Archive of Our Own

“Yes, buddy?” Tom takes a turn, extra carefully because the car is full to bursting with people and boxes.

“Can we come back sometimes? Visit?”

The adults exchange a glance.

“No, Jamie, I’m afraid we can’t,” Tom explains patiently. “Other people will live there soon, and then it’ll be their place. Maybe they’ll have a little son like you, or a dog like Buddy. But they won’t be us, and the place won’t be ours anymore. So we can’t just go and visit.”

When Jamie’s lips wobble a bit, he adds hastily, “Besides, everything that made the place special is in our boxes. It’ll stay with us at the new house. Remember how you helped pack all your stuff?”

Han hides a grimace behind a cough. Yeah, Jamie ‘helped’ with the packing for sure, making twice the work because he kept interfering in his eager kid’s way. But somehow, despite the stress, it was fun too. And she’s sure it’ll be even more fun to unpack everything at the big house. She’s been to see it with Tom, of course, and instantly fell in love with it.

“sss’thuff”, Vicky chimes in from her own, smaller car seat. She’s quiet, sensing that something important is going on.

“Yes, stuff,” Tom repeats with a smile that’s a lot excited and a tad nervous. They’ve only broken one vase and misplaced one chair so far, but he’s clearly anxious what else might go wrong during the move. “All your things. And you will have so much more space to put that stuff away, and add new stuff. Aaand,” he makes a dramatic pause, his children hanging on his words as if they’re awaiting a magic trick, “aaand there’ll be a garden.”

They’ve told that to the kids at least ten times so far, but every single time, it makes them perk right up.

“Garden!” Jamie is now bouncing in his seat.

“Woof!” comes Buddy’s comment, and the mood swings back to cheerful expectation.

When they make their way through the large gate and onto the driveway -- not even 15 minutes later -- Jamie's hands and his nose are pressed against the car window, his mouth open in awe. At least Han hopes so.

The garage is in the back of the large white house, but for now they'll park at the front door to get all the things inside. Including the children, because a missing chair is one thing, but missing Jamie and Vicky that got lost in the park-like garden is an entirely different story.

Han shares a look with Tom, an encouraging smile around his lips. They'll do this. They packed up well, all the boxes marked, and the moving company is armed with a detailed plan for where to put the boxes and especially the furniture. She just hopes nobody will get lost, because this house is huge.

The ground floor is made of seven rooms alone, including the grand hallway with the stairs to the upper floor, a large kitchen and pantry, the dining room, the living-room, and two guest rooms with a shared bathroom for when their families come to visit.

The first floor is all bedrooms, one for each, and another room that will finally have enough space for all of Han's and especially Tom's books. And of course a room that will house Jamie's and Vicky's toys and other things to play with. The parents will also finally have their own bathroom without all of the toys that come with the children and their time in the tub.

And finally there's the second floor with studies for Tom and Han each. She's going to go back to work shortly before Jamie's birthday next month, and with the time she wants to share with the children she's going to bring some work home with her for when the kids are asleep.

She needs to take pictures of this, Han thinks as she's standing in front of the car, looking up at the new place with a bouncing Vicky in her arms. Tom has Jamie in a strong hold, possibly afraid they're indeed going to lose him somewhere in the chaos. Buddy seems to sense that it's important for him to behave, so he just goes sniffing at the bushes that are left and right of the front door.

"This is beautiful," Tom whispers in her ear and leans a bit closer to kiss her cheek.

"It is."

She just wishes her parents could see it. But as it is they're not 50 anymore, they don't want to travel all the time, and Han and Tom don't always have the time to take Jamie and Vicky to Germany. She misses them. But at least they're going to see the result instead of the chaos that will await Tom's family when they come to visit -- and help decorating -- next weekend.

"Can I see?" Jamie pipes up now, and the adults share a grin and a sigh. It's going to be such a long day.

"Let's go," Tom says as he takes Han's hand, leading her into the house.

Han stands at the window of her study, gazing down at the idyllic scene several floors below. Tom has spread a blanket on the lawn and is having a tea party with wee Vicky, complete with elaborately poured--nonexistent--tea from pink plastic cups, real cake that he feeds her, and an array of stuffed toys as well as sofa cushions. A bit to the side, Jamie is on the swing that they had installed only two days ago, shouting a gleeful ‘whee’ every time he swings high.

Buddy is nowhere to be seen, and Han has a moment of panic. The family dog loves his new home...a bit too much, actually. He’s so enamoured of the garden that he’s already ruined her flower beds twice, and dug way too many holes to hide bones in. Han cranes her neck and scans the ground for the fluffball of energy, sighing with relief when she sees him dozing on one of the lounge chairs further away. Better dog hair and slobber on the wipeable chair than uprooted flowers.

She smiles to herself at the almost-too-pretty-to-be-true picture. They’ve settled in well. Sure, there’s been a few rough moments. Like when Jamie wet the bed the first night alone in the new room, or when they damaged an expensive tea service when they tried to display it in their fancy new glass-fronted cupboard. But this place is great.

Han’s smile slowly fades when she realizes that she might not be at this place for much longer, no matter how great. She lowers her gaze to the phone still in her hand after she’s received an important call. Time to face the music.

A few moments later, she has gone down and crossed the lawn to her family. Tom and Vicky beam at her from the blanket, but first she has to stare in mock admiration as Jamie shouts, “Schau Mama, see how high I’m flying” on the swing.

“Great! Just remember to hold on tight.” She smiles at him before turning to Tom. “Schatz, can we talk for a minute?”

Tom takes a look at her face and stops grinning happily. “Well, that sounds serious. Is anything wrong?” He’s already on his feet, a hand going to her arm.

“No, everything’s fine. I just want to talk.”

“Okay then.” He turns to their daughter, holding up a finger. “No cake or tea until Papa has joined the party again.” Vicky giggles and nods, pigtails flying.

