads into the kitchenette to set down the coffee. He walks into the adjoining bedroom–and stops dead in his tracks.

Han is perched on the edge of the bed, a broken cup and spilled liquid by her feet, one hand clutching ther phone and her face so white she almost blends in with the sheets.

Tom’s heart plummets all the way down to the floor. Is she sick? Is it her parents?

“Han? God, are you alright?”

In three strides, he’s by her side, kneeling and not even caring whether he’ll have porcelain splinters in his leg.

“Hanna?!”

She doesn’t register anything. Han just knows that suddenly Tom is kneeling in front of her.

Oh, god, what have they done? The two of them yesterday, but most of all those slimy, horrible creatures.

She’s read the text. Fully. And she’s seen the pictures.

Apparently, they - the paps - saw them out and about yesterday. And of course there are comparisons to “normal” German and English tourists and how they behave on their holidays. Day drinking, karaoke and racy stories.

And then they must have followed them to the hotel. And somehow gotten to know the room number.

Because that deserted street behind the trees? Looks like with a good camera and telephoto lenses you can take pretty good pictures.

Of her. Naked. Well, half-naked. Her boobs are in the news. Fuck the internet. And fuck, indeed, because of course they didn’t stop there.

She’s on top of Tom.

Tom, who is now kneeling in front of her and who - as she registers now - is calling her name.

She looks into his eyes and shakes her head. What have they done?

He’s so fucking scared right now he can barely breathe.

Whatever it is, if it makes Han look like this, someone will pay in one way or another.

She finally snaps out of her trance to look at him, shaking her head.

“Han, what the hell is going on? Are you in pain? Is someone else in pain?”

She just looks at him, all broken with a hard edge to her expression that he really doesn’t understand. When he instinctively reaches out to give her shoulders a shake, she flinches.

“It’s all your fault,” she croaks, barely audible.

What?!?!?! “What?!”

Hanna flinches. Tom’s voice sounds so panicky and loud in her ears. Good.

She knows she’s not reasonable. Obviously they were together on that balcony and obviously she wanted to have sex out in the open.

But Hanna doesn’t care about reasonable. The entire internet can see her boobs and watch her have sex with Tom like she’s a freaking porn star.

“It’s your fault,” she whispers again, looking away from him, dragging her feet up in front of her and pressing her knees to her chest.

She puts her phone next to her and Tom takes it, not before trying to touch her foot and rubbing it gently. She moves it back a little bit.

She doesn’t want to be touched.

Han looks back at him when she can hear his gasp and her phone thuds down on the floor, followed by Tom who’s now sitting on his butt in front of the bed, shaking his head.

“Nobody would have cared,” she whispers. “Nobody would have cared, if it wasn’t for you.”

“I…I…”

Tom’s mouth works uselessly, his eyes flitting from her phone to the broken coffee cup to her face and back. She can see a thin film of sweat form on his face, which simultaneously looks a hundred years older and young and frightened.

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” she blurts out, a small part of her wondering why she sounds so harsh.

Tom blinks at her, his hand hovering between them.

“You always apologize. But what good does it do?”

Hanna can feel tears threatening, and so she digs down for biterness instead, feeding on all the lonely nights and shocking headlines, on all the times when she wanted her boyfriend by her side but he was miles away.

“Remember that pap who camped out in front of my office for three months? And the reporter who wrote you’re only getting engaged to me because you must’ve got me pregnant? And the photographers who nearly ruined Alex’s wedding because you were one of the guests?”

She stabs a finger at him, seeing him swallow convulsively. “All your fault. And every time, you were oh so sorry but couldn’t change a thing. And how about this? How the hell are you going to fix this?!”

Tom feels hot and cold at the same time. Like he wants to punch someone and simultaneously wants to sit there in front of the bed forever.

Truth is, he doesn’t know how to “fix that”. He doesn’t know how to fix anything.

And surely, Hanna doesn’t mean that, right? She doesn’t throw his fears back in his face. The things they’ve talked about before. The things he’s told her right before they got together.

The worst part is, Tom can easily believe so himself.

“Han… I…”

“Don’t ‘Han’ me, Tom. Fix this. Fucking fix this.”

He would. He just doesn’t know how. He’s rooted to the spot and his brain is a mess, chanting “She hates you” at him.

Which is probably while he starts so violently he nearly knocks himself off balance when Hanna’s phone starts to ring.

Their heads turn towards it, similar expressions of even more distress on their face.

Tom flinches.

It’s Hanna’s home number in Germany, as obvious from Mama & Papa flashing on the screen.

He’s going to be skinned alive, through a phone, in a few seconds from now.

But Hanna lets it ring and ring.

He’s too far gone to be able to calculate the time difference between Italy and Germany (there is none) but it’s probably early morning for them. JFC, what a way to wake up, to see your daughter’s boobs–beautiful as they are–splayed across tabloids!

