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"What the hell is going on?"
Rose does not even recognize her own voice. It is the most abrasive tone she's ever used. But she can't help it.
Tom turns to her immediately. He looks...guilty. But it is nothing compared to William's tear stained face. And the fact that he is sitting on a tree branch a good six feet off the ground.
"Get him down this instant!" she snaps.
Tom instantly obeys. He pulls Will from the branch, his hands firmly grasping the two-year-old boy under the arms and setting him down, apparently none the worse for wear. Will runs to her, shouting, "Mommy!" and it's enough to make Rose grind her teeth.
She instantly lifts the boy up into her arms, his legs hooking around her waist as he settles at her hip. She can't even speak to Tom. Just glares at him, and Tom reaches up to smooth the hair at the back of his head, his gesture of discomfort. She whirls around and heads into the house.
Up on a fucking tree branch? What the hell was Tom thinking? If it was just boys having fun she might have understood but Will was crying. And she cannot bear it anymore when Will cries, she just can't.
She comforts her son, soothes him with his favorite TV show and an afternoon snack, and like most boys his age, he calms down rather quickly and eventually gets drowsy after all the adrenaline. He dozes off on the couch while Rose folds towels.
Only then does Tom slink into the room.
He glances at Will, and she notices the knot creasing his brow start to un-knit. He turns his eyes to her but she resolutely looks away. She is still too angry...she can feel her neck burning and her cheeks tingling. Short little hairs along the nape of her neck still stand on end.
"Rose," he tries, his voice very soft. "Rose, he wasn't going to get hurt--"
"I cannot believe you," she hisses, finally turning the death-rays her eyes have become on him. To her satisfaction, he flinches. "I cannot believe you!" she says again. "Do you have any idea--" The tone of her voice rises sharply and she forces herself to lower it, swallowing repeatedly to help. Tom has the good sense to stay silent until she speaks again, at a subdued level, so as not to wake Will. "What if he'd fallen? Did you consider that?"
"He wasn't going to fall," Tom says, annoyance flickering in his eyes.
She sucks in a breath, willing herself not to scream. Instead she snaps the towel in her grip, the loud noise satisfying the urge within her. "You don't know that."
"Rose," Tom sighs, exasperated. She has pushed his temper, she knows, but she does not care, not one bit. Let him come at her, let him growl -- he put her boy up in a tree! A weeping, helpless, two-year-old! "Rose," he goes on, his voice calmer than she expects, "you know he keeps doing it. Every single time, with his elbow, right into my..." he gestures. "Right into my groin! Every time! And I've told him to stop. Warned him! Repeatedly. And he ignores me. I even told him, do it again, you're going up on that branch, there. I had to teach him a lesson--"
The last words nearly make her spit fire. She curls her lips and bares her teeth at him, and Tom stops, utterly taken aback if judging by his facial expression.
"You will not bully my son," she growls at him. As she turns away, indicating the conversation is over, she swears she hears him utter, very softly..."my son."
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She does not speak to him the rest of the day. At least not without being directly spoken to first.
Will wakes from his nap, plays, and then they eat dinner. They eat at the small table in the kitchen, Will between them, sitting in his booster chair. The boy is a bit subdued, and looks at his father with curiosity. Tom is always the quietest of the three, but even his son can sense the dismal gray cloud over his father's head. Tom hardly speaks, even when they go into the living room, and Will climbs onto his father's lap---
And does not hit his father in the groin with his elbow this time.
Rose stays in the kitchen, washes the dishes and cleans up. When she is done she comes out and sits on the couch. Tom's eyes burn at her, but she doesn't do more than acknowledge, with a quick look, that Will is content in his father's lap. After some time, Will climbs down from his father's lap and lays down next to her. He starts to get sleepy and Rose strokes his golden hair until he is out.
Tom gets up and gently lifts Will into his arms and takes him upstairs to his bed. When he comes back, Rose is in the shower. He goes to their bedroom and she finds him sitting on his side of the bed when she comes out, already in his night clothes.
She ignores him and goes to her side of the bed.
Usually, Tom takes her brush from her and runs it through her wet hair, and gently pats it dry, squeezing out the extra moisture with her towel. She does not blow-dry her hair, as it has a tendency to dry it out, especially now in its altered state. Once auburn, it is now more brown, and she doesn't like it but hesitates to do much else with it. Tom knows this, and does his best to soothe her about it. It's easier for him, his hair was always naturally blonde but he'd darkened it deliberately during his Crime Lord days, as it gave a bit more menace to his appearance.
He does not take her brush tonight.
Finishing with her nightly chore, she puts the towel away and returns to the bed. Tom is just sitting there, his back against the headboard; she can feel his eyes boring holes into her back. Does he expect her to say something? Truthfully, she cannot think of anything that isn't going to lead to another fight. It's late, and she's tired.
But as soon as she curls herself into a comfortable position, she hears his voice.
"Rose."
