#i really like ada and my heart hurts imagining her struggling with her feelings for him too

[citrine-elephant]

in an effort to not drive myself inside, im just gonna guess ada, comrade ada, is working behind the scenes to disrupt the hell out of corporations, governments, imperialists, etc, all that stuff, because, comrade.

and because leon's a government agent, he's just gotta stay in the dark and see the truth for himself

[toms-cherry-trees]

Point Proven || Tommy Shelby

Summary: One last obstacle to wade through to free his heart

Word Count: 870

Warnings: None

Author’s note: So, I typed this scene a year or so ago, after I wrote The Highest Price. I always imagined how would that interaction go between Tommy and Grace if he had someone else to love, but never really developed it (the drabble was 150 words long) but I wanted to put it out in the world for you for the fun of it and to try and get my creativity back flowing. Its entirely written from Tommy’s POV. Hope you enjoy!

This fic exist in this universe

Let me know if you wanna be in my taglist

Tommy stared intently at the blonde through the smoke of his cigarette. The last fifteen minutes had been wasted in polite small talk and tense silences. The first glasses were emptied but no one made a move to fill them up. The flames in the chimney danced in her eyes, just like they did when he had her for the first time. Her oval face framed by delicate golden curls, the face he once dreamt of seeing every day and night, now made his eyes hurt. He could barely recognize in this fine lady the woman who wiped tables at the Garrison and lived in a shabby one room flat infested with rats. The woman whom he once considered making his wife.

“I was going to tell you that I hadn’t gone a single day without thinking about you” Tommy took a long drag from his cigarette, letting the expectation build up in the air “But the thing is, that would be a lie. I thought about you at first. Every single day” He finally reached out for the whiskey bottle to refill their glasses “But then someone else came in. A nice girl; ridiculously good, and sweet, and kind. And for some reason she decided to pick up what you left of me, sew me back together, and now that nice lady has the keys to my home and my ring on her finger”

Even looking away, Grace couldn’t mask her surprise. The whiskey glass stopped mid-air in her hand. Her lips trembled, as if they struggled to hold back whatever she wanted to say. The way her gaze darted around the room, trying desperately to find an anchor to hold onto for support. But there was no easy way to digest this. All the way from across the ocean, all the lies to mask up this moment, only to be slapped in the face with something like this.

“Then why, Tommy?” She sounded hurt, and for a moment pity filled Tommy’s chest. But it didn’t last long “Why ask me to come, light a fire upstairs, make me lie to my husband? Why did you want me here tonight?”

“To prove myself a point” He spoke as if he had been rehearsing that line in his mind for weeks and had just been waiting for the right time. He had been anticipating the moment to spill out his truth “To prove myself that I could sit right in front of you, with the house for ourselves, no witnesses, no guilt, and still feel nothing. Because that’s what I feel now Grace, sitting face to face with you. Nothing” The weight of his statement lingered in the air as he lit another cigarette, finding in the brief pause the right thing to say next “I moved on. And you should do the same” In another life, Tommy would have seized the chance, and gloated about his newfound power and money, anything to prove himself better for her. But now all he wanted was for the evening to end and for himself to be back home with his beloved, feeling her back pressed against his chest in their bed.

Grace seemed to have other plans in mind, however. She stood to refill her glass yet again, but instead of sitting across from Tommy once more, she occupied the spot next to him in the loveseat by the fire. Her slender fingers intertwined with his free hand, bringing it into her lap “Just one more night Tommy. One more for the old times, and I promise to get out of your way”

Tommy evaded her gaze, keeping himself occupied in the dancing flames of the hearth and the chipped corners of the mantlepiece that Ada had yet to get fixed. How long had he dreamt after her departure to have her back, to be what she needed and wanted? But a lot of water had run under the bridge since then. She was different, and so was he. A small part of him wanted to agree, just one last moment of weakness for the sake of closure. A payment for his immeasurable suffering.

Grace seemed to pick the wavering in his eyes and mistook it for acceptance. She immediately leaned closer; a hand pressed to his chest as she pressed a feverish kiss to his mouth. Thomas’ body immediately went rigid, the feeling of her warm lips on his own too much to handle, his judgement clouded by the scent of her perfume and the musk from her hair. For a moment his determination faltered, his body reacting and responding to her touch. But whatever sense of honour and loyalty left in him overpowered the weakness of his flesh. He didn’t pull back for himself. He did it for the one waiting for him at home. The one who didn’t try to change him. The one who nearly died for him.

His fingers firmly gripped her chin, but instead of pulling her closer, gently pushed her away. In the space between their parted lips, eyes closed, and foreheads pressed together, he decided to once and for all cut the final tie he had with the Irish spy.

“Away it goes, Grace”

[vicarfelix]

Internal Suffering

Vicar Max x Fem! Captain

Warnings: Language.

Word Count: 2,756

“Captain. You’re better than this.”

“Is she okay?”

“Should we get SAM to break open the door?”

“Damn. No amount of alcohol in the world could drown out what she probably saw.”

“ERROR. Status of Captain’s door...LOCKED.”

Max finally held up a hand to silence the rest babbling crew that was expressing their concern for their Captain from where they sat around the kitchen table. They had known something was wrong the moment that Ellie, Max, and the Captain returned to the ship after they had been out for almost two days. She didn’t say much at all, only offering a brief hello before snatching a drink from the fridge and taking a shower before keeping herself buried away in her quarters. 

She was bruised and had minor injuries in various places. Not to mention that she hadn’t slept in almost 48 hours. But it was clear that was the least of things on her mind.

Max had managed to convince her to open the door long enough for him to check on her, which didn’t amount to much considering that she practically yelled at him to get out and leave her alone for a while. Max usually wouldn’t give up so easily, but he could tell that (despite her angry tone) she wasn’t mad. 

She was hurt.

She was completely rattled by what they had seen today. An ugly painting of horrific images and gruesome smells that not even the hottest of showers could wash away. It would haunt her for weeks to come, and on top of that, she was worried about how this was affecting her crew. 

Thankfully, she had taken Max and Ellie along today, which made her feel a bit better considering they were two of the more thicker skinned of the group. Still, she felt guilty for exposing them to that. 

Max and Ellie gave the crew a brief rundown of what had happened. While they were sickened by it, they were more worried about the Captain.

“Come on. We just want to know if she’s okay.” Felix pleaded.

“She’s just seen probably the worst that the colony has to offer,” Ellie huffed; “I’d be worried if she was okay.”

Max sighed heavily. He was beyond concerned. It wasn’t like you at all to shut out the crew like this. It wasn’t like you to shut him out. He was afraid that this had pushed you over the edge.

“She wishes to be by herself,” Max announced; “We should all give her some space and let her work it out.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Mr. Vicar.” Parvati replied.

“Yeah, I don’t think she ought to be alone after seeing something as traumatic as you’re saying it was.” Nyoka detested.

Max shook his head.

“I know. But she doesn’t want to talk to us. We don’t need to push her.” Max pointed out.

Felix looked stunned at that, his eyes widening.

“She must be really shaken up if she won’t even talk to Max.” He said, clearly alarmed.

While Felix’s statement had innocent intentions, it caused a sting in Max’s chest. It was true that the Captain always seemed to flock to Max when she needed to talk. It was a mixture of things really. He was a professional when it came to listening to confessions, but he was even more comforting being as he was her boyfriend. She never felt like she couldn’t go to him when she needed him until now. 

It was killing him that she was closing herself off to him.

“She’ll be alright. Give her a couple days...or weeks. She’ll feel better when we get this job done.” Ellie stated.

Max sure hoped that Ellie was right. He wasn’t going to be able to stand it if the Captain never got over this. For now, all he could do was keep his arms open to her for when she was ready. Or for when he knew she couldn’t take it anymore.

The crew dispersed reluctantly to finish out their chores to close out the day, the Captain weighing heavily on their minds. Max went to take a shower to wash off the blood (some his and some not his), dirt, and sweat from his body. He took a moment to reflect on what he had seen earlier, realizing that he hadn’t given himself a moment to process everything. He wasn’t quite like Ellie Fenhill who preferred to drink herself into oblivion until her mind was too foggy to remember much of it. He’d rather come to terms with it on his own time.

Max had killed more people that day than he had the entire time he had been traveling with you. The strung out marauders and the doped up test subjects were probably the most terrifying people he had ever encountered. They were basically soul ridden beings with no sense of purpose or morale. They were just blood thirsty, violent animals that were once loving people.

That was the scariest thing imaginable.

Max stood under the stream of water until it threatened to turn cold, prompting his exit. He changed into a pair of clean clothes before leaving the bathroom, debating on what he should do next. By the time he had freshened up, everyone else had turned in for the night. The only sounds were the humming and singing around the ship, as well as Felix’s beloved Tuesday night adventure serial coming from his cabin. 

Max eyed his own cabin, the only one with the door open and the lights turned on. Max chuckled to himself as he entered. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had actually spent an extended amount of time in his cabin. Ever since establishing a serious relationship with the Captain, he found himself staying in her room pretty much always. Her cabin was much larger than his, and despite the fact that her bed was exactly the same as his, he was convinced that it was comfier. 

Maybe because he always had someone he loved snuggled up to him at the end of every day.

He ran a hand through his damp hair to somewhat even it out. It always seemed to have a mind of its own when water dripped from his graying hair. She had always told him that she liked seeing his hair somewhat out of order, which was why she was likely the only person who had ever seen his hair unkempt.

He wasn’t too keen on the idea of sleeping alone, considering he had gotten so used to having her with him. But if she didn’t want him, then he would respect her desires. He bit the inside of his cheek in disapproval when he tried to stretch out onto his bunk. He sank into the mattress that hadn’t been used in quite some time, but it didn’t feel the same. 

His entire cabin just didn’t have the same comfort that hers did. Although, it wasn’t her cabin that he found comfort in. 

It was her.

Every other thought was occupied by his Captain. He wondered what she was doing as he lay there awake, worrying himself beyond measure. He was beginning to go against his own word, tempted to go to her even if she had pushed him away. She was struggling right now. She was suffering. 

He couldn’t just let the woman he loved be in pain like that.

He got up from his bed, quietly going down the stairs to the Captain’s door. The red light above her door indicated that it was still locked, and he couldn’t get in unless she opened it from inside or ADA unlocked it for him. It was awfully quiet from inside the Captain’s quarters, and he hoped that she was just asleep.

He traveled down to the ship’s computer asking ADA nicely to unlock the Captain’s bedroom. ADA, however, almost always gave Max a run for his money.

“I cannot take orders from anyone other than Captain Hawthorne.” ADA informed the vicar.

He groaned. 

“I know, ADA, but I’m worried about her. I just need to get into her room.” Max explained.

He always felt so stupid arguing with a machine. Although, ADA was likely light years smarter than he was.

“I can only take orders from Captain Hawthorne. You are not Captain Hawthorne.” ADA replied.

Max grumbled to himself. He’d have to take a different approach.

“Well...can you at least tell her I want to speak with her?” Max questioned.

“The Captain gave me direct instructions not to converse with her unless there was an emergency. Is this an emergency?” ADA acquired.

“No...” Max responded gruffly. He was a little surprised that the Captain had taken so many steps to avoid anyone from seeing her; “How would I go about unlocking her door myself?”

“Hypothetically, her door would automatically unlock if I entered a rest cycle. But that requires my restart button to be push-”

Suddenly, ADA’s screen went dark as Max put her into a manual rest cycle. The Captain usually ordered ADA to take a rest cycle overnight anyway unless something with the ship went wrong, so Max didn’t feel bad for shutting the computer up for a bit.

He commuted back to the Captain’s door, the doors whirring open to reveal what appeared to be an empty room. The Captain wasn’t sitting at her desk or laying in her bed, and she appeared to be nowhere to be found. Just as Max went to panic, he heard a sound. 

It was a soft noise that he would’ve missed if the room hadn’t been as quiet as it was. He followed the sound of sniffling over to the far corner of the room behind her bunk. 

The Captain was backed into the corner, knees huddled up to her chest with her head buried behind them. Her towel from her earlier shower was still wrapped around her naked body, indicating that she hadn’t even gotten dressed afterwards. Her skin was dry now, and her hair was just barely wet as if she had been there the entire time. She raised her head from her knees when she felt his presence, revealing her reddened, watery eyes and blotchy cheeks from her hours of crying. 

Max’s heart broke at the sight of his Captain falling to pieces like this. She was hands down the strongest, most confident person that he knew. He always reminded her how proud of her he was for always being the bigger person and doing what was right. Maybe that was his mistake. Perhaps he had made her feel like she had to be at her best all the time. 

She looked at him through bleary eyes, a fresh set of tears falling down her cheeks. Her voice cracked as she spoke, her tone thick with sobbing.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” She apologized, almost choking on her cries.

Immediately, Max was sitting at her side, her head falling onto his chest as she wailed. He eventually brought her into his lap to hold her close, rubbing her back up and down and kissing her temple. He hushed her, hating the feeling in his gut every time she sobbed out again. Her face was buried into the soft material of his shirt, her tears staining it. Her arms and legs were freezing from being exposed to the cold air of her quarters for so long without clothes, Max’s hands rubbing up and down to provide her some warmth.

“It’s alright, love. I’m here.” He hummed, holding the back of her neck in his hand.

“It was horrible. I’ve never seen anything like that,” She cried; “I don’t know how Spacer’s Choice could ever be capable of something like that.”

“Spacer’s Choice is arguably the most powerful corporation in the colony,” Max spoke; “The stronger the company, the more room there is for catastrophic events.”

The Captain sat up from his chest, leaning against Max’s leg that he had hiked up for her to lean on.

“I fucking hate the Board,” She hissed; “If I have to personally put a bullet in the skull of every single person involved then I swear to Law I’ll do it.”

Max was alarmed by her harsh words, his hands coming to her face to wipe away her tears.

“Captain. You’re better than this,” He remarked; “What’s the number one rule you always tell us? Try to talk it out before pulling the trigger.”

The Captain shook her head. Her tears had dried, but the anger coursing through her was giving her more energy than she had in days. 

“It’s becoming obvious that doesn’t always work. I don’t care if I have to wipe out every soul in Byzantium if it means overthrowing the Board.” She growled.

The last thing that Max ever wanted was for the Captain’s heart of gold to be hardened by all the things she had seen. In the beginning, the Captain had the most hope for the colony’s revival. Now though, her hope was diminishing with each new discovery she made.

He didn’t want her to become a lost soul the way that he had been for so long.

“What happened to my darling Captain? This isn’t you.” Max stated.

“I want the Board out of the system. Halcyon’s never going to make it with them around.” She replied in fury, ignoring his question.

“Captain, I-”

“I personally want to throw Sophia Akande out of an airlock.” She went on.

“Listen to me, this isn’t-”

“I’d like to throw her in a cell and pump her full of drugs just like-”

“Stop,” Max cut her off; “This isn’t how you do things. I know this isn’t how you want to do things.”

She finally let her tense shoulders relax for a second. Her eyes falling downward, her hands fiddling with the edge of her towel. 

“I know,” She whispered out; “I’m just tired of seeing so many people get hurt. Earth was never like this...not really.”

Max felt relief. Now she was beginning to sound like herself again. He pushed her hair behind her ear to reveal her pretty, but tired face. He caressed her face with his hand, her cheek resting in his palm. 

“If you keep doing things the way you have been, taking things day by day...then we’re going to be fine,” Max said; “I believe in you. I believe in us.”

She nodded, his hand falling to her waist and rubbing through her towel. 

“What do I do now?” She asked.

Max smiled softly.

“For now, let’s get you in bed. We can figure everything else out in the morning.” Max said, kissing the Captain’s knuckles in a gentle manner.

“Okay.” She replied.

She had to admit, it felt nice to have someone else giving orders for once.

Sleeping the rest of the night away was sounding really good to the Captain right about now. Without really giving it a second thought, the Captain let her towel fall so she could get dressed. She caught the way his eyes lit up at her naked frame, a blush evident on his face as he looked over her. She smirked a little, the first real positive emotion she’d had all day.

“You’re blushing, Vicar.” She teased,

His grin was blinding, as he pulled his leg in more to bring you in closer. 

“It’s hard not to,” He purred; “Beautiful...”

She kissed him like she meant it. His hands were warm on her exposed skin as he touched her the way he had dozens of times before. She ran her fingers through his hair, his smirk showing on her lips.

“I’m here for you. I love you.” He rumbled deeply.

“I love you.” She returned.

Max guided her up from the floor, wincing at the way her joints cracked from being uncomfortable for so long. He got her into a shirt to sleep in, bringing her over to her bed and getting her comfortable up against him. It didn’t take her long to fall asleep. The feel of Max next to her and the softness of the mattress under her was enough to send her straight to sleep. Max was tired too, but he wanted to make sure she was okay before he got any sleep. 

He knew she wasn’t totally back to normal. It’d be a while before she felt like herself fully again. But he didn’t care how long he had to wait.

He’d always be there for her.

[luthienne]

Hi dear, do you have any good words on emotional courage?

hi my love, you can check out this post and this post; here are a few more:

“I know a lot about pain… and I know it is bad for people, eats away the spirit, but how about courage, what is it for if not to use when needed?”

Martha Gellhorn, Selected Letters 

“This is in the end the only kind of courage that is required of us: the courage to face the strangest, most unusual, most inexplicable experiences that can meet us.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet 

“You don’t realize it, perhaps, but you are turning these delusions and illusions of the past into criminal things. Relinquish everything. Stay in bed until you feel so shock full of energy, hope, courage that you bounce out of abed. You can only aid the world–if you still believe the world needs our individual aid–by retaining your faith in life. Your body may be weak, but I know you still have wings.”

Henry Miller, A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin and Henry Miller

“I… want to inherit the witch in my women ancestors—the willfulness, the passion, ay, the passion where all good art comes from as women, the perseverance, the survivor skills, the courage, the strength of las mujeres bravas, peleoneras, necias, berrrinchudas. I want to be una brava, una peleonera, necia, nerrinchuda. I want to be bad if bad means I must go against society—el Papá, el Pápa, the boyfriend, lover, husband, girlfriend, comadres—and listen to my own heart, that incredible witch’s broom that will take me where I need to go.”

Sandra Cisneros, A House of My Own

“I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It’s when you know you’re licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.”

Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

“Many people seem to think it foolish, even superstitious, to believe that the world could still change for the better. And it is true that in winter it is sometimes so bitingly cold that one is tempted to say, ‘What do I care if there is a summer; its warmth is no help to me now.’ Yes, evil often seems to surpass good. But then, in spite of us, and without our permission, there comes at last an end to the bitter frosts. One morning the wind turns, and there is a thaw. And so I must still have hope.”

Vincent van Gogh, The Letters of Vincent van Gogh

“In the winter I am writing about, there was much darkness. Darkness of nature, darkness of event, darkness of the spirit. The sprawling darkness of not knowing. We speak of the light of reason. I would speak here of the darkness of the world, and the light of———. But I don’t know what to call it. Maybe hope. Maybe faith, but not a shaped faith—only, say, a gesture, or a continuum of gestures. But probably it is closer to hope, that is more active, and far messier than faith must be. Faith, as I imagine it, is tensile, and cool, and has no need of words. Hope, I know is a fighter and a screamer.”

Mary Oliver, Winter Hours: Prose, Poems, and Prose Poems

“There is always some miracle left; and though miracles do not happen, they might happen. Who knows? Perhaps our intelligence, our instinct, our senses, in spite of their daylight clearness, are leading us astray. Perhaps the one thing needful is just that unreasoning courage which follows hope’s will-o’-the-wisp as it burns…”

Jens Peter Jacobsen, Niels Lyhne

“But if the deepest loss, […] / can be, not just survived, but made into the matter / of hope, made into song, not into a hatchet / to cut off the offending parts, made into poems / then blessed be the end of things, the loss of whatever / secures us blindly and mutely to our lives.”

Julia Alvarez, The Other Side/El Otro Lado

“I run / stumbling, expectant. / Impatience is hopelessly / desperate. Hope / takes time.”

Marie Ponsot, Springing: New and Selected Poems

“How lightly we learn to hold hope, / as if it were an animal that could turn around / and bite your hand. And still we carry it / the way a mother would, carefully, / from one day to the next.”

Danusha Laméris, The Moons of August

“Do not get lost in a sea of despair. Be hopeful, be optimistic. Our struggle is not the struggle of a day, a week, a month, or a year, it is the struggle of a lifetime. Never, ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble.”

Representative John Lewis

“Where does such a force come from? What does it mean? A voice very faint, and inside me, offers a possibility: how shall there be redemption and resurrection unless there has been a great sorrow? And isn’t struggle and rising the real work of our lives?”

Mary Oliver, Winter Hours: Prose, Poems, and Prose Poems

“Don’t forget that apparent impossibility of something is the first sign of its naturalness—in a different world, obviously.

Marina Tsvetaeva, from a letter to Anatoly Steiger

“Grieve. Have / hope.”

Jorie Graham, Swarm

John Berryman, “The Heart is Strange”

“Skin had hope, that what’s skin does. / Heals over the scarred place, makes a road.”

Naomi Shihab Nye, “Two Countries”

“I am quite troubled in the depths of my soul. But that will pass,”

George Sand, in a letter to Gustave Flaubert

“Let’s dance a little before we go home to hell.”

Muriel Rukeyser, A Muriel Rukeyser Reader

Hélène Cixous, Hyperdream (tr. Beverly Bie Brahic)

“That most moments were substantially the same did not detract at all from the possibility that the next moment might be utterly different.”

Marilynne Robinson, Housekeeping

Ada Limón, “Dead Stars”

“Listen, everyone has a chance. Is it spring, is it morning? Are there trees near you, and does your own soul need comforting? Quick, then — open the door and fly on your heavy feet…”

Mary Oliver, New and Selected Poems

“Get to the bottom of this intensity and have faith in what is most horrible, instead of fighting it off—it reveals itself for those who can trust it, in spite of its overwhelming and dire appearance, as a kind of initiation. By way of loss, by way of such vast and immeasurable experiences of loss, we are quite powerfully introduced to the whole.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter to Countess Alexandrine Schwerin, June 16, 1922

“…only one thing is urgently needed: to attach oneself with unconditional purpose somewhere to nature, to what is strong, striving and bright, and to move forward without guile, even if that means in the least important, daily matters. Each time we tackle something with joy, each time we open our eyes toward a yet untouched distance we transform not only this and the next moment, but we also rearrange and gradually assimilate the past inside of us.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter to Adelheid von der Marwitz, September 11, 1919

“Continue to believe that with your feeling and with your work you take part in what is the greatest. The more strongly you cultivate this belief inside of you, the more it will give rise to reality and world.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter to Elisabeth Freiin Schenk zu Schweinsberg, September 23, 1908

“…I have known with certainty that the worst things, and even despair, are only a kind of abundance and an onslaught of existence that one decision of the heart could turn into its opposite. Where things become truly difficult and unbearable, we find ourselves in a place already very close to its transformation.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter to Anita Forrer, February 14, 1920

“…he says, it will be all right.

“It is not the saying of an oracle or a prophet. They are words you might speak to a child ... and somehow I am comforted. He does not mean that it does not hurt. He does not mean that we are not frightened. Only that: we are here. This is what it means to swim in the tide, to walk the earth and feel it touch your feet. This is what it means to be alive.”

Madeline Miller, Circe

“Right then she knows herself even less than she knows the sea. Her courage comes from not knowing herself, but going ahead nevertheless. Not knowing yourself is inevitable, and not knowing yourself demands courage.

Clarice Lispector, Complete Stories; “The Waters of the World”

“Recovery (which includes return and renewal of health) is a re-gaining—regaining of a clear view. I do not say “seeing things as they are” and involve myself with the philosophers, though I might venture to say “seeing things as we are (or were) meant to see them”—as things apart from ourselves. We need, in any case, to clean our windows; so that the things seen clearly may be freed from the drab blur of triteness or familiarity—from possessiveness. Of all faces those of our familiares are the ones both most difficult to play fantastic tricks with, and most difficult really to see with fresh attention, perceiving their likeness and unlikeness: that they are faces, and yet unique faces.”

J.R.R. Tolkien, from his essay On Fairy-Stories

Camille Norton, Corruption: Poems

“Keep busy with survival. Imitate the trees. Learn to lose in order to recover, and remember that nothing stays the same for long, not even pain, psychic pain. Sit it out. Let it all pass. Let it go.”

May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

“I have the fervour of myself for a presence / and my own spirit for light; / and my spirit with its loss / knows this; though small against the black, / small against the formless rocks, / hell must break before I am lost;”

H.D. from Collected Poems; “Eurydice”

Denise Levertov, “Epilogue”

“The days go numb, the wind / sucks the world from your senses like withered leaves. // Through the empty branches the sky remains. / It is what you have. / Be earth now, and evensong. / Be the ground lying under that sky. / Be modest now, like a thing / ripened until it is real…”

Rainer Maria Rilke, from Rilke’s Book of Hours (tr. Anita Barrows, Joanna Macy)

“I know your sorrow and I know that for the likes of us there is not ease for the heart to be had from words of reason and that in the very assurance of sorrow’s fading there is more sorrow. So I offer you only my deeply affectionate and compassionate thoughts and wish for you only that the strange thing may never fail you, whatever it is, that gives us the strength to live on and on with our wounds.”

Samuel Beckett’s words of consolation to his friend, Alan Schneider

“What matters is not to allow my whole life to be dominated by what is going on inside me. That has to be kept subordinate one way or another. What I mean is: one must not let oneself be completely disabled by just one thing, however bad; don’t let it impede the great stream of life that flows through you. I have the feeling of something secret deep inside me that no one knows about.”

Etty Hillesum, from a diary entry featured in An Interrupted Life

“You have been told that, even like a chain, you are as weak as your weakest link. / This is but half the truth. You are also as strong as your strongest link. / To measure you by your smallest deed is to reckon the power of the ocean by the frailty of its foam. / To judge you by your failures is to cast blame upon the seasons for their inconstancy.”

Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

“Try to keep what is beautiful to you and what you can use for today and now — You must not let things you cannot help destroy you —”

Georgia O’Keeffe, from Georgia O’Keeffe: Art and Letters

“What we love, shapely and pure, / is not to be held, / but to be believed in.”

Mary Oliver, from Evidence; “Swans”

“In time of the crises of the spirit, we are aware of all our need, our need for each other and our need for ourselves. We call up, with all the strength of summoning we have, our fullness. And then we turn; for it is a turning that we have prepared; and act. The time of turning may be very long. It may hardly exist.”

Muriel Rukeyser, from A Muriel Rukeyser Reader, “The Life of Poetry”

“To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness. What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places—and there are so many—where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction. And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory.” 

Howard Zinn, A Power Governments Cannot Suppress

“But don’t lose heart, dear ones—don’t lose heart. Don’t let it make you bitter. Try to understand. Try to understand. The world’s already bitter enough, we got to try to be better than the world.”

James Baldwin, from Another Country

“You do not have to be good. / You do not have to walk on your knees / for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. / You only have to let the soft animal of your body / love what it loves. / Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. / Meanwhile, the world goes on.”

Mary Oliver, “Wild Geese”

[floatinginwords]

Saved by the Devil (13b/?) - Tommy Shelby

Summary: Tommy's thoughts and some current events from his perspective. 

Paring: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (romantic) 

A/n: little thing I wrote at 1am from Tommy’s perspective of chapters 12 and 13. Its not an official chapter since it kind of came out of the blue, wasn't planned and doesn't really further the plot. So i guess it could be considered more of a blurb maybe? I don't know. But I thought it was really sweet to see some of the events from his die and how he feels for the reader. Hopefully you all enjoy and have a beautiful day.

He didn’t call her after that night. He regretted it. He didn’t call for that whole week. And for that he considers himself an idiot.

Thomas was struggling hard with his feelings for you. Truth be told, he thought he was still hung on Grace. A ghost that was just never put to rest. Until finally that night. He did get reservations to that dinner place for him and Grace but as soon as they met up he couldn’t bring himself to sit through anymore conversation with her. He never invited her or even brought up the idea. It wasn’t love that kept her on his mind anymore. It was just the idea of what Grace was and held long ago. But all that was gone. And he soon asked her to leave as thoughts of you creeped in.

He called Ada first, and he told himself he was just checking on his little sister. But really he was hoping you’d pick up. And you did.

When he picked you up that night, he felt like a teen again. You could never tell on the exterior how nervous he was. You opened the door looking beautiful as ever and it was like the moon and the stars perfectly aligned for him.

Tommy couldn’t tell you when he fell in love with you. You peaked his interest the first time you met him, of course. Beautiful and mysterious, you are. He didn’t expect to ever meet you again but he was glad he did. As time went on and as he got to know you he couldn’t imagine a better person. He notices the way your too okay with being punched or stabbed. Like it’s happened too many times, how you look over your shoulder every 5 minutes, the way you never let your self fully asleep. You haven’t told him everything about your father. A thought that always makes him grit his teeth as guilt wraps around his heart.

He wants to protect your from everything. He can’t do that and he knows your fully prepared of defending yourself. But as he holds you close on the dance floor, hand on hip, your face flushed. He knows that there is more to this relationship than just business cause it didn’t matter what happened in that moment but he knew now and in any future he would take a bullet for you.

He brought you back to his place not knowing where the night would lead. He wanted to dance with you again. The feeling and warmth of your body close to his in that intimate moment nothing compared. You agreed and he could finally see you letting down your walls. You weren’t tiptoeing around him. See, he had an idea that maybe you were attracted to him. And usually Thomas was so smart at reading people but you were just frustrating. You only let people see what you want them to see. A trick only few have mastered.

He was going to kiss you. He didn’t know what was going on in you mind, but he was going to do it. If that phone hadn’t rang who knows where you two would have wound up. Probably interrupted by Grace. Never ideal to have an ex walk in on a moment like that. He wasn’t in the room when it had happened. But he saw the hurt for a moment in your eyes before you masked it up. He was at a loss for words and then you left. And he didn’t call.

Epsom was the next time he saw you. He couldn’t meet your eyes. He was ashamed for never having called you and he didn’t have a good excuse. He could feel your eyes trained on him the entire time as he tried to run through the plan. The plan you and him created. When everyone when off in different ways, he stopped you. Cause he could never not say a word to you, now can he?

He tells you to keep an eye out. What he really wants to say is I’m really sorry about the other night, I wanted to call I wanted to see you but I never had the right words. But I i never have the right words with you. I just seem like I do. But he doesn’t say it.

He talks to may, the inspector, and finally begins following the general. Until Grace comes on by interrupting him. She caresses his face tells him how much she loves him, that she will leave her husband. Words that a couple a months ago he would of swooned over but he states at her and just shakes his head. There are no other words to be said. That chapter is closed.

He loses his window with the general. His backup a Lizzie, never showed. He was running out of options and time. So he gets someone to find you. And the thoughts in his head are making him sick. Cause he knows what situation he getting you into. But he doesn’t know any other way. And though he needs your help. A part of him knows you deserve better than this and wouldn’t care if you had left him stranded right there.

But as he grips your hand, his fear more for your life rather than his, you agree. And he promises the two of you nothing would happen and of course that only gets broken within a matter of minutes. Thomas rushed to where you would be, desperately reaching you,fearing the worst. He would always blame himself for putting you through that.

It was there, right when he shot the general he saw you cry. He never saw that. Not from you. And it was the most vulnerable he had ever seen you. He held your face in his hands deciding that since it was all over he could do things right. He could treat her right. It was going to be ok someway somehow.

But of course for Tommy Shelby life doesn’t always happen that simply. He tried to fight off the cops that take him away but it doesn’t take a genius to know that these aren’t regular corrupt cops. So he goes willingly thinking of all the ways to get out or die fast if needed. The he he hears a cry. And if he believed in heaven he would if swore it was an angel.

“Thomas!” She cries

And his heart breaks as goosebumps rise from his skin. She said his name.

And the thought echo's through his mind as the car drives him to his assumed grave site

She said my name. 

Read pt.14

Tags

@babylooneytoonz @captivatedbycillianmurphy @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @evelyn-4034  @ms-dont-care  @owenniasstars @shikin83 @lauren-raines-x @cactisjuice

[elysiashelby]

In Another World - T.Shelby Imagine Ch. 21

Paring: (Eventual) Thomas Shelby x Aliena Welsh (OC)

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Word Count: 13,178

WARNINGS: ANGST, Cursing, Fluff, Mentions of Sexual Activity (Semi-Explicit), Smoking, Brief scenes of Arguments/Fights, Mentions of Blood, “Vivid” Murder Scene

Summary: A direct continuation from the previous chapter, Aliena takes Michael to the spot Tommy reserved for her and they talk. Michael is introduced to the family. Ali and Tommy are somewhat strained again, but is that a good or bad thing?

MASTERLIST   CHAPTER 20  CHAPTER 22

A/N: This chapter is crazy long! I was not expecting to have so much to write about in this chapter. It’s kind of filler, but it’s happier than most of my chapters. Anyway, from this chapter to the next, I’m going to be messing with the timeline a little. So, if you’re a real stickler for staying with timelines, this is going to irk you.

Oh! Sorry for this sorry excuse of a GIF. The clip I used for Aliena had a boy next to her and this was the best way to make sure your focus staying on the chapter, if you get what I mean?

I doubled over on my knees as I panted for air. Michael was faring far better than I was. 

“Why. The. Hell. Were we running?” Michael asked.

I held a finger up as a hand flew to cover my mouth. I pivoted my body away from his direction, held my hair back as much I could, and let the contents that filled my stomach escape me. 

Michael muttered. “Christ!” Then, he helped me hold my hair away from my face and rubbed my back. 

I was finished soon enough. I spat out whatever remained in my mouth before laughing while I sniffled. I stood up straight and wiped my mouth. “Um, we were running because I thought it a good idea at the time. Anyway, come on. We’re not too far from it now.” I waved my hand over in that direction before walking ahead.

I kept leaning as I walked, and my body felt like jelly— but I’d rather be doing this, feeling this than be at the house. 

Michael cleared his throat before asking, “Did you ever tell me your name?”

I furrowed my eyebrows as I looked at him, still walking. “Um, ya know what… Oh my god, I don’t think I told you my name. I’m Aliena Welsh, but everyone usually calls me Ali.” I extended my hand for him to take which he did.

“Henry. Uh, wait. Michael, um, Michael Gray.”

I giggled into my free hand. “I know. Remember?”

Michael chuckled sheepishly while he rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s right, you know me.” There was some silence between us before he asked another question. “You said you worked as the family maid, right?”

I nodded.

“Forgive me for assuming, but how come you look-?”

I interrupted him with a cackle. “How come I look as posh as you?”

Even in this dark night, I could see the blush on his face. “Ye-yeah.”

I sighed as I hiked my coat up to cover my shoulders. “I have rich friends. They buy me stuff from time to time, but I have my own money. Your cousin and mum pay me two pound.”

Michael scoffed. “That’s a lot of money.”

I nodded to myself. “I know. Well, I know that now. I grew up in America, but I was born in Liverpool. Basically, I only knew the US currency system when I arrived back. I figured two pound was an appropriate amount of money for being a maid to such a big family, but now I’m not too sure.” I chuckled at the end of my sentence. I looked up at Michael and smiled.

I gasped as the sight of my parents’ gravestones as they came into view. I grabbed Michael’s hand as I said. “Come on. We’re here!” I began running over to their gravestones.

“Wait! Where the hell are we?”

I didn’t answer him until we were standing in front of them. I walked behind the gravestones and leaned down on them. “These are my parents. Just their gravestones, so you don’t have to be creeped out abar it. Tommy, your cousin, bought me them for my birthday. Well, he bought me ma’s on my 17th birthday and me da’s on me 18th. But, yeah. This little area, even that swing, is mine.”

Michael bent down taking off his cap as he did so, and read them. He peered up at me. “Tommy, he’s the one with the car, isn’t he?”

I nodded. “Yeah.” Actually, the whole family had cars of their own. ‘Cept for Ada, she didn’t want one.

Michael dusted off his cap on his thigh before standing up. “Can you tell me more about them? My family.”

I nodded and then jerked my head over to my swing. We walked over to it and I took a seat facing him, while he leaned against the tree. “Let’s see.” I began. I kicked off my shoes and started to swing a little. “Let’s go in order. Your mum, Polly, is company treasurer. She’s also the heart of the family. She’s not afraid to hit you when you’ve done something stupid or to piss her off, but she’s also incredibly kind. She just looks intimidating.”

I took a deep breath and leaned my head back. “Arthur Shelby is your oldest cousin and the most physically dangerous. He fought in the war alongside his brothers and friends. He packs quite the punch, but he’s a sensitive man deep down. So, as long as you're good with him, he’ll be good with you. Might tease ya ‘cause he can, but doesn’t everybody do that?” I looked up at Michael and we both shared a chuckle.

I cleared my throat and the smile on my face disappeared. “Thomas Shelby is the boss of the family and company. What he says is almost always law. Nothing happens in Birmingham without your cousin knowing. The cops here have less power than him.” I grunted as I gained more momentum in my swinging. “His looks are as intimidating as your mother’s, but unlike her— he doesn’t have a soft side. So, do not go fishing for it or expect it. Um, I’m sure there’s more but I can’t think of anything.”

I cleared my throat again. “Ada Shelby is your only female cousin. Ada lives in London now, so you will rarely see her in Birmingham. She has a son named Karl and her husband passed recently. He died in January. Ada is a communist, but we love her anyway. Yeah, she’s sort of strained in the family right now ‘cause she doesn’t approve of the business.”

I stopped swinging and let myself relax. “John is the third eldest of the men of the family. He has five children. He is one of the smarter ones of the family. He takes care of the books and he has a wife named Esme. She is the mother of his youngest child. She did not give birth to John's first four children. John can pack a punch as well. Um, don’t tell him a fucking thing! His lips are as loose as a… Um, a goose? Is that the saying?”

I shrugged my shoulder then sat up straight. “Finn is the last of the Shelby clan. He’s only little, 13. I think. He does little things for the family, but all you need to know is that he’s the youngest.”

Michael nodded and kicked himself off the tree. He took a few steps and then motioned me to join him. I hopped off the swing and jogged to stand next to him. “Tell me about yourself then. How did you get to know them?” He said.

I giggled then yawned. “Alright then. My da’ died in the war. That was the beginning of my problems. My sister and I weren’t really on good terms, so she didn’t help me and my mum. So, we struggled a lot. Eventually, my mum told me we were heading to England, but she wouldn’t tell me what for. She took sickness on the journey and died. I walked aimlessly around England. I didn’t remember a thing from when I was eight. I ended up in Small Heath. I fell asleep behind some barrels using my suitcases as pillows when Jeremiah, the city’s preacher found me. He introduced me to your cousins and they took me in. That was… Three years ago.” I nodded when I was done talking.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Michael said.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m okay. I’m sorry for what you had to go through. If you don’t mind me asking, were you ever going to search for Polly? Like, do you even remember what happened? How she looks like?”

Michael cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. “Um, it’s alright. I’m not sure. I’m still 17, so I couldn’t really leave the house yet. I was debating trying to find… Polly, but yeah. I did think about it. I remember a little of what happened. That day, but I can’t remember anything before that. I, uh, I don’t really remember how Polly looked like.”

I nodded and hummed. “She’s beautiful, really!”

Michael chuckled. “Really?”

I nodded, enthusiastically. We laughed again. The two of us then circled back to the swing and while I sat on that plank of wood— Michael sat down on the grass in front of me.

“Are you not cold?” He asked.

I shook my head. “No, not really. And I have a lot of alcohol to thank for that. Why are you?”

He shook his head. “No, but you’re wearing less than me. That’s why I was asking.”

“Oh.” I drew out while nodding my head. I yawned and sniffled again.  

 We talked more. We talked so much that I was eventually yawning between every word I was speaking. I grew tired of sitting on the swing and I laid down next to where he sat. I guess Michael didn’t like looking down on me like that as he soon laid beside me.

I yawned. “When we head back to the ‘ouse, you need to stay outside. Polly will eventually come home ‘n you’ll be escorted inside. When we meet inside again, you need to greet me as if we’ve never seen each other. Got it?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Good.”