Tom knows it’s difficult enough for them to see her face in the media. Heck, he can still very vividly remember how hostile Daniel Engels was on their first meeting; and even though he seems to accept Tom as Hanna’s boyfriend now, he wasn’t exactly uncorking champagne bottles in joy when they announced their engagement.

The engagement. Oh God, oh God.

Will she call it off? If she hates him, surely she won’t wed him?

Tom feels decidedly faintish as well as queasy. Perhaps he should pick himself off the floor and make a run for the loo?

But then Han’s phone rings again and she still doesn’t make a move to answer it. And so he does, saying a prayer in his head.

Before he can say anything, the voice of Hanna’s mother greets him.

“Hanna?! Was zum Teufel ist passiert? Warum wache ich auf und bekomme Links von Verwandten und Freunden, und sehe dann deine… deine Brüste auf den Titelseiten?” (Hanna?! What the devil happened? Why do I wake up and get links from family and friends and see your…your boobs on the front page?)

He’s got no idea what Julia just yelled at him. But it wasn’t good.

“I…” Tom croaks out. “It’s Tom.”

“Oh.”

Oh, indeed. He’s always had a good relationship with Julia. Well. Surely they wouldn’t blame Hanna for this mess. If Han doesn’t break up with him, her parents will.

“Is…is Hanna there?”

“Uh.” He looks at Hanna, who stares straight ahead before her hand shoots out. “Uhm, one moment.”

When Hanna takes the phone she seems to be very careful not to touch Tom’s hand. Then she gets up and walks straight to the bathroom, closing the door behind her and leaving Tom in stunned silence.

Maybe it’s time to either throw up, faint or man up and call Luke.

In the end, he does neither. He just sits there in the same spot, staring at the dark spot on the carpet and wondering idly whether the hotel will be able to clean the coffee away. Because the big problem is simply too horrible to think about.

He doesn’t even mean to eavesdrop, but there’s only so much noise a bathroom door can block out–and Hanna’s voice is rising steadily, anger and despair making it tremble and turning each word into a kick to his gut.

Mostly, he can’t understand her, but he catches some words of German and can imagine all too well what’s going on.

“Nein. Ja…nein. Ich weiß, Mama. Was?! Nein, natürlich nicht. Und Papa?” (No. Yes…no. I know, mum. What?! No, of course not. And Dad?”)

Long silence, then something that sounds like cursing and a suppressed sob. He hears his name, the word “Leben”, which he thinks means life.

Dear God, is this really it? Is Hanna telling her mother she’s going to cut Tom out of her life so she can have some privacy and normalcy back? Shouldn’t their love be strong enough to survive this?

Well, he has no fucking idea how to ‘fix this’, but he sure as hell won’t give up on their relationship, won’t let Hanna leave him.

He’s scrambled to his feet and is digging for his phone when the bathroom door is flung open. Without looking him in the eye, Hanna holds out her mobile.

“Mama wants to talk to you.”

Oh. Oh no.

He’s not taking the offered - well, it’s forced really - phone into his hands immediately.

“Han,” Tom starts again, actually having no idea what he wants to say to her. Everything, possibly, without even having an idea of what ‘everything’ actually is.

He can’t do anything, except for calling Luke.

His fiancée - god, he still hopes - just shakes her head, still not looking at him and still holding her mobile out to him. “Don’t,” she says. “Don’t say anything and take the fucking phone.”

As soon as Tom does, Hanna turns around, walks back into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her. Immediately after, Tom hears the water starting to run.

Okay. He’ll deal with this and Hanna takes a shower? Great.

It’s Julia Engels's voice that gets him out of his stupor, calling through the phone to someone.

“Yeah,” be answers, not really in any state to have an actual conversation right now. “It’s Tom.”

“Oh, Thomas,” she says and it’s worse than being told off by his own mother. “What did you do?” Oh. If he only knew. And of course, Julia is asking him.

“I… I don’t…”

But she interrupts his stuttering. Good. He’s got no idea what to say. “I don’t mean just you, Tom. I mean you and Hanna. You’re not the only one to blame here. And I want you to know that I know that. And that Hanna knows that. I know she didn’t tell you that, but believe me, she knows. I guess you didn’t force her to do anything?”

“Of course not!” Tom almost yells at her. And then softer continues, “I would never do that.”

“I know, dear.”

Goodness, this feels good. Better than Tom imagined it to feel. Of course, Julia not blaming him alone doesn’t mean Hanna won’t. Or that this isn’t a terrible mess they’re in now. It just means Han’s parents won’t kill him.

“She… she won’t…” Still no whole sentences, instead Tom needs to be careful not to start crying and become a sobbing mess.

“She’s stubborn and hurt. Please, don’t leave her alone right now,” Julia simply answers. “And please, please get those pictures away. I don’t want another morning like this ever in my life.”

