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thescreamingraven · 2 years

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Two Of A Kind

Tommy x reader

Summary: You’ve been living a moderately peaceful life in the shadows of Small Health. When one night you were suddenly entangled in a dreadful accident with none other than the Saint of Birmingham, who plunged you into his life, hidden in a veil of mistaken identity, Elizabeth Edwards. A story about a doomed affair which shrouded in lies, reticence and yearning.

Warning: Few swears, and a non descriptive night of passion. So, Read at your own risk. 16+ I’d wager.

Word count: 25k

One, two

You got up early that next morning and resolved your mind into apologising to Abigail, even though you were still firmly convinced that you’d done no wrong, craving nothing more than to let bygones be bygones. As you strolled down the corridor, with a certainty of sort blooming, that there was no way in hell your aunt would just leave you over such a trifle. Maybe in time she’d even learn to accept it, maybe not, but you were sure she’d learn to live with it and revere your decision.

But when you entered the room, expecting to find everything as usual, you were struck with a blow of reality settling in as the bed was made without any trace of an escort, merely a small box prevailed on one of the pillows, some Danish tea or other. Apart from that, she’d completely disappeared. Her formerly crowded dresser stood empty, with no possession of hers in sight. There was no message or last call, not even a wave goodbye. She was utterly gone. You settled down, seeing the reality of it all crashing down around you as you dropped onto the bed. Darting your sights to your side, you gently reached down for the small tea tin rolled up in an elegant indigo bow, frightened that with a simple touch, the last trace of her would disappear. The last hint of irony from your aunt.

After that, the days grew gloomier. The gnawing sense of unmerited shame cut into your mind, causing you to take a few days off from work and remain in bed. Feeling the grief wash over you, tide after tide, striking the unyielding cliffs. In such moments, the sun couldn’t gleam like it used to. The birdsongs crossed as if the refrain couldn’t skim through the air like it once did before. Making you lay in the haven you’ve created from the storm, fending off the liability and sorrow of craving to start anew. Sadness would fade into desperation, despair would turn to anger, the feeling of wanting to be alone, replaced by wanting to unburden the weight on someone else, and so the cycle repeated itself for a few days to an end.

You didn’t know whether to be pleased or deterred by how everyone reacted to your behaviour. It was nice to enjoy the space you were given, but sometimes you wished there was someone to comfort you. What scared you the most was Tommy. He made no effort to talk to you, perhaps hoping to give you space, or worse. You could only speculate. Abigail’s words clawed at you, as you hoped she wouldn’t be right about him, not feeling up to live through another betrayal and lose the progress you had made.

When the sun reappeared on the sixth day, you forced yourself to go to work, craving a distraction from your recent day to day and wanting to get back some normality in your life. Fortunately, your employer found out what had happened and was a little too happy to see you back on your feet and able to work. From the few days of coping, his office had returned to its former self, giving you enough of a distraction to last a decade.

But somewhere in the early hours of the evening, the mist of the day cleared, revealing a sky that had turned a shade of colour you’d never seen before. The ravens screeched and flew around the azure. The waves of clouds that normally worshipped the sky with their pure white innocence no longer remained, leaving instead a path of dripping crimson and a wind so harsh it would tear the town apart, as if it were something from the end of the world, a kind of solar eclipse.

All this made you uneasy as you tidied up as much as you could for the day, waiting for the bell to ring, signifying Reed’s return, meaning you could go home. You were worried about him. It was undignified to go out in this kind of weather. Even from the safety of the clinic, you could hear the wind passing by the signs, creating its own melody to go along with the hellfire outside. A quick shopping trip he’d promised you, barely fifteen minutes. Almost forty six minutes later, you were still sitting at the counter, just as he’d left you, hoping Tommy had sent someone to take you home and not let you walk on foot.

Peering at the unsettling sky outside, you felt relieved to see a hooded figure climbing the stairs to the clinic, already preparing a speech you would give the wandering doctor. But as the person entered, battering by the relished bell, you held back any shrewd remarks, realising that it was not Reed, but some fool who would come to, in this type of weather. As he closed the door behind him, a gale of wind let itself in, amounting to where you were sitting, knocking over a few sets of newspapers on the floor, causing you to promptly kneel to the ground as you heard the client shuffling in the background.

“Good evening, sir. What can I help you with on this fine evening?” you inquired, drawing the severed sheets into one batch, his heavy footsteps traipsing about.

Straightening out the papers, you heard the fellow scoff at your meagre attempt at humour. “The evening isn’t so fine. Have you seen the sky? It looks like something straight from hell,” he humoured as you finally brought all the papers into a batch, shooting your eyes through the floor making sure there was none left behind, before standing up leading over the edge to place the papers back in their place.

“Tell me about it...” you broke off, watching as the man rummaged in the pockets of his hanging coat, pausing and peering towards you when you stopped talking, lingering for you to continue. Overlooking the fear and confliction plastered on your face he smiled, that smile of his looking anything but welcoming instead it seemed perverted, similar to the one he wore that day when he first found you, the same one that kept haunting your dreams with the notion of what he might’ve done if you hadn’t run off when you did. He plastered out his hands as if he was greeting an old mate and confided the same cursed name.

“What are you doing here?” you spat out, hearing the cupboards shuffling behind you as you accidentally backed into one.

“Hey, hey, it’s all right, honey... I’m not going to hurt you,” he tried reassuring you, holding out his hands in defence with slow and incomplete steps making his way towards you. “I just want to talk.”

“You’re not welcome here.” You knew it was an empty threat. In reality, you’d little to defend yourself with except a couple of butter knives lying behind the door you so wanted to run to, and perhaps you’d have if you hadn’t noticed the gleam of his pistol hidden in his back pockets.

“What happened to you?” the overtop fake sincerity and fragility in his tone, seeking to lure you into a spurious sense of security. Your eyes flitted around the room, ignoring the chatter of the madman who was getting closer and closer with every breath, instead searching for means to buy yourself or Reed some time. Glancing over the few cupboards heaped just above the counter, you remembered to have cleaned them out merely a few hours ago, citing that one of them was packed with glass flasks, filled to the brim with some kind of tonic. Sure, it wasn’t much, nor could they cause the man any substantial harm, but it was still something, a chance, an opportunity which you cordially seized, making sure to act before he could fire a single shot, praying to hell and heaven that you got the right drawer.

“Put those down before you hurt yourself.” He warned, pointing his bastard fingers at you as if he’d read your mind and knew what you were up to. Sure, at first, he thought it was funny when your initial attempt to hurt him landed somewhere off to his left, but his approach soon altered when he got one of the minor glass bottles shoved at his forehead. And so you sent bottle after bottle, crate after crate, until he was within a reasonable distance again, ricocheting around the office, struggling to evade the attacks on him. A small part of you wished it would be enough, that he’d see how unyielding and aloof you were and leave you be. There was even a blunt moment when you’d pressured him over to the very rim of the front door, only for him to pick up his coat and hold it in front of him like a facade. “Stop throwing shit at me. I come in peace.”

But before long, your attempts had merely gained you a few extra minutes and a few minor bumps on the head. The vials weren’t particularly grand, nor the tonic related to some toxin. It was simple cold medicine. You rummaged around in the bottom of the drawer, feeling nothing but the hardwood against your hand, which meant you’d nothing left. William seemed to have noticed that as well, for he threw his coat on the floor, a minor cut trailing along his left cheek from the shattering glass. For a while, the two of you stood frozen, trying to figure out each other’s thought process, the floor, and him covered in tonic, the gun still at his back. Then something clicked. There was a lock on the backroom door and heavy furniture that you could use to construct some kind of barricade until you’d figured out a plan. You studied him once more, making sure his hands were nowhere near his back as you took your chance and fled into the back, flinging the door behind you and hearing a fevered groan from the man as his boots treated on the scattered glass.

However, once you turned around, grabbing ahold of the latch, you were hit with a crumbling realisation. It was a complete bust, with a mechanism that dulled with age, barely clinging to the wood. In all the turmoil and feeling your heart pounding away in your heel, you tried to knock over one of the lighter and shorter cupboards, only to find them pinned to the wall. Letting yourself sink against the door, you let go of an unsteady breath, choking for air. You were done for, cornered like a fool, with nothing but a mangled door bearing a thread over your life. Silence fell as you heard his footsteps halt outside, causing you to cover your mouth with your hand, struggling to suppress a sob. He started knocking, of all the times to act like a gentleman from the provinces. You speculated on what he was going to do. Would he make it quick, strand you over, perhaps take advantage. Who could know with a man such as himself? You pushed yourself away from the door and instead made your way to the drawers, lazily opening the cupboard and scanning over the many sections of silverware as a more adamant butter knife captured your eye, if you were going down, you’d be going down with a fight. You picked it up and stared at your reflection on the blade before breathing in and out, waiting for the door to creak open.

It wasn’t long before the knocking and affirmations died away and were replaced by silence and a steadily growing sense of foreboding that drove you to keep your eyes on the handle as you stood like a cornered rat at the other end of the room before he oh so graciously announced that he was coming in. The insouciance and ignorance made your stomach turn.

He entered the room carrying himself as if he were the owner, the monarch of the world, which made it even harder to control the panic coursing through your veins. His gaze soon wandered to your hand, in particular the means by which you intended to defend yourself. Soon as he spotted it, he kicked the door shut behind him with a hunched sigh trapping the two of you in the enclosed space.

“We both know you won’t cut me, so just put the knife down and let’s talk like civilised folk.”

"You call that civilised?" You spat, gripping the metal handle of the knife as you looked over at the gun sticking out at his side.

“All right.” He remarked, raising his hands in defeat. He pulled out his gun and placed it within reach on the counter. “See, I’m not going to do anything. I just want to talk to you.” he now stood on the other side of the room, making no intent of coming closer to you, but lowering his hands into his pockets. “Never thought I’d run into you again...” he broke off, shifting from one leg to the other and scratching the back of his neck as he continued. “You look well... well as someone can be, dressed in finery like that married to a-“ he cut off. Something about saying his name made him nervous. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

There was much you wanted to say, much you wanted to ask, the words in your mind lingered laced with indignation, yet you remained sane, trying to wait out the sentence, instead backing it with cessation filled silence, not wanting to provoke him any further.

"Did he do anything to you?" He tried once again to get an answer out of you, his tone softened to a whisper, as if the two of you weren't the only ones present, his eyes wandering all over you, insearch of any signs of abuse. "Did he hurt you?"

"What?" Of course he'd think that in his eyes he was the victor, the rightful one, and Tommy and you were in the wrong. In his mind, you were his just as much as he was yours. "No."

“Did he threaten you?” He turned to another unsuccessful tactic in his guessing game. “You know you can tell me. I’ll get you away from that bastard.”

“William...” you muttered, recognising the desperation of the man who seemed to cling to irrationality more than anything in need of someone to break him out of the trance. “I’m sorry... But you’re delusional, I’m not Y/n... my name is Elizabeth Edwards, I know it must be hard losing someone so close to you, but please sir, you’re acting crazy—they could hang you for this.”

But your entreaties were in vain, and far from convincing to the man, for you saw his face contort in disgust. “What has that Shelby bastard done to you?” he urged, taking a few steps towards you, making you hold the knife tighter. Your fingertips turned red from the pressure. “What kind of curse did he put on you?”

“I’m not cursed. I’m as I was, and you, sir, need professional help.” You spewed, wondering where the hell Reed was when you needed him most. “Unfortunately, you won’t get any here... Now I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Of course, you weren’t expecting him to leave. If flying bottles didn’t do the trick, words would do even less. What you didn’t expect was that he’d suddenly baulk at you. Clinging to your wrist, pushing you to hit the cabinet behind you, the impact caused some objects to fall. You swung at him where you could, fighting back, determined to keep your only means of defence, but with one trip, it fell from your hands and William tipped it over somewhere under the furniture. The steel clanged as it hit the floor, shattering any solid chances of hurting him.

“Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you, okay? I just want to talk to you,” he called out to you, feeling you struggle against him as he seized both your arms in place, holding you against the edge.

“This is what you call just talking?”

“I was afraid you were gonna stab me to death.”

“And the gun?”

“It’s not meant for you. I would never hurt you,” He cried, letting go of your wrists but continuing to press himself against you, preventing you from running away. “We’re all alone here, so drop your bloody disguise, will you? Enough of what’s her name, shit.” He raised his stained hands, covered with little rivulets of blood, to caress your cheek as you shook your head against him, making an involuntary tear escape only to be caught. “Just you and me... Now tell me, no bullshitting, remember?” he questioned, looking you up and down, his smile fading with concern as you refused to look at him, twitching at his touch. “What in god’s name are you doing? I swear, if this is what you meant talking about plan B, I ain’t sure whether you’re mad or a bloody genius.”

Then it hit you how truly of a maniac the man before you really was. He couldn’t tell the truth from a lie. The grief of someone having to face the tax collector so soon clouded his mind. It also meant he was easily duped and ready to play pretend. “You shouldn’t have risked coming here... You’ll blow my cover.” You chirped, forcing yourself to soak in his touch, no matter how perverted, “That Shelby bastard threatened me and I was so—Oh Will, I didn’t know what to do...”

“Fuck!” he growled, pulling you against him. The nauseating smell of brewed down beer made it even harder to play along, but against your better judgement, you wrapped your hands around him, eyeing the lone gun lying on the counter. “Had me worried sick. How many times have we talked about this? You can’t just go along with everything that comes into your silly head.”

”I know… I’m sorry.”

“You better be.

As tempting as the feeling of playing the big shot and having a much over waited initiation into the Shelby family was, looking over to the gun, you knew you wouldn’t be able to do it. Apart from never having to hold a gun in your hand or even deliberately having a proper look at it, the feeling of killing another human being, the blood pouring from them as they died, shook you to the core. The entire idea of having something in your hand that could end a life terrified you. The weapon that initially made you feel like you could decide who deserved to live and who didn’t was out of the question. And so you sought to get the next best thing: a vase that stood by the enticed window that had brought you nothing that housed a blooming orchid.

You tore yourself away from the man, losing your grip to falter, playing with the damsel in distress, making your way towards the window. “What are we going to do?” you sought, and almost let out a cry of relief as you ran your hand over the mink material. ”He’ll come after us.”

”Why? What did you do?”

Your mind, befuddled with the sweet taste of freedom, made all the rational ideas you might have had about your little prehistory disappear, and so you silenced him before he could ask anything else of you. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” He asked, looking away from you to the closed off door, trying to listen in on any signs of uninvited guests. “I didn’t-“

You weren’t sure how you ended up on the street. Gasping for air, you stood in front of the building, hands resting on your knees, focused on the pavement, while your legs trembled, ready to give out at any moment. Everything seemed so out of place, too loud, too fast, and the echoing chime of the front door ringing in your ear did nothing to ease the tension. The flood of emotions washed over you far too quickly, making you want to throw up, tears blurring your eyes as you let the rush overwhelm you.

And then you heard it, that soothing voice that whipped you into a frenzy. As you looked around, desperately wishing and hoping that it wasn’t some trick devised by the staggering rush. But when you found who you were searching for, you couldn’t help but let out a shaky laugh. You never thought the smell of the grey haze would serve you this much relief. He was standing right there, with his back to the neighbouring building, just a few steps away. Your missing doctor stood idly by, the bag of supplies he’d insisted on getting dangled at his feet. Realising you could barely stay on your feet, you broke off in their direction, seeking some ground you could lean on.