I managed a couple of more sentences before my eyes did not want to lift anymore. I whispered. “Wake me up at dawn, will you?”

Michael whispered back. “Can’t make any promises.”

We woke up when the sun was up. That’s all that matters at this point. As we were walking back, I groaned under my breath. “My feet hurt!”

Michael laughed at me. I blew raspberries at him. Michael looked over at me before he asked. “Do you think my mum is already there?”

I shrugged my shoulders. I hummed ‘I don’t know.’ We trudged all the way over to the house. As we stood outside the door, I pointed at him and said. “Stay.”

Michael glared at me before smiling and shaking his head. 

I snickered before opening the door to the house. “By the way, you might want to try and get off any grass you may have on your back. See ya later.” I closed the door in his face and headed up to my room. 

I stood in front of Tommy’s door and just tried to listen to see if anyone was in there. When I couldn’t hear anything, I went into my room and began getting ready for the day. 

I was asleep for about three to four hours, and I woke up with a nasty hangover. As I stared at the bed beside me, my body was begging me to lie down. But, I couldn’t. I had to work today. There was no Advil or Ibuprofen until 1961. The only thing we had was morphine or opium. I was never going to take the latter, so I was raw dogging the hangover as always.

I covered my face with my hands and sighed deeply. I threw my head back and groaned softly. I wiped my make-up off and reapplied some foundation and concealer. Foundation for the bruise on my chin and concealer for the dark circles under my eyes. 

I looked at myself in the mirror and felt nothing. 

Last night did not go how I wanted it too. Again, I don’t know what I wanted to happen, but I didn’t think Tommy and I were going to be strained again. Fuck, I can’t believe I caught him in his little escapades again.

If I had to compare the two, this one hurt more. Not only because it was raw, but because I wanted him last night. I wanted something like that for us. But it’s just my useless pinning. God, was I obsessing over him? I hate myself.

I squeezed my eyes shut and cringed. I huffed, angrily, before I yanked off my bra and put a comfier one on. I put on a long skirt and a jumper. I put my hair up messily, not really caring how I looked, before heading downstairs.

Walking straight into the kitchen, I found it empty. I pursed my lips at the sight ‘n shrugged my shoulders. I began my job by getting a kettle of tea on for Polly then I made some eggs and sausage. 

The door opened and I knew who it was. I could hear the excited chirping of Polly before she crossed the threshold of the kitchen. 

“Oh my-, Aliena! Come ‘ere!”

I turned around. Polly and Michael were standing there side-by-side. Polly’s hands hovered over her son’s shoulders, an ecstatic smile on her face. It would seem that the smile was contagious since all three of us were smiling now. 

Polly continued. “Ailena, it’s Michael! My son. Michael, this is Ailena. She’s our maid but we don’t treat her as one. She’s been with us for three years and she’s around your age.”

I walked forward and we shook hands while simultaneously greeting each other. I said. “I’m making eggs and sausage. Would either of you like some?”

Polly looked at Michael expectantly while the latter glanced at her as well. 

He nodded. “Yes, please. I’m starving.”

I nodded and turned back around, but I was stopped by Polly. “Wait, Ali, love. Go on, sit down. I got it.”

“Are you sure?” I leaned closer to her and whispered. “I can take care of this for you and you can talk to ‘em.”

She shook her head. “I want you to sit down with him.” 

I nodded and flashed her a smile. I faced Michael, pulled out a chair for him before taking my own. I let them talk and sat there quietly. Not like I wanted to chime in on the conversation anyhow. My head was pounding and I just wanted to go to sleep.

I wanted silence and serenity more than anything. I pinched the space between my eyes and took a deep breath.

‘Good thoughts only, Aliena. Good thoughts only!’ I tried soothing myself. It works sometimes. 

The plates clattered as they were set down on the table. I opened my eyes and smiled up at Polly. I dug into the scran I made as slowly as I could manage. However, the rubble in my stomach was not going to let me get away with such a slow pace. 

“Aliena, have you had any schooling?” Michael asked.

I picked my head up and covered my mouth as I replied. “I finished secondary school, but obviously— I never went to a uni.” 

He nodded and asked. “What’s your plans, if you don’t mind me asking?”

I shook my head, my gaze fluttering toward Polly for a second. “I don’t. Um, I’m not sure. I wanted to become an author, but I’m not sure if that’s still on the table for me. Right now, I’m content with where I am. You?”

Michael stammered for words. “I’ve taken courses. Excelled in mathematics, but I’m not sure. I’m thinking of getting an accounting job as soon as I can. Maybe even something else in that field. But, yeah.”

I nodded. “Cool.”

Polly came over with the kettle, poured both of us a cup, and asked Michael. “How was it?”

While looking up at her, he replied. “I was starving, so I would have eaten anything. But really it was super.”

Polly and I shared a small chuckled, but she repeated his word. “Super.”

Never hear that ‘round here.

Michael asked Polly. “So, uh, are you a cook?”

“Not a cook. No.” She set down the kettle and got a cup for herself, scrunching her hair as she did so. I knew she was trying to look her best given the circumstances.  

As she took a seat, Michael began talking, “The man who came to the house, he was driving a posh car. He looks rich. What does he do?”

Polly finished pouring her cup as she answered. “He works with horses.”

‘What a blag! Polly, ma’am!’ I thought as I took a sip of tea. My eyes widened and fluttered comically. 

“Really? I love horses. I got a bay mare.”

“No.”

“I ride it all the time.”

Polly waved out her hand as she said. “Then, it’s in the blood.”

I was busy eating my breakfast. I wasn’t going to interrupt their bonding moment any time soon. Even though Michael's eyes kept flickering toward me.

Their eyes locked, and Michael had a smile on his face “I’ve got about a million questions.” He said.

“So do I.” 

“I’ve had different pictures in my head.”

“Well, here I am.” Polly went for a ciggie while Michael stirred his tea a bit more. Polly moved some of her hair away from her face before asking,“It's all right that it's me, isn't it?”

‘Should I? Shouldn't I? Fuck it, I want one.’ I reached over for Polly’s case, and I gave her a look asking for her permission. She nodded at me while she was exhaling. I got one and lit it up.

“I don’t have any choice.” Michael replied. Polly stubbed out her ciggie as Michael continued. “I mean, you are who you are, aren't you? We don't choose. And that's it.”

I took a long pull and exhaled it slowly. 

“Yeah, that’s right. God gave you to me. People took you away.” Polly reached for his hand and grasped onto it. She took a deep breath before placing her other hand onto their grasp. “And it is all right that it's me, isn't it? In a place like this.”

Michael looked around as if he were thinking about it. “I thought it would be worse.”

Polly and I let out a little laugh while Michael just smiled. However, the moment was ruined when Arthur’s booming voice could be heard from outside.

Arthur shouted while bursting through the door with John. “Run for the hills! It's the Digbeth Kid!”  

I covered my mouth as a way to stifle my giggles. 

“Get out of town, kid, or I will shoot your fucking head off!”

“Time’s Up! Pew!”

I was cackling, bad. I doubled over and tried hiding myself with the table. Polly and Michael’s chairs scraped the floor a little as they stood up. 

“You’re dead. Go down. John!”

I wish I could say there was nothing but silence; however, my cackling was filling the room. I held my breath and sat up straight. I moved around in my chair, trying to get comfortable and act right. I looked at John and Arthur and snickered. I muttered under my breath, “I’m fucking dead.” I shook my head as I stifled my laughter while looking down. My body jostled up and down.

As John was putting his gun away, he reached over and tried swatting me. I yelped and tried hitting him back. I cleared my throat as I sat back down. I looked down at my cigarette to see it’s almost finished. 

They finally snickered as Arthur said. “All right then, Polly. Who's this?”

The boys looked at me with a mischievous smile and found one on my own. I reached for Polly’s case and got myself another.

Tom said. “Gentlemen, this is your cousin. Polly's son, Michael.”

The looks on Arthur’s and John’s faces were wiped off and a serious look replaced it. I won’t lie. When Tom spoke, I looked at him. A pain shot through my heart, it confused me. So, I numbed it with a quick drag. 

Michael walked over to Arthur and shook his hand then John’s. “Pleased to meet you.”

“John.”

“I'm Arthur. You've already met me. I used to throw you out of the window, so John could catch you.”

“Yeah. I used to put you in a shoebox and kick you down Watery Lane.”

Everyone was smiling except for the two troublemakers over here admitting their evil deeds. 

Tommy chimed. “I bet you’re glad to be back.”

Michael laughed before saying, “I don't remember any of it. All I remember is the day they took me away.”

I looked over at Polly who looked like she was about to cry from the statement. She walked over to Michael and cupped his face. I averted my eyes.

I knew I was not the only one who looked away as she hugged him. Arthur and John did the same.

When I decided to look back, Tommy began to speak. “Well, you’re here now, son.” Tommy put a hand on Michael’s back. “Welcome to the Shelby family.”

Arthur chimed in. “Later on, we'll show you the ropes.”

While, John added. “Mhmm. Yeah, we'll show you what's what.”

I knew Polly sent Tommy a wary gaze. She didn’t want Michael anywhere near the family business. Poor her.

“Let's leave him be for now, eh? Come on, boys.” As Tom passed by me, he stole my ciggie from my hand. “Ailena.”

“Thomas.” I replied in the same tone as him while arching a brow. 

“Nice suit.” Arthur said to Michael. 

Polly chuckled before looking back at Michael, fixing his bowtie. Michael looks like he’s been starstruck. 

“They seem nice.”

I snickered, looking away immediately after the fact. I looked back at the pair just as Polly began to speak.

“After having a bit more of a talk, how about going with Aliena for a tour of the city? I have a bit of business I need to tidy up and then I’ll be done for the day. What do you both think?”

Michael and I shared a look. I gave a quick smile, nodding. “I’m fine with it.”

“Then, I’m fine with it too.”

“Wonderful,” Polly cheered. “Come now, the both of you.” She took Michael’s arm before walking over to me, and pulled me up to the living room by my arm. 

For a while, it was an A and B conversation where C would pop up from time to time. I had to pretend to be engaged, otherwise, Polly would see my head tipping back and she would drag me into the conversation. 

Eventually, Polly let out a huge sigh and stood up, which made Michael and I follow suit. “Well then. I should head to the office to finish up my business. Ali, show Michael around the city, will you?”

I nodded. “‘Course, Pol. C’mon, Michael.” I walked ahead of him and out the door. Once he closed the door behind him, I dropped my facade and groaned loudly. 

Michael chuckled. “How do you think I did?”

“Someone call a film director and give this man a job.” I giggled. “You did good. I can honestly say I couldn’t lie to your mum for months, but you did it so flawlessly.”

Michael dropped his jaw while scoffing. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

I shrugged my shoulders as I began to walk backwards. “Take it as you want it. C’mon, I’ll show you a couple of spots I love.” 

We talked as I showed him Mrs. Davies’ Bakery as well as a few other food joints. I wasn’t going to tell a blag, I’m not an experienced tour guide. So, I’m winging it.

We stopped in front of Arthur’s flat when I sighed. “Alright, I had about enough of this. Did you say you had some lodgings elsewhere?”

Michael struggled to find his words. “Uh… Ye-yeah! I did, why?”

I rushed forward and took his hands into mine. “That’s great! Let’s go.”

“What? You haven’t even finished showing me the city yet.”

“The city will still be there after a nap. I know you’re as desperate as me for some sleep. Now, c’mon before I get anymore grumpy. And you won’t like me when I’m grumpy.” I began walking forward, pulling him behind me.

Michael scoffed. He repositioned our hands, increased his pace, and began pulling me instead. “You don’t even know where I’m staying.” He grumbled.

I chuckled. “That’s true.” 

We walked to where he was staying. Got a look from the lady at the desk, I knew she knew me. Michael unlocked his door and noticeably swallowed. He clutched the cap in his hands tightly while smoothing his hair down. “Um, so this is it.”

I rolled my eyes, pushed him out of the way, and flopped down on his bed. I let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Finally, a damn bed!” I closed my eyes while I situated myself on the bed. “C’mon, Michael. Join me.” I patted on the space beside me.

“I can’t possibly-!”

I opened my eyes and glared at him. “Why not?”

“It’s… We hardly know each other.” His face was beet red.

I rolled my eyes again. “Relax. I’m practically your sister, you know. Your mum says she sees me as her daughter.”

“Yeah, but you’re not.”

I hmphed. “Fine then. Sleep on the floor. Wait for mo’! We slept near each other out in the field. How is this any different?”

“This is a bedroom. My bedroom. I’m still a man, you know.”

I let out a cackle. “Don’t flatter yourself, Michael. I can defend myself, so stop arguing and lay down beside me. If you don’t want to, I’m not gonna force ya. But, just know you can.”

I rolled over and faced the wall. I scrambled under the blankets and closed my eyes. I tried going to sleep, but I couldn’t with Mr. Modest standing over there, fidgeting. I didn’t feel at ease until he took the space beside me. The bed dipped and then I felt his presence next to me.

I smiled and finally went to sleep. I woke up sometime in the middle of my nap. Let me rephrase that, Michael woke me up in the middle of my nap. Without opening my eyes, I croaked. “What do you want?”

“I need to use a telephone. They don’t have a working one here.”

“Nearest one is at the Garrison. Go bug Arthur or Tom. Piss off.”

Through squinted eyes, I could see Michael slip out the door. I rolled back over and fell back asleep.

I grunted as I was slammed against the wall. I met his fervent kisses with the same passion. They were so sloppy to the point where he was about to ruin this for me. I tugged him away by his hair and presented him my neck. 

He didn’t waste any time kissing, sucking, and nipping. I let out a sigh that was cut off by my smile. I couldn’t deny the pleasure he was giving me. The target tugged my face in his direction, capturing my lips again before I felt his hands under my knees. 

I jumped in his arms. He whisked us into his office and closed the door behind us. We threw ourselves in a kiss once we heard the door slam shut. He reached up and pulled out the pin holding my hair in a bun. Well, it was my wig, but same thing, for now. 

I parted from him and shook out my hair. He tugged me back down before slamming me against another wall. I grunted, but I can’t deny the pleasure I felt from the pain he caused me. I scratched his face and neck which spurred a groan from him. 

I squealed as he ripped open my shirt. ‘Fuck, I’m getting carried away.’ I thought, a lapse of sanity taking over, thank god! But it faded as he began to suck on the top of my breasts. I hugged his head closer to my body which made him chuckle. He whisked me around again and I giggled. 

He held me tight to him as he bent us over, and used his arm to wipe away everything on his coffee table. He laid me down on it which made my head fall back. He didn’t waste any time paying attention to my breasts again. 

I craned my head up and looked at him. ‘Fuck, fuck fuck! This feels so good.’ I let out a sigh, a sigh I desperately tried to keep in. I bit my bottom lip and let my head fall back again. 

The target trailed his kisses down from my stomach to my ear. He whispered. “I’m going to make it so you’d never want another man again.” He chuckled into my ear and the spell was broken. He fucking broke it by opening up his mouth.

I smashed our lips together before I reached into his coat, grabbed the gun, and pulled the trigger multiple times into his side. 

He fell to the side, gasping for air. Deadpan, I took my time getting to my feet. I bent down and watched as he struggled to breathe. I was panting a little, my heart still racing from the adrenaline. 

I smiled when he took his final breath, what a malicious smile it was. I stood up and walked over to the mirror he had on his wall. I fixed up my lipstick and tried to fix any other blemish.

“Fuck!” There was fucking blood on me. I walked over to the fireplace, wiped the blood off my stomach, and then tossed the shirt in it. The shirt didn’t burn instantly, but it was a nice sight. I turned around, picked up my hairpin and walked out the door. I got my suit jacket from off the floor and buttoned it all the way up. 

I didn’t stop for anyone as I walked directly into the car that was waiting for me outside. 

“Successful, Ms. Welsh?” Chris, my now permanent driver, asked.

I looked at him through the rear view mirror, sporting a smile. “Of course.”

He smiled back at me before taking off from the company headquarters we were at. 

Who calls for a whore so early in the morning? And to meet up at their job, no less! Jesus christ! It’s too bad, he was quite the looker. 

Finger traced over my swollen lips.

I won’t deny that I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m so sexually frustrated. I touch myself when I can, but I’m 19-years-old! I’m an even older virgin! 

I rested my cheek on my closed fist. 

God, I can’t believe my infatuation with Tommy is so bad that I imagined him while I was doing that. The only reason I could prevent myself from going any further was ‘cause that idiot broke my fantasy. He opened his mouth and I realized he wasn’t Tommy.

I rubbed my forehead and huffed. ‘Now, I’m even more frustrated.’ I reached down on the car floor and pulled the suitcase to my side. “Keep your eyes on the road, Chris.” I ordered before I began unbuttoning my suit jacket.

“As always, Ms. Welsh.”

I smiled before shrugging off my jacket. I tugged my regular work dress over my head and smoothed out any wrinkles. I reached down and tugged my heels off to replace them with some shorter heels. Then, I took off my wig. I placed all my items into the case, and threw it back down. 

“You know what to do with it right.”

“Of course, Miss. I’ll incinerate it right after I drop you off.”

“What happens if you try to betray us and try to turn this in as evidence?”

“That won’t happen, Ms. Welsh. I promise you.”

“Answer the question, Chris. It’s procedure.”

He cleared his throat. “Mr. Johnson will kill me and my entire family.”

“Right.” I hated doing this part. Chris really was a diligent worker, but I get why I have to do it. Some dogs like to bite the hand that feeds them. 

We arrived a few blocks from the main house. I climbed out of the car and walked over to the driver’s side. I smiled at Chris, thanking him for the ride. He tipped his hat before taking off. I jogged over to the shop side of the house, entering it. Men shouting over each other made me sigh. 

I’m just glad I didn’t have to deal with it today. 

I walked into the kitchen and passed by the living room where Polly and Michael were sitting. I plastered an innocent smile on my face as I began to spew bullshit out of my mouth. “Sorry, I’m late. It took a little longer than I thought.”

Polly shook her head. “It’s all right, love. How did he take it?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Turns out he was cheating on me, just like I suspected.”

Polly tsked before rushing from her seat to hug me. She whispered in my ear, “I’m so sorry, love. Maybe next time.”

I hummed and nodded. We parted and gave each other a grin. Polly looked over at Michael and said. “Come now. I want to show you my house.” 

Michael got up from his spot on the couch and walked over to us. I went ahead of them both, opened the door, and then waited for them to exit the house. Then, the three of us walked over to the garage.

“Do you think I could give it a go?” Michael asked as we stood in front of Polly’s car.

I looked over at her to which she met my gaze. She opened her mouth letting out a drawn out, “Uh...”

Michael began pleading his case. “I have experience, promise.”

Polly’s mouth smacked before she spoke. “Oh, all right then. Here you are. Promise to be careful.”

“Of course.” 

We all walked to our respective seats, but as Michael passed me— I obnoxiously signed the cross. 

“Oh, shut it!” He muttered as he bumped my shoulder.

“Knock it off, you two.”

I cackled all the way till I sat in the back. The ride was hectic to say the bloody least. The boy was gassing it and breaking hard. I’m just thankful we made it to Sutton without an accident or whiplash.

He pulled up to the house with a screeching halt. Polly’s hand was clutching the outside of the car door for dear life as was mine. 

“That was great, well done.”

I scoffed. “Don’t lie to him, Pol. We were holding on for dear life.”

She sighed. “Out we get then.”

I laughed as I climbed out. Polly swatted me gently on the stomach with the back of her hand. 

She whispered. “Don’t tease him so much.”

With a shit-eating smile on my face, I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I was only joking anyway.”

Polly flashed me a smile of her own before taking my arm and walking toward the house. Once we were on the pavement, she let go of my arm to lean into Michael and talk to him using her ciggie. 

She used her ciggie to point toward the house in front of us. “This house is mine. I’ve taken on a different maid. Aliena isn’t a maid here. She’s my guest, so make sure to, you know, treat her as you’ve been. Anyhow, I told her to make up the big room for you.”

Michael crossed his arms as Polly flicked her ciggie away on the street. “Come on, let’s have a look.” She said while walking ahead of us.

I bumped purposely into Michael and jogged to meet up with Pol. I looked behind me and he was chasing after me. I screamed a little and ran faster. 

“Oh, enough the both of you! Acting like children!” Polly tried sounding scoldin’ but she was laughing through her words. 

Michael and I ran around the front yard a little before I let him catch me in his arms. He carried to the front door before setting me down. 

“Go on.” I said while tucking away pieces of hair that had blocked my view. “Unlike you, I’ve already seen the place.”

Michael nodded. “Okay, then.” 

I was the last one to walk in, so I closed the door behind me. I could see Michael’s figure disappearing in the living room, so I followed suit. 

I could hear Polly say, “I thought we could spend the week here.” Polly walked to the other side of the coffee table while Michael and I took a seat on the couch. “You know, get to know each other again.”

It got quiet between the three of us, which Polly disrupted. “I've got ham. Do you like ham?”

While nodding, Michael said. “I like ham, yes.”

“I do too.” I chimed in, trying to hide a smile. I felt bad like I was interrupting a moment, but it would be weirder for me not to talk from time to time. 

Polly took a side step, placing her gloves into the bowl on the coffee table. “I’ve got a maid.” Her tone was nervous. Instantly, made me feel for her.

“Yes, you said.”

I tsked and smacked Michael’s arm. He gave me a look and I gave him one back. 

“She’s upstairs. She can give us some tea. Look, I ring this bell. Watch.” Polly took the bell that was resting on the coffee table and rang it.

Under my breath, I grumbled. “I’m bloody well glad I never had a bell to be beckoned with.” Though, I did notice that Polly looked really happy. 

Footsteps echoed behind us and I craned my head to face her. She looked like a young adult. Older than me, at least. Good.

“Yes, madam.” She said.

We all just sort of waited for one of us to say something, or perhaps I was missing a cue. 

Michael looked to the side a little as he said. “I think we'd like some tea.” 

I watched as the maid walked out of our sight. I raised an eyebrow at the sight. I was never like that.

“You get used to it.” Michael added.

I looked back at him, well more like I looked down at him since I was sitting on the couch on my knees. I muttered. “Cheeky bastard.” And I smacked his arm. This caused another fight to break out.

“Will the both of you fucking stop it all ready!”

I don’t know why Michael and I acted so well together. It was like I gained an annoying little brother. Honestly! Talking to him is fun, though, I do get bored from time to time. His list of subjects to talk about is as limited as mine. Makes it quite difficult. 

Oh and play fighting! That’s all me. I take responsibility. I provoked him the first time we ever play fought and it became a trend. It’s improper for the time, I understand, but nevertheless. I’m not from these times, and he’s one of the only males around my age. I’m used to roughhousing with John and Arthur. I think it happened only once with Tommy. I think.

I was walking back to the main house after dropping off Tommy’s laundry at his flat. I had to make dinner for Finn. Polly and Michael were back at the house in Sutton. Arthur elected himself my appointed driver to take me to and from the house. As Polly stated before, she doesn't want me sleeping at the main house by myself. Finn gets to stay with John or Arthur. I mean, Tommy is a choice too— but, is he really?

I was chuckling to myself when I bumped into someone. I gasped and instantly began apologizing. “I’m so sorry! I was lost in thought and I should’ve been-!”

“Ali! Ali, it’s all right. It’s just me.”

I finally looked the man in the eye and sighed in relief when it was just Tom. 

Ah-! Just Tom. Tom, who I have not spoken to privately since The Garrison’s reopening. The Tom, who I heard having a threesome. Tom. Yeah, okay.

“Ugh, in that case, watch where you’re going.” I shook my head, giggling into my hand. Tom let out a little snicker.

“Right, well. I wanted to see if you’d notice that I was walking toward you. You didn’t.”

I spluttered into my hand, embarrassed. “Alright, alright. Did you need something, Tommy?” ‘Yes, yes… Keep this nice and calm, Aliena. You know nothing and yet everything. God, let me just ascend, right now!’ I took a calming breath, which was actually very loud.

Tom averted his gaze, his eyes wide, and his jaw dropped before pursing his lips. “Polly told me yesterday that you went to break up with one of your gentlemen fellows.”

I furrowed my eyebrows and waved my hands in a “stop” gesture. “Wait, wait, wait! Did you refer-? Did you just say “gentlemen fellows?” ” I blinked dramatically as I leaned forward. I snickered while turning my head away.

“All right, calm down, Aliena.”

I turned my head back and nodded. I held my breath and then let out a sharp exhale. I met his gaze and bit my cheek to prevent my anxious laughter. 

‘I don’t remember the name I gave this boyfriend. Please don’t make me say a name!’

Tommy stared at my face, almost inquisitively. I could see his hand inch closer to my face through the corner of my eye. 

Tommy took a step closer to me, cleared his throat, and asked. “Can I check Ali?”

I exhaled quickly through my nose before nodding. 

With his thumb and index finger, he held onto my chin and checked my face for any new bruises. He rubbed away what little foundation I had covering my almost healed bruise and then stared at it for awhile. 

His touch was comforting even if it was just as little as this. His plump lips were so close to mine yet far away given our height difference. He still had a nick on his cheek, not fully healed. It may never and leave a scar behind. I can’t remember fully if it really did leave a scar. God, this man. He makes me want to spew poetry. I swear to all that’s Holy! 

As he dropped his hand from my face, he said. “Well, then. It would seem someone’s eyes were spared today.”

“Ha!” I threw my head back. “What’re you talkin’ about? Are you trying to tell me that you would have hunted this guy down and blinded him all for my sake?” I smiled and shook my head.

Quickly, Tommy held my face and brought my gaze up. “Ali, when have I never not fought for your… honor.”

I blinked as I thought about it for a moment. I held onto Tommy's wrists and chuckled with a smile. “Oh, that’s right!” I let out another set of breathy chuckles.

“We care for you, Ali. I care about you.” Tommy flashed me a grin. Keyword, flashed.

I let go of his wrists and he let go of my face. I nodded, feeling heat overwhelm my face and neck. 

Tommy smacked his mouth before saying, “There’s another thing I wanted to ask you about,.”

I hummed.

“The night of the party, you never came home. Where were you?”

I furrowed my eyebrows. “How would you know if I was or wasn’t home?”

Tommy was deadpan, no room for laughter. I so badly wanted to say something, but I held my tongue. “I slept in my room that night.” He admitted.

I hummed again this time with more judgement. 

‘Crap, crap, crap! Who do I say I was with? I could say I was with John, but then again he’s a bit fucking slow! He or Esme will probably ruin it themselves. And if Finn crashed with him that night, the little bugger will rat me out! Same thing if I say Arthur. He’ll question it before agreeing to it! Or just flat out say no! I can’t even say Polly! Everyone knows she was fucking with that young guy!’

I huffed, hung my head, before looking back up at ‘em. “Right, well. I didn’t spend the night at anyone’s house. I walked all the way to my little space and spent the night swinging.”

“By yourself?”

I nodded. “By myself.”

Tom sighed. “Ali, you know it’s dangerous to be out alone at night. Especially some ways out of the city.”

I tsked, “I know, I know! Things are sensitive right now with the gang entering the London war. Yada, yada, yada! I was drunk, won’t do it again. Promise.” I looked up at him and smiled toothily. I fluttered my eyelashes and asked, cutesy. “Forgive me?”

Tom snickered while shaking his head, his hands in his pockets. “Whatever as long as you know not to do it again.”

I sighed while rocking on the heels of my feet. “Well, anyway. Where you headin’, Tommy?”

Tommy replied. “Charlie’s Yard. Some shipments came in and others need to be exported. Want to pay me Uncle a visit and see them load them. What about you?”

“Oh! I have to head back to the house and make dinner for Finn. Whenever the lad straggles back in. He’s honestly like a stray cat, that one. After that, I’m headed over to Cassie’s. Polly gave me an early weekend.”

Tommy took out a ciggie and held it between his lips as he said. “Ah, Polly! Feeling quite generous right now, isn’t she.”

I replied back with the same tone while cocking my head. “Isn’t she?”

We shared a chuckle.

“Well, then, Tommy. Good luck with your Uncle.”

“Aye. Good luck with dinner.”

We walked our separate ways. That awkwardness that I had when I first began speaking to him vanished into thin air.

I sighed contentedly as I threw myself back onto Cassie’s bed. “Ah, I missed this place.” I crawled over to Cassie, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. “I missed you the most, though.” I rubbed my cheek against her shoulder and huffed. 

Cassie giggled at my antics, a hand reaching behind herself to pet my head. “How have you been?” She asked.

I sighed, resting my cheek on her shoulder. “Hmm. My life has certainly been eventful these past few days or rather weeks.” I took a deep breath before sliding off her shoulder and laid down next to her.

“Polly, my female boss, admitted to me that she thought of me like a daughter. I didn’t know how to feel about it really. I liked it at the time, but now I don’t really care. I just feel like her feelings are really flexible, you know? I don’t know.” I shrugged my shoulders as I let the piece of hair I was holding fall back down. 

“Then, I got into this little argument with Tommy. Hold on, hold on! It wasn’t a serious argument, but there was one, nonetheless. He apologized at this party he threw for the pub’s reopening.” I sprang up from where I laid to my knees. I took her hands and put them onto my lap. “Oh my god! I forgot to tell you. I got all dolled up for the party right. I don’t know what I was expecting to happen, but I wanted Tommy to look at me.”

I inched a bit closer to Cassie, who fixed herself to look at me more clearly. “Well, after he apologized he called me beautiful. So, I had my intended effect for a while. However, I couldn’t get him alone after that since like I was talking to other people. Then, he had a cob on from still being in a fight with Polly, and he sort of took it out on me. He apologized right away and agreed to dance with me. Right! Forgot to tell you, I asked him to dance but he said no and that I should sit down ‘cause I was drunk. I was a little drunk, but the way he said it— I didn’t appreciate it.”

I squinted my eyes and gestured “a little” with my hands. “Anyway, when we were dancing— I noticed his attention was not fully on me, so I wanted a break. I freshened up, right, and when I came back, he was gone. When I went home, he was at the house instead of his fucking flat— fucking two girls in his room!” I nodded my head as Cassie gasped, covering her mouth. 

“Aliena, no way!” She exclaimed while smacking my thigh.

I nodded, tears slightly stinging my eyes. “I dressed up for him, kind of made a move. And he still didn’t choose me.” I gnawed on my lip while shrugging. My gaze was on the floor. 

Cassie sighed and grabbed my shoulders, squeezing them comfortingly. 

I sighed, dabbing away at my eyes. “It’s like I’m scared, Cass. I’ve been smitten with Tommy for so long, right? Practically obsessed with the man at this point.” I scoffed while rolling my eyes. “I can’t even explain why I’m so taken with him. It’s just like my soul and my heart reach out for him.” I shook my head as my tongue prodded the inside of my cheek.

“I just feel that once I confess to Tom, right, and get rejected… I’m going to throw myself into the world. But in a bad, unhealthy way. It’s hard because we are both not getting any younger and I’m tired of pinning over him, yet I don’t want to confess either.” I hugged Cassie and hid my face in the crook of her neck. “Oh, Cassie. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Cassie hummed, stroking my hair away from my chest and toward my back. She rocked us from side-to-side ‘n we stayed like that. 

“Aliena, how did you get that bruise on your chin?” Cassie asked me.

My eyes flew open and they widened in shock. I focused on not tensing my body or changing the pitch of my voice. “The bruise on my chin. Oh, I got it from Arthur. He hit me by accident. He was ‘aving an episode.”

Cassie pulled away from me, violently. Her grip on my shoulders hurt. “Aliena, stop lying to me.”

I scoffed with a smile. I shook my head. “I’m not lying to you-...”

Cassie rose to her feet and shouted. “Stop fucking lying to me! I saw you, okay! I saw you with my dad! Are you-! What are you doing with my dad, Aliena?”

I held Cassie’s gaze for a while before I looked down. I tried racking my brain for a lie, but one wasn’t coming up fast enough. How did I know one didn’t conjure up fast enough? Well, it’s because I was struck across the face.

Cassie slapped me across the face as she sobbed. “Don’t try lying to me, Ali, please. I know you’re trying to think of some kind of story to tell me.” She hissed, “I. Know. You.”

I sighed and looked away. “Cassie, I-!” I swallowed harshly before continuing. “It’s not like I-! Fine, I didn’t want you to know because I don’t want to fucking parade this kind of information around. And it’s not like I could bring it up in easy conversation, okay? I realize I should have told you to avoid a misunderstanding, but again— it’s not fucking dinner or tea time talk.”

I took a breath before I told her everything. “On the morning after I killed the man who raped you, I took a job from your father. It was a contract killing. He paid me £1,500 to kill some lawyer, and I killed him. That’s what I’ve been doing, okay? I’m a contract killer, an assassin, a murderer. Cassie!” I rose to my feet and gripped her forearms. I jerked her around as I yelled. “Huh! Well, say something, Cassie! Say something!”

Inside I was nervous out of my mind, but outside I was cold. How was I supposed to feel? Would I lose my best friend? I know we share similar views, but we’re not the same person. We’re both warped, but we only talked about these violent events in theory alone. Now, I was actually committing the things we’ve talked about.

Cassie sniffled before saying, “HOW-! How-?”

“How what, Cassie? Spit it out!”

“How can you do something like that! How can-? Why are you doing this, Aliena? Is it because of me?” Cassie was a mess. She was practically wailing at this point. 

I shook my head. My emotions were getting the better of me as I felt my throat constrict and my eyes sting yet again. “Cassie… No. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. I’ve always had it in me. That night, it wasn't the first time I had killed someone. I already knew I was capable of it, and-!” I took a shuddering breath as I averted my gaze to the ceiling. “When your dad gave me the chance to make that kind of money he was offering, I had to take it.”

I dropped my gaze back at Cassie and cradled her face. “I’m not with you for your money, Cassie. It’s a job. A job I can do well. Please understand, I would never hurt you. Please. Please. Please.”

 I kept begging her and hid my face in her neck. Cassie took loud inhale from her mouth, it stammered as she did so. My shoulders shook as I cried into her neck. When I felt Cassie’s hand stroke my hair and the other rub my back, I let my sobs become more vocal.

Cassie and I fell to our knees and we hugged each other. Comforted each other.

I wailed into her neck. “I don't know! I don't know why!” 

And I truly didn’t. There’s no real logic as to why I’m assassinating people, not in this situation. I can’t tell her that I’m preparing for a life on my own. I can’t tell her that the money I get from these completed jobs will allow me to live on my own in England or perhaps in America. So, I stuck giving her these stupid nonsensical half-truths. 

“You hate me now, don’t you?” I whispered, a hiccup messing up my words.

Cassie replied no with a sigh. “No, of course not, Ali. What hurt the most was that you didn’t tell me sooner. I almost thought that you were prostituting yourself or you were with my dad...intimately.”

I laughed at that. “Oh, Cassie. While your dad is certainly still attractive, I could never do that to you besides...”

“I’m/You’re totally in love with Tommy/Thomas Shelby.”

We belted out with laughter, our foreheads resting together. 

Cassie leaned back and wiped away the snot that was leaking from her nose. I did the same. She said softly. “Ali, how could you ever think I wouldn’t understand? We’ve murdered a man together, remember? You fucking idiot.”

I chuckled while shrugging my shoulders. “I just didn’t want to ruin anything.”

“You’re a bloody idiot, Aliena.”

I smiled. “At least, I’m rarely an idiot.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, that’s best for everyone.”

Silence fell between us before she asked. “How does it feel? Killing someone for money.”

I hummed while looking away and hugged my right foot closer to my body. “Well, it depends on the person and the method. But I can tell you one thing. When I see their blood, feel it, it’s like a high I can’t describe. My reactions just become so raw and get the better of me sometimes. Like I just want to smile and laugh hysterically, but I got to run so... I can’t allow myself to do it for too long either. Other times, I feel nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Do you regret it? Like are you haunted by it?”

I shook my head while pursing my lips. “No. Not one bit. It’s a little frightening, to be honest. How I’m so at peace with myself, you know? I don’t know how many people I’ve killed, but I can fall asleep easy at night. Their screams and pleas don’t haunt me.”

Cassie nodded. “You are so badass.”

We laughed again and I pulled her into a hug. “I love you, Cassie.”

“I love you too, Ali.”

“I’d do anything for you.”

“Me too.”

We parted from our hug a little and shared a kiss. I stroked her cheek with my thumb and stared into her blue eyes.

I whispered. “I think you’re one of my soulmates, Cassie.” My mouth smacked as I said through gritted teeth. “Please, don’t ever leave me or betray me or break my heart.”

Cassie nodded. “Never. I ask you the same.”

I smiled. “Never.” 

Cassie joined me in my smile and we hid each other’s faces in our necks. 

Thank you, God. Thank you, higher power, for blessing me with my soulmate.

I groaned in discomfort as there was this continuous ringing annoying me. Through squinted eyes, I reached for the phone. 

“Suite 226, Ritz Hotel.”

“It’s Tommy. I’m calling a family meeting, get here quickly.”

I tried to find words, but ultimately I said. “Right, yeah. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Good.”

Then, he hung up. I put the phone back on the receiver and flopped back down with a sigh. I looked to my left where Cassie laid asleep on my arm. 

 “Who was it?” She grumbled.

I was rubbing the sleep out of my eyes as I replied. “Tommy. It was Tommy.”

“What’d he want?”

“He’s calling a family meeting. Wants me to be there.” I looked down at her and smiled, sadly. I began to get up, but Cassie wrapped her arms around my stomach preventing me from going any further.

She groaned, exaggeratedly. “Nooo! You’re mine for the weekend. You promised.”

I chuckled as I twisted my body to stroke the top of her head. “Cassie, they probably won’t even need me for that long. I’ll come back.”

“You can’t promise me that.”

I huffed as I roughly rubbed my forehead. “You’re right. I can’t.” There was a silence between us. 

Cassie let go, using her hands to support herself. “Fine, whatever. You better come back.”

I smiled as I rose to my feet. “I will! Okay, I’ll see you later. Go on back to sleep.” I patted the pillow I was laying on before walking over to the sofa that had my clothes. I was wearing nothing but a tank top and panties. 

I looked back at her just in time to see as she pshed me while moving some of her hair away from her face. “Do you even know what time it is? No, I’ma get ready for the day. Same as you.”

I heard her throw off the duvet and stomp away to, perhaps, her drawers. I picked up my bag and tried some appropriate clothing. I wasn’t intending to see them at all till I came back, so I didn’t pack any “modest” clothes. 

Unfortunately, I had to settle with yesterday’s clothes which was, unfortunately, a short, purple floral dress. A very short and modern dress.

As I was tugging on my white, knee-high socks, I asked. “Cassie, could you ring Simmons for me, please?”

“Yeah, alright.”

I rolled my eyes. I really didn’t want her ‘ave a cob on for the rest of the day. 

Cassie tapped my shoulder as I was putting on my shoes. “He’s downstairs. Just hop in the car when you’re ready.”

I nodded. “Thanks.” I sat up straight and patted her arm as she was knelt over the sofa. I stood on my knees and gave her a toothy smile. “Forgive me?”

She hummed. “It’s not your fault, so there’s nothing to forgive. But! If you don’t come back, then you’ll have to beg for forgiveness.”

I nodded, tapping her arm a few times before I kissed her on the cheek, and made my way to the door. I put on my coat, and flicked out my hair. “See you later then, Cass!”

“Bye!”

I made my way down and into the car. Simmons already knew where I was headed, so I didn’t have to say anything but a greeting. 

I can’t remember the exact reason for this family meeting. Only that I have happiness associated with the memory since I have the urge to laugh, all of a sudden. 

I ran a hand through my hair and tried to relax.

I can’t describe how liberating it was to finally tell Cassie. I won’t tell a blag. I was never planning on telling her. I just wasn’t. There was no maliciousness behind it nor guilt from me. I just didn’t see a need for her to know. 

But now that she knew and understood, I can rest easy. Well, easier. 

“We’re here, Ms. Welsh.”

I smiled at Simmons through the rear view mirror and thanked him as I climbed out of the car.

“Do I wait for you, Miss?”

I stammered for an answer. “Uh, um. N-No. I’ll have someone else drive me. Thank you, Simmons.”

