Work Text:
April 2020
Even with the joy Charlie feels after formally being able to adopt little Evie, she can't deny the dread that settles immediately after. The world's been turning upside down for the past month, a pandemic changing the lives of everyone.
She feels bad, and Charlie doesn't know if she's able to hide it much longer. She should be helping, her colleagues in the hospital are giving updates via messages whenever they have more than three minutes to themselves (which isn't often). She should be there with them, but she also has an almost two-months-old at home, a newly seven-year-old who wasn't allowed to celebrate her birthday with friends, and a partner who's already felt immense loss in his life once before. She should stay with them, be glad that they're all safe and sound for the time being. It would be reckless.
But she also is a doctor.
Charlie sighs as she folds the remaining baby clothes and puts them next to the changing table before making her way downstairs. Not before peeking into Evie's room, though. It's bedtime soon, and the little girl enjoys getting her dolls ready and changed. Something she picked up on when she saw her dad and Charlie having the same routine with little Rose.
With a slightly lighter heart Charlie walks down the stairs, ready to feed Rosie one last time, before trying to get her to settle as Tom will put Evie to bed.
But the doctor stops at the door to the living-room. There is Tom, holding a bottle to Rose's little puckered lips. "Come on," he mumbles, "it's the same milk, it's just a bottle this time. We got this."
"We got this?" Charlie asks, startling Tom. "Why do we need to get this?"
Tom jerks, the bottle almost slipping from his grip as his other arm automatically clutches little Rose closer.
Great, this isn’t how he wanted to broach this subject. He’d have preferred it if he’d already succeeded in feeding his tiniest one, it would have served in his favour if - really, when - he and Charlie have this argument.
With a sigh and then a hopefully winning but probably guilty smile, he turns towards Charlie. She’s standing there as if she’s just witnessed him painting his daughter’s body neon green, instead of just trying - make that, failing - to bottle-feed her. “Rosie and I think we need to get this,” he says after a long moment of organizing his thoughts.
“Is that so?” Arms crossed, head tilted, Charlie gives him a long, searching look. And of course as soon as she heard her mother’s voice, little Rose has transferred all of her focus to her. He might as well give up for the time being.
Adjusting his hold on her, Tom bends forward and sets the small bottle down. “Why don’t you come sit with us, love? I think there’s something we should talk about.”
A raised brow joins the tilted head and the crossed arms. Tom swallows. Okay, maybe saying 'we need to talk' in some variation isn't the greatest start. But they'll get there.
"O-kay," Charlie states, then walks to the couch. She can't hide her smile as Rose becomes a bit too eager in Tom's arms. It doesn't really help his case, but Tom does love the way their daughter reacts to her mum.
They manage to move the baby from Tom's arms to Charlie's, a move they've mastered over the past almost two months. And if everything goes according to plan they won't get to do much over the upcoming weeks. God, he hopes it's just weeks.
Tom clears his throat as Charlie prepares to feed Rose. No, it's nothing sexual at all, but yes, it is sexy to see his girlfriend being a mother to their baby. He can't help it. Also, his mouth is dry, he's too nervous about this.
"You're scaring me, Tom," Charlie mumbles.
"Sorry," he relents, "sorry." It takes another few seconds before he's ready. "I think you want to go back to work. I think you need to. And I feel guilty for keeping you here. I swear, I'll be able to look after both children. I swear I won't hold it against you. And I'm also scared to death you're actually going to agree with me. Because while I feel guilty I'm also selfish."
Charlie feels a bit as if someone has taken the sturdiest, heaviest of her frying pans and clobbered her over the head with it. She’s quite literally reeling and needs to lean back against the couch.
But after a few moments and deep breaths, she realizes she shouldn’t be this surprised. In all the years she’s shared with Tom so far, he’s never been anything short of super-perceptive. Of course he’d notice her internal battle even though she kept it to herself. He’s also one of the smartest and one of the most understanding people she knows. So yeah, she shouldn’t be this surprised. And yet…
“How did you know that?”