“Here she is now.” Reed spoke, nudging in your direction. His cheerful demeanour suddenly became stomach turning as he took in the sight of you. “Dear god, what happened?” He stood right in front of you, eyeing you over as you tried to find a way to answer, feeling the raw dryness in your throat. Any sense of a proper sentence became babbling nonsense that you tried to control by trying to steady out your breathing in hopes it’ll all just go away, that you’d wake up and Abigail would scold you for oversleeping or not acting ladylike enough. If not for the gratifying dream, you’d dreaded looking up at your prestigious husband and letting him see you as you were. You couldn’t get a proper look at yourself, but the glimpse you caught made you look as if you’d just come from a slaughterhouse.

Would he be mad, would he leave you, the thoughts ran endless, and they’d have remained so had it not been for the harsh leather covered hands on your cheek and a stern voice telling you to breathe, forcing you to follow it through whatever haze you were in. Not soon after you brought your own hands on top of his, slowly feeling yourself come down from the terrible intoxication.

“Just breathe, alright?” he demanded, his voice becoming clearer with each word, as things started to make sense again. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” you uttered, shaking your head, trying to dispel the tightness in your throat, your mind wanting nothing more than to cling to him for dear life, to lose all sense. Sure, it might’ve been pathetic, a sign of weakness and desperation, but no matter how many times you tugged in that direction, hoping he’d take the hint, it didn’t work. He only held you up, his hands falling to your sides. The intensity of his sights keeping you afloat. “What happened?”

You recited the man's name like a curse you've been carrying around for ages. It feels like something heavy has been lifted from your shoulders, causing your body to finally release itself from its urge to survive. Seeing your husband withdraw even his minimal ways of comfort left you feeling bare and open. You wanted to reach out to him, beg him to stay a little longer and take you back into his arms. But as soon as you reached out, you stopped yourself, or rather his demeanour did, which had changed from middling concern to stoic composure.

Perhaps it was the impending onslaught, but he looked maddening. He made your blood run cold, even though you knew you weren’t the one who’d committed the offence, looking like the executioner about to put the rope around the hangman’s neck. Making you wonder if the rumours were really just the ramblings of fishwives who’d nothing better to do but discourage children from avoiding the night? For the man before you differed immensely from the man you claimed you knew.

“Well, then I’ll go have a chat with mister Carver, it’s high time we were acquainted.” he asserted, as you stood silently, waiting for his next move, wanting nothing more than to go home and get behind the comforts of familiarity. “Stay with her. Make sure she’s not hurt.”

“Will do, sir, your wife is in good hands.” Reed came up from behind you, giving you a pat on the back in a poor attempt to soothe you, as you watched the stranger before you head up the steps. “Oh, and do try not to kill anyone while you’re in there, it’s really-“ a slam of the front door had caught the bell’s attention, causing the doctor to mutter “unhygienic” at the neglect of his warning. Sighing, he led you aside, preparing the list of questions he was opting to ask.

Standing there shaken as a ghost, you tried answering the thrown out questions, but the only thing that held your focus was the front door through which Tommy had disappeared. You stood there, harshly forcing the handkerchief against your fingers as you tried to wipe away the last traces of dried blood stuck between your nails, waiting for a victor to emerge and be done with the seemingly never ending suspense.

“I’m really sorry about this, Reed. It seems I couldn’t keep my word after all.”

“Don’t go worrying about all that, you’ve warned me about the fellow before, I’m just sorry I wasn’t there to stop it, especially on your first day back,” he seemed to mock himself picking up the chief you’d been clinging to, “You’ve got some blood on your cheek. Do you mind if I…?”

“No, go ahead.” You murmured, intertwining your hands as your gaze never leaves the door. “I must look like a real mess, huh? The shining example of a suburban wife.”

“I’ve seen worse.” Determined, he nudges the underside of your cheek, trying to scrub away the blood, before he catches your gaze. “Look away before you burn two giant holes in my door.”

“I’m worried about him.”

“Your bloke will be fine, I’d be more worried about the other fellow more.” he went on, finally stopping the tugging on your cheek. “You gave him his motivation to hang ten men in his way.”

“Do I really look that bad?”

“Should’ve seen the look on the man’s face when he saw you come out here shaking and bloody. Thought he was going to bury me right then and there.” he claimed, putting the square handkerchief back in his pocket. “I can’t say I blame him. I imagine I’d look the same if someone hurt Rose or little Sean.”

Forcing yourself to pray away the hanging tension, you turned to him, smiling at the man in front of you. “How are they? We haven’t spoken for some time. "Well, I think they're doing mighty fine, we all are." he said, noticeably shifting his leg, an embarrassed smile appearing on his face. "They are staying at mines for the time being."

“Well, aren’t you sly? Didn’t take you for the type.”

It felt really out of place to be having such a casual sounding conversation just minutes away from what nightmares had conveyed. Yet, you craved distraction, the reason being that your husband was alone in a locked room with a madman and a loaded gun that could easily befriend him and wid you far too quickly if he wasn’t careful. You saw Reed opening his mouth to make a stern remark when the sound of a window breaking interrupted the casual conversation between friends and brought you back to reality, causing you to jump in that direction, only to have Reed’s harsh grip stop you from going any further.

“Where are you rushing to?”

“To help.”

“To help, she says.” He taunted you, waving his arms about, “You’re helping by staying here out of harm’s way. If you were to rush, you'd do more harm than good.” Whether it was your plan or the damage to his property, the man looked beside himself. Yet the harshness and logical point of view ran through your mind as you silently agreed, waiting for your husband to show up or call for help, perhaps even crawl up from behind the building. What you didn’t accept was him slamming the front door behind him with not a scratch on him, still standing, still alive. Your legs bore their own as you ran to him, looking him over more closely, only now noticing the few bruises that would soon become apparent.

“Tom, are you alright?” you admonished, trying to distract and keep yourself from panicking anymore than you already were. “Where’s William?”

“Gone, he ran off.” he replied casually, pulling out a drag of smoke as you stood star struck by his indifference to the situation.

“Seems he got a few knocks in.” You suggested, wishing you could give him the same sense of comfort he had provided you. Deciding to cross that line, you tried to reach out your hand to fondle his cheek like he did moments ago. Sure, it was selfish and cruel at such a time, as you sought to bend him to your will, trying to rid him of the devil that came out of the building and instead bring back the posh gentleman that you’d learned to lo-like and adore. Rightfully so, your advances were quickly extinguished with a swat of hand and some kind of assurance that he was all right, before he walked off far enough so that you couldn’t smell the smoke, leaving you alone on the steps, instead seeking comfort from the mistress of fire and smoke.

“Do you want me to patch you up, Mister Shelby?” Reed finally spoke up, hoping to break the peril of the situation.

“I’m fine. We best get home. It’s getting late.”

“You sure you’re okay?” you fretted, pursuing his lead, trying to stop him to have time to look him over once more, worried what wounds might be hiding under a chink in his armour.

“Are you?” it annoyed you how easily he deflected the question with his insouciant manner. It also tore you apart to think what would happen if you prayed and made a scene in front of the poor doctor who’d had half of his establishment tarnished.

“A bit shaken up, but I’m fine,” you retorted, your tactics to make him see reason failing before your very eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want Reed to examine you? I’m sure he won’t mind, right?”

“Of course not, truly it be no trouble.”

"I'm fine, nothing a tonic can't cure. I'm sorry about the window. I'll send someone to fix it."

“I’d appreciate it.” Reed nodded to the offer, secretly glad that he wouldn’t have to pay for the damage out of his own pocket.

“Are you going to be okay?” you questioned, turning to Reed, letting Tommy finish his cigarette while he waited in the direction you’ll be going.

“I’ll be fine, dear. You folks take care.”

“We will,”

“Call us if he comes back and I’m sorry again for the inconvenience.”

The journey home was a total disaster. There was a stifling silence in the car as you blinked back and forth between the road and Tommy. The gnawing feeling that something was wrong wouldn’t let you rest, so you kept looking back to make sure the man wasn’t dying as he sat quietly, sometimes catching your lingering eyes just so you could look away. Even though the silence bugged you, making you feel out of place, you’d done nothing to clear it. There was simply nothing and too much to talk about, so many questions you weren’t sure you wanted answers to. It bothered and surprised you how stoic he could be in such a situation. But then again, there was nothing irregular about his behaviour, apart from the lack of conversation and the bruises, which were now admittedly becoming more obvious by the minute.

The drive seemed to take much longer than usual, but when you arrived home, you couldn’t suppress the relief you felt at opening that front door, finally away from the unsettling city and back into the safety and comfort of your home, your own haven. You leaned down to take off your shoes, holding yourself up on one of the cabinets only to see a little devil you haven’t seen for a few days slither down the stairs, knocking into you like a horse against a fence.

“You’re back.” he beamed as you looked over at Tommy, who was standing beside you, watching the two of you in a lost moment of awe. You wanted him to say something, anything, but before you could, he pushed the thought aside and made his way to the office, ruffling the little boy’s hair on his way.

“I’ve some calls to make. I’ll talk to you later.” He sputtered, turning on his heel and leaving you both standing there in confusion at his behaviour.

“Is Tommy okay?” Finn asked, maintaining the tightness of his embrace as he looked at you, sensing that something was wrong.

“He’s fine, probably tired from work,” you said, instinctively wanting to hug the boy back, and yet you couldn’t, no matter how silly it was you couldn’t, not until you’d had scrubbed everything off your bloodied hands not wanting to bring them anywhere near him. The hesitation didn’t go past the boy well as it made him pull away, looking down as if he was in the wrong, making you feel guilty. “How about I’ll go wash up and then we’ll do some reading? Haven’t done that in a while.”

The snide puppy dog look turned back into the beaming beacon it had been before you arrived, and the boy almost jumped on the spot. “I got a new book.”

“Did you?”

“No need to be jealous, Eli, I can share.”

“Well, thank you kindly.”

It’s been a long day and an expectant, prolonged night. The man’s touch on your skin, voice, hands wrapped around you made you cringe every time he dared to cross your mind. It took Finn quite a while to fall asleep, for he had some catching up to do from the past few days. He was a stubborn one, especially tonight. Every time he would drift off, causing you to pull away, only for him to wake up and keep rambling from where he left off. But even he had his limits, soon passing out, leaving you to tuck him in and allowing you to go on your crusade to find some distraction from the recent events.

Settling on tea, you stood back against the tabletop. The kettle whistled in your ear as you waited for the water to boil, watching the arrows tick slowly away in anticipation of the eager storm promised on paper. Concluding the water was hot enough, you reached over to turn it all off, refusing to look at your hands, which you’d scrubbed far too hard in blind rage, doing more harm than good as even some of the skin broke off. The whole day was a big, shameful mess that you’d have loved to forget and have it all burned off, torn between the desire to find a hill to cry on and the desire to seek a helping hand, finally opting for the latter, deciding to eradicate the tension before it became abundant.

You found him, as predicted, sitting in his office chair, tempering with some tonics you couldn’t make up, with a half finished whiskey bottle at his side, its rust glinting in the light. The untimely visit didn’t seem to hinder him as he simply returned to what he was doing, working to fix his face while you peered at the mess on his table, cluttered with cotton wools. Closing the door, you walked up to the desk, snatching the bottle out of his reach before he could protest, and laid it on the ground, replacing its spot with the two cups of tea you’d brought with you while he sat there fiddling with the mirror.

“Do you need help with that?”

“I’m done,” he responded, fidgeting with the cotton ball in his palm. “What’s with the gloves?”

Your eyes dropped from him to the gloves as you unconsciously planted them in your pockets. “I just came back from a stroll. Must have slipped my mind.” coming up to his chair, you leaned on the edge, furrowing as you laid over the many bruises strewed on his face. It was strange how much everything in your mind, body and soul wanted to comfort the man in front of you, to celebrate him as the victor, to be able to feel him, embrace him, throw your whims at an end, yet the menacing look from before struck you deeply, reminding you of the place you held in his grace. “Do they hurt?”

“No.” His concise answers would be the death of you. If not, he’d do the trick himself. The sole of his being. Every glimpse, every word stuck in your mind like a gaping sweet tooth.

“I brought tea. Surprisingly, it doesn’t taste bad this time.”

“Thank you.�� It rolled off his tongue so easily, with no effort, as if it were nothing worth shaking the world over. The feeling of your fingers, even gloved, touching his was pure, deluded ecstasy, perverse and scattered, leaving you wanting more. And yet you couldn’t place that feeling, didn’t know what to do with it, where to put it, lost between wanting to get out before it was too late only to realise it had long been too late.

“Are you angry with me?” you asked, feeling your eyes swell and tears form at the corners of your eyes as the facade you’ve put on falter at the carelessness. Not wanting Tommy to see you like this, you sought to get up and return to the comfort and safety of a distance long bound, but as soon as you made a move to do so, that thought was dismissed as quickly as it came up and before long you were sitting against him, his hands wrapped around you, holding you tight, leaving you evermore confused.

“Not with you.”

"Right..." continuing back where you left off felt impossible as your mind started to think of ways to get the unpleasantness out of the room. You knew that what had happened wasn't your fault, not entirely, and yet, with no need of an apology, you still broke under the contrived pressure. "After everything that happened, I feel like I owe you an apology. If it wasn't for me..."

A shuddering sigh made its way out of you as you felt a lump in your throat, preventing you from continuing to speak without clearing your throat. You tried to shake off the obvious kernel of guilt as his comforting hand nestled benevolently at your side had the opposite effect, dropping you even deeper into the gutter so that you'd to fight tooth and nail to keep from collapsing.

"You wouldn't be..." You broke off, feeling your eyes swell and tears form in the corners of your eyes as the facade you'd had played on since the incident faded. "God." Not wanting Tommy to see you like this, eyes swollen and nose red. You wanted to get up and return to the safety of your bedroom and let it all pass on its own, but as soon as you stood up, you were pulled down by him, engulfed in his embrace as he held you tightly against him.

"Wasn't your fault. It's not like you dropped him off at Reed's clinic, eh?" You watched as he loosened one of his hands while the other held you. He reached up and wiped away the few stray tears that ran down your cheek. "Now stop crying."

"But-"

”Don’t argue with me. You know I’m right.”

”No, I actually don’t.”

“Well, I am.” Pulling you closer to him as you enjoyed the facade of carelessness behind his touch, as if only to enjoy the moment, wanting nothing more than to run away from the mistress of sense and her misfortunes. Against your will, the hint of a smile formed on your lips, only to be outshined as he copied your own, if only for a second. As he mimicked the brooding still present on your face, you couldn’t help but snort at his antics. “Often.”

“Often?” scoffing at his words, you reached for his hand, that ran patterns along your cheek, instead, caging it in your grip. A question that sounded more like a mocking retort left him questioning as his eyes trailed yours. His intention, no matter how timidly it was executed, wasn’t to stifle your dwellings, yet he slowly succeeded in doing as he gazed amusedly at your puffy eyes, which were already thinking up a dozen arguments just for the sake of arguing.

"Did you give him that cut on his face?" he asked, making you laugh at your little achievement, of which your husband seemed a little too proud.