He tipped his hat at me and then started up the car. I twirled around, walked toward the door, unlocked, and walked in. I closed the door behind me, took off my coat, hung it up, and began making my way into the shop. 

I barely crossed the threshold when I was taken into someone's arms and spun around. I giggled hysterically, my arms wrapping around John’s neck. 

“Here’s the little songbird! We were just talking about ya, Ali.” John shouted in my face.

My jaw dropped as I let out breathy laughs. “Oh, really? Alright, you had your fun. Now, put me down, ya big oaf!” I smacked his shoulder.

“If you want something, you gotta ask nicely. C’mon, Ali. Even my kids know that.”

Tom cleared his throat which caught both of our attention. He scratched his cheek with his thumb before saying, “John, put her down.”

John made a face. A face that asked why, and I smiled smugly at him for it. 

“You heard the man. Put me down.”

John scoffed. “I don’t ‘ave to listen to him.”

I “ooohed” at the statement. But my smugness was short-lived as John spun me ‘round again. I held onto the man tighter, but my legs were swinging in the air. I hadn’t wrapped my legs around him in fear of showing anything. That’s how short this dress was.

“John!” Tommy yelled. “Stop spinning her ‘round and put ‘er down!” He made a face, one I couldn’t decipher. And neither could John, apparently.

Arthur’s mouth smacked before he pointed at us with his hand. “John, you’re showing her knickers for fuck’s sake!”

John let me go like I burned him ‘n I was glad for it. I tsked, pulled my dress down, and made sure to smack him across the chest a few good times. John snickered as always.

I hissed while still smacking him. “You fucking divvy!”

John shouted. “All right! All right, Ali! I’m sorry.” He caught my wrists and apologized one more time.

He had such a smile on his face that I couldn’t help but mimic it. I pushed his face away from mine as I muttered. “Oh, do one, will you?” We both snickered before finding ourselves a spot to stand. I was leaning against the wall next to John, my legs a little ways out in front of me. My back was arching and I was paying attention to my nails.

Tom cleared his throat again before walking up to me. He whispered. “Ali, how about you head upstairs and change, eh?”

I snickered at him. Looking at him as if that were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever said. I whispered. “I’m alright.”

His jaw clenched. He nodded his head as he looked away. “Alright.” 

I tried thinking of reasons for him telling me that. I wasn’t going to get myself in another situation like the one that just happened. So, what was the big deal? Perhaps, it’s because this dress has a v-neckline as well.

Tom walked away and I never took my eyes off him. I didn’t look away as he looked back at me. It wasn’t a long shared glance since he was the one to break it first.

I sniffled before I bumped my shoulder into John. “Oi, you got a ciggie?”

He shook his head. “Nah, but hold on. Arthur, give one over, yeah?”

Arthur took out his carton, lit one up, and then passed it to John. John passed it to me and I nodded to Arthur.

“Anything for you, songbird.” Arthur chimed.

I chuckled before blowing out the smoke. We had to wait a little more till Polly’s car could be heard pulling up from outside. As Tom told John to get Polly and Michael, I walked over to the table to stub out my ciggie. 

I was walking back over to the wall I was leaning against, when I heard the door open behind me. 

From behind me, Polly said. “This had better be good to interrupt my holiday.”

I took my place as Polly quickly stood in front of the little table that was in front of Tommy. 

“Where’s the boy?” Arthur asked.

As she was setting down her things, she answered. “In the back room. I only brought him because afterwards we're going to the museum.”

John chimed in saying, “He wanted to come in and say hello—”

“Shut up, John. There is nothing of interest to Michael in this room.” 

I knew I wasn’t the only one who was shocked by her statement. My eyes blew wide and I fought off a tight-lipped smile. 

‘Fuck, her eyes settled on me!’

Polly scoffed. “Ali, what in heaven’s name are you wearing?”

“I-!”

She blinked dramatically ‘n jerked her head back as she did so. Polly held up both of her hands before taking a deep breath and faced Tom. “Oh, Tommy, get on with it.”

My jaw dropped a little and I peered up at John, who gave me a similar look of astonishment.

We both turned to Tommy just as he clasped his hands together again. “Last night, one of our men had his throat cut in Winson Green. This morning, I had a telegram saying it was Sabini who ordered it.”

“And it says here that Thomas Shelby's next.” Arthur said as he ripped up the telegram.

Tommy continued. “If our men think we can't look after them in prison, they'll not work for us. Sabini knows that. So we need to get the Green sorted out. Scudboat, you and one of the boys break a couple of windows, get yourselves arrested. I'll have our coppers get you into the Green and you can find the bastards who did it.”

Scudboat asked. “Instead of breaking a window, can we pinch a car?”

Everybody in the room began snickering, except for Polly, Arthur, and Tommy. 

Scudboat continued. “What? Everybody else is getting a bloody car.” It made everyone snicker even harder. “I'm still on a donkey.”

Tommy took back control as he said. “All right, just get yourselves fucking arrested, it doesn't matter how. And before you all laugh, a boy is dead.”

Yes, that’s very sad, but that was too fucking funny. 

I turned away and hid myself in the wall, my hands covering my face. I stumbled as John pulled me into a hug. I couldn’t stop bloody laughing!

“He was just a kid. We'll start a fund for his family, Pol.”

“Agreed. So is that it? Can I go now?”

I turned back around and quietly thanked John for helping me. 

“Well, as company treasurer, I need your permission to spend 1,000 guineas.”

“On what?” 

“On a horse.”

“A thousand guineas on a horse?”

Tommy nodded. “That’s right.”

Polly took a moment, taking a couple of steps back with bewilderment on her face. “When was this decided?”

“You've been busy with Michael.” 

“Oh, my God. So, in the absence of common sense, you boys have had an idea.”

“Polly, there's a thoroughbred, quarter-Arab filly up for auction at the Doncaster Bloodstock.”

“What do we want with a 1,000-guinea horse?” 

“When we make our move on Sabini's racing pitches, any men we get into the betting enclosure will be lifted by Sabini's police. A good racehorse is a passport to the owner's enclosure.”

I knew Arthur was about to chime in and soon after that it would be Loose Lips McGee over here. I began rubbing my lips together harshly as a way to hide my smile.

Arthur said. “We'll be in there with all the toffs. Coppers won't know where to look.”

“Hmm.” John began. “Yeah, the Epsom Derby, Pol. We'll be drinking with the bloody king.”

Polly exclaimed “The Derby?”

Tommy and Arthur both looked at him mean. I snickered and whipped my head away. I used my hair as a shield.

“Did he say the Derby?”

I cleared my throat, faced them again, and held one of my wrists in front of me tightly. I was still rubbing my lips together. A sharp pain erupted on my chest and I groaned softly. I snarled at John and struck him back while hissing, “Watch it! You hit my boob.”

He resorted to snickering.

Tommy sighed, almost defeatedly. “That’s right.” He cleared his throat. “For the last 10 years, Sabini's made it his race. If we're going to take him down, might as well make it there, as a symbol.”

Polly asked. “Did you come up with this idea in a pub by any chance?”

“Pol, good racehorse is an investment, like property. We need to diversify the portfolio.”

‘That’s a load of bullshit!’ I smacked my hand over my mouth and rocked on my heels. 

“So when is this sale?” 

“Tomorrow.” 

Arthur said. “Tommy's had a death threat, so we'll have to go with him for protection.”

Rather irritated, Polly said. “So, you're going to close up the shop, go out on a piss-up and blow 1,000 guineas on a horse that's not even whole Arab.”

Curly’s laughter caught everyone’s attention. “Quarter-Arab is better! Quarter-Arab, it means—”

“Curly, shut up.”

That’s when Michael came ‘round from behind John ‘n stood beside him.

Polly was quick to yell at John. “I thought I told you to lock that door.”

Michael said. “He did. I used the key on the nail. Look, I've been listening. I want to go with them.”

Polly flailed her hands up as she yelled. “You see?” She was looking right at Tommy. Crossed her arms when she was done.

Michael tried pleadin’ his case. “I love horses. I could even help.”

“Over my dead body!” 

“It'll be all right, Mum.”

I couldn’t help but notice how much Polly softened as Michael called her mum.

“I've been to loads of horse auctions before with my uncle. They're very respectable. People bring their butlers.”

With a glass raised near his mouth, Arthur added. “Yeah, and their posh wives!”

“And their mistresses.” John said as he elbowed his cousin, playfully.

Arthur said while takin’ a drink. “Let him come, Polly. We'll go there, buy an 'orse, come back.”

John tried helping his cousin as he said. “I'll drop him back at the house in Sutton before it gets dark.”

Polly began shaking her head, tears barely forming in her eyes. “No. Fucking no.”

I pulled back my lips making an “Eee” kind of face before pursing them and looking away with my eyes closed. I knew all three of them were disappointed like little kids. Like little kids being told they can’t have a sleepover.

I could hear as Michael walked away then papers ruffled, and finally, the slam of the door.

Polly looked at Tommy, who was nodding.

He smacked his mouth before saying, “All right, that's it. Back to work. Come on!”

I headed out, posthaste. I caught up with Arthur and clapped my hands on his shoulders.

“Arthur!” I shouted. “Give me a ride to Cassie’s, will ya?”

“Cassie? Your mate’s?”

I nodded while humming.

“All right, hop in the car.”

After Arthur dropped me off at Cassie’s, we soon got a call from Angie. Said she wanted us to be at some event next morning. It was really fancy and I would have to dress nice. There was to be a dress code as well. All white. So, the next morning, Simmons dropped me off at the house in Sutton. As Michael was getting ready to go to the auction— I got ready for the event.

I wore a real modern dress. I got it made by the same person who Tina had make my birthday dress. It was a white, spaghetti strap, fit-and-flare dress. I had a white, fur-lined coat to go with it. 

I barely styled my hair, just swept it to one side, really. My make-up was done in lighter shades and I added on jewelry. Had on my heart-shaped locket necklace and wore my pearl earrings. 

When I was done slipping on my white heels, I trotted downstairs. I peered into the living room to see Michael showing off his new suit to Polly. I chuckled breathily at the sight before stepping outside.

I waited on the steps for Cassie to come ‘n pick me up. I rummaged through my purse for my lighter and my cigarette case. I put one between my lips and lit it up. I took a long pull and then slowly exhaled. My coat fell from my shoulders and into the crooks of my arms, but I didn’t care to hike it back up.

When I saw that ugly truck pull up, I smiled. I knew it was them ‘cause of the episode. John parked then hopped out of the car. I met him halfway as I ran into his arms.

I squealed as he twirled me around in the air. 

“What’s up with your clothes nowadays, Ali? Looking like a rich girl.”

I cackled, mischievously with my head thrown back.

I was put down for a second before I was whisked up in the air again. 

Arthur boomed. “Isn’t she a sight Tommy?” He set me down then hugged me from behind.

I couldn’t stop laughing. “Oh, let me go! Don’t mess up my hair!” I broke free from Arthur’s hug and pushed him away from good measure. With my free hand, I patted down my hair.

“Eh, where you going lookin’ like that, Aliena?” John asked.

I sighed. “One of my friends invited me to a party-event-thingy! It has a dress code. All white. And it’s posh people only, hence, the extravagance!”

I looked at Tom from the corner of my eye. I couldn’t read his face.

He nodded before asking, “ And who paid for the dress, Ali?”

I furrowed my eyebrows, confused. I took a drag before I said. “I did.”

He clicked his tongue and said “oh,” almost mockingly. 

I walked closer to him and shoved him, playfully. “I’m not telling you a blag. I bought it myself. I had it custom made. Tina referred me to her dressmaker.”

He hummed and nodded.

I prodded my cheek with my tongue. I gave him a shit-eating grin as I said. “You know, the event is for horses. There's going to be a game of polo or something.” 

“Lucky you.”

I scoffed. I didn’t manage to make him smile. Yet. I tiptoed, gaining some leverage by using his shoulder as I whispered into his ear. “You know, Polly’s inside making sandwiches for youse.”

“What?”

I let go, covering my mouth as I nodded. “She’s making sandwiches and put tea in a canteen.”

Tommy ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip before smiling while shaking his head.

When there was screeching down the road, our heads whipped around to see who it was. Angie pulled up, roughly.

“Oi, Aliena! Get your arse in this car! I’m about to kill Cassie.” Angie screamed while leaning out the window.

Cassie peaked out her head shouting, “Ali, she’s being mean to me.”

I squeezed my eyes shut looking away from them. I tsked, opening my eyes, and flicking my ciggie away. “Shut up, will youse? You’re fucking embarrassing me!” I shouted at them.

Arthur passed us, saying, “This kid. Fuck it! I’m honking the ‘orn.”

I giggled at the man. I sighed looking back at Tommy. I ran a hand over his arm before I said. “Good luck with your horse, Tommy, and be careful.”

“Yeah, I will. Have a good time.”

While walking backward toward Angie’s car, I replied. “Oh, I will!” I turned around and walked correctly. Just as I hopped inside the car, Arthur began his honking. I giggled again.

The event was fucking boss, la. I never thought I would have so much fun at a posh party. The only reason it was fun was ‘cause my friends made it so. Angie and Horace had so much sexual tension, but Angie-! She was playing the game. Good for her.

I mean the dude has liked her since childhood, but men! “Men go for whoever their dicks point at,” as Polly said. Cassie ended up meeting a man. Oh, he was so handsome!

If I wasn’t so in love with Tommy, I would have wanted to pay this lad some attention. Name was Douglas Clayborne. Anyway, she ended leaving me alone for ‘em. Not that I minded. I wasn’t as anxious as I used to be when I was younger. 

Psh! I was, I would have prevented her from leaving with him. I would have asked to join them, at the very least. But that phobia’s been squashed. I’ve killed more than twenty people in my life. There’s no room to still be anxious about the world. 

I’m the danger people have to worry about now.

Anyway, Horace ended up driving me home. Tina and Angie were incapacitated. When I walked through the door, Polly was there near the entrance of the living room. She was clearly not expecting it to be me, but greeted me, nonetheless. 

I told her all about my day. As I was talking, Michael came home. She asked how it was, smelled his breath, and did all that. I smiled as Michael told her a blag. 

When we both headed upstairs, I congratulated him for being about to lie. He smirked saying he had no clue what I was talking about.

After that I went to get undressed; however, I was pulled back down soon after. John had thrown pebbles at my window. He came to get me to help with Arthur. I sneaked downstairs and hopped into the car. He told me what happened, even though I already knew.

I spent the night tending to Arthur’s knuckles, cleaning off any blood on him, and then getting him into new clothes. That took a while and some persuading. I had to crash on the couch once I got him to sleep.

Fucking, christ! Can’t have one thing to myself. I sighed, exhaustedly. 

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[rpd-rookie]

Hi! I saw that you're requests are open so i decided to write mine lol. How about the reader being jealous of Ada Wong because she thinks Leon still has feelings for her? And then Leon confesses to the reader and reassures her he only sees Ada as a friend(at best). Just some angst and fluff basically. Thank you!

There it is. I hope I won’t disappoint. ;-) It’s angst. It’s fluff. You’ve been warned. 

Blue Is His Favourite Colour - Leon S. Kennedy x Reader

Sitting there in your blue dress, you were staring at the woman in red in front of you, scrutinizing her with - what you hoped - was an expressionless look as she was calmly drinking a cup of coffee, her legs crossed like Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct.   But the truth was, if looks could kill then the one you were giving right now would be the deadliest. You were not only looking daggers at her. No you were looking an entire arsenal right now (rocket launcher included), feeling an intense jealousy eating you up more and more with each second passing in her presence.     But that didn’t make Ada Wong drop her serene demeanour nor her over-confidence.

“That’s a good coffee.” You frowned at her sultry voice that was nothing else than her usual voice, you were sure of it. After all, that woman was oozing so much sexiness it was making you sick. “But I guess you didn’t pretend to be Leon to just chitchat with me around an espresso.”           “What’s going on between you and Leon?” She smiled and placed her cup on the coffee table before her, fixing her beautiful almond-shaped black eyes on you.     A scoff escaped her lips showing how amusing this situation was for her. But you wisely chose to ignore it. The woman in front of you was the kind that loved playing games. It didn’t take a genius to see it. It was part of her femme fatale persona. “You look way younger than I imagined. Guess that explains your insecurity.” You gritted your teeth at her commentary, probably because she was somewhat right. But the thing annoyed you the most was that she knew about you which meant Leon had talked to her about you. “And you look way older than what I imagined. Guess that explains the stripper dress.” You scornfully eyed at the short tight red dress she was wearing and that fitted her like a glove, not sure that this was appropriate for an afternoon coffee with a friend (which was the reason you had found to make her come here when you had texted her last week, pretending to be Leon). “That being said, you don’t answer my damn question.” “Ouch.” She grinned, not an ounce hurt by your words, before she eventually slouched a bit into the couch, knowing that you would not let her live your place without answers. You slightly glared. Even her lazy drooping posture was attractive. That was enraging. But despite your uncontrollable contempt for the woman, there was a part of you that couldn’t help but silently admit she was a very beautiful woman and that secretly wished you would look like that yourself. Even just a tiny bit. After all, you two couldn’t be more different.

Ada was the woman of all men’s dreams. Sexy, confident, mysterious. The type of girl that used to overshadow you in high school and definitely the type of woman that could outshine you even today. Who were you, wearing that baby blue dress, in front of that bombshell in a red dress? No wonder Leon had a thing for her. Cause he had, right?

“What do you want to know?” Ada asked. Finally, someone ready to talk and not treating you like a paranoid.             “The truth.” That was simple as that.       You were tired of Leon’s secrets. You were tired of him not telling you anything whatsoever about the mysterious Ada whose name was written on the silver compact powder you had accidently found in the drawer of his night stand one night when you were simply looking for a condom. But most of all, you were tired of fighting with him each time you were trying to put a conversation about her on the table.           “That might take a while. We have a lot of history. It goes back to Raccoon City.” You nodded, that sentence not coming as a surprise but tugging at your heartstrings nevertheless. Of course they had history. Had she been a one-night stand or just a simple ex-girlfriend, Leon would have never eluded all your questions about her. He would have talked about her as freely as he had talked about his previous girlfriends.     “But I strongly believe Leon would tell it better than I would. You should ask him.”

You were not stupid. You knew she wanted to hear you say it. You knew she wanted the ‘He doesn’t trust me and I don’t trust him’ speech, the crying and everything that went along with it and you were sure as hell not going to give her that satisfaction.           “Look, Y/N. You seem to be a sweet girl - a bit jealous and insecure sure, but sweet. I’m sure you’ll give Leon a flock of blue-eyed baby Kennedys playing in a garden with your golden retriever.”           “Seems like you played that scenario quite a few times in your head actually.” You spat. “I have yes. But I was never playing the role of the brood mare.” You fleered, not liking the comparison at all. But then again, Ada didn’t really exude mother material to you. “Let me guess. You were the homewrecker.”       Ada laughed, enjoying your sass a bit too much than she would have expected. “What I’m saying is that that scenario is what Leon secretly wishes. But that’s not what I wish. We’re different he and I and believe me when I say we both came to realise a long time ago that we would never work. I can’t give him what he wants. We can’t be endgame; despite the feelings we can have for each other … or had, since, judging by the feminine touch of this apartment, you must have definitely been living here for a while.”

Her long monologue barely comforted you. Actually your brain had stopped functioning at the ‘feelings we have for each other’ part. That bit had hurt like hell. Guess looking an entire arsenal at Ada Wong is useless when she has the right dagger to pierce your heart in her perfectly manicured hand.       “You’re wrong. He still has feelings for you. I can feel it in my bones.” You struggled to keep the nascent tears in your eyes, not wanting to look weak, or worse, childish.     “Y/N” Ada sighed and bent over to put a hand on your knee. Her voice was suddenly very compassionate. It surprised you. She was about to say something when the door of the apartment slammed open.

Leon barged in the living room, furious and - to your surprise - not even a bit astonished to see Ada sitting on the couch, meaning he knew that she would be here. “You can’t be serious!” He harrumphed, clearly mad at you and you couldn’t blame him. You had gone behind his back after all. “Alright. I believe it’s my cue. I’ll let you two discuss this among yourselves.” Ada stood up, took her coat and without saying another word headed towards the main door. “Thanks for calling, Ada.” Leon said as he glared at you. Of course she had told him. “Anytime.”

The door shut, leaving you and Leon in the heavy silence of your apartment. You didn’t dare to look at him, dreading to cross his eyes and most importantly fearing the inevitable argument. And right now, given the circumstances, you were certain that this one would make the walls tremble like never before. “Why would you do that, Y/N?” He sounded hurt. Was he trying to make you feel guilty? Because that was working but you didn’t need him to feel guilty right now. “Texting Ada, really? I thought you trusted me.” Those last words made you go through the roof.             “I thought you trusted me.” You repeated, probably louder than intended. “But at least you know how it feels now!”           “I know how what feels? My girlfriend spying on me?” He shouted, mimicking your tone. “That’s overstating things, don’t you think?” That was not the time for sass as Leon made it crystal just by the way he narrowed his eyes and slightly shook his head, showing how exasperated he was. “Then tell me what is it that you’ve done?”   “I went looking for the truth that you were refusing to give me. And guess what? That hurt like a bitch! Do you have any idea how I felt in front that woman?” He threw up his hands in annoyance. “You’re the one who invited her!”     “Yeah but it is your fault. I would have never asked her to come if you had been honest with me. At least, Ada told me what I wanted to know.”             “Oh, and what amazing thing did you learn?” He fixed his eyes on you with a ‘go on, give me your bullshit’ look that you found so irritable.         “Nothing very particular but the part about your ‘long history’ and your ‘feelings’ was more than enough to make me understand I was right all along and that YOU. WERE. LYING.” You pointed your finger at him to accentuate each word. But you weren’t done just yet. You needed to vent a little bit more. “She’s not ‘no one’ or ‘nothing that should concern me’! You have feelings for her.”         “ You got to be kidding me! How can you think that?”   “ Oh easy. A) we don’t keep a girl’s compact in a night stand if she means nothing.” Leon rolled his eyes, not believing you were mentioning that stupid compact again. “Here it goes again.”         “ And b) …” You weren’t even able to finish your sentence that Leon escaped the living room in the direction of your bedroom. He wasn’t leaving this fight? Right? Right?

“I’m not finished, Kennedy!” You yelled as you rushed to follow him. “Oh, but I am.” He growled as he opened the drawer of his nightstand. “I. am. fucking. done!” He said as he gritted his teeth, rummaging through the drawer. And suddenly he turned towards you and raised his hand. You covered your face by reflex and yelped when you saw Leon throw something with a brutality and a rage you had never thought he was capable of. Whatever is was, it smashed against the wall, far away from you with a loud clank. “There! Happy?” He asked with an angry voice before storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him so violently that you jumped.  

You turned your head towards the object Leon had thrown against the wall to see what it was even if you had quite an idea. A tear rolled down your cheek when you saw the silver powder compact lying on the floor, completely shattered. You were not the kind of couple that would normally break things during quarrels.   You sat on the bed and took your face in your hands to cry your eyes out. This, all this Ada story had gone way too far. You had gone too far. You and your stupid jealousy. You and your insecurity.

You don’t know how long you sat there, thinking about all the things you had done and that had led your couple into this mess. But you knew that it was enough. You dried your tears and wiped the mascara that had run under your swollen reddened eyes before you eventually silently left the bedroom.     You found Leon sitting quietly in the living room, with a glass and a bottle of whisky in front of him that you stared at with guilt and sadness. Leon was only drinking when he was feeling terrible. And if he was drinking right now, then it was undeniably your fault. You went to sit by his side, putting your hand on the glass before Leon could take another mouthful of the amber-coloured liquor. “I’m sorry.” You said softly.         Leon put the drink back on the table and looked at you, his blue eyes mirroring the same sadness and pain that were in yours.     “ I just don’t get it, Y/N. Why this obsession with Ada?”           “ No, Leon. Please. I don’t wanna talk about her anymore.” You confessed, letting another tear run down your face. “Sweetheart, we have to. Cause this whole thing is killing us and I can’t bear that.” He cupped your face with his hand, wiping the tear with his calloused thumb, waiting for you to talk, to finally tell the truth.      

“I’m afraid I’m not enough for you.” You admitted, glancing away from him. “ And when I found that stupid compact, I thought … I thought…” You didn’t know what you really thought. So many things actually. That Leon was having an affair or at least that he had feelings for another woman and that you were just a pastime, someone he would leave for her sooner or later.         “… that Ada still meant something for me.” He finished your sentence when he realised you wouldn’t. You met his eyes. If this was truth time then you needed to ask. “Does she?”   Leon sighed. But he was not annoyed at you this time. No he was annoyed at himself. “No. Not anymore. Look.” He took your hands in his. “I don’t know why I kept that silly compact. Truth is I didn’t even know it was still in my nightstand until you found it.” He had told you the same thing weeks ago. He had repeated it on and on actually but this time, contrary to the previous ones, you actually believed him. “She gave me that compact years ago, at a time when yeah, I had feelings for her. I’m not gonna lie. But here me out.” He cleared his throat to find the strength to talk to you and sat up straight on the couch.       “Ada was a part of me I will never be able to forget.” That sentence was painful. It made you sob but Leon continued. You needed to hear what he had to say. “I met her in Raccoon City. She saved my life back there and she kept on saving me many times ever since. But the thing with Ada was that my feelings for her were leading me nowhere. And whatever relationship we had, it was just some cat and mouse game meaning I was running after her and she was running away. And apart from some very occasional sex, nothing ever truly happened.” You grimaced. You could have lived without knowing that. “But I was okay with that … until I met you. And I realised that whatever I was feeling for Ada was nothing in comparison to what I was feeling for you. A love that consumes me, that gives me a purpose, that makes me keep fighting everyday and want come back home every night, that make want to make this fucked up a better place. I love you, Y/N. And I should have told you all this since the very beginning.” You sniffed, looking at the sincerity and the love in his gorgeous blue eyes. “ Why didn’t you?” You asked, genuinely curious.         “ Cause I’m stupid. Cause I thought that burying my past would be better for our couple.” That was indeed stupid. Had you known all this, it would have caused the both of you less pain “But I look nothing like Ada. How can you love me?” You asked.   “ You just said it. You’re nothing like her. You’re my everything.” He grabbed your chin and laid a soft kiss on your lips that made shed a tear because of the intense love you could feel in it. “And, didn’t I tell you that blue was my favourite colour?” He joked with a wink. Good, cause as you were gazing at his eyes, you couldn’t help but think blue was also your favourite colour.

[thomasshelbyy]

A puzzle whose answer need not be spoken

NB: My first fanfic for Peaky and my first one I’ve written in a loooonnnggg time. I posted first on AO3, but cross-posting here so maybe more people can see it! I take requests, so shoot me an ask and I’ll write something for you ;)

Tommy Shelby x Reader

You couldn't decipher the kind of man Thomas Shelby was.

Puzzles, riddles, codes were meant to be figured out, analyzed and solved. Thomas Shelby inhibited all efforts, not by active rebellion against them, but by the nature of his being. Thomas Shelby, a man who could look down a barrel of a gun with no fear, was also a man who insisted on giving back to his community, his roots. He could swing his arm in a wide arc, meaning to slice an antagonist's skin, and he could gently strike a matchbox to light your cigarette before you even asked. Thomas Shelby was everything the rumors said, merciless, ambitious, and intimidating, and he was everything the rumors could never know: considerate, caring, and loving.

Loving in his own way, of course. Not the kind of person to fawn or overly praise, but the kind of person who expressed affection through actions, through deeds done after his attentive listening to one's conversation. Thomas was everything to a lot of people, you could see that quite plainly. You had only been working at the Garrison for a couple months before you started to get a read on the Shelby family. Thomas was the most difficult to see, but Arthur displayed his troubles to anyone who caught the look on his face after a sharp gulp of whiskey. John kept to himself, too old for a boy so young, too many responsibilities for a boy who never had a childhood. Ada was committed to her own power struggle, forced to be subservient in a world that only recognized women as what they could be to men instead of what they are in reality. Polly cared so much, making up for something she has lost through her consideration of the Peaky's.

You ceased your wonderings, your examinations of the family you knew was in the pub but who had concealed themselves in their room.

"A whiskey, please," a man whose accent exposed his foreignness, grunted, tapping two fingers on the bar counter as you already moved to fill a glass. He slid back ten pence in exchange.

"Liquor is fifty pence, sir," you stated, looking at him in a way that you hoped expressed your sternness but wasn't too confrontational.

"Bloody fucking hell. What kind of place is this? Charging us poor people fifty fucking pence for a glass of watered down whiskey?" The man began to raise his voice.

"I don't make the prices, sir," is all you said in return, hoping the man would acquiesce and pay the difference.

"I'm not paying fifty pence of my hard-earned money on a single fucking glass, cunt," he shouted, slamming the glass on the table so that it shattered across the wood. Your reflexes weren't fast enough to cover your face before shards flew at you and you shut your eyes. You could barely feel anything sharp until warm blood began to run down your cheeks. You brought your hands up to try and stem the bleeding, moaning at the pain which had begun to wave throughout your face.

In your state, you didn't hear the door open from the Shelby's private vestibule, but you did hear a man's voice, calm and low, begin to speak.

"Now, I really don't think you know what kind of bar this is, because if you had, you wouldn't have fucking done that." You didn't register anything besides a faint clicking of a gun and the shuffling sounds of men dragging someone from the bar stool and into the middle of the floor. "If you're not smart enough to know who owns this bar, then you probably shouldn't be going anywhere in Small Heath at all," the same voice rang out. The sounds of grunts and punches and bones cracking and blood splattering filled the bar as you started to realize that your efforts to curb your bleeding had only pushed the shards further into your skin. Feeling deeper tissue start to be cut by the glass, you cried out.

"Fucking Christ, get her out of here," someone, you thought Polly maybe, yelled, before you felt two hands grip your shoulders, pulling you to your feet and then being lifted off the ground. The hands you felt on your body were familiar, the scent of cigarettes and musk and gunpowder filled your nose and despite your eyes being shut, you had a feeling that you knew who was carrying you out of the Garrison.

"Tommy?" You whispered, a slight hesitancy to your guess in case your deductive skills were inhibited by the injuries you'd sustained.

"I'm here," he hummed back, "You'll be okay." Immediately you relaxed, trusting that Tommy would take care of you. You knew that the second you started work at the bar you had been brought under the protection of the Blinders. Besides that, despite all of the terrible deeds you knew Tommy had done, something in your gut told you that he would do anything for you. Although you hadn't known Tommy for long, you had felt a draw towards the man with pale blue eyes and razors sewn into his cap brim.

You couldn't say how long it took to get to Tommy's place, but you knew you had arrived when the arms which had been holding you tight placed you gently down on a couch.

"I'm going to be right back," Tommy grunted, rushing to the kitchen and pulling for the scant first aid kit that Polly had first insisted on after Tommy's gunshot wound.

"I'll be here," you called back gruffly, chuckling a little at your joke before wincing at the sting caused from moving your face, "This really fucking hurts, Tommy."

"If having shards of glass stuck in your face didn't hurt you, I'd be a little more worried than I am right now," Tommy retorted. You could hear that he was coming back into the room, feel him pull a stool up besides you and sit on it. "This is going to feel...bad. But I'll do the best I can. Take a swig of this though."

You reached your hand out blindly, knowing that he would thrust the bottle into it for you. Bringing it to your lips, you chugged what you find out was gin for a couple seconds, enjoying the sanitizing feeling the liquor spread through your insides before giving it back to your employer. Tommy let the alcohol settle in your stomach for a few moments before bringing a pair of tweezers to your face, beginning his work. He held his instrument in his right hand, his left gently grasping your chin to hold you steady.

You could feel the stomach churning pull of tissue when he tugged on individual shards, but you also sensed that any damage done would heal. Your eyes were spared and nothing had sliced too deeply into you.

"Do I wanna know what's happening to that bastard right now?" You asked softly, trying to distract yourself from the discomfort.

"Arthur and John are showing him what the consequences in this town are for being stingy with liquor," he replied. For the first time since the incident, you slowly opened your eyes to Tommy only a couple inches away from you, staring intently at the work he was doing.

"Now stop talking, I want to do this right." Feeling comfortable with silence, you quieted, but still chose to investigate the man who was helping you. Your boss, the gangster, who was currently cradling your face as he gingerly plucked broken glass from your skin. When you had first started your job, you had been warned that Birmingham was a rough place, that the people were used to the muck and grime and fires that polluted the air and which hardened them to life. Looking back, you hadn't even been fearful at this description. You knew how to take care of yourself, and anything was better than the boring village you had come from, where you would have likely been forced to marry a cousin due to the dismal agrarian population. Slowly but surely you could feel your skin becoming lighter, the blood clotting as the glass was removed and placed in an empty whiskey glass on the coffee table. Being so close to a man who was so dangerous thrilled you, being treated so carefully by the same man made your heart beat fast against your chest. He was so close to you that you were sure, certain that he must hear your heartbeat, maybe even feel it. He was gorgeous and mysterious and deep down you had a feeling he was good.

"I think I got most of it out, if I missed anything it'll get pushed out anyways as you start to heal," Tommy said, his eyes scanning your face as he set the tweezers down, replacing them with the bottle of gin and taking a significant drink from it. After he finished you did the same, feeling certain that no matter how much spirits you ingested your elevated adrenaline would hinder inebriation.

"Thank you, Tommy. I can't imagine what would have happened without you there," you replied, looking at him from underneath your lashes. He was stunning, take your breath away caliber, and under his scrutiny you began to wonder how feral you looked. "How bad is it?"

"Well. You'll have some scars, I'm sure. You don't look bad though," Tommy responded. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, pushing his sleeves up to his elbow as he had discarded his tailored jacket long ago, and wet it with the liquor. He brought the cloth to your face, dabbing gently along the cuts to sanitize as best he could. It stung, almost worst than the initial pain, but it quickly faded and he placed the diluted blood-stained handkerchief on the table next to the gin. His gruffness alluded to his straightforwardness, his inability to empathize with the insecurities you were feeling just then. Men, you thought. At least you knew he wouldn't lie to you. You brought your hand to your hair, feeling strands of it fallen from the few pins you had haphazardly used for your typical work style. As you did so, you felt his intense stare, and the minuscule space between you seemed to electrify and pulsate.  

"I'm going to have to release you for your employment at the Garrison," Tommy blurted out, breaking the moment. You heard what he said, but blinked a couple times as you processed his words.

"What?!" You exclaimed, pushing yourself up off the back of the couch, only bringing you closer to Tommy's face, "I didn't do anything wrong, that crazy motherfucker did this!"

He took your outburst without flinching, keeping his gaze level despite the proximity between you two.

"I understand. But you got hurt, thankfully not badly, because of your job. What if that guy had been a Sabini, or IRA, instead of some stupid fucking civilian? You would be dead. You're in harm's way and that's not acceptable," Tommy retorted. As he continued talking, his voice got more strained, although still low.

"Fuck that! I need this job, I need money, and you can't – you shouldn't – feel the need to protect me from every fucking possibility of harm in this town. You can't just fire me," you replied. Why did he feel such obligation to you? You couldn't – you wouldn't dare hope that he was trying to protect you from a place of sentimentality. Although you had exchanged small touches, long stares, and short conversations at the Garrison, you knew that he didn't go after women with all of his goals he had for his business. He didn't have time for you, and there was no way he could have noticed you in the way you had him.

"You would still be on the payroll, but I don't want you in the bar anymore. You can help me with the office, be a fucking secretary or someth–" he started before you interrupted.

"No offense, Tommy, but I'm not going to let you keep me in your fucking jail cell of an office. You're not my husband and I will make my own decisions." The passion you felt for him began to seep into your words, making your body grow restless on the couch. Getting tired of being so close to the man who you knew you could never have, you stood up and hurried to the corner of the room, running your hands through your hair and avoiding your cuts as an afterthought.

"I know you can make your own decisions. But I can't let you get hurt, I can't even begin –" Tommy responded, getting up from his stool and following you across the floor.

"You do you care so much, Tommy? What does it matter to you if I get hurt anyways? I'm just one of your employees, a new one at that! I don't fucking matter to you!" You shouted. All of your frustration, the potential of losing your job, the residual pain from the evening, the hurt you felt from feeling Tommy's rough hands on your skin in the only way you will ever experience his touch. You wistfully laughed, realizing that you would probably never be this close to him again; all it took was some drunk asshole to get mad for him to touch you, though it was a cheap alternative to how you really wanted him. You looked up at this man, with eyes that shone like the weapons he used. Your anger faltered, and turned to sadness as you waited for him to respond.

He stood there, no more than a foot away from you, his lips still and his jaw flexing underneath his taut skin. Nothing. You stared at him for another second, willing him to say anything. Nothing.

The pain of looking at the man you loved who obviously didn't love you back became too great. You tore your eyes away from his, led the towards the floor, and sighed.

"Thanks for pulling the fucking glass out of my face," you murmured, brushing past him and heading towards the door. Feeling a slight draft coming from outside, you realized your coat was still at the Garrison, with your apartment keys in the inside pocket, that had been left in the hurry to help you. Great, you thought. After everything tonight, you also get to walk home in the cold without anything covering you.

Just as you turned the door knob, lightly pushing outwards on the worn wood, Tommy cleared his throat.

"You don't really believe that, do you?"

You halted opening the door, but still kept your back to the man who spoke. "Believe what, Tommy."

"That I don't matter to you." At this, you turned your head to glance at him over your shoulder. He was in the same spot, but had turned to you.

"I mean –" you started, not sure what to say and scared to hear what would come next.

"Because that's the biggest pile of shit I've ever heard in my fucking life. I care for you, I care for you too much. I am the most feared man in Northern England, and the thing I fear most is seeing you – seeing you harmed because of me... Tonight you got lucky, but you still got hurt. You are fragile, so fucking fragile, and all it took was one random drunkard to tear up your face," his words spilled out of him, in a rare sacrifice of his usual brevity. His eyes were wild, his hands moving through the air frantically in between pulling through his hair. What he was saying, the words which you were terrified to believe were true, seemed to blur together. His words almost didn't matter. You saw how much he cared, how scared he was at you leaving in the tenseness of his body, in his fingers fidgeting as if moving towards a cigarette with a mind of their own.

You knew Thomas Shelby had braved some unimaginable terrors in his life, but this was by far the most you had ever seen him flustered. Thomas Shelby always used his words economically, always saved his true intentions to be displayed through action.

"Please, please don't get my hopes up, Tommy. You must know, surely you must see how I feel about you," you whispered. Although you were separated across the room, you knew he could hear you in the deafening silence. You stared at each other, both searching for the validation in what you believed you were hearing, before both going into motion at precisely the same time, traversing across the floor to each other faster than you thought possible. When he reached you, Tommy pulled you into his chest hard, moving his hands up from your arms and to the side of your head, bringing your lips to his in a feverish touch.

You felt his lips on yours, his body up against you, almost certain that this was a hallucination from poorly distilled liquor, but then you sighed, falling into his embrace and opening your mouth up to feel as much of him as you could. He responded in kind, tongues coming together and lips moving languidly as though both of you were cherishing this moment, lost in the realization that your feelings could be realized. A haze fell on your mind, Tommy becoming the beginning and ending of all your thoughts as he pushed you towards the couch, turning around so that he could fall back on the cushions and you could settle on his lap. Friction become pleasure, hot and necessary and everything, as the space between the two of you vanished like a wisp into the air. You could feel him harden underneath you, the sensation sending you into a frenzy. Your hands roamed his chest, undoing the buttons on his vest as he moved his hands up, down your back, and along your breasts, each time getting closer and closer to lifting up your skirt.

It was only when he started to kiss away from your mouth, to your cheek and aiming for your neck, that you remembered your wounds and the cuts that were still frustratingly fresh. You winced, and he was reminded as well.

"Ah, fuck. Fuck. I'm so sorry, your face –" he stammered, pulling away and bringing his fingertips to lightly skirt along your cheekbone.

"It's okay. They just sting a little bit," you breathed. Tommy stared up at you with the purest sheen of adoration in his eyes, and you felt your cheeks warm, a smile becoming too difficult to conceal spreading on your lips. You sat back on his lap, burrowing your face into the crook of his neck to let your flush subside as he pulled you even closer.