Tom shrugs, then reaches out to stroke a hand first over Rose’s and then over Charlie’s hair. “I’d like to think I know YOU.”
Smooth bastard. Charlie sighs. “Okay, so maybe we do need to talk.” She holds her tiny daughter closer, and on the one hand that gives her strength, but on the other hand it brings more emotional turmoil. Because she can absolutely relate to every single word Tom’s said, about the guilt and everything else.
“I do want to help,” she says softly. “But I shouldn’t. Or should I?”
Tom squeezes her thigh, as if trying to hold on to her, not letting her go. "Is it really a question, though?"
No, Charlie realises. No, it isn't really.
"I'd be away," she says, and Tom nods. "I don't think you understand. It wouldn't be long hours. I'd really be away. At least most of the time. I'd have to be so careful."
"Is it that bad?" Instead of squeezing her, Tom's fingers now rub small circles on her knee. Charlie can't look at him. She feels like she's letting him down. She will let someone down during this. She knows.
She nods. "Everyone needs to be so careful. It's okay when you live alone, but nobody wants to expose their family. Or expose the other staff, if your family gets sick."
“ Right , right.” Tom swallows convulsively. He’s thought this through over the past few days. He really has. But somehow, now actually talking about it with Charlie and having her reconfirm what he’d found out as well as feared, is making it even harder.
He wishes he was holding their tiny one, to draw strength from her. Then again, he’ll be doing a lot more holding - and other things - soon. But Charlie probably won’t. She’s still such a freshly baked mom. This is her firstborn. How will it be for her, to sort of be separated from them? Will she feel as if she’s abandoned them? Or is she feeling as if she’s abandoned all the others in need now? Dammit, what a mess.
Tom scoots as close as physically possible, looping his arm around them both and taking a deep breath of their familiar scents to centre himself.
“Everyone’s talking about those bubbles,” he says slowly, trying to approach something with logic that seems to defy all logic. “I could include mom in mine, it would help in many ways.”
He feels Charlie nod against him, slowly, as if she's thinking this through as well. "That does make sense," she mumbles. "Would she do that? Come here to London to live with us? You, I mean?"
Tom winces at her correction and feels Charlie do the same. His mum wouldn't live with them , as Charlie wouldn't be here for most of it.
Before he can answer, the woman next to him speaks again. "Or would you move to her house?" Her voice sounds small, and Tom knows why. It's the same reason why he's so quick to answer.
"No! No, she'd move here." Of course, objectively it doesn't make a huge difference. They won't see much of each other either way, no matter how far away. But there's the possibility to be close to each other again as soon as possible.
"Okay," Charlie whispers. And then for the first time in minutes she moves her head and sits a bit straighter again, still careful with little Rose still feeding. "I would need to pump, I do want to use my milk for as long as possible." Tom nods. "We need some kind of schedule, and I need to talk to the hospital. Maybe with a quarantine or whatever safety measures there are, I can come back and…," she swallows and stops.
Tom's glad for that because he doesn't want to think about Charlie not coming back.
"So, we agree?" he asks. "We do this?"
She nods. "Yeah."
May 2020
Tom curses after looking at his watch. He’s almost 3 minutes late to his Instagram live. Glancing down at himself, he curses more loudly and colourfully. He’s in one of his ratty, more-than-well-worn sweaters. Which wouldn’t be all that bad because honestly, they’re in the middle of a pandemic and he’s seen footage of people attending Zoom meetings for work in their shorts. But what is pretty bad is the fact that his sweater is liberally dotted with milk that tiny Rose has thrown up all over him.
It’s been a few weeks of separation from Charlie already, and it’s been…well…there’s no other way to say this: It’s been hard. On her more so than on him, of course. She’s basically risking her health and life on an hourly basis, hardly sleeping at all, and confined to a place most certainly not her own home.
