A/N: Thank you for all the amazing support for Crumbs.  I can't begin to say how much it means to me. Every comment that makes me laugh, or has a suggestion or something truly encouraging to say sticks with me.

Special thanks to @MClaireW for her hilarious suggestion for one of Charlie's curse word.  And huge thanks to my proof reader, @vintagehouse, for always dropping everything to read, and for giving me her honest opinion. Love ya!  Here we go....

Tom’s statement makes me nearly stop breathing.  Okay, I know he’s a good friend, scratch that, he’s an amazing friend.  But there is a fierceness to his voice that makes me want to sort of curl up into myself.  I am terrified of sounding like a complete and utter idiot, so I refrain from saying anything.  There are few people who can render me speechless, and this son of a batch of cookies is one of them.

“Thank you for the offer, but you’re too pretty for prison.” I say with a short laugh, finally.  I’m proud of myself for making a joke.  Proud that I didn’t just burst into tears, or start ugly crying on his shirt.  He doesn’t laugh though, even though I know it was pretty funny.  Tom tilts his head slightly, and then licks his lips.

“Always making jokes, Charles.  Always.” His voice is low and gravelly.  I stop mid laugh.

“I’m funny.” I say dumbly.  He nods, lifting a finger to his lips.  I watch as he traces his mouth, ever so slowly. 

“You are. But this isn’t funny.  And you think you can change the subject by laughing your way out of it.” His words sink deep into my skin.  I bite my lip, and reach down to fiddle with the lacy hem at the bottom of my pajama pants.  I’ve worn these so much that the lace has sort of frayed a bit at the end, from where it drags on the floor.  The eternal struggle of being short.

“Laughing is better than crying.  Laughing isn’t bad.” I say, feeling a lump form in my throat.  He nods.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you try to come back here all on your own? Without any support?” Tom asks, his voice stern. Hello, Captain Pushy and Demanding. 

“Pushhhy—“ I start to crack a joke, but then Tom reaches over and slides his big hand gently over my mouth, quieting me and also making me slobber on him a little bit.  He doesn’t seem to care.  I squirm and swat his arm away, but he holds fast, pushing his other hand through the hair at the back of my head and holding me tight.  He leans forward, his eyes intense.

“Don’t do that, Charlie.  It’s just you and me here.  I want you to talk to me.  Don’t feed me jokes and rubbish.” He’s barely touching me now, but one hand is still hovering by my mouth, and one is at the back of my head.  I take a deep breath.

“Do you trust me? Or am I totally misinformed about the nature of our relationship…of our friendship?” He asks quietly.  I shake my head slowly, barely.  I didn’t want to feel like an idiot before, but I sort of feel like one now.  He makes things so simple sometimes.  So heartbreakingly simple.

I reach up, and take his hand in mine, slowly lowering it away from my face.  I take a minute to gather my hectic, racing thoughts. 

“I didn’t tell you because I thought I could handle it.  I’m strong. I’m not afraid of Chase.” Even as I’m speaking, I know I’m lying.  Just a little bit.  I stop, and correct myself.  “I am afraid of Chase…but I still thought I would be in and out of Maryland in no time.  I didn’t think I’d even have to see him.  I’m afraid of him, but I know he can’t really hurt me.  Not anymore.” My voice catches and I pause.

“When you came to LA five years ago, was that directly after he hurt you?” Tom asks. 

“Yes. I met you three weeks after the fight.  Two weeks after I’d moved to LA.”

“I would have helped you, Charlie.  I would have done anything I could have to have helped you.” He rubs my arm, and I brush away hot, traitorous tears. 

“You did.  You did though.  Just by being my friend.  And being oblivious to the fact that I was bruised, and broken and heart broken.  You had no idea and you just treated me like a normal person.  So, you did help me.  You have no idea.” I reach over and take his hand, feeling the soft roughness in those long fingers.  Tom inches over and then pulls me into a hug.  I bury my face in his neck, and let myself stay there. 