You stayed like that for what felt like forever, both basking in the knowledge of requited love, before he lifted you up off his lap and began walking towards the staircase. You ran your finger along his chest in circles as he stepped up the stairs, opening the door to his room and setting you down on his bed. He unbuttoned your top, starting at the top and moving down, pulling it off your shoulders to expose your slip. You stood up to step out of your skirt, toeing off your shoes, as he unfastened your garter from your stockings, deftly slipping both of them off. You began to work on his shirt, taking it off as he pulled the pins from your hair. You felt it fall down your back, causing you to shiver from being so exposed. You bent down to tug his trousers from his hips, level with his cock that was keenly tenting his underwear. Tommy untied his brogues, taking his remaining outer clothing off. You examined him, the man who you love, seeing the scars which littered his skin, the stark tattoos and the lean muscle making you question again if this was real. His fingers touched lightly underneath your chin, inviting you to look up at him, snapping your dreaming as you gazed into his eyes, the eyes of the man you love, looking down at you with all the answers to all the questions you could possibly ask right now.

You brought your lips to his, softly this time compared to the last, slowing shutting your eyes, reveling in the feeling of him. His chest, his hands, his lips, his tongue, all served to insist that this was real, that you were with Tommy Shelby. He pulled back, slipping his hand from your tender cheek, grazing all along your arm and grasping your hand, tugging you towards his bed. He laid down and you folded yourself up into his chest, his arms holding you close. The stress of the night, the pain and the elation, suddenly bore down on you, sinking into your bones and pressing you into his mattress as sleep began to tug your eyelids closed. You hadn't realized how exhausted you were, and you inwardly thanked Tommy for bringing you up to bed. You felt his lips press against the top of your head, the pressure staying there, while his fingers twiddled with the straps of your undergarments.

"Please get some sleep, my love," the words of endearment seemed almost foreign to you as you breathed them out, breaking the stillness of the night.

"I have a feeling I'll sleep well tonight," Tommy replied, his voice even more crackly than usual. You smiled to yourself, having never believed you would ever fall asleep with the Tommy Shelby, the man of enigmas who somehow straddled the plethora of very fine lines he so loved to toe. As you felt yourself more and more pulled into sleep, the cadence of Tommy's breaths and heartbeat lulling you so, you heard the front door open, the rest of the Shelby clan noisily shuffling into the house.

"Fucking idiots," Tommy cursed, causing you to chuckle. You knew the group had at the very least beat the man from the bar badly in retaliation for the shattered glass, and while before you may have protested the use of violence, being around the Shelby family had shown you that sometimes this world necessitates such a response. And with Tommy Shelby's arms around you, you didn't really feel the need to object to anything at all.  

[bricousland]

Fuzzy Slippers

This is a short story I wrote to fill in a time gap between my RP group's World of Warcraft Campaign. It’s the first to feature my Blood Elf Priest, Ada’Lene Lightweaver. Like many of my WoW shorts, it was written for my RP group so, much of the details are left out since the group knows everything that’s happened to Lene leading up to this moment. If you’d like to know some of the details surrounding what happened, send me an ask and I’d be happy to fill it in for you!

A Note on Ada’s name: Ada’s full name is Ada’Lene and she has two sisters who go by Ada’Nara and Ada’Leya. The prefix “Ada” is an old tradition in her family for the female line. Her actual name is simply “Lene” and her sister’s: “Nara” and “Leya”. The group, however, doesn’t really know this and have always just referred to her as “Ada”. Up to this point, Lene has never been bothered to correct them since, at the time of this story, they don’t know her sisters and Lene has no incentive to introduce them. Ada is as good a name as any for her.

Ada’Lene sat in her room at a wooden desk in the Order’s new headquarters. The room was comfortable with a nice feather bed and a fireplace, but even the warmth of the fire couldn’t keep out the wet chill of Gilneas. At night, it seeped into her bones, and during the day, it left her hair damp and tangled. Siegfire’s machinations and Kaivus’ recovery were what kept her living in this cold, unwelcoming, Worgen-infested land. She was happy to do it but she dreamed of returning to the warm, golden glow of Quel’Thalas and her hawkstrider-feather bed covered with light, silk sheets. The only source of comfort she had in Gilneas came from her favorite fuzzy slippers she brought from Silvermoon right before Kaivus had been taken.

At least the frigid breeze that crept through the small gaps between the window panes paired well with the work.  Papers upon papers lined the perimeter of her desk detailing every spell Ada cast, every wound she healed, and every possible side effect. The priesthood was nothing if not diligent in their record keeping. Every healing spell she cast had to be documented; every result recorded and sent to the Temple for review and approval. Ada had a stack of twenty papers or so just on Kaivus’ recovery ready to stick in the mail. Not that they could really undo what she had done, but it was a good checks and balances system; as long as the priests stayed honest. 

Once Ada signed the final form detailing what led to such extensive spell use she’d be done and able to relax for a while. Two copies of it sat in front of her, each carefully filled out but detailing two very different versions of the same incident. Some things were best kept away from the prying eyes of the Temple. It would be a mess if they knew she happily performed a soul transfer delivered by a rogue warlock.

Let the dead stay dead. 

Ada’Lene remembered the words for the hundredth time since she’d returned Kaivus to his body. The lessons her instructors instilled in her compelled her to allow the dead to remain as they were. That was life and, while unpleasant, the way it worked. Not only were the risks of a delayed resurrection too high, but the stress of the Legion invasion had the Temple on edge and unwilling to accept any kind of assistance from Fel.

Even though all of her instruction railed against her actions, Ada didn’t regret her decision and she knew she’d do it again in a heartbeat.  

You’ve run every test imaginable, Lene. No side effects. No lingering Fel presence. 

Ergo, no corruption. 

This is a different situation and he’s fine. 

Kaivus. Is. Fine. 

Ada strummed her fingers across the parchment and studied one of the forms she’d filled out: the honest account of the soul transfer. She glanced at the pile of papers labeled ‘Kaivus’ and then back at the pristine sheet of paper. It was a good argument, she had to admit. Her details and procedures were flawless. There was no way they would dare challenge what Ada had done nor would they succumb to old prejudices. Surely, they would agree that this life was worth the risk.

…

…

...

 She tore it in half. 

Ada tossed the pieces into the waste bin beside her desk and picked up the other paper; one that asserted a standard resurrection after the heavily wounded patient lost consciousness. It was the same quality the Temple had come to expect from her and, more importantly, it was nothing special. The evaluators would slide it across their desk without even a cocked eyebrow. With a tired smile, Ada picked up a quill and scratched her signature--Ada’Lene Lightweaver-- across its bottom before sinking into her chair. 

Ada looked out the window and saw sunlight peeking through the shutters. She groaned and rubbed the dust out of her eyes; another night without sleep. How many had that been? Two? It was like being on the frontlines again.  There was always some enemy refusing to back down or a new wound to clean. It didn’t leave any room for sleeping--just healing and fighting. Regardless, she had to get downstairs. Kaivus always woke up before her and managed to hurt himself again. Ada was fairly certain he was doing it on purpose to avoid getting back into his rigorous training with Lahkrimosa. If it kept up Ada would have to make good on the threat of tying him to a toilet.

Who was she kidding? He knew she wouldn’t do it.

Damnit. He was going to force her to tie him to a toilet, wasn’t he?

Exhaustion pulled her further into the chair. Ada gave into it and closed her eyes, let her shoulders fall, and stretched her legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankles. Just a short rest before the start of the day. If Kaivus hurt himself she’d just heal him and fill out another form. What was the worst thing he could possibly do?... Die -- but that was unlikely to happen without a lot of noise.

As soon as she let herself relax from her work the unwanted reminders crept in. They’d been waiting for her, gnawing at the outer edges of her thoughts; missed chances and clues that Ada failed to see because she hadn’t tried hard enough. Krissica dead and Ada too far away--too preoccupied to pull her to safety. Then there was Siegfire speaking through Kaivus and flaunting his victory in front of everyone. If she hadn’t left for Silvermoon that day none of it would have happened. Ada’Lene kicked off her slippers; she didn’t deserve warm toes. She tilted her head back against the high backed chair and closed her eyes. She wouldn’t let these memories expend any more of her energy and so she pushed them down again. After a time her feet found their way back to the warm confines of her slippers as she dozed off into a light sleep. 

That’s when memories not even her own flooded into her dreams. 

The nightmare was never so much about the event as it was about the emotions attached to it. Ada didn’t have to know what happened to understand the monumental damage it had done to Qeldaras. She saw the face of a woman, infected with Fel, who attacked ‘Ada’ with deranged ferocity. The image faded quickly and then the feelings followed: an overwhelming sense of sorrow, regret, and anger. The sorrow Ada felt wasn’t akin to the crises she had experienced in her own life. It was stretched taut and thin like an overworked strip of tanned hide -- cracked and ready to snap. The cracks multiplied, blistered, and hardened around her heart. It made her feel as if she were underwater and out of air. The regret was fainter but it lingered for much longer and pulsed like an infection. It engorged itself upon the sorrow until the sorrow could do nothing but whimper. Then the anger began to stir. It was far more painful than any of the others. It was a war drum that resounded in an empty stone hall. A rhythm that polluted her thoughts and reverberated across every vein until it numbed the regret, squashed what remained of the sorrow, and left vengeance in place. 

Filled with pain that was very much alive and not completely hers, Ada began to panic. She awoke from her brief respite with a jolt and toppled out of her chair. The heavy oak seat drummed against the hardwood floor. She clamored to her feet and stumbled into the desk knocking a pile of papers on to the floor. In a rage, she grabbed the arcane lamp that lit her desk and threw it against the wall. Glass shattered and tumbled across the desk and hardwood floor. Tears stung her eyes and wet her cheeks as her chest heaved. Ada stared down at her trembling hands and for a moment she saw Qeld’s, covered in blood, overlapping her own. She clutched the edge of the desk and sobbed.

She heard a loud voice call out from below. “Ada? Are you okay? I’m coming!”

Kaivus.

She heard him bounding up the stairs, probably taking them two at a time.

Ada looked around the demolished room and caught a glance of herself in a mirror, her eyes went wide.

NO. 

Ada lurched from her position at the desk and sprinted across the room. A jagged piece of glass ripped through the thin cushion of her slipper and buried itself into the arch of her foot but she didn’t miss a step. She reached the door just in time to prevent Kaivus from rushing in. The resistance only made Kaivus push harder and for a moment it became a struggle he was about to win.

“I’m naked!” Ada yelled. 

“Wha--? I’m so sorry!” The door immediately slammed shut. “I thought someone from Siegfire’s new order had come. Are you okay? Do you need any help?”

“...You want to help me get dressed?”

“Uuh...”

Ada laughed.

 “I pulled my robes off the chair too fast and busted a lamp. I’m great at healing, terrible at day to day tasks. I’m alright but you’re still hurting, remember? Get back downstairs and prep for treatment. I’ll be there as soon as I clean up.” There was a long pause. “I’m okay, Kaivus.”

She began to worry that he wouldn’t buy it. 

“Ada.”

“Yeah?”

“I think I broke my toe on the way up the stairs.” 

Ada lightly pounded her forehead against the door and smiled.

“I’ll take care of you.” 

She heard Kaivus withdraw from the door with less enthusiasm than when he came up. Ada let out a deep breath she hadn’t known she was keeping in. 

Definitely, the right thing to do.

Ada’Lene wiped the tears from her eyes. She stared in the mirror at the mess she had become. Her red hair was frazzled, her cheeks were red, and her eyes were a little swollen. The wound on her foot throbbed and she could feel blood seeping into her slipper. Ada cursed softly as she limped to her bed.

I’ll never be able to get that clean.

Ada’lene sat down and removed the slipper from her foot. Around the frayed fabric there was already a small dark stain. Ada’lene frowned and tossed the shoe to the side.

She grabbed a pair of tweezers and removed the piece of glass from her foot before using a little bit of Light to heal the wound before sliding the slipper back onto her foot. She washed her face and pulled her hair from the ruined bun. She didn’t have the energy to do much else with her hair so she ran a brush through it letting the deep red, pin-straight hair hang free past her shoulders. Ada pushed down any residual emotions and put her weariness on hold. By the time she was finished straightening up, she almost felt like herself again. She left her room and started down the stairs.

 “Kaivus, I’m going to break your other toe, okay? That way you’ll match!”

[hazelnmae]

Lies Travel Faster: Chapter 13

Summary: Sophia Murphy’s life seems to be on the upswing when she takes a job with Birmingham’s notorious Shelby Company Ltd. But when she falls for her boss, CEO and ruthless gangster, Tommy Shelby, she finds herself wrapped up in a tangled web of danger and deceit. After all, lies travel faster than the truth.

Tags: Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character; Tommy/Assistant Trope (it’s a hill I’ll die on)

Warnings: angst; smut; violence; language; rape/non-con; death

Here it is folks, the last chapter. Thank you so much for reading this far and for all the love you've shown this little story of mine.

The warnings are there, folks, but I feel the need to let you know that this chapter does include a healthy dose of smut.

CHAPTER 13 (read Chapter 12 or start at the beginning with Chapter 1)

Tommy stood by the large bay window watching the snow fall softly on the street outside. He couldn't remember the last time he actually watched the snow. Before the war?

He thought of Charlie and wondered if it was snowing in Warwickshire. He hoped his son could wake to a blanket of snow outside and that he might get home to actually play in it with him.

Charlie loved the snow, like most children, and Tommy revelled in his delight every time it fell. He loved how it kept Charlie young--he often thought his son was growing too quickly and felt a twinge of guilt that his lifestyle was to blame. Snow, though, would keep him a young boy--for a little while longer at least.

The sound of Sophie's empty glass being set on the table pulled him from the daydream.

He sat down in the chair facing her, by the fire, and looked her over again. She sat with her head laid against the high back of the chair, silent. Ada had long since left them, finally admitting her need for sleep and her early shift at the library the next day.

Sophie and Tommy stayed up, talking for a bit, but mostly sitting in silence--neither wanting to leave the other’s presence.  

She opened her eyes to find him staring.

“What?” she asked.

Tommy shook his head.

He struggled with what he wanted to say. He couldn't imagine how anyone could hurt her--how Robert could dare lay a hand on her. He also blamed himself for what had happened. He felt like he’d failed her again and again. First Changretta, then his own arrogance, now Robert--he hadn’t actually protected her from anything.

“I told you a long time ago that I didn’t want your pity,” she said without raising her head from the chair.

Tommy just grunted in response. She read him so easily.

She had said that. A long time ago. But it wasn’t pity that he felt--not exactly. It was something more akin to empathy. His heart broke for her. Sophie deserved so much better than this world had given her. She’d fought so hard against the evils it threw her way. But she kept losing.

“Did you fight back, Sophie?” He asked, suddenly hoping for at least a small victory.

“I pulled this on him,” she answered, patting the gun holstered to her thigh under her dress.

She still wore the gun. All this time.

He was glad to hear that, but it pained him to think she’d spent the last six months since she met him leery of Robert's intentions. Tommy wondered if she ever grew to love him. Tommy had disliked him from the beginning, had suspected he was capable of something like this from their first encounter at Arrow House, but he hated to think she’d feared him all this time they shared a roof.

“You’ve never felt safe with him?” He asked quietly, more a statement than a question.

“I wouldn’t say that,” she responded. “More like, I wanted to make you proud--to stay cautious, aware, prepared.”

Tommy couldn’t help but smile at that. Of course she could hold her own. It wasn’t that he couldn’t protect her all this time, it’s that she didn’t want to be protected. She wanted to take care of herself. And she had. She’d come to Ada’s, bags packed, ready to leave the prick. A new sensation, one of pride, began to work it’s way to his steeled exterior.

“So you’re really leaving him?” Tommy finally asked.

“I already have,” she said, letting her eyes fall closed again. “Although, I have no idea what I’ll do now.”

“You could come back, you know. To Shelby Company.” Tommy looked at his hands, not wanting to see her face when she refused his offer. He was surprised to hear her chuckle and looked up to see her smiling for the first time that night.

He’d missed her smile.

“Ada said you'd had a hard time finding a replacement,” she said looking at him intently.

It was Tommy’s turn to let out a soft laugh. He had, indeed, been unable to keep the position filled. In truth, though, he’d only tried two new hires before giving up. No one could take her place, so he found it useless to force the issue.

“Polly tells me I scare them all off. Suppose it's true. I scared you away,” he said, feeling his palms grow sweaty as his nerves took hold. He had things he needed to say to her. Things she needed to hear--once and for all.

With that, Sophie raised her head and sat forward in her chair. Concern grew across her face as she looked deep into the sea of his light blue irises.

“Tommy,” she started through a heavy sigh, “You didn’t scare me away. I didn't resign because I couldn’t stand working for you.”

She paused, but Tommy didn’t respond, too afraid of what she might say next.

Sophie continued, “I resigned because I was so--so fucking in love with you--” she stumbled over her words as she felt the tears rising in her throat. “I couldn’t be around you everyday and not be with you.” She closed her eyes with her confession--not wanting to see his face as she said it.

Tommy sat forward on the chair.

“You’re in love with me?” he asked in a whisper, trying to control the panic in his voice.

“I was.”

She paused for what felt like an eternity.

She was, he thought.

“I am,” she said looking directly into his eyes again, feeling bolder. “And honestly, I think I always will be, Tommy.” She shook her head slightly. “Despite my best efforts, I haven't been able to get over you.”

Her admission hit him straight in the gut. He struggled to his feet, almost too weak from shock to stand. He held his hand out for her to join him.

“Then stop trying,” he said, more confidently than he felt.

Sophie took his hand and stood to face him. Tommy's hands found her hips and wrapped slowly around her back. He leaned his head down to meet hers, eyes holding a steady gaze with her own.

“Then stop trying,” He said again. “Come home. To Arrow House. To the fucking horses and the garden. To Charlie--”

His voice cracked.

“--Come back to me.”

Sophie leaned into him. She’d waited so long to hear him say the right things. She could hardly contain the anticipation building as she felt her face flush.

“Take me upstairs,” she said, before and placing a chaste kiss on his lips.

That was all the confirmation Tommy needed.

He swept her up into his arms, the same way he’d carried her through the alley the night she was injured. He made his way up the stairs with her, into the guest room where he always slept.

She peppered kisses on his neck and jaw, like she had that night in his office, causing him to quicken his pace. He was desperate for her, realizing now that he had been since almost the moment he met her.

Sophie hopped from his arms as soon as the door closed behind them and made quick work to remove his shoulder holster. They’re lips locked in a passionate kiss as her hands explored his chest and moved to undo shirt buttons.

His kiss felt familiar, yet somehow exciting and new. It’d been so long, but it was just as bold, just as sensual as she’d remembered. The taste of tobacco and whiskey intoxicatingly sweet on her tongue.  

His hands moved across her waist and up her back until they slid into her hair. He held her impossibly close, feeling his hardening cock against her warmth. She pushed his shirt off his shoulders, forcing him to temporarily remove his hands from her to allow it to fall to the ground. She pulled at his undershirt until he relented and let her raise it over his head.

But his hands found their pace again immediately. Her swollen lips laid kisses across his chest as he tugged at her dress, trying to work it off her without looking. When he finally dragged the zipper down her back, agonizingly slow, she let out a soft but deep breath. He pulled the dress slowly from her shoulders and stepped back to watch it pool around her feet.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he whispered.

She stepped closer to him again, the familiar sweet scent of peonies filling his breath and mind. She reached to remove his belt and worked the buttons on his trousers. Her hand explored further down, stroking his hard cock through the rough fabric. He let out an involuntary hiss as he clenched teeth in reaction to her touch.

Tommy felt the heat rising on his skin. He wanted Sophie--needed her--but was desperate to slow down, to savor the moment. He knew she was leaving Robert, but he feared this might be his only chance with her. He didn’t want to waste it. He needed to relish in her. He needed to make it last, even long after the night was over.

He moved her back toward the bed slowly, stepping out of his trousers as they fell to the floor. They were both exposed now, more than they’d ever been with one another.

He laid her gently on the bed without removing his lips from hers. His hands explored freely now, fingers tugging at her bra straps, hands splaying over her skin, cupping her breasts softly. He untied her bra and slipped it off her arms. Her hard nipples nearly drove him to the edge and he immediately sought after them with his mouth. As he took the first one between his lips gently, Sophie let out a soft moan.

She’d never felt so electric. She clutched at him, at his hair, at his shoulders, attempting to ground herself. She wasn't surprised that he knew all the right ways to touch her. Knew just what drove her mad. Her breath was no longer controllable, building as her need grew.

He could barely stand it, the woman of his dreams falling apart at his touch, his kiss. One hand ventured lower, finding the lace band of her panties. He pushed his fingers along her core over the dampening silk.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, unable to control it. “So wet.”

Her eyes rolled back--his soft brum hitting her right in the stomach where her desire bubbled close to the breaking point. As many times as she’d dreamed of it, she never thought she’d hear him say these things to her. It drove her mad.

“God,” she said, needing him closer. “Tommy. Please.”

Hearing his name, like that, from her lips drove him to a quickened pace. He removed the holster from her thigh and pulled her panties down, lifting her hips from the bed to remove them. He spread her open and, without warning, dipped his fingers inside.

Sophie’s hips bucked, with no control from her mind, as her eyes slammed shut.

His fingers stroked in and out of her as his thumb found her clit, rubbing small circles that grew quicker and wider as she writhed against him. Her mouth fell open, unable to control the noises falling from her now.

“Tommy,” she groaned, his name the only word she could find.

He worked quickly, but gently. His hand moving at one pace while his lips moved at another. He licked and nipped at her neck as his hips moved involuntarily. Sophie reached for his cock, releasing it from his boxers, and began to stroke it to match pace with his movements. A deep groan began to build in his chest.

He couldn’t take much more of their play--of his name breathy on her lips.

“Jesus, Sophie,” he whispered into her skin. “Come for me, love.” His deep brum had been replaced by a voice she'd never heard revealing his desperation.

She grabbed his face, pulling it back so she could look in his eyes. The bright blue that usually stared back had blown. “Fuck, Sophie,” he said, before crashing his lips to hers.

Unready for it, her orgasm surprised her and crashed against her walls. She felt herself tighten around his fingers. He rocked her through the orgasm but didn't stop. Her eyes squeezed shut and stars filled her vision. Watching her come undone was almost more than he could take, and Tommy swiftly moved between her legs and steadied himself. 

He thrust into her with a deep groan that Sophie felt land between her thighs.

“Fuck,” he said louder.

Sophie gripped his back, his face buried again in her neck. He laid there, not moving, giving them both time to adjust. She’d imagined this moment so many times, but couldn’t have been prepared for the feeling of Tommy inside her. She held her breath, thankful for his weight on top of her as she feared she’d otherwise float away.

When he did begin to move, slowly at first, Sophie could finally breathe again. Tommy was trying desperately to keep control, but Sophie began to rock her hips against him and he felt his own orgasm rising. Bracing one of her legs against his chest, he gained deeper access and sent them both reeling. Her hand reached for his, and he took it, interlocking his fingers with her own.

He pulled her up to sit on top of him, not slowing his thrusts. She took control, pushing her hips forward. The new position sent him to the brink. His thrusts grew erratic and he groaned into her neck and held her braced tightly against him. She felt him spill inside her and her own orgasm followed right behind. He continued to rock her through it, slowly.

They stayed in that position, clutching to one another, as they came down from their high. Sophie pulled back, holding his face in her hands, and smiled. Tommy couldn’t help but smile in return as he lay his forehead against hers and closed his eyes.

_____________________

Tommy, as expected, woke first. He lay perfectly still for as long as he could stand it. He wanted to savor the moment with Sophie, clinging to him, skin on skin, sheets spread around the bed--the evidence of their long anticipated night devouring one another strewn all about the room. He felt warm, physically and emotionally--like he’d been wrapped in a blanket and tucked into bed with a glass of whiskey.

But better than that, he’d been tucked in with her.

He brushed Sophie’s hair from her face. Her head lay rested on his shoulder. He remembered the morning they woke together on Watery Lane. She’d been embarrassed, had pulled the sheets over herself when she realized they’d been wrapped in one another. As much as he wanted to let her sleep, he needed her awake. Needed to see how she woke this morning, after giving of herself so completely last night.

“Soph,” he said softly, stroking the arm she’d thrown across his waste.

She stirred, but didn’t wake completely.

“Sophie, love,” he said, a bit louder.

She lifted her head from his shoulder, so she could see his face. Her eyes opened, still droopy with sleep and contentment. “Hmmm,” she moaned, blinking slowly.

“Good morning,” Tommy offered, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

She kissed him. “Good morning.” Then kissed him again, smiling.

His thumb found her lips when she pulled away. Tommy shook his head. Goddammit, he thought.

“Bloody fucking perfect,” he said.

He moved to rise from the bed but Sophie wrapped her arms around his waist. “Don’t you dare, Tommy Shelby,” she teased him.

“Hmmm,” he responded, pulling away, “but I have a surprise for you.”

She pulled the sheets up around her chest as she watched Tommy step into his boxers and pants. She let out an unchecked groan, prompting Tommy to turn to her. He smiled, wide.

“You better come right back,” she said, rolling onto her side and letting one leg breech the sheets seductively.

“Wouldn’t dream of keeping you waiting,” he said, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “And you better not put on a stitch of clothing while I’m gone,” he whispered. He gave her one last cheeky smile and headed out of the door and down the stairs.

Sophie couldn’t wipe her own smile from her face. She tried, but it came right back.

She heard Tommy rummaging in the kitchen and thought, for once, she would allow herself the happiness.

______________________

He fought with the percolator, never having actually learned to use one but wanting to deliver a piping hot cup of coffee to Sophie in bed. A cigarette hung from his mouth, ashes building as he used both his hands to make sense of the chore in front of him.

He heard footsteps behind him.

“I thought I said--,” before realizing something was wrong.

It wasn’t Sophie behind him.

Tommy turned and removed the cigarette from his lips.

He found himself staring into the barrel of a gun.

______________________

Sophie drifted in and out of sleep, fighting it hard as she wanted to be awake when Tommy returned to the room.

That’s when she realized she no longer heard him in the kitchen and listened carefully to try to place him in the house. It was eerily quiet but she gave him a few minutes, assuming he’d just stepped into the back of the house for some reason.

But the voice she heard sent a chill down her spine. She shot straight up in the bed.

She couldn’t make out what he was saying, but there was no doubt it was Robert.

_____________________

“Mr. Shelby,” Robert said, “Your sister really should be more careful to lock her door. Anyone can wander in.”

They’d moved from the kitchen to the parlor. Tommy sat at the table where, just the night before, Sophie had been seated. He held his breath, hoping she had fallen back asleep and couldn’t hear them downstairs.

He had her demon in his sights.

Tommy wasn’t sure how, but he’d rid them both of the devil before the day was out.

“I think we should have a chat about my wife,” Robert said, taking a seat at the table across from Tommy.

“Hmm,” Tommy responded, tapping his cigarette in the small crystal ashtray between them. “And what is it you want to discuss?”

“You take me for a fool, Mr. Shelby, and that’s your first mistake.”

Tommy just sat silently, letting the ticking clock on the mantle make the only sound. Men like Robert, in all their arrogance, always had more to say.

“I know what she’s been doing, behind my back, with you.”

“And what is that?”

Robert slammed his fist on the table--the same one he’d used to strike Sophie the night before. Tommy felt his own hand build a fist in response, but as always kept a cool demeanor and stoic expression.

“How long have you been fucking my wife?” Robert shouted.

“I thought you knew what she’d been doing,” was all Tommy said in response, extinguishing his cigarette and leaning forward. He rested his elbows on the table with his hands folded in front of him.

Robert raised the pistol again, making a show to threaten Tommy. It wasn’t the first time he���d had a gun in his face and, as strange as it felt to think it, he hoped it wouldn't be the last.

“If you knew your wife at all, you’d know she’d never let you get away with hitting her,” Tommy said, leaning into the skid.

Robert stood, keeping the gun trained on Tommy’s face. “Where the fuck is she?” He demanded.

“Upstairs,” Tommy said calmly, “ in my bed.” A smug smirk, the one that had always driven Sophie crazy, grew across his face.

Robert kicked the chair he’d been sitting in, sending it flying across the room. Tommy blinked, slowly, as if nothing had happened. If she hadn’t been awake before, he thought, she surely is now.

“You fucking diddicoy scum,” Robert yelled. “I should kill you where you sit, make a mess of your sister’s carpets. You think you’ve won, don’t you? Well I hope you enjoyed your fuck last night, because it will be your last!”

Just as Tommy opened his mouth to respond, he heard the creak on the stairs.

Fuck, he thought, Sophie.

Panic rose in his chest but he quickly cleared his throat, hoping Robert hadn’t heard her.

But he had.

Robert turned his head to face in the direction of the stairs just as Sophie took the last step and came into view. He kept the gun on Tommy, but focused his eyes on her.

Tommy’s heart sank and he stood quickly.

There she was, in the robe Ada left hanging on the back of the door, no shoes, her hair a  mess. He’d have been in complete awe with her if he wasn’t focused on the revolver in her hand, pointed directly at her husband.

___________________

Ada turned the knob to the front door, chiding herself for leaving it unlocked again. Good thing Tommy didn’t find it like this, she thought.

As soon as she entered the foyer, she knew something was wrong. She heard murmurs come from the parlor, but couldn't make out who the voices belonged to.

She slowly removed her gloves and hat and sat them on the small table by the door.

Just as she let her coat slide off her shoulders, she heard the gunshot.

It reverberated through the whole house, bouncing off of every hard surface and landing squarely between her ears.

Her stomach dropped.

Then she heard the thud...

...like the sound of a body...

...hitting the floor.

___________________

If the cliffhanger is too much to handle, you can start Part Two here. :)

Y’all are the absolute best!! Thank you, a million times, for reading along!!

Feedback always welcome!!

For you lovely, lovely people: @justanothershelby @porcelainjokersmadness @evelynshelby @higgles123 @l0tsofpennies

[whentommymetalfie]

The Right Track 

A/N: Well here’s my first installment of an omegaverse AU, which at the moment is mainly focused on ‘what to expect when you’re expecting’. If you’d like a tiny bit of background for the AU before reading, check out this HC 

Summary: Tommy has some news for Alfie, but struggles to tell him. And it doesn't help that Alfie is terribly distracted and doesn't seem to have time for him right now. But Tommy tries, still. 

Pairing: Alfie x Tommy 

Notes/warnings: a/b/o dynamics, mpreg, brief discussion about abortion 

Wordcount: 4700

The Garrison is empty. And even though Tommy quite enjoys the bustle of a Friday evening when it’s full to the brim, this is a welcome respite. Especially considering the circumstances. One of the perks with working at the pub (besides the obvious fact that it’s the only real job related to the family business anyone will let him come within a ten mile radius of) is that there’s at least one place in the world that he’s got some kind of control over.

Today he’s exerted that control by flipping the sign to ‘closed’ and locking the door.

”You have to tell him at some point, you know.” Ada looks up from her whiskey. The second one she’s poured herself since he told her the news.

Tommy stirs his tea with a straw that he’s fished out from a box behind the bar, just to have something to occupy his hands with.

“I know. I’m just… trying to find the right moment.”

“He’ll notice on his own sooner or later, otherwise,” Ada points out. “He’s not the clueless kind of alpha.”

“I know.”

“And how are you going to explain it when you spend every morning hunched over the toilet when the morning sickness hits? There’s only so many times he’ll buy a hangover excuse-“

“Ada.”

She throws her hands up in defeat, but the wrinkle between her eyebrows remain as she gives him a thoughtful look.

“Are you thinking of getting rid of it?”

“No!” Tommy exclaims and his hand shoots up to cover his belly before he can even understand what is happening. He quickly drops it back onto his lap and tries to will down the heat rising to his cheeks.

“It’s your body, Tommy, and if you feel that you’re not ready, no one can tell you what to do with it,”  Ada says, sounding like a politician who’s about to give a well- practiced speech “There’s nothing wrong-“

“Ada, please, not now,” Tommy says and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Save it for those fucking rallies.”

Ada harrumphs loudly.

“It wouldn’t hurt you to participate in those fucking rallies, it’s about your rights.

Tommy snorts. “Well then it’s also my right not to go and watch you ramble about shit you have no actual experience with. Stick to riling up the other alphas down in the factories.”

“Gender and class is linked. And me being an alpha doesn’t mean that I can’t-“

Tommy waves his hand dismissively, humming around the edge of his teacup in an attempt to stop this before it becomes a lecture. Any other day Ada would’ve been hurt, but he seems to get a free pass today due to the circumstances, so she just pushes herself off the bar disk to pace in front of it while Tommy buys himself some time and finishes his tea.

Once the cup is empty, he stares down at the tealeaves.

“I do want the baby,” he says after a long silence. “And I’m going to tell Alfie. It’s just that I-“

He cuts himself off because he can’t bring himself to say that last part –‘I want it to be special’. Because it sounds so stupid. Like he’s some wide eyed little thing who’s at home hanging fucking lacy curtains in the kitchen window, baking and waiting for their spouse to come home. But truth is he wants it to be special. He wanted to tell Alfie the second he suspected he might be pregnant. But then he waited, just to make sure. And once he was utterly sure -after a long conversation with Grace on the matter that he’d rather forget- it felt strange to simply… go home and tell Alfie. And the longer he’s waited, the more doubts have begun appearing, sinking their claws into his head and refusing to let go. What if Alfie doesn’t want a baby, when it really comes down to it? It’s so easy to just talk: Paint a pretty picture of what it’d be like, having a baby, start a family all of their own. ‘Maybe they’d have your eyes love? Imagine that!’

It's easy to talk. Now it’s suddenly reality.

Then he feels guilty.

This is Alfie. His Alfie. Tommy should have more faith in him. And Alfie was the one who brought up the idea of children in the first place, so why on earth wouldn’t he be thrilled about it? Logically, Tommy knows all this. He only needs to get all the anxious thoughts to listen.

“I’ll tell him,” he says to Ada, realising he’s been quiet for far too long. He fidgets with the edge of the straw. “Tonight.”  

Ada’s scent, sage and leather-bound books, surrounds him. Then there’s a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m so happy for you, Tom. For both of you.”

She’s smiling. He can tell, even though he’s staring down at the bark disk. And he feels right then, that he’s happy too. A bubbling, sparkling kind of happiness that manages to drown out all the worry.

….

Turns out that once he’s made up his mind, he can’t possibly wait until tonight. So he goes to the brewery down by the docks to search out Alfie in his office, with renewed courage and a new lightness in his chest. Alfie will be happy. Thrilled, even.

“Afternoon, Thomas,” Eli greets him by the entrance with a smile and a polite nod. “The boss is in his office. Can you find the way yourself or do you want someone to accompany you?”

Tommy only rewards the question with a raised eyebrow, so Eli shrugs, continuing to smile politely and gestures for him to enter.

He ignores the curious stares from the various alphas milling about in the brewery, and quickly makes is way on towards the center of the building. He opens the door without knocking.

Alfie is sitting by his desk, hunched over a pile of papers and his heart, as always, skips a beat. He glances up when Tommy enters.

“You know I don’t like it when you wander around here on your own,” he grunts. “We’ve been over that. Not safe enough, these parts. Not yet, at least.”

Any other day, Tommy would simply roll his eyes at this. But now his stomach just clenches with worry. Alfie flips through a pile of papers. And Tommy finds himself just standing there, full of a strange new uncertainty. But then Alfie glances up and smiles a little.

“Sorry, sweetheart, that’s no way to greet the love of one’s life now, is it?” He gets up from his chair with some difficulty and beckons Tommy closer with a wave. “As well as husband and cherished mate. Go on, come here and give us a kiss.”

Tommy walks up to him, calmed by his mate’s scent the second it envelops him and allows Alfie to pull him in for a chaste kiss. Tea, pine needles and freshly baked bread. Home. Alfie lets go quicker than he would’ve liked and seats himself behind the desk again.

“So, any particular reason I’m blessed with your fair visage, or did you just miss me?” he asks, turning his attention back to the documents.  

Tommy tries to gather back his resolve. But something just feels… wrong now.

“I just wanted to see you,” he says, feeling stupid the second he utters the words. Alfie only hums in acknowledgement, forehead creased and eyes fastened on the numbers in front of him. Tommy decides that it’s better to just have it over and done with, to hell with the consequences, takes a deep breath and-

And that’s when Alfie’s phone rings.

He answers and gestures for Tommy to sit in the leather armchair by the bookshelf, his usual spot when spending time in Alfie’s office. Tommy doesn’t sit, instead he walks over to the window and looks out at the docks, trying to focus all his attention on what is happening outside. One of the barges have just docked, and large crates are being hauled from the deck, up onto land. A woman on a black horse rides past, and the horse shies away when a crate lands heavily on the cobbled street. Tommy watches the animal with undivided interest and tires to focus on that instead of his thundering heart.

Behind him, Alfie is speaking rapidly to someone in Yiddish. The horse and the woman disappears around a corner.

“Sorry, love, but I have some work to get to,” Alfie says and it takes a moment for Tommy to realise he’s speaking to him. He turns to watch Alfie rise from the desk and walk over to the hangers by the door, shrugging into his coat. He perches his hat on top of his head and grips his cane. “Shit that can’t wait, apparently. And the quicker I get to it, the quicker I can pay undivided attention to you.”

“Alright,” Tommy says, and hates how small his voice sounds. And he fucking hates the way his throat feels all tight.

Gently ushering him out the door, Alfie starts barking orders to someone at the opposite side of the brewery as he leads Tommy towards the exit.

“So, where should we drop you off, love?” He asks as they step out onto the street and waves for the driver to pull up.

Tommy shakes his head. “I’ll walk.”

Alfie furrows his brow, looking less than pleased. He scans the docks. Squints up at the sun, still quite a bit above the horizon. “Fine. But don’t let your aunt know. She thinks I’m being sloppy with your safety already. Fuckin’ell as if you’re not a grown, fully capable adult. And on top of that, I think that I’m in fact very thorough with everything where your well-being is concerned. Offensive, is what it is-“  

The car rolls up beside them. Alfie’s two employees wait for him to get in and he gives Tommy a final, questioning look. Tommy shakes his head again.  

“Fine. I’ll see you tonight, pet,” Alfie says and kisses his cheek, but his eyes are drifting. “I should be home in time for dinner. I’ll make you something nice, alright? To make up for this.”

Then he climbs into the front seat of the car, the two men get in the back, and soon, Tommy is alone on the street outside the brewery. All the bubbling happiness from before has died down to a small pitiful lump at the pit of his stomach.

He doesn’t go to the stables. Or the Garrison. Being around other people feels like an unbearable thought, and Grace is already covering for him. So instead he just goes home. The walk helps a little to clear his head. Alfie is just busy: things are always hectic right before a shipment, and Tommy’s got no fucking right to sulk about it. Still, it’s hard to completely rid himself of the unease. And he decides that he still needs to tell Alfie today, because the longer he’s alone with this, the louder all the anxious thoughts become.

Once he gets home, he decides that he’ll take care of the cooking, for once.

Tommy fucking hates to cook. It’s the principle of the thing: the utter unfairness that he was the only one of his siblings expected to spend time in the kitchen. Because it’s not an alphas job to cook, so why would any of them have to learn it? But that doesn’t mean that he can’t cook. And since Alfie never expects him to, and gladly takes care of both that and the dishes as if it was the most natural thing in the world, Tommy doesn’t mind it so much anymore. So he cooks.

He picks carefully among Alfie’s recipes and chooses one of his favorites.

The unease does simmer down as he stands there carefully slicing carrots into even pieces. Alfie is more appreciative of the rare instances when he cooks than Tommy deserves, and the thought of making him happy loosens the knot in his stomach.

He sets the table, takes care of the dishes and wipes down all the surfaces in the kitchen until it’s spotless. Glances at the clock. Alfie should be home soon. A bit of the earlier excitement is back; He can imagine what he’ll look like when he tells him, how happy he’ll be, how his eyes will light up. Maybe he’ll give Tommy one of those adoring looks, as if he’s the most precious thing in the world. When Alfie looks at him like that, Tommy can almost believe him.