It’s been hard on him too though. Baby Rosie is very clearly missing her mother, which makes her cry more and also be more colicky. Evie misses Charlie badly too, and so does he. And although his mum has been nothing short of wonderful, Tom feels like he’s slowly losing it.
Like now. He’s gotta be present and presentable and he’ll be watched by thousands around the globe, but all he looks like is a dad in over his head and failing at the simplest tasks.
Muttering to himself, Tom dashes into the room to find something else to wear, counting the seconds he’ll be even later now, and using the rest of his brain to wish for no crying bouts.
He throws on a dark blue sweater – very similar to the one he's been wearing just a few seconds ago – and leaves the room to finally make it to his office and start the app on his phone.
In the hallway he stops and listens for a moment. Both of his little girls are downstairs with his mum, and so far he doesn't hear a noise. Well, it'd be a first if it stayed like that.
Back in the day he never had to worry about that, even when Evie was little, or well, tiny. He never took her to any of his interviews, he had Emily as a support. Tom swallows. When Emily was gone he didn't do any interviews anymore. So, this is the first time he actually attends "work" and takes the children with him, so to speak.
But this is important, too. He can't help directly, he's not a doctor like Charlie. But people still like to see him (at least that's what Luke keeps telling him, making Tom blush regularly), and so today they're re-watching Coriolanus, collecting donations in the meantime.
Tom takes another deep breath, settles himself on the couch in his office and starts the app.
By the time he’s finally get it to work the way he wants, he’s another three minutes too late but oh well…better late than never, right?!
Things go surprisingly well after that, for about half an hour. He feels himself sliding back into things like a fish into water, but he also feels a bit different. Because no matter how focused he is and how much he begins to enjoy this, he’s a changed person now. He’s a father again, and he suspects there’ll now always be a part of him that - no matter how immersed he is in his work of whatever kind - will always be in ‘dad mode’. He’s wondering in a tiny corner of his brain how that is for Charlie, who very much cannot afford to have even 10 percent of her attention occupied by something not her job, when a wail pierces the air.
Good afternoon to you too, Rose Hiddleston…
Tom flinches, several closed doors between them not enough to completely block out the noise though his ears are probably overly tuned in to it now.
He’s resolved to not let it distract him (his mum is a superhero), and comments on a particularly challenging scene he’d had to play as Coriolanus while wearing basically nothing more than the flimsiest sack-like piece of cloth - when the door to his room bursts open.
“Daddy, little Rosie puked again,” Evie announces loudly.
Tom looks at Evie and winces. And not just that, from the corner of his eyes he sees Josie Rourke – the woman who directed him back in the day and who's become a great friend – startle before she stops talking. Shit.
Before he can reassure Evie and himself that it's probably just milk that their smallest family member doesn't hold in well at the moment, his oldest daughter marches into the room and sits down next to him without a care in the world.
"It was a bit yucky," she says. "Granny Di burped her, and then Rosie spewed." The face that she's making would have him laughing out loud at any other time, but at the moment Tom's too mortified and confused to react properly.
Josie does, though. She smirks, giggling a bit. "That sounds like an exhausting time at your house, Tom."
"You could say that," he mumbles just as Evie's eyes go wide.
"We're in the video!" she exclaims. "Just like when we're talking to Charlie!"
The giggling on Josie's side of the video stops for a moment. Of course she knows about the situation, but she also knows about Tom not wanting to share his private life with the whole world. Or at least not with everyone who's watching.
Tom sees the comments pop up on screen, different variations of "How cute is she?!" and "OMG, it's Tom's daughter, she's grown so much" and "hoping the baby is okay, where is Charlie?". His head spins. This is not what's supposed to be happening.
And before he can tell Evie to go back downstairs, the wailing outside his room gets louder, and his mum is standing in the doorway, little red-faced Rosie in her arms, and a burb cloth on her shoulder.
Shit, it's probably the colic again.
"We talk like this to Charlie, too," Evie is currently telling Josie – and everyone who's watching.