"I may have hit him with one of Reed vials he keeps under his desk... and a vase," you added, feeling the suffocating desire to let it all go slowly subside as you reached for one of the steaming cups to further wash down the clinging feeling of drowning. "I don't think it did anything major, though."

"You basically did all my work for me."

"No, I didn't."

“He could hardly hold himself when I came to him or formulate a word.” He once again graced you with those blue eyes of his, and the smile that could melt a hundred lakes, leaving you earning for another glance as his gaze fell on his own cup, now steaming alone on the table.

“It’s not funny. Reed is going to fire me. I wasted so much medicine, you broke a window...”

“And the table.”

Furrowing your brows, you recalled a few tumbling noises as you stood outside the clinic, but certainly not something as grand as a breaking of a table, a very expensive antique table. Dead, you’d be dead by morning, if not at the hands of your stalker, then at the hands of your employer. “How does one even break a table?” Before he could entertain the idea of explaining clairvoyance to you, you shook your head obdurately, looking at the liquid which stayed still in your cup. “You know what? I don’t even want to know.”

“I’m sure he won’t fire ya. We’ll cover the damages. It’ll be as good as new.”

“We’d better.” Taking a last sip from your cup, you settled it down. Feeling bold, you explore the first opportunity for this kind of intimacy. “That man’s done well by us and here we are, breaking tables and shattering windows. Some good clients we are.”

“Where did you get it?” he pointed to the tea. Whether he changed the conversation on purpose or out of interest, you’ve yet to find out.

“Abigail left it for me on her bed... the last bit of irony on her part, I suppose.” Saying her name after such a plaintive day was like a breath of fresh air in your battered lungs. You saw him slump at the mention of her name. As if deep in thought, his gaze dropped briefly to the bottle sitting in the corner of the desk. Before his eyes darted to yours, asking questions yet not told, while you just stared silently ahead, hoping he’d muster the courage to say what was on his mind.

“Why did you stay?”

The question took the wind out of your sails. It felt like flying without knowing when you were going to fall, but when you did, you weren't sure whether to be sad, angry or happy about the impending end. The worst part was the intimidation you faced, the air that blew in from the north wind like a nightingale in the night. "What do you mean?"

“Why didn’t you leave with Abigail?”

Your eyes pierced him with an attempt at the same buried gaze, only to fail when you ridiculed at his question. He was your husband, wasn’t he? He was to stay by your side and you by his, through sickness and health, through agreements and disagreements, through blood and war, and yet, thinking back, Abigail had no prompting of such an idea. And an idea it was. Certainly one she would have suggested at least once or twice, but searching through the few weeks there was nothing of such a hint. It’s as if she wanted you to stay here with your husband, who, even in these few months, remained a stranger in a closed book you were trying to open. Perhaps she had made up her mind long before she left, the mind to never see you again.

The look on his face became weary, waiting for the gears in your head to stop turning, muttering whatever came to mind. Let him occupy your thoughts, if only for one night. "Well, I'm not married to Abigail, am I?" you stated, your hand resting around his shoulder, deciding to leave the speculation for another day. "Besides, aren't you a little glad I'm still here?"

"I'm not unhappy."

"You're a decent fellow, Tommy, and you've made yourself a friend to me."

"From a husband to a friend."

"Don't make me regret it now," you grinned at his teasing, feeling much better than before, glad that the brief form of friendship remained, perhaps even something else of the sort. Here, sitting so close to him, you finally realised how used you'd become to the suffocating smell of cigarettes that always weighed him down, and the sharpness of the plain, upscale liquor that came from his breath. Instead, everyday you had come home, it was a reminder he was still very much present, as within each day it faded during morning and came back during the night.

Whether it was appropriate for two business doers to do what you were doing was certainly debatable, and perhaps it would have led to more had he not started with his larks. With his face returned back to that boring blank expression of his, as if ready to read a statement out to the public, any domesticity gone, just like that. Part of you thought on how good of a performer he really was, to be able to jump through emotions and only feel them once it's convenient.

“He won’t come near you again,” he spoke, pulling out one of his drawers, revealing a gun hidden by some documents. “But just in case,”, taking it out in the open and looking over at you, as he laid it in your hands.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” you asked, feeling your good mood fade at the mere thought of it.

“It’s just in case.”

“A gun, Tommy? No.” You cringed, trying with great difficulty to get the heavy object back into his hand with much fuss.

“You chose to stay with me.” he simply stated, refusing to take it. “Well, staying here requires this. If you can’t handle it, let me ring Abigail and you can make peace. If you want to stay, you’ll carry this everywhere. It’s your choice.”

You saw his daring eyes as if challenging you to choose the other option, while he sat there watching you observe the gun, his demeanour giving you no further way to fiddle your way out. "Alright then." You told him, feeling the heavy burden lay in your hands. "Let me know once you've called Abigail," placing the gun on the table you looked at Tommy only to see his face etched with confusion and some play of betrayal.

"What?" you barked, trying to get some kind of reaction from him. "What did you expect? That I'd just take it?" you scoffed, offended at his simplistic approach. "I cut a man today and even that did a number on me without belief. I couldn't even hold Finn properly because I didn't want my bloody hands on him, and you think I can just shoot someone?"

“I’m not asking you to kill anyone, I’m-”

“Implying it, you’re implying it.”

“It’s not–”

"Don't tell me you're not implying it, that you're just displaying a weapon to me for show?" you taunted freeing yourself from his grip as you straightened up to stand tall, whether to intimidate or to regain your composure is unclear. "I'm not like you, Tommy, I'm not a Shelby, I'm not a gangster. To do something like that... it's not something I can do."

A still silence laid waste in the office as you finished your rant, the silence making you feel alone and in a vulnerable position, the silence coming from him irritating you as you picked up your cup, debating whether you should wait for him to say something, anything. "What if someone threatened Finn, came to take him in the night?" he asked, furrowing his eyes, watching you intently.

“Do not.”

“You’d be alone with a gun in your hand, would you let him get taken?”

“Of course not,” you whispered, looking at the gun lying on the table. “You’re putting me in a very difficult position, Tommy. Why should I or anyone else pay for your mistakes? Why should I live in fear and hide just because you’re my husband?” you hissed, as he stared back at you unequivocally, like a soiled investment. The way he looked at you reminded you of the time when you’d just met, with any warming or trace of his softer side was gone with a simple reply as you both stared at each other, not wanting to be the one to let down.

“Too much for you then, is it?”

"Sadly, it is." you almost interrupted him, watching him stare at you as if you were nothing more than a piece of dirt lurking on the ground. Perhaps exaggerated but true.

“I’ll make sure to get in touch with your aunt tomorrow morning.”

“I think that will be best.” You replied, taking the cup in your hand as you stood still for a moment before muttering half a good night to him and rushing out the door to escape that obnoxious man.

This is how it’ll always be with Thomas Shelby. A relationship full of ambiguity, no sense of stability, just a blind rat floundering through the bright light of day. You didn’t remember exactly how the night transpired, how many times you wandered around in the dark, circling the room trying to hear any trace of chatter, but other than a few ordinary footsteps in the hallway, nothing had happened. The night ended with a suitcase being trampled out of the cupboard, only to be half filled in fear of taking what wasn’t rightfully yours and stealing. Gypsy bastard. With those eyes of his. Who does he think he is? Sand seemed to gather in your throat, if only for a moment. She warned me, didn’t she? Be careful, she said, she did. And here I am, with that madman. Well, I’ll show him. Sleep only came with the first note of a robin’s song.

A light prodding at your side woke you up agonisingly, for you’d hardly have been able to open your eyes had it not been for the annoying voice that was becoming more and more distinct, disturbing your solace even in sleep. Pulling the covers over your head, you tried to pretend the voice wasn’t there, instead focusing on the soft sheets beneath you. Who knows, maybe this could be your last day in this heaven. But the calling of your name right in your ear made it hard for you to rest any longer, and with such attempts failing as rolling over and pleading to go away, you found yourself confronted with an admission.

“Finn, please. Don’t you’ve anything better to do than annoy me and rob me of my sleep?”

“But it’s already three.”

“And?”

“Tommy said to warn you that we were going shooting. So if you hear loud noises, don’t be scared.”

“Okay, off you go then. Have fun,” you murmured, letting slip from one ear to another as you sunk into bliss as he closed the door, hearing his footsteps fade away. The content of what he said when you heard the first wake up call. First came the loud stench that spread like a scream over the entire field, followed by the flapping of wings and the screaming of the few birds that were obviously not used to such calamity near their peaceful home. Perhaps that's when it had hit, when it all made sense.

You had never moved so quickly in your life as you did now, not with that sort of adrenaline. Almost falling out of bed, as you got tangled in the sheets, praying open the curtains only to see three men in which among was your bloke, dressed in the same manner he was. Every rational thought in your mind made up reasons in seeking to comfort you. Finn was Tommy's brother. He wasn’t going to let himself get hurt. Yet a part of you couldn’t stop thinking that maybe this was his way of getting back at you, messing up whatever game he has been playing. But would the man be so cruel as to use his own brother as leverage. No he couldn’t be as cruel as that. Could he?

And so here you sat, on these same bloody steps, with the book that was becoming all too familiar to you and which you hadn’t yet been able to finish reading all day. Today’s escapades created by your husband truly did not help. Whatever page you started on had remained the same throughout this whole time. And whenever you dared to look down, you would hear a shout or a stray gunshot that supposedly sounded different from the others. Resulting your eyes to dart up and stare at the four brothers who, considering everything, probably thought you were a lunatic. Finn and the other two, whom you had to familiarise yourself with from the few portraits and other exaggerated family stories your aunt had instilled in you, would sometimes wave you over or cast a discreet glance in your direction, only to turn back to the mad dog who’d not yet adjusted to your looming presence. You’d like to think that you embarrassed him with your constant death stare, with which you’d have preferred to conjure up a storm to spoil their strange fun. Of course, that couldn’t have been far from the truth. For all you know, that was his intention all along, another form of persecution.

After an even hour, your beloved husband finally dared to look in your direction, and soon he appeared at your side.

“What are you doing?”

“Sitting around, enjoying this rather quiet day.” You bit back, averting your gaze from the boy, instead your eyes faced him with as natural, faceless a look as you could muster. “I know what you’re doing.”

“And what am I doing?” He sat down next to you, causing you to clutch your book and move further away.

“You’re using your brother to get back at me.”

“I’m just teaching him how to shoot.”

Scoffing at his excuse, you focused furthermore on the boy as you saw one of the brother’s racketeer the bullets out of the gun. “You usually work on Saturdays.”

“Plans change.”

Not always for the better.

“Of course they do.” An unpleasant sigh left your lips. Rubbing your eyes, your body seemed as if it was being pulled to the ground due to the sleepless night behind you. The situation and the gunshots did nothing to ease the headache that somehow kept making itself known. “Have you contacted Abigail yet?”

He remained silent, refusing to follow your line of sight and instead letting you feel his eyes crawl all over your side. “Do you want me to contact her?” Then he provoked, at which point you turned to face him. From the side, it almost looked as if another argument had taken place. Only this time portrayed in silence.

Yes, because what you’re doing is the cruellest of cruelties. Your childish behaviour and your inability to communicate drive me crazy. I don’t trust you. I don’t know you. No matter how hard I tried or will try, I’m afraid I’ll never truly know you. For all I know, you could kick me out or leave me on the street. And if you do, I’ll be thankful, for as long as I’m with you, pieces of me are clawed off, in an agonising way, I’ve no way to control. So please. For at least give me enough of a reason to hate you.

I want to give you time, but I’m afraid it won’t do me any virtue. Deep down, I know it. I know that’s who you’re. And no matter how long it takes, no matter what little moments, I delude myself into thinking we’ve had. It is entirely just that.

A sweet delusion,

a deception,

mirage.

We hardly talk, and yet somehow there’s this vast gulf between us. But maybe it’s because I’ve been pretending this whole time.

No, I want to stay with you and prove to all those who doubted me and called me a loon to an end point. I want to prove to myself that I was right about you, that you aren’t just an empty bottle to be thrown into the well, a shell. I want you to care about me the way I care about you. And I wonder if you could.

And even if you don’t, I can live with that. Just let me stay with you. Even if I’m just an extra obstacle or a burden tearing you down. In any way, in any form, let me stay right here.

“Are you gonna make me shoot someone?”

Right now, I want you... I want you to abide by my ways, with my wills. I want you to tell me you want me to stay with you until the edges of my soul are as crimson as yours, until my heart can barely breathe under all the ice in your vicinity. Until every cell in my body burns and screams for more. I want you to tell me you’ll never let me go. I desire you to tell me you need me. And yet you look at me, without sadness and without a hint of what you’ve dragged me into with your malice. If only your eyes held some sign of compassion or remorse, then maybe I could live with the way things are between us. But soon I see the hint of rejection. and that’s enough to tell me the truth. “I’m not going to have this conversation with you again, Thomas.”

I prefer to compare your eyes to the shallowest part of the ocean, to a fire that never wants to blossom from its flame, to a sky as naked as it was from the beginning. Perhaps of my amusement, perhaps of yours. But in truth, they’re nothing but a wild storm. A storm that came with a mahogany hue on the denim jade, as if it already knew that the gales and mists it served would echo for aeons. True melancholic clamour. Look too close or not too far. It would seep into you as well.

You

were

condemned.

Even before you got up from the stairs, you felt hopeless. You knew you were finished no matter how today or tomorrow went. You would stay. The gentle voice of sense had lost her title in a one-day battle. And so you rose, head held high, as an imaginative, posturing aspiration to contest the right to what will inevitably come true one way or another.

Perhaps it was because you believed he had saved you. Maybe that was why such strong feelings of infatuation arose so suddenly. Or maybe they had derived earlier. In the sleepless nights, in the roams through the house together, in the few, infrequent evening walks. The glow of distant and barely existent mutual domesticity. Or maybe it was loneliness. The books about satisfying liaisons. Ones that provided you with novelistic renditions of everyday life while you clung to every word, expecting something less casual and a little more proactive. But it never came.

“Look, here’s Tommy’s lovely wife.”

“God help us all.”

Ignoring their previous remarks, trying to control the scowl on your face. You mustered up a smile that was perhaps a little too on-the-nose, for soon your cheeks ached. “Elizabeth Edwards,” you said, extending a hand, “but you probably already knew that, didn’t you?”

“Yes, well, our first form of introduction wasn’t the most civil one, but I must say you look even prettier in person.”

“So you’re the charmer of the family, I take it?”

“Eh, don’t listen to him, nobody here does.” The man you suspected was the eldest of the accursed Gypsy family made you laugh with his remarks.

“So you’re Arthur then.” you responded to the man, holding out your hand, glad to have the ovations behind you.

“Pleasure.”

“We were wondering when you’d join us.” The other brother, who you determined as John from Abigail’s explanation, made you shy away as he gestured to the gun.

“Oh, no, no,” you quickly wrote of the premonition, looking at the youngster, who was now pressing against your side, his eyes filled with curiosity from your morning musings. “I’m just here to watch.”

“Really? But Tommy said you’d join us.”