He has time to wash up before dinner, so he does that too. Wants to smell nice for Alfie, wants to look good for him- While he does he practices quietly to say those words, to make sure he’s prepared. I’m pregnant. It feels strange and frightening but somehow wonderful all at the same time in an overwhelming cocktail. He looks at his reflection in the mirror. Runs a hand over his stomach, which is still completely flat. Tries to imagine how it’ll look, how it’ll feel once the baby is a bit bigger, but it’s difficult because it’s so utterly surreal. Still, there’s an ounce of excitement at the idea. Not that he cares looking into where the excitement comes from, but it’s definitely there.

Back in the kitchen, he tastes the soup and decides that it’s alright. Good, even. He’ll never be quite as good as Alfie at cooking, simply because he doesn’t care enough, but it’s easy, following a recipe. And he wants it to be good. To make Alfie happy. He glances at the clock on the wall.

Alfie is a little late.

Tommy wipes down the counter again, even though it’s already clean. After some thought he lights a candle on the table.

He stirs the soup and lowers the heat on the stove a little.

Then he sits down by the table and waits. Tries to not imagine all the things that could be keeping Alfie from coming home…

It’s dark outside when the worry becomes too much to handle and he calls the office. Ollie picks up. But no, nothing has happened. He’d be the first to know if the meeting had gone wrong.

“Fucking Italians, always drag these things out. But that’s nothing to worry about. He’ll be home any minute now.”

Tommy hangs up and returns to the table.

He fidgets with a napkin, pulling at the threads. Tries to avoid looking at the clock.

When the darkness outside has turned from dusky gray to pitch black  and Alfie still hasn’t come home, he quietly blows out what is left of the candle, puts the dishes back in their cupboards and goes upstairs.

He undresses, carefully putting all the garments on the appropriate hangers. Puts on his nightshirt, one of Alfie’s old flannel shirts. Then he crawls into bed and curls up on his side, staring at the opposite wall, arms wrapped tightly around his middle.

This is what it’ll be like. This is what you signed up for. You’ll be here, all alone with the baby, pacing back and forth and waiting for Alfie to come home. Is this the life you wanted?

For a long moment that seems to stretch into an eternity he thinks about how it’s not too late yet -he hasn’t told Alfie. He could still-

Keys rattle in the multiple locks on the front door.

Then, Alfie’s steps come up the stairs, and the bedroom door creaks open. Tommy squeezes his eyes shut. The mattress dips behind him.

“Tommy?” Alfie’s voice is soft and his scent makes Tommy’s throat close up.

He swallows. It’s a lost battle, pretending to be asleep. Alfie always knows.

So he makes a noise, a quiet sort of hum.

“You’d made dinner.”

The tears are burning behind his closed eyelids now, and he tries to force down that lump in his throat before making another hum. Tries to sound at ease.

“I’m so sorry I was late, the meeting dragged on. I should’ve called you.”

“It’s fine.” Tommy whispers. He bites his tongue and wishes he hadn’t said anything at all. Fuck this is pathetic. There’s something so deeply humiliating about the whole thing; about putting fucking effort in, about falling into some old stereotype he swore he’d never become-

“No, no it’s not fine. Fucking unacceptable is what it is.” Alfie’s fingers scratch gently in the nape of his neck. “You’d made everything so nice. And I know you hate cooking-“ Tommy can hear the little smile in his voice. He wants to say that he doesn’t hate cooking, he’ll do it for Alfie, he’ll do anything as long as he promises not to leave. And he fucking hates that instinct.

The distress is rolling off him in waves now, seeping out of his pores and wilting the floral scent that he’s loathed all his life. Up until the very moment he met Alfie.  

Tommy curls further into his protective ball when Alfie lies down behind him and pulls him close.

“I’m sorry,” Alfie repeats and presses a kiss in the nape of his neck.

But he can’t answer, because if he focuses on anything other than gritting his teeth together, he’ll begin to cry. As if this whole thing hasn’t been humiliating enough already.

Alfie is patient. He’s always been, when it comes to this. So he’s quiet for a long while.

“Well, the meeting couldn’t have gone worse,” he sighs, suddenly. Tommy keeps biting his tongue. “Fucking… Sabini. Absolutely impossible to have anything to do with. I’ll have a fucking Italian uproar on the rise back in London after this.”

It piques Tommy’s interest. Always does. It’s just the way his brain works -give it a few pieces and it’ll instantly begin laying a puzzle with them, whether he likes it or not. It distracts him enough for the lump to sink down a little.

“Thought Sabini refused to go to Birmingham for meetings?” he asks and manages to keep the tremble out of his voice.

“He does. Arrogant piece of shit. Sent some of his goons. The slightly less idiotic ones. Mostly to let me know that with his man in New York wanting a bigger cut, he’ll only pay me fuckin half of his usual prize for the product. Un-fucking-believable. That's what I get for delivering him high quality rum...”

“You could start exporting it yourself. Cut the middle man.” He pauses, waits for an interruption that never comes, and then adds: “Vincent Changretta’s got a son in New York who imports liquor.”

“He does?”

Tommy hums. “Luca Changretta. His father likes me. I could probably get you in contact with him.”

He pictures Vicente Changretta, seated by the café table down by Highbury Park, cigar in hand and a glass of wine in the other, beckoning him over with a wave. Sweetheart, why don’t you come and sit here for a bit? Keep an old man company? Tommy does sometimes, because having a good relationship with the Italians could be useful, even though aunt Pol would definitely disapprove if she knew he was meddling in the business. And Vicente is nice enough for an aging alpha; always offers him a drink in the most polite way, and when Tommy listens to his many stories of ‘the old country’, he occasionally pats his hand gently in a grandfatherly manner that Tommy finds strangely endearing and only mildly annoying for some reason.

“And then I tell Sabini that unless he decides to pay up, he’ll be out of the whole operation?”

“Mhm.”

Alfie is quiet. Then he leans over Tommy’s shoulder and kisses him square on the mouth, resting all his weight on his elbow as he grins at him.

“You’re fucking brilliant. You and your mind. Always working a hundred miles an hour, innit?”  

A jolt of happiness flips at the pit of his stomach. It’s not like this is a particularly brilliant plan or even a hard situation to solve, but still, he’s not used to this kind of approval of his ideas.

“Not very hard to figure out,” he says and allows himself a faint smile. Alfie raises both eyebrows.

“You calling me stupid, love?”

“Maybe a little.”

Snorting with indignation, Alfie settles back onto the mattress and pulls him closer to his chest. He is quiet for a little bit, running a hand up and down his side, fingers featherlight over the fabric of his nightshirt.

“Sabini’s gonna be fuckin pissed,” he says. “Could end in with all sorts of violence if we’re not careful, that.”

“Depends on how you put it. Set up the meeting in London. Be polite about it, and bring a gift. Sabini likes that. Gestures and so on. ”

Alfie hums and says with genuine confusion, “Fuck, why didn’t I think of… any of this?”

“Because your solution is often to just tell people to go fuck themselves in the most obnoxious way possible.”

Alfie sits up and rolls him over onto his back, pinning him down with what is probably supposed to be a stern look but which most of all comes off as very fond. “Oh, you take that back right now.”

Tommy feels a smirk tug at his lips. “It’s true.”

Alfie huffs. Then, he runs a finger thoughtfully down the side of his face, adding: “Well, to be fair I’ve never claimed to be the more intelligent out of the two of us. So your help is very much appreciated. Maybe you can talk me through what to say beforehand?

“Sure,” Tommy promises. “I’ll write you a list of things to say.”

Alfie smiles down at him. “What have I done to deserve you, eh? All my sins must’ve been overlooked, right, for me to end up with an omega who is not only so beautiful that my fucking lifespan increases with ten years every time I look at him, but who is also the most intelligent-

“Stop-” Heat rises to Tommy’s cheeks and he tries to look away but Alfie grabs his chin.

“The most intelligent, witty,not to mention most beautifulomega in England.” His’s smile seems to widen with every shade of red Tommy’s cheeks darkens. “Sometimes I just think to myself, alright, I sit, and I think and ponder over how lucky I am-“ He needs to tell him. Tommy feels it in his gut right then. If he doesn’t tell him now, he’ll never muster up the courage- “And it’s a true blessing, innit, that your aunt decided to drag you along to my bakery.” Just open your mouth and say it. It’s not that fucking hard.He tries to phrase it: there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.

No, not like that-

“Alfie-“

“And I really should thank her more often,” Alfie goes on. “Because what would my life even be without you in it-“

“Alfie-“ No matter how he tries he can’t seem to find the right words, and Alfie just keeps talking.

“It would be miserable, I tell you, miserable. And I really need to be more appreciative of you-“

Just tell him-

“I’m pregnant.” The words come out too quickly, not wrapped up all neatly like they were supposed to and the silence that hits the room feels like a fucking punch to the gut. Alfie stares down at him, mouth still half open, caught in the middle of a word.

“What?”

Tommy sits up. Tries to breathe and swallow down the panic.

“I’m pregnant,” he repeats. And suddenly the lump in his throat is back, because Alfie just stares at him. “I-I wanted to tell you earlier but I didn’t know how to and- and then you were busy-“

Alfie grabs him by the shoulders. Hard. “Are you sure? Completely, absolutely fucking sure?”

Tommy only manages to nod, overwhelmed by a sudden and unfamiliar urge to cry. Curl up into a ball and hide because Alfie doesn’t want the baby. Maybe it’s him? Maybe Alfie just doesn’t want a baby with Tommy of all people-

Alfie only stares at him for another excruciatingly long moment. But then his eyes well with tears and he blinks. And he smiles, a wide, toothy grin that just lights up his entire face.

“I’m gonna be a dad?”

Happy. Alfie is happy. Finally the realization sinks in, and the relief is so overwhelming that all strength seems to drain from his limbs.

He nods. And suddenly he finds himself being dragged into a tight hug. Alfie pulls him into his lap and crushes him against his chest, burying his face in the crook of his neck. His breathing comes in erratic little bursts, and he holds Tommy so tightly that breathing soon will become an issue. Tommy doesn’t mind in the least. He wraps his arms around Alfie’s neck.

“You’re happy?”  

Alfie pulls away a little and cradles his face between his hands. “Course I’m fucking happy! Fuckin’ell I couldn’t be happier, silly boy.”

“Don’t cry,” Tommy mumbles and wipes at the tears trickling down his cheeks. He lets out a shaky laugh: “You’re gonna make me cry too.”

But it’s a lost cause because he’s already fucking crying. It’s the hormones. He blames this whole thing on those.

“No I’m going to fucking cry, alright, it’s my God given right to cry when I find out that the man I love is carrying my child,” Alfie exclaims and beams at him. He moves back a little, creating space between them so that he can place a hand on Tommy’s belly. “Right here, love. Isn’t that just fucking amazing?”

Tommy leans forward and kisses his nose.

Alfie just keeps smiling down at his belly with this dreamy, almost goofy smile and Tommy savors the moment. Then he suddenly looks up at Tommy with wide eyes. “You haven’t eaten anything!”

Tommy is tempted to ask how he knows that, but Alfie has probably put two and two together so there’s no use denying it.

“Now, you just stay right there, don’t move a fucking inch.” Alfie is already gathering up all the pillows, settling Tommy with his back against them. “I’ll be right up with something to eat. And maybe some… blankets? Yeah we definitely need more of those. Blankets and-”

Still listing things to himself under his breath, Alfie disappears out the door.  

Tommy is tempted to call after him that he’s barely two months along, and if Alfie’s going to be like this for the rest of the pregnancy it’s going to become unbearable. But he doesn’t. Instead he just sits there and waits. And occupies himself with arranging and then rearranging the pillows. Tries different options before settling for having them behind his back and by his sides in a comfortable little half circle that somehow just feels… right.

Alfie soon returns with two bowls of the soup he cooked earlier precariously balanced on a tray and with several blankets under his arms. When Tommy moves to take the tray before an accident occurs Alfie protests so loudly that he’s got no choice but to stay put for fear of actually causing the soup to end up spilled all over the bed. Once the tray has been safely set down on the nightstand, Alfie takes the blankets and spreads them out over him, and Tommy lets him fuss with them until they’re all in acceptable positions, because Alfie looks so incredibly pleased once he’s tucked him in.  

“Remember that you’re eating for two,” he says when he hands him the bowl.

“Can’t wait to hear that for the next seven months,” Tommy mutters but begins to eat, still, as Alfie settles next to him on the bed.

“Oh you’ll hear a whole lot more than that, love. Like… don’t lift that heavy box. Maybe you should sit down for a while? Do you want me to rub your ankles?“ Alfie grins. “I can’t wait to dote on you.”

Tommy huffs.

“You already do.”

“But it’ll be on a whole other level now,” Alfie says. Runs his thumb down Tommy’s cheek. “Gonna treat you and this baby like royalty. Anything you want, you’ll have.”

“I already have everything I want.” The words come to mind easily. And it’s not until he sees the look on Alfie’s face that he realises he said them out loud. But he doesn’t mind so much. It’s true. Especially when Alfie leans in and kisses him.

[tfloosh]

Time

Guys, I planned to have this out before August, but after struggling through six pages, I decided I hated everything I wrote and deleted everything and really struggled to start over. I’m much happier with what I’m posting today, and I hope you have all enjoyed reading this little fanfiction of mine. :)

Also, the tradition of naming the Princess of Hyrule Zelda is canon in this fic, so Zelda and Link’s daughter is named Zelda, but they call her by her middle name Caralynn, just so there’s no confusion.

Light | Forest | Fire | Water | Shadow | Spirit | Time

Princess Zelda was practically bouncing in her seat.

“Are we almost there, Mother?” she asked, glancing out the window as if Calatia City would suddenly appear over the horizon in the next couple of seconds.

“It’ll be an hour still, Caralynn,” Queen Zelda smiled at her daughter. “We’ll be there in time for dinner. Don’t worry.”

“But how could I not?” Caralynn slouched in her seat. “I’m so nervous for Kaleb, and we haven’t seen him or Father for a whole month.”

“I know, dear,” Zelda smiled. “I miss them, too. But I’m sure Kaleb will be fine for his crowning. He has become a very mature young man.”

“Mature?” Caralynn huffed. “Before they left last time, Kaleb put a frog in my bedsheets.”

“If I remember correctly, you had left a snake in his,” Zelda pointedly stared at her daughter.

“It was only a tiny garden snake,” Caralynn resumed looking out the window so as to not meet her mother’s gaze. “It wouldn’t have hurt him.” Then she giggled. “He has such a girly scream for a fifteen-year-old.”

The Queen could only roll her eyes and shake her head.

They arrived at the Calatian Royal Castle in an hour, just as Zelda had predicted. Her husband, King Link, and their son, Prince Kaleb were there to greet them.

“Oh, my son,” Zelda hugged Kaleb extra tight just because she could. “I missed you so much.”

“Mother,” Kaleb huffed. “I can’t breathe.”

“Oh hush,” she ruffed his hair which made him scowl. “Just let your mother give you a hug after we’ve been apart for a month.” Zelda briefly turned to Link sending him a smile and extending her hand so he could press a quick kiss to her knuckles. “How have preparations gone? Will everything be ready by next week?”

“Yes, everything has gone rather smoothly,” he replied, escorting his wife up the stairs and into the main entrance. “Preparations for the crowning are complete, everything for the ball is finished, and the only thing left is the cleaning of a few guest rooms. Speaking of which, when will your parents arrive?”

“Day after tomorrow,” Zelda answered as Caralynn and Kaleb raced past them down the hall. “We may need to separate them soon. Apparently Kaleb left a frog in Caralynn’s bed before you left.”

“I think we should have some father-daughter time then,” Link smiled as he slipped away to grab Caralynn. In turn, Zelda stepped forward to grab Kaleb.

It wasn’t until she had children of her own that Zelda truly appreciated the patience her own mother used when dealing with her. She loved her children, yes, and couldn’t imagine her life without them, but it was times like these that she felt like the Goddesses were really testing her.

***

Guests arrived from all across the Goddesses’ Realm to attend the anointing of Prince Kaleb as the Crown Prince of Calatia. There was more pomp surrounding the event than usual as many wanted to watch a son of Hyrule and Calatia be introduced to the life of public service and the full duties of the crown.

Of course, Zelda was worried out of her mind. She could have sworn there were less people attending her marriage to Link. She never wanted this kind of pressure on her sweet son.

“The only added anxiety I feel is from your worrying, Mother,” Kaleb said during breakfast the day before the ceremony. “I promise I’m fine. I promise everything will go perfectly. If anything you should be worried about Father forgetting his lines or Caralynn making a scene.”

“Being scolded by my own son,” Zelda lamented, ignoring the cries of protest from her husband and daughter. “What has the world come to? Alright, Kaleb, I promise not to pester you for the rest of the day and all of tomorrow.”

“I’ll hold you to your word,” Kaleb pointed his fork at her. “Not a peep for the next forty-eight hours.”

It was easier than Zelda thought. During their final dress rehearsal, Kaleb performed perfectly, easing all the worries she had.

“You’re going to do just fine, my son,” she pulled him into a hug. “Now don’t stay up too late, and don’t drive your father crazy.”

Zelda turned to Link, “And don’t drive your son crazy, either.”

After some final hugs with both Zelda and Caralynn, Link and Kaleb left to partake in a traditional night of seclusion. From the end of the dress rehearsal to the beginning of the crowning, it was tradition for the father and son to be alone and meet with no one. It was a time for the King to pass down wisdom to his heir and for the future Crown Prince to bare his anxieties to his father. The entire time was kept secret to all but the pair, and Zelda knew how important it would be to them both. Link told her once that the night before his own crowning held some of his greatest memories with his father.

The next morning was a rush of excitement, mainly spearheaded by Princess Zelda Caralynn. She was a whirlwind of energy, barely keeping still to let her hair be styled or her Bathory green dress to be properly laced up.

“My first official international ball,” the young princess smiled widely. “Will there be kids my age?”

“There should be,” Zelda smiled at her daughter through the mirror in front of them both. “Queen Hilda of Lorule has a daughter around your age. And of course several of your friends from both Hyrule and Calatia will be here.”

“Yay!” she cheered.

“I hope you practiced your dance steps,” Queen Mother Adalynn smiled from where she sat by the fire.

“Every chance I could,” Caralynn smiled brightly and twirled for her Grandmother just to prove her point. “Dance lessons are much more fun than my other tutoring.”

“Thought her tutoring has gone much better since Kaleb started taking all his lessons here in Calatia,” Zelda almost rolled her eyes, and Adalynn nodded knowingly.

“The joys of raising royal children,” the Queen Mother laughed.

“I truly don’t know how you did it with, Link.”

“Lots of patience and replacing paneling filled with arrow holes on the second floor gallery.”

“Bless you and your patience, Queen Mother,” Zelda placed a hand over her heart. “Now,” she turned to Caralynn, “which jewelry would you like to wear?”

“Could I wear the emerald set Grandmother Ada gave me last Goddess Day?”

“I think that’s a perfect choice,” Zelda reached for the delicate necklace and earrings her daughter selected and handed them to Adalynn so she could put them on her granddaughter. She carefully clasped the necklace on while Caralynn slipped the earrings into place.

“You look like a Princess,” Zelda smiled at her daughter as she twirled in front of the mirror.

“Thank you,” she smiled. “But I still think blue looks better.”

“That’s my girl.”

They waited in a second floor parlor with some of the other high profile guests until it was their turn to enter the Grand Hall. The Queen and Princess took their thrones on the dais behind the High Priest while the Queen Mother took her seat in the front row, and they waited for the entrance of the King and Prince.

Everyone stood when Link walked in with Kaleb at his side and the ceremony began.

“I, Link of House Bathory, present my son, Kaleb Jonathan, to the Goddesses above, all here in attendance, and all the subjects of my realm,” Link spoke to the High Priest.

“As the chosen representative of the Goddesses, I welcome you,” the High Priest nodded. “Is there anything you wish to declare to the Goddesses of old?”

“I wish to declare my intention to name my son as my heir and Crown Prince of the kingdom of Calatia.”

The High Priest began the ceremonial speech in Ancient Hylian. Zelda glanced over at Caralynn to see her daughter’s brow furrowed in concentration to hear and understand each word. After the High Priest was done, Kaleb knelt, and Link stepped forward to give the formal vows.

“With all the peoples of Calatia here as my witnesses,” he started, “I confirm you as my heir and the future King of Calatia.”

“I humbly accept this burden from you, my King,” Kaleb responded. “And I dutifully await the day to fulfill this promise.”

“The Goddesses will call for that day whenever they wish. Will you be ready, my son?” Link held out his hand.

“I will never be ready,” Kaleb grabbed his father’s hand with both of his. “But I will fulfill this duty to the best of my ability.”

Zelda thought she heard more weight in Kaleb’s words than during the dress rehearsal the night before, and she wondered if Link had told him how he renewed his own crowning vows with his father on King Clement’s deathbed.

Pages stepped forward, and Link handed Kaleb the ceremonial scepter and orb before placing a grandiose crown adorned in emeralds on his son’s head. The High Priest stepped forward again to perform the final part of the ceremony.

“In the name of the Golden Goddesses, I anoint you as the Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Calatia,” the High Priest dipped his fingers into the anointing oil and drew a triangle on Kaleb’s forehead. “Rise and receive your people.”

Kaleb stood and turned to face the crowd, holding his head high despite the weight of the crown.

“I proclaim you Kaleb Jonathan of House Bathory, Crown Prince of Calatia,” the High Priest called out. “May the Goddesses bless you.”

“May the Goddesses bless you,” the crowd echoed back before breaking into applause and the occasional cheer from the younger guests and Caralynn.

***

Zelda smiled as she watched Caralynn and Kaleb dance as informally as they could along with the other young kids on the dance floor, knowing Adalynn was off somewhere shaking her head and laughing at the sight. Dinner was technically finished, but the plates and tables were still being cleared. The children and young adults had stormed the dance floor and starting partying while their parents stood and engaged in small talk.

“I’m glad we can give them such joy,” Zelda sighed.

“Feeling nostalgic now that they’re growing?” Link chuckled next to her.

“Of course,” Zelda shoved Link half-heartedly. “I was so worried about their childhood, raising them in two countries as we are.”

“And they have completely turned out fine,” he smiled. “Probably better than we were at that age.”

“Oh Goddesses,” she shook her head. “I almost can’t believe how much we’ve changed since we first met all those years ago.”

“Yes, if we had it your way, we wouldn’t even be married.”

“We might have if you weren’t so stubborn over my Sheik disguise.”

Link scoffed, “You know I love your Sheik disguise. It was the deception I was angry about.”

“Like you wouldn’t have done the same if you could,” Zelda laughed when Link didn’t have a quick reply.

They sat and watched as the kids were shepherded off the dance floor, and the ball was officially opened by Kaleb and one of the noble’s daughters that he adamantly told them he did not have a crush on (none of them believed him).

“Are you glad?” Link asked quietly. “That we stuck it out after everything we went through?”

Zelda thought back on the last few years. Their coronations and wedding, spending a whole year to just tour Hyrule and Calatia and visit every possible nook and cranny of each country, finding out she was pregnant and bickering with Link about the gender for months (all in good fun of course). It hadn’t been easy, traveling back and forth from Hyrule to Calatia every six months, but to see her and Link’s children grow and learn about both of their homelands had been worth it. She couldn’t imagine a happy life without them running around the castle. In fact she couldn’t imagine what her life would be like without Link beside her.

She touched her wedding ring. The sapphires of her engagement ring were accompanied by a band of emeralds now, reflecting the colors of the two houses she a part of. It didn’t matter that it had all started with a contract that Zelda had initially sought to be annulled. It didn’t matter that they had fought each other tooth and nail for almost two years after meeting one another. And it didn’t matter that it took both of them far too long to realize their true feelings for one another. What mattered was that they were together, they were happy, and each day was better than the one before.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[pinkcloudsnightlightbell-remade]

[This post really doesn’t make sense but you should deffo have some experience with the game Resident Evil 2 : Biohazard (2019) -- here’s a short livestream of the 30-minute demo by some cool video journalists and a H U G E L Y Y influential horror gamer’s video of the demo, as well. (And here’s a favourite artist who is probably the very one you can blame for me wasting your time/gushing sm lol...) ]

Input/commentary is sincerely, absolutely, and aggressively, encouraged! ! 

Leon Scott Kennedy is nooooooooooot supposed to be any heterosexual woman`s fantasy because he is bisexual let me get into it

👉 First like the whole thing with Ada manipulating him? 

GOLD

but it’s unfair to Leon who’s actually incredibly...human?

And the other thing is that (and I probably have made it really clear) Resident Evil and the fandom are so ... weird and racist but I like seeing all the changes from the remake as well as (to a lesser degree) backtracking through the games where Leon’s appeared

I love seeing him in 2019 being completely off-the-bat friendly towards Claire and then flirting -- and it being okay with me???? I went ahead and looked up tags on here and @/mikaeled had a drawing of the RE 2 protagonists 

The first protagonist, Claire, is drawn with the bi flag colours

The second protagonist, Leon, got the ace flag

THAT made me want to tap into fandom a little bit more and I went on Twitter and Pixiv and got to see some weird fantasies of being a really controlling Leon but on the other hand saw amazing depictions of Claire being in a loving relationship with a Leon whose kindness lined up with my first exposure of him. (The other day I had a similar experience looking up lesbian/bi claire redfield on this hellsite and someone wrote that Claire is a lesbian -- big big yes -- but added in the tags that “Leon is a trans bi guy!”)

So.

Why not get into it a bit while I’m overcaffeinated?

👉 Leon and Ada is ... weird and people can read weird, bad things into it especialllllllllly if you consider “yellow fever” but it can also be smth super cute where a bi guy and a really cool girl he meets allows him to survive the events of RE 2 (1998) because she is literally mourning the death of her boyfriend in Umbrella. I think that Capcom unbeknownst to their demonic loudmouth staff have created some really thoughtful chances for representation and that helped them get so big--so Ada and Leon are good

But like...

Claire is right there! Leon and Claire become friends like that and tbh they make my bisexual heart melt as individuals. As a couple I feel hope imagining the ways they’d buck the trend of alienation and the threat of abuse...I feel like I care nothing for the fandoms, the creators, and even a majority of the games’ plot points, but here Leon and Claire are, making me feel so much pride because they show that there’s a way for men and women to be ... healthy while in love. They’re the couple that’d be great peer parents (Shirley is a big part of their game they’re protagonists of, and I love how she is written both in 1998 and 2019 which parallels how Moira Burton is written--and completely diverges from the tragedy of the pigeonholey writing of Ashley Graham) and then while they’re wonderful supports to Shirley and are intimately “””together””” in many aspects of life I believe that they’re the type to not even date because the intimate devotion and protection or sticktoitiveness of a friendship ends up building first, because it matters more. Which is not to say that when they do get into a relationship it’s anything but one that is rare.

It’d be r.a.r.e.!!

look at this ... fucked me up 

👉 In regards to this rare kind of love, the key isn’t sympathy or understanding and cooperation even through struggles ranging from PTSD to personality clashes through the years, nor is it chemistry and attractiveness (yeah I will go on record that they’re for better or worse based off of Caucasian models who are paid to be taken pictures of in real life and it fucking shows like I’d be a dishonest bisexual if not just a bad bisexual if I said I didn’t wanna ram both of them into a mattress shut up).To me it’s how Claire is as much of a hero as a typical Die Hard movie hero and YET no more of a hero compared to Leon who is, very clearly, atypical. That’s the biggest part. I love the atypicality. Leon’s seen as hot but approachable and even “a little baby who’s an incompetent rookie cop” but he isn’t... the usual cop, a.k.a. a batt*rer and a **pist and a vio*ent threat and a pig... He’s known to be a soft kind person in the remake.... so to me... 

I love him for Claire but I love the possibility that Leon Scott Kennedy’s bi and gender-nonconforming, and asexual (being demisexual) and not-cisgender and completely proud. I love that he could be this and he IS as good as this ...and he supports lesbians and bi women and alll trans and gnc and nb people unequivocally, maybe,,? Yes? Sbshshdjdjd 

Granted this is all a LOT. Let me defend myself and say that perhaps this is a hyperfixation for me but I’m the type that likes to mix into some of the emotions a tiny nugget of logic so let me make the disclaimer that, ya boi isn't an easy 'n convenient character that's hot into which I as a reader can insert myself... For me I’ve pieced something together that brings comfort and makes some sense. I like to think that he is a survivor of gay-bashing, ostracization, financial abuse, emotional abuse, ****, humiliation, public threats, familial bullshit such as custody battles and gaslighting and is transgender but he’s proud... he’s proudly trans and perhaps he is touchaverse and in terms of sexuality is bi/pansexual while in terms of who he has dated before it’s very messy as he is very aggressively misandrist and hates men and perhaps he’s very stone when he is in a mewd -- and perhaps transphobia makes him go into a rage and he has actually gotten in lots of trouble before as a kid which came back to bite him and he’s lost family and found family and best friends and the loss really hurt and made his choice to go to police academy ring hollow by the end of his training and made him a big believe in social justice and in defending people who society left behind and in therapy and self-change and in accountability (he ISN’T a selfinsert prOMISE!!) but he’s been through a lot aaaaaaaa lotttttt like idk hes just a dude sure

he’s just a dude.b,ut theres a reason zombies don;t faze him!

LOVE THAT. That part.

👉 to sum up: i support the remake fans not being uncritical and loving on the cast of characters and leon specifically! there’s a reason he recently bucked the trend of masculinity and (21 years of fandom and 21 years of problematic annoying fans, perhaps also writers, aside) has always been objectifiable, that is, seen as hot/a sidepiece/specifically desirable for women--but just /: not /: women /: as in /: Women slash str8s /: . . . .RETCH lmao he’s a gun toting hero that is very atypical but not in a disempowering manner -- rather, in an empathetic and emotional one and I want to see the RE2 protagonists heal through a life changing care and tender friendship rather than bonding through liferuining catastrophes 💓💓💓but what I am trying to say in the end is that they are so inspiring both together and as individual protegonists due to their abiliy to weather thru struggles that I as a qtwoc immigrant in America can identify with🤧 

[📍]  tl;dr   -- - 💓cute pan pew pew man is loving and cute ! :> also claire is 💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓 so cute...........................pls support/refute my theory

[clearrx7]

Hicsqueak fic I wish I(or anyone, I’m not picky!) could write: So there’s a lot of discussion about what would happen if in the finale, Hecate sacrificed her magic to the founding stone and had to deal with the aftermath (and I love this idea because it’s SO PAINFUL but like... the thought of the Hubbles + Pippa helping her learn to deal with it is also just SO GOOD). 

I am here to propose an alternative! What if.... Pippa was the one who made that sacrifice? (Kay I’m sorry I couldn’t help myself, this idea kind of got away from me and I realllllly wish I could turn it into the long, well written, fully fleshed out fic that I want it to be instead of like a badly put together outline of an idea BUT THIS IS ALL I AM CAPABLE OF). I hope it’s not TOO cringey, but I can never tell with stuff that I put out : ]

What if Julie didn’t show up to Cackle’s because the magic ran out before mini-Julie reached her? Mildred isn’t unfrozen, and Mould’s change of heart comes too late. The school freezes over, and everyone left inside is a popsicle. The other teachers (Drill, Bat, Algernon) wait at the town for them to show up, and keep trying to reassure the students with placating words like “oh I’m sure they’ll be fine, let’s sing another song”, but getting less and less convincing every minute. 

Clarice and Bea are guilty/angry/beating themselves up about not going back for Sybil. After a certain amount of time, Dimity loses the last bit of hope she’s holding onto, and knows it’s time to tell the Great Wizard. She manages to contact him, and the two of them inform the parents of the children that there’s been an incident at Cackle’s. However, he’s trying to do damage control, worried about how it would look if the public knew the truth and orders the remaining Cackle’s staff to keep it vague and not reveal anything about the founding stone or what exactly happened to cause the mass evacuation. 

He sends magical missives to the heads of other schools in the area, since there are now a couple hundred schooless witches that need a place to go. So now Pippa and Julie know that something bad’s happened, but neither of them know everything. The message to Pippa simply said an accident has occurred at Cackle’s and that the school is now shut down and in quarantine, and for Pippa to reply with the number of student refugees her school can accommodate. 

Julie is told even less than that, only that something happened at school involving Mildred, and she won’t be able to see her for a while, but that they’ll let her know if anything changes. She’s obviously not satisfied with this and demands to know what’s going on, the people on the Great Wizard’s side just refuses to give anymore details and shut her out. She’s kind of desperate for information, so she calls her only magical friend, Pippa (I’ve kind of borrowed @always-la-belle-epoque​’s headcanon that Pippa reached out and they became friends after spelling bee, I hope you don’t mind!) to ask for help. Pippa has been trying to find out what exactly happened at Cackle’s, and most importantly if Hecate is okay. When Julie makes contact she adds Mildred to her queries, but she’s given the same brush-off by the Great Wizard. 

She’s really worried now because she can’t reach Hecate, through mirror or maglet or a discovery spell(it can’t sense Hecate’s magic since she no longer has any), so she tries Ada, with the same results. At this point it’s full on internal panic, she’s just barely holding herself together on the outside. She tries Dimity, and almost collapses in relief when the mirror call goes through, and just asks, are Hecate and Mildred okay?. Dimity takes one look at her face/expression and knows better than to try to bullshit her regardless of the great wizard’s orders. Dimity tells her what actually went down, and her face just drains of colour as her vision fades a little at the edges as she just sits in a shocked daze. Julie doesn’t fully understand all that stuff about the founding stone, but she knows that Mildred is in a lot of trouble and needs help. She gives Pippa a little pep talk and gets her to snap out of it. 

The two of them decide that they need to go to Cackle’s to see for themselves. Dimity tries to tell them that’s not a good idea, that Pippa will just get herself frozen too, but the two of them ignore her warnings and go off to Cackle’s together. When they get there, they find Mildred first. Julie is horrified, but somehow miraculously gets her out the same way she did on the show (super-powered magic hugs :D). Now that Mildred is unfrozen, she tells Pippa how to reignite the founding stone. They go up to the tower with the founding stone together, and see the hallows + hecate + mould + Agatha & Gullet all frozen around the stone (I’m imagining that after the magic weakened enough to let them out, A&G wanted to gloat and maybe use the magic sucking powers of the founding stone for some nefarious purpose, but spent too long sniping at each other not realizing how weak their powers were since they spent so long in the photograph, and ended up frozen). 

Pippa is devastated seeing Hecate trapped in the ice, how fragile she looks, her expression a mixture of fear and pain. She resolves to do what needs to be done to reignite the founding stone. Just as Pippa’s about to head over to the stone, she sees Mildred step up to it, ready to give away her own powers. That’s the moment her heart just melts/breaks and she knows that she would protect Mildred with her life (She already thought Mildred was a great kid before this, but it’s like... the turning point between -yeah Millie’s a sweet kid, I’ll help her out a bit at school- and -MUST NEVER LET ANY HARM COME TO HER AND DO EVERYTHING IN MY POWER TO KEEP HER SAFE-). 

Anyways, she stops Mildred and tells her that she can’t let Mildred sacrifice herself, that she has to be the one to do this. Mildred protests, but Pippa puts her foot down and starts the spell. Julie and Pippa’s eyes meet while she’s performing the spell, and Julie’s overwhelmed with gratitude and just silently mouths a thank you to Pippa and all three of them are tearing up. 

The spell works and everyone unfreezes, and as soon as Hecate realizes what’s going on she just lets out this agonized sound of protest and screams for Pippa to stop, “Pippa, you mustn’t!” and tries to redirect the spell to take her powers instead (like what Mould did for Mildred). Hecate is an emotional wreck when she realizes that It’s too late because Pippa’s already completed the spell. But there’s no time to process anything now because Gullet, Agatha and Mould are all unfrozen too. 

So now they’re in a witch stand off where it’s pretty much Mildred, Hecate, Esme, Sybil and Ethel vs Mould, Agatha and Gullet (since Pippa and Julie are magicless). Agatha wants the founding stone, and obviously Hecate can’t let her take it. She realizes that she probably wont’ be able to hold off 3 adult witches by herself, so she reluctantly asks Esme if she’s able to help (she doesn’t want to put Esme in harm’s way, but this situation doesn’t give them much choice), and tells Mildred, Ethel and Sybil + nonmagical people to stand back. Well, she phrases it like, “Ethel, Sybil, Mildred...Keep Ms. Pentangle and Ms. Hubble safe.” 

And now there’s spells flying everywhere and it’s pretty evenly matched even 3 v 2 (since Hecate and Esme are both two of the most talented witches of their respective generations, + Esme absorbed the power of the founding stone which I imagine would be much stronger than what she had before, and Agatha only has Esme’s 16 or 17 year old magic? I actually have no idea how old Esme is supposed to be). 

Meanwhile, Mildred keeps on trying to talk to Ms. Mould to get her to change sides. Agatha sees that it’s making Mould doubt her choices, and tries to shut Mildred up by sending a powerful spell at her that would have seriously hurt her. Hecate and Esme were occupied with Gullet and didn’t expect Agatha to target Mildred so suddenly, and they can’t react in time to protect Millie. Pippa and Julie both try to step in front of her, but surprisingly, it’s Mould who takes the blow for Mildred. Now Mould’s gravely wounded, Gullet and Agatha have one less witch on their side, and Ada shows up with Enid, Maud and Felicity. The two of them decide its in their best interests to gtfo and they transfer out to escape before anyone can stop them. 

Mildred is crying by Ms. Mould, who’s struggling to breathe. Mildred begs Esme, Ada or HB to heal her. The three of them together manage to save her. The great wizard is informed again of these new events. He takes Mould away to be put on trial at a later date and says that her actions to save Mildred will be taken into consideration. The rest of the Cackle’s students don’t have to spread out to different schools after all, and they all come back. 

Clarice + Bea have a tearful reunion with Sybil. Ethel isn’t expelled because officially, the incident with the founding stone didn’t happen, but there are still consequences, e.g. they put some kind of spell tracker on her and she’s only allowed to cast authorized spells in class for the rest of the year). After they sort all of that out, there’s an awkward moment where the great wizard turns to Pippa and just says, “your sacrifice will forever be honoured and remembered by those in this room, but unfortunately, someone with no magic cannot run a magical school. You can no longer be headmistress of Pentangle’s.” And Pippa just nods and says sadly, “I know.” Hecate, Mildred and Felicity are all devastated and protest even though the all know the reality of the situation.

Later that night, Hecate and Pippa are in Hecate’s room, and Hecate is still trying to understand WHY Pippa did this, and Pippa just says “I had to save you. I don’t regret my choice.” And Hecate just cannot comprehend it, feels so terribly guilty, expects Pippa to hate her. Her voice is full of shame, barely louder than a whisper as she forces out the words. “I cost you everything. Your school, your life, your magic...12 generations wasted. You must despise me. I am so, so very sorry.” And Pippa just smiles wistfully and says, “You didn’t cost me anything Hecate. I gave it willingly, and I would do it again. Of course I don’t despise you. I could never despise you...because I love you. I’ve always loved you, and I think I always will.” Hecate just breaks down, and just hugs Pippa to her so tightly when she says “I love you too.”

The next week is pretty rough, Pippa’s struggling with not having magic anymore,and also not having her school anymore, and both of those things are equally painful. Sometimes she can’t help it and just has to cry and feel sorry for herself for an hour, usually in Hecate’s arms. That’s one good thing that came out of all this, she and Hecate are finally together, a bright light in a dark time. She has a lot of talks with Esme about how to cope, since Esme’s the only other person who can understand what she’s going through. Mildred comes around a lot too to help her out with non-magical stuff, and because Mildred is Mildred, she refuses to give up and is working together with Felicity to find a way to get Pippa’s powers back. 

Millie and Felicity come up with the idea of getting all the girls at Cackle’s donating a little of their own power(like, 1%) to make up what Pippa had to give away. And the two of them give an inspiring speech to the student body, and everyone volunteers, including the teachers. They perform the mass spell and Pippa gets her magic back. HB and Pippa tearfully thank everyone, and especially Mildred + Felicity. Pippa gets her school back, and she and HB live happily ever after forever THE END. THIS IS JUST SHAMELESS WISH FULFILLMENT AND SELF-GRATIFICATION ON MY PART. (I’m not sorry :DDD) 

[cavillary]

So, I’ve been meaning to do this for a couple days and I’m just now able to get around to it. My amazing friend Marina has poured her heart and soul into this story, and it’s been an absolute blessing to watch unfold.