Somehow , it’s seeing his mother and her now chagrined expression that makes Tom come to his senses. He gives Josie - and the people, oops - an awkward little wave, apologizes profusely and rather not eloquently, and mutes, then leaves the live video once he figures out how to.
And then he just slumps forward in his chair, buries his face in his hands, and takes a few deep breaths. Because apparently he’s just come THIS close to losing it a bit, and he doesn’t want to. Can’t afford to. Really shouldn’t. So breathing it is.
A few moments later, he realizes Evie has snuggled up to him and his holding him, and that somehow makes it worse instead of better. He should be holding her, and holding himself together.
A few more moments later, Tom scolds himself for that thought. He’s allowed to have a wee breakdown. Especially in times like this. Maybe not quite as allowed as millions of others, but that doesn’t make his struggle less valid. So more breathing it is, and squeezing his now innocently silent daughter in a much-needed hug.
As if she’s sensed the importance of the whole scene, his littlest one is quiet for a bit. And he feels his mum come to his side and lay a hand on his bent head. It reminds him of when he was little. He feels a bit little too, to be honest. But that’s okay too.
When he shifts and lifts his head, everyone is regarding him with a rather cautious look, including his tiny colicky princess who has milk vomit on her burp cloth and face. And so he pulls himself together and smiles a bit wobbly.
He’ll deal with the Instagram thingy later, and with worrying how much of his private life is out in the open now even later. Family first.
So , Tom pulls Evie close to him, kissing the top of her head which earns him a squeeze and a giggle. Then he looks at his mum and smiles at Rosie, fishes the cloth from Diana's shoulder to put on his own, and takes the baby – who decides that now is the right time to make herself heard again.
"Sorry," his mum apologies and continues before he can tell her that it's alright. "This little one felt uncomfortable, and before I could stop her Evie decided that the baby needed her daddy."
"It's okay," Tom shrugs, careful with the now wailing child in his arms. He stands up, trying to burp Rosie once more, using all of the grips the internet and Charlie told him to try. Goodness, Charlie. He could really, really use her right now.
He looks at his mum and Evie, one face calm and relaxed – she raised three children of her own – the other one displaying the discomfort his oldest daughter feels. She's been spending a lot of time with her smaller sister, more time than any of them thought they'd have to spend together in a confined space. And mind you, their house is big enough to fit them all in. Another thing he can't really complain about.
"Why don't we all go downstairs for a bit. The movement will help the little one, and we can all have a bit of family time?" Tom asks. While his mum nods and gets up, Evie glances at Tom's phone, still set up for the Instagram live session.
"Don't you have to work?" Ah. Shit. That little detail he wanted to deal with later. God, he feels guilty, and he's probably never going to be asked to participate in anything ever again.
But Tom shakes his head. "But would you take the phone downstairs for me?" he asks Evie, giving his daughter something to do.
Charlie sits, a large cup of coffee cradled in her two hands and her body hurting all over from standing and running around all day – and night, on the small bed in the break room of the hospital.
She knew Tom would be live earlier today, but she missed it. Now, she's staring at the phone that's lying next to her and which is playing the recording from earlier that afternoon.
He looked good. Or, as good as someone can during a pandemic which is spent at home caring for a little baby and a child: tired, but charming. And then after not even half an hour Charlie suddenly heard Evie come into the room and saw her in front of the camera, followed by Tom hastily waving goodbye and apologising profusely, Rosie crying in the background.
Josie, sweet Josie Rourke handled it like a pro, inviting the next cast member on. Of course, the director knows of the situation.
And the world can now see Charlie's family on Youtube.
She takes a huge gulp of her coffee, settles herself on the bed and searches Tom's name on her phone to start a video call.
It rings only for a few seconds before the phone is picked up, and the next thing Charlie sees on her screen is Tom's face – tired eyes, the slight stubble that's been growing for a few days, but also the hint of a smile now that he's on the phone with her.
"Hi, love," he greets her with a little wave. He squints. "You look tired."