“Did he?” you smiled, understanding now that he pulled you out in front of an audience, knowing you wouldn’t make as strenuous a scene as you’d in private. “Tommy, dear, can I talk to you alone, please?” you let go of Finn, ruffling his hair in the process, which only annoyed the poor lad as he grumbled in frustration, trying to undo the damage.

As Tommy followed you far away from earshot, you noticed he was carrying his damn toy with him. Before you could even get started, he rummaged the gun into your hand that he’d wanted to give you the day before. “Just shoot the fucking gun.”

“Thomas Shelby, if you make me do this, I’ll file for divorce.”

“Stop acting childish and just shoot.”

“Childish?” You looked over at his brothers, who were barely able to suppress their laughter as their eyes circle the sky, trying not to disrupt the free theatre performance before their very own eyes. “If your brothers weren’t here ... You promised me you’d call Abigail.”

“I changed my mind and I don’t recall promising.”

“Cunt.” you muttered under your breath, but against better judgement, you maintained eye contact with him.

“That’s not very ladylike of you.”

“You know I might as well shoot you, shouldn’t I? Start practising on a live target.”

“At least then you’d be shooting at something,” he remarked, which tried your patience and made you think that maybe you should make true on the previous statements. “Why are you so afraid of guns?”

“I’m not afraid of your guns. I just don’t understand why you’ve to pressure me and I don’t like you giving me an ultimatum and making me think I’ve a choice when I don’t.” You hissed, stunned at your sudden confidence as you managed to shove the damned thing back into his hand. “Why are you even doing this? What gain could you possibly get from this?”

“I enjoy your company,” he stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and you wondered why you suddenly couldn’t think of anything clever to throw back at him.

What you truly wanted to say was—”if you want company, go to a brothel. I hear there are quite a few of them about,” followed by some dramatic exit of some sort you would make up in the moment.

What actually came out was—nothing. There were a million things you could say, shout out to get your point across, yet nothing came. Not a single hushed whisper, not a word. And yet as you stood there, under that maple, as if for the first time, as if not, you felt your glances fall to the ground and then the sky.

His hand in yours, a high note sung by a woodlark, a breeze in your hair, somewhere in the distance, a storm tearing the clouds apart, just the same as that November. Or was it September? The gentle wing that cradles the grass on its way. A lover’s embrace, short-lived but fair. Just that same old disdainful smile you’ve always had.

“Are you two done?” John shouted over your quarrelling, making you feel as if the invisible spotlight was shining right through you. You took a deep breath in, looking at Tommys hand which was dangling the gun in your direction.

“Are you alright?” A hand rested on your wrist, along with a concerned look. He even sounded about ready to knock down the pieces of his game, to end it.

”I’m fine.” A sigh, countless more to come. “Just show me how to shoot.”

“What a disaster.” You said, watching the two cars pull out of the property as you sat down on the steps, resting your face in your hands, too numb to the touch.

“They weren’t so bad.” Tommy tried in vain as he took a seat next to you.

“I’m not talking about your brothers. I’m talking about myself.” You laughed and looked him in the eye as you pulled your knees to your chest and rested your head on them. You actually laughed after the day you had. “How you could remain completely unfazed and not feel second-hand embarrassment is beyond me.”

“You weren’t that bad.”

“Yeah, you’d think so.” you scoffed, looking at that adoring smile he had delicately graced his features. “We were out there for hours, and I only managed to get a few shots and only thanks to your lucky gun.” you finished, holding the tiny little revolver. It was quite funny to imagine that such a small insignificance cost you so much. The reasons why you were even so against the gesture had taken their rest and now were nowhere to be seen. You turned to him, holding the barrel. You held it out to him, motioning for him to take it.

“It’s not luck, it’s just a gun. You can keep it if you want,” he replied, making you shake your head as you placed it in his hand. “Can I smoke?”

Nodding off, smiling at the fact he asked for your permission, you watched him pull out his ways of entertaining himself. “I want you to have it back. It might save me from becoming a widow soon.” You said, looking at the few bruises that still adorned his face. “Do they still hurt?”

“Not anymore.”

“Finn did surprisingly well. I didn’t expect that.”

“It’s in the Shelby blood,” he replied, brushing his hand on his face, some form of tiredness lacing his features. You liked when he was like this, calm, tired, almost tranquil.

“So...” you tapped your feet, prompting yourself up, wrapping your hands around your legs. “You interpreted that you wanted me to stay with you? What was that about?” You asked, pretending as if the awaiting answer wasn’t breath clutching.

“You’re my wife. It wouldn’t be proper for you to stay somewhere far off.”

“So that’s it? Just another prospect of sorts?”

“You’re a decent company and Finn would miss you terribly.”

With serenity, you looked up to see just how many stars there were tonight. Quite a few too many. Tomorrow it will rain. Swallowing the air with empty lungs, hearing the far too long overdue chirping of crickets in the distance. “What about you?” you wondered, propping your head on your legs. “Would you miss me if I left?”

“I would.” A devil’s trap indeed.

“I suppose I’ll be carrying a gun around now...” you said without elaborating, still shocked at what you’d just suddenly agreed to because of the simple truth. He made all the struggles, all the time you’d spent trying to maintain some sort of stand on the matter, fade, just like everything else. “What about William, did you...?”

“I’m working on it.”

A beam of silence so common and yet so unfamiliar throbbed that you felt obliged to clear the pest that it was out of the way as soon as it slipped into existence. “I haven’t even thanked you for coming to my rescue...”

“You managed fine on your own.”

“Think you’ll recruit me?” you said, grabbing the hat he’d on display only to catch a concerned glance in your direction. “I was joking. I’ve no qualms in joining your boy scouts.” You assured, almost trembling at the idea.

“Be careful with that. There’s a blade that can cut your fashion show short.”

“Even your hat is armed?” you asked, taking it off by the edges to search for the intriguing secret of such a simple thing. “This little thing you mean?” pointing to the hidden blade, to which he nodded. “You really are bored, aren’t you?” he blew out a puff of smoke and shook his head at your inquiry, a gentle smile settling on his face. He seemed to smile more often around you. That’s what your heart whispered to you that night.

“How are you coping?” you asked, putting the cap back on, much to his disarray.

“With what?”

“Killing someone. Has it become such a commonplace that it doesn’t even bother you anymore?”

“Of course, it bothers me.”

“Is that why you use?”

“It was. I’ve stopped for the time being.”

“Stopped killing or using?” you asked, seeing him stare off somewhere into space.

“We all cope in different ways.”

“I guess so,” At least he wasn’t upright, mad, but still in control of the subject.

“Why do you ask?”

“Well, if we ever play Thomas Shelby trivia, I’d like to be able to answer.”

“Trivia?”

“Dumb questions get dumb answers, dear.”

“You’re mocking me,” he grinned, throwing the cigarette onto the steps and dosing the flame with his boot.

“Guilty,” you caught on pretty quickly with that line of happiness he felt at that moment. Or just imagined he felt it. It was hard to tell.

“You know, I probably would have kissed you.” You meant it as a joke. ”If only you hadn’t smoked that cigarette.” A somewhat dumb joke, supposedly put there to get a positive reaction from the man next to you. Yet somehow, whether by the will of the ocean or the storm, it became something separate. Without warning or superfluous words, he kissed you. Pressing the tip of the peaky hat into his forehead as he did. And somehow you didn’t care about the gnawing cigarette smell all over. It all faded away.

Once he pulled back, wanting whether, of some further permission or regret, he didn’t get to dwell on it too long, for it all seemed to stop too soon, and to that, it didn’t end, as you pushed further, as you held him by the collar of his shirt. He didn’t back away, or indicate he didn’t like it. He just sat there, his hand rubbing smooth circles on your knees. Only to smile against your lips as you finally gave away.

“How was that?”

“Not bad at all...” you hummed softly, letting your gaze wander over the man before you, who had a gentle expression on his pale features. He seemed anew, somehow different. Time stood still around you and your mind was free of all the worries and horrors that infested your mind. He laid his head in the crook of your neck and you looked into his eyes, those deep, breathtaking blue eyes that seemed to capture your breath away every time. It was as if the rest of reality paled and faded in comparison to them. And it did.

Letting go of him, you raised your hand to his face, marvelling at his features. With a tender smile revering him, you leaned towards him and brushed your lips against his as his hand slithered to the back of your neck as you sat there trying to suppress a foolish grin making its way onto your lips. Feeling him press his lips against yours just for a moment before he kissed your cheek. Sensually travelling to the top of your forehead as his hand strayed to the side of your neck. You closed your eyes and let the overwhelming sensation sweep you away. His lips fell for every corner of your face before he relented and leaned back against your lips, engulfing you as you surrendered to him.

“Someone will see,” you managed out, barely aware of the crickets chirping and the wind rustling. The world around you was so quiet, and the only sounds that filled this barren evening were his and his alone.

“Let them see.”

You can’t remember how it happened, how a simple touch turned into a maskless masquerade under the stars, how your body ached against his as he surrendered and worshipped every part of you. You laid there still, afraid that the moment would shatter, afraid it was all just a dream. The immense desire scared you to the core as he made his way down, pushing away all the uncertainties, leaving only the aching feeling of euphoria in his wake. Your mind, body, and soul merged and grew into one as you lay helpless in awe, realising that perhaps what the lovesick fool of poets spoke of might not be a lie after all.

You lay in the gentle embrace of the bed; the sheets covering you waist down, your eyes still closed to the world, cradling the pillow pressed to your chest. The narrowness of the sunlight gleamed, barricading through the layered gloomy shades, leaving behind an amber shadow in the room. Somewhere in the distant trees, you could hear the dull melodies of birds that came back to their motherland after the bitter winter, trading the sultry summer weather to Birmingham’s dread and drab floods that regularly swept away the city. You heard the shuffling of the sheets beside you. A smile popped up on your lips as you lazily roused from sleep. Your legs seemed weakish as you drifted them, seeking to roll over to the other side, feeling something holding you down, making it difficult to turn. With a sigh, you finally crept your eyes open, seeing Tommy lying on his pillow, a droopy smile resting on his face.

“Well, well, look who’s here.” You cooed, feeling the control you had over your smile fade. “How long have you been awake?”

“Not long.”

“And you’ve just been staring? Creep.”

“How did you sleep?” he contented, rolling his eyes at your antics.

“Good, no nightmares insight. What about you?”

“Alright, slept through the entire night. At least what was left of it.”

“That’s good,” you grumbled, veering towards him, lifting your head from above the pillow and putting it on his chest. “Any plans for today?”

“A meeting with Solomon.”

“Sounds fun. Gathered a lot about that fellow, somewhat the character. When is the meeting?”

“In two hours, but I’m not so certain if I should go.”

“Why not?” you wandered, peering up at him, the dimples on his cheek becoming noticeable.

“I have the most beautiful woman in my bed right now. I’m not too sure Solomons can measure.”

“Are you trying to make me blush?”

“No, but my intentions are most problematicly impure.”

Your amusement was rinsed aside as you hummed into the notion of him leaving marks on your skin, feeling his grin beam against your neck, reminding you of the slow and torturous charms the devil in front of you had subdued you with near dawn. Before you both heard a raucous tone coming from the door that hastily broke open, causing you to tangle Tommy for the sheets to cover yourself, accidentally kicking him in the progress as you heard Ada marching through the door.

“Tom, are you in here? Your secretary has me on my last nerve–“ she announced, her hair a wreck as she strode into the room, letting out a few rapid breaths, searching around before spotting you both. You saw Tommy pull out a smoke from the sideboard below, seemingly unfazed by the situation when a voice you recognised as Finn came into the room behind Ada.

“What are you still doing in bed? It’s the middle of noon.” the boy asked as you looked at Tommy, who began choking on the smoke he was puffing.

“Yesterday was tiring, and I needed to rest,” you instantly answered, the sudden visitors tapping the wind out of you as you scrambled on what to say next.

“And I was... I needed to help her rest.”

You saw Ada wrinkle her nose and purse her mouth as her eyes narrowed to the two of you, driving you to feel like a child that got in trouble. She swiftly cleared her throat, seeking to compose herself before she turned towards Finn.

“Finn, let’s go get something to eat, alright?” she hastily sputtered, forcing the young, confused child out the door.

“We didn’t know you were coming today.”

“Well, I was—am here, next time put a fucking tie on the door or...” she trailed off, glaring at Tommy, who was waving with amusement, the cigarette still tucked in between his fingers. “You know what? I’m going to have lunch with Finn and when we get back, you better be dressed.” She stated, taking a few steps back before turning and hurriedly halting through the door, slamming it shut.

“That’s one way to start a morning.”

“I’m glad you find this amusing... I can’t believe this is how my first meeting with your sister went.”

“Well, I’m sure you made an impression.” he snorted, stubbing out the smoke as you seized the sleeve of your pillow, hitting the man in question with it, eliciting another chuckle.

“This is all your fault. Do you even know what she must be thinking about right now?”

“Lucky Tommy.”

“Lucky what? Oh, you’re a dead man Shelby, I swear...”

“What?” he smirked, receiving another blow in the face as he lifted the pillow off himself, hugging it to his chest as he turned to face you. “Ada’s seen worse, believe me, I’m sure she didn’t mind and besides, it’s high time she learned how to knock,” he babbled, pushing the pillow to the side as he slowly moved closer towards you. “So... where were we?”

“Getting dressed,” you replied, pulling away and leaving the comfort of your bed trying to try and find yesterday’s clothes.

“Wh—hey where are you going?”

“Work, and you have a meeting.”

“Now that ain’t fair...”

“How about if you manage not to kill Solomon’s at your little meeting, I promise I’ll find a way to keep you entertained...” you replied mischievously, gathering the rest of your clothes, sitting down on the edge and putting them on.

“I’ll try.”

“Good,” you acknowledged, deciding not to stall work any longer, as you stood up and wandered off to the door, watching Tommy plop back down on the bed. “I’ll see you later then.”

Clouds.

Everything around you was as if you were living amidst dews of the realm beyond. All the passing cars and people, just a hint of mist floating along the imminent path to the clinic. Never did you think it would feel so divine, pure in elation. The days were no longer dull, filled with only a few moments too rare to recount, yet memorable all the same. No longer did the agonising grief that almost brought you to your knees draping about.

Just bliss.

The signifying ring of the bell hanging from the shop’s ark made you feel you’d re-entered the pulsating life around you. No life itself.

Born anew from the ashes of sorrow forged by the devil. No, no, not the devil, your lover’s company. Your husbands. Husband. The word no longer foreign on your lips.

Walking over to the counter, you heard strange, hushed whispers from the backroom that you recognised only too well. It seemed you weren’t the only one experiencing a renewal.

Knocking on the door, hoping to retain whatever vestige of dignity they might still have, as you coughed happily away. “Morning Reed, Rose as well, I’d imagine.”

“Eli, you’re here early.” Reed stumbled over his words like a blind mouse through a maze. A hint of a smile played around your lips. They deserved to be happy.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“No.”

“Of course not.”

“I see... I can leave and come back later if you want...”

An agitated Reed came through the door, not even daring to look you in the eye. It was hard to steer clear if it had been the same cold thought doctor you’d met a few months ago or a teenage boy caught shagging a woman in the pantry.

“Oh, look, the doorbell. That must be a customer. Excuse me.” He excused himself, bolting up to the counter as you entered the scene. As you did so, you noted Rose’s heavy breathing as she looked at you, ready for whatever you might throw.