I decided to reread the story and live react to it, leading up to the grand finale! Everything will be under a ‘Keep Reading’, I pinky promise!

Here we go!!

Maybe It’s For the Best, Part I:

- Tommy can run be across his lips if he wants to, goddamn

- I feel so bad for Tommy and Y/N, it's completely heartbreaking to see Charlie like this and not be able to help much.

- Children don’t grow out of grief, Thomas, they mask it and internalize it.

- Its also hard for children to move on from loss if their important people haven’t either.

- Charlieeeeeee omg

- Being physically present isn’t the same as being emotionally present tommy! You can spend all the time in the world with someone, give them all the gifts, but if you can be emotionally available then what’s the point?

- “more than mummy?” fuckin HEARTBREAKING

- What gives you the right, Marina omg

- I know so well how tommy must feel right now. He can't help Charlie because the only person Chuck wants is gone. He feels so helpless and lost, especially when tommy knows that he can't confront his own demons, let alone his sons.

- It's especially symbolic that instead of not posting wedding photos, or one of just Y/N and Tommy, the one with Chuck glaring at her was on display.

- “stroked his hair as she swayed, rocking him, almost as if he were a baby” you mean something his mother (couldn’t? wouldn’t? I don’t remember) do, something Grace once did, because im convinced that tommy loves being the little spoon.

Maybe It’s For the Best, Part II:

- With Tommy helping raise his siblings, it makes sense that he knows about babies.

- Poor Chucks tired himself out.

- The suggestion that perhaps there wont be a happy ending? Because Reader didn’t look back at Tommy?

- She may have done it for Charlie, but she also did it for herself.

- She was there for so much, trying so hard to not only be his stepmom but also make up for Grace’s absence. Probably hoping that one day Charlie would notice that she loved him through his resistance.

- It's also fair to think that tommy had someone else in his bed. He is a man in the early 1900’s in the peaky-verse

- Kids are so observant. He sees tommy’s struggle, he notices that Reader isn’t there for breakfast, but hasn’t realized what happened yet. He’s also not curious to find out.

- Damn, I’ve had some hangovers but none that bad.

- Ah, Ada, responding as sisters do! With loving care and sarcasm lol

- Its so fucking fair to think tommy initiated it too, given his history. I can't imagine how much this must hurt him tho, having to explain the situation just to get some familial support..

- “Ada rubbed his back like she used to do to Karl when he was angry and didn’t know why” another example of tommy’s need to be treated like a child when he’s delicate because he never had the chance to be an actual child. He grew up way too harshly and quickly.

- Ooooh, the moment when demon child Charlie learns exactly how much effort Reader put into keep Charlie happy and sated, when he learns that she cared for him despite his behavior and grief (which he learned from his father, to be fair)

- What does sandwich crust, triangles, apple skins, water, warm slippers and salmon cream have in common?

- “excited to be eating three meals a day again” hes such a little shit omg

- “You never forget” / “I wasn’t the one who took care of those things.” DAMN!!

- That line may not seem like much, but it’s a really powerful revelation to Sir Charles.

- As my dad always says “some lessons you have to learn yourself, the hard way.”

- Stay away from the fucking drugs, Thomas. Alcohol is bad enough.

- It’s also so telling that after he bought reader’s ring he still considered grace. Its one thing to reminisce, it's another to force your dead wife to be an active participant in your current marriage. Especially when it’s a single-decided decision, and not one Jackass Tommy and Reader made together.

- Yes!!! Horses!! The thing that connected you to your child-self, your past and current marriage, AND your son!!

- Karl is such a shit, Charlie needs to beat his ass at some point.

- Ada is such a saint, I would’ve thrown that pot at Karl. Bitches get stitches.

- (This is no way indicative of how I’d treat real children btw. This is all fiction.)

- “it’s all my fault!” it's only partially your fault!!

- Seriously, fuck that kid so fucking hard dude. Karl is such a dick, and I know he lost his dad and he’s in a tough spot, but like… give me a break. Reel your goblin in, Ada.

- Reader, that’s me most weekends. I completely understand.

Maybe Its For the Best, Part III: THE FINALE!!

- Here it is guys!!! What I’ve been waiting for!!! I’m honestly so excited to see what you cooked up, Marina, I know it's amazing.

- Hypersensitivity will drive a bitch insane

- God, I miss polly. I haven’t even seen any of the new season (or the last one tbh) and I already miss polly.

- To be fair, he did kind of go and ruin it. but it wasn’t just his choice, and that’s a tough pill to swallow.

- It will always have something to do with Grace (who was done so dirty by the show. I firmly believe they ruined her character).

- “it takes a good woman to love a man still in love with another… to love another woman’s child” AH. CHILDREN. It can't be just about grace, it's gotta be about kids too. Especially during this era, children are a milestone and the idea of the nuclear family is so prevalent.

- “a victim of circumstance and grief” just like tommy’s past, turning him into what he is now. Just like grace’s death, and charlie’s pain.

- Children are like sponges. They absorb their surroundings– behaviors, ticks, attitudes, thoughts and ways of thinking, emotions, etc.– and it's no wonder that Sir Chuckles couldn’t move on. His dad still centered grace in their lives, immortalizing her in the most unhealthy way to secure her memory. How was he supposed to grow into seeing reader as his stepmom when he doesn’t even know what he’s missing from his first one? such a difficult dilemma.

- He may love reader, but never the way he loved grace. Its two different kinds of love.

- Current wife’s portrait is smaller than grace’s, despite her presence being essential and just as important.

- Reader was happy, but she knew her place. It was grace’s home, and she was simply just living in it.

- It hurts standing up to our children, especially when we know they’re in pain, but the fact that Charlie was allowed to say that and get away with it is discouraging. He didn’t need punishment, but boundaries should have been established by Tommy, proving that charlie’s mistreatment was unacceptable. Which is a super hard line to walk already, even harder with an emotionally unavailable father.

- The constant longing for grace, its no wonder that Charlie struggles. And even tommy, using his past relationship as a yardstick to measure and determine how the current one should be.

- There was a crack in reader’s photo, but not graces?

- First he doesn’t think she looks back at him as she leaves, and now the picture frame?

- Again, reader is always smaller next to Madam Grace

- I love that tommy took care of her family, and not just her.

- Oooooooh sneaky Ada!!! Setting up a trap!!

- John would’ve snapped tommy back into shape, had he been here. Hell, john went through the exact same thing with martha.

- He’s also correct, kids aren’t built for change despite the fact that they’re ever-changing.

- “if we had children, maybe I’d think about it… but it's just me” OUCH

- Decided to wait until chucks was ready, but like this he’d never be ready.

- Oooh, differences between grace and reader. That’d be super interesting to dive into.

- SNEAKY ADA, YOU LITTLE BUGGER

- She’s totally right tho, in their effort to help Charlie they let him run wild with his behavior and emotions.

- Time for the grand finale???

- Oopsie… tommy fucked up

- “you were sad you were going to lose another wife. Not me.” Fucking ouch!!!

- Tommy is still in denial about the rankings in his heart

- I KNEW IT WAS CHILDREN

- Family is obviously so important to reader, tommy had to know that by how she cared for Charlie.

- “I want to raise a child that doesn’t completely loathe me” they might still do that reader lmao give it time

- Ughhhh oh my GOD I can't believe Thomas actually just said that. Like, I know he had to, just to be sure, but you’ve gotta be shitting me. After everything reader just did for HIM AND CHARLIE and he has the nerve to ask that she not treat Charlie less? Get tf out of here

- With her eyes and his cheekbones!!!!!!!!

- Mhmmmm dirty stuff

- I wonder if she actually looked back, or if she’s just saying that?

- Aweeeee Charlie!!! A step towards filling in the gap left by his inherited grief!

Dear Marina, this is such a heartfelt, saddening, wonderful story. Thank you for all of the time, effort, and emotions you put into it. Thank you for allowing us to read your work Its truly an honor, my friend 💚

@tommydoesntpayforsuits

Maybe It's for the Best | Part III

Summary: Finale: Tommy and Y/N hash out unresolved feelings. It all ends here.

Word Count: 16,478 words

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Variables: Y/N= Your Name; L/N= Last Name; Y/E/C= Your Eye Colour; D/C= Dress Colour

Warnings: Swearing, arguing, everyone is just sad, angst, there is a scene where they are about to have sex but it just fades to black, so slight nsfw but not really.

Author’s Note: After almost a year, the finale is finally here.

For the longest time, I didn't want to post this, because it became extremely personal to me. I have apparently written very real fears and insecurities of mine into these characters, and I felt like I was exposing myself. But, I'm not stalling anymore. I think because it's so personal, it makes it so great.

I recommend using the InteractiveFics Chrome extension to replace the variables to your preferred criteria. It’s free and only takes a couple of clicks.

MASTERLIST

Tommy Shelby SFW Taglist

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Part I -> Part II -> Part III

Tommy inhaled from his cigarette, knee jerking impatiently. Everything was too loud. The birds, the wind, the rustling of leaves. He wanted to take his gun and point it at the focal point, the bullseye of all the noise, and just— bang. Until there was nothing in the world except him and a spare few. Some fucking peace. Some fucking quiet.

The front door swung open. Tommy flicked his cigarette end to the floor, crushing it under his heel onto the gravel. He was greeted by Polly’s maid, who took his hat and coat and hung it neatly on the coat pegs next. Thanking her dismissively, he followed her to the lounge. Polly was flipping through a book nonchalantly. Clearing his throat, Tommy waited by the doorway. Polly met him with her unimpressed glower and returned to her book.

“Tommy.”

Taking that as an invitation, Tommy strode in, observing to the neatness of the room. Good. She had gotten out of her rut, then. “Hello, Pol. How are you?” he said casually.

“I’ve been better, believe it or not. Did you bring the papers?”

“Yes,” he sighed. As if he wouldn’t bring the papers. Why else would he be here? Polly didn’t particularly enjoy his social calls. Regardless, he placed his briefcase on the table and unclipped it, handing Polly a binding of papers. “Here you are.”

Polly snatched them. Tommy ignored her hostility and simply put his outstretched hand in his pocket.

Pushing her book away, Polly dropped the papers on the table with a heavy thomp. As she flipped through them, glancing at each page briefly, Tommy took the opportunity to bring out his cigarette case. He offered one to Polly, who took one absent-mindedly. Placing the flame onto the tip of her cigarette, Tommy lit hers before his own. He breathed the smoke in like fresh air, wandering over to the armchair. The only sound was the papers shifting.

“How’s Y/N? Haven’t spoken to her in a while.”

Tommy sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. Why couldn’t everyone just shut the fuck up about Y/N? Couldn’t they tell he didn’t want to talk about her? About anything? What, did he need to tattoo on his forehead, “Don’t Talk to Me Unless Necessary”?

“I don’t know,” he said finally.

Polly glared at him suspiciously. “What’d you mean? Haven’t you spoken to her?”

He focused on the smoke curling away in the air as he cleared his throat. “Y/N and I split up.”

The papers stopped shifting.

“What?”

His eyes fell closed. “I don’t want to talk about this right now, Polly, just look at the papers.”

“What did you do, Tommy?!” She ripped herself out of her seat to loom over him. “What did you do? Ay?!”

He growled quietly to himself, feeling the ache in his head start. “I didn’t fucking do anything, Pol, just look at the fucking papers, alright?”

Polly’s eyes narrowed with outrage. “Fucking no, Tommy! I want to know what you did to that poor girl.” When Tommy didn’t say anything, she scoffed. “Typical Tommy, he finally finds something good for himself, and what does he do?!” she paused for dramatic effect. “He goes and ruins it!”

Tommy clenched his jaw. If he said something, this would take a lot longer. The ache in his temple grew.

Polly began pacing, stopping occasionally point at him with venom on her tongue. “Y/N is a good woman. A. Good. Woman. Thomas.” A frozen look dawned over her face. “Is this about Grace? Does this have something to do with her?” She scoffed. “Of course, it does, Tommy, everything you do has to do with her. It takes a good fucking woman to love a man when he is still in love with another. It takes a good woman to love another woman’s child. So, what did you do to that good woman? What did you do, ay?! What did you do?!—”

“ENOUGH!” Tommy boomed. “You think I don’t fucking know Y/N is a good woman? You think I don’t know? You and Ada are just the fucking same. I say that my wife has fucking left me, and you go and kick me while I’m FUCKING DOWN!”

Sometime during his outburst, he had stood up to stare down at Polly. His temple was pounding, vein prodding into his brain. Sighing, Tommy calmed himself down, scratching his eyebrow pensively. With a heavy voice, he said, “For your information, Polly— Y/N left because Charlie had one too many tantrums. Like I told Ada, she wanted him to heal, and her presence wasn’t helping.”

Polly’s face fell.

Tommy gave her a humourless chuckle. “Yeah. Not what you were expecting, ay? Easy to make me the big bad wolf when you need someone to blame. But, no. This time, it wasn’t me, Polly.”

He placed his cigarette between his lips, stewing with contempt as he fell back into his chair, not knowing what else to do. Much to Tommy’s surprise, Polly sat across from him, pursed lips and downcast eyes. Tommy didn’t care to understand what her expression meant.

Every time he blinked he saw her, Y/N, smiling at him. Another pang to his chest hit him strong. She grinned. His heart beat harder. She frowned. His heart twisted. Tears leaked from her eyes. His heart stopped.

Tommy pressed the heels of his hands into his browbone. His headache had shifted to his eye. But still, every time he closed his eyes, she stared back at him.

“Ada knows about this?”

It took Tommy a couple of seconds to realise Polly was talking to him. Tommy sat back, resting his neck on the top of the armchair. “That’s what you got out of that? Yes, Ada knows. I had to tell her because I dropped Charlie off with her for a couple of days whilst I got my head in check. No one else knows.” He paused to puff on his cigarette. “Frankly, I wish they did, that way I wouldn’t have to talk about this anymore.” He looked at Polly with an icy gaze. “The separation was a victim of circumstance and grief. Not me.”

Polly shook her head with a disgusted contempt. “And why do you think Charlie is still grieving, Tommy?” She waited for a response, but Tommy didn’t grant her the satisfaction. “How can Charlie move on with his life if he sees one of the last people who loved his mother still pining for her? How can the boy grow up functioning if your entire house is just a shrine to her?”

Tommy tensed in his chair, his hand freezing just as it was going to place his cigarette between his lips.

She scoffed without mirth. “And now you’ve fucked up— because he’s grown used to that shrine. Now, if Charlie ever sees it removed, he’s going to see that as a betrayal— as proof that the only one left that loves his mum is him. And he will attribute that to Y/N.”

His jaw locked.

Polly just shook her head at him with disappointment. “Charlie doesn’t remember Grace, Tommy. He grieves her because he never knew her. You grieve her because you did. You are not the same.” She hesitated, but decided to carry on. “Y/N left because you’re both still unable to let Grace go.”

Tommy hauled himself to his feet, ripping the cigarette out of his mouth. With rage on his face, he pointed an accusatory finger at Polly. “I LOVE MY WIFE!”

Polly stared into his eyes. Unafraid, unblinking.

“Which one?”

Tommy’s pursed his mouth, giving Polly the coldest look he could possibly muster. Wordlessly, he grabbed his briefcase and stormed out.

“You know I’m right, Tommy!”

He slammed the door.

Tommy didn’t wait for the staff to take his coat when he stormed into his house. Instead, he ripped it off, throwing it on the sofa where it sprawled messily. Stalking through the halls with a thunderous expression, he raced up the stairs, sparing a glance to the side— to Grace’s portrait, as he always did— and stopped.

Tommy faced her; she stared back at him, unflinching. She glowed, as she always did. Her eyes were cold and accusatory. Another pang hit him. His eyes travelled to a larger portrait of him, Charlie and Grace. Even holding her own son, Grace gave him a knowing look— like she knew his deepest secret. She probably did, chilling his spine with her icy hands. Tommy repressed a shiver. Finally, he looked at the smaller portrait of Y/N.

She looked meek. Her hair was neatly styled, too perfect; her eyes were very Y/E/C, very vibrant, staring at him with a docile gaze. She had been confused as to why he would want to commission a portrait of her, not long after they married.

Tommy had only told her, absent-mindedly, as he looked over some paperwork, “You’re beautiful. You’re my wife. Why wouldn’t I want a portrait of you?”

Y/N had said nothing more. The day the painter came by, Tommy had watched her as she styled herself in the mirror, dressed only in her slip. Watched as she applied her lipstick and rouge, as she powdered her face and blackened her eyelashes. He admittedly didn’t know very much about make-up, but he did know that she was a very good-looking woman. Tommy couldn’t take his eyes off her when she was sliding into a sleek, perfectly fitting D/C dress that showed off her body elegantly. It was one of his favourites on her— no doubt, something she was aware of, he was not subtle about it. Tommy had strolled over to her, mesmerised as she put on the dangly earrings he got her for Christmas. She had returned his stare with a sweet smile, her painted lips pulling apart slightly to show her pearly teeth. She had looked stunning. Hypnotic. Tommy placed his hands on her hips, sliding them down around her waist, pulling her into him to kiss her neck.

She had grinned at him then. Cheekily, she asked him, “Do you like what you see?” which Tommy had only replied with a hum and more kisses. He felt the vibrations of her laugh from charge through his lips.

“You’re sweet,” she’d mumbled.

“I love you,” he said mindlessly.

Y/N grinned so wide, closing her eyes. Her head fell back on his shoulder, his warmth surrounding her so completely she could’ve been like this for hours. “I love you, too.” He placed his chin on her shoulder, smiling at her through the mirror. “Well, now I’ll be immortalised like this. Beautiful, young, in love.”

His smile turned to smirk. “Well, in a few years we’ll do another portrait. Immortalise you as beautiful, old, and in love.”

She scoffed, and shrieked, “In a few years?!”

Playfully, Y/N went for him. Her hands jabbed at him wherever she could reach, going for his chest and stomach. He blocked her spars skillfully. Y/N slapped away his hands to dig her hand into his flesh, giggling.

“Come on! Aim where I wouldn’t think, go on— yes, just like that,” he encouraged, smiling so wide he dimpled.

The memory fleeted from him faster than it came. The silence in the house stiffened and echoed across the walls. Tommy continued staring at her. Y/N’s gaze seemed sadder than he remembered. Wounded, almost. But she had been so happy. He remembered her being happy...

“SHUT UP! You’re not my real mum! My real mum is DEAD!”

Tommy had almost forgotten about that. He had told Charlie off gently, but when his big blue eyes welled up with tears, he hadn’t the heart to chastise him. Y/N had quietly insisted to him, with her Hallmark sad smile that always managed to produce that pang in his chest, that she was fine and Charlie was struggling to let go of his grief. That punishing wouldn’t help. He listened, secretly glad he didn’t have dole out a punishment.

She looked helpless. He never noticed.

Tommy loved Y/N. She was his wife. He didn’t know if she was the love of his life, because who knew if they would even be together if Grace hadn’t died (they didn’t like to discuss it), but he loved her. After Grace, he didn’t think he could put himself through the hurt again, but somehow, somewhen, Y/N had charmed him. Charmed him with her good-looks and pretty smile; her sharp tongue; her habit of looking at him in the eyes without fear; her fierce protectivity of Charlie despite his behaviour; her love for them both; her lack of patience for his lousy habits. She was far from perfect, she had a multitude of flaws, but the very fact that she was good, a good woman, and she loved him anyway had him reeling. Before he knew it, he was on one end of an aisle, waiting for her as she swayed to him in a long white dress.

Despite it all, he caught himself thinking of Grace. Not around her, not whilst he was with Y/N, but he found himself longing for her. Occasionally, he would get waves of nostalgia and deep sadness. He caught himself wishing she was still alive, just so as she could see everything she was missing. Charlie learning how to ride a horse, when he’ll bring someone home, when he’ll get married, have kids— he wanted to sleep besides Grace, to feel her warmth beside him as he slept. He didn’t want to think what that would mean for him and Y/N.

He never looked at Y/N’s portrait. He always looked at Grace’s. It was bigger, grander, more central— eye-catching. Tommy’s lungs burned, reminding him to breathe. Was Polly right?—

No.

Tommy marched up the stairs and stalked to his office, slamming the door behind him. Sitting at his desk, he shuffled some papers, gathering them and stacking them together. His hand collided on a picture frame, knocking another off the desk. Setting down the papers with a thump, he propped the large golden frame back up, where Grace waited for him once again with the same knowing look in her eyes. He leant over in his chair, reaching down to grab the frame. It was smaller, a deep green, which now sported a large crack across Y/N’s photograph. It was a shame. She looked very pretty in that portrait. It didn’t matter. He’d buy another frame tomorrow.

Should he have a frame of her if they were going to divorce? Tommy contemplated it for a moment. No. If he was going to live his life without Y/N, at the very least he could have a photograph. Assertively, he set the frame next to Grace’s. It looked… smaller, next to hers. Grace gave him the look again.

Tommy fell back in his chair. “Fuck.”

Y/N had a shower, letting the water cool her hot, splotchy skin. Her head was pounding with dehydration, throbbing at any lick of light. After a warm drink to fight the winter chill drilling its way into the house, she figured she might as well begin making dinner. Scavenging around her parents' kitchen, she found enough ingredients to make a hearty stew— from the old days, when they had nothing. Y/N was embarrassed to admit that she struggled to remember the recipe, it had been so long since she’d cooked anything— it made her ripple with shame. So used to the money, the clothes, the staff waiting on her hand and foot. Who knew if she could go back to the simple life.

Y/N had felt her cheeks grow warm when her mother set a bowl of the very same stew in front of Tommy the day she brought him to her parents flat for the first time. Y/N knew Tommy didn’t come from wealth. He’d lived in the same town as her until he was well into adulthood. To be fair, Mrs. L/N had been nervous as well, doing her best to clean up the flat— although it was always grimey from all the soot that blew in from the windows— serve a nice meal, and look presentable. But it all fell short, especially when Tommy strode in with his perfectly tailored, quality suits, perfectly starched collars and fancy gold pocket-watches. They had all felt humiliated. Of course, judging by the way Tommy inspected the area with an unreadable expression, she could tell Tommy noticed. However, he didn’t hesitate, giving her mother his rare smile (which, thank goodness came across as more friendly than intimidating) before bringing the spoon to his lips. Tommy gave the most convincing compliments, insisting that it was the best stew he’d ever had and that it reminded him of the stew his aunt used to make him as a boy when he came home from school in the winter.

After they married, without prompt, Tommy’d given her parents a nice, comfortable house in a safe area for their wedding anniversary — and with it, a chance to escape their ratty, grimey flat in Small Heath. He’d offered her father a good, stable job on the Shelby Company Ltd., that didn’t involve any blades that could cut fingers and was completely legitimate. It paid very well — and came with a Bentley (Tommy had smirked without spite when her father’s eyes lit up). It was an opportunity to move up from his seemingly permanent rank as a factory worker, to an important member of— well, anything. Almost overnight. He told Mrs. L/N she never had to clean up a stranger’s mess again. Something they could’ve never achieved on their own.

Mr. L/N had tried to refuse, saying it was too much, but Tommy had said, “Mr. L/N, I am offering you this job because I see that you are a hard-working man. I wouldn’t have offered the job if I didn’t want you to take it. I will be insulted if you don’t.” Tommy had seen the shame still brewing in her father’s eyes, but they had shaken hands and never looked back. Tommy had given her everything. He’d taken care of her family. What this meant for them now, she didn’t know.

Though, Tommy wasn’t cruel. He wouldn’t fire her father, or take back the gifts; he would forget about the it all— he knew how hard it was to get out of poverty and he would never take a job from a hardworking man. It would be dead awkward, but Tommy would never do it. Not even if they hadn’t loved each other anymore, or their marriage ended spitefully. He was cold at times, for business, and when his mind went into that dark place he wouldn’t let her follow, but he wasn’t a cruel man.

His younger brother, John; his first wife, Grace; himself, before the war— they all took so much out of him he rarely expressed emotions, even to Y/N. There were moments where he looked like a genuinely happy man, smiling and joking with her like he didn’t have nightmares about someone taking Charlie, running to save John but John always gets shot anyway, the shovels beating against a wall as he drowned in mud, Grace dying in his arms.

Y/N never met Grace, but from the portraits, she knew of Grace’s beauty. Reminded every day of how beautiful she is. Was.

Never was Y/N one to feel insecure about her looks— she was beautiful enough, and she certainly didn’t catch Tommy’s eye for her flourishing personality, that’s for sure and certain. But watching Grace loom over her, criticising her every move with a taunting glare, it made her feel small. Y/N would never mention it — she never even entertained the idea of telling Tommy — but sometimes a little sensation in the back of her head would trickle like drool, whispering malicious thoughts to her. She wasn’t as beautiful as Grace and would never be, Tommy would get bored of Y/N when she grew old and ugly but Grace would be beautiful for eternity, Tommy would never love her like he did Grace, if Grace hadn’t died Tommy wouldn’t even consider her—

Brrr! Brrr! Brrr!

Y/N looked down at her stew, blinking tears away.

Slowly, her mind caught up. The clock on the wall read three in the afternoon. Her parents left the house to do whatever it is they did— it didn’t matter, they knew she wanted to be alone. Maybe they were calling to see if it was safe to come back home. Y/N sighed, calming herself down.

She picked up the phone. “L/N residence, Y/N Shelby speaking.” Y/N cringed. She needed to start introducing herself by her maiden name.

“Y/N! Hello, it’s Ada. Thought you might be there. How are you?”

Y/N froze. What should she say? Should she act normal? Howdy-do and all that bullshit? Should she tell the truth? It was Ada after all. She could tell Ada anything. Was this a test?

Oh, God. Did she not know?

“Hi, Ada…” Y/N croaked, voice sore from crying and disuse. “I’m… I’m alright, how are you?”

“Oh, well, tired, mostly. Chasing Karl around is exhausting.”

Y/N laughed politely, but it came out sounding more painful than pleasant. “Yes, I can imagine.”

“Yeah. Listen, I was calling to see if you’d fancy comin’ round for a cup of tea? We haven’t done that for a while.”

Last time she was round Ada’s house was a week and half ago. Y/N gulped. “Uhm…” She didn’t know what to do. Would Tommy be upset with her for having a drink with his sister? “Ada…”

“Yes,” she said with a determined edge in her voice, like she was expecting Y/N to protest.

“I— I don’t know if that’s a great idea… I don’t know if you heard…” She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to be hysterical again. “That Tommy and I—”

“Oh, yes, I heard,” Ada said. There was a faux-casual cadence to her that unsettled Y/N greatly.

Oh, god. Was Ada angry at her? Did she want to confront her? Oh, God. “Uhm,” she faltered, like an idiot. “Yes. Of course.”

“Great! How does seven thirty tonight sound?”

A bit soon, Y/N wanted to say, but she couldn’t imagine that going well. “Uh—”

“See you, then!”

The dial tone rang. Y/N blinked slowly, putting the receiver onto its hook. Ada didn’t like taking no for an answer, so if Y/N was expected, she had to turn up. The question was what was Ada going to do to her once she arrived. Hell, Y/N should be glad it isn’t Polly serving her reckoning. Maybe they discussed this, and decided to give her the lesser of two evils. She figured she should feel miserable, but, honestly, all she felt was relief— and even worse still: acceptance. Y/N knew what she married into, she wasn’t an idiot.

No use running from The Piper; she must be paid.

Tommy wasn’t paying attention to his cards, throwing them carelessly onto the messy pile. Arthur sat across from him in the snug in The Garrison, giving him that wary, doe-eyed look he tended to have when he was uncomfortable. They were mostly sitting in silence, drinking, and shuffling cards. When Tommy escaped his mind long enough, he would play his hand. Arthur meekly grumbled Tommy’s name a few times when it was his turn and Tommy only offered a quick, “Just thinking,” before laying his cards down without even glancing at them. Somehow he kept winning. Tommy figured Polly told Linda, who told Arthur. Why else would he act like a starving animal begging for scraps? It was a good thing the stakes weren’t higher. Although, why the hell not? Now that he’s separated, he has free time. He can go down to the pub like he used to at 8 o’clock in the evening. Instead of reading, talking, taking care of Charlie— or a multitude of less innocent things — with Y/N, he could spend his days drinking and gambling with his brothers, like the sad fucker he was before Grace.

Well. Brother. Finn didn’t turn up these days.

Times like these, he missed John. He always tried to make him laugh, however much in vain, when Tommy was upset. Maybe after he was done, he would offer some advice. Tommy knew John got that from him; he used to do the same when John was small. When he was sad, or when Arthur Snr. would come home drunk and angry (that is, when he did come home), Tommy would tell him little jokes to make him crack a smile. At fifteen, John didn’t know how to shave— little tufts growing on his chin and upper lip— so, Tommy taught him. He coated John’s face with shaving cream with his calloused hands, laughing when John spluttered after accidentally licking too far up his lips, and then lathered his own face. Tommy placed the blade against John’s neck, instructing him not to dig too deep, that a light scrape would do. Tommy turned the blade on himself, showing John to hold it at an angle to not nick himself. John and Tommy shaved together then, Tommy occasionally criticising John’s technique. He barely had any blood on him when he was done.

John grew up to make people laugh like Tommy couldn’t anymore. Even though he was younger than him, and definitely not as clever (“Bless his heart,” Polly would say, “but John was never fortunate enough with brightness. He was sweet though, which sometimes is enough.”), John always managed to have a wise little tidbit of advice. And quite often, it rang true. Especially when it came to wives — wives, not women. Arthur took that title. Always managing to have a pretty girl on his arm, ready to do whatever for him whenever he wished. And children— John knew about children. As he should, having enough of them. Tommy had gone to John a few times, to ask about Charlie’s behaviour, not knowing what else to do. Sometimes because he was acting out about Grace’s absence, others because he was acting out because of Y/N’s presence. Charlie didn’t take to her well, a bitter pill for him to swallow at the early stages of their relationship.

John assured him that kids were like that.

“They don’t like change. They’re not built for it,” he'd said, with a heavy frown.

John went on to tell Tommy that his kids were like that after Martha’s death, but soon calmed down. They were defensive when Esme came into the picture, especially so suddenly. One day they had no mum, and the next they had a step-mum.

“You just need to wait for Charlie to settle,” John advised.

When John’s two new little ones came round, the kids soon learnt to get along, and they accepted Esme. They didn’t realise how much they missed and needed someone to take care of them.

"Someone better than me,” John mumbled into his glass.

John also knew about loss, and the guilt that came with it. Him and Martha married quite young. Tommy was at the wedding, standing beside John as he spoke his vows, watching with a certainty it wouldn’t last— convinced they were too young, confusing lust for love. He was right, but not for the right reasons. He took no pleasure in it.

When Martha died, not long after they came back from war, John was inconsolable. Polly took the children after a few months of them living with their parents again, because John could barely stand he’d drunk himself into a stupor. However numb Tommy was, however cruel, however cold the war had made him, he made himself be kind to John. Showed him tenderness. He wasn’t Arthur, he didn’t respond to tough love. He needed to be approached like a war horse, too miserable to carry on. Tommy had thrown him in the bath, disgusted in the state John had seeped into, and got him as clean as he could without vomiting. They’d worked through it together. Fighting the anger away, drinking the memories, screaming the feelings out of his system. If anyone knew about grief, it would be John.

One night, sitting where Tommy was at that very moment, he told John how hollow he felt without Grace.

John had clapped him on the shoulder, looked into his dead eyes, and said, “I know, Tom. Trust me, I know. And you have to feel that pain, and let it out, otherwise you’ll live with it for the rest of your life. If you don’t, happiness with pass you by like a light. And you may feel like you’ll never be happy again— but you will be. And you want to be there in your head,” he had tapped Tommy’s forehead, “when you are.”

Well, look at that, Tommy thought. Strangely, with fondness. John was bloody right.

He was happy with Y/N. She was beautiful, she was sexy, she had him wrapped around her little finger without even trying, but never took advantage of him for it. Not only that, he also enjoyed Y/N’s company. Y/N was funny. She was funny and very, very clever, both in and out of the office, and thought in a way he didn’t. When Tommy analysed everything through a cold lens, she made him consider the warmth. She could be very compassionate, but she proved to him that she could be just as cold when she threatened to kill him for smoking opium. The woman had a good head on her shoulders. And quite honestly, a good heart. She made him smile like he hadn’t since Grace. And it was such a good feeling.

Shame it’s all gone to fucking hell.

Arthur cleared his throat, startling Tommy out of the depths of his mind. He blinked, stupidly, looking at Arthur as if he’s only just appeared out of thin air. Arthur placed his cards down, folding.

“This has been great, Tom, but I’ve got to get back home to Linda. She doesn’t like me being out at the pub too long at night.”

Tommy blinked again, giving him a tired nod. “Yes, go home to your wife, Arthur.” He swallowed. “She’s probably worried.”

Arthur stood, giving Tommy a look that could be nothing but pity. Hesitantly, he reached out a hand and placed it gingerly on his shoulder. Tommy let him, not having the heart or the mind to shake Arthur off. Especially when he just wanted to make a kind gesture. However, after a few beats, Tommy got more fed up as the air got stiffer.

“Goodnight, Arthur.”

“Yes, yes,” Arthur spluttered, removing his hand. “Goodnight, Tom.”

The door shut behind Arthur.

Tommy rose his glass. “To you, old boy.”

“So he didn’t want to split up?”

Y/N shook her head slowly, pursing her lips. “No.”

Ada gave her a puzzled frown, eyebrows raised with surprise. “Do you think he’ll cooperate?”

Y/N sighed, fiddling with the table cloth that draped over her knee. “I think so. He seemed to understand why we’re doing this.” She shrugged. “My father’s been looking into solicitors for me, but a lot of them won’t take Tommy Shelby’s case, even if Tommy Shelby himself is participating in this divorce. If it had been him who approached them, they’d be singing a different tune. Like he’s Henry VIII.” Y/N rubbed her eyebrow, sighing heavily. “I think I’m going to have to call him up and ask him to look into solicitors for me, because this is getting ridiculous. I’m getting turned away at every door.” She glanced at Ada, her eyes wide and blue, so much like his it hurt to look at them. “I’m just not ready to see him again, just yet.”

“What will you do for work?” said Ada, with a shocked lilt to her voice. “Are you going to stay with the company?”

Y/N shrugged, helplessly. “I have no fucking clue. I don’t think I’m going to stay.” She swallowed thickly. “I can’t be in close quarters with my soon-to-be ex-husband who I’m still in love with— it’ll hurt too much for the both of us. I’ll end up doing something stupid.” She shook the thought from her head firmly, washing it down with a sip of her tea. “But at the same time, who’ll hire me? I’ll be lucky if I ever see employment again.”

“Well, do you think Tommy’ll give you a pay, at least?”

She frowned. “I don’t want him to, even if he offers, even if he expect me to. I would never—” Hesitating, she quirked her eyebrows with consideration. “Well, if we had children, maybe I’d think about it, because the money would go to raising them. But… it’s just me.” She forced herself to smile to hide the misery in her tone, but Ada’s gaze softened with pity. Y/N cast her eyes down. “It would feel like I’m stealing or… leeching off of him. Besides, what happens when he inevitably falls out of love with m-e?” Her voice broke. “Or in love with someone else? I’d be a burden. He’d feel too guilty to stop his pay. Even if the man loses every penny he has, he’ll still support me.” She shook her head furiously. “I’m not doing that to him. The best I can do for him is let him forget me.”

Ada scoffed a humourless laugh, her eyes reaching the ceiling like she was sharing a private joke. Maybe she was. “He’s not going to forget you, Y/N. The man is heartbroken. I haven’t seen him like that in years.”

Guilt weighed on her, hanging on her heart. “He’s going to have to. I’m going to have to. It’s that or living heartbroken until we die.”

Ada opened her mouth, hesitated, and asked gently, “What about kids? Did you not want them?”

“I did.” She nodded. “But I would’ve been fine without having them. I always wondered what it would be like.” A smile grew on Y/N’s face. “To have a little me. A little him. Someone for Charlie to grow up with, to love.” It withered away with a shake of Y/N’s head, turning sad. “We talked about it a few times, but it was just a dream. We decided not to, at least not until Charlie was ready. We didn’t want Charlie to feel like he was being replaced, he was struggling so much already. But maybe a sibling would’ve been good for him. He’s so lonely…” Her eyes prickled with tears. “I love him so much. I wish I could’ve given him a good life.”

Ada laid a hand over hers, eyes full of emotion. “You did the most you could for that boy.”

Y/N shook her head, willing the tears away. “I don’t know. Maybe I was never meant to be a mum. Who knows if I would’ve been a good one.”

“Hey. Look at me.” Y/N did, eyes spilling. “You would’ve been the best mum. You would’ve loved that kid so much. And you would’ve made sure that Charlie felt the same.”

Y/N nodded, offering Ada a forced smile. Ada retreated her hand, eyes still full of sympathy. Y/N closed her eyes, willing it to disappear. When she opened them again, Ada’s eyes had fleeted to the ground.

“Do you regret it?” Ada asked, tentatively. “Not having them.”

“I… I don’t know.” She shrugged, helplessly. “Never thought about it. We were doing it for Charlie, that’s all that mattered— Charlie is all that mattered.” Y/N reaffirmed. “But… I wish I did have one,” she admitted, looking down with shame. “Because, for me, Tommy was it. He was it for me— he’ll always be. I wanted his kids. His babies, his children.” Y/N swallowed the stone in her throat. “I wonder sometimes what they would look like. What they would be like.”

Ada smiled sadly. Y/N didn’t mind when Ada looked into her eyes now. “You and Tommy would've had the most beautiful children,” she said earnestly.

Y/N’s lip quiver, and a small smile bloomed.

“With his cheekbones and your eyes.” Ada shook her head. “They’d be heartbreakers. Cunning little fellas, too.”

Y/N spluttered a small laugh.

The smile melted of her face, replaced with a serious frown. Ada shifted in her chair. “I wanted to see you to let you know, Y/N, that even though, legally, you’ll soon not be a Shelby anymore—“

Y/N pursed her lips, tears finally dripping from her eyelashes. Not knowing what to do, she watched her nail trace the designs on the mantel.

“—you will always be family.”

Y/N froze. Slowly, she looked up at Ada with parted lips.

Smiling, Ada looked at Y/N as well. “Our relationship didn’t begin and end with Tommy.”

Tears ran down Y/N’s cheeks. “Thank you, Ada.”

Ada nodded. She stood up, startling Y/N. “I’ve got to check on Karl, I always do once he’s fallen asleep. Eat something in the meantime, you look hungry.”

With determination in her eyes, Ada stepped out.

Tommy was staring into space, nursing his fourth whiskey.

It had been a while since Arthur left. He always thought it a little pathetic how Arthur let Linda control every single aspect of his life— from his drinking to his relationship with God. However, being married to Y/N made him understand Arthur a little better. It wasn’t that Linda was controlling Arthur, it was that Arthur wanted to be controlled. He wanted Linda to take care of him, and mind for him. That’s what Y/N used to do for Tommy, albeit much more kindly than Linda tended to.

Y/N also took notice of how much he drank, his drug use, his eating habits. She never pushed, but she tried to help him, and frankly, Tommy was grateful to her for it. Like a rider who cared for a lame horse with the intention of saving it. A lost cause, but a noble one all the same. Grace never told him what to do, in all their marriage. She never demanded anything from him, and perhaps he liked that at the time. He enjoyed that she would leave him alone when he wanted to be. He would shower her with gifts to show his gratitude. Y/N enjoyed the gifts, as much as anyone would, but she never let him buy her affection. No, she made him earn that. The shutters of the little bar window snapped open.

Grace?

“Mr. Shelby, there’s a phone call for you,” Harry’s voice called politely.

Tommy’s heart sank in his chest, throbbing. The pain wasn’t as potent as the knowledge that he was thinking of Grace. He could hear her haunting voice behind the snug’s door, singing, deep and smooth. The way she was before his greed clothed her in furs and silks— and sapphires.