And oh God, she really is. Charlie can't remember the last time she slept. She's living on coffee by now. Speaking of. She takes a sip before she answers.
"Pot. Kettle," she smirks, making Tom roll his eyes.
"Well, yes. Very different reasons, though, and I can squeeze in some naps in between." Not that he's doing that, Charlie knows as much.
She doesn't say so, though, instead she yawns. "Sorry," she says. "I did see your Instagram live, by the way." With the face Tom's making now, Charlie doesn't know whether she should pity him or give into the laugh which wants to come out.
"Ah, yes. That was a bit of a mess."
"No," Charlie shakes her head, "I saw the comments, too. People relate to you. Pointing out you, well, we I guess, don't have a nanny living there," she smiles. "And they really love Evie."
Tom still looks doubtful. And concerned now, too. "I don't like that they saw her."
He watches Charlie scrunch up her face - a face at once familiar and dear and somehow still oh so beautiful, but also a face changed and beyond tired. And marred by the unmistakable indents of having to wear special masks and leaving as little of her face unexposed as possible. There are swollen red lines and grooves all around her nose and mouth that make him want to reach out through the screen and soothe them away. Make him want to hug Charlie for hours. Just hug, hug it all away.
“I have to admit, I didn’t like it much either,” she confesses, then is cut off by another yawn that automatically makes him mimic her. “But honestly, Tom, it’s not like we ever were complete hermits or like we were going to be able to hide forever.”
He sighs, shifts. He misses being out and about, stretching his legs, going shopping or window shopping, going on his morning runs. Even though he’s busy with all sorts of things at home, that kind of moving is different and he’s quickly growing tired of sitting and sitting and more sitting. And then just as quickly scolding himself because while he feels bad about that, Charlie probably sits all of ten minutes every day.
“Mhm.” He processes her words. “But maybe we could’ve introduced her on our own terms.”
Charlie nods. “True. You know what though? This whole pandemic has made me realize how much is out of our hands really. And how not everything can or needs to be planned.”
Tom scratches his chin, mulling that over. “Look at you, being all philosophical. Isn’t that my role to play usually?”
He’s trying a bit too hard and his tone isn’t all humor, but it does achieve what he’s been hoping for: Charlie is cracking a tiny smile at last. It wavers a moment later.
“I miss you.” It’s so soft he can barely hear it, but oh he can feel it in every cell of his being.
Tom swallows, not trusting his voice for a moment there. He scans the room quickly, the three women, old and young, all occupied. They haven't even realized he's on the phone with Charlie.
Still, before he answers he gets up from the sofa and darts into the kitchen. It's quieter here.
"Aw, love," he finally answers, "I miss you, too." He fights against the lump in his throat, especially seeing how Charlie quickly wipes her slightly bloodshot eyes. "I'd give a lot to touch you right now."
She raises a brow, chuckling even now, and making Tom roll his eyes – again. "Is that so?"
He shakes his head and leans back in his chair. "Not in a sexual way. Mostly." He winks. The next moment he is serious again. "I want to hold you, and I'd do anything to help you."
Charlie nods. Another yawn stops her from an immediate answer. "And I you," she whispers, "how is Rosie doing?"
How is anyone doing, really? And how to answer honestly without making her feel guilty for missing out?
“Better,” he says, and it's almost the truth. “And she's not really bad in the first place.” At Charlie's skeptical face, Tom adds, “Honestly. I think it's the normal baby stuff. It's just… tough.”
But whom is he explaining that to, really? Charlie knows all about children. It's easier, though, without the maternal instincts and hormones in the way.
“Can I see her? Later, I mean? Maybe in the evening, if I've got the time. I don't want her to see me and get too upset.”
Tom notices how she's not saying ‘I don't want to see her’ but it's the other way around. And he's glad she sees it this way. He's got no idea what he'd do if Rosie starts screaming again.
A week later
Tom flinches when the ringtone of his cell phone - which he’s forgotten to put on silent before putting his littlest one to sleep - shatters the fragile silence. As expected, Rosie opens her eyes and immediately starts to scream and bawl.