Tom is so relieved not being yelled at, he doesn’t even realise he’s started to move. Not in a general direction, but pacing the rooms - sans bathroom - running his free hand through his hair and nodding without answering.

“Thomas?”

He realizes he’s zoned out again and cringes. Fucking hell, he needs to keep a cool head on his shoulders. Not something he’s ever been good at, unfortunately. Certainly not when love is involved.

“Yes?” He’s tempted to add a “ma’am”, which he’s never done with Han’s mother.

“I’ll try to keep this away from Hanna’s father as long as possible, hopefully until it’s settled, but…”

She sighs and mutters something unintelligible in German, and Tom’s heart sinks to his toes again. He doesn’t even want to imagine a furious Mr. Engels.

“I…I think you should know that someone called us this morning. A reporter from I don’t know what English tabloid. Asking me how I feel about my daughter’s irresponsible actions and their lewd consequences.”

Jesus freaking Christ!

Why is the world so unfair sometimes? So merciless and mean?

“God, I’m so sorry, I…” Yes, he what?

“I’ll find a solution for the phone, and I’m not dumb enough to give any statement. But please do whatever yuo can.”

“I promise. I will.”

And he will, dammit. Han is his life

“Good,” Julia sighs. “Good. And if you could make sure that I won’t see anymore pictures of my naked daughter in the news…”

If Tom wasn’t so mad and panicked, he would have blushed. But now he’s serious and wants to make this right. “I will.”

“Okay. I’ll try to keep my husband from killing you. Is Hanna still around?”

Tom shakes his head before he realises, she can’t actually see him. “No. She… no.”

Julia sighs. “I know, Tom. Give her time, yeah?”

And with that they hang up.

He really should talk to Luke. And actually, Hanna should be present for that. So, Tom goes to the bathroom door. Knocks once, then twice. He can still hear the water running in a steady stream.

“Han? You… are you okay?”

No answer.

Well. Now he’s really going to freak out.

He knows Han. She wouldn’t do anything stupid–no, he’s not talking about ‘I’m tipsy and I want to fuck my boyfriend to heaven on the balcony’ stupid but about a hysterical kind of stupid. But this isn’t a normal situation…

Heart galopping a mile, Tom bangs his fist against the bathroom door, not caring a bit whether others in the hotel might hear them.

When there’s still no answer, he debates throwing his weight against the door to break it open if necessary, but remembers to try the handle first.

Huh, the door isn’t locked properly.

Fear clawing up his throat, Tom opens the door.

What he sees makes him want to weep. Or kill someone.

Han is sitting on the tiled floor of the shower, still fully clothed, knees drawn up to her chest. The water is running all over her bent head, and she’s not doing anything about it.

Dear God, is this all really his fault? How will he ever make it up to her?

Again, Han doesn’t realise anything until Tom is kneeling in front of her. And that she doesn’t see until the water is turned off and she raises her head and looks straight into Tom’s blue - and panicky - eyes.

She doesn’t want to scare him. Really. But she feels dirty. Someone took her pictures while she was at her most private.

Yes, they’ve been on a balcony. But if Tom wasn’t famous… would anybody really care? She’s ashamed and sad and she doesn’t quite know where to put those feelings. She’s never been so scared and panicked in a relationship before and it’s with someone she loves like nobody before.

“Han,” Tom whispers.

And that does it. The tears start flowing and the sobs leave her mouth and then she’s shaking.

Christ, hasn’t he vowed himself he’d never ever make Han cry again?

After the fiasco with Alex–Tom’s jealousy nearly put an end to their relationship before it had a chance to really bloom–he promised Hanna and himself that they’d make it through everything and wouldn’t let it come to tears.

Then again, this isn’t really something he can be blamed for, though he’s the famous one who attracts paparazzi bloodhounds.

Almost hearing his heart break in two, Tom climbs into the shower. He’s half-scared Han still won’t let him touch him, but when he puts a tentative arm around her huddled, shaking form, she gives the biggest sob yet and sinks against him.

And so he somehow folds his long body into the space and pulls her into a tight embrace, getting soaked in water and tears and still unable to think straight.

“I- I- I’m s- s- sorry,” Hanna half sobs and half mumbles against him, and Tom isn’t sure if he understood her right. “Sorry,” she then whispers again.

“Whatever for?” He holds her a little tighter still, feeling her body shake.

“M- my i- id- idea.” Oh. Oh no. Now she blames herself - and yes, they need to talk about that as well - for something that shouldn’t be more than a kinky adventure for anyone else.

If he didn’t have his crying fiancée pressed against his chest, Tom would be out of the hotel heading straight for those paparazzi waiting there.

“It’s not your fault,” he murmurs back. “It’s gonna be alright.”