Taking Han’s hand in his, Tom leads her to a group of garden chairs.

“Right. Shoot it.”

His heart beats faster, and his hand holds hers a little tighter. She's been a bit down the last couple of weeks, claiming it was the move and her missing her parents back in Germany a bit. But was it that? She's not breaking up with him, is she?

But no. Han's not that good of an actress (she's a bad one actually). And they shared some lovely moments in this house already. Moments that have Tom's ears burn just thinking about them.

She's worrying her lips now, so it's definitely something that makes her uncomfortable. Tom knows the signs. If she now blinks a little quicker - yup, there it is. And she still hasn't said anything.

"Han," he says as he leans forward in the chair, taking her other hand in his. "You can tell me anything. You know that." Is it something in one of their families maybe? Some illness?

"You know how I'm supposed to start working again in September?"

Tom blinks. The job is causing her to worry? He didn't expect that. But he nods.

"Yes. Is everything okay? They still want you to work, right? They'd be stupid to let you go. But we'd manage that as well. Maybe you'd have to take a bit more time for yourself and start looking again, but it'll be fine."

He squeezes her hand reassuringly. Of course, they'd manage. They've been doing so for the past three years. But he knows Han would love to go back. 'A bit more to do than wiping food stains from shirts,' she always says.

"Everything's great actually. They just called. They offer me a great opportunity. Really great."

"Wow! Go for it. You earned it."

"It's Germany, Tom."

He leans back again, letting go of her hands. Tom surely didn't understand that right. To his ears it sounded like 'Germany'. And she can't mean Germany, because they've just moved into a house in London a week ago, and that would be crazy, even for Han and him.

"Say that again?"

"The job is part in London and part in Germany. And they didn't offer, they requested me to take it."

That’s not a good sign, is it?

She tangles her fingers together, now not grasped reassuringly by Tom anymore. And waits. She can almost hear the wheels in his brain turning. His facial expression settles on confusion with a tinge of anger. Or is that something else? Is she projecting reactions because she has this uneasy feeling that Tom won’t take the news well?

“They requested? But why? I mean...sure, you’re the best choice for German clients. Obviously. But, but... This is the 21st century, there are computers, video calls, virtual conferences, smartphones, desktop sharing.” He’s gesticulating, and rambling.

Han nods. “Yeah. But this is something I can’t do from a home office in England. It’s one of the company’s oldest and best clients, and I handled his campaign a few years ago. He wants me there, on the most important days. In person. He’s always been like that, a bit reluctant to rely on modern communication methods.”

“Huh.” Tom seems to digest that. He runs a hand through his hair, his eyes darting here and there as his thoughts flit through his head.

“So it’ll be a day or two?”

Han swallows, shakes her head. “Actually, it’s a long-term project. Which is why it’s so lucrative but also complicated.”

Now he’s frowning. “How many days? Are you seriously telling you will leave me and our two kids for days at a stretch? Repeatedly?”

Yikes, his voice is doing that thing. Where it goes cold and calm and a bit higher in cadence, and vibrates with something withheld.

And it didn't stop there. Because 'leaving me and the kids for days' is what he's done to her as well. Repeatedly.

Tom looks at her expectantly as if he waits for her to say it's all been a joke and of course she won't go to Germany. To Frankfurt. Where her family is close. It's already decided, isn't it?

"Tom," she sighs. It's the same sound she makes whenever he tries to argue a point both of them know won't change anything.

"Don't 'Tom' me in that voice."

"But there's nothing I can do about it except not going back to work for them at all." She sees something flicker on his face, and sits up straighter in her chair. Surely, he won't do that to her? "Don't even think about saying that," Han hisses.

Tom opens his mouth, sitting up straighter as well. But before he can respond, there's a yell from Jamie. "Vee eated grass, Mama!"

They're both thrown out of their small bubble. There are the children - and the dog - that need attention now.

"That's okay, Jamie!" she calls back. "Please keep on holding on to the strings."

"Now she eated a leaf!"

When Han looks back at Tom, his mouth is set, and he's ready to stand up. "I have a tea party to go back to." Something of Han's anger and hurt - is it hurt that she feels? - must show on her face, because he softens a bit. "We'll discuss it tonight. Without the children eating grass or falling from swings, yes?"

She nods. Really, she doesn't even know what's there to discuss except telling Tom the days she'll be gone. They'll have the Mondays and Tuesdays in the London office, her bosses suggested. Tuesday night she'd fly from Heathrow to Frankfurt, where she'd stay until Friday night. Then she'd have the weekends with the children and Tom.

Which is far better than when she was pregnant or a young mother, really. Han's just not sure Tom will think the same.

Han has kept herself together too, for Jamie and Vicky’s sake, but she’s met every one of Tom’s glares and silently sent a few choice words his way. She’s primed for a fight, and she knows there will be one. So be it... They’re equal partners in this marriage, they’ve promised each other that. They’ve also promised each other honesty, and to stick together ‘in good times and in bad’. Looks like they’ll be putting all those promises to the test today.

She keeps telling herself that mentally as she listens to Tom’s soft murmurs of goodnight to the Little Hiddlestons, and to an already snoring Buddy on his new doggie bed.

When Tom enters their room and closes the door with a certain finality, Han takes a deep breath.

“Can we talk now?”

Face set, Tom nods. He doesn’t sit down but paces to the window with its closed curtains and sort of leans against the window sill, arms crossed.

“Tell me again why this is so important to you?” he demands.

Han bristles, though she’s told herself to remain as calm as she can. “Do you even have to ask?” When that only earns her a raised brow, she huffs. “I want the job, isn’t that reason enough? You always knew I plan to continue working. You supported me in that decision.”

“I still do,” Tom interrupts somewhat belligerently. “And I’m proud of you, and I want you happy. And I never expected or would expect you to just be a mother and housewife as long as you wish for more. But you can do your job without leaving the three of us alone for days on end. Surely there would be a way to wiggle out of this, if you really wanted to.”