Endlessly grateful for his mom when she sidles into the room, shoos him away and starts picking up and rocking the fussy baby, Tom drags himself to the living room. An instant stab of worry has hit his gut because this isn’t the usual time Charlie calls him from her work number.
“Hi love, are you alright?” he asks.
When the voice answering him isn’t Charlie’s, icy fear slides down his spine and makes him sink onto the nearest couch.
“Hi, um, Tom? This is Rita, one of Charlotte’s colleagues.”
For a moment, he can’t speak, needs to press his eyes closed and take a breath. “Is…is Charlie…Charlotte okay? What’s wrong?”
Horror scenarios play out in his head like movie scenes, making him ball his free hand into a white-knuckled fist.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I thought you should maybe know. Charlotte fainted at work this morning.”
His vision – no, his world, really – drags in and out of focus and swirls around him. He can't hear anything except the rushing of his own blood in his ears and fragments of words from the person on the phone who apparently goes by the name of Rita.
“Covid … room … fever … visiting …”
Tom doesn't listen, though. In his head he's already conjured the most likely and unlikely scenarios. Charlie got Covid. He won't be able to visit. She's unconscious. Rita is calling so he can say goodbye.
He's spiralling, but he can't help it. He still doesn't hear, not until a baby – his baby – is screaming right in his face, his worried mum holding little Rosie. She's saying his name, he hears that now. And then he can also make out the voice on the phone, calling his name repeatedly.
“You're as white as a sheet,” Diana says. “What happened?”
Tom answers, though he himself can't be sure. “Charlie… she's… she caught it…”
“NO!” screams the voice down the line, startling both Tom and Diana. Rosie is magically calm, though. “Tom, you're not listening to me,” the voice of Charlie's co-worker says, and then, calmly, she adds, “listen, please. And sorry for screaming. Charlie's relatively fine. She doesn't have Covid. We tested her, multiple times. She's exhausted, as we all are, and it's taken its toll. She doesn't have a fever, she's in her hotel room, and she'll be off work for the next two days. I just wanted to inform you.”
He can breathe. For the first time in minutes, Tom can actually breathe. And then the words make it to him. “Thank you. And sorry, you caught me off guard.”
“She's not working. She's in her room. For two days,” Rita repeats.
“I…”
“Just saying.”
He can hear that smirk, and he can see it on his mum's face as well.
There's a constant knocking inside her head. Charlie knows she's exhausted, she just didn't think it was “hearing things in your head”-bad. Well, she fainted – quite embarrassingly – at work in the middle of a shift, so maybe it is bad after all.
It feels like she's been sleeping for hours and at the same time for only mere minutes, and Charlie can't tell which option it is.
She just knows she's dreaming right now, because nobody knows she's here – except her colleagues, of course, but they won't visit – and amongst the knocking sounds in her head she can also hear her name being called now.
A few seconds later there's ringing as well, and oops, Charlie might just go crazy now. She opens one eye carefully, testing whether she's dreaming, or awake, or a mixture of both. Tom's name flashes on the screen of her phone, and though she feels guilty, Charlie decides not to pick up. She's too exhausted to deal with anything else than sleep. Plus, she knows he won't be worried if she doesn't pick up, because this is not his usual time to call.
Before she can fall back asleep Charlie sits up straight. This is not his usual time to call. Something is wrong. In her sleep-deprived state she fumbles for the phone, a garbled, “What's wrong, who is it?” leaving her mouth before she even knows she picked up.
“What’s wrong?” There’s something that might be a bitten-off curse but honestly, she’s still not sure what tricks her mind is playing on her. “What’s wrong, she asks. WHAT’S WRONG?!”
Charlie winces, holding the phone farther away from her ear cause that was really loud. If Tom is shouting, something must indeed be terribly, terribly wrong.