“Charlie, you know it wasn’t your fault, right? What he did? The fact that your marriage didn’t work out? That is entirely on him.” He whispers into my hair, and I can’t help but dissolve.  I grab onto him, and heaven help me, I am lost.  I have said it to myself over and over.  I have told myself that exact thing thousands…millions of times.  But this is the first time I have ever heard anyone say it out loud to me.  It is excruciating, and I feel as if he’s torn me in two. 

“You are amazing, Charlie.  You are the strongest person I’ve ever met.  I’m so sorry you had to do this alone.” He holds me, and I cry.  I cry for my naïve 22 year old self who thought she was in love and was going to be loved.  I cry for how scared I felt that night.  I cry for how scared I felt waking up in the hospital, alone and shattered.  I cry for how lost I felt in Los Angeles.  I cry for the fact that I met Tom, and then he promptly fell in love with another woman.  I cry because I have no idea what to do anymore with my heart, which has been sealed up tight, inside a steel box for so long, aching to come out.  Aching to heal.

“I just feel like a failure.  I have my own business, I’m healthy, I have great friends.  I got away from him but…I’m 29…and I don’t even know that I’ve ever…kissed someone that loved me.” I pull away from him, my emotions are going haywire.  Tom leans back on his arms and watches me.

“That can’t be true, sweet.” He says gently.  I laugh softly.

“Who then? Definitely not Chase.  Maybe Shaun? The Disney Prince? Who smelled like Yuengling when we had sex, and most definitely did not live up to the ‘size doesn’t matter’ adage.” I sit back, leaning against the pillows and feel a bit more in control again.  Tom smiles, but he doesn’t laugh.

“It makes sense now.” He says softly.  I look up at him.

“What?”

“Why you’re always dating those guys…those guys that were completely beneath you.  And never getting serious, of course.” He shrugs slightly.  I feel exhausted, and I lay back against the pillows.  He follows suit, stretching out next to me, his head resting on the same pillow.

“Thank you, Dr. Hiddleston.” I say softly, and this makes him laugh.  “I’ll need to see your credentials, please.” I add.  He chuckles and then turns on his side to face me.

“What about your Mom? She wasn’t any help?” He asks.  Oy. We are getting deep here.  I shift and let my eyes linger on his face, then to his wide shoulders that taper down to his broad chest and then move to his narrow hips.

“My father wasn’t the best man in the world.  In fact, he was pretty terrible.” Tom’s heard tidbits about my father.  About his drunken rages.  About how he’d treat my mother.  She always got the brunt of the abuse, and he never touched me.  But it was still traumatic enough to be a young child, and to see that happening to your mother. 

“Mom just didn’t understand.  My father had been her whole life.  She had given up.  When he died, she was free, but it was like setting a bird free that had always lived in a cage.  It doesn’t know what to do.  It wants to know what it could possibly do in such a big, open world when it’s whole life has been confined to four tiny walls.  It’s wings are too weak to even try to fly.  When I told her the truth about Chase, about what happened, she asked me what I did to provoke him.  She said I should forgive him.” It’s hard for me to say, and Tom shifts uneasily on the floor next to me. 

“I wasn’t the only one charmed by the town golden boy routine.” I whisper. The storm is raging outside, and I can hear the rain pounding on the cottage.  “I’ve never really forgiven her for saying that to me.  And she’s never forgiven me for running away, and divorcing Havre de Grace royalty.” I blink and press my face into the pillow.  My back is to the fire, and I can feel the heat of it against my skin.  It crackles and pops—more noises for our stormy soundtrack.  Tom’s face is illuminated by the flames, and I can see him perfectly.  I know my face is in the shadows, and it’s somewhat comforting.  I feel the need to hide a bit.  I’m raw with the emotion of the day.  It’s early, but I’m tired and fighting back a yawn.

“You should get some sleep.” He pushes back the hair at the side of my face, his finger making a trail across my cheek and then behind my ear.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’ve been running from it for some time now.  I just wanted to forget it.” I whisper.  He lifts a hand and places it gently against my bare neck.  It’s an extremely intimate gesture, and a thousand thoughts race hastily through my mind. There’s a lot of things I’ve been running from.  Has he been one of them? I don’t know.