He really was scum. Thinking of Grace only a few days after his wife— his live one — ended their marriage.

I love my wife.

He stubbed his cigarette out.

Which one?

Tommy shook Polly’s voice from his head. Clearing his throat, he glanced at a nervous Harry, patiently waiting at the window. “Sorry. Who is it, Harry?”

“It’s your sister, sir.”

His eyebrows jumped slightly. That’s odd. Was something wrong? “I’ll be right there.”

Harry nodded, closing the window. Tommy stood from his seat, glancing at the barely-touched, three fingers of whiskey he ordered. He considered tossing it back, but he figured he’d had enough. Leaving it wouldn’t kill him, but finishing it might. Shaking his head, he stepped out of the snug. With his eyes fixed on the phone on the wall, he ignored the sudden silence and the stares. Tommy picked up the phone, and placed it to his ear.

Y/N had finished her cup by the time she heard Ada’s heels click from the hallway. She sat up at attention, waiting for Ada to come through the doorway. Ada smiled at her apologetically once she was in view.

“Sorry for keeping you. It’s for my own peace of mind that I check on him. He’s difficult sometimes.”

Y/N nodded, familiar with Ada’s situation with Karl, but not wanting to pry. She seemed stressed enough as it was tonight. Being worried about Tommy in the midst of all this I’m sure didn’t help, Y/N pondered guiltfully.

Sitting in her chair, Ada poured herself another cut of tea. “Right. Where were we?” She tutted, rolling her eyes as she remembered. “So you don’t know what you’re going to do after the divorce. Have you thought of remarrying?”

Y/N spluttered into her tea. She wiped the droplets from her mouth, a little lipstick coming off on her wrist. “No! I haven’t even had the divorce, yet!”

Ada huffed, giving her practiced look of expectance and annoyance when she believed someone was avoiding the point. It only struck Y/N then that Polly had a similar look. Both of them could make her shrink in her chair like a naughty child being chastised.

Shrugging, Y/N circled her finger around the rim of the cup. “I have no idea, Ada,” she said, exasperated. She brought the cup to her lips.

Ada only rose an eyebrow, her jaw set with a challenge. “What about Tommy getting remarried?”

Y/N’s mouth went dry, tongue darting around for any moisture it could get. Desperate for her eyes not to water again (crying in front of Ada was embarrassing enough), she took a sip of her drink. “He doesn’t need my permission.”

“I didn’t ask if he did.”

She paused. The only sound in the room was the quiet clink from the cup meeting the saucer. Y/N sighed, lungs shrinking in her chest. “Tommy…” Shaking her head, she swallowed. “I love Tommy. I also want Tommy to be happy. I don’t want to be the moment everything revolves around in his life. He already has that with…” She made herself say it, “with Grace. She was his person, and I know that, I’ve accepted that. But he was mine.” She could feel Ada’s eyes burning into the top of her head. “Do you think I would’ve married a gangster if he wasn’t?”

Y/N shook her head, exhaling a bitter laugh that left a bad taste in her mouth. “I don’t want his life to be stagnant after me. But, I’m also selfish. I don’t want him to move on, yet. Because I haven’t. And seeing him happy with someone else like he was with me…” Grinding her teeth, she forced the words out, “would crush me. But I’m not stupid or blind. Tommy loves me. I have no idea how he’s going to handle this, but what we had was important. He’s not going to get over that quickly.”

“If Tommy deserves to move on, so do you,” said Ada, forcefully.

Dismissively, Y/N shrugged. “It isn’t that simple, Ada. He’ll be fine without me, so why shouldn’t he enjoy his life?” She smiled, knowing if she didn’t she would cry. “I, on the other hand, don’t know what I’m going to do. I got used to my life with him, with Charlie, working at the company. Now I don’t know what to do with my life.”

“Live it,” Ada said simply.

“I’ll have to,” Y/N whimpered. “I think I’ll be alright, honestly. If I want another man, I’ll get another. Question is, will I ever want another man like I wanted Tommy? Like I loved Tommy?”

Ada shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe not. I never loved anyone like I loved Freddie. Probably, never will. But I still live my life. I’ve seen other men. I haven’t loved any of them, but frankly, I don’t think I have to. I loved one man, and he died.” A whimsical twinkle shimered in her eye. “Honestly, that was enough for me.”

Y/N bit her lip, hesitating. “Do you think you ever will?”

Ada shrugged once more. “If it happens, it happens. I’m not looking for it. I’ll be fine without a man.”

“Do you ever feel lonely?” Y/N wondered for herself this time.

She paused. With a deep, pensive breath, Ada spoke with certainty, “Yes. And no.”

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed.

“The loneliness I feel isn’t for love or for a man or for companionship. The loneliness I feel is solely for the hole Freddie left in my life. Lonely about raising Karl on my own. Lonely because I have no idea what to do about his behaviour, and I can’t help thinking about what Freddie would do, what Freddie would think— of him, of  me.” She swallowed, frowning, furrowing her brows like she was in pain. “I’m lonely for the life I could’ve had with him. But no, not lonely for anyone else.”

Y/N paused her lips. “I’m sorries” and “he’s in a better place” coursed through her mind— but none of those would bring Freddie back. She had no way of telling if Freddie was in a better place.

“Ada,” she began instead. “I never met Freddie. I don’t know him like you did. But from what I’ve heard— and I’ve heard a lot about the man he was from Tommy— I believe, from the bottom of my heart, that he wouldn’t hold Karl’s behaviour against you. And he would love Karl because he is his son. He wouldn’t have raced across Birmingham during a gang war, even if it was during a truce, if he didn’t. That man loved you and his son. I’m sure of it.”

Ada smiled, lips quivering. “Thank you.” She swallowed, and glanced to the side. “Listen, Y/N. It would untruthful of me to say I called you over to talk about everything. I was actually asked for help by someone. Someone important.”

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowing. “How do you mean?”

Ada jerked her jaw, like Tommy does. “Charlie! Will you come downstairs, please—?”

“Charlie?!” Y/N snapped straight like cold water had been poured over her.

Ada glanced at her with a nervous glint in her eye that forced Y/N into her seat.

Small footsteps thumped downstairs. Y/N’s heartbeat picked up, mind racing. Was Charlie going to scream at her? Was he going to blame her for all the drama the past few days? What would Tommy think about all this? He obviously wouldn’t have given Ada permission to ambush her. Oh, God this is going to be bad.

Charlie shuffled in, kicking his feet, lips pulled into a pout. He stood in front of her, hand wringing together in front of him. He looked like a child who was forced to recite lines in a play he didn’t want to participate. Awkwardly, Charlie glanced at Ada.

“Go on, Charlie.”

Slowly, Charlie rose his head to meet Y/N; eyes welling. Y/N swallowed, unable to tear her eyes away. His gaze shot down, followed by a little mumble. Y/N knew what he said. Ada still wasn’t having it, however.

“Charlie,” Ada snapped. “Louder.”

Charlie roughly rubbed his tears from his cheek with his fists in one fell swoop, sniffling. Louder this time, Charlie mumbled, “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Ada looked at her with calculating eyes. She could see them in her peripheral vision, so blue they were painful to look at, like looking at a bright light. Charlie waited for his next instruction, head bowed. He was supplicating. Y/N never thought she would see Charlie supplicate for anything. What was she meant to say to that?

There was a knock at the door, but Y/N’s teary gazed was so transfixed on Charlie she barely registered it. Ada stood and gave Charlie a piercing look, not that he could see, but made him squirm nonetheless.

“Charlie, I’m going to go answer that, carry on.”

Ada left, and Y/N felt more exposed than ever. Every time Charlie sniffled, Y/N felt the urge to comfort him, to tell him it’s not his fault and that she loved him so, so, so much. That she was sorry she couldn’t be his mum, sorry she was here instead of Grace, but she hoped she could care for him, anyway. That she would ask for nothing in return.

But she didn’t. She stayed put.

“I hurt daddy by being mean to you and I never meant to do that. It was bad of me.” His breath stuttered. “I just miss my mummy, I’m sorry, I just miss my mummy—”

Y/N couldn’t resist anymore. She collapsed to her knees and enclosed him in a soft embrace. He fit perfectly in her arms, his head meeting her shoulder with so much trust that she felt she could die happy then and there. Charlie let himself settle, tears dripping onto Y/N’s shoulder.

Tommy didn’t know what he was looking at, but he sure as hell wasn’t happy about it. His head jerked to Ada, who had her arms crossed, watching him with still eyes that dared him to challenge her.

“What is this?” he said, voice dangerously calm.

Y/N jerked back, head snapping to look at Tommy with teary eyes and parted lips. “Tom!” she cried, scrambling to her feet in a panic. Her eyes fluttered to Ada, suddenly narrowing. “Ada, you had no right.”

“Yes, Ada.” Tommy flexed his jaw as he pulled his cigarette case and lighter from his pocket. He took one and aggressively slapped the case closed. “You had no fucking right,”  Tommy said, pointing at her accusingly.

“Daddy,” Charlie scolded, quietly.

Tommy’s head snapped to him, like he hard a gun shot. Charlie stared at him in shock. His eyes closed, entering himself, before muttering, “Sorry, Charlie. I didn’t mean to shout.”

Ada stared back unapologetically. “I didn’t do it for you.”

He huffed, grinding his teeth, trying to control himself in front of Charlie. Charlie frowned. Not knowing what else to do, and surrounded by glaring adults, Charlie hurled himself on Y/N’s chair, resting his head on his forearms.

Tommy’s eyes burned as he inhaled his cigarette. “I don’t care who you did it for, you shouldn’t have!”

Ada rolled her eyes, mouth pursing. She scowled at both of them thunderously. “You two have let Charlie be rampant with the way he’s acted. You never told him off, or disciplined him, and look what that led him to do!” She gestured to Charlie.

Tommy briefly looked, frowning. Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose.

“He only did those hunger strikes and tantrums because he knew it affected you. Because he knew it would wear you down. And she succeeded! He got what he wanted— and now you’re both miserable.” Ada shook her head, scoffing with disgust. “All because you wouldn’t put your foot down. You taught him that if he’s stubborn enough, he’ll get what he wants. And look where that led us.”

All that was heard was Ada’s harsh breathing and Y/N’s quiet sniffs as she wiped her cheeks dry. For the first time since that night, Y/N and Tommy’s eyes met.

“Come, Charlie,” Ada called. Charlie didn’t move, his head still on his forearms. Ada approached him, guiding him into her arms and cradling him. “The adults have to argue now.”

Charlie was practically limp in Ada’s arms. She figured this poor child has cried enough for a life time solely in the past few days. He wasn’t sleeping; his breathing wasn’t even. Still, Charlie’s body hung like a wet towel from her arms, spasming with silent sobs. He needed sleep. Charlie needed to sleep this emotional weight off, it wasn’t healthy for someone so young to not let himself rest.

Ada gently pushed Charlie’s bedroom door with her hip, carefully guiding his body away from the door frames. She paced slowly to the bed, leading his head to lie on her shoulder as she pulled the covers back. Charlie’s body collapsed into the mattress, head sinking into the pillow. Ada dropped the covers over him, tenderly running her hand over his golden waves. His face had a deep-set frown, so similar to his father’s that it was uncanny. Ada absolved to work harder to make sure he doesn’t have to frown as often as he does. Sighing, she leant down and pressed a small kiss to Charlie’s temple.

“Goodnight, love,” she cooed.

Charlie was silent. Closing her eyes sadly, Ada moved to leave.

“Is Daddy angry at me?”

She sunk back down, staring at him. Ada’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Charlie slightly shifted his head down to look at her, but jerked his head back on the pillow when he realised there was nothing to see. Nothing to say. Ada swallowed, breathing deeply as she braced herself.

“Charlie, you have to understand,” Ada implored, gently. “What you did… every day for all that time— that was wrong.”

Charlie curled into himself, sliding his knees up to his stomach, hiding his teary face under the covers. Ada pulled the covers down slightly, brushing the hair out of his teary eyes. Her heart broke then and there.

“I understand you miss your mum. I really, really do—”

“I’m so tired of people saying that.”

Ada pressed her lips together, inhaling deeply. “You know, I didn’t know my mum very well.” Ada cleared her throat. “She died just after your uncle Finn was born, so I had to be about ten or eleven— only a few years older than you—”

“I was two when my mum died, Aunt Ada,” he said in a voice too numb for a kid. “That isn’t the same. I didn’t know her at all.”

Ada felt hot shame rise in her chest, forcing her throat shut like she swallowed hot glue.

Charlie didn’t move. If it wasn’t for his voice, she would’ve thought he was asleep. “I have to see her all the time wherever I look, and I get so sad. I wish I knew her. And sometimes I think that… why does my dad get to be happy?”

Ada pursed her lips.

“Why did he get to be happy with Y/N, but I’m here missing my mum, wishing she was still here with me.”

She sighed. Curling her hand around the covers, she pulled them down to look at Charlie. “I understand you’re sad and angry, Charlie. But you will be happy. In the future if not now.” Ada tilted her head up, desperate for any guidance. “Your dad loved your mum.”

Charlie buried himself deeper in the blankets.

“You know, you’re a bit too young to understand, but your mum really hurt the family when we first met her, but your dad loved her anyway. Even when we held a grudge, he still defended her and cared for her. And don’t get me wrong Charlie. Your mum was far from perfect. She could be cruel at times, so our distrust was warranted. That doesn’t mean you can’t love her.” She hesitated, finding her words, imploring Charlie to understand her. “But sometimes life happens, Charlie. Sometimes, you don’t mean to meet someone and fall in love with them. Sometimes, you’re not looking, and love catches you.”

Charlie stared at the wall, unmoving.

“Your dad loved your mum— and he will always love her— but she’s gone, Charlie. So, in the mean time: why doesn’t your dad get to be happy? Why should he live the rest of his life alone and miserable because you won’t let him move on?”

Charlie’s furrowed brow relaxed.

Ada smiled at him tightly. “Think about that for a bit. Get some rest, love.”

Quietly, she stepped out of the room, closing the door and taking the light with her. Charlie glared at the shadows.

Crossing her arms over her stomach, Y/N swallowed thickly, looking at Tommy with wounded eyes. The emptiness in his made her shiver. That look, that coldness, is the one he saves for business, the one she’s seen while a gun was pointed at his forehead. Tommy never used that empty expression on her. Y/N pursed her lips to stop them quivering. She didn’t know what he was thinking, and she didn’t want to know. Y/N couldn’t let that coldness fool her, she wasn’t stupid enough that such a small thing could mean he didn’t care for her anymore. She knew he loved her, she knew. She knew.

“So…” Y/N trailed off, not knowing what to say.

Tommy nodded. He didn’t either.

“What now?”

His eyes fell closed, releasing a long, tired breath. “I don’t know.”

She swallowed, nodding weakly, tearing her eyes away to stare at the foot she kicked against the floor, absent-mindedly. “We can’t get back together,” she said matter-of-factly.

Tommy got that familiar pang in his chest. He sighed again. “Y/N…”

“We can’t.”

“Y/N…” he repeated— louder, pleading. “Let’s just go home. It’s been a long few days, we’re all tired. Ada’s gonna watch Charlie tonight, so we can be alone to talk this out.” He glanced at the clock on the wall, eyebrows jumping. “Besides, it’s the middle of the night. Chances are an argument is going to break out, and we don’t need the entire street to hear it.”

He sounded so rational and calm, Y/N couldn’t help but let her shoulders drop. Each moment that passed, her feet dragged like lead. Her head felt so heavy she wondered if the second she saw her old living room, she’d sink into its warmth and fall asleep. Feeling like a dead woman walking, Y/N found herself nodding.

“Alright,” Tommy said, his voice rough with exhaustion.

Y/N and Tommy walked into the hallway— avoiding eye-contact with each other like scolded, naughty children — grabbing their coats and hats and pulling them on. Tommy opened the door, stepping aside to let Y/N through.

Y/N stopped in her tracks. “Should we let Ada know we’re leaving?”

Tommy glanced at the staircase. “No. Let’s not wake the kids.” He jerked his head to the street as he held the door open for her. “Let’s go.”

She nodded, crossing her arms over her chest, suppressing an oncoming shiver from the heat radiating from Tommy’s hand hovering over the small of her back.

Neither spoke the entire car ride home. Tommy stared stoically at the road, another cigarette between his lips. Y/N looked out of her window, glum, busying her mind with the scenery, dreading what was to come.

Tommy startled when the door opened before he had a chance to reach for the handle. A maid greeted them in her nightgown, her head bowed and hair unbound. He’d completely forgotten he asked the staff to be back by this evening. Her eyes widened marginally at seeing Y/N trail behind Tommy, but the maid only bowed her head at Y/N as well. She took their coats and hats to hang them up in the cloak closet. Timidly asking if there was anything else, Tommy promptly dismissed her. She did as told, leaving them to stew in the thick atmosphere. Like mud.

Y/N swallowed, catching Tommy’s stoney gaze with a nervous smile. “I’m going to call my parents. Let them know I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere.”

Tommy didn’t understand Y/N’s humour sometimes, his loved ones being found in a ditch without him knowing or being able to help was a very real fear of his, but he nodded regardless. He watched her head into the hallway where the ground floor phone was, fist clenching and unclenching. Tommy took the opportunity to take his blazer off and rip his collar and tie from his neck with a deep sigh. Running his fingers through his hair, he inhaled deep breaths, slowing his racing heart pumping blood directly to his eardrums. He didn’t know what was going to happen. This lack of control was making him nervous, driving him constantly on the edge.

Y/N returned promptly, smiling at him with an uncomfortable stiffness in her arms. Tommy straightened his back. Her eyes flickered to his clothes momentarily. She didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

Dying of the awkward energy buzzing between them, Tommy cleared his throat and made his way to the liquor table. Plucking the glass stopper off a decanter that Grace had picked out, he poured himself three fingers of whiskey.

“Would you like a drink?”

He couldn’t see Y/N behind him, but he could tell by the rustling that she was fidgeting. “Yes, please. Same as you.”

Tommy nodded to himself and he poured another three fingers of whiskey in her glass. “No gin?” he asked, nonchalantly. Truly, he was curious.

“I’ve had enough gin these past couple of days. Your gin, funnily enough,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Still too sweet for me, though.”

Tommy’s eyes clenched for a moment. He turned, holding one of the glasses out to her.

She took it, with an awkward smile. “Thanks.”

He didn’t miss her pointed glance Y/N to the amount of whiskey they had. Tommy promised to cut down on the alcohol. And he always liked when she tried to care for him— mostly because she would never push. But in that moment, Tommy wanted to tell her to stop judging him, and that if he wanted to fucking drink in his own house, he would.

But that was the cranky child in him, he knew. So, Tommy sighed and took a sip.

“Doesn’t work, you know.”

He raised his eyebrows at her.

Y/N only smiled back. Sad. The one he’d gotten used to seeing. “Your gin. Doesn’t work.”

He blinked. “What?”

Y/N leant on the arm of the love seat, shrugging— suddenly very interested with the hem of her skirt. “It didn’t cure my incurable sadness.”

Tommy sighed, taking a seat on the love seat across from her. “Well, if it makes you feel better, nothing really cured mine.”

Y/N sighed, sipping her whiskey. Tommy was grabbed by the thought that she looked quite lovely; tired, but lovely. He didn’t want to take his eyes off her— like the very sight of her would evaporate into smoke if he looked away.

She caught his expression, and her eyes softened. “We can’t.”

His jaw clenched. “Why?”

“Because he’s not ready.”

Tommy scoffed. “He apologised to you, he admitted he was wrong, what more do you want from a kid?”

Y/N’s jaw clenched. “Just because he’s apologised doesn’t mean he’s ready, Tom.” She spoke to him like an imbecile, like he was a toddler who was being told for the umpteenth time that he had to eat his vegetables for his own good.

Tommy shook his head in disbelief. “No. This is an opportunity for us to get back together and you are squandering it.” His brain crackled with anger. “Because you’re being selfish.”

The pitying warmth of her gaze turned fiery, scalding. “I’m being selfish?”

Tommy’s mouth snapped shut. Y/N crossed her arms, her heel thumping against the foot of the sofa in a slow, harsh tempo that raised the hair on his arms.

“I am being selfish?!”

His jaw clenched. Fuck.

Y/N glared at him ferociously. Tommy stared back, mouth pursed.

“After everything, you think I’m being selfish? Oh, that is bloody rich coming from you, Thomas.”

Thomas.

“I’m the one who’s being selfish, clearly,” her voice was dripping with sarcsm. “Not the man who’s been trying to force this ideal of a happy families with pictures on the wall and dinners at the table and all that fucking bollocks, when one glance at one of the only photographs of this family,” she spit the words like they were sour in her mouth, “would let anyone know that is not the case.”

“I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Yes you did,” Y/N snapped. She shook her head, vibrating with anger. “I shouldn’t have carried this on. Not when you’re not over your first wife”

Tommy’s grip tightened on his glass. Now he was pissed. “Oh, is that right?”

“Look at us!” Her voice rose. “Look at what’s happened! You think your inability to get over her had nothing to do with it?”

“I am over Grace—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t you bullshit me, Thomas Shelby. Don’t you fucking forget that, for all intents and purposes, I’m your wife too.” She stomped to her feet, filling her unfinished glass half way with whiskey. Tommy didn’t speak.

No. She wouldn’t give in. She was leagues stronger than Tommy’s petty jabs.

With a centring breath, Y/N’s voice grew stern. “Do you not realise how selfish we have been?” She looked at him expectantly.

Tommy shifted his jaw.

“We married two years ago. Before then, we were together for a year and a half. Since day one Charlie has hated me—”

“He doesn’t hate you—”

“Yes he does, Tommy!” Y/N snapped, snapping her eyes shut with deep irritation. “And I’ve accepted that. And what’s worse— it’s not even about me. It’s what I represent. I am the death of his mother. The fact that you’re happy with me shows how his mum is really gone. Forever.”

Tommy winced.

“This is something he needed to learn. But we stayed together, don’t you see?” Her voice broke. She sighed, tilting her head up and closed her eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay. Her eyes were still closed when she took one deep breath, and said, “We saw him struggling and we stayed together for over three years.” Her eyes opened, glossy.

His heart squeezed.

“We should have ended at the first sight that things weren’t going to change,” Y/N’s voice turned into a hurt whisper, “but we didn’t. So this is our punishment.”

Tommy shook his head. “From who? God?”

“I don’t know?!” Y/N bellowed, voice thick with tears. “Does it look like I have all the fucking answers, Tom?!” Her hands flew around gesturing angrily at herself, at him, at anything she could. “I’m not fucking perfect, I have NO FUCKING IDEA how to do this parent thing—”

“You think I know what I’m doing?!” Tommy shouted, hysterically. “I dunno what I’m doing either, Y/N!”

“Yes, you do! You’ve raised Ada and Finn—”

“Polly raised Ada and Finn, I only helped how I could when I wasn’t at war—”

“Well, that’s a step-up from me! I haven’t raised anyone!”

“You knew from day one, from day one, that Charlie was part of the deal,” he accused. “You knew that if you wanted to marry me, then being a step-mother to Charlie would be priority—”

“AND I HAVE MADE IT MY UTMOST PRIORITY, THOMAS!” she roared, spinning to face him, towering over him.

Tommy startled, too shocked to reply.

“Do you think I would have left you if it wasn’t? Do you think I would have left my home, my family, my husband?!” Her voice turned shrill. “I love you! I never wanted to leave you—but I did. For Charlie,” she said— like she’d rehearsed it.

He said nothing, lips parted, completely taken aback. Y/N’s eyes closed, breathing deeply.

“Because I love Charlie so much. And I don’t care he will never be mine,” she mourned. “He’ll always be hers, and I have accepted that.” Her eyes shone with tears. “I’ve also accepted that you’re not mine either.”

Tommy froze, eyes fixed on Y/N. “What?” He clamoured onto his own feet, sluggish with disbelief.

Y/N scoffed a humourless laugh. It looked glaringly painful against her dripping tears. “Don’t pretend, Tommy.” She sniffed. “I know I’ll always be second best to her. And that’s fine. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” She sat back down, limbs too weak to keep her standing. Realising she still had her drink in hand, she set it aside carelessly on the side table with a flimsy wrist. The glass was empty.

Tommy sighed.

“Tommy, you weren’t sad because you lost me.” She said it with strength, with purpose. He needed to hear it. Y/N expected him to falter; expected his eyes to be full of pity— well, no. Tommy didn’t do pity. Maybe that knowing look he likes to give.

Instead, Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed. “Yes. I was,” he said, with surprise. “I was fucking devastated, to be honest with you. Ask Ada, she saw how bad I was.”

Y/N rubbed her temple. He didn’t understand. “Tommy, you were sad you were going to lose another wife. Not me.”

“What?” he snapped, incredulously. “That’s not fucking true.”

“Yes. It is—“

“You’re not second best, Y/N—”

“Yes. Yes, I am, but it’s alright,” she insisted, with a heavy, tired voice that Tommy did not like.

Tommy slammed his glass down on the side table next to the sofa across from her so hard Y/N was surprised it didn’t shatter. “Y/N, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. You’re not second best. I love you.”

Y/N swallowed. “I-I know you do…”

He glowered into her eyes. “Do you?”

She didn’t say anything. Her eyes shot away, roaming around the room for anything that would distract the deep ache in her chest, and the stutter of her lungs. She didn’t want to cry again. Y/N grabbed her glass again and tapped her nails against it to hear the little clink clink clink of the crystal.

“Because it doesn’t seem like it.” Tommy inched toward her carefully, as if he were stepping on shards. “Y/N, I love you.”

Y/N shook her head. “She’s the one you always think about.” She looked at him. Sad. Worn.

Tommy shook his head. “I think of Grace occasionally, but that doesn’t mean you’re second best.”

“Tommy,” she pleaded, exhaustion weighing her voice down. “She’s the root of everything. Charlie’s sadness, your pain, the end of our marriage.”

Tommy opened his mouth to protest, but Y/N silenced him with a pointed glare.

“She’s where all the roads lead to. I guess…” she gulped, “in this analogy, you’re just parked on a street, where I am.”

Y/N expected Tommy to argue with her again, to give her more grief like a child who wasn’t getting his way— but when she glanced at him, his blank stare was fixed spot on nothing in front of him. His eyebrows were furrowed, and his mouth set in a thin line, mind far away in god-knows-where.

Probably realising I’m right, she thought. Y/N chuckled bitterly, eyes falling closed under the crushing weight of her disappointment. A deep pain bloomed in her chest. After a deep inhale, the feeling withered away. She crossed her legs, draping her skirt to cover her knees, just for something to do. Tommy still didn’t say anything. She set her glass on her thigh.

So this was it. This is where Tommy realised that he didn’t love her as much as he thought he did. Y/N swallowed. It had to happen eventually.

Tommy still said fucking nothing.

Y/N left because you’re both still unable to let Grace go…

Still unable to let her go.

No. No. Tommy shook his head skeptically. “Is that why you left?”

Y/N shrugged. “It was for the best.”

Her head snapped up at his purposeful footsteps, watching him stop before her. Y/N thought he was going to reach out and touch her face, maybe even lead her onto her feet. However, Tommy proceeded to do something Y/N would’ve never expected: he fell to his knees. Y/N couldn’t hide her shock. She had never seen Tommy on his knees for anyone, for any reason. Thomas Shelby, OBE, King of Birmingham, her husband, kneeled to no-one. Yet he kneeled for her. A depth of emotion swirled in his eyes that she couldn’t begin to identify.

She understood. Thomas Shelby surrendered. But she didn’t know what.

“Y/N,” Tommy began, “this will never happen again. I swear—”

“Don’t—“ Y/N spat, darkly “—make promises you can’t keep.”

He pleaded, “Y/N, please, please, think about this. Eh? Think about it.” He stroked her hair flat against her cheek. “I want to stay married to you—”

Y/N let out a sob, covering her quivering mouth with her wrist, shaking her head. Hot tears blurred her vision. “Please, please stop, Tommy. Please—”

Tommy closed the distance between them, clasping Y/N’s face. Her watery eyes shuddered open, leaking tears. The familiar feeling of the warmth of his whiskey laced breath fanning her lips electrocuted Y/N back to her senses. She shook her head again, trying to keep her resolve.

Tommy became more frantic. “I’ll work on disciplining Charlie more instead of coddling him. I won’t let him have tantrums. I’ll try and get him — and me — to move on from Grace’s death.”

She was calmer now, less erratic, more still— enchanted by his pretty words and his emotional eyes.

“I’ll do it all, Y/N, I will. It’s time we move on—” He pulled her closer “—as a family.”

Her eyes were closed, but she could only feel his fingers rasp her cheeks, calloused from years of labour, long before he lived in the palace he lives in now. She wanted to know what he was like when those callouses where hardening. Her resolve hung on by a thin thread.

“Don’t do this,” Y/N whispered.

“Why not?!” Tommy snapped desperately, shaking her lightly with agitation.

Why, why did he have to make this harder than it needed to be? She was trying to do the right thing, the necessary thing. She was trying to be the strong one who did what needed to be done. But the feel of his skin, the rumble of his voice, the smell of his soap and the freshness of pine and rain— it made her head heavy; drunk on her heartbreak and the need for him.

Tommy’s fingers brushed her cheek, trailing down to pull her chin to face him; to look him directly in his eyes. “I love you, you hear me?” His voice was commanding. No-nonsense. Rigid.

She wondered for a moment if he used to talk to his troops that way, without the hint of gentleness.

“There is no first place. You’re not second. There is no competition. You are my wife, and I love you.” He swallowed thickly, jaw tensing, eyes fleeting to look at her lap. “I wish I could explain the way I am, but I can’t. But please believe me, Y/N.”

He leant forward, eyes fluttering closed. It seemed as if he was about to kiss her, but he hesitated, inhaling the scent of her perfume deeply. “I love you.”

As if they couldn’t help it, as if their minds weren’t their own, they fell into each other, foreheads touching. Tommy’s lips grazed Y/N’s, testing the waters, before pressing them further. They’d begun moving, Y/N even rising a hand to touch his neck—

Y/N pulled back. Tommy’s eyes flared open with surprise.

“Tommy. Tommy, I can’t,” she choked. “Leaving once was already the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever had to do. If I come back, and I have to leave again…” Y/N’s mouth gaped as tears spilled from her hauntingly pained eyes, stuttering down her cheeks. “It’ll kill me.”

“You will never leave again. Not ever. Please.”

Y/N shook her head. “No—”

“Why?”

“Because…” Y/N released a shaky breath. “Because I have a condition. And I don’t know if you want it.”

Tommy’s eyes widened with opportunity. “Anything, Y/N. Fucking anything. You name it and it’s yours: jewels, clothes, land—”

“I want another child,” she choked, eyes squeezing shut.

Silence.

Y/N’s heart froze in her chest. She opened her eyes, met with Tommy’s blank, unblinking gaze. Completely shocked. The blood must’ve stopped travelling to his brain.

She laughed bitterly, shifting around him, marching to the liquor tray. Pouring herself another finger of whiskey, she shot it back. It stabbed through her veins, warming her blood and chasing the chill in her bones away with shivers. Y/N turned back to Tommy, who had managed to climb to his feet.

As tears stung her eyes, Y/N breathed deeply, recovering, before fixing a steely gaze onto him.

“And if that’s not something you want… then there’s no point.” She set the glass on the tray. “I never got the experience. I want the pregnancy, I want to do the feedings, I want to raise a child that doesn’t completely loathe me— I want it all. And I know you don’t w-ant to,” her voice broke, “because you went through all that with her, but I need to know for sure—”

Tommy stalked to her, pulling her into him, pressing his lips to hers. Y/N didn’t react, too shocked to kiss him back. He pulled away.

“You stupid woman. I would love to give you a child.” He placed his hands on either side of her face. “I would love to have a child with you, you hear me. Ay?”

Y/N released a thrilling cry, and grappled him into a hug, squeezing him tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered, pressing her lips to the shell of his ear, breathy like the sea. Tears fell onto his shoulder, but he ignored them, just gripping her harder. With a sniff, Y/N pulled back to look at his face with a glorious grin. One he hadn’t seen in a while.

Shame he’d have to fucking ruin it. His smile melted into a grimace. “I just have to know one thing, Y/N,” Tommy said, severely.

Her own smile crumbled. She nodded. “Of course, anything.”

Tommy exhaled deeply. “You have to promise… you’ll love Charlie all the same. This new kid isn’t going to go well at first,” he warned. “You need to know that. He’s gonna think we’re replacing him, and it can’t be true.”

Y/N recoiled from his touch. “Thomas,” she snapped. “I love Charlie as if he were my son. I helped raise him for years, and that’s as good as blood to me. I have done a lot for that boy. I love him. And I have proven that I love him!” Her voice rose. “I would do a lot for that kid— so much it fucking scares me. And if you insult me again by asking if I would love him less with another child, I will fucking kill you.”

Tommy smiled with relief, unfazed by her anger. In fact, eased by it. “Good.” He hooked his hand around the back of her neck and brought her in again, leaning his forehead on hers— relishing in the relief of his lungs expanding at last. “Good.”

Her thumbs caressed the ridges of his wrists on either side of her face. “You know.” She sniffed.  “Ada said that our children would be beautiful.”

Tommy closed his eyes, lips pulling into a small, peaceful smile. “Did she?”

Y/N closed her eyes, too. Wistfully, she said, “With my eyes and your cheekbones.”

“I have no doubt.”

He leant his forehead to hers, and she looked at him tenderly. His grin dimpled. Fucking hell, she really did have lovely eyes. Y/N nuzzled her nose against Tommy’s, eyes fluttering closed again. Tommy’s followed suit. He kissed her, breathing her in like he thought he’d never breathe again. Her perfume, her hair, her.

“I fucking miss you.”

“I missed you, too,” she mumbled, as if she were in a trance.

Y/N gripped onto his arms, pulling him closer, guiding him to her for another slow, long kiss. Tommy’s lips moved against hers, patiently, but without gentleness. His hands slid from her waist, forcing her hips closer, roaming over them, bunching her skirt in his fists.

“Let’s have a baby.” His breath whispered over her lips like a kiss.

Y/N pushed him away as her brain spiked, immediately feeling Tommy’s hot breath over her jaw, then her neck, then her collarbone—

“Tommy,” she whispered, her mind still drunk with the feel of him. “Tommy wait, stop.”

Tommy let her bunching skirt fall over her legs again, shifting his hands back up to her waist. He took his lips off her neck, pulling back, panting with his eyes squeezed shut.

“We have to think… about…” Y/N paused, letting her mind catch up to her mouth, “about—"

“No!” Tommy growled, making Y/N’s knees quake under her. “I am fucking done with worrying about everyone else. You are my wife, I love you, and I want to be with you.” He leant closer, pressing his body to her, eyes boring into her stunned expression. “I want to take you upstairs and fuck you until you can’t move.”

Y/N gasped as she felt Tommy’s warm fingers slide under her shirt, onto her cold skin.

“And to fucking hell with everyone else.”

Y/N couldn’t help but gape at Tommy. His eyes flickered over her face, before giving in to whatever he was resisting— capturing her mouth with his again. This time he was faster, rougher. Slipping his tongue in her mouth, Y/N reacted quickly, winding her arms around his neck, using her own tongue to elicit groans of relief from Tommy.

He took slow, deliberate steps, holding Y/N’s hips to stop her stumbling. The heels of Y/N’s shoes kissed the bottom stair. Gently, her foot rose, sliding onto it and lugging herself up. Neither wanted to stop touching, kissing, palming each other wherever they could reach. Their heads were fogged with the thought of each other. Just each other.

Her hands frantically pulled the buttons of his shirt from the loops, breathing harshly to control herself from ripping them off. Tommy’s lips forced into a smirk, unable to keep kissing her and he panted into her mouth. He watched her shaking hands undo the last button his shirt and she pounced. Tommy had to stop walking up the stairs and grab the bannister. Y/N groaned with need through Tommy’s lips, feeling his hot, bare skin with greedy hands.

It sparked a heat inside him. Tommy snatched Y/N’s wrists, slinging her arms around his neck. He reached down, gaze burning into hers, and latched a hand on the back of her thigh, as he gripped the bannister, and hauled her onto him. Her other leg shot up instinctively, hooking Tommy’s hips.

Y/N’s eyes darkened. Tommy gave her a lazy, lopsided smirk. Whining hungrily, she kissed him without gentleness, without patience. Flares shot in her brain like electricity. She fondled his muscles between their bodies, relishing in the feel of him— real, solid flesh and bone. She slid the tip of her tongue over his bottom lip, combing her teeth over it and pulling slowly. Tommy watched, echanted. She let go, looking at him with a lustful gaze. His surprise made her smile impishly. Pupils dilated, mouths gaping, breathing heavily. He’d look quite funny if it didn’t show the effect she had on him.

“Take me to bed,” she ordered.

A smile spread on Tommy’s lips. Not a smirk, just a small, excited smile. Securing his grip on Y/N, he shot up the stairs, relishing in her giggles as she kissed his neck. ______________________________________________________________

Tommy and Y/N’s limbs wove together like branches between the twisted sheets. They’d made quite a mess of the bed. Nothing was broken, lamentably, but pillows were on the floor, the sheet was crumpled and pulled from the mattress, and their clothes hung from any make shift hook they could find.

Room for improvement, he noted, but there was a touch of pride to him that couldn’t be shaken.

Resting his head on her stomach for a while, Y/N played with his hair mindlessly, too tired to do much else. Once Tommy recuperated, he crawled off her to put on a pair of shorts— leaving her cold and needy — on the way to fetch his cigarettes.

“Really? Cigarettes after sex?” Y/N teased. “Tommy Shelby, you walking, talking cliche.”

He looked over his shoulder, eyes filled with humour and craving, standing to pull his shorts over his toned, sculpted arse. He grinned at her wickedly when he caught her leering. “One pleasure after another.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N mirrored his grin with ease. As Tommy left the room, she couldn’t help watching as he walked away with a wolfish gaze. He really was good looking. The bastard. Y/N threw herself back on the mattress, squealing with joy, relishing the feel of the bed. Her bed. She inhaled the pillows, saouring the fresh and crisp smell (although a little bit sweaty, but that was to be expected), like the flowery perfumed detergent they’re washed in. It really was her bed.

The door shifted open again, the mattress dipping on Tommy’s side. Y/N smiled reflexively. A cigarette lighter snapped open and closed. She could hear Tommy exhale, the smell of smoke soon after.

Y/N rolled over, pulling Tommy’s legs apart. She earned a mild, gruff, “Oi!” that made her giggle mischievously. She crawled between Tommy’s legs, sprawling over him like a cat, resting her head on his chest. Tommy swapped the hand holding his cigarette to run his nails gently over Y/N’s back. Her ear fell directly over his heart, beating faster than normal. Moments like these proved he felt the same as she did. That she had the same effect on him as he did her. Y/N smiled, feeling so blissful she could purr.

Y/N pressed her lips to his chest. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier,” she mumbled.

Tommy stared at the ceiling. “Neither have I.” But his tone was solemn.

Y/N opened her eyes, frowning. Anxiety gripped her. Turning to look at him, she stroked her index finger against the crevices on his lips, his chin, his nose— memorising him before he disappeared. “Tell me what going on in that head of yours. Hmm?”

Tommy looked into her eyes out of impulse. They were soft, with such tenderness and hope Tommy couldn’t stand to lie.

“When you left.” He sighed, bracing himself. "When you were in the car—“

“We don’t have to talk about that—“

“I want to,” Tommy insisted.

Y/N nodded, closing her mouth patiently.

“When you were in the car, I was desperate for you to look back.”

She blinked, eyebrows furrowing.

“It’s stupid,” he continued. “But it’s a superstition I heard. If someone leaves, they have to look back to where they’re leaving. Or they’ll never come back.”

Y/N pressed her forehead to his temple, but he still wouldn’t look at her, lost in whatever was above them.

“I came back. I’m here.” Her eyes closed, fingertips brushing his neck. “I looked back.”