There’s more of what might be bitten-off curses, then shushing, hushed voices. Finally a sigh, which she automatically mimics because what on eart is going on?! Then he clears his throat, and now he sounds much more like Tom.
“Sorry. Forget that happened. I’m just quite… discombobulated. It’s a bit much.”
Yeah, she can sing a song about ‘a bit much’. Only she’s barely got enough strength to hold the phone and keep breathing, so singing is definitely out of the question… Why won’t he get to the point so the panic will stop pressing in on her?
“You’re sick.” It sounds a bit like an accusation, and her righteous indignity - mixed with an involuntary giggle of the near-hysterical kind that bubbles up her throat - make her wake up a bit more. Before she can croak her protest or reach through the phone and tweak his ear, a realization sinks in.
He knows. Tom knows. Oh no.
“ I'm not—,” Charlie starts and tries anyway, but she's immediately interrupted by Tom.
“Don't. Don't say you're not.”
“Sick. Not in the great scheme of things. I admit I'm exhausted, but I'm not sick. Not when other people are in comas right now, unable to breathe on their own.” She rushes through the sentences, trying to get it all out, make all her points. She's still dizzy, the sleep she so desperately needs is trying to claim her again.
Another sigh on the other end of the line. “Okay. Okay, you're exhausted. But you fainted, Charlie. And you should have said something.”
“I know.” It's so quietly, softly, spoken that Tom almost doesn't hear it. Especially over the sound of a very excited Evie sitting close to him, eager to speak to Charlie as well.
They established that Tom would first make sure Charlie was up for it, and almost refused to let Evie be in the same room. But eventually he had to admit – to himself and his mum as well as his daughter – that the worst thing that could happen is a very tired Charlie.
And a very tired Charlie it is, indeed. She must be feeling like him during those promotional tours all over the world, when he didn't even know what time zone he was in at times, and his body was definitely in another.
But he can't compare that, really. Charlie is going through so much more.
Evie can't hear the other end of the call, and she's shifting and shuffling around, preparing herself, but patiently waiting for her turn.
There are a few things that need to be cleared up first, though.
“So, why haven't you? We're worried.” Evie nods along, prompting a reassuring smile from Tom.
“That's exactly why. That, and honestly, I don't even know what day it is, let alone who to call.”
For a moment, there’s silence. It drags on some more, and Charlie is about to doze off again when it suddenly hits her like a bucket of ice-cold water what she just said. She’s opening her mouth to clarify, though she has no idea what she’s going to actually say, when Tom speaks. And there’s something in his carefully controlled tone that makes her wish with a throbbing in her temples that he’d return to the initial hysteria.
“Is that right?” A pause, pregnant with meaning, making her gulp. “I get not knowing up from down and left from right and night from day, but…” Another pause, and she can all but hear Tom’s brain cells work to find the right words while he’s probably hurt. Or angry? Or both?
“But I don’t get not knowing who to call. We’re your family, Charlie. Do we rank that far down on your list of priorities?”
And there we have it. Charlie gulps again, rubbing her temple. Shitty shit shit. She should’ve concentrated more because she’s clearly upset the one person she does NOT want to upset.
“I—, ” she starts, but at this point she's not sure if she should even begin to explain. This is all too much.
“Could you check on your grandma and sister for a bit, please?” Charlie hears Tom say on the other line. It's muffled, though, clearly said to Evie. He wants her out of the room. Oh God, are they going to fight?
“I can't do this,” she whimpers. She feels so bad, so lost, and so alone. And Charlie doesn't mean talking to Tom, she doesn't even mean this conversation specifically. She simply can't do this on her own – physically.
“Charlie—”
“No,” she whispers, “I mean it. I can't do this. I'm exhausted, and that is putting it lightly. I'm not saying the right things. I miss you terribly, but at the moment I'm not even sure if this phone call is even real.”
Charlie doesn't know if Tom can even hear her, understand her, or if she's just rambling on.
“You're my life, you're at the very top of every list,” she continues. “And at the moment I can't even tell you if this is a dream.”