He rocks them from side to side a bit, still having absolutely no idea how to fix this. Yes, call Luke, but then? What will it take for Hanna to feel safe out in the open again?

Hanna, who is now crying harder, pressing herself against him and letting out big sobs as if some dam is broken that held back the tears before.

He keeps murmuring sweet nothings, crooning almost even though his voice sounds decidedly broken and croaky too.

Is he crying as well? Han has no idea, she’s too busy sobbing her soul out and clinging to Tom.

How can one man be the source of the greatest grief in her life and also the only one she wants to seek solace from?

She still kind of hates him, and herself. But she hates those swines who took the photos more. And somewhere deep down, a squeaky voice is asking in utter panic whether there is a chance that someone also filmed a video.

She’s definitely not going to survive that.

The thought makes her sob harder. She tries to remember her mother’s comparatively calm tone and reasoning, but that only makes her think of her father discovering it. And so she cries harder still, barely hearing what Tom is muttering so desperately. Something about “life” and “promise” and “right”.

She’s breaking down in front of him, and Tom doesn’t know what to do except for holding her and telling her that all is going to be good again. Well, he hopes so at least.

He’s crying as well, because yes, he’s going to be the strong one here, but seeing the woman he loves crying her heart out like this is not something he can easily forget.

When the sobs shake Han so violently that it must be physically painful for her and she sounds like she can’t breathe properly, Tom tries to let go a little, simply to turn around and look at her.

“Hey,” he coos. “Hey, Han, look at me.” She does, but Tom’s not sure if she really registers anything. “Breathe for me, okay? In and out.”

Han shakes her head, making Tom’s worries intensify. “Can’t.” She almost chokes on the word. “Papa.”

Oh. Oh shit. “Don’t worry about him now. It’s going to be fine.” He holds Han by her shoulders, basically holding her up. “But you need to calm down for me a little, yeah?”

His calming attempts don’t seem to work.

In despair–and not even quite sure whether she wants this, which hurts like hell–Tom leans forwards again and presses a kiss to Han’s forehead.

“Han, I love you,” he croaks out, then swallows. “And you still love me, right? We can find a way out of this. S-somehow. You…and I. Together.”

She’s still hiccuping and trembling, but he thinks he feels a tiny nod.

“First, breathe, okay?”

Her whole body shudders on a choking breath, so he does the breathing for her. In. And out. In. And out. Until she adopts his–also not all that calm–rhythm.

“Tom?” she asks softly after half an eternity.

God, does he want to hear what she’s saying?

Now he’s the one close to hyperventilating, but he holds himself still.

“Yes?”

“I…I do still love you.”

A ton of bricks just fell from Tom’s heart. He’s almost certain Han must have heard it as well.

“Okay,” he says, “we can work with that then.”

Her next shudder even feels like a tiny, very tiny, laugh. A huff basically. “Okay.”

“We’re going to call Luke. He’s going to kill me slowly probably, but he’s also going to help.” Yes. That’s what they’re going to do. Luke almost always knows how to help. He’s already in crisis mode, surely.

“Yeah,” Hanna breathes out and nods a little. She’s still shaking, but Tom suspects it’s not from crying - not only from crying - anymore, but because they’ve been sitting in the shower with wet clothes for the past ten minutes.

“We gonna get you dry and then call him together.” He, Tom, needs something to do. He can’t go out and beat up paps, so it’s gonna be something else.

Hanna nods again, but wraps her arms around Tom’s torso first, squeezing and inhaling him as it seems.

“So sorry,” she whispers.

“I know. Me too.”

They sit there a bit longer until Tom unfolds his protesting limbs and somehow manages to get them both out of the shower without major injuries.

He strips Han of her wet clothes and removes his own, his mind already imagining the conversation with Luke while his body desperately clings to something mundane and practical to do so he won’t lose his mind. Han lets him, sniffling softly every now and then.

He dries them both a bit too thoroughly, dragging things out because he will never be ready to face the crisis but he knows he has to.

Back in the room, he roots around in the suitcase for clothes to wear for both of them. On an impulse, he chooses a suit for himself, complete with a blue silk tie. Suits have always been his armour, his second skin, his official Tom version though also true to a part of his being. And today, he needs all the strength and support he can get.

Han seems to understad him–she always does, doesn’t she?–because she doesn’t make a single comment but slips into her jeans and summer sweater and then sinks onto the middle of the bed, hugging a pillow to her chest.

She looks so resigned like this that Tom’s heart squeezes again.

When he finally picks up his phone, which seems to weigh a ton, he winces. 124 notifications, 12 missed calls - among them his Mum (Lord help him), Sarah (dear God), Emma (Lord help him indeed), Luke, Chris (Hemsworth), Ben, Eddie, Alex, and Jessica (Chastain).

Welp. Time to face the music.

And time to start with Luke.