He is waiting for her to reply. He is waiting for a response. She childishly doesn't want to give it to him. Her anger, while slowly ebbing, is still sharp and bitter. But she can't be like that. She can't.
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry."
She could count on one hand the number of times he's ever apologized to her.
"It was reckless. You know I would never allow harm to come to Will, but... I acted impulsively. I didn't think it through, Rose. I'm sorry."
She feels herself stiffen. Surprisingly, she has nothing to say to him. "I hear you," she manages. She has to say something.
The bed shifts and she feels him slide closer to her. His fingers graze her hair, and then sink into the wet waves, reaching through them to touch the apex of her back, right under her neck. A weak spot.
"Rose, please," he says, and this tone gets her attention. The steel is leaving his voice -- it isn't usually there, not anymore, but when he gets angry or frustrated it is the first thing she hears. It is his first defense. But now he sounds...vulnerable. Weak. "I am truly sorry."
Twice in one night. Is the world ending?
He comes closer. His arm settles around her, pulling her into him. He brushes her cold wet hair from his path and presses his face against her neck.
"Rose. This...this isn't easy for me. None of this is easy for me. Please don't shut me out. I'm sorry.”
Groveling? This is new. She would never have ever thought Tom Hiddleston would ever grovel, for anything, even to her. The man didn't even beg for his life. She turns her head, looking upward, her body shifting a bit toward him.
"I love you," he says, his voice getting strained with emotion. "And I love William. You know, you know I would give my life for either one of you in a heartbeat. But understand..." and now she turns more fully toward him, seeing his face so close to her in the dim light coming from the windows, "I don't quite know how to do this. I've never... I mean, it's been so long, and I wasn't... I just am getting used to this. This life with just the three of us. And sometimes I don't know how to handle William, even you know how willful he can be."
"Like you," she says, the first willing words she's spoken.
He gives a tiny chuckle. "Yes, like me." He strokes her cheek, his fingers shifting her chin so that her face comes closer to him. "He's tougher than he looks, Rose. I know how hard it was for him in the beginning, but he's strong. And if I'm really going to be his father, he has to learn to respect me. It might not be the way you'd choose to discipline him. But I have to do things my own way."
Rose feels herself wilt. Yes, Will has had a very hard time adjusting. Maybe that was part of it. She didn't want Tom to mess that up...but no, he wouldn't let anything happen to Will.
"I know it's only been the two of you for a long time," he goes on, and there is absolutely no accusation in his voice. "But you have to trust me. Even if it seems strange. I'm learning. I want to do what is right. But I need you to help me, not slap me down."
She scowls. "I didn't," she starts, and he presses his finger over her lips.
"You and I can't go against each other when Will is present," he says, his tone a bit firmer, more sure. "Even if I'm wrong, or you are wrong. We have to wait and deal with it away from him. Otherwise he will not continue to accept me. I know you're angry at me and you have a right to be. I promise you, I won’t do something like that again. But, I need you, Rose, I need you to be with me, not against me."
His eyes, as he says this. So pleading. She's never seen this. It moves her.
"Okay, Tom. Okay."
He gives a little nod. She shifts into him and kisses him. He kisses back, pressing her more firmly against him.
"I love you," she tells him. "Even when I'm angry at you, I still love you."
Another little chuckle. "I know. Believe me, I know."
She lays there for several long moments, and then, feels herself soften. "I'm...I'm sorry too."
He doesn't say anything. He waits.
"I know you wouldn't. I know you wouldn't hurt Will. I know he's been so difficult, I know he's been striking out at you. But when I came outside and saw his face, I just...something in me just snapped."
He looks at her, calmly.
She grasps at his nightshirt. Her fingers tug restlessly at the loose material. Usually Tom sleeps shirtless but it's been colder, but she wishes he wasn't wearing it so she could lay her head against his chest.
"I get...possessive sometimes," she admits. "Of him. And I don't have to tell you why."
"No." He isn't judging her. Just calmly observing her. "I know about being possessive, Rose. But...when you call him your son, when you're angry...it feels like you're taking it back. All those promises about doing this together. Like you're revoking them."
Her heart accelerates with this knowledge. Sometimes she forgets the kind of power she has over him. Too many years thinking of him as Teflon coating, everything just slides off him, have made her insensitive. It's easy to forget.
But he's trying. So hard. He's trying to let her in.
"He's our son," she says.
Tom nods.
"I will try not to say it the other way again."
He strokes her cheek, her hair. "I remember the first time you called him that," he says, softly. "It was the first time I even thought I could be a father. That we could be a family."
Her eyes prick with tears. "I am sorry, Tom."
"I forgave you before you said it, Rose. I'm not angry. I just want you to remember. Can you do that?"
"Yes." He pulls her closer. Rose clings to his limbs, feeling an irrational rush of emotions. Tom lets her, waits for her to settle, even though it takes a while to fall asleep.
Before she dozes off, she considers her behavior. It was a bit extreme, even for her. And come to think of it, she thinks she's late for her period....