Darling (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

3: tenure, a dozen cat cookies, word vomit

“I’m pretty sure half this paper is plagiarized.” Tom groaned as he glanced at his watch, noticing it was nearing half past five.  Times flies when you’re….grading grad papers on early 19th century literature.  Wasn’t that the saying?  Sam grunted from where he was standing, leaning against the door of Tom’s tiny office.  More like a closet with a desk, computer and half a window.

“Run it through the Paper Watch program.   Are you almost ready to go? I’m gonna pull my hair out if I have to listen to one more half assed audition.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest, frowning.  His dark hair stuck out in clumpy curls, and Tom smiled, knowing Sam probably was pulling out his hair.

“Yes. I’m ready.  I’m losing it as well.” He stood up, stretching his legs and gathering his things.  Thursdays were always tough.  Thursdays were back to back classes all day, and the nearly 8 hours of lecturing was draining.  Two of his classes were general credits, so the students enrolled weren’t always the most enthusiastic.  There were times when getting a response, or any sort of answer, was more like pulling teeth.

“Are you heading over Rosie’s? Or do you want me to drop you off at your house?” Sam asked, waiting for Tom to finish packing up.  Tom hummed softly, thinking of what he needed to do that night.  He needed to do a lot more grading, but he could almost hear Gemma babbling away in the sunroom at Rosie’s, or begging him to color with her.   Lately, she refused to color anything but superhero coloring books, and she more often than not would only use the color red.  Her artwork usually turned out looking a bit like a massacre, but who was Tom to judge? He was an English professor, not an art critic.  She was going through her red phase.  All good artists did.

“Actually, can you drop me at Corner Shop? I need to get some sweets for Gems or she’ll riot.  I can walk home from there.” Tom said, remembering he’d promised her the special cat shaped cookies from the tiny bakery about two blocks from the house.

Sam followed Tom out of the room as Tom threw his bag across his chest, and locked up the small office.

“I can wait for you, it’s not a problem.” Sam shrugged.  They usually carpooled on Tuesdays and Thursdays, when they both worked similar long hours.  It wasn’t a far drive, about 20 minutes from the houses.

They had met here, at the local college, a little less than four years ago.  It was a small institution, which fed in from most of the state’s high schools.  Sussex Community College consisted of quite a few campuses, spread through the state.  Tom met Sam when he’d gotten the job at the Eastern campus.  Tom worked in the English department, Sam in the Music department—two buildings that were mere steps away from each other.  They had met one afternoon when Tom had stopped to listen to Sam playing guitar and harmonica on the campus grounds. 

“I think I need the walk.” Tom said with a short laugh.  Sam nodded, understanding.  Sam was the same at Tom—the fresh air, the exertion, it was all good for clearing the mind.  Tom had a lot on his mind, so he fit in a run or a walk whenever he could.  Plus, the bakery was only a few minutes away from the house.  He had a hunch that once he stopped by Rosie’s for dinner, and to drop off the cat cookies, he wouldn’t make it back to his house until after Gemma was tucked into bed.  It usually happened that way, though that was how he liked it.  He spent most of his free time at Rosie’s.  Even when he was at home, alone in the quiet, he’d almost always give in.  Tom would take the five minute trek down the beach and almost immediately end up in a pillow and couch cushion fort with Gemma.

“Are you at the bar tomorrow night?” Sam asked as they climbed into his jeep.  He’d removed the side doors for the summer, and every time Tom got into it, it made him think of some teen summer movie.  All they were missing were surfboards and girls in bikinis in the back.