“Really? In the backroom...” A sheepish smile and a thud of the door closing behind you were all that stood still. “Shame on you, Miss Bell.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Elizabeth. Nothing happened.” She straightened her posture and stood tall, trying to boast the lie. “We were just talking.”

“What interesting things you’ve talked about, I wonder.” You snorted, seeing a love bite near her collar, which she quickly hid. “Didn’t know he still had it in him.”

“Might I say you look even worse?” She bit back as you felt her eyes roam over your appearance and calm demeanour. “You’re relatively radiant.” No longer the stiff employee, no longer a foreigner in your own home, no longer a stranger. “Speak.” She’d pushed a chair in your direction, a glint of gleaming curiosity at your newfound peace that was surging deep within. “I need details.”

“Well, after a brief conversation with my husband, we both realised that our marriage wasn’t as dead and cold as we both originally thought.”

“Aha... So you renewed it, then?”

“That we did.”

Life continued forth.

Of course, now, with a few sensible moments stolen by the cover of night or morning alike. The days were filled, as they always were. Work, sleepless nights, whether out of worry or boredom. And just like that, under the night sky that had suddenly become another friend, the wisps of loneliness and doubt steered away, like a ship into the night not to be soon seen by a bare eye. Evenings became your favourite time of day. There was even a certain routine to it. Come back from work, wander about, read Finn a story. And before long, there he stood. At the foot of the stairs, a suitcase in his hand. A quarter past eleven. Right on time. Then followed dinner.

Most of the time, it was just basking in each other’s company while he filled out his books. You either helped or observed the hard-working man before you. Sometimes it was quiet. At first, his mannerisms and such behaviour had frightened you. Shouldn’t he be different after such a long day and an even longer separation? Yet with time passed sitting in that very silence, it had taken a strange effect. Now, whether you faced the silence in nature or at home, you were met with peace and comfort. He was there in person, hiding under some cranny or other. Never truly gone. In the shelter of the wind or the flowering leaves, the ticking of the clock.

It wasn’t always silent. Sometimes he would come home and wouldn’t stop talking. It was nice. Hearing the edge of his voice as he slowly recounted his day. Not all of it, mind you, but just enough to understand.

Most nights were spent in bed. As soon as he finished his work, he’d take your hand and lead you to your bedroom. Yours. His. It didn’t matter. He would undress, letting all burdens and worries of tomorrow drop to the floor with his clothes and climb into bed. Sometimes the night led to carnal indulgences, all met with good faith. But most were lost listening to the heartbeats of your lover as he coaxed himself into sleep.

Yet on those unique nights when Thomas Shelby couldn’t even find peace in your arms, the two of you thought of other ways to entertain. Walks under the evening sky... Baking, in which you almost woke up the entire house with the clatter of plates and pans. Other times, the night tempted you to drive blindly through the country roads. Were it not for the involuntary weapons brought along as a precaution and the advantage of a late hour, the two of you could almost be mistaken for a normal couple.

On one particular night, the two of you somehow got on the roof. It took a lot of effort and poking around, but in the end, you were both sitting there, legs dangling over the edge. Wondering why there was no wind in sight on that cloudy night.

“Ah, I forgot to ask, what happened in your office today? I saw a queue of people outside. It seemed longer than the tower bridge. Is everything alright?”

“You came by? I didn’t see you.”

“Yes, I was waiting for Ada.”

“Nothin’ you need to worry about. Just business.”

“A thriving one, it seems. You haven’t caused any trouble, have you?”

“If you haven’t heard anything, means I haven’t.”

Not all nights were good.

No matter how long and how far you searched, no matter how much Tommy made it bearable, there were times when the doubt that stifles the soul came into play. Professing as a miser hoarding all the pleasant moments for himself. He left you with a feeling you’d learned to despise. Something was out of place.

A piece was missing from the chessboard that was once your life. Something important that choked your throat and made you seek any distraction, no matter how minimal it may seem. The distraction was the only reason you could keep going, because, without it, you probably would have uncovered what lay underneath, protected and hidden by the veils of the mind. You were torn between two pieces, one that wanted to leave everything as it was, in this paradise of dalliances and suns, clouds and winds of happiness that was finally in tune.

And another piece. A mistress of sense, we shall call her. That clawed and screamed and wailed to be let out. To find the missing reserve while suffering the price it bore. An attentive sacrifice, she called it. So that all would be well in the end.

You sat on his bed, a book in your hand, trying to focus on the words and understand the story. Tommy, tired with only a hint of that busy day he presumingly had, went to take a bath. He offered you to join him in washing off the troubles and grime away, but you refused, not wanting to move from the comfortable bed you’d made. In truth, you didn’t want to trouble him with such silly thoughts that had no justification, only to course through like a fool.

“Hey.” His entrance made you put the book aside, his mere presence distributing the need for a clear distraction. He tossed aside the towel he was carrying and plopped down on your lap.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just tired.” He answered, as you felt his hands slithering around your waist, holding you as he allowed himself to fall into the comfort of your arms.

The gesture brought a smile to your lips as you placed the forgotten book on the bedside table and let your arms brush over his back. As you did so, it didn’t escape your notice how tense he was. “And strained, it seems, you’re harder than a rock.”

His face lifted from your lap as he looked up at you with a tingle in his eyes. “Thank you, my dear.” Chuckling, you felt his hands clasp around you as he once again set his head back on your thighs, almost looking like he was about to fall asleep. “What’ve you been doing?”

“Reading. One of the maids lent me a book.” One of his eyes barely opened, looking about as he spotted the book on the stand. You could almost hear the gears turning as he went over the books he’d read in his head, wondering if he’d read yours as well.

“What’s it about?” A moment later he closed his eyes, giving up the endeavour as he felt your fingers pressing on the raised knots.

“Two people who can’t be together.”

“And you like that?”

“I think it’s poetic, and the sex scenes are great, very detailed.” You said with a hint of sarcasm. As you looked at the human cat sprawled on top of you, a great idea came to mind. “Do you want me to scratch your back?” You heard him groan at the thought of moving, but you knew that with a few sweet laced words he’d be persuaded to bend to your will. “Trust me, you’ll feel better.”

A few considerations later, he was in your lap, his shirt lying forgotten on the floor as he mumbled and moaned while your nails made their way through his back. “Shit, that feels fantastic.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“A little to the right.”

You could almost feel the tension drain from his body as he instinctively pressed himself as close to you as possible. His arms snaked around your waist, his thumb rubbing circles on your lower back. A quiet thanks. “Your father is coming next month.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“You don’t seem very excited.” He hummed, dragging one of your hands to the left. You could hear him sigh, the peacefulness on his face urging you to promise both him and you to do this more often. To try and bring the same kind of clarity he had brought you.

“How can I be? I barely remember the man.”

“Thank you.” Suddenly, he sat up, almost as if he was trying to break away. You could see he wanted to listen to what you’d to say, to clear up any misgivings. It was far too difficult to do that while you lulled him to sleep. “I’ve looked into Y/n L/n.”

The recurring name of William’s supposed bride sent shivers down your spine. “Did you find anything?”

“She’s either buried or left town.”

That wasn’t at all what you were looking for. But then what were you? Her place of residence, her address? To do with what, exactly? Drag her back to her mad husband, who was wandering through the streets looking for her. To warn her and order her to flee further down the coast or up the mountain, wherever she was. Yet with a kind smile, you caught your husband in a feather-light embrace. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For looking into it. I know how busy you are.”

“I’d do anything to give you peace of mind.” He’d moved away by then, his forehead resting against your own, noses gently rubbing against one another. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Why do you ask?” But you could see that he knew something was still bothering you.

“You have that look.” Aways so determined. Your Tommy.

“What look?”

“That one.” His calloused hand, covered in dirt and charcoal only moments ago, was now pressing against your cheek. Beside himself he was, you could see that. ‘You’ve been in enough pain for quite a fine while,’ he’d said so not so long ago, ‘time for a break,’ and yet here you were still, lost in your head, unable to describe the nagging foreboding that clouded your mind.

“I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“What if my memory doesn’t come back? I know Reed said it will, but what if...” you had trailed off the partial truth to the lie. “And even if it comes back, what if you don’t like me anymore? Maybe I was a spoilt brat?”

“Who put those thoughts in your head?”

“No one... did it to myself.”

His fingertips brushed your chin as he lifted it, hoping you will hear him still. “There’s nothing you can do to make me hate you.” He’d promised, which made you scoff at the mere thought. He almost seemed offended at your reaction, but nonetheless, he progressed. “If you can’t get your memories back, we can always make new ones, yeah?”

“I guess so.” Perhaps he was right after all.

“That reminds me, we’re going to a party on Sunday.”

“A party? Oh no, is it upscale?”

“Indeed.” You grimaced at the thought of being with those crazy Danes who valued nothing but the material possessions of men. Those same men considered their whores’ time more important than those of a wife’s. Before you could voice your opposition, you saw him pull out what I could only describe as a blazing star of azure. “I have this for you.”

“Tommy, you didn’t have to...”

“You don’t like it?” He quickly suppressed the need for praise that resounded through all the walls of the house.

“I love it, Tommy, thank you. But having you here is more than enough of a gift for me.” With a lustful kiss that would make even a prostitute blush, a sly smile appeared on your lips. “But it’ll be a good way to make all the other women jealous.” A chuckle, so pure and light, escaped his lips as he laughed at his wife’s antics. Only she could be so bold. “We’ll have to get you a new suit.”

“What’s wrong with my old one?”

“We’re going to an elegant dinner. You should be up to standard when you’ve such a beautifully dressed woman on your arm all evening.” Chirping with a soft, perhaps even a teasing undertone, you set the necklace aside, pulling the covers over him as he leaned into your touch. “Come, Cinderella, time to sleep, tomorrow morning we are getting you a new gown.”

“Smart mouth.”

That same necklace from a few nights ago adored you now as he placed his lips on your neck and whispered sweet, laced words of artistry. His eyes, reflected in the mirror, seraphic and serene. His new suit fit him well, as you’d expected. But despite the glamour and the pleasant day you’d spent earlier in your lover’s arms, a lazy day in bed. Something was out of place. Maybe it was the dress. You almost expected the feel of the silk clinging so beautifully to your body to evoke a sense of familiarity. Something, anything other than the strangeness you felt.

When you expressed such thoughts to your husband, he dismissed them as nervousness, now that you were rejoining society for the first time in almost half a year. But throughout the day and as you prepared to leave for the party, your disdainful behaviour had troubled him. After a few hours of agonising questions and assurances that you were indeed still going, he had even called Reed to make sure such an idea was wise. You had to snatch the phone from his hand, bidding Reed a good night with the missus and explain that you were, without question, going.

Perhaps that’s why his grip had been so tight while you thought in front of the mirror. Your hands, now healed and with no permanent scars except for the lecture you had innocently escaped, were left alone while a quiet conversation took its place.

Are you sure you want to go?

I’ll be alright. You worry too much, dear husband of mine.

Oh, how you regretted your eagerness now. Nothing in the entire world could have protected you or warned you of the mistress coming. Nothing at all.

It was a quiet event, filled with shining and upstanding belles, spilling gossip like the rain that fell on your house last Thursday. And left much damage in its wake. Their fools wandered about, drinking and going about their business, playing the jokers and trying to keep their glances, which too often wandered off to some servant or maid, without discretion.

When you first entered the establishment, you felt so small and downright intimidated by the other women, who joked and laughed in the corners of the room as if shielded from prying eyes. But wherever they moved, the guests always followed, emptying the centre of the room. They were a true symbol of grace and beauty you’d never seen before. Perhaps you were like them. After all, your family was quite distinguished. Yet, as you looked at their pricks and prattles, you saw no similarities. Two sides of the same coin.

Your gaze lifted to your husband, who stood beside you, a drink in his hand. But his eyes didn’t wander like those of the other men. No, no, rather they pledged their allegiances solely to yours. Seeking to find any signs of discomfort. He didn’t want to leave you while he deemed you uncomfortable. Maybe not even at all. Having followed your line of sight. He caught on rather quickly as to what exactly was going through your mind. You saw him shake his head and smile at the ridiculous thought. Suddenly, a man you’d assumed to be in the interest of his evening waved at him with ridicule. When your husband noticed this, he leaned close to your ear. A secret meant only for you. Yours is the only attention worth having.

That’s how it all began. A quiet start to the evening. The rest of the Shelbys were there too, the men mostly drunk, the women too, including you. It was a family tradition. You were part of the family, and so vice versa. Aunt Polly was on her fourth drink of the evening, and soon excused herself and went out for a smoke. Ada, well, she lingered somewhere far away from her brothers. You had no interest in her affairs, for your relationship was still uncertain and shaken by your first meeting. Catching her brother in bed with his wife, naked as the day they were born, was not highly ideal, as one could assume.

The night passed somewhat sluggishly as your eyes danced around, watching the obscure spectacle; people played nobility and spoke as if they were kings of England. At least, twenty of them had told such a fact. The other ten had left the crown and ruled over America. Kings without crowns, all ruling over the same kingdom. It was entertaining to listen to their babble. It would have been even more entertaining if you had drunk just a bit more and introduced the so-called rulers to their peers. But alas, the gin glass was empty, and the bar was too far away. Soon you became restless and decided that maybe it was time to go annoy your husband and take some revenge for bringing you here.

Three women exchanging gossip in the bathroom. You didn’t think anything of it at first, so you sat there, waiting for them to finish and leave so that you could at least have some time for solitary. But the opposite was the case. They started talking about the Shelby family. Your family. Against your irritation and thought of showing them how truly evil can one get, you held back and tried to figure out who was indeed talking such nonsense. But soon… too soon. The conversation took a turn to Thomas Shelby’s new moron bride, as they called you.

“Have you seen her? Prowling about like nothing happened. The shame of that girl.”

“I heard she lost her memory. Said to be caused by Thomas Shelby himself.”

“Oh, that explains a lot.” One sarcastically remarked, “You’re a fool if you believe such lies.”

“Is there no other topic of conversation? Are you really that demented?” The third cried in frustration. “It’s Shelby this, Shelby that. Obsession is a very serious problem, Em. You should be careful.”

A hush went through the room. You’d almost think they’d disappeared, vanished, but soon the water was running again and the conversation continued with no sign of it ending anytime soon.

“Should we tell her?”

“It’s not our business. Leave it.”

Going out and making yourself known was a sensible decision at that point, at least one to consider. But curiosity can also be a curse for one’s self.

“Excuse me for trying to do something decent for once.” She groaned in frustration, as a child would. “If my husband would be murdered and I couldn’t put two and two together, I’d want one of you to tell me.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if this entire scene was a ploy.” The second chirped, “Gipsies are tricksters. Maybe her last marriage didn’t go so well and she jumped. I wouldn’t blame her. Adam wasn’t too keen of a husband, from what I’ve heard.”

“Well, I’ve gathered that even Miss Polly was involved. Can you imagine that even she... What a scandal.”

“Who told you that?”

The doors opened with a creak, interrupting all chatter and pausing your thoughts that tried to crawl out of this uncertainty. You trusted him. A repetition ensued. You trust him.

Liars.

All of them.