Gritting her teeth, Han searches for the right words. “And what if I don’t want to?” she challenges. “What if I miss my parents and the country that’s my home, and the freedom of not being tied to one place and one set of people? What if I want some change?”

Tom narrows his eyes at her. “I’ve always given you what you want, haven’t I? And it’s not like I’m shackling you to this place or like I planted those two children on you and then fucked off.” The anger simmering in his voice makes her own blood boil. “You want change?” He uncrosses his arms, gesticulating now. “Fine, we’ll change something. You miss Germany? Then we’ll somehow manage to book a trip and visit your parents with the kids. Why take that job? What the hell makes it so utterly important that you’re willing to jeopardize us?”

Han flinches. “Jeopardize us? What do you mean? You can’t seriously be saying that just because I’ll be gone for a few days and do my fucking job, I’m putting our family or our marriage at risk?!”

"Fuck you, Tom!" The words are out, before she can even think about them, and now Han knows this won't be a level headed discussion anymore, and it's her fault. They'll hurt each other without meaning to. Simply because they can.

Tom's leaning against the window again, brows raised, a shocked expression on his face, while Han starts pacing. She needs movement now. She admires Tom for remaining utterly calm on the outside in almost every situation, but she's not like that. When she's been to the door twice and back in front of the bed, Tom finally speaks.

"Wow."

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to say that," she starts. "But you've got no right to tell me I'm jeopardizing this. Not because of a job that won't last more than a few months and with me spending the important time at home."

Before Tom can answer, maybe gesturing again, she speaks on. She's on a roll, all emotions from the past years put together in this moment. Maybe they should have both had some sort of talk before today?

"Especially not, if it is me being left alone at home constantly. When we started going out, when we got serious, when I was pregnant both times, with a risky pregnancy with Vicky. I didn't leave when I had my boobs on display or when everyone speculated on my baby bump like I'm some sort of animal in the zoo. And never - never! - did I tell you to stay at home and search for a fucking theatre job in fucking London and stop doing what you love!"

Her chest is heaving, and Han finally comes to a stop in front of the bed, a few metres away from Tom. He blinks at her, and she blinks back.

"I didn't know living with me is such a pain for you." And then it's him who doesn't let her speak as she opens her mouth. "No, it must be hard, having a husband that's giving you everything, trying to not put you in the spotlight and who cancelled projects to be with you and the children. Why are you even here now?" He's taking a step in her direction, but stops much further away than she's used to. She doesn't have to look up at him yet.

"You cancelled once," is all Han can come up with as she ignores his final sentence, and she hears - and sees - Tom huff, giving her a raised brow that clearly says 'really now?'. "And I just had Vicky. Thank you for not moving halfway around the world then, but stayed with your family instead."

"You're welcome. You should consider it too."

"I did," she whispers. Suddenly Han's just very, very tired. And a bit sad, and lots of angry. "I did consider it. And then I stupidly thought that I've supported you all these years and stayed at home while you travelled, surely my husband could do the same for me. Would do so. Gladly even, maybe."

“Are you accusing me of not supporting you?” His voice rises a bit more in pitch but not much in volume.

“Ugh.” Han sinks down on the bed, only to shoot back up the next second, too agitated to sit. “Verdammt nochmal, Tom, willst du mich denn nicht verstehen?!*” Hands on her hips, she tries to glare back at him though she knows she’ll never win a staring contest with him. “This isn’t something general. I’m not accusing you of anything, and neither should you accuse me of anything. This is one particular situation and a challenge I want to live up to, and I’m asking for your support for this one thing. Actually, no, I’m not asking. I’m expecting.”

Tom’s brows rise high on his infuriatingly broad forehead. “Expecting me to?”

“Yes.” Great, now she’s yelling. “Because you’re my husband. Because you claim to love me so much you would do anything to make me happy. And not accepting this job would make me unhappy, even if leaving you all behind for a few days doesn’t exactly make me happy either.”

Tom stalks closer, and this time she does tremble once.

“I don’t ‘claim’ to love you, I fucking do,” he hisses. “But I love our children too and I know they’re sure as hell not going to turn cartwheels and shout with joy when their mother is gone for days on end. Gone even though she doesn’t bloody have to, whereas I never had much of a choice.”

The quiet, almost venomous vehemence behind his words does make Han plop onto the bed now, and stay down. He’s right, in a way, isn’t he? But that doesn’t mean that he isn’t also wrong, and that she isn’t also right. Fuck, what a mess!

Taking a few deep breaths, she tries again, without shouting. “I don’t need your permission to do this. Just like you don’t need mine for your job. But I had been hoping for your acceptance, if not for your support. I want to go, Tom. I will go. And come back as promised, and be there on the weekends, and make it as easy as I can for everyone. Can you accept that?”

She sees a tiny bit of the fight drain out of Tom, though he still looks half-miserable, half-furious. “Yes.” He says it very softly, emotionlessly. “Yes, I can accept that.”

With a turn, he strides to the bathroom but stops in the doorway to look back at her over his shoulder. “You’re my wife, not my prisoner. Of course I’ll let you go and do this. But that doesn’t mean that I have to like it.”

And with that, he goes into the bathroom and lets the door fall shut.

What could have been a win feels like anything but. Han realised that these last few weeks until she had to leave.

The children took it quite well actually. Or so Han thought until she said good night to them on the Monday evening and then had to remind them that no, Mama wouldn't pick them up from playgroups and such, but Papa would. She'd got a hard stare from Tom for that.

Not just for that to be honest. He's shown her again and again what exactly he thought about her leaving. She answered accordingly.

But the first weekend back was great. At least the children seemed to think so. Tom looked like he hadn't slept all week, and except for the occasional kiss because they did miss each other after all, nothing happened.