Smiling devotedly, he stroked her chin with his thumb, tracing all the little blemishes he remembered, the ones that she covered up, but he loved. The ones that were distinctly her. The ones he couldn’t live without. Tommy tore his eyes from the ceiling to look at Y/N, and his heart fluttered. Her eyes were on his chest, where she was tracing indistinguishable patterns on his skin. He wished he could see what she was thinking, what she was tattoing on his skin like love.

“Since we’re on the subject,” Y/N began tentatively. “Did you... I know it’s none of my business, but did... anyone else...”

Tommy caught on. He knocked his head back against the wall, unable to keep his smirk in check. Y/N’s cheeks grew hot. She went to pull away, but Tommy clasped her hand and pecked a kiss on it.

“No,” he insisted. “I miserably drank and smoked and played card, all on my lonesome. Well, Arthur was there.”

Y/N released a heavy sigh, relief letting her shoulders drop.

His eyebrows rose. “Did you?”

“No.” She rolled her eyes, but with a good-humored smile. “I did very much the same.”

He grinned as he ran his thumb over her cheekbone. “Good.”

A bright smile spread on her lips and she gently pushed his face away. “A real joker, you are.”

They lingered in the peace, until it had to turn bleak. Tommy’s eyes grew pensive, heavy with the past.

“I think… I think I still feel guilty about Grace.” He gulped. “I think that’s why I can’t let her go.”

Y/N opened her eyes, staring at him with shock. Tommy skilfully ignored her gaze, ashamed. Gently, she felt his cheek with her palm, turning him to face her.

“I’ll help.” As an after thought, nervously, she added, “If you want me to.”

Tommy’s eyes flickered over her face. She looked so earnest, so true to stick by his side. Tommy leant in, brushing his lips tenderly to hers. Digging his fingers into Y/N’s hips, he carefully tilted her onto the mattress, rolling on top of her. It was the only way he knew to show his gratitude.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For the first time in years, Tommy slept in. Y/N shifted off him to her side of the bed. They were still naked, too tired to do much more than kiss and breathe each other in. By chance, Tommy glanced at his wristwatch with bleary eyes, shocking himself awake at seeing it was nearly midday. His muscles fizzed with exhaustion, tense and overworked. Forcing himself out of bed anyway, he tried not to wake up Y/N as he headed to the bathroom.

Renewed and fresh, Tommy left the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips, bringing a soapy aroma with him as he ran his hands through his damp hair. His eyes fell on her, still very, very naked in front of him, her hair disheveled and sprawled on the bed. He approached her, smiling, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek. She shifted, grumbling groggily.

“Hello, love,” Tommy muttered.

Y/N’s eyes opened, narrowed, and slid down to his bare body, where— Tommy noticed with a hint of pride— her eyes softened. She smirked appreciatively, running a nail over the tattoo on his chest. Tommy coursed his hand through his hair again to capture her attention, like he was a teenager trying to catch the eye of a pretty girl. It worked. She hummed her reply, smiling dreamily.

Tommy really couldn’t help but grin back, eyes sparkling. “Do you want to come with me to pick Charlie up from Ada’s, or would you rather stay and have a sleep?”

Y/N took a few moments to comprehend, still dazed. “Hmmm. Alright,” she grumbled. “I’ll come.”

Y/N pushed herself to her feet, running her hand up Tommy’s wet bicep. She felt his eyes on her as she made her way to the bathroom. Y/N smirked, completely unbothered. He shook his head, pursing his lips to hide his goofy grin. He loved when she teased him.

Tommy opened his wardrobe and took his blue suit trousers and jacket with a white shirt and tie. He knew Y/N liked him in the dark navies rather than blacks.

“What’s the situation?” Y/N called as the shower streamed to life, hissing with steam. “How much time are you giving me to get ready?”

“Take your time, love!” he said, slipping his shorts on. “I’m sure Ada won’t mind. Get dressed, do your makeup— whatever you’d like.” Tommy paused. “I thought we could take Charlie for a ride after we pick him up.”

He was met with silence. Tommy thought maybe that was the wrong thing to say, but Y/N chirped back with a genuine, “I’d really love that.” Her voice caught. Tommy let her have that moment in private.

“Lovely. Lay out your riding gear for later, because we’re stopping by the ice cream parlour.”

“ICE CREAM?!” Y/N squealed, voice bouncing off the tiles.

“Yep.” Tommy grinned. “Ice cream.”

It was already well past one thirty in the afternoon by the time they arrived at Ada’s house. Y/N wished she could say it was for an understandable reason like the car broke down or there was some sort of work emergency. However, Tommy just pressed kisses to Y/N’s neck whilst she put on her make up, and he looked very handsome wearing his shirt and brace suspenders, his hair still wet from the shower…

Anyway. They were late.

Tommy stepped on the brakes. “Right.” Tommy grabbed Y/N’s hand from her lap and kissed it, and she smiled. “Let’s go.”

They stepped out of the car, slamming the doors closed. Tommy jogged up the steps and knocked on the door casually, clasping his hands behind his back. Y/N waited at the bottom of the stairs, on the pavement, shifting her weight.

The door flew open, hitting Tommy with a breeze. Ada looked at him with her typical raised eyebrows; pointed, expectant gaze and pursed lips. Without a word, she leant her shoulder against the doorframe and crossed her arms.

“Hello, Ada,” Tommy replied to her cold welcome.

Ada looked into the house. “CHARLIE! Get your things, Daddy’s here to pick you up!” She turned back, her eyes sweeping behind him before they fell on Y/N. A smirk grew on her lips. “So,” she said.

Tommy returned the mischievous lilt in her voice with a blank, unamused glare. Knowing what she was going to ask, he braced himself.

“What did you two get up to?”

Tommy rolled his eyes. Ada was truly something else. “Nothing I’d like to share with my sister.”

They heard an, “Honestly, Ada,” from Y/N that made Ada’s smirk grow into an obnoxious little grin.

“But is everything sorted?” Ada asked, without mirth.

Tommy smiled at her genuinely as he nodded. “Yeah. Everything’s sorted.”

Ada returned a short nod, beaming. “Good.”

Small footsteps pounded the stairs behind Ada. Their attention fleeing to Charlie running as fast as he could, hair unruly and grinning. His little school bag thumped against his back and his toy horse’s limbs floundering in the wind.

“Daddy!” he cheered, little shoes clapping against the marble so fast, Tommy barely had time to crouch before catching Charlie in his arms.

Tommy hauled Charlie up, jostling to rest on his hip, looking at him with a loving smile. “Hello, m’boy. I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you, too, Daddy.” Charlie wrapped his arms around Tommy’s head. Tommy pulled the arm covering his mouth slightly with his free hand, but let Charlie grapple at him, heart swelling with affection.

“Did you have a good time at Auntie Ada’s?” Tommy asked once Charlie let him go.

Charlie’s eyes shot to his horsie with a frown. He didn’t get on with Karl— always picking on him by calling him names and stealing his toys and refusing tell let Charlie play with anything. A good portion of his visit was spent being crying, too. However, Charlie felt mean not saying yes, especially in front of Auntie Ada, who was always nice to him and took care of him and made him nice food and helped him when he was upset and protected him form Karl. So, he nodded.

“Good,” Tommy said. “Say thank you to Auntie Ada for letting you sleep over.”

Charlie grinned at Ada. That was genuine. “Thank you, Auntie Ada.”

Ada’s demeanour changed completely, smiling at him dotingly, stroking her hand down the back of his head. “You’re always welcome, my love. Can I have a kiss?”

Charlie nodded enthusiastically, shooting forward and pecking her on cheek. Ada smiled widely.

“Thank you, Charlie. Can I give you one?”

Charlie nodded again.

Ada pressed her lips to his cheek. “Mmmmmm-wuah! Thank you, sweetheart.”

Tommy crouched, ignoring the twinge in his knees, to set Charlie down. “Alright. Get to the car.” Somehow, in the fumble, Charlie’s stuffed horse fell to the ground. Charlie whined. Nimbly, Tommy plucked it, dusting it off with a rough hand and held it out to him. “We’re going for some ice cream.”

Charlie’s eyes widened, glowing into the clearest blue.

“Woooooow, isn’t that nice of Daddy?” Ada prompted.

Nodding to Ada frantically, Charlie spun on his heel and shot away without another word. Tommy and Ada laughed, good-naturedly. They bid their goodbyes, going their separate ways. She watched as Tommy marched to his car, shoulders back, standing tall, the brightest she’s ever seen him.

The reality of the situation had hit Y/N as she watched Charlie tun out of Ada’s house. Things were alright between her and Tommy, but that didn’t mean this was over. What if Charlie had changed his mind? What if his apology meant that he knew he was wrong, but he still didn’t want her as his stepmother? What if—?

Y/N’s feet were planted firmly into concrete, frowning as Tommy approached. Tommy matched her expression, seeing her worry.

Charlie ran to the car, disregarding everyone in his way, but halted to a stop when he caught sight of Tommy and Y/N’s shared look. Charlie felt the tension simmer between them. Hesitantly, he approached them. With wide eyes and a self-conscious frown, Charlie barreled into Y/N, wrapping his short arms around her hips.

She gaped, jaw slack, reaching for his shoulders to hug Charlie back instinctively. Her head jerked up to find Tommy, her eyes welling, too surprised to speak. Tommy looked on, a smile blooming on his face so wide he dimpled.

Ada, still watching from her front door, had her own dimples. Their eyes met. Tommy nodded. Ada nodded back.

In the end, John was right. Everything would be better now, and he had his family to thank for it.

“Alright!” he boomed, glowing with happiness. Tommy strode to the car, opening the back door. “Let’s get that ice cream.”

Y/N’s fingers combed through Charlie’s hair. The swelling feeling of completeness fleeting as far as it came when he released her and jumped in the back seat of the car. Tommy observed her: unmoving, staring after Charlie. The clunking of the passenger side door opening snapped her back to earth, yet too shocked to gather her composure.

With a soft smile, a smile reserved only for her, Tommy held out his hand, nodding at the car invitingly. Y/N shuffled to him, lips cracking into an honest grin, laying her hand in his. Tommy squeezed it, hauling her to him. The tears spilled, turning to ice from the winter air chilling her skin. He held her chin, eyes flickering over her with the warmth bleeding in his chest. There was no rush when he kissed her on the corner of her mouth, pouring every drop of affection he could muster. She could feel his eyelashes brush against her brow. Y/N pulled away, smiling at him as she climbed into the car.

Tommy closed the door behind her, winking teasingly at Y/N, just to see that brilliant smile again. He wasn’t disappointed, her face shining at him, his heart jumping to a start in his chest. He opened the driver’s side door and heard Charlie chattering on animatedly to Y/N.

He dropped in, slipping his cigarette case out of his pocket and plucking one, placing it between his lips. Tommy slammed the door. “Alright, who’s ready for ice cream?!”

“Me!” Charlie demanded, giggling.

“And me!” Y/N joined, turning slightly in her seat to catch sight of Charlie’s smile. He grinned back at her, bouncing in his seat.

“And after I’ve cream, we’re going to ride some horses!”

Charlie and Y/N’s deafening roars muffled the engine’s rev as they drove away. Ada watched with a satisfied smile, closing her front door.

Everything went on, as it should: for the best.

[adrianna-m-scovill]

By Chance

This started as a fulfillment of a request but then got a little self-indulgent. There are a lot of song lyrics. I created a Spotify playlist featuring the versions of the songs that most closely resemble the arrangements I imagine in the fic (except for one song, "Tougher than the Rest" - the original Springsteen version is in the playlist because the one I wanted wasn't available. If you want a reference, though, you can find it on YouTube: Darren Hayes's cover of the song.)

Also, in this fic, The Undiscovered Country episode didn't happen, alright? I honestly wasn't sure if this was going to be before that episode, after it, or just an AU where it didn't happen, but by the time I got to the end, it seemed to fit with the emotional episodes leading up to Country, so I feel like maybe this episode happened, you know, INSTEAD of that. ;)

On AO3

Rated Mature, approx. 6400 words

I promise he’s not a weirdo, Rollins had said, and Benson kept playing the words over in her head. So far, the assessment felt accurate. He seemed normal. Nice. He held open both her car door and the door of the restaurant, and he pulled out her chair.

If they decided to go on a second date, she would tell him he needn’t bother with some of the niceties—but for a first date, she wasn’t going to fault him for his consideration. They were nice gestures, and she appreciated the thoughtfulness. All through dinner, he’d been polite, attentive, engaging. Funny. He was attractive, intelligent.

She was having a nice time, but there was something holding her back from really enjoying herself. She wanted to find something wrong with him, but she didn’t think he was the problem. It had been with reluctance that she’d allowed Rollins to arrange the blind date in the first place, and now she was wondering why she’d given in.

Nevertheless, she was determined to give him a chance. He’d taken her out for a nice dinner, and had even asked if it bothered her if he paid the bill. Rollins had vouched for him, everything about him seemed nice and normal, and it had been a long time since Benson had been out on a date—especially a first date.

If he invited her back to his place, she thought she would probably say yes—assuming it didn’t seem as though he were more emotionally invested than she was. She did find him attractive, and knew that it was mutual. He was a doctor, and she was sure they could both stand to blow off a little steam.

Her job, while always stressful and often disheartening, had been especially trying over the past few weeks. She and her squad had dealt with one horrible case after another. Barba had been doing an admirable job of piling up convictions but there always seemed to be another scumbag waiting to crawl from the woodwork. Often, it felt like a never-ending battle, and she couldn’t exactly go home and discuss the stresses of her day with her son.

She couldn’t discuss them with her date, either, but that was alright. He didn’t need to know the details; he understood stress and responsibility, and he thought he understood some of the horrors she’d seen; as a doctor, he’d often seen the aftermath of the violence with which she dealt. He didn’t really understand, of course; he couldn’t. But a partial understanding was better than none at all.

After dinner, when he asked if she wanted to go somewhere for drinks, she agreed without hesitation. More alcohol would help. They took a cab to a small bar of which she’d never heard, and she was glad. She’d been to so many of the city’s bars, investigating assaults, and she didn’t need those memories when she was already struggling to compartmentalize.

If she hadn’t agreed to go on this blind date, she’d probably already be half-drunk in Forlini’s with Barba. He’d asked her if she wanted to get a drink—which never actually meant one drink—but she’d already let Rollins set up the blind date.

She heard the piano as soon as they walked into the bar, and realized that there was live music. She wouldn’t have guessed, based on how small and obscure the place seemed to be. The pianist was playing “Let It Be,” and Benson offered her date a smile as he helped her out of her jacket.

When the pianist started singing, though, she hesitated, frowning. There was something instantly familiar about the voice, something that immediately drew her attention and made her turn her head toward the piano tucked into the far corner of the bar. She couldn’t see the singer, though, and she stepped away from her date, barely remembering he was there, trying to get a clear view past the group of women huddled near one of the tables.

Benson had just been thinking about Barba as she walked into the bar, and when she first caught sight of the singing pianist, she was half-convinced her mind was playing tricks on her. It couldn’t actually be him; rather, it must be someone who looked like him, and because she’d already been thinking his name—

But, no. It was him. Rafael Barba, ADA, playing the piano and singing a Beatles song in the back of a small, dimly-lit, off-the-map bar. He was wearing black pants and a white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar; he hadn’t changed his clothes after work, he’d simply removed half of the suit.

He didn’t look up while he sang into the microphone. His eyes seemed to be focused on the top of the piano, near his glass of scotch, and his thoughts seemed to be far away from the bar and its patrons.

“Olivia?” her date asked, and she turned, startled to see him holding out her chair.

“Sorry,” she said, giving her head a little shake. “Uh, do you mind if we sit over here?” she asked, pointing to a nearby table from which she’d have a better view of the piano.

“Sure,” he said, taking her jacket from the back of the chair and moving it to the other table. She seated herself and let him scoot her chair in, but her eyes had already returned to Barba. He had transitioned into another song. He wasn’t singing, but watching his own fingers play across the keys with a small frown knitting his brow.

She recognized the melody, but without vocals she couldn’t quite place it. She looked at her date. “What song is this?” she asked.

“‘Moon River,’” he said. She nodded, her gaze sliding back to Barba. He played beautifully, but she found herself longing to hear him continue singing. She’d never once heard him sing in all the years she’d known him, before tonight, and she was still having trouble believing it was really him. “I’ve seen him here a few times. He’s good. Plays a wide range of stuff, classical, jazz, show tunes, Springsteen. Last time I was here, he played ‘Just a Closer Walk with Thee’ and ‘The Old Rugged Cross’—nobody here seemed to notice or mind that he was playing church hymns. He sort of blends into the background, but I think he likes it that way.”

Benson nodded, unable to come up with anything to say. She felt suddenly emotional. Part of her wanted to go over there and put her arm around her friend. Part of her wanted to sneak out of the bar so he wouldn’t know she’d seen him.

“I’m going to run to the restroom, if a waitress comes could you get me a whiskey?”

Benson nodded, barely glancing at her date.

Barba finished ‘Moon River’ and reached for his drink. She thought he might glance around the room, but he didn’t. He swallowed half of his scotch, returned the glass to the top of the piano, and put his fingers over the keys. She watched him, fascinated. He hesitated. She saw him close his eyes and take a deep breath, and then he started playing.

When he started singing, her heart stumbled in her chest.

“There’s a grief that can’t be spoken…There’s a pain goes on and on…Empty chairs at empty tables…now my friends are dead and gone…”

She vaguely recognized the song as being from Les Miserables, although that was a surprise in itself; she knew almost nothing about musical theater, a fact that had exasperated Barba almost as frequently as her lack of recognition of his obscure literature quotes.

The source of the song didn’t matter, though. What mattered was the rawness in Barba’s voice. In years of working together, in years of friendship, she’d seen his eyes shimmering with tears. She’d heard his voice crack with emotion. She’d seen his face flushed with anger. She’d seen him close to losing control.

You and I are done talking, she thought, wincing at the painful memory.

She’d seen him close to losing control, yes, but she’d never seen his control actually break. And she had never heard him like this.

“Here they talked of revolution. Here it was, they lit the flame. Here they sang about tomorrow, and tomorrow never came.”

As he continued singing, she barely noticed the lyrics; the words were unimportant. Here, in a room surrounded by twenty or so strangers, Barba had sequestered himself in a corner with a piano—and laid his heart bare. He seemed unaware of the people listening to him, and yet he’d flayed himself open before them, allowing them to see a side of him that Benson had only been shown glimpses of in six years.

She wasn’t hurt or offended by that. She’d never fully let her guard down, either. Their walls were part of who they were. They shared that in common and recognized their similarities.

The pain she was feeling wasn’t because she was upset that he’d never let her see this much of his emotion; her heartache was for him. Watching him, hearing the pain in his voice—a pain not even directly related to the lyrics—made her want nothing more than to be able to comfort him.

“Oh, my friends, my friends, forgive me, that I live and you are gone. There’s a grief that can’t be spoken. There’s a pain goes on and on. Phantom faces at the window, phantom shadows on the floor. Empty chairs at empty tables, where my friends will meet no more. My friends, my friends, don’t ask me, what your sacrifice was for—”

Benson thought of all the faces she’d seen twisted in pain, all the families she’d seen torn apart. She thought of the grief and trauma that she and Barba had witnessed in just the past couple of weeks. She knew exactly what he was feeling, and her own heart was breaking in response to the crack in his voice.

She didn’t realize she was crying until her date appeared beside her. “Are you okay?” he asked.

She looked up, startled, blinking his face into focus. “Oh. Yeah.” She shook her head and swiped at her tears, suddenly self-conscious. “Just…the song, I guess.”

He nodded, but he looked unconvinced. He was regarding her carefully, and she resisted the urge to fidget. “I’m going to go get drinks,” he said, since no one had come to take an order.

“Okay,” she said, her gaze sliding to Barba as the last note of the song ended.

Barba was looking at her, and she felt a jolt of awareness as their eyes met. He seemed stunned to see her, and for a moment, neither of them moved or breathed.

“Do you want wine?”

“What? Oh.” No, she definitely needed something stronger. “I’ll take a scotch,” she said, on impulse, even though she wasn’t a fan of the stuff. Barba looked from her to her date. She saw him swallow. He reached for his glass and downed the rest of his drink without looking at her, returning it to the piano with a small clunk. “Can you do me a favor and have one sent to—the piano player, too? Neat.”

“Sure,” her date answered, still studying her with a strange look on his face.

She met his eyes and forced a smile. “Thanks,” she said. As soon as he’d turned away, however, her eyes were back on Barba.

Barba wasn’t looking at her, but she could see that he’d been affected by her presence. He was frowning at the keys. His shoulders were hunched, and he seemed unsure of what to play as his fingers hovered over the ivory. She felt guilty for having thrown him off his game. If this was the place that he came to feel safe and comfortable, to let off steam, then she didn’t want to be responsible for ruining that for him. She thought about asking her date if they could leave—either find another bar, or call it an evening.

“The world was on fire, and no one could save me but you,” Barba started, in a low voice, and she couldn’t breathe. “It’s strange what desire will make foolish people do. I never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you. And I never dreamed that I’d lose somebody like you. No, I don’t wanna fall in love. No, I don’t wanna fall in love, with you…What a wicked game you played, to make me feel this way. What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you. What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way. What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you and I wanna fall in love. No, I wanna fall in love with you.”

He didn’t look at her once during the song, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him—from his defensive posture, to the scowl on his face, to the way his fingers played across the keys.

As he was finishing the song, a waitress walked up and set a fresh glass of scotch on the piano, taking his empty glass. She murmured something to him, gesturing behind herself, and Barba’s gaze followed the gesture toward Benson’s date—who was setting her scotch on their table. Her date tipped his whiskey in a silent salute, and Barba nodded once in acknowledgement, still frowning, before turning his attention back to the piano.

“It’s not simple to say, but most days I don’t recognize me. These shoes and this apron, that place and its patrons, have taken more than I gave them. It’s not easy to know I’m not anything like I used to be, although it’s true I was never attention’s sweet center—”

“Interesting choice,” Benson’s date said, and she looked at him. He was sitting beside her; she hadn’t noticed him sitting down. Catching her eyes, he smiled and, gesturing toward Barba with his whiskey glass, said, “It’s from the musical, Waitress? I’ve heard some male singers do it on YouTube.” He hesitated. “I’m guessing you don’t spend much time on YouTube, though?”

With a small laugh, she shook her head. “No,” she agreed. “And I don’t know much about musical theater.”

“She’s imperfect, but she tries. She is good, but she lies. She is hard on herself, she is broken and won’t ask for help. She is messy but she’s kind. She is lonely most of the time. She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie. She is gone but she used to be mine.”

She might not know the play, or the song, but she knew what Barba was singing about. He was singing about her, but not just her. He was singing about himself, but not just himself. He was singing about both of them. These shoes and this apron, that place and its patrons, have taken more than I gave them. He could be singing about suits and ties, courtrooms and crime scenes, suspects and victims—these were the things that had, over the years, taken bits and pieces from their hearts; these were the things that had led them to add bricks and mortar to their emotional walls.

“Who’ll be reckless, just enough, who’ll get hurt but who learns how to toughen up when she’s bruised and gets used by a man who can’t love…and then she’ll get stuck and be scared of the life that’s inside her—growing stronger each day, ‘til it finally reminds her to fight just a little, to bring back the fire in her eyes that’s been gone…but used to be mine.”

“She—the waitress—is trying to find the courage to leave her husband, and looking back on the dreams—Are you sure you’re alright?”

She blinked back her tears and shook her head.

“We can leave, if you want. I mean…if you’re not—”

“No, it’s good. I’m good,” she said. “I don’t really know the music, but…it’s good,” she repeated, unable to articulate any better than that. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t tell her date that she knew Barba. Maybe she just wanted to protect Barba’s anonymity. Maybe she didn’t want to admit to her own emotional turmoil. Either way, her friendship with Barba felt private, personal—something to be guarded, and she didn’t bother trying to analyze the feeling.

“Okay,” he answered, looking and sounding unsure. She knew she was being unfair to him, and she took a drink of scotch with a grimace. “Do you not like scotch?” he asked.

“It’s fine,” she said. “Do you go to the theater a lot?”

“My grandmother loved only two things as much as her family—Audrey Hepburn, and Broadway. The song he played a bit ago, ‘Moon River,’ I probably heard a thousand times growing up. Breakfast at Tiffany’s was almost always playing. Now this song, is more obscure,” he said, pointing a finger in Barba’s direction. This guy, Ramin Karimloo, he starred in The Phantom of the Opera, he wrote this song for this, like, country music album he did—He sang ‘Edelweiss’ as a country—You know, ‘Edelweiss,’ from The Sound of Music?”

She nodded, but she was only half paying attention. He knew that, of course, even though she was studiously keeping her eyes away from Barba and the piano.

“There are times when I fall through. I can’ t feel the love in you. I know that I’m pushing you away from the man you knew. It’s not always black or white, the gray obscures and blocks the light. So why not paint me red tonight? But I’ve got to feel what’s right. And there you are, you’re losing you in me. And there you are, I’m losing you from me. And there you are, we’re losing you and me.”

“Seems like someone had his heart broken.”

Benson opened her mouth but closed it again without speaking. If he wanted to think that Barba was singing about a break-up, or something similarly trivial in the broad scheme of things, she would let him believe that. She knew better, though. She knew what Barba had seen and heard.

“Whenever I’ve seen him here he seems pretty serious, but he’s more…melancholic than usual.”

The past few weeks have been harder than usual, she thought, remembering the face of the girl whose murderer Barba was currently prosecuting. Benson had had twenty years of seeing similar images. Barba was newer to the horrors, but they were not something a person could ever get used to.

“No, this is not a simple choice. There’s nothing left now to rejoice. Johnny Cash and Jimmy Joyce, speak for me now, use my voice. And there you are—you’re losing you in me. And there you are, I’m losing you from me. And there you are, are we losing you and me?”

She looked at him, she couldn’t help it. Their eyes met. They both reached for their glasses of scotch at the same time, and she drank half of hers quickly, needing the emotional fortitude.

She heard Barba clear his throat near the microphone.

“Well it’s Saturday night. You’re all dressed up in blue. I’ve been watching you awhile, maybe you’ve been watching me, too. So somebody ran out, left somebody’s heart in a mess. Well, if you’re looking for love, honey, I’m tougher than the rest. Some girls want a handsome man, or some good looking Joe. Some folks like a sweet talking Romeo. Around here, baby, I’ve learned you get what you can get. If you’re rough and ready for love, honey, I’m tougher than the rest. The road is dark, and it’s a thin, thin line. But I want you to know, I’d walk it for you any time.” He looked over at her—the first time they’d made eye contact while he was singing—and her heart stumbled in her chest. “Maybe your other boyfriends couldn’t pass the test. But if you’re rough and ready for love, honey, I’m tougher than the rest.”

“This is a Bruce Springsteen song, although I’ve never heard it done like this. Must be somebody’s cover version. I think Shawn Colvin did one…”

“Well, it ain’t no secret, I’ve been around a time or two. Hell, I don’t know, babe, maybe you’ve been around, too. There’s another dance, baby. All you’ve gotta do is say yes. If you’re rough and ready for love, honey, I’m tougher than the rest.”

She swallowed the last of her scotch.

“Do you want another?”

She shook her head. She’d lost her desire to get drunk. “Thanks, I’m…going to run to the bathroom and…maybe we should go?”

He nodded. His expression was solemn, and she knew that she’d ruined whatever connection they might have forged during dinner. It hadn’t been intentional. She’d been determined to give him the attention he deserved, but she’d failed. Ever since walking into the bar, she’d been able to focus on nothing but the man at the piano, the words he was singing, and the emotion in his voice.

She glanced at Barba, who was watching her rise from the table.

He started a Billy Joel song that she recognized, and her stomach fluttered. She looked away, unable to do anything else.

“A bottle of white. A bottle of red. Perhaps a bottle of rosè instead. Get a table near the street, in our old familiar place. You and I, face to face. A bottle of red, a bottle of white. It all depends upon your appetite. I’ll meet you any time you want, in our Italian restaurant.” She was almost to the bathroom when he finished the verse, but instead of continuing the song, he transitioned into a different Billy Joel song, and she hesitated outside the door. “I never ask you where you go after I leave you in the morning. We go our different ways, to separate situations. It’s not that easy, anymore. Today I do what must be done. I give my time to total strangers. But now it feels as though the day goes on forever, more than it ever did before. Until the night, until the night, I just might make it. Until the night, until the night, when I see you again.”

She ducked into the bathroom, thankful no one was inside.

“Now you’re afraid that we have changed, and I’m afraid we’re getting older. So many broken hearts, so many lonely faces. So many lovers come and gone. I’ll have my fears like every man. You’ll have your tears like every woman. Today we’ll be unsure, is this what we believe in? And wonder, how can we go on? Until the night…”

She stood at the sink, looking at herself in the mirror. Even through the door, his voice, and his words, surrounded her. She was crying. She felt like something inside of her had been broken open. It hurt, but there was something sweet about the pain.

She went into one of the two stalls and peed, and she could still hear Barba’s voice.

“When the sun goes down and the day is over, when the last of the light has gone. As they pour into the street I will be getting closer, as the cars turn their headlights on. As they’re closing it down I’m gonna open it up and while they’re going to sleep, we’ll just be starting to talk. I’m just beginning to feel, I’m just beginning to give, I’m just beginning to heal, I’m just beginning to live—”

Sitting on the toilet in the bathroom stall of a bar, Benson put her hands over her face and choked back a sob. She couldn’t have put into words what she was feeling. She knew she had to get control of herself and her emotions, though. She had a date, sitting out at a table patiently waiting for her. She swiped at her eyes, taking a deep breath. She swallowed the lump in her throat and shook her head.

She left the stall and washed her hands, again looking at herself in the mirror. It was obvious that she’d been crying, but there was nothing she could do about it. Barba was finishing “Until the Night,” but instead of ending, he transitioned back into “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant,” and she drew another shaky breath as she stepped out of the bathroom. She had herself under control. She looked at Barba and caught his gaze.

“A bottle of red, a bottle of white. Whatever kind of mood you’re in tonight, I’ll meet you any time you want in our Italian restaurant.”

She would’ve been in Forlini’s with him, drinking, if she hadn’t agreed to this date. Barba wouldn’t be singing depressing songs in a bar, and she wouldn’t be feeling guilty about neglecting a perfectly nice friend of Rollins’s.

Barba’s song was not an indictment, though. It was an offer, and one that he’d never quite been able to put into words of his own. He’d asked her out for drinks. He’d asked her to dinner. The invitations had always been reserved, though. He’d been careful to never suggest anything other than friendship, at least out loud.

Her date didn’t bother asking—again—if she was alright. He got to his feet as she approached, and held up her jacket. She turned, letting him help her into it, and she met Barba’s eyes again. She looked away quickly. This was not the time or place for what they needed to say to each other.

Barba started “In My Life,” and she supposed it was fitting that The Beatles would play her both into and out of the bar. Her eyes were burning, but she would shed no more tears in this place. She didn’t look back toward the piano as she left with her date, but she thought she could feel Barba’s eyes following her out.

  It was after 11, which meant that Forlini’s was closed. In fact, it was almost midnight. She’d gotten home around 10:30, but she never would’ve made it to the restaurant before closing, so she hadn’t even tried. He wouldn’t expect her there, anyway, not tonight. That wasn’t what he’d been saying.

He didn’t expect her to be sitting on the floor beside the door to his apartment, either. She saw the surprise on his face when he stopped in the hallway. After the surprise, she watched several emotions play across his features. Happiness, grief, fear, and relief; they were all there. She felt them all, as well.

He walked toward her, slowly. She’d changed out of her dress and high heels, and into slacks and a t-shirt and sneakers, and she’d scrubbed the makeup from her face; she’d done so quietly, to avoid waking Noah, after asking Lucy to stay the night.

She’d taken a cab to his apartment, because she’d had a few drinks before that final scotch. She was feeling very clear-headed, though, as she looked up at him.

Barba stopped by her feet and reached down a hand.

She put her palm against his, and as his fingers wrapped around her hand, she felt the warmth of his touch spreading up her wrist. He pulled her to her feet and they stood looking at each other. He chewed his lower lip for a moment, and she could see all of his emotions shining in his eyes; all of the things he’d never been able to say.

“It was a blind date,” she said.

He gave his head a little shake. He didn’t care.

She didn’t bother to add that it had been by complete chance that they’d ended up in the same bar as him. Her surprise had been as apparent as his.

“I would’ve gone for drinks with you,” she said, because she felt like she needed to make sure he knew that. “But…I wouldn’t be here, would I?” That needed to be said, as well.

“I’m sorry I made you cry,” he said, softly. He drew a breath through his nose, and let it out, slowly. “But, I’m…” He swallowed, and she saw his expression tighten. He searched her eyes, and she knew what he wanted to say. She knew, but she waited. “I’m glad you came,” he said.

She stepped forward and raised her hands to his jaw. “Me, too,” she said. She pressed her lips to his. Her heart was pounding in her chest. He closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose, but his eyes opened when she pulled back to look at him. “Do you want to let me in?” she asked, and they both knew she wasn’t just talking about his apartment.

“Yes,” he breathed, barely audible. He hesitated, holding her gaze. “Do you…want to come in?”

She smiled. “Yes,” she said. When he fished his keys out of his pocket, his hands were trembling. She touched his wrist, and he swallowed, looking at her. He let her pull the keys from his fingers, and she unlocked the door and pushed it open. He followed her into his apartment and closed the door while she set his keys on the table.

She turned and pushed him gently against the door, and as she kissed him, his hands went to her arms; his grip was tight, and she wasn’t surprised when he abruptly turned her, pinning her against the door. His hands were heavy as they settled at her waist, and his mouth was rough on hers. His knee nudged her thighs apart as he leaned into her, pressing her against the door.

She could feel his desperation; his kiss was frantic, and hard, and she could feel his pulse thudding beneath the hand she’d settled against the side of his neck. She could taste the scotch on his tongue, and she could feel the emotions that were trying to tear him apart.

She knew what it was like to feel as though she were coming unmoored, to feel like she was losing a grip on herself. She knew how it felt to give too much of herself to the world. She knew the feeling of being lonely in a crowded room, surrounded by people who couldn’t possibly understand the thoughts in her head or the feelings in her heart. She knew how it felt to desperately need an anchor, something, anything to hold onto.

She didn’t care that his kiss was rough, or that his hands were fumbling their way beneath her shirt. She didn’t care that his knee was lodged between her thighs or that his growing arousal was pressed against her leg. She didn’t care that he was half-drunk. She knew what he was feeling, and she would be his anchor.

She unbuttoned his pants and pulled his shirt from his waistband, and he made a sound in his throat; his hand was inside her shirt, hot and hard as it found her breast, and she fumbled for the button of her own slacks. He had her pinned against the door so that she could barely move, but she somehow managed to push her pants down and kick them, and her shoes, off.

She slid her hands into his boxers, cupping his backside and pulling him closer, and he broke away from her mouth, panting.

“Liv,” he said.

“I’m here,” she answered. She reached up and slipped her fingers into his hair, tugging his mouth back to hers. She draped her other arm over his shoulder, holding onto him as he grabbed the back of her thigh and lifted her leg. She bent her knee around his hip, shifting her other foot on the floor.

He entered her quickly, roughly—desperately, and she held onto him. He pulled his mouth from hers, dropping his forehead to her shoulder as he thrust into her, breathing raggedly. She kept her hand in his hair, her fingers against his scalp. His movements were frantic. She could feel the pressure building inside of her but knew she wouldn’t reach the edge in time. And, that was alright. She held onto him as she felt the tremors passing through his body, as his hips slowed, as she felt him come inside her. She wanted to hold him forever.

His breaths were irregular against her shoulder. He shifted his hips, withdrawing, and she felt a pang of regret as she lowered her foot to the floor. He lifted his head and drew back, reaching for her hand. He pulled her toward the bedroom, and she followed him on unsteady legs.

She didn’t resist when he pushed her, gently, onto the bed. He slanted his mouth over hers, and she felt his palm on her inner thigh as he urged her legs further apart. A moment later, his thumb found its target and she arched against his hand. He slipped one finger, and then a second, inside her, and she groaned into his mouth, closing her eyes.

He circled her clit with his thumb as he moved his fingers, and she found herself thinking of his hands on the piano keys, moving effortlessly across the ivory. She came quickly, tightening around his hand, trying to draw his fingers deeper, and he finally pulled his mouth from hers so they could both breathe.

He sank against her, breathing heavily, his cheek on her chest, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding his head against her heart.

“Liv,” he said, again.

She tightened her arms. “I’m here.”

“I’m afraid I might lose myself,” he murmured against her shirt.

“I know,” she said, running her fingers through his hair.

“Sometimes I…don’t know if I can…keep doing it,” he said.

Her stomach clenched. “You’re not alone,” she said. She rubbed his back, hesitating. The thought of losing him was terrifying, but she loved him too much to do anything other than support him—whatever his decision. “No matter what, you’ll never be alone,” she said. “If you need to…leave, if you—”

“I’ll never leave,” he said, his grip on her tightening.

She swallowed around the lump of emotion in her throat, trying to tamp down her relief. “You have to do what’s best for you,” she told him, quietly.

“You’re what’s best for me,” he muttered. “You’ve changed me, Liv, the way I see the world. You made me care.”

“You always cared,” she answered, softly, stroking his back. “You were the guy who took the cases no one else would take, who fought for the victims no one else believed or cared about. You might’ve had everyone else fooled with the swagger and smirk, Barba, but I saw you right away. You’re the same person you’ve always been. But this job, it takes a toll. Believe me, I know. I’ve seen it destroy people, chew them up and spit them out. But it wasn’t because they admitted they cared. It was because they tried to pretend, tried to convince themselves that they didn’t. You, you’re braver than that. You’re fearless.”

“I’m terrified,” he countered. “Terrified of pushing you away. You, you’re fearless.”

“I’m afraid of a lot of things, Rafael, but the thing I’m most afraid of is that you don’t know how much I love you—because I never told you. Because you asked me to get a drink, and I turned you down, and it’s my fault you were alone—”

He lifted his head and shifted upward, pressing his lips against hers. His eyes were closed, but after a moment, he drew back and looked down at her. “We’ve both been on our own for…most of our lives,” he said. “I always thought that’s what I wanted. The job was all I cared about, all I needed. But I was wrong. What I needed was you. Someone who would tell me when I was being an ass or remind me what I was fighting for. And maybe…maybe you needed me, too. Someone who would tell you when you were wrong,�� he said, a small smile touching his lips when she raised her eyebrows. “We might not always agree but we’re always on the same side,” he added, his voice soft as he searched her face.

“Always,” she agreed.

He bent his head and kissed her, his lips gentle against hers. “Every time I think I can’t do it anymore, I look at you,” he murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear as he studied her face. “With you on my side, I can do anything.”

“Next time you go back to that bar, if you ask me, I’ll go with you. I’ll sit in the back and not even look at you, if you want. All you have to do is let me be there for you. You don’t have to tell me what you’re feeling. You don’t have to say anything. Just let me be there. I won’t let you down again, I swear.”

“Hey,” he said. “You’ve never let me down, ever. I love you, Liv. I can’t promise I’ll say it a lot but I can promise I’ll always feel it.” He let out a breath and bent his head so his lips were near her ear. “Can you stay the night?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“Liv,” he murmured into her hair.

“Yes?”

His breath was hot at her ear. “I’ll never finish before you again, I give you my word.”

She felt a shiver pass through her. “I don’t care about that,” she said.

“I care,” he said, lifting his head to meet her eyes in the darkness. “It won’t happen again. But…thank you. I do love you, Liv. More than you can know.”

She smiled. “Oh, you’d be surprised,” she answered, softly, before pulling his mouth down for a kiss.

“Let It Be” and “In My Life,” written by John Lennon/Paul McCartney

“Moon River,” written by Henry Mancini

“Empty Chairs at Empty Tables,” written by Claud-Michel Schonberg

“Wicked Game,” written by Chris Isaak

“She Used to Be Mine,” written by Sara Bareilles

“Losing,” written by Ramin Karimloo

“Tougher than the Rest,” written by Bruce Springsteen

“Until the Night” and “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant,” written by Billy Joel