With a sigh Tom sits down on the bed as well, though Tom suspects he’ll be pacing the room in these next minutes.

Han immediately clings to him, which automatically throws Tom into protection mode and simultaneously grounds him.

So, with one arm draped around Han’s shoulders Tom dials, putting the call on speaker.

They cringe together when Luke pics up immediately. “Finally!”

“Hi, Luke. Han’s with me.” Tom feels her squeeze his thigh, probably needing something to hold on to.

“Yeah Hi,” Luke rushes, not caring for pleasantries that much when he’s in crisis mode. Bless him for that. “I guess, you’ve seen it then. I’ve already checked taking legal actions, given that they were technically on private ground, because the street is part of the resort at that point. Some sites have taken them down, but are still running the story.”

He’s talking so fast, Tom needs a moment to catch up. “Okay. Thank you. What… what do we do then?”

Han listens with bated breath, her stomach churning and her fingers digging into Tom’s thigh.

“The way I see it,” Luke says with just an edge of hysteria in his cool, deep voice, “you have two choices. Either you choose silence, go with a firm “no comment”, ignore everything and hope the media and everyone else will lose interest in a few days, weeks or months.”

Jesus, he thinks it might take months?

“Or?” Tom asks, his tone grave and his broad forehead furrowed in a frown.

“Or you send out an official statement. Mentioning your right to privacy and how you feel about all this.”

Silence.

Hanna hasn’t got a clue what the better thing to do would be, though she knows Luke is right. Working in a PR firm means she is familiar with all this–but it’s something totally different being personally involved in such a hurtful crisis. She swears to herself she’ll never, ever scoff or complain again when someone even remotely famous has a meltdown at the office.

Tom seeks her gaze.

“What do you want me to do?”

She feels even worse for yelling at him before, though she is still blaming him and his fame a bit and wishing she’d never agreed to all this.

“I don’t know,” she whispers dejectedly.

He runs his hand through his hair, the curls in the front standig up in that adorably messy way that always makes her grin, but not today.

“I think I’ll give the statement a try. Should I write it now?”

“You should write it as fast as you can and I’ll check over it,” Luke says from the other end of the line. “You want me to give you pointers?”

No. He doesn’t need pointers. Tom knows what he wants to say. Very much so. Luke may have to soften things up a bit when he proofreads the statement.

“I’ll do it right away.”

“Okay.” There’s a slight pause. One that tells him Luke’s got something else to say. Hanna’s fingers still dig into Tom’s thigh, her head now resting on his shoulder.

“What is it?” Tom finally asks when Luke still doesn’t go on.

“Maybe it’d also be good to show yourself outside. Show them that you’re okay, that you don’t hide and didn’t do anything wrong.”

He feels Hanna getting tense. Tom knows how she feels. He would love nothing more than hide away in their room forever. Maybe move to Antarctica or something.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Take Ben, Eddie, Alex and the wives with you. Be happy, don’t hide, make sure that it looks like they’re not embarrassed about all of this either.”

Huh. A statement and basically a walk about. Maybe they should hide after all.

Tom ends the call, staring blankly ahead into nothingness. Han lifts her head from his tense shoulder. She knows she’s still digging her fingers into his thigh, but she can’t bring herself to loosen her grip. She’s quite literally hanging on by a thread.

They are supposed to go out? Pretend to be happy?

Um, hello, unlike her fiance–she almost smiles–she’s no actor. There’s no way she can pull this off.

Tom’s face looks as if he’d rather hide for the rest of his life too, but as she watches, something shifts in his expression. He squares his jaw, highlighting that razor-sharp jawline, and she sees determination flicker in his eyes, which are currently more grey than blue.

When he turns to her, it’s a tiny bit easier to breathe at last.

“Do you think we’re doing the right thing?” he asks, and Han feels herself nod hesitantly.

Tom takes a deep breath. “Then I need a pen and paper. I’ve got to do this the old-fashioned way and pour myself into the writing.”

And so Hanna watches Tom write for the next 15 minutes. She’s stayed on the bed when Tom moved to the table, but Hanna didn’t want to intrude.

And she’s also not sure if she wants to know what he’s writing. If she can read it without crying or without getting mad at him all over again.

And yes, she knows it’s unreasonable, but she’s still scared. She’s read one article, she doesn’t even know what others claim or what the comments say.

She doesn’t want to be out in the open. Never wanted to. It’s been Tom that she wanted and he was exposed so she went along with it. Doesn’t mean she likes it.

Han’s brought out of her thoughts by Tom clearing his throat. “I think I’m done,” he says when she looks at him.

“Okay.”

“Do you want to read it before I send Luke a picture of it? Correct me somewhere?”

She hesitates. Then shakes her head. “No. Please. Just send it.”

Tom stops for a moment, but something must show on Hanna’s face, because he nods once and then takes a picture of the page and sends it to Luke. The old-fashioned way.