There’s another of those pauses that are just killing her in various ways, and then she hears a deep sigh at the other end of the line that she feels in her very bones.
“Alright. You should rest. But I would like us to have this conversation some other time.”
Relief is so immediate she can feel her body sagging and her eyelids drooping. Or maybe she’s just too freaking exhausted. Praying that she won’t faint again mid-call, she finds it in her to whisper “thank you”.
“Mhm. And Charlie, I would like to call again later so you can talk to Evie. She’s not… It’s been very hard on her too.”
Great, now guilt is trying to worm its way in…again. She’s been feeling it all the time, even though she knows it’s silly.
“Promise,” she croaks out, having to consciously grip the phone so it won’t slip out of her slack hold.
“Rest then. I love you.”
She isn’t sure if she did hear that last bit or if it’s a dream indeed. The only thing registering is the phone plopping down on the bed and her body following as sleep claims her again.
The next time Charlie hears the knocking and ringing in her head, she's more alert when her body wakes up, her mind following.
Her mouth is dry, her eyes hurt, and so do her throat and head. But she's awake, and she almost feels rested.
There's a knock again, a single one this time. Charlie glances at the clock on the nightstand, before she gets up. Almost 8 pm. Maybe it's room service? Or someone from the hotel checking up on her, knowing about the situation?
And Shit, wasn't there something about calling Evie? Did she miss it?
Charlie struggles to get her phone, desperate to check it for missed calls. None. But just as she's about to free her legs from the cocoon of blankets she finds herself in, the phone starts to ring. Tom.
“Hi,” she answers immediately. “Hi,” she repeats not a second later.
The chuckle is small, but it's there. “Hi. You're awake.”
“I am.” Then, Charlie remembers the door, the constant knocking. “Sorry, I need to check something real quick.”
“Open it.”
“Huh?”
Another chuckle, a bit lighter this time. “Check the door for me. Please.”
Charlie's brain halts, but her body does as it's told. She rushes to the door, not a care in the world about her clothes, or lack of. And when she opens it, Tom stands on the other side, a mask covering the lower half of his face.
He hangs up the phone and shrugs. “I tested. Or well, got tested. Negative.”
The next thing Tom knows, she’s launching herself at him and he just about manages to hug her and keep them both from falling on their asses.
Things register one after the other, as if his senses are on alert after missing her for so long. He notices her unique scent, although it’s buried under typical hospital smells and very faint because of his mask. Her warmth, her curves that fit so perfectly into his hold. And then a moment later, how she’s lost weight and feels thinner and lighter as he lifts her off her feet. He burrows deeper into the embrace, his face sinking into the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply and taking his first proper breath in days or even weeks (despite the damn mask).
Charlie is squeezing him so hard that the next breath becomes difficult again but he doesn’t mind one bit.
Somehow, endless moments later, they’re in her room and on her sleep-messy bed, still hugging. He can dimly hear himself muttering nonsensical reassurances, and Charlie sniffling quietly as her hands run through his curly hair.
Home. He’s home, though he’s not at home.
“ You're here,” he hears quietly, faintly, after a few more moments. Charlie is still playing with the curls on his neck, her fingertips sending the slightest bit of shockwaves through him, whenever they touch his skin.
Tom shivers when he answers his soft, “I am.”
Reluctantly, they part, but just enough to look into each other's eyes properly. Hers are tired and puffy, a bit red, actually. He still gets lost in them.
Charlie offers a small smile, her fingers now brushing the skin around his own eyes, stopping first on his cheekbones and then tracing the lines of that mask he still has on.
“Do you have to keep wearing this?” she asks. As he shakes his head – it really was a precaution, and he knows both of them are safe – she nods, just before lifting that damn thing off his face.
They smile at each other, genuinely, for the first time in weeks.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
When their lips meet, Tom's come home for the second time in just a few minutes. They can talk about everything later, they can call Evie together later. There will be a later, Charlie is here, she's safe, and they will be, too.