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writingwithacupoftea · 3 years

Note

I absolutely lovvvvved your Tommy x daughter reader and thought of a really funny idea of Tommy’s daughter sneaking out to a club and the boys having to go fetch her! Thought it would be really funny written by you!

My Dear Anon,

thank you so much for this request! Seems like I have found my niche because I love, love, love writing Tommy’s daughters and their complicated relationships with their father! Speaks something about me, probably... Anyway, I waited a bit for the inspiration to strike because I kind of knew what I was going to write already, but I wanted it to be a unique story still. Here it is, thank you for this request!

All the Shelbys had unanimously decided quite some time ago that Tommy’s lack of discipline towards his daughter would one fine day blow up in all of their faces. It seemed like that fine day had finally come — just as the Shelbys managed to take over Epsom and finally reach a shaky alliance with Alfie Solomons, a new crisis emerged. An hour or so ago, Tommy came home from the family meeting to find that his firstborn had mysteriously vanished. Not into thin air, mind you, because the bloody brat had apparently enough nerve to have taken the Bentley.

On Tommy’s urgent request, all of the Shelby clan had gathered in his office at assfuck o’clock in the middle of the bloody night to figure out a plan. Yet, Tommy still felt like the best possible strategy meant telling them as little about the current crisis as humanly possible. Granted, it was expected, but it also put the rest of his family in an uncomfortable position of trying to overcompensate for Tommy’s lack of emotion with their own theories.

“Do you think she’s even still in Birmingham?” Polly asked.

“Like I said, Pol, I don’t know,” Tommy said. “And where the fuck is Michael?”

“Couldn’t reach him.” John shrugged and shook his head.

“Finn?”

“Same.”

“Where the FUCK is everybody, then?!” Tommy shouted at that and paced behind his desk before finally sitting back down and lighting another cigarette.

“Do you think it’s Sabini?” Arthur asked. He was currently downing one whisky after another, while Polly fumed behind a steady cloud of smoke, pacing the floor.

“Don’t know,” Tommy barked and shook his head. He rubbed his face with both his hands and looked up towards the ceiling. “But she took the car.”

“So she wasn’t kidnapped, then?”

“I don’t know, Arthur!”

“We should call Ada,” Polly said again.

“We will not—”

“Tommy, listen to me,” she snapped, “it could be nothing but it could be something. Call Ada, let her know to stand by. Maybe Mary went to London, we don’t know that, but fuck your pride — call your bloody sister! Ask for her help.”

Tommy glared at his aunt for a minute or two, then picked up the phone. He called someone, but of course not Ada — Johnny Dogs reported to him the current state of things in Birmingham. Still no sign of Baby Shelby, and no apparent sightings of any of Sabini’s men, either.

Every other quarter of an hour, John would reload his gun, then light another cigarette and watch Tommy like a hawk. Tommy, now calm as you please, waited by the phone. Granted, he was never one to jump into action without strategy, but this coldness in a situation like this was quite frankly eerie, even for him.

In truth, most of the time Tommy was only pretending that his only child was an unruly wildling that wouldn’t listen to anything he said. It was a strategy that suited both their interests and one of the earliest deals that Tommy had ever made. Despite appearances he knew his daughter better than anyone and he figured that if she decided to fall off the face of the Earth, she wouldn’t get caught so easily. He needed to outsmart her — a task which proved more and more difficult with each passing year. Another fifteen minutes, he decided. Then, just as Tommy was finally about to break and pick up the receiver, the phone rang. Everyone in the room tensed at the sound.

“Yes?” Tommy said coldly and then concluded that thought with an uncomfortable sort of grunt.

The person on the other end of the line seemed to have gone on a tangent at that, judging by the crackling coming from the receiver. Tommy’s face went steadily more and more angry, until something else was communicated to him and his features relaxed once more, now back to being entirely distant and neutral.

“When?” he asked, then lit a cigarette and took a long drag before setting it on the edge of a large crystal ashtray. “No. I’ll come to you.”

