You've Only Just Arrived (a Tom Hiddleston fan fiction)

Part 31

Tom is shielding the stage lights from his eyes to search the back of the room in the direction the fan indicated. Bruce attracts his attention with a small gesture and a head nod and your heart stops. Damn it all – who hadn't Ben talked into helping him set this up?

Your eyes are stuck on Tom, his on you. Don't flee. Don't flee. Choose to stand your ground rather than turn away from him. The last time you had found him in an overly large crowd had been the night you'd met him. You'd been left immobile that night, standing there waiting for him to make his way to you. You are decidedly not dumbstruck this time around.

This time you feel anger, anger over everything that has happened, and heartache, and damn it all, you don't want to love him anymore but it's there too. He lifts his hand in a small, hopeful, hello. You had not come here for him. There's no sense in giving him hope. You give your head a hard shake. No Tom.

He steps back, sending his chair skittering across the floor behind him and turns to start striding off the stage to make his way through the room. Shit. The room is rapidly descending into chaos. Half the crowd is watching Tom, half of them have turned to try to find you standing in the back of the room.

Nope. This is not happening.

"God damn it, Tom." You're not ready for this. You spin and burst back out the doors.

The doors bang open just about the same time Richard, Bruce and a few others call out your name. "______? ______! Stop!"

You should stop. The deal was that you would stick with Richard today, no matter what. You just keep walking, hoping to disappear in the crowd. The lines of people waiting to enter the room for the next panel don't know quite what to make of you bursting from the room. You need to get back out onto the floor where you can blend with the mass of people.

You're nearly jogging now, trying to duck out of sight before Bruce, Richard, and anyone else they've roped into pursuing you, can spot you. Shouts follow you and you hear the doors to hall H bang open once again.

"______!"

"Stop her - somebody stop her!"  

"______!"

You've made it beyond the organized line waiting for the next panel to the outskirts of the convention floor. There's something niggling in the back of your mind – something about being chased – what was it? Resist the urge to continue to run as you'll be easier to spot among those milling about. Bruce and Richard are quick on their feet, though. You'll never outpace them. And Tom – Tom with his legs that go on for miles. You're at a distinct disadvantage.

Oh please let the crowd work in your favor.

Keep winding through the crowd – which direction though? If you stay towards the outer line of booths maybe you can duck down a side hallway and call Matt or someone to pick you up. No – you dropped your phone back in hall H. Well, there goes that plan.

You can still hear your name being shouted over the noise of the many conversations taking place but it's not as loud as it had been to start. Maybe you're extending your lead on them? Funny how someone can be shouting a random name in a crowd and so many different people turn to look – they can't all be named ______. What in our nature makes us turn to look even when we know we are not the ones being summoned?

Someone closer to you says your name, with more of an air of curiosity. Someone ahead of you – behind you? Shit you've gotten yourself turned around by merely pausing to look for the source. You should have picked a stationary object to work your way towards and track your progress through the massive room.

Maybe pausing to talk will make them overlook you? They'll be looking for someone trying to hurry away from them, right? It's a fan, who had said your name. She repeats herself, her eyes wide. "______. It is you. I thought Jodie was kidding!" She's typing furiously into her phone and still talking. You continue to second guess yourself. Keep moving or stand here... you don't want to be rude and have that thrown at you as well in the impending media frenzy that you will undoubtedly experience over the next couple of days. "You know they're all looking for you."

You nod, using that as a tactic to return to making your progress through the crowd. "Yes... and I..." You look away from her in the new direction, or maybe the old one, that you've decided to walk in and find John pushing through the crowd right towards you. "Shit. Um, which way towards the bathrooms?" She's got a map – silently you're pleading with her – Help a girl out here. She points off to your right and you immediately start worming your way through the crowd in that direction. Her words that follow you are lost to your ears. Something about Tom?

The next time you hear your name your throat closes, both in reaction to the proximity of the speaker and the rush of emotions. "______." There seems to be a bubble forming now – people pausing their adventures to watch the unfolding events. Of course Tom has caught up with you. "______. Please." He loops his fingers around your wrist and pulls you up short. This is becoming a convention spectacle.

His touch brings forth conflicting commands from your brain – turnabout and establish further contact is battling with your Touring Sundays training pushing you to break the hold he has on your wrist. During the few months your relationship lasted the pair of you had tried to keep intimate moments private, for the most part – this display is anything but.

He's with someone else now, too. What is he even doing chasing you down?

You adjust your stance ever so slightly in preparation of forcing him to release you. "Let go of me Tom."

If he does what you ask you'll try to continue to push through the crowd, and he knows it. You won't get far – there is a wall of people now watching and blocking your path.

Moments before you react he mutters a word of warning, "Don't..."

He mostly blocks your blow to break his grasp on your wrist. He can still anticipate your actions easily, damn him. It takes you a moment to meet his eyes. "Do you really want to do this here? Now?"

"No, of course not. But I'd be a fool not to take advantage of the opportunity, seeing as you refuse to respond to me otherwise." 

He has started moving his thumb over your wrist gently despite your blow to his hand. His hand has to be hurting him but he doesn't seem to notice. "It's been three months, ______. I've missed you." 

You pull your hand free, just barely containing the urge to smack him. "You've had company."

Tom furrows his brows together. "If you'd only let me explain that."

You're trying to keep your voice down so the entire world won't be privy to the details. The pair of you have started this conversation before and it led to you cutting yourself off from the man you love. You can't hang up on him this time, since he's standing before you.

"Explain? Why do you feel the need to explain. It's what happens in long distance relationships. She was around when I wasn't." A thought occurs you to, standing here in this small clearing on the convention center floor. "Oh Jesus, Tom. Did you really just walk out of your own panel?"

He shrugs. "You ran."

Bruce clears his throat and both of you turn your heads to look at him, annoyed. "What?!" 

Bruce points to his own ear mutely, then clears his throat again, "Tom. You're still wearing your mic."