Then he turns around, walking back to Hanna on the bed. She wants to sleep. Wants to cuddle up to him and not let go and never leave the bed.

But she’s barely in another tight embrace, when Tom clears his throat again. “I’ll send Mum, Dad, Emma and Sarah a quick text and then we should tell Ben and the others.”

Han nods. It seems like they should do that, yes. “Okay.”

Her voice sounds so small. He wants his feisty, sassy, sometimes insufferable Hanna back. The one who’ll tease him mercilessly and make bad–or seriously good–puns and tempt him to not let the boy in him die. This woman giving him a wobbly smile is only a shadow of the woman he knows, and dammit, that hurts like hell.

Tom eases his hold on her and tilts her face up with a finger under her chin, waiting until her gaze settles on his.

“Before we do that, I want you to tell me something.”

“Okay.”

He can feel her tense up, and hates it.

“Would you rather cancel our engagement? Take it slow for a while?”

Just saying it all but kills him, and his stupid eyes are stinging, but he has to give her this chance to back out. She never signed up for any of this, so in a weird unfair way, it IS his fault.

Han stares at him, trembling a bit.

Her heart plummets to her stomach, she’s sweating and shivering simultaneously and she feels like she should maybe throw up or something.

Does it have to come to this? Does she want that? Her life was easier with Tom not in it. Before they’ve met that day in Australia, her on vacation, him working. And it was still easier when they’ve met again in London.

When - maybe if? - they get married, there’s no turning back really. There’ll probably be children involved and it’s gonna be so much harder and people will want to know so much more.

So, an out would be an easy way to take, wouldn’t it?

But she’s already asked herself these questions when Tom asked her to marry him. And before that when Hanna slowly felt like she would say yes if he asked.

Because no, there wouldn’t be paps. But there wouldn’t be cuddles in front of the tv. Or his stupid jokes. Or his very clever jokes. Or very competitive game nights with their friends.

There wouldn’t be Tom holding her at night or caring for her when she gets sick. Or his family. Or simply Tom. Even if they just “took it slow”, it wouldn’t be the same and she doesn’t want that.

Hanna still stares ahead when Tom croaks out a, “Say something.”

“Do,” she mumbles and clears her throat. “Do you want that?”

She’s rarely seen him so adamant about something. “No. No, I don’t want that.”

Han nods. “Good. Let me keep the ring then and never ask me something like that again.”

He cradles Han’s face then, pressing a soft kiss on her mouth, breathes her in and mumbles, “Okay.”

He can do this.

As long as they’ve got each other, he can do this.

The next hour or so is spent making phone calls, each a little different but each just as painful and emotional as the other. Tom has no idea how many coffees Han has brought him and how many times he’s swallowed down curse words with the hot liquid, or even tears.

He also has no idea what’s worse, talking to his Mum or his sisters. There’s a lot of support and very little blaming, though. Chris and Elsa both demand to speak to Han too, even forcing a tearful laugh out of her by sharing the worst headlines they’ve had.

And then he initiates a group call with his buddies and wives here in town, and he can almost hear a battle tune playing as they plot an outing.

He’s about to take a deep breath and perhaps finally give himself a loo break–all that coffee and a nervous breakdown don’t go well together–when Hanna shoots bolt upright on the bed and gasps, and he nearly lets his phone fall down again.

“What? What is it?”

“Papa’s calling.”

Well, hell. The battle tune in his head turns into the sad trombone announcing his imminent death.

She can’t pick up. She can’t do this. Her papa is going to yell. At both of them. And then some more in general.

Hell, up until this point he’s probably hoped Han and Tom never even had sex. Now they’ve been out in the open.

She stares at the phone, then at Tom, who looks decidedly green. She’s a little afraid he’s having a heart attack with all that coffee he’s had along with those panicky moments.

The phone’s still ringing, Papa has always been persistent. With a trembling finger, she answers the phone, seeing Tom pace the room in front of the bed.

“Hallo Papa.”

“Oh, Hanna. Muss ich nur deinen Freund umbringen oder auch jemand anderen?” (Oh, Hanna. Do I have to kill just your boyfriend or someone else as well?)

Gulping and hoping she doesn’t sound as panicky as she feels, Hanna answers.

“Am liebsten bitte niemanden. Papa, ich…” (Preferably nobody. Papa, I…)

“Deine Mutter sagt, es war deine Idee?” He sounds disbelieving and angry and helpless, and it pains her. (Your mother says it was your idea?)

Do all fathers think their daughters are practically saints? Will it give him a heart attack if she tells him the truth?

Brain fuzzy, she registers that Tom has stopped pacing and is watching her like someone would watch a horror movie in a foreign language: not understanding the words but knowing that doom is near.

