Reese let her gaze drift lazily through the crowd, her cold drink freezing her fingers, turning them a lovely shade of pink. After a couple glasses of beer, the party didn't seem half bad, and Reese was beginning to almost not regret coming.

Until she faltered and stopped cold, eyes wide and staring at a group towards the back of the room. One tall, lanky figure stood out from the rest, his head thrown back in laughter, a beer bottle clutched firmly in his left hand.

What was he doing here?

What the hell was he doing here?

Tom looked completely comfortable chatting with his friends, the sleeves of his dress shirt unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows, feet crossed over each other as he leaned easily against the wall.

The only thing running through Reese's stunned brain in that instant was, what were the odds?

Sure, they'd been on a plane to the same place -- maybe even the same island... but the same party? It just seemed a little too 'fairy tale' to be real.

Her next thought was to hide, so she ducked behind an open menu sitting at the bar, turning her back on him completely. Maybe he wouldn't notice her. Maybe he wouldn't have to come over at all. What if he has to refill his beer?

Reese broke out in a nervous sweat that slicked her skin like oil. Her palms were clammy and shaking. Still, she scolded herself for being so nervous. Why was she anyway? What reason was there? So, they ended up at the same party -- it was huge, there were hundreds of people there.

What if he thought she was following him?

Reese shifted to reading the items on the menu, hoping to get her mind off Tom entirely. Should she even still be calling him that? Would 'Tom Hiddleston' be more appropriate? After all, most people don't go around calling celebrities by their first names like old pals. They only met once, had a nice conversation, and went their separate ways.

She moved on to the nonalcoholic drinks. Maybe she should start ordering those instead...

And then she heard his voice, not three feet away. Reese didn't dare lower the menu, but grew completely still, feeling her blood run cold. She'd forgotten what he sounded like until now; how smooth his voice was. It could melt butter most likely, if he was trying hard enough.

"I'll have another beer if you would," she heard him say across the counter. A split second later, Reese's shield was snatched away from her, replaced by the angry bartender's face.

"If you're not gonna order something, leave the menu for someone else," he snapped, then stalked off, the paper tucked neatly under his arm. Reese bowed her head and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping -- praying -- that Tom wouldn't see her.

"Reese?"

Well, so much for that.

She cringed but cracked open her eyes. Tom was staring at her a few stools away, looking completely taken aback. "What the hell.... How'd you get here?"

For a couple of seconds, Reese was only able to move her mouth like a landed fish, opening and closing it, at a complete loss for words.

Speak you idiot, a little voice in the back of her head screamed, you're making a complete fool out of yourself!

"I, er, yeah, just came to the party."

Stupid!

The surprise in Tom's eyes was quickly replaced with amusement, and he cracked a grin as he walked over, a fresh beer in hand. He looked good, not as wind-swept as he had on the plane. His eyes were glowing and his curly brown hair was disheveled in a kind of intentional way.

"I can see that. Man, what are the odds that you're here too?" he asked, then, "You're not following me, are you?"

A wave of indignation swept over Reese, and she shot him a hardened glare.

"Of course, I'm not following you!"

Tom laughed, waving it off. "Nah, I'm only messing. I just can't believe it," he paused, his expression hardening suddenly, "-maybe it's fate."

Reese coughed on her drink and had to slam it down on the counter, eyes watering. "What?" she sputtered once she'd regained her composure.

"Well, we've met twice now, just by chance, which is very, very unlikely. Maybe it's fate."

"There's no such thing as fate," Reese said, taking another cautious sip from her glass.

Tom was staring at her, a sort of half smile tugging at his lips like he was lost in thought. Reese, unable to hold eye-contact, dropped her gaze to the ice in her drink, swirling it in circles so it clinked gently against the sides of the cup.

"Well, what about good, old-fashioned conversation, hm? Just a little get-to-know-you, I mean under the jobs and traveling, those things are just trivial."

"Um, sure."

He pulled out the stool beside her and sat down, not even needing to jump up, as Reese had done. She wondered why he wanted to talk to her, instead of his glamorous-looking friends across the dance floor. He was much too important, right?"

And without much thought, she blurted, "I saw you in a magazine."

For a second, his expression was unreadable, and then, without warning, he burst into laughter. It wasn't the light chuckles he'd offered her either, but hard, gasping, heaving breaths. She waited patiently, unsure whether to be relieved or confused until he found his voice.

"Ah, I guess my secret's out, huh?" There were tears in his eyes, and he wiped them away gleefully with a smile that was too big for his face. "I figured you'd find something eventually -- I apologize for not telling you, but it was nice to have a pleasant, normal conversation with someone for once."

"That makes sense, it just surprised me, that's all." Reese felt her cheeks burn a little, as she thought back to the cab ride. She shouldn't have made it such a big deal -- after all, he was only human, albeit a good-looking, kind one, but human all the same.

"Anyway, what's been happening in the past, what, four days, since we last ran into each other?"