“Don’t you’ve anything better to do?” The stern voice of the aforementioned Polly Grey rang out. She appeared as if she’d been summoned, bashing all three girls as they quickly made their way. The door slammed as they left, leaving the echoing walls dead silent. You’d almost assumed she followed suit, but the clink of her heels and the lighting of a match assured you she was still there.

“You can come out now, Eli.” She called out to you like a mother would, which only made your thoughts worse. Why did she sound so nervous?

With trembling hands, you pushed open the doors and saw her leaning against one of the sinks, one hand rubbing her temples, clarifying that she’d heard them too. Her expression, unreadable to most, yet her eyes rang true. Perhaps it could be said that they were truer than ever.

A plea, silent as the sound of sliding sand beneath your feet. Upon that crumbling hill you stood, wistful as a bride’s veil, before the recounter of old, sent by the Lady herself. A Minerva in disguise.

Lies can be a fickle thing, a net most web despite the rightful or innocent. A crumbling peak that crushes anyone who deem too close. Such unnecessary evils, bound to collapse against the tide. The confession came so easily from her lips. Such a weightless thing, a lie, while it remains hidden, that is. But when it gets out, given flight, it will lay waste to the recipient. Crushing their feeble soul, leading even the primmest paladins out of one’s mind.

There were many things that could’ve been said or done. Actions taken, words spoked that were bound to be lulled into wakefulness. But instead you merely gathered up the remnants of your dignity that you hadn’t yet discerned and left. The closing of the door behind you signified no objections from Polly as she let you go. Without a word, without action, with nothing, without help or meaning.

A drawn conclusion.

You woke up that night drenched in sweat; the minutiae of the dream stirred clear as glass. The window ploughed open as the blinds fluttered against the hollowing breeze. You threw your legs across the bed, noticing your once fleeting heartbeat slow, as you went over to the window, noticing the wet carpet against your bare feet, another victim of the storm, as you moved the uncalm curtains to the side, closing shut the window. The full moon illuminated sorrowfully as the few silvery clouds lazily drifted across the sky. With a shaky sigh, you fled back to bed, laying down, hauling up the soft sheets to shroud yourself from the still to settle terror, craving nothing more than to go back to sleep. Yet your mind had not ceased wondering, provoking you as you tossed and turned in bed, one side too soft, the other too hard.

Finally, letting yourself cave into the clogging irritation, you decided to pick up something to drink to ease the mist hanging over your mind. You rose, stepping through the door as you headed toward the stairs; the corridor now stood unlit, silent despite the few wooden steps which seemed to creak with each step as you made your way to the kitchen. You wandered over to the counter and reached above the cupboards to pull out a wine glass and a matching set of a drink. Unscrewing the cap, you tipped the dainty bottle to one side and poured yourself a sip before screwing it back down and deciding to take the bottle with you, walking away and taking a seat on the armchair opposing the window. You put the halfway filled bottle on the ground as you raised your legs on the chair.

“Perhaps I don't know you as much as I thought I did.” Saying those words out loud engraved their meaning all the further. Abigail had known. Of course she had. You could see now that her cloud of arrogance was only a fear for someone she loved. And even so, throughout your journey here, she had warned you countless times. And so did he. In his own ways, he had tried to warn you frequently. Yet you reviewed those remarks as a sign of some unusual modesty.

You raised the cool glass against your forehead, letting out a sleepy sigh as you began to realise that, for the first time in weeks, you were yet again at a loss. The creeping awareness of demanding to regain something left behind was knocking around just as it was weeks ago. You lifted the glass to your lips, taking a sip as the bleak drizzle pounded against the glass, just as you’d imagined it would have that night.

“Liar.” Spatting at no one but the storm. “Deceiver.” Leaning your head against the chair’s back, you couldn’t help but laugh at how truly bizarre and almost amusing this all scheme had been webbed. A man well deserving of the title.

Devil indeed.

“And I, the fool.” Swirling the maroon rancour, before taking the last sip. You needed something much stronger. As you got up from the chair, you heard a few cars pulling in right outside. He’s back. Even through the sound of the rain, you could hear him storming to the house.

In the earlier days you might have cowered, afraid of what he will say, of his disapproval, his resentful look, but now. It did not matter. Nothing mattered. It might have been the alcohol, it might have been your very own storm raging with its winds. You did not hide, nor did you run to the front door to greet him for forgiveness he did not deserve. You simply went to the cupboard and searched for something stronger.

The door opened with a dull thud. The noise made it seem as if it had almost come off its hinges. Then the sounds of nearly a hundred footsteps littered in. Yelling heresy and accusations long-lived passed.

“Tommy, stay here. We’ll call you when we find her.” John’s voice echoed in your ears as you stood leaning against the counter, waiting for the bunch to pass. “She couldn’t have gotten far.”

“It must’ve been William.”

Of course, there were guessings of murder and kidnapping. Even allegations you were in great danger. It was gratifying to listen to it all. But soon the voices quieted as they were finally met with you standing safely, not a trace of anything hurtful. As if preparing for the final act, the conclusion, you raised your glass towards your husband, mocking him. A silent welcome home.

Everyone soon made themselves scarce, strangely enough without question or resentful means. Half a night wasted, searching for the stolen jewel, and they were off. Tommy wished everyone a good night and escorted them to the door, thanking them for their help, even if there was no reason for it. At least in your mind.

Soon you heard him approaching you from behind. You'd have no idea what he looked like nor how he must’ve felt.

“Why didn’t you let me know you were leaving? I had the whole fucking family looking for you.”

You could almost see him, frantic. Out of breath, running and swimming through the crowd of strangers looking for you. You caught yourself smiling as you thought of him, and even more at the desperate expression as he chased after you, weaving through the crowded streets like a child trying to keep up with his mother’s swift steps. You could almost hear the pleading whisper of his voice as he called your name. He shouted, calling over and over again for you until no one would listen to him. And then he stops seeing Polly distraught and stunned. She yelps everything to him, or maybe she does not and all the wolves run off into the night.

It seemed oddly new and yet surprisingly familiar as you let out a shivered breath, wishing for nothing more than to stay like this forever. Time stood still around you, your mind free of all the worries and terrors that had beset you. A standstill. The ticking clock somewhere nearby, the little trails of rain landing on the window seal. Only a gipsy's wrath to face.

Finally, you trailed back, opening the cupboard’s door and discovering the whiskey hiding at the back.

“How did you get home?” He tried again, now with a much gentler tone.

“I walked.”

“You walked home alone? Why would you do that?” He asked, misery dropping from every word he spoke. Not the anger you’d imagined he would have, not the monogenistic happiness he would feel to see you in pain, just misery laden with worry. “What if something happened?”

“Nothing did.”

“Oh no well, bloody brilliant then, ain’t it?” You heard him chuckle as you started pouring the whiskey into your glass. “Look at me.” he said, stern with conviction. You pictured him standing there, his fists curled in fury, his face plastered with the disgust he felt after searching for you for so long. “I said, look at me.” This time it almost sounded demanding, no, pleading.

He was pleading.

Finishing pouring into your glass, you turned to him at last. He wasn’t at all what you’d envisioned him to be. Soaked to the bone, he stood there with a harrowing expression on his face. It was hard not to feel sorry for the man. He looked completely beside himself. He looked nothing like his normal self, no; it was almost as if a soul was walling without a body.

“Here I am Tom. How was your evening? Secured that deal, did you?”

“Do not mock me.” He took a step forward, slowly but surely regaining his menace as he accusatory pointed. “Why did you leave? Did someone say something to you?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“I wanted to go back—” home “—and didn’t want to disturb you.” You had quieted, the glass now too tempting to resist if you were to go through his manner of interrogation.

”I told you to tell me if you wanted to go, I would’ve taken you home myself.”

“Right, I shall do so in the future.” You uttered, allowing him to play the fool a little while longer. With your glass and bottle in hand, you walked up to him, leaning in to kiss him as he stood there silent and disdainful. You were met with a pull from your husband. “Good night Tommy, sweet dreams.”

Sitting on your bed, you deemed it for the game as you heard nothing for the last fifteen minutes. He was deceiving you even now. But suddenly, your doors flew open with the same force as when he entered the house, yet now you could see he was livid. You half expected to find a gun attached to his side. Before he could say anything, in search of a desperate knit of control, you stood up and echoed the truth loud enough to hear through the entirety.

“I know why you married me.”

He looked taken aback, as if the surge had snatched away the air from his lungs. “What are you talking about?”

“What am I talking about?” You spat in a derisive tone. How dare he? “I can’t even look at you.” Waving him off, you couldn’t stand still, standing on one leg, then on another. “Please tell me it’s not true. Please tell me you didn’t kill Adam.”

Lie to me, Tommy.

“I don’t–”

Please.

“Don’t you fucking lie to me. Did you kill my husband?”

I beg you.

“It was an accident.”

“An accident? Just like you hitting me over? Was that really an accident too?” you swallowed a lump stuck in the back of your throat, the question posing as a shiver. “Did you try to kill me, too?”

Betrayal. Utter treason, the only solemn feature blossoming on his face. No love, no desperation. You could understand what he wanted to say without him even saying it. Or perhaps pretended to.

How could you say that?

”I did kill Adam. It was an accident.” He seemingly tried to keep it short, almost carelessly, as if he had detached himself from the situation completely. “He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” you inquired, the question sounding more like a sob than anything else. A cry for help. For shelter. For protection of the fantasy you had once lived. You saw him reach out his hand, to calm you, soothe you, just as you did him, but your pride and sense prodded your arm out of his hand. “Don’t touch me… Don’t you fucking touch me.” A hiccup, a small indication to a losing battle. “I can’t believe you… were you ever going to tell me?” As he wavered, a silent plea almost had escaped. Lie.

“Tell the truth.”

“No.” Without pause, without waver.

“So what, you thought you’d just fuck around with a deadman’s wife?”

“I didn’t… your father, he proposed a deal, and I took it.” he came closer, his hands held up in defence. “Things would’ve been ten times worse if I didn’t. I almost had a war on my head.”

“Is that why you… did you sleep with me for the benefit of not waging war? Was that all I am to you?”

“What?” He let his hands fall to his sides, watching the noose tie. “No.” He snorted, looking aback. “Stop putting words in my mouth.” Believe me.

Please.

“I can’t believe I actually let you…”

I can’t.

“Eli.”

Why?

“I told you not to fucking touch me.” Soon the context of the drink was spilt, his shirt stained and the glass, driven by rage, thrown to the floor, breaking into a number of shards too great to count. “Get out.”

You did not lie.

Dun grading into blue, and blue into dream. Clouds inscribed remotely into a misty azure, seen only for a few moments that ring through the day before being loomed in the darkness and thundered by the belated sedan with a sole thought in your head. He took your soul without recognition, enslaving it in his hold, claiming it as his. Shadow nearing, the kindness gone to bed. The spaces that have grown between us, between the boom of summertime. He stands there howling with his brother into the evening sun.

Coward.

Hope here needs a humble hand, as how you found lone loss, with fear of what you’ll find in the future. The tragedy of him, how he lies and tricks into a fool’s happiness, only for it all to fall apart.

Of course, it’s also fascinating in its own right. Something you long for but are afraid to grasp. It’s the feeling that drives us all towards the edge of the cliff, with caution and alarm, and yet sometimes we just can’t help but look down.

Oh, eyes unbroken like wildflowers, with his demons of change. Waving at you from below as a terrible thought crosses your mind. Why couldn’t he just lie? You could almost hear her calling you a sinner for wondering why.

Soon all the men got into their cars and left the courtyard as you heard someone open the door behind you.

“Mr Shelby asked me to tell you that he’s going out of town. He’ll be back in a few days.”

“Thank you, Mary.” With a forced look to acknowledge the poor women who somehow ended up as your husband’s currier, your eyes landed on the same familiar spot as you watched them leave.

Run away from the mistress of sense, for she’ll bring you something you need but do not want.

Since Thomas had gone, God knows where, you’d plenty of time to think about the situation that involuntarily presented itself to you. Anger and grief had overtaken you again and again in the few days he was away. Yet you’ve not yet felt forgiveness or acceptance. And perhaps you never would. To accept, to move on from such a crime, forgiving the murder of your husband, no matter what your relationship was, was no excuse. You’ll not give that Shelby bastard another excuse to sneak behind.

Your thoughts often returned to the accident. Would you believe he didn’t mean to kill you? Maybe. After all, he was taking care of you. But there’s always the possibility that it was a ploy as well. Would you even want a life with him? Strained as it was.

And Abigail. She knew. Of course, she knew. What a snake she was, administering her venom in a small dose, not enough to hurt or be noticed.

After that day. Wine had become your best friend for the next while. Finn was staying at Polly’s so as not to interfere with the domestic at his home. Poor boy. He didn’t deserve it. The look on his face when he learned of the events prior. You would never forget that gleam, that distortion in his face. To call it just hatred wouldn’t do him justice.

Guided by grief or by the influence of alcohol, you ended up in the back of your wardrobe staring at the clothes you wore that night. Perhaps looking for some kind of reasurement or enlightenment, as to what the old Elizabeth Edwards would have done.

Running your hands through your coat, the most treasured last spectacle of who you once were, felt odd. The fabric seemed mediocre and cheap. Nothing like the other clothes at your disposal. Surely nothing a woman of such extravagance would wear.

Would father really have let you out with it to the first meeting with your husband, to the first introduction? What you understood of your father’s personality was that overall, he valued perfection and was very hectic with his cargo. So how could he allow his business transaction to be less than perfect?

You hauled the coat out of the cabinet, the boots too. A memory came to your mind when Tommy had suggested you throw away the reminders of that night, thinking them unnecessary and discouraging. You began to think that it was right not to.

Suddenly, your attention was caught by the label. Well, more the fact that there wasn’t one. These weren’t high-society clothes, but casual ones. Nothing extraordinary about the stitching or the material, it was just ordinary. That raised even more questions that you could answer. Something didn’t make sense. The pockets were empty, just for a few receipts, but nothing important.

But did it really have to make sense in the end? Maybe you’d had a terrible fight or some other circumstance got in the way. Clothes were just clothes, after all, maybe they’d become so during the hit. You felt insane sitting here with the clothes in your lap, grasping at straws. Tom was right. It was time to get rid of them, to burn them and throw them away. And with that thought in mind, you stood up, ready to do so. You gathered up everything you’d left from that time and went into the hallway looking for Mary.

When you returned, however, you felt no better than before. Watching them burn and dissolve into dust was supposed to be an experience, a heavy burden that fell from your shoulders, and yet with each flicker of the flame, no feelings came to the surface. They were just material being burnt, that was all.

What you didn’t expect was to find a necklace lying on your floor. You approached it cautiously, as if it were a snake in the ground that could snap at any moment. A ring. It was a ring. Sitting beside it you took it in your hands. The metal, feeling cold as ice on your skin. A former lover? A secret affair of the heart? Many theories came to mind with no sensible flouring. Sliding the ring on your ring finger, you noticed it was too big for it. Not a lover then. You tried it on your index finger and there it held, perfectly in place. You enjoyed the feeling of it for a little more before taking it off.

Moving it around you searched for any clues that might tell you whom it was from. You spotted some kind of engraving on the inside that prompted you to quickly jump up from the ground and bring it towards the light, to finally unravel the mystery of the abandoned ring. And there it read, in very small, minimalistic, miniature writing.