“I understand why you wanted to forget.” He presses his lips together.  Tom’s eyes look dark in this light, and I can see all the details of his face.  The way one light eyebrow is raised slightly higher than the other.  The light brown lashes that frame his clear, blue eyes.  I can make out his smile lines, the crinkles at the sides of each eye, my favorite part of his face.  My eyes follow the smile lines to his cheekbones, and then his strong, angular jaw.  He’s got a day or two worth of stubble and I can make out a few freckles from all the sun he’s gotten lately.  I almost reach forward to touch him.  But I don’t.  Dangerous territory.

“I was going to break up with Keegan before I even knew she was cheating on me.” He says, his voice unemotional and clear.  I blink a few times, and lift my head up.

“What?” I can’t quite hide my surprise. 

“I wasn’t in love with her.” He isn’t looking at me, he’s looking at the fire and I can see it reflect in his eyes.  I rest my arm on the floor, and hold my head up in my hand.

“Tom? Are you kidding me?”

“No.” He looks at me then, and laughs when he sees my face.  “You look like you’re in shock.”

“I’m sorry, I just…wow.” I shake my head, feeling a sad smile slide across my lips.  “You always spoke so highly of Keegan.  You were always ready to defend her.”

“I cared about her.  I still care about her.  But she’s not the one for me.  I had a feeling something was going on—that she wasn’t being honest with me about things.  I think I just got pulled into the idea of her, rather than seeing her for who she really was. You were right all along, Charlie.” He presses his lips together and then bunches up his mouth.

“Well…yeah.” I say with a grin. He laughs and then pushes me gently on the shoulder.  I tip over, rolling onto my back for a minute.

“I just…I kept comparing Keegan to other people and…I always found her wanting.” He says this softly, and I lie still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling.  Light from the fire is bouncing across the ceiling in orange and yellow waves.

“Who were you comparing her to?” I ask after a minute, my voice stuck in my throat.  Tom shifts next to me, and he comes up on his elbow, facing me.  I can’t look at him.

“You, mostly.” He says finally. 

We are both quiet and my heart is pounding.  I turn my head, and find him watching me.

“Why? I’m a mess.” I can’t stop staring at his mouth.  At his lips, and the perfect way his lower lip is ever so slightly fuller than his top lip. 

“Charlie…” His mouth moves.  Why does he have to say my name like that? Why does he have to say my name at all? He says it like a protest.  He says it like a prayer.  He says it like it’s a full sentence, and with just my name, he can convey everything.  Except I don’t know that I speak his language.  He’s about to say something else, when the loudest, most obnoxious noise cuts through the room.  I jump nearly a foot off the floor, and spin around.  My cell phone.

“Shit!” I mumble loudly, which makes Tom laugh.  He hops off the floor and walks over to my make shift dresser, picking up my phone from the top shelf.  He tosses it to me, and I am immediately irrationally angry when I see it’s my mother calling.  Speak of the devil.

It stops ringing, but then immediately starts up again.  She’s not going to let this one go.

“Sorry.” I say grumpily to Tom as he sits down next to me.  He shrugs.

“Hi Mom.” I answer, not trying to hide my annoyance.

“Charlotte! Is Tom there? This storm is terrible!!” My mother’s loud voice resonates from the phone and I hold it away from my ear.

“I’m fine, Mom, thanks for asking!” I say brightly, then sigh. “Yes, Tom is with me.”

“I was worried he was stuck in the storm.  Okay.” She sounds a bit deflated.  “I made chicken soup.” She adds.  I wonder if she knows he’s half her age and could easily be her child, because she’s acting like a lovestruck teenager.

“He can eat it whenever he comes back to the Oyster.” I say, and Tom’s eyes light up at the mention of food.  I frown at him and shake my head ‘No’, which makes him sigh and flop back against the pillows. I hear him grumble something about a craving, and I roll my eyes. 

 I talk to my mother for a few short, clipped sentences and then I hang up. 

“How is mother?” Tom grumbles, his face half hidden by a pillow.  I lay back down next to him, shutting my phone off.

