Darling (a Tom Hiddleston fanfic)

25: news, missing, crash the party.

"Late Tuesday night, Shorty Masters, also known as the manager, publicist and sometimes producer of singer Baby Darling, was arrested for allegedly attacking the 26 year old pop star. Shorty has not released any statement concerning the claims, and was released on bail on Wednesday."

"Holy shit. That's insane. What happened?" Chelsea exclaimed, her face frozen in a strange mixture of disbelief and amusement. Billie's life—just momentary entertainment and distraction for complete strangers. Tom felt his whole body tense, and he tried his best not to lash out at Chelsea. There was nothing amusing about it. Nothing at all. He felt a panic wash through him, wondering if Billie was okay.

"I don't know..." He faded off, eyes glued to the television.

"Are you still dating her? I wonder if they were having some sort of affair." Chelsea mused, nudging Tom in the side. Tom glared at her, and shook his head.

"I've...I have to go. I've got to leave." He said, suddenly feeling like he needed to move, needed to be doing something. Anything. He couldn't stay in that bar, waiting. He couldn't spend the rest of the night with Chelsea, placing bets on why Shorty was really arrested. Chelsea looked at him, surprised.

"Okay..."

"Cover for me? I owe you, big time." Tom asked, his voice frantic, his actions even more so. Chelsea nodded, and then watched as her coworker practically ran from the building.

****

Tom was banging on Sam and Rachel's door, while checking his phone at the same time. Billie hadn't contacted him. No calls, no text messages, nothing. Not that he'd expect her to. They hadn't exactly left each other on good terms. He felt a heaviness in his chest, a panic that wasn't likely to go away until he knew she was okay.

The entire way over to Sam and Rachel's he could only think one thing.

Billie. Billie. Billie. She had to be okay. And if she wasn't, if Shorty had hurt her...

It was early afternoon, his shift at the Bar had barely started when he'd left, but Tom didn't care. He banged on the sliding glass door again, and then began calling both Sam and Rachel's phones, cursing softly when they didn't pick up. He was in a panic. In a state that he'd never felt before. Not knowing. Not knowing if she was okay. Not knowing what had happened between her and that bastard, Shorty.

Rachel came to the door first, looking bleary eyed and a bit frightened. She must have been working, as she was wearing her apron, smattered with dried clay, her hair haphazardly piled on her head. That same white blond hair that Billie had, that instantly made him, for a split second, believe he was seeing her. He shook his head and waited. Sam was right behind Rachel, pulling a shirt on, looking freshly showered.

"Tom? Is everything okay?" She said, her voice alarmed, as she opened the door. Tom ran two hands over his face and through his hair.

"What happened to Billie? Hell, Rach. Tell me she's okay. Please." He felt like falling to his knees in front of them, begging for answers. His panic, his worry, was palpable. Sam gently stepped forward, moving Rachel to the side.

"It's okay, man. Billie is alright. Take a deep breath, yeah?" Sam said softly, and reached forward, taking Tom by the shoulders.

"I didn't know. I didn't know something had happened." He murmured softly. Tom scrubbed his hands over his jaw, furiously at first, and then forced himself to slow down. To breathe, and take note of how fast his heart was slamming into his ribs, and how nearly hysterical he was acting.

"Come in. Okay? I'll make tea." Rachel motioned both men inside. Tom swallowed hard, forcing himself to act more rationally, and then followed his best friends into their home. Surely she was okay. Surely they wouldn't be talking so calmly, and making tea, if Billie wasn't okay.