Leaving for her second week was even harder, because Jamie and Vicky couldn't quite believe that Mama was going away again.

And now here she is, on Tuesday evening in her hotel room provided by her company. She left work in London earlier today in order to get on the flight at 3 p.m. British time and make it for a video call home at 7 - which is 8 p.m. in Germany, where she is now. Catching the children before they go to bed.

Jamie is turning 3 on Thursday, and while Han won't be able to make it home until Friday evening, she at least wants to spend as much time as she can talking to him. Maybe make him miss her less?

The familiar (too familiar) sound of the video call connecting reaches Han's ears and she giddily sets the laptop down on the bed in front of her. She's already in her comfy after-travel-before-bed-clothes and just knows Tom and the children won't mind. They're probably dressed for bed now anyway.

"Yeah?" she hears at the same moment she sees Tom's face. Tired, but not too bad. The tone of his voice could be a little warmer maybe, but she's not expecting much at this point.

"Hi," Han waves into the camera. "Came to Frankfurt earlier to talk to the little ones before bed."

He looks annoyed, which makes her look annoyed in return. Or maybe she's been annoyed before.

"I put them to bed early. They were tired."

“Really?” she asks, frowning. “But...Jamie was surely expecting a call from me.”

Tom recalls today’s tantrum and his son’s tears and crosses his arms.

“Nope. Jamie hates you.”

“He what?” Han sits up straight, blinking.

“You heard me. Your son currently hates you.”

He watches a gamut of emotions flicker across Han’s face, feeling that little nudge of guilt again. But he’s only telling the truth, he’s had a hellish day, and it’s all her fault.

“He’s sulking and hurt and he can’t understand why you won’t be there for his birthday,” Tom adds quietly, his voice cold. “He was hell to deal with all day. Refused to go to school, wouldn’t eat, bawled his little eyes out. Which of course set Vicky going in commiseration.”

“But, but... Didn’t you try to make him understand?”

“I tried everything I fucking could, believe me,” Tom snaps. He scrubs a hand over his face, unshaven and probably splattered with discarded food too. “He’s too small to understand. Heck, I’m much older and I don’t understand it either.”

Han’s expression changes to annoyance again. “I’m not at the other end of the world,” she says heatedly. “And I’m not gone forever. How many children, and husbands for that matter, have to deal with longer separations? Could you just stop whining, show a little solidarity and make this easier for everyone?”

Tom narrows his eyes, needled by her tone. “I’ll whine all I want, dammit. Sure, other families might have it tougher. But this isn’t the way I wanted my family to work.”

Han rears back as if he’s slapped her, and this time the kick of guilt is bigger.

But seeing her face go first pale then red, her eyes narrow and her breaths coming faster? Tom's rarely seen that. He does now.

"Tom," she says again. "You. What. Now?"

But he has a shitty day, too, okay? He's tired, he got up at 6, trying to get the kids ready for the day - or at least one - while trying to remember all sorts of playdates, meetings and grocery lists and also having the children well fed. Which wasn't easy today. Tom at least had them eat some chips.

"It's not how--"

But before Tom can repeat that dreadful sentence, his wife interrupts him. Which may be good.

"I understood perfectly fine the first time," she hisses, "I just hoped you wouldn't be that stupid. I'm sorry that in the perfect, little world inside your head, you imagined your life to be different. Travelling all around the globe and having your wife and children waiting for you at home whenever you decide life on the road becomes too much. I'm very fucking sorry, Tom, you've got a wife like me."

"You know that's not what I meant."

He doesn't know, he really doesn't, why every conversation turns out like this. It seems like the two of them can't even breathe without the other one getting annoyed. And Tom knows it's not just Han to blame. But she started it.

"I don't care about what you mean, I care about what you're saying! Fuck you, Hiddleston." This time she probably won't apologise for that. Instead, she leans her head back and takes a few deep breaths. Her hands rub her face, before she looks at him, or rather at the camera, again.

They can't go to bed angry again, can they?

"I shouldn't... I'm tired," Tom tries.

A huff isn't the only answer he gets. "You're tired? I got up at 4.30 today, packing my things, preparing the breakfast and having a walk with Buddy, before all of you got up. I left for work at 6 to get as much done as possible. I had a hellish flight with too many sweaty people and a fucking large number of fucking cars in front of me on the way here to be there in time to talk to my children. I could have gone to bed hours ago. Don't tell me anything about being tired. Don't you dare."

They both stare at each other, stunned into silence. What's there to say, really, that would turn this conversation around and make it better?

Tom refuses to apologise, because damn her, she could easily be here with him in their new house with their little family. And Han won't say sorry for cursing him.

Han rubs her throbbing temples. She needs to breathe. Not breathe fire like a dragon the way she wants to, but actually breathe and get a grip.

“Look,” she says, still too loudly and with an angry tremble in her voice. “I know it’s awful that I can’t be there for Jamie’s birthday. But it’s one birthday out of dozens in his life. If I were in the hospital with an injury, I’d miss it too. Would that make me a bad mother? A bad wife? I think fucking not. And if Marvel called you and needed you for a Loki stint in Timbuktu, you would go and miss his birthday, wouldn’t you? So don’t try to guilt-trip me. Just don’t.”

She sees and hears Tom sigh. He’s also muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “there’s always a choice” but before she can really turn into a she-dragon and rip his stupid head off, he speaks up.

“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I’m trying to make you see sense. And I’m as bloody damn entitled to my opinion as you are. You think you’re doing the right thing. Fine. Sure. Okay. I think you’re not. So there we have it.”

Urgh, she just wants to throw the laptop at the wall. But she’s being the mature one here, right? The one who’s actually in the right and not whining because he’s been dealing with two kids whom she’s usually dealing with all the time.

“Yeah. There we have it.”

