Again, they don't talk to each other over the next two days. Beth suspects Tom doesn’t know how to react, how to talk to her, and she's embarrassed and sometimes even sorry for her behaviour.

She knows she shouldn’t be. Doesn’t need to be. She's told him the truth. Maybe even for the first time in over six years. Because who is she kidding? Just because he didn’t come back from that particular shoot, it doesn’t mean they’ve been honest with each other before then.

She didn’t want to go to New York or Hollywood or anything else farther away than the British border, and Tom didn’t want to come back or have her there anyway.

And yet... they’ve never told each other any of that during shooting. At least not when they tried to talk to each other civilly.

Beth blinks, lying on her bed, picking up her copy of The Jungle Book from where she’s dropped it on her stomach with a frustrated sigh when she couldn’t stop thinking about Tom and how he looked like a lost puppy when she kicked him out.

Probably felt like one, too, because for the first time since he’s come back to Oxford, he didn’t look like he was hiding anything.

No. She huffs. She's almost gotten through this damn book, she's going to relax after a busy day at work and finish it.

But she can’t. Beth scoffs at herself and swears softly under her breath. Damn it, she feels like it’s 2010 again. When some nights she couldn't fall asleep because Tom hadn’t called. Leading to days she couldn’t concentrate on her job, because she was too tired and anxious at the same time. Which in turn lead to nights she again couldn’t sleep because then Tom had called and they'd been both bitching.

Beth knows that this is part of the problem, just as she’s told – well, yelled at – Tom days before. She hasn’t been good enough for him to come back and try. They couldn’t compromise. And yet, somehow he can now see himself compromising with someone else.

Her ringing phone interrupts Beth's thoughts – thankfully. She picks it up from the bedside table and frowns when she sees James' number popping up.

They’re set to meet for dinner the next evening, not a Friday roast for once, because it’s not Matt’s week to visit anyway, and Tom has a business dinner in London to go to, James has told her. It seems as if he’s adamant to come back to Oxford after that, though.

As soon as Beth picks up with a soft “Hello” James starts to speak.

“I’m afraid we have to cancel tomorrow, with all that’s been going on, don’t you think?”

Huh? Her heart beats rapidly. What’s been going on? Did she miss something? Is it James, Diana, or the children? Some catastrophe striking Oxford or the UK?

“What?” she asks, rather stupidly. “What is happening?”

“Oh.” That’s all she gets as an answer. Then,

“I thought you knew.”

Well, she didn’t. At least she's not aware of it. “What don’t I know?” Beth asks as she drops her book for a second time this evening in order to sit up on her bed properly. She's got a feeling she needs to for this.

There’s a sigh from James. Oh god, it is Diana. “I’ve got photographers in front of my house. Apparently, Tom’s been spotted at the airport making his way to his flight out to London. And when he didn’t appear near his London home—”

Beth feels like fainting all of the sudden. All of these years, and now? “They’ve found us?” she whispers.

“No! No, it’s not that. You’re good. They only found out that Tom used to live here, and that I’m still here. They just know this is where he grew up.”

She lets out the breath she's been holding. “Okay. Okay.”

“And it might be better that you don’t show up at the front door, if you don’t want your face in any newspapers. Tom’s actually quite mad that I have to deal with them. Made phone calls all day.” James sounds impressed, and Beth has to admit she's as well. Tom didn’t make it seem like he cares too much about his family and old friends. But then again, maybe he just doesn’t want to be disturbed or have the truth come out.

And it won’t, because although Tom doesn’t trust this old town, Beth does.

“That’s really nice of him,” she manages to say. “Maybe I can make it through the back door, though.”

James laughs. It wasn’t really supposed to be a joke, she's too stunned for that. “We'll see. I’m sure they’ll be gone in a few days.”

Beth hopes so as well. She doesn’t like to hide.

***

Tom’s fuming as he makes his way through Hinksey Park, running round after round along the path. No, not running. Stomping is more like it.

He hates it, feeling almost helpless.
It’s by far not the first time that the media finds out where he’s currently staying. There are tons of pictures of him walking around New York, Los Angeles, or even London. But they’ve never been here. They’ve never cared for his family. So why now?

Why do they care now that he’s here to finally sort out his past and move on. Is Karma really that much of a bitch? Telling him that he should have done this a lot sooner? That this would have been okay two years ago when he met Julia? Or even would have worked out before he got down on one knee to ask her to marry him? Now they come to town? Really?

He runs faster.

He should have done this sooner. Running, that is, not coming here. But he simply didn’t have the time today, though there were many, many moments he just wanted to forget, leave and not look back.

But instead he’s been on the phone all day, mostly with Brian, because if someone can make this go away it surely is his publicist, right? Wrong. Because while he of course wants to protect Tom and his ‘dirty, little secret’ as he calls it – as he calls Libby, really, something that Tom's not entirely happy about – it is good for Tom’s public persona to be seen with his family.

Sure, he’s a well loved actor, always smiling and very cool with a beautiful fiancé, but wouldn’t it be so cool to have him as a family guy ready to settle down and introducing his fiancé to his family as well?

Tom tends to agree there. But then again, his family has never asked for this. That’s one reason why he hasn’t come back in so long. His family has nothing to do with his fame. They deserve a quiet life, don't they?

Plus, publicity is great, but wouldn’t it be even better, if word of his marriage with Libby doesn’t get out?