Reese was on her sixth drink or so, Tom on his fourth beer (that she knew of), and their conversation had spilled over from polite to personal after the first hour or so. Everything was a little blurry, and a pleasant haziness had settled over Reese's head like a dark cloud. She no longer had to worry about saying something stupid (in all likeliness, Tom probably wouldn't remember the following morning anyhow) and was laughing at every other thing Tom was saying.

Somewhere towards the end of the night, the talk changed to past relationships, which sober Reese wouldn't ever dream of discussing -- but this side of her would spill just about anything if she had enough to drink.

Tom told her about past girlfriends, nothing too serious, and in return, she told him about her boyfriend of three years, whom she'd broken up with about a year earlier.

"Does it still hurt?"

"Yeah, I think it always will, at least a little."

"But you said you didn't love him anymore."

"I don't," Reese sighed, "but I used to. He had my heart in his hands. He was gentle while he cared, but when he stopped, he crushed it. I gave him everything, and he refused to give it back. He chose someone else, even though he knew he had every little piece of me. I know in time, I'll heal. Probably not completely, but maybe to the point where it only hurts on the bad days. And I'm going to try to have only a few of those."

When she looked up, Tom had tears in his eyes and was sniffing silently as he gazed at her, listening intently. She knew she was drunk; she knew he was drunk, but all the same, it was nice to have someone want to listen to what she had to say.

Though, that little speech may have been a tad dramatic. Reese had fallen for a man her first month living in LA. She'd met him at the coffee shop where he'd worked, intrigued by his story, but mostly by the black earring that snaked up his left ear. They'd moved in together much too quickly, Reese just beginning to realize how hard it was to get anyone to even glance at a storyboard, and her boyfriend still working towards his degree in Marine Biology -- not the steadiest income. They grew apart rather quickly, and it surprised Reese how long they'd managed to stay together before then.

She left for a couple days in search of a job, and he slept with another woman -- it was as simple as that. Reese kicked him out, and he moved back to his hometown somewhere in Mexico to live with his mother (pathetic). Sure, it was hard, but she didn't let herself dwell on it anymore -- for the most part, at least.

"That's so sad," Tom whispered like she'd told him her whole family was murdered, or something.

Reese shrugged and took another swing, effectively emptying her glass. She was starting to feel a little dizzy, and as she slid off her stood to go order another drink, she stumbled and grabbed onto Tom's shoulder in a desperate effort to keep her balance.

He stood up with her, holding her wrists as he got carefully to his feet. "I think we've both had a little too much to drink," he chuckled as they walked, sort awkwardly clinging on to each other.

Once they were about halfway to the bartender, Tom stopped in his tracks, and Reese gave a little squeak of surprise.

"Wait," Tom said quietly, glancing around like a deer caught in headlights.

"What?"

"This song -- we have to dance!"

Before she could object, he'd grabbed her hand and whisked her into the center of the crowd. A loud pop song was blasting through every speaker in the room, only adding to Reese's headache, but she brushed it aside as Tom beamed at her, dropping her hands.

Now Reese knew she couldn't dance to save her life... but Tom? He was a very good dancer, and she meant very good. His long legs spun and twisted over each other so fast, her sluggish brain could hardly keep up. The alcohol had maybe slowed his mind, but definitely not his dancing.

In one swift movement, he'd grabbed her hands and spun her into him. She let out a surprised gasp, straining her neck to flash Tom a look of uncertainty.

"I can't dance!" she yelled over the music. Tom replied with a smug smile and twirled her out again. She stumbled so hard, she bumped into the woman behind her, who sent her a dirty look but didn't say anything. Reese suppressed a spout of giggles and turned back to Tom, who was grinning upon seeing how much fun she was having.

He burst into another dance move, and Reese backed up to watch, still smiling. As she was tapping her foot to the music, she felt someone shake her shoulder roughly, then whisper hoarsely in her ear: "Reese, we've gotta get going. The rehearsal is tomorrow, so we need everyone not completely hungover. We'll meet outside."

Reese nodded to whoever was behind her (she had a sneaking suspicion it was Amy, but she couldn't be sure) and backed away, taking a startled Tom by the wrist and pulling him to the side.

"I have to go!" she said loudly, hoping he could hear her. Tom's face fell, and he nodded, but as she turned to leave, he grabbed her arm.

"Wait!" he shouted over the crowd, "Can I call you?"

Though Reese hardly heard what he said, she nodded as he fumbled with his pockets. He produced a pen from his left one, and popped the cap off, scanning her, unsure. After a moment's hesitation, he cupped her cheek and put the felt tip to her forehead. Reese wrinkled her nose as he scribbled something in wet ink across her face, noting how soft the hand steadying her head was.

Once he was done, Tom stepped back, patted her shoulder, and waved goodbye. Reese waved back, more at a blurry blob than Tom himself, but she was sure it was in his general direction.

She somehow made it out of the crowd and through the door. Thankfully, Elliot was waiting for her and called her over once he spotted her.

One look at her face and he said, "Jesus you're wasted."

Reese just beamed and let him lead her through the gates and back down the block, towards their hotel, and her soft, comfy bed.