She’s exhausted. And this seriously isn’t something to deal with over Skype. Because the way this is going, there’s something wrong with their whole marriage. And that’s...to be honest, that’s scary as hell.

Just as she considers to maybe just hang up and actually get some sleep, maybe call her parents to have a bit of a nicer talk before bed, Tom clears his throat. Han looks at him, waiting. What now? What else has she done wrong?

"Can we talk logistics for Jamie's party? You're here for it, right?"

She just won't comment on the tone, they're going to behave like adults. "I'll be there for it. I'll fly out as soon as I can on Friday, and be there in the evening. Mama und Papa are going to give his presents to me so I can take them," she explains and Tom nods. "When are the guests going to arrive?"

"9.30 for breakfast. Mum, dad, Sarah, Emma, and their families. The little ones are quite excited."

"9.30? I'm..." She'll be barely awake then. And she wanted to spend time with the children alone.

"Yup. Do you have a problem with that? I've been alone with them most of the time the last days, I could use some different faces as soon as I can."

Well. They're back at bitching.

"I'll be there." Han doesn't like how small her voice sounds, but she doesn't like the pity on Tom's face as she says it, either.

"I know."

Okay, this is when she should hang up. Because if she asks what she wants to, she's going to hear his answer. Han knows what she's feeling - well, mostly.

She's missing her family. Not the German one, but her children and her husband even when he's an ass at the moment. But she loves the work and she needs to spend time with her parents as well. The question is, does Tom feel the same? God, she should really just hang up.

"Han?"

"Hm?"

"You've gone all quiet on me?"

"Do you miss me, Tom? Or do you just hate me for this?"

There. It's out. And for the first time, when she looks at Tom, he doesn't look annoyed. Tired, with food on his sweater, he's staring, but not answering. Oh god, she doesn't even really want to know.

Great, now he’s feeling even shittier. And he feels his brain cells begin to whirr, overthinking things.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Tom tries to find himself in all this mess. He’s pretty good at that, has learned it during all those early years of his career taking off and bringing a shitstorm with it sometimes. He’s never had to do it during his marriage so far. That’s scary as fuck. And he’s also exhausted as fuck. And feeling helpless as fuck. And he hatest the latter, but somehow things seem out of control. The harder he tries, the worse it gets.

“Yes,” he says after a while, his voice barely more than a croak. “Yes, I miss you.” And he means it, in some convoluted way. He doesn’t just miss her help with the kids or her presence at home, he misses how things were before this whole fiasco.

There’s a fleeting moment of relief on Han’s face when he opens his eyes, and that hurts as well. Everything hurts, truth be told. And when her face sort of crumbles in on itself, he just can’t take. He can’t. Not if he doesn’t want to crumble too, and there’s nobody else to provide some stableness for the children.

“Right. I’m knackered. I’ll be off, sleeping if Jamie doesn’t start crying again. I’ll see you.” There’s a million other things he should say but really, he can’t. And so he ends the Skype call and stares at the screen, hating himself and the world.

As Han enters the code to open the gate to the driveway it's 8.50 a.m. on Saturday morning, and she's almost late for the birthday party. She's also as tired as she's never been before, not even when she asked Tom if she had still be wearing pyjamas with a two-months-old Jamie in her arms, or when Vicky was little and Han had to be a functioning mother of two with a baby that kept her and Tom awake all night.

Han had gotten up at 4.30. Yesterday. Again, she wanted to be packed and ready and early at work to get to the airport in time.

On Thursday, Jamie's actual birthday, it had been better than expected. Jamie seemed to be over his hatred for Han, probably because he'd been full to the brim with chocolate, cake, and chocolate cake.

Tom had been his usual pissy self.

So, everything went fine, work was okay, Han made it to the airport in time. The only thing that wasn't so fine was the airplane. It was far from fine, it wasn't working. And they couldn't fix it in time, the airline reported.

Okay. Han took a few deep breaths and then did what the other passengers did, and went to find another plane. They were full. But they would try to get another plane there. For sure.

By then it was 8 p.m., and at that time Han had already been supposed to be home. Not stuck at an airport.

So, she called Tom. What else could she do?

"Are you kidding me?" he'd asked when she told him of the problem.

"It's not my fault. I'm trying my best, okay?"

He reassured her that he knew that and then they hung up.

When the plane that could take her home arrived, it had been past 11. Which meant it couldn't take off because of the ban on nightflights. The first planes would start at 5 a.m. the next morning. Saturday. The day of the party.

At midnight, Han was seriously considering taking the train, simply to do something instead of just sitting on the most uncomfortable bench possible and hoping to not miss the first flight out.

But as it was, a train ride would take almost twelve hours. Yeah. She'd definitely be late then.

So, she called Tom again.

"I'll be there in time, I promise. I've got no way of coming earlier."

"Did you miss the first flight, or has there really been a problem?"

She'd hung up on him at that.

Han didn't sleep except for maybe ten minutes here, and 20 minute there. People were snoring and talking and whenever she'd found a position that didn't make her back ache, she was afraid of getting too comfortable and falling asleep, really missing her flight.

Tom sent her a text some time at night, apologising for even asking, because of course he knew she'd rather be there and she was the punctual one after all.

It didn't make her smile and so she didn't answer. She just sent him a quick text at 6.05 Frankfurt time when she finally made it on a plane.

The flight took a little over 90 minutes, and at 7.45, 6.45 now with the London time that was one hour behind Germany, the plane landed.

Han hurried through the airport, got her baggage, got to the train that would take her from Stansted to London - the airline only made it to that airport - got in the cab, and then made it home.

And here she is. Exhausted beyond her wildest dreams, cursing their long driveway after she makes it through the gate. When she opens the front door, she listens and tries to make out familiar sounds. There's some humming in the kitchen that stops as she lets the door fall shut and leans against it with her back.

Next, she hears three sets of feet, one from Buddy, and two very small ones. The next thing she sees is Jamie barrelling down the hall in his Avengers-pyjamas until he collides with her thighs and hips, before she can stop him.