Y/n L/n and William Carver.

That you were able to retrace your steps on that terrible night made more suspicion arise than you would have liked. But here you stood, in front of that scorched down door, a few knocks in, waiting for judgement. Soon the door was unlocked and an elderly woman was standing behind it, her features laced with contentment as if from a good joke that soon turned grim as she set her eyes on you.

“You.” she seethed, her nose scrunched, eyes raging. “What do you want?”

“I would like to speak to William…”

“Self-giving whores are not welcome in my house.” She moves to shut the door, but much too quickly, you manage to put your leg in the crack of the door, restricting her from doing so.

“Please ma’am, I only came here to apologise.”

“Who is it?” A voice that you recognise all too well now rang from up the stairs. It sounded rushed, without any need to dwell further.

“It’s Y/n.” The woman shouted back, her nails tapping against the wooden door, waiting for him to decide if he wanted to let you in or not.

“Let her in.”

And here you sat on your third cup of tea with your harasser, well, ex-harasser, hell not even a harasser at all. Your fiance. With a show of countless proof, agreeing allegations from neighbours and that ring, it was made well clear. The most troublesome part of it all was to prove your story was true. Not an easy task for a stranger to believe such nonsense. Good thing he was no stranger.

“You must think I’m a terrible fool, don’t you William?” You put aside your now empty cup, the tea mixed with lemon, fresh on your tongue as you tried to understand what could be going through his head. “Please, don’t just sit there. Say something.” The grasps for attention now turned to pleading as your eyes found their way to the ground. You sounded ridiculous. Why did you wish for him to believe you so badly?

“You think I’m seething mad, don’t you?”

“No.” With a gentle undertone, at least one that he could muster, he reached over to you, placing his hand on top of yours. “No, I believe you love.” Hearing his affirmations was a pleasant break from the silence he had given you as you spoke your truth. “Can I hold you?”

You shook your head at his attempt as you slid your hand away from his hold. As happy as you were to have him believe you, to have his touch embrace you, it felt foreign. Wrong. Sinful even. It shouldn’t have. There was no reason for it, but why was your stomach curling at even the thought of it? You shivered at the thought of another. A sweet man, who you could see loved you with all he had, as little as that was and yet…

“Right… sorry, we’ll take it slow.”

“I’m sorry…”

“It’s alright, you’re back, that’s all that matters.” He cleared out his throat as he saw his mother, the woman who had to let you in, much to her annoyance, stalking about the corner of the kitchen. He crossed his arms at her poor attempt and motioned her to leave. “How are your memories?”

“They don’t just suddenly reappear, it’s a long process.”

The sadness in his eyes was clear. It was not the answer he had expected, but soon his downright lip curved into a soft smile as he chuckled. “Ah well, who needs them anyway? We’ll make new ones.”

“Thanks for believing me Will, I know I must sound completely demented.”

“What?” He frowned almost mockingly. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Yes, you do.”

You couldn’t help but let a small smile make its way onwards at his poor attempt at a joke. You were almost out of the rain before he suddenly asked. “What do you want to do now?”

“I need to tell Tommy the truth…” It was as simple as that wasn’t. Bring him proof, tell him everything. About your accidental deception, lies. How the girl who supposedly skipped town to get away from her fiance was the notorious Elizabeth Edwards. And the girl he was supposed to have married is god knows where.

“If that’s what you want, we can go talk to him tomorrow. The both of us.” He gestured towards you, his hand making a small move towards yours. You could see it was hard having to comfort you from a distance, but he still tried. “You can stay here for the night. We have a lot more to talk about.”

Every story must grow old, and every kingdom must have its end. It was time to finish this one. No matter how it might end, you needed to tell him the truth. As soon as possible. It was the right thing to do. Perhaps he’d understand. You made a bed where you do not belong. “No.”

“No?”

“I have to go back…” You laced your fingers together and looked into his eyes, with promises of loyalty and return. “I’ll tell him the truth of what happened.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No. I doubt he’ll listen with you there.”

“You expect me to let you go to him alone? What if he goes mad and,” he whispered the last words to himself, “hurts you? I haven’t even fully got you back and to lose you again… I can’t.” His hand rubbed against his forehead as he exhaled. “Please. Don’t make me.”

“Tommy–Mr Shelby would never do that… he’ll understand one way or another. I’ll maybe even nab something on my way out. It’s about time we moved somewhere, just the two of us.”

“Talking to him is one thing, but stealing is another matter entirely. It’s just reckless danger.” The cups quivered as he stumbled against the table. “Promise me that you won’t steal from him.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” He said, watching you as you stood up ready to go home, to carry out your plan and face him.

You walked into the corridor and started to put on your shoes as he watched you silently leaning on the doorway of the kitchen, just the same as he did that night. It felt silly to just leave as if it were a trade meeting. “Just give me a few days. Tommy is out of town for business. He should be back in a few days. I’ll come back by then.” And so you added. “And then we’ll start on making those new memories.” You promised, happy to regain a piece of sanity once lost.

As if a body without a soul.

You sat on a few sets of stairs outside, that were facing the outlook of the fields. Poppy’s bellflowers, fennels and violets swayed under the starry night sky. The sky is a no-man's-land; they used to say.

A single step down, three bottles of wine stood, one remained filled to the brim, while the other were empty. It was a long day and an even longer night awaited. You were tired. A small bag waited for you at the house, already filled with essentials and a few other nonnecessities that could definitely raise a good price if sold to the right people. Now all that remained was to wait. To wait until Thomas Shelby came home, so you could tell him the truth. And then you’d be free.

A laugh. A short-lived one, but still a laugh.

Then another.

And another.

Until it all turns to sobs yet again.

You didn’t understand why you were crying. It was good you finally remembered who you used to be, the person behind the mask carried on your shoulders. Your family. Your proper family forgave you, welcomed you back with open arms, to be cherished once again.

And yet why did it feel like your heart was tearing itself in half?

And those unnecessary tears rolling down your cheeks…

Going home should’ve felt like a blessing, a miracle. To get away from this house, from these people, for life to go back to normal. Yet here you were weeping, making no point to move, realising there was no point to do so. The weight of his laughter, alive in the hall, rang in your mind as you sat there, wrapped up in dissonance, lost in the significance of him.

You didn’t want to go home, to leave, to cower back into your old life, never seeing Finn or Reed, or him.

The reason this all started, the reason your life got ruined. One simple person epiphany of so much pain and heartache. You gave yourself to a stranger, a person you felt safest, no, happiest with as you gave him everything you had, comfort, trust, devotion… a part of you, you could never be able to take back, your heart, your soul all wagered on one man.

The best part, it was not you he liked, wasn’t you he slept with, it was Elizabeth fucking Edwards, a girl who loved to ride, a girl who loved to play poker and drink the days away, who spoke like poets do a kind and carrying person.

It wasn’t you.

That moment, the shear moment, that was when your heart broke in two. The man you…

Loved a stranger you could never become.

A short cough pulled you from your thoughts as a figure came up behind you, making you forcefully wipe off the tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Nice night.”

”Arthur… you scared me.” you said, wiping your cheeks and snivelling your nose.

“Meant nothing by it. Just saw you sitting out here alone, thought I’d keep you company.”

A breathless chuckle left you as he sat down beside you. ”Tommy sent you here, didn’t he?”

”Yes, he did. Didn’t know why he thought you’d listen to me… I would’ve sent Finn.” he mumbled, reaching in his pocket and pulling out a pack of smokes. “Want one?”

You looked at the pack, debating with yourself if you truly had fallen so far. A response came out before you could comprehend it. “Yes.”

He raised his brow, clearly not expecting such an answer from a lady. But with the raise of his shoulder, he pulled out a cigarette and handed it to you as you leaned closer, waiting for him to light it. As he did, you inhaled as you’d imagine you should, only for the smoke to dry out your throat, perching it, which resulted in you almost coughing your guts out. An exaggeration. But it sure felt like it.

”How can you smoke this?” you asked, clearing out your throat.

“You get used to it.”

Silence, as you both sat there pretending that there wasn’t anything to talk about. Just two old friends, acquaintances, sitting out on the bay. The wind kissed you, somehow even being this late in the evening, it was still warm against your skin. You almost forgot where you were.

“Mind telling me what you are doing out here?”

”Couldn’t sleep, so I came up for fresh air.” You said, forcing yourself to take another pull, as you pointed towards the bottle. “Want a drink?”

”You have a whole pub here, don’t you?”

Shaking your head at his teasing tone, you turned to him and asked. “Jealous?”

”Very much.” His eyes wandered from the bottles up to yours as he looked you over. He knew what had happened. He was there that night after all and yet he still asked, ”So you want to tell me what’s bothering you?” And you were glad he did.

”It’s complicated… Just sit with me for a minute, yeah? I don’t feel like being alone.”

”Only if you share the bottle.”

”All yours.” You scoffed at his inquiry, but you still reached down to it and handed him the bottle, just happy to have a noninvasive company. “I’m thinking of going to London for a while… I think a change of scenery will help me with everything.”

“If you think it will help, go for it.” He took a swig, his nose crinkled at the sweetness of the drink, as he was not used to it, it seemed. ”When do you think you’ll be back?”

”When I feel like it, why?” You pulled your knees to your chest and hugged them while setting your head on top of them as you teasingly asked. ”You’ll miss me, won’t you, Arthur?”

”Shove it.”

“You so will.” You thought of what your last words to the poor fellow would be. Would you tell him that it was all a lie? That everything you said about yourself was false? Perhaps. But that wouldn’t make a difference at this point.

”He loves you. Doubt he’ll let you go.”

”If he does, he’ll understand. If not, I’ll blackmail you to help me escape. I am your favourite sister-in-law. Your only sister-in-law.”

”Sure”

Scoffing, you put your hand to your heart, pretending to be offended. ”That one hurt.”

He led you inside after a while, a hand hooked around your waist, making sure you don’t tumble to the ground as you giggled and laughed through all of his shushing attempts.

“Thanks for the smoke. I feel a little better now.” You pulled away, leaning on the rail of the stairs.

”You think you can make it up the stairs?”

Looking up at the many steps, you didn’t let your newfound confidence waver. “Course I can…” He nodded, crossing his hands waiting for you to start climbing, but you just stood there looking at the man in front of you, feeling a sudden ache from the awaiting goodbye. “Um, Arthur,” he hummed, edging you to continue, “It may be the alcohol talking or the smoke, but I just wanted to thank you… for everything.”

You extended your hands, enwrapping him in a hug, leaving the poor fellow standing frozen before he mumbled, “It’s definitely the bottle talking.” giggling into his shoulder. You noticed he wasn’t hugging you back, and you pulled away, not wanting to make this harder on yourself later on.

“Sorry…”

“It’s alright, just… go sleep it off.”

”Goodnight Arthur.” you uttered, leaning on the wall as you started to walk up the stairs, not looking back as he responded.

”Night.”

You walk down the hall; the light shining oh so enticingly on the floor of his office. It was time. Time to reveal the undeniable. Time to open the door. Your fingertips graced the distant surface of the door handle as you inhaled and knocked on the door with a soft sigh. Standing this close, you heard his footsteps outside the door. As you entered, he stood in the middle of the room, the curve of his eyes giving away the cherished feeling that his plan to send his brother had worked.

“Hey.” he said, his hands laced behind his back. You acknowledged the greeting with a nod.

Tell him, a thought so loud and daunting crept into its drowning lead. Tell him and he will understand.

Tommy stood frozen, trying to figure out what you were so absorbed in when he offered to sit down. You shook your head at that suggestion. You opened your mouth, only for no words to come out. Arthur said he loves you. Tell him.

“You look pale.” He voiced his concern.

“I’m fine.” You cut off whatever suggestion was forming on his lips. “I just came here to tell you something.”

“I’m listening.”

Tell him.

“Tom,” you had started, your hands sweating as you brought them together, almost as if to confess a crime. “There are a lot of things I want to say, I just don’t know how... And it’s funny, because I’ve reworked this conversation in my head at least ten times. And I still can’t... I don’t know how to...” and then you’re silenced, your feet nailed to the floor as you stand there lost, caught between what to say and what you really mean. But soon you are granted galling peace as it escapes you. “I’ve decided to go to London for a while.”

A palpable, all too obvious, relief spreads through him. You could see he was prepared for the worst, as his sagging shoulders straightened. “Okay, when?”

”Tomorrow, after my parents leave, I’ll catch a train and be off.”

Coward.

”When will you be back?”

”Whenever I like, I already started packing, so that’s that.”

”I can’t just send you off to London alone for god knows how long.” He tried to reason out, of course, he did.

”That’s why I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.” You wanted to sound more confident, to push the fabrication of the story to its reclined, but alike with everything else concerning him, you struggled. “Now, I should really get some rest,” with your foot already taking a step backwards, you added, “you should too.”

”I wanted to tell you I swear.”

How could you care about something you couldn’t care less about?

Something in you sparked as you turned around. Walk away.

You have done enough.

Ready to face him yet again, and feed him more lies at the expense of others.

“And yet you didn’t. You hid it from me.”

”I was trying to protect you.”

”Don’t you say that Tom.” You bit back, the sorrow of your heart tipping at its edge. “You didn’t want to protect me, you just didn’t want to own up to what you’ve done. You couldn’t trust me enough not to leave you.” Before trailing off, you paused, looking at the defeated man before you. His appearance matched yours in a way, clothes shrivelled from the day, the tiredness so apparent on his body, the bleakness infesting his eyes, hair in a tousle. Like talking to a mirror.

”You wouldn’t have stayed either way.”

”Guess we’ll never know now, will we?”

”No, I suppose not.”

He put his hands in the pocket of his pants. You saw him swallowing down whatever else he wanted to orchestrate before he asked. ”What will you do in London?”

”I don’t know yet…” You shrugged it off as if it was an inconvenience being asked that question. Truth was it was anything but. “I’ll figure everything out as it goes.”

”Well, then.” He cleared out his throat at your disarray before shrugging off, “Good night then, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night.”

You turned around, getting one last glimpse of him standing there alone. He was struggling for something to say. You could see it. Because you were doing it too. But whatever pride or honour, or even faith, faith that it would all go as it was supposed to go had kept your mouth shut. Leaning against the now closed doors of his office, you released two shaky sobs, one so quiet even you could barely hear. One for leaving, and the other for letting you go.

It was about midnight when you heard a small but distinct knock at your door. You were one step closer to sleep, which didn't come easily, as you rolled over to ignore the repetitive sound irritating you so. You'd almost assumed it to be Finn. He'd always loved to irritate you to the core. But as you yanked the door, not caring about your appearance or your current state, you saw Tom standing in front of the door.

"Don't go to London..."

He'd interrupted you before you could formulate a full train of thought. You watched his eyes travel along your appearance to your very toes as you sighed at the audacity of the man.

“I need some space from you, Tom... I need a clear head to get my priorities in order.”

He entered the room, the light from the corridor falling on your bed as he adjusted the covers and sat down with no apparent intentions or desires, save one. Your hand held onto the edge of the door, which remained wide open, making you rub your eyes from the illumination.

Desperate and agitated, you walked closer, taking a stand right in front of him. You wanted him out, and so you needed to find some strength to web more believable lies that could make him disappear. “It won’t be that long, I promise.”