Not just because of his public image, but actually because she's never asked for this, either? After all, he’s not just protecting his immediate family. He’s protecting her as well. The fangirls would not just coming for him, they’d probably strangle her.

He runs faster still, not even seeing his surroundings, but just hearing the beat of the music from his ear buds mixing with the drumming of his heart in his ears.

Yes, he’s been selfish. Yes, he probably still is. He wanted his career, and he wanted it to be in America.

But what he never told Libby, what he probably never admitted to himself either, because he had to focus, is that he also protected her.

It may have been in some twisty, pathetic way, but he did. Yeah, he disappointed her, and though her bluntness on Monday night shocked him, her feelings don't come as a surprise for him. He’s just never had to deal with them.

They would have hated each other back then. Either because Tom would have come back to London for her, giving up on his dream – possibly even accusing her of denying him living his dream – or because Libby would have come to America, living somewhere she didn’t want to and trying to be a social butterfly she simply wasn’t.

So, he didn’t come back, and he didn’t ask about her coming to him anymore. They both lived the lives they wanted like this. Yeah, she hates him now. But that’s better than Tom eventually hating her. He couldn’t live with that.

He stops at a park bench, panting and nearly folding himself in half, his hands resting heavily on his knees as he tries to catch his breath. Tom knows it isn’t a sudden lack of fitness that has him panting like this, whispering swear words under his breath. It’s him not caring about his breathing pattern on his run, because he’s got Libby on his mind.
His phone rings, effectively pulling him out of his thoughts. He answers without looking.

“Yes?”

“They know.” It’s Brian. Again. For the umpteenth time today. But that’s not what Tom cares about now. What did he just say?

“What?”

“Someone from your stupid town in stupid England talked today, Tom. I don’t know if they paid them or if some old aunt in Oxford just thought that a certain pap was very charming. But someone talked. They know about your precious Libby.”

First, Tom is too stunned to form an actual thought. Then it’s lots of ‘shit’, ‘fuck’, and ‘why?’.

“I... who?”

“I don’t fucking know, Tom. I just know that I’ve got a phone call from several news sites here that told me since we're still in the middle of the day here, I should expect a story tonight with exclusive pics of Tom Hiddleston’s wife. It’s just a heads up apparently, we can’t do anything, they have the documents and her name. And if they have that, they’ll easily have a pic within the next two hours.”

Good thing that Tom's still next to that bench. Because his head is spinning and his legs feel weak, and he really, really should sit down now. So, he does.

“I don’t... What do we do?”

“We’ll spin a story somehow. I’ve got some ideas. I’ll call you later again, when I know what the media will make of this. Prepare yourself for a long night.”

Before Tom can utter anything or even think of something to make out of this, Brian hangs up, and Tom is alone on a bench in a Park in Oxford, his world spinning and swirling around him.

He can’t fucking breathe. Is that what a heart attack feels like? Because his chest is hurting and he still can’t fucking take a breath. What does he do now? Does he run home? Does he stay here and hide in this park forever, letting everyone else deal with this?

Well, no. Of course not. He can’t do that to his family or to Libby for that matter. He scoffs, rubbing his aching chest. He’s tried to protect her – to protect them – all those years ago, and this is what he gets.

Tom knew it. He knew that he shouldn’t have come here. He knew that he shouldn’t have gone out to that stupid pub or met anyone from his past. This town talks. He was right about that and Libby was wrong. Too trusting. Good thing she's never come to America with him. She would have been eaten alive.

Tom’s phone rings again. “What?!” he shouts into the receiver, again without looking at the caller ID. It can’t get any worse than this anyway.

“I guess you heard the news then, too. When were you going to tell me?” Shit. Julia’s voice is icy in his ear. Tom closes his eyes. This can get worse after all.

“Julia,” he sighs. “I—”

“Don't bother. You’re lucky I can’t get away from this shoot right now. But I’ll be on the plane on Friday morning, and you better have something you’re going to tell me then. Explain to me. And I’ll better fucking meet that freaking wife of yours.”

***

It really is like the old times. Beth sighs. Damn Tom. And damn her stupid brain, because for the life of her, she can’t fall asleep.

So, she checks her clock – it’s 9.30 – and gets up to make herself a tea in the kitchen.

That’s when a ring from her doorbell startles her. After all the days she's had, Beth almost suspects it to be Tom. She doesn’t want it to be him. Why now? Can’t he just leave her alone? She just won’t open. She’ll make a tea, and then she’ll settle in bed. He can come back one of the other days.

But then there’s a knock on the door and Mrs Johnson's voice. “Beth, dear? Uhm... I don’t know, if it has anything to do with that former husband of yours. But you may not want to go outside. Can you please make him handle that? I want to be able to leave my own damn house.”

The next thing Beth hears are steps leading away from the door to her flat. What, now? Make him handle what?

Carefully, Beth makes her way through her flat, opening the front door slowly. She's always been too curious for her own good, so, she walks through the dark hallway and up to the front door of the house.

Are there people outside? Very, very carefully she opens the door.

And is blinded by flashes. And shouts. It’s a blur. People are in front of her house and they’re shouting ‘Beth’ as well as ‘Hiddleston’.

Beth gasps and closes the door with a bang, leaning against it from the inside. Then she slides down. They know her name. They know her.

Shit.