"Mama," he sobs and then shakes, and all Han can do is lift him up in her arms, even if it almost sends her tumbling down, she's that tired.

While Jamie sobs against her and buries his face in her neck, Han looks up for a tiny moment and locks eyes with Tom, who's in the kitchen doorway and has Vicky perched on his hip as he eyes his wife with the tiniest smile on his face. Which makes way to a frown when he realises Jamie's crying.

She looks away, concentrating on Jamie instead. "Made it for your party," she whispers to him.

Vicky is snivelling in his hold, probably worried by her brother’s waterworks. Hastily, Tom bounces her. “Vicky-bee, it’s all good. Big bro is crying happy tears. Okay?”

“Happy?” she crowes. “Yes, happy. Mama is back in time for the party, so we’re all going to be extra happy.”

That earns him a gummy-and-toothy smile but Tom still doesn’t exactly feel happy.

Han is swaying on her feet, muttering to their son and patting him until the tears give way to snotty sniffles.

“Jamie, Schatz,” Tom interrupts, stepping closer. “Why don’t you scamper off and bring all those nice toys you got as presents already, to show to your mother?”

The magic word of the day (presents) does help. Jamie clambers down, making Han sway even more precariously on her feet. Then he’s off to his room and he can hear his wife sigh halfway across the hall.

“You look...awful,” Tom blurts, regretting the words when Han’s face darkens and she shoots him an exhausted-but-indignant glare.

“Yeah, thanks for the compliment. Maybe that’s because I feel awful.”

She sounds kinda croaky, and she’s got dark circles under her eyes. Why’s she doing this to herself? Why so keen on a job that causes so much stress and trouble? Gritting his teeth, Tom tries to get the - these days always simmering - fury under control. This isn’t a time to be angry. But he’s had enough, seriously. And they aren’t even through with Han jetting back and forth for that fucking project yet.

Just a few short weeks ago Han would have come straight to him, kissing him hello, and both of them would have told each other how much they'd missed each other. How much they'd loved each other. Seems like they're not doing that today.

Instead Tom keeps bouncing Vicky, while their daughter watches Han shuffling over.

"Mama," she babbles, and Tom sees the first smile of the day on Han's face.

She presses a kiss on their daughter's cheek, and Tom inhales when she's next to him.

She smells like hurriedly caught flights and people on the Tube, but also still like his wife. His anger doesn't fully disappear - how could it? - but it slowly, so slowly, makes place for other feelings. He's missing her, he still loves her, even if he doesn't like her very much right now, and he wants his family to be whole again.

But then the moment is gone, because Han doesn't even touch him though she's standing so close to him.

"I'm going to freshen up," she mumbles and then turns towards the staircase where Jamie clambered up to his room on his hands and knees just a few short moments ago. He wanted to show her his presents, didn't he?

Tom clears his throat. "Jamie wanted to show you his presents. He wants to spend time with you."

"I'll check on him on my way to the bathroom," Han answers without turning around. "He needs to get dressed for the party anyway."

Is that an accusation Tom hears in her voice? Because the children aren't ready yet? Well, tough, because damn her, he's already prepared breakfast on the porch, had both children in the bathtub yesterday evening, cleaned up the house, and was just about to get both of them into their rooms.

It's not his fault she couldn't make it here quicker.

"I'll help him while you get ready then," is his answer as he climbs up the stairs behind her. "And first I'm going to get Vicky dressed."

While Tom hears Han and Jamie in his room, his wife oh-ing and ah-ing at the right times despite her obvious tiredness, Tom makes a quick change of Vicky's diapers. She's at the age where she needs to be distracted to keep still, so he's eagerly telling his daughter about everyone coming for breakfast in -- he checks his watch -- less than half an hour.

"Grandma Diana is going to be here," he starts, "yes, she is. And grandpa James is coming, and guess what? They're both going to sleep here tonight. And Sarah and your uncle are going to bring your two cousins. And Emma and Jake will bring your cousins as well. Aaaaaaaand," he stops dramatically just as he finishes the nappy change, "we're going to have cake."

Tom gets Vicky dressed in record time and then moves over to Jamie's room, the wee one in his arms.

Han is sitting on the bed, Jamie on the floor in front of her, demonstrating all the presents he's got. It's not like she doesn't know them, she chose them together with Tom.

She looks so tired, Tom himself wants to tuck her in and tell her to sleep for the rest of the weekend. But when she looks up, her shoulders move up and down with a tiny sigh, she closes her eyes for a moment, and then she stands up from the bed.

"I'm going to shower."

"Yes. And we'll wait downstairs for you. Take as much..." But she's out of the room, before Tom can finish the sentence. So, it's time to get Jamie ready. No time to dwell on other things.

They've just finished the task (Tom convincing Jamie that he shouldn't bring all his presents downstairs to show his guests), when the doorbell rings.

Both children perched on either hip, they make their way downstairs, and Tom opens the door for his family.

Big smiles and laughter follow them into the house and then it feels like one massive hug and everyone talking to everybody as it always happens when his family gets together.

"Where is Han?" Emma asks from where she's making coffee for everyone.

"Upstairs getting ready. She came home not even an hour ago. Her flight got cancelled."

The sympathy in Emma's eyes is almost too much for him and only feeds Tom's guilt. He should be there for his wife, right?

"Oh, that poor woman. She must be exhausted."

"Yeah," is all he answers. "Yeah."

So he tries. But all that gets him is...nothing. No inkling of a smile when he brings Han her favourite food, when he whisks an over-enthusiastic Vicky away for another nappy change, when he urges her to remain seated, to relax, to enjoy. No ‘thank you’, not even a half-hearted one. And that irks him to no end. Because sure he’s been a bit of an arse and sure she’s even more exhausted than him, but goddammit he’s fucking TRYING.