“You’re lying.” He finally opted, once again, back on his feet. He began to walk in your direction, making you nervous while you tried to stay calm and cold minded. But in your theatrics, you’d forgotten one critical thing. A mask. A mask that would shield your emotions from his wicked eye. To be awakened so suddenly and put into an interrogation without preparation was a crack in your disguise. Sure, it was dark, the light fell on your back and gave you some security, but the tremor in your posture, the slight quiver in your voice, had given you away.

"I'm not lying."

The back of his hand brushed against your cheek as your gaze fell to the floor. Time, you needed more time. To think of what to say, how to behave, react, think. "Eli, look at me."

"I can't." You winced at how childish the words had sounded.

"Look at me."

The door slowly closed behind you, leaving you and him in complete darkness. It should have been a comfort, a good wall for you to lean against while you told him the truth. But once you are this deep, the only way is to keep going down.

“You’ll be fine. It won’t be that long, I promise.” You whispered to him, repeating the same thing over and over again. Like a priest, you chanted the words into the air. He will be alright. He’ll find someone else, someone else who isn’t you. And he’ll smile again, laugh with her again. He’ll stand in the hall, feeling good and proud and tall, having found a meaning to a long forgotten secret. He’ll live again.

“I need you here.” He admitted, standing so close, that you could feel his breath on your skin and yet still he still felt so far.

”You don’t.”

”Yes, I do.”

He let you go as you pulled away, his eyes clear even in the dark, piercing you with every word leaving your lips. ”Why do you have to make this so hard, Tommy?”

Such an easy slip that pulls you deeper into this abyss.

“What?”

”Leaving.”

”Then don’t” His voice as the sweetest wine, as the gentlest rain saunters off into the room. “Stay by me.”

“I can’t.” And yet you still refused, fighting against the ocean as much as your strength would allow.

“What can I do to make you stay?”

“Nothing. There’s nothing you can do Tommy.” However blinded, now you see that you could not hold them, all those cliches tipping at your tongue. “You bring me pain and revolutionary heartbreak. You take my breath away, without giving any in return.”

You were already numb from your experiences and thoughts, so it was no surprise to you when he took you by the hand. But the moment his skin touched yours, all of your senses seemed to turn against you. Your heartbeat was racing; your skin felt as though it was on fire. You wanted nothing more than to trouble his mind with the childish design of how everything should be, to tell him that you lie in his charms, though it harms the best of you.

Those three words, said in earnest. His eyes bored into yours, as he spoke, holding your hands oh so tightly, almost as if they’d be ripped away at any moment. He held them for strength, for courage, for comfort. Maybe you never did wake from that fateful day on the road. Maybe everything is just an elaborate delusion brought on by nothing more than your own fear.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not at all.

He looked at you with such confidence, like it was always going to end up this way. There was no question. No hesitation. None of the fear that usually accompanied a confession.

He repeated the words, his lips moving just slightly. A whisper so soft that if you blinked, you might have missed it. He kept saying them not to you but to himself, and it somehow made those three words all the more real.

They had weight then, not just some romantic nonsense, not just something people say when they’re drunk or in a relationship or even just because they feel they should. No, now it meant something much deeper; much greater.

And you knew what your answer would be, because it was true. In that moment, in the moonlight, there was no doubt. Your love for this man made your heart swell within your chest and it became almost impossible to breathe. And in that stole breath, you understood what it meant to love another human being.

“I love you too,” you told him in reply, and you realised it’s true. “I love you, Tommy, even though I know I shouldn’t.”

A deep sense of peace and contentment washed over you, and it almost hurt because it was such a relief. It was exactly like the feeling you had when you realised you were in love with your fiance, but multiplied by a thousand.

A smile grew on the man’s lips and his hands slid around your waist, drawing you towards him. He put his face closer to yours. The feel of your bare skin pressed up against his reminds you of your last time with him. He was holding you then, too.

“Then why do you keep denying yourself?” he asked. “Why are you trying to hide away from me? From us? You know you belong here with me, and I will never leave you.”

You try to speak again, to give him an answer, but all that comes out of your mouth is a ragged, broken weep. Your heart is beating so loudly, you think he must surely hear it, but he holds you tighter still.

“You’re mine,” he whispered in your ear. “And I won’t let anyone else take you away from me. Never, do you understand me?”

You nod against his chest, knowing that you will never, ever leave him.

“Promise, swear, make a vow... anything.” You desperately cried out, clinging to him, like the sun to the moon.

“I promise,” he said again, more firmly this time. And you believed him; You loved him. And with his last breath, he knew it, too.

You kissed him deeply, letting your hands reach up to cradle his face. His stubble rubbed against your palms, rough and warm at once, before sliding under your fingers to pull him closer. His lips were soft yet firm, still lingering from that first kiss. It was hard to keep yourself steady, especially since the ground seemed to be moving beneath your feet. He was gentle but eager too, his arms wrapping around you tightly. The heat of his body pressed into you with every breath he took and the taste of him filled your senses, making them tingle and burn. This was what love felt like. This was how it was supposed to be.

"This is right," you told him. "I know it's right."

He smiled wider, nodding eagerly.

You heard a low moan escape from his throat, one which only seemed to drive you further. The two of you kissed like that for what seemed forever, yet no time passed by quickly. This was eternity, and in that moment, you felt it all around you.

Everything else disappeared, the world leaving nothing behind but you and him here in this place. Time itself stopped, and yet it still moved forward. There was no beginning or end to this moment, no need to hurry; it would last forever. He put his hands on your face gently, caressing your cheeks. His fingers seemed to melt into your skin as he traced the lines of your lips with gentle kisses.

Your fingertips traced the contours of his cheekbone, tracing every little line there, until you could find yourself reaching up to touch the side of his head with your palm.

“Make love to me.” It was barely audible at first, and only for an instant. And yet, as he said it aloud, bluest eyes against your skin, you saw it: the spark of hope, the promise of passion, the desire that flooded into him like rain after a desert drought.

It's too late, you think to yourself, to stop now. Too late to make up your mind. Too late to say no.

His hands moved further upwards, his fingertips lightly tracing the soft folds of your nightgown as he leaned closer to kiss the hollow of your throat. You were tempted to say something, but there was nothing that would compare.. Your hands were clasped around him; he felt so warm, so comforting, and you knew that this would be where you lost yourself forever.

The touch of his fingers on your shoulder was so delicate, so precise, so beautiful. You couldn’t breathe. You’ve never been so sure of anything, never thought that you could have felt this way before. It’s like waking from a dream; the feeling that you are finally real, that this is really happening.

The sight of his fingers moving in between the thin material was enough to make your heart jump out of your chest and dance in the air.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered as he nuzzled against your breast. His fingers moved over the smooth fabric and then under it, his palms pressing against your chest. The nightgown fell open, and you gasped for air, suddenly aware of his warm breath in your ear, his lips moving against the sensitive skin.

He traced the contours of your chest with his fingers and then back down towards your waist, cupping your hip. It wasn’t the first time you had gotten such praise. You knew that he thought this about you. But there was something more, a sense of longing, a sense of yearning.

“You’re beautiful too.”

His hands now remained on your waist as you stood there completely naked, dangling to undo the buttons of his shirt. A thought of ripping the buttons out crossed your mind as you fiddled with them for what seemed way too long. The smell of freshly washed sweat mixed with that of his cologne and his persistence on your neck was no help at all.

As you continued to work the buttons of his shirt, the silkiness of its fabric brushing against your bare skin, he’d caught your hand when you were halfway done. He began slowly but deliberately, savouring every moment of this intimate moment in which he was the one who had initiated and taken control; yet it was not because he wanted to dominate or humiliate you... quite the contrary. Your husband’s eyes were now fixed upon yours with a look that could only be described as innocent lustfulness... an expression so rare these days, especially among men, but which somehow always seemed most natural when found on the face of a loving spouse.

As each button slipped off its hook, you felt the fabric peel apart, allowing you access to his bare chest. It was then that your fingers touched the smooth skin of his chest, feeling for the first time the hard muscle beneath it, and you knew instantly that there would never be a man anywhere else in this world who could ever compare to the beauty of your beloved husband’s body. It was not long before his pants end up on the floor next to the other discarded clothes.

The bed downs from the weight, as the two of you fall upon it. His mouth is yours as you wrap around him, bringing him further in. Your hand in his hair as he trails down to your breast, leaving marks that will indefinitely bruise. And you sigh, feeling content just to have him. He had trailed down further, ready to taste you, to satisfy. But you had brought him back, shaking your head against him and whispering a soft murmur. “Later.”

You felt his bulge rubbing against you as you both lay still for a moment, full of greed and desperate for ecstasy. With a single kiss placed so gently as he held over you, you felt him push inside you. His forehead against yours, hands wrapped around one another, in dire need of comfort, he began to move.

Agonising thrusts that slowly drove you insane. This was him trying. Opting to be gentle and slow, rather than act like a dog in a rut. You could feel his heartbeat, rapid, alike your own, ready to burst out at any given moment. The devil himself was nervous, and yet he persisted. It wasn’t much of a surprise when your vision became blurry, causing the pace to slow and eventually stop.

”Why are you crying? Did I hurt you?” he asked, one hand reaching and cupping your cheek. You smiled in return, a fool-like smile, happy with this level of care as he remained still with avail to move. “Tell me, where does it hurt?” His hand had fallen to your chest and unknowingly to him he was already placed on the spot that most hurt in that moment.

“I’m fine Tommy, truly.” Your hand came up to find the few fugitive tears. “I just got a bit emotional… that’s all. Keep going.” You saw the gears in his head turning, as he was still confused by your sudden emotional burst, yet with a feverish kiss, and a buck of your hips, cautiously he continued.

And before long he set a feverish pace, urgent and unsteady, a grinding dance, producing mutual cries of satisfaction. His breathing was erratic and ragged as he lost himself in the elation of you. You did your best to keep up with his thrusts, trying to move your body in time with his, but to no avail. No noise escaped your lips when the waves finally overtake, sweeping you up and pulling you along into oblivion, through the fog of lust.

You brought your hand up to the side of his neck, afraid that if you didn’t hold him close, somehow, he would disappear.

“Please don’t go away,”

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

You buried yourself in his shoulder with the attempt to stop yourself from revealing yourself to the entire house. But even that couldn’t be result in complete discretion, as a few moans slipped from your lips only to be gathered by him as he leaned down and kissed you deeply, passionately, roughly, before he collapsed on top of you, as you both tried to gather your breath, only with a slip of consciousness remaining.

Tommy took a deep breath, needing to collect himself from the overwhelming pleasure as your naked bodies lay entwined, caressing, pressing against one another in utter bliss. He turned to you, his fingertips laced with yours as he brought them to his lips and lay ghostly kisses on each of your knuckles.”How was that?”

A smile embedded on your face as you smile and simply shrug. “Could’ve been better.”

“You are mean.”

“You wouldn’t love me if I wasn't mean.”

“Yes, I do…” a lovesick grin, with a twinkle in his eyes, makes him a stranger to a man called Thomas Shelby. “You could be nicer. I am your husband, after all.”

“I do not see a ring on my finger, Mister Shelby.”

“We better fix that, then.” He sits up, letting go of your hand. Having no sheet covering him, he appears to you naked and a need to compliment him hangs on the tip of your tongue. He reaches for the drawer near your bed as you run your hands against his back.

As he turns back to you, you are surprised to find a ring resting in his hand. His ring. You had seen him wear it countless times before. He must have left it here before, during your previous escapades. He takes your left hand with clear intent on his face.

“It’s not going to fit”

“I beg to differ.” He protested, already sliding it on.

And miraculously, it fits. It may not be the perfect match. There’s a bit of space remaining, but it holds. “That does not make any sense.” You looked at this ring and wished that you felt happy about it, and you did.

“Am I forgiven?“

“Of course not. You still have a lot more sucking up to do, dear husband of mine.” You cooed at him. “My husband.”

“My wife.” He leans into your hand, a soft smile on his face. So bright it could leave even the brightest wheat fields grey in comparison. “Miss Elizabeth Y/n Shelby. Has a good ring to it.”

“Wasn’t that the whole reason we married?“

He holds you as tight as the stars do at night. He whispers promises undaunting, “In the Bleak Midwinter.” of new beginnings and new ends, and you laugh like you’ll be here.

Always.

You scorned the wailful winter, the way he shamelessly scorched everything he deemed undeserving of his sorrow, taking whatever he wanted without regard for the vagaries of others. Mercilessly, he stripped the allure of the summer’s thrill, leaving things cracked and cold, a gloom which is to remain. How he howled and clawed at the walls, tearing down the doors of choice, allowing not a glint of hope behind. Along the chaos and streams of life, he got to you as well, seducing you with his wonders, casting his charms, leaving you in misery as you laid still in his bed, your mind scorching you for not leaving sooner, mind so full, yet devoid of thoughts, wrapped in dissonance, the sheer presence of him torturing your tainted soul.

The state of your disarray, lost between disgust and utter numbness. After all that’s happened, here you were, still laying in his bed, in his arms. Wanting nothing more than to give up the moral endeavour as you try to fight against the comfort which came against your will. The worst of it was the vile venom that crept up your throat as you spat blasphemy on every soul around. Abigail, the woman who tricked you pulling you right into her mysterious games, William for letting you go out alone at night after promising to protect you from all wrongdoing, and the unconvicted Thomas Shelby for twisting your mind. Yet no matter how many times you’ve tried blaming someone else, it would always bite back, leaving you as the faulter. Any person in their right mind would have told the truth, owning up to their actions, yet here you laid too scared to leave and too scared to stay, continuing the charade. You deliberately took advantage of the man, and he unwittingly let you.

Your sights would often wander from the cursed metal adorning your finger to your—her husband. A lost sense of justice lured you with its whispers to take it off and leave it to its rightful owner. But gnawing selfishness kept you from doing so, for you remembered all that he’d said. But it wasn’t you to whom he promised such wonders. It wasn’t you he made love with; it was her. Yet now here you lay ready to meet your end as an impostor, a traitor and a cheat. Betraying the man you truly wished to love, in bed with the devil, wanting nothing more to stay for evermore.

You feel yourself clinging to him with all your might, hoping to stay in this mirage just a little longer, feeling as if you were mourning someone who's not even died yet. Wondered how long it'll take him to forget, how long it'll be before he has another such jane in his bed.

You’ve never felt so ill as when you watched the first signs of dusk rising from the horizon, the sky dissolving into golden hues, heralding the dreaded retreat. Praying yourself out of the comfortable bed, feeling empty and drained, you stood up, careful not to wake him, and searched for the discarded clothes.

You can’t remember how long you’ve sat there fully dressed, twisting the loose ring around your finger. Stuck between choices of taking it out of spite and keeping it as a twisted trophy for the time you tricked the silver devil, or putting it back and leaving the last memory of him behind.

Sighing, you stood up from the bed, your gaze fixated on the door, as you gathered the rest of your thoughts on how to get out of this cursed house. Afraid to look back, to cave in, stuck between wanting to erase him from every tread of your life or cherish every moment spent.

At last, you weren’t strong enough to turn around, praying that the sleepless night beforehand would suffice. Walking away as a self proclaimed victor, for few people managed to outwit the wicked devil of Small Health.

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