“Does it matter whose idea it was or whose fault it may or may not be?” she asks in German, feeling as exhausted as if she’d fought a long battle or run a marathon up a mountain. “I’m sorry it’s come to this, Papa,” she speaks over his raving and stuttered complaints. “I can’t make it go away. But I can own up to it. Because I’m not ashamed. No, I’m not.”

Her voices rises like her father’s, and Tom is flinching and standing too far away, still looking green.

“Du solltest dich aber schämen! Was meinst du, was deine Kinder in der Zukunft von dir denken, wenn sie solche Fotos sehen? Du bist doch nicht dumm, du weißt, dass in Zeiten des Internets nichts komplett verschwindet.” (You should be ashamed, though. How do you think your children will react in the future when they see those photos? You aren’t stupid, you know that nothing ever completely disapears on the internet.)

Fuck.

All Tom makes out is “internet” and “Kinder”, which means “children” as far as he knows.

Goodness, what are they talking about? And more importantly, does Tom even want to know?

Han’s voice gets louder and louder and Tom’s a little afraid they’re both breaking down by the end of it. All that coffee was such a bad idea.

“Daran hab ich nicht gedacht.” (I haven’t thought of that.) It doesn’t sound angry anymore. She sounds… deflated? What the heck is going on?

He would like to rip the phone out of her hands just to end that conversation that obviously stresses her out. He doesn’t need an even angrier Mr Engels though.

So, Tom sits next to her again. Rubbing her knee, as he sees tears starting to well up in her eyes again.

“Das ist keine gute Idee,” she sighs. He’s just figured out what Hanna’s said, something seems not to be a good idea. And then she holds out the phone to Tom.

Well, damn.

Han frowns when Tom takes the phone after half an eternity of hesitancy and gets up to walk out of the bedroom.

What the hell? Why?

It dawns on her after the first fidgety, super-nervous minute that he might have moved out of hearing range because he doesn’t want her more upset by whatever her father might be shouting at him.

But she’s still nervous as hell, straining her ears. Tom’s voice rises, yet she can only make out a word here and there and can’t hear Papa at all.

What on earth are they discussing for Tom to mention things like “regrets” and “future” and “please”? And will her father even understand Tom because his English is rather rudimentary?

Biting her nails, she waits and waits.

At last, Tom walks back into the room. His eyes are shiny and his mouth is a grim line, but at least he’s still alive, hasn’t shouted himself hoarse and isn’t a shivering mess.

“What…what did he say?” She’s afraid to ask, but then again, she’s been afraid since this morning.

Tom rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “Basically that he always knew that something like this would happen and that I’m a number one arsehole for dragging his daughter into this mess.”

Han shoots off the bed, ready to protest–though her first reaction was much the same harshness to Tom some time ago–and he shakes his head.

“He loves you. He hasn’t said anything I haven’t been telling myself too. Let’s move forward and save what can be saved.”

And so that’s what they do. They change into comfortable vacation clothes that neither look like an armour nor like they’ve been depressed all morning. T-shirts and shorts it is for both of them.

Both of them taking a deep breath, Tom reaches for the handle, ready to face the crowds. But Han hesitates, and so he stops, a wave of panic shooting through him again.

He can’t leave her here, they have to do this together or not at all.

Hanna stands behind him, arms crossed over her chest, teeth digging into her lower lip. “Han?”

“I’m scared.”

He sighs. Of course she is. He is as well. “I know.”

“Do they… will they yell at us? Scream something?”

Tom turns, and in one long stride he reaches Han, enveloping her in a big hug she returns immediately, hiding her face in Tom’s chest.

“They may shout something at us in front of the building, yes,” he admits. “But we’re going out, having a late breakfast. They’ll take pictures but I’m sure they don’t yell through the city. We’ll be fine.” At least he hopes so.

Han nods against him. “Okay. I love you.”

“I love you.”

And with that they go, meeting the others. Hugs are exchanged, as well as quick glances, but nothing more since the goal is to relax and not to make Han cry again.

Ben, Sophie, Eddie and Hannah lead the group out, Alex, Evie, Tom and Han trailing behind.

Showtime.

Han is feeling like her first red carpet event all over again.

She’s sure she looks like a deer in the headlights–and feels just as scared for her life–when all those cameras start flashing and whirring and clicking. There’s a lot of shouting, mostly Tom’s and her name, off and on a question she doesn’t even register or even lewd wolfwhistling. The media jostles to get closer, though the hotel parking lot is fenced in and the staff has been fortified by additional security, probably Luke’s magic.

With greatest difficulty–because despite his confidence and many-toothed smile Tom’s hand is shaking around hers–she keeps her head high and what she hopes is a small smile on her face.

Hannah with an h says something, and the others break out into fake laughter, Han joining in a beat too late.

Yup, definitely not made out for a career in acting.