“She’s okay.  She wanted to tell me that she’s having a Bunco night with her friends and would like me to provide the refreshments.” I groan and shift around, trying to find a comfortable position.  Tom sits up, his face wrinkled in confusion.

“What is Bunco? Sounds naughty.” He grins.  He starts gathering up the pillows, yanking the one I’m leaning on directly out from under my head.  I yelp, and then smack him in the calf.

“Some kind of dice game.  It’s not naughty, you perv.” I get off the comforter and follow Tom, who is remaking the bed.  Before he can finish unfolding the comforter, I flop down, kicking the blanket and the pillows on ‘his side’ off and onto the floor.

“Hey!” He laughs and starts picking them up.  “Remember the last time we fought in bed? Remember what happened then?  People got hurt, Charlie.  People lost lives.” He points a finger at me, looking angry, though there is a smile at the corner of his lips.  I can’t lie.  It feels so good to have him here.  I am not sure there’s anyone else in the world I’d want to be with, at this very moment, during a hurricane in the hobbit hole.  I help him pull the blanket back onto the bed and fluff the pillows on his side up a bit.  Then I scoot back over to my side and he practically jumps into bed. 

“Ah. Quality bed you have here.  Someone bloody fantastic must have given it to you.” He stretches out, putting his arms behind his head.  His feet reach the bottom of the bed practically, and his lean, muscular body takes up a good amount of space.

“Someone bloody fantastic.” I parrot back to him.  I feel stiff as a board, and can’t seem to relax.  I lay on my back for a minute and I can see him out of the corner of my eye.  His eyes are closed, and he’s breathing slowly.  Completely at ease. Not a care in the world.  I on, the other hand, am suddenly ridiculously aware of everything.  The way the sheets are sort of too soft.  The way the rain is hitting the windows.  The way the wind outside is howling angrily.  The soft sound of his breathing.  The hint of whatever the hell cologne he wears. 

I turn on my side, putting my back to him, and try to tune him out.  I may be losing my mind.

 This is Tom.  He is just a friend.  This is Tom. He is just a friend.  It is my mantra that I chant in my head over and over.

A few minutes pass as I silently carry on a depraved, chaotic conversation in my head like all normal, sane people do, and then I feel him shift.  He moves and the bed dips with his body weight.  I hold my breath.  Then, I feel him move again and he is suddenly there.  He is pressed, ever so lightly against my back, and he puts a heavy arm across my waist.

Tom lifts his head slightly, and his face is right by mine.  I turn my head just a bit, so I can see him better.  My hand finds his, and I squeeze his fingers.  He opens his mouth, but doesn’t say anything.  I raise an eyebrow, waiting.  He has a rather serious look on his face and then he speaks.

“You know I love you, right?  You’re my best friend, sweet.” I’m not lying when I say that I feel my heart sort of explode in my chest.  I know what he is saying.  He is saying he loves me the way a friend tells a friend that they care.  I am not confused about what he’s saying.  I am not delusional.  But it doesn’t really matter.  It means everything to me.

“I love you, too.” I whisper.  Tom leans over, and I feel his hand press against my stomach, pulling me toward him.  My back and my butt are pressed tight against the solid form of him, and then he gently moves me so I’m on my back, looking up at him.  He leans forward, ever so slowly until his face is mere centimeters from my own.  I can’t breathe.  His eyes search mine for a moment, and then he licks his lips, and leans down.  His kiss is whisper soft, more like a soft brush of lips than any real contact.  He pulls back and hesitates for a millisecond before he leans forward again and kisses me with just a bit more pressure.  There is no tongue, there is no slobbering or heavy petting or loud moaning.  It is just a kiss.  One perfect, lovely, sweet kiss.  When it is over, and it is over rather quickly, he reaches down and takes my hand, then kisses the back of it.

“Now you’ve been kissed by someone that loves you.” He says simply. Softly. 

I could not talk even if I were being held at gun point.  He has killed me anyway, so what is the point?

Somehow, he falls asleep a short while later.  I spend most of the rest of the night, with a new mantra in my head. 

Now you’ve been kissed by someone that loves you. Now you’ve been kissed by someone that loves you. Now you’ve been kissed by someone that loves you.