Polly tried to figure out what exactly was being said on the phone between her nephew and whoever the fuck was calling, but Tommy kept his thoughts infuriatingly concise. He actually barely spoke. The only reaction he would have was an occasional nod or a hum to whoever was talking on the other end of the line. Of course, the other option could very well have been that said person wouldn’t let Tommy speak, but then again… There weren’t that many people, if any, who could make Tommy hold his tongue if he really didn’t want to. So no, according to his very worried family, Tommy was just being a prick while his daughter was God knows where and presumably missing.

“Yes. Thank you,” Tommy said finally and put down the receiver, then stubbed out his cigarette and leaned back in his chair, looking towards the ceiling.

“So?” John asked impatiently and placed both hands on Tommy’s desk, leaning closer. As if there was any way Tommy could ignore him, honestly. John was basically burning with readiness for action.

“Fucking Christ, Tommy, spit it out!” Polly added and came closer to stand next to the desk.

“That was London,” he said calmly. “She’s been spotted.”

“So where the fuck is she?!” Arthur exclaimed and John motioned towards Tommy to spit it out.

Tommy shook his head and rubbed his face with both hands before straightening in his seat and lighting another cigarette.

“Bell Tower Club.”

“Camden?!” Arthur exclaimed and Tommy just closed his eyes.

“Like I said, Arthur.” Tommy let out the smoke through his nose and shook his head. “Apparently, she’s accompanied by two strapping young fellas,” he added coldly, looking sharply at Polly.

She held his gaze but he could clearly see that quick flash of worry in her eyes.

“Oh, that is so bloody clever,” Polly huffed and shook her head. “I swear to fuck, Thomas, that girl is a spitting image of her father!”

“What do you mean?” John frowned at that.

“Earlier she told me she’s having dinner with her uncle,” Polly shook her head. “And I thought she meant one of you!”

John tried his best to hide a smirk but Polly still spotted it all the same. “Don’t,” she hissed.

“She’s with Finn and Michael, Pol, not some bloody axe murderers,” Tommy said calmly.

John snorted and grinned at Tommy widely. “Jesus, that is some clever move. She did tell me the same earlier, I just thought she was stayin’ at Arthur’s.”

“Oi, why would I be babysittin’ a seventeen-year-old!”

“Clever?” Polly spat out while Tommy just looked to the side and rolled his eyes. “They’re fucking children playing gangsters, out and about in a city swarming with our fucking enemies!”

“Calm down now, Polly, we’ll get her,” Arthur offered and put his coat back on. “Let’s go, lads.”

“I wouldn’t be very worried about her, she’s Tommy’s wild child through and through!”

“So what, you’re sayin’ Michael is bein’ bloody corrupted by our little Mary?” John flashed Polly a shit-eating grin and put a toothpick in between his teeth.

“Come on, Pol, she’s yer kin,” Arthur grumbled and handed Tommy his cap.

“I think there are other words I would very much prefer to use.”

“Yes, Pol, I think we all know which words you’d rather use, thank you,” Tommy said coldly and finally stood up from his seat and put his cap on. “Gentlemen, this would be our cue,” he nodded towards his brothers and walked out of the office to get his coat.

“Pol, uh… Call Uncle Charlie and tell him to turn our men around to London, eh? Just in case.” Arthur put his large hand on Polly’s shoulder and she nodded stiffly at the request, then lit another cigarette and downed the rest of the whisky from Arthur’s glass.

“Arthur. Make sure they don’t do anything stupid,” she said angrily.

Arthur smirked at that. “Aye, y’ mean us or the anklebiters?”

“You know full well I mean both.”

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At first they went to Eden Club just for kicks, but it turned out to be a righteous bore. It was full of old people and all of them were infuriatingly posh. Thankfully, Finn had the right idea to move to Camden and it proved to be way more fun. Bell Tower was slightly smaller and much grimier, but much more interesting and they played better music, too.

Accompanied by two good-looking fellas, Mary could order as many drinks she liked and dance with whomever she wanted. Finally nobody paid her any unwanted attention unlike in Birmingham, where everybody knew her name and she could never escape her father’s legend. There were a lot of Jewish men that came here and most of them were honestly gorgeous. Being a blue-eyed redhead suddenly made Mary very popular for other reasons than being a Shelby, and she decided to use the occasion to her advantage.

There was one man, however, that stood out from the crowd for entirely different reasons than others. After a couple of drinks, Mary might have felt slightly tipