A/N - Tom and Derek, because that argument in The Coup was hot, have become a ship. And I will go down with it. Get ready for the insanity...

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The Least Offensive Thing

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Julia is in shock, it doesn't take a doctor or a genius to see it and Tom is at least the latter - he should get a doctorate in writing kick-ass songs but moving on. She won't let him touch the piano, she won't let him sing to her or do any of the things he normally does to cheer her up. He figures that she thinks that he'll judge her if she cries, but he won't, he isn't a dick. She cheers up a little while they brainstorm even more terrible ideas that make him want to pull his hair out, but the smiles aren't her yet, they don't reach her eyes. There aren't even any sassy hair flips when he bitches about Derek or whines about life or work.

Leo stays in his room, by now he'll be asleep, hopefully - poor thing. It's a big shift that she's coming to terms with and Tom knows it, the mother and son with have to deal with everything as it comes. Maybe Frank will come back, maybe he'll do something else; whenever Tom so much as tries to broach the subject he gets looks with very clear meanings: say either of their names and I will end you.

Toward the end of the evening she looks at him, and then she gets up from the couch, climbs out of his arms and crosses to the window. 'Bombshell', it's all she says and he knows what it is. He smiles. It's a good name, a name to shine in lights and put on posters. A name to grace the billboards and displays of Broadway: Bombshell.

'It's good.' He walks up behind her and crosses his arms around her again like he should and like he has done during tears in the past. 'It's a good title, Julia.'

Now she cries, turns on him and hugs him tight. Holds onto him for dear life like he'll keep her from falling apart. He murmurs little nothings into her hair, tells her it'll be alright in the end.

'He'll come back Julia, he probably just needs a little time.' He says weakly, lacking the conviction himself. 'Just a little time.'

'You think what I did was horrible, don't you?'

Tom looks up at her from the tea he's making and ditches the first answer that springs to mind but she doesn't look likely to blame him for telling the truth, just resigned to it and sad and that look is so not on. 'I don't approve, Julia, but then I never did.' Which is true. 'But that doesn't matter right now, this isn't about what I think or thought. I'm your friend Julia, not your conscience.' He pushes the mug toward her with a small smile. 'Now drink your tea.'

She laughs, small, a little bubble of a laugh still sodden with tears. 'Now you sound like my mother.'

'Hah. God forbid.' He crosses to join her at the counter and holds out his hand, which she takes. Nice to see some things haven't changed.

He fixes her with a look. 'It isn't going to be easy, for you or Leo or Frank. You will be sad until something happens that makes this whole thing have certainty, and then you might still be sad but you can't let this rule your life, Julia. Forget about it for now, it's just us okay? The Houston-Levitt team who have a brilliant name for their new musical which, by the way, has an amazing score and brilliant lyrics and is so totally going to be a smash, and who both need to get some sleep so that they can deal with Eileen and the reptile tomorrow.' He kisses her forehead. 'I'll take the couch.' And now he feels like Yoda. Well versed in the ways of sensei am I.

She looks down at her cup of tea, half gone, and then back to him, red curls all over the place and it's so very tragic. 'You could talk for America, you know that?' She grips his arm to pull herself up and keeps a hold. 'I don't want to be alone, Tom. Not tonight. Just be with me, okay?'

He laughs. 'Ew, sleeping with a girl.' Kisses her again. 'Alright.' Another hug and he's getting that she really needs closeness right now. 'Please, no more gross sobbing, this sweater was so expensive.'

Predictably she hits him, but it's a loving slap, it shows she cares. Tom shoves her lightly to let go of him and get into her, probably awful, flannel pyjamas or whatever while he changes. He's just done when hears her singing from upstairs. It's some godawful mournful pop tune and he runs to her to make it stop.

'If we are going to sing our feelings, dear, it will not be with that.' Tough love and sassy hair flips. 'It will be with something classy-' he gets a pillow thrown at him for his trouble but the singing stops and Julia smiles.

She shuffles over on top of the covers and pats the bed next to her. 'Sit down, diva. I need to hug you.'

Rolls his eyes. 'Moi?'

'Yes you, sarcasmo or what, was that t-shirt expensive too?' Julia makes a face and beckons him.

He tugs at it and sighs, 'Don't even. This old thing?' He clambers to sit next to her. Tugs her down so she's leaning into his shoulder. 'Now, manly disney movie fest or whatever's on t.v.?'

'Ugh. Sleep.' She burrows down into the bed and rest her head on his chest. 'Sleep. Goodnight, Tom.' And sassy hair flip. Tom is this far away from shouting eureka or doing something else incredibly stupid.

'Goodnight, sweet Julia!' He kisses her hand. 'Everything'll be clearer in the morning.'

She snuggles a pillow. 'I hope so, Tom. 'night.'

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buzzzzzzzzzzzzz buzzzzzzzzzzzzz buzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Okay, so it's his own damn fault for leaving his phone on vibrate, but who freaking texts in the middle of the night? Who just wakes up and thinks 'Oh hey, everyone else'll be just as awake as I am, maybe I shall text them.'

The text?

Do we have a title yet?

The sender?

Derek Wills. Do they not sleep in England? Is it against the code of 'I must always be an asshole'? In any case he is not going to take this lying down. So he gets up, checks that Julia is still sleeping like a baby and snatches the offending phone from its place on the table, pulls on his jacket before creeping through the silent home, out the door and the building.

After a little bit of pacing back and forth he drags a hand over his face and pushes a button that will condemn him into uncertainty. He hits call.

'I was expecting a text back, Tom, not a call at this hour.'

Stupid, english drawl. Bastard. 'It is half past twelve, asshole, why are you even awake and texting in the first place?'

There is a pause. 'I asked you the question first.'

Tom glares at a tree. 'No - What are you, five? - We are still talking about what gives you the right to wake me up from pleasant dreams that had nothing to do with you by texting me in the middle of the god damn night!.'

'That I am the Director of this venture gives me the right, Tom, and you know it. So answer the question: do we have a title or not?'

'Derek,' he says slowly, 'you may be the director of this musical, against my better judgement I will add, but that does not mean you get to text me, oh at all, let alone in the middle of the night. Unless it has escaped your notice, which I know it hasn't, you and I aren't exactly on the best of terms and as I said to Eileen when she first suggested you I would rather gouge my eyes out than talk to you almost all of the time!'

'You called me.'

'Oh don't even. Don't you even... really? Does your maturity, if you ever had any which I highly doubt, completely fail you in the night? Or is this purely for my benefit?'

'You are so very easy to rile up, Tom, but please save us both the misery of prolonging this call and answer the bloody question.'

It doesn't matter how talented Derek is. Because he's going to kill him. As it is one cannot kill via the phone so he does the next best thing. Tom Levitt hangs up.

And he's just about at the door when his phone rings. It might be kind of funny to not answer but he's pretty sure the bastard will keep calling and calling and he will never get any sleep. 'What?'

'Oh so I'm the five year old! You hung up! You hung up purely because you cannot bear to concede that you don't have a title yet! You never cease to amaze me.' Derek actually sounds pissed. Oops... not.

Tom laughs. 'Actually no. I hung up because you're an asshole and I have better things to do right now than talk to you. Also we do have a title, bitch. And it's awesome and brilliant and you aren't going to know what it is until we tell everyone. Together. Preferably sometime during the day. Goodnight.' Then he makes the mistake of not hanging up, waiting for an angry retort.

Derek just huffs out a laugh and groans.

'You whine so much, it's hateful.'

Hah. 'Yeah, well hate doesn't even begin to cover my feelings for you, asshole. You heartless reptile. Now, if you don't mind, I am cold so I'm going back inside now-'

'Why are you outside? It's the middle of the night.' There is no concern in his voice, dry amusement if anything.

'So I have been telling you.' Tom fiddles with the sleeve of his jacket before blurting out: 'I didn't want to wake Julia. Frank left yesterday and I didn't want to leave her.' Then he realises exactly who he just told and screeches, 'YOU ARE NOT TO REPEAT THAT. TO ANYONE. EVER. Oh god, if she finds out that I told anyone she'll kill me. Twice! Oh God! Please, Derek, don't say anything to her about it and try and be, you know, at least civil. I'm not asking for a miracle but don't be an asshole.' Which would be a miracle.

'Tom,' he sounds kind of exasperated. 'Shut it. I won't do anything. Julia, unlike you, actually likes and appreciates me. I'm not going to just hurt her for the hell of it.'

Aww, baby need appreciation! and 'Oh, like going behind both of us and checking out a new composer/lyricist wasn't hurtful to her too.'

'I thought we needed a different direction.'

He thought, he thought! 'You could have just informed us of your opinion in light of which we might have had a go! Argh, every conversation with you is a nightmare. Go to sleep, Derek. You will find out our proposed title with everyone else and you will not, so help me God, bitch or whine unless you are in the majority. Good night.' He hangs up, and takes a breath for the first time in what feels like forever.

And damn he needs to lie down. Tom swears that if Derek does anything to hurt Julia now, even the slightest thing he is going to break something. Probably the bastard's face.

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An hour later and both Tom and Derek are sleeping again, perhaps they'll wake tomorrow and have forgotten, perhaps they'll think the argument was a dream.

In some far part of town Frank sleeps too. Thinks over and over the whys and the whens, the ifs and the buts. Until all that's left is her and how she did this to him.

But for everyone, tomorrow is another day.

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TBC

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