Thomas

Constant Gardener, 2008.

Rating: Sensuality, Light Language.

Notes: All episodes prior to season four's finale. I do not own anyone; these marvelous creatures belong to Scotty Peters and company. I also must press that this story was inspired by Regina Spektor's 'Samson'. This story is not meant to be classified as a song fiction. Again, I do not mean to infringe anything or anyone. Hopefully, I can return each character as they were before, but better.

Summary: Tom came into her bed and told her that her hair was red.

---The fluffiest story I've yet to write. ---

I loved you first, I loved you first
Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth
I have to go, I have to go

He has been missing for three days. He's been sitting in his bedroom, beneath his sheets, but not crying. He has leg cramps now, and he doesn't even try to move. She had offered to help--she'd offered to stay with him--but he had thrown the biggest fit, and then ran her out of the house with a single look. Besides Meghan Doyle, no one knows where he's been. He keeps thinking that: 'No one knows where I am...'

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However, Diana Skouris is convinced that she knows exactly where he is and what he's doing. She thinks that he is at home sitting on his couch, eating stale food, and watching the cars go by. He does that on weekends when he doesn't have a life to deal with. He'll sit there, she pictures, and just watch. He hasn't given her a reason to wonder any differently.

It has been a week and a half since Tom's sister and nephew passed away. He should have returned to work days ago. His co-worker, Diana, has less sympathy for him than anyone else, and she knows him better than anyone. She hasn't even asked Meghan Doyle if she's seen or heard from him. She wouldn't dare, Meghan doesn't know him. Instead, Diana devices a plan.

On Saturday morning, Diana Skouris will wake up at half past eight. She will don a red scarf around her neck, keep her hair down (which rarely happens), and wear flat shoes. It will be a perfect day, and she will drive ten miles to surprise Tom Baldwin. She will bring him real food, hide his TV remote, and bathe him. It seems probable that he will not have shaved for a week and a half at least.

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Diana arrives at ten.

She is almost disappointed to not see him staring out the window as she closes her car door. She is taken aback to not find him on the couch, and there is no sign of contamination anywhere. She had knocked, no one had answered. Diana is confident enough to just go in. He is home, his car is here. Where else would he be? "Tom?"

He doesn't respond. He must be upstairs. She can hear the ruffle of sheets from her position by the landing. She cautiously goes about the task of climbing the steps. Her hands are full; it had taken her two tries to get into the front door. She still has her sunglasses on and she misses a step. A small yelp is heard.

"Who's there?" Tom's voice fills the air.

"I come bearing gifts." Diana recovers from her misstep and pushes her sunglasses onto the top of her head. She has made it to the top without dropping anything and slowly makes her way to his bedroom. It's always been her second favorite room in the house. Not that she has been made comfortable here; she just admires Tom's sense of décor. It shows that he is sincere and sensitive. "You hungry?" she asks.

"No." His head is buried in his pillows and blankets. He isn't tired at all; he's hiding from the noise of life. He does not want to be just another 'something' in the air anymore. He wants to cocoon himself so that when he does finally decide to get up, he will be completely changed.

"Shrimp with cashews, pork fried rice." She has a bucket of chicken and onion rings, too. She couldn't remember what he likes. "I figured it was better than anything I would have…" She stops. His bedroom is spotless. This stuns Diana even further.

"I can't eat." She can almost feel how dry his throat is. He uncovers his face. Tom looks like he's been run over multiple times. He had always been beautiful, though now that seemed so far away… He's been torn up and set alight with pain.

"…You can eat. Everyone can eat," Diana states, flatly. She automatically sets the cartons of food down on a chair nearest the door and moves to his bed. She's not exactly sure if she should go on normally or act like she has not seen his face. "Unless, of course, you're dead, almost dead, or near death." She is now pulling the comforter from his bed and wonders just how long he's been up here"Which you are neither," she continues casually. He doesn't look helpless, but he doesn't look well, either. "You can eat."

"I said I can't eat. I wouldn't keep anything down." He struggles to sit up. Diana smiles at him. He has always been her best friend, for as long as she can remember. He is gold, and she is silver, and their relationship is bronze. She can look past his pain long enough to find a way to be good to him, although it is getting harder for her to deal with.

"Oh, well, why didn't you say so?" She is amazed at herself. She hadn't expected to be so at ease with him. She had been so sure that he would be a mess of testosterone and that she would have to clean up his manly remnants from the past week and a half.

"I did." He cocks an eyebrow towards her. He's not sure what to make of her. She is confident and strong around him. He feels like death is not a challenge for her. He often wonders who has left her life, and who is left to leave her later. He is certain that she will take it in stride. That is the kind of woman she is.

"Right," she replies.

"Sit down, Diana." She removes her coat and plops down at the foot of his bed. It is soft. It does not take her long to relax.

"You have to come back to work." There is no way that he is ready, and she is aware of this. The bed smells of vapor rub, the whole room smells of cold medicine. He is not sick, but he's not well. He's not Tom. "Eventually."

"I don't have to do anything." Tom had been thinking about taking weeks off, months, the next couple of years even. He had been dreaming about sparrows and the Vermont sunset. He could take a prolonged vacation there and get lost in himself. He would tell no one. Not even his son.

"You do. NTAC needs you, Tom. I need you. Meghan needs you…" Sometimes Diana feels bad for Tom, but not nearly as bad as she feels for herself. She is a miserable creature. Her fiancé refuses to answer her phone calls. He does not have time for her; she has no time for him. "Where is Meghan anyhow?" She secretly hopes Meghan is miserable, too.

"I don't know. I told her to get out." Tom laughs. If she had been anyone else, hadn't known him so well, she would have thought that he was joking. He wasn't, however. He was telling the truth. He had asked her to leave almost two days ago and had slammed the door in her face. She only took up space.

"Tom," she sighs. "You didn't."

"I did." He confidently runs a hand through his hair. His shiny blonde roots are greasy and fading brown in the dull light of the bedroom. The windows are not open; there is little joy that seeps in. But he doesn't mind seeing Diana.

"Why?" she asks quietly.

He shrugs the way a widower might. It's as if he doesn't have a care in the world. Diana thinks it might be nice to live in his body for a day so that she can stop feeling useless. "Why not?" Tom responds testily. "She keeps trying to put me to sleep."

"Ah, I see." Diana pursed her lips. Meghan had not attempted to say anything to her. In fact, she had barely spoken to anyone since everybody had found out that she was magically barren. She was the most mentally useless of the whole company now. "Sleep is horrible." Diana rolled her eyes.

"It is when you don't want to."

"What do you want to do, Tom?" He ponders it for a moment and she continues grinning at him. He is wondrous and she is not. They are both alone.

He wants to eat Chinese food. He wants a shower. He wants to stop breathing. He wants to be ten years old, playing baseball, eating candy. He wants to pick on his sister until she cries. He wants to kiss Diana; he doesn't remember her looking this remarkable in ages. "Did you say shrimp and cashews?"

"I did." She's got logic to her. "I knew you'd see it my way."

She is quick. He admires this as she gets up to fetch the food. She is strong and miscalculated. Her hair is marvelous.

Beneath the stars came fallin' on our heads
But they're just old light, they're just old light
Your hair was long when we first met

credit to my wonderful beta, my darling sister C.