They pile into two glorified taxis and she can still hear them yell when the doors are closed and they take off to the cafe where Tom claims they serve the biggest ice cream sundaes in the world.

She could sure do with a sugar boost. Or a new life? Well, that’s not going to happen.

Han wonders how long they’ll be the centre of attention. And how long–and what–Tom’s fans will comment. Has his press statement been released yet?

Press. Oh my God! Han sits bold upright in her seat when she realizes the PR firm she’s working for will probably throw her sorry arse out onto the street.

Tom goes tense when he feels Han breathing harder and shaking next to him. What is it? Did she hear something those paps outside yelled? Because if he’s honest, Tom has no clue what’s been going on on the way from the hotel to the car. It’s been a blur.

“What is it?” Sophie - who’s sitting at Han’s other side in the back of the taxi with Ben in front - asks.

“My job,” is all Han murmurs back, before staring straight ahead again.

Oh shit. They’re doing PR. The companies surely won’t care that Han does the media handling for them, right?

Tom hasn’t even though of Han’s job yet. And he has to hold his tongue to not blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. That she wouldn’t need the job. That their world won’t end then.

But he loves her independence as much as she does, and he knows that she does indeed need her job. Not for the money, but because it’s something she loves to do.

“It’ll be fine. One step at the time.” Tom squeezes her hand. That’s all he can do actually.

“You’re doing great work, they love you. All will be fine,” Ben comments from the front seat and Sophie nods along.

“We’re here,” the taxi driver says in a broken English and next thing Tom know is he’s taking Han out of the car with him, leading her into the cafe.

They didn’t follow them. Yet. But it’ll surely be just a matter of time.

Time passes weirdly.

There’s no other word for it. Sometimes Tom thinks it drags on and on, sometimes he blinks and has wolfed down half of his enormous ice cream sundae without even relishing its taste. It’s a bit of a sacrileg really, but today he just isn’t in the mood.

Then again, he should be used to this. There have always been instances when he wasn’t happy with the press or when he was hounded. Even before Han. But now it’s worse because he’s never loved like this before and it kills him to see his fiancee–thank God she still is that–so devastated.

She’s really trying. Talking with Sophie and the other girls. Laughing at his lamentably lame attempts at jokes. Steadily eating her colourful fruity concoction of whatever it is she’s ordered. But her smiles don’t echo in her eyes, and sometimes her grip on the spoon goes white-knuckled.

At long last, after they’ve been photographed by some paps who’ve followed them here and some more shouted questions which they don’t answer, they pile back into the cars and drive to the hotel. They should probably be out more, for a stroll along some piazza or other, but it’s still too much.

He loops an arm around a rigid Hanna and dials Luke to test the waters.

“Apparently, people are paying my statement almost as much attention as the photos,” Tom informs Hanna after the call.

She blanches, then asks in a small voice, “Can I read it? Your statement?”

He’s almost shy to show it to her. But she does have a right to know what he’s written. Even though he hopes he’s made the right calls. Also, he hates to see her so broken.

“Yes,” Tom answers. “Of course.”

He opens the picture and hands her the phone and Hanna begins reading. Tom himself knows the words by heart by now.

I promised myself, as every man being in love should, not to make my fiancée cry. I’m happy that I’ve succeeded more times than I didn’t. But I’ve seen my fiancée cry this morning because of something that’s not her fault - and that’s not my fault either.

We won’t explain our actions and we won’t apologise for it. We are on vacation and we did things that millions of couples, and singles, in the world do as well. We made love.

Yes, we were on a balcony, no that’s no excuse for invading our privacy in this cruel manner.

The pictures that were taken were shot from a street not very close to the hotel. A telephoto lens was used, the paparazzi were on private ground. We were on private ground.

This is no apology, this is an ask for privacy that should be granted to any other person as well. A job in the public eye does not mean a life in the public eye.

The fact that I play roles in movies does not excuse an invasion of privacy, especially for the people around me.

I know people think we choose the publicity ourselves. That’s not true. We do a job that we love. Again, like millions of people do.

With this I also want to ask to respect the privacy of my fiancée’s family. No-one needs to know their opinion about this but Hanna and me.

Thank you for giving us the time of day and thank you for reading until the end.

Han looks up and before Tom can even get the question out - Is it bad? Do you hate it? - she’s grabbed his face with both hands, and now plants a soft kiss on his lips.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “I know I didn’t show this morning, but thank you for being there, Tom.”

For the first time since this morning, Tom doesn’t feel like quite such an arsehole.

He kisses Hanna back just as softly but with such a force of emotion that his throat is all constricted again.

He clears his throat, holding her close.

“Of course, I’m there for you. And I’ll always be, Han. I love you. Whatever may happen or not happen.”

She sniffles, but she’s also trying to smile.

“I love you too, Tom. Für immer. But I think I’ll be staying away from balconies for a while…” (For always.)