The others pick up on it too. It’s the snide remarks that Han throws into perfectly normal conversation, aimed at him. The lack of being touchy-feely on his part. The fact that his smiles don’t reach his eyes and Han doesn’t laugh at anybody’s jokes, scoffing at his.

Hands resting on the kitchen counter, Tom lets his shoulders sag and his head hang. His energy reserves are all but drained, hours after the start of the party. And he hates pretending things are fine. HATES IT.

He sighs, weary to the bone and - if he admits it to himself - worried about his marriage.

A sound makes him turn around. Han has appeared in the kitchen, swaying on her feet, cake splattered on her blouse. Ignoring him, she moves to the sink to wash some of the icing off.

“Here, let me help.” Tom grabs a couple of napkins, moving in to wipe.

Han jerks away, scowling out of squinty, sleep-deprived, red eyes. “I’ll manage.”

“For fuck’s sake!” Tom explodes, his voice rising angrily. “I’m neither a leper nor a criminal. Could you stop treating me like that for a few hours at least?”

Han slaps the wet kitchen towel onto the counter with enough force to splatter them both. “Well, I wouldn’t have to act like that if you weren’t such a shitty husband!”

Before he can do more than flinch as if she’d slapped him, both of them register movement in the doorway. Emma is standing there, gaping like a fish out of water.

She sighs. She didn't mean for it to just tumble out like that. But she means it in a way. He hasn't been the best husband. Maybe even shitty. Jury's still out on her being a shitty wife, though.

Tom's still been staring at his sister, but he turns his head to look at Han again, his blue eyes blazing, his whole body shaking. With anger, she assumes.

"Look," Han starts, but doesn't even know how to continue.

She doesn't have to, because her sister-in-law interrupts. "I'll just leave you to it. They'll have to manage without the apple juice."

And with that she's gone, not without a final wary look in their direction.

"Great," Tom mumbles. He starts to pace, seemingly enough frustration in him to forget he's normally the quiet, brooding type. "Just great. Ruin Jamie's birthday now, would you?" He doesn't look at her, but he's not doing a great job keeping quiet, either.

"It's been ruined from the start, I'm pretty sure we're both doing that."

"Well, one thing we're doing together I suppose," comes his muttered response, which sends Han over the edge. Again. He's got good at that.

"Fuck you, Tom! I'm sorry that you're hating me right now, but I'm not the only one responsible here. Maybe make it a bit nicer for me to come home to you!"

"You should love to come home to your children!"

Well. This clearly just developed into a shouting match. Forgotten are juices for the children, the guests, or cake smeared on clothes. Han's focus narrows, and all she can see is Tom pacing in front of her, being far away from the man she fell in love with.

"I do! It's the husband I'm not liking very much at the moment!"

"Yeah, you've made that perfectly clear!"

"Maybe not clear enough!"

And then the shouting and the pacing stops. Tom's shoulders drop, and for a moment in all of the red Han sees, she also sees him swallow heavily, and hears her own breaths leaving her in heavy puffs.

"Well, I'm not forcing you to spend time with me."

"Then maybe I should stop."

The statement hangs in the air as time ticks by, both of them breathing heavily. Han opens her mouth, no idea what she’ll say, but Tom lifts a hand to stop her.

Without another word, he turns and leaves. Through the open kitchen door, she sees him approach Emma, then circle the room to speak quietly to Sarah and his parents too. His family slides into action, in that practiced way they have that she’s often marveled at. Without letting the other guests know what’s wrong, they efficiently bring the party to a close.

Han stands rooted in the kitchen, hands clasped together so tightly that she can’t feel her fingers, the edge of the counter digging into her back because she needs it for support.

Em walks in, a child by the hand and a concerned expression on her face. “Hi...um...I’ll be taking the kids with me then, as discussed. Sarah and the lot are staying over too.”

Han nods wearily, remembering the details. It hurts that Jamie isn’t even going to say goodbye. She can see him all bouncy by the door, discussing a birthday present with one of his cousins. Sarah and Tom have their heads bent close together, and she wonders briefly what they might be talking about. Is Tom blaming her? Somehow she thinks he isn’t ratting her out - but then again, she’s shocked and provoked him so who knows how he’s handling things. Right now, she can barely stand and breathe and not smash something or howl in anguish.

“See you tomorrow?” Em’s parting words sound like a question, and Han nods again.

And then suddenly everyone is gone, and the only one left is Tom at the end of the hall, his back turned to her and his forehead pressed against the closed door.

He closes his eyes tightly, hoping that the pressure and the darkness can drown out the beating of his heart. They can't.

Never in his life has he felt this shitty. Never.

When his parents divorced? No, it's been bad, but they managed so well to be there for each of the children. When his jealousy almost brought Han and him to an end? No, because he knew then what mistakes he made and how to fix them. The paparazzi shots of him and Han getting frisky? No, they had each other to hold onto, helping each other to not drift away. Same with Han's pregnancy with Vicky. Difficult, with a most stubborn wife to deal with, but they had each other.

This, though? Tom doesn't even know if he's mad, sad, or simply done with it all. She doesn't want him anymore. That's what she said, right?

'Then maybe I should stop.' Those were the words. Paired with what a shitty husband he makes. Well, news flash, wife of the year won't be going to Han either.

"What did you tell them?" Han's voice comes from the kitchen, and all Tom can do is scoff. Really? That's so not important right now.

"Doesn't matter," he answers, and then finally turns.

God, he doesn't want to face her. The next thing she's going to say might be the end of this marriage, and he doesn't want that.

Or does he? What's there to do right now? She thinks he's a shitty husband, and though Tom doesn't say it out loud, he'd love to call her a bitch right now. Which she isn't. But she's behaving like one.

They stare at each other, Han in the kitchen, Tom in the hall.

"I won't keep you here, if you don't want to be here," he finally manages, and it hurts to even get the words out. "But you won't get to leave without talking to me. This is a stupid fight, and you know it."

Tom more sees than hears her huff. "So, I'm stupid now?"

That's it. One more sentences twisted and turned? "No!" he bellows and this time it's Han looking shocked. There. That's what it feels like. "Stop twisting my words, damn it, woman! This fight is stupid, not you! I may be a shitty husband and it looks like you can't even stand being close to me, but don't you dare put words in my mouth I didn't say!"

Well, this works splendidly.

Not far away, Han is sleeping. Is she, though? She was so exhausted she was practically sleepwalking to the bathroom a while ago, not saying a single word when he grabbed his stuff and left instead of slipping into his side of the bed. He can’t lie next to her tonight, he just can’t. And that hurts. That she hasn’t said anything after him yelling at her hurts too. Everything hurts, frankly.

Sighing and pressing his eyes closed against the sting of unshed tears, Tom rolls onto his side with some difficulty. He’s much too long-limbed to find a position that doesn’t make his bones and muscles ache in protest, but the floor seems too cold even with a blanket.

Buddy, in quiet solidarity that made Tom teary-eyed, has settled on the rug in front of the couch, instead of curling into a fuzzy ball in his doggie bed. Tom lets a hand hang over the edge of the couch, searching blindly until he connects with soft fur and warm dog. Buddy jerks a little, gives a snuffly whine, and settles back into sleep with a huff.

What he’d give to be a dog right now. To not have to worry whether tomorrow morning he’ll still have a wife, a home, a family...

As she turns around and looks at the other side of the bed – Tom’s side – it’s empty. Not just that nobody’s lying there, but it’s also bare of pillows and blankets.

So, he really didn’t come to bed last night, not even when she was asleep.

She can’t blame him, really. Not for that. And she’s thankful that he obviously slept in one of the guest bedrooms.

Han slept through the night better than she expected. Despite all the hurt, disappointment, anger, and most of all thoughts that were running through her, swirling inside of her. All of those feelings were forgotten as soon as her head hit the pillow.

She almost feels guilty for it, but then again she hadn’t slept the – what was it? – 36 hours before?

And now hurt, anger, and disappointment are back. Han knows she needs to talk to Tom. She also knows that she’s scared as hell to see the results of the talk. What to tell the children? The family? Are they still going to be a couple by the time they have to pick up Jamie and Vicky? How even start to talk to Tom without making everything worse? Did they forget how to talk along the way?

Tossing and turning don’t help her, so Han decides to start the day early, possibly cleaning up the mess from the party yesterday and letting Buddy out in the garden.

She dresses in one of Tom’s old t-shirts that reaches her mid-thigh (so sue her, she hasn't unpacked yet and the shirt is comfy even when they’re fighting), and then makes her way through the hallway as quiet as she can to not wake up Tom before she walks down the stairs and quietly into the kitchen.

Buddy isn’t in his doggy bed, so after preparing the coffee and turning on the machine, Han goes looking for the family dog in the living-room.

She’s not proud of it, but she shrieks when Tom blinks back at her from where he’s sitting on the couch, his blanket and pillow next to him, and Buddy by his feet.

Han clutches a hand to her chest, trying to stop her heart from coming out of her body. “Jesus,” she mutters, “you scared the shit out of me.”

His vision is a bit blurry from a sleepless night. And okay, he maaay have cried. A bit. Barely at all. Alright, for some time.

Squinting, he looks at his wife, wondering whether anything has changed over night. The silence stretches as her breathing slows down.

“Did you catch some sleep?” Tom asks, hating how scratchy and uncertain his voice sounds.

Han nods, her fingers twisting the hem of one of his old t-shirts. Is that a hopeful sign, that she’s chosen to wear it? Surely if she wanted a separation, she wouldn’t have done that?

Tom swallows a lump the size of England, fidgeting.

“Now what?” he hears himself ask.

More silence, stretching and stretching to breaking point. Buddy’s even breathing--not quite a snore--is the only sound, and Tom buries a foot in the warm bundle of fur, rubbing more to soothe himself than the sleeping dog.

“I don’t know,” comes Han’s answer at last, and she sounds as scratchy and uncertain as him, only with a hint of the searing anger he remembers.

“Did...did you really mean it, last evening?”

“What?” she asks, her stance instantly more defensive.

Well, everything. Tom searches for the right words. “That I’m a shitty husband?”

But this time, she doesn't apologise right after that moment. This time, she shrugs, and Tom's heart is beating out of his chest again.

"Tom, it's not even 6. Can we, I don't know, not do this now? I can't-- I don't--"

Buddy whines a bit at his feet and Tom realises with a start that he put too much pressure on the dog, so he lets go.

"Well, if this is it, I'd like to know now and not tonight."

Han pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and finger, then opens and closes her mouth a few times as if to say something. This is clearly torture.

And then she says nothing as she turns around instead, walking back to the kitchen.

Tom stays seated on the couch for a minute, stunned. Well, they didn't scream, which is good he supposes. But just as he said -- yelled -- yesterday. She won't get to leave without talking to him. So, he follows her to the kitchen.

When Han turns around from fiddling with the coffee maker, Tom's shocked to see tears streaming down her face. His wife -- oh god, let her still be his wife -- is shaking, her face crumbling right in front of him, and her hands come up to try and dry her face off her tears.

That's his job, damn it. So, without thinking too much, Tom rushes through the kitchen, and before he knows what he's doing Han is pressed against him in what must be a bone-crushing hug. He doesn't care.

"I-I-I... I'm... You...", she starts, but takes a deep breath, still shaking against him, her face burried in his chest. "I don't like you very much and we're shitty people at the moment, but you're not a shitty husband."

Tom presses Han against him, and for a moment she can't decide if it's good or bad that the hug is so crushing she can't seem to breathe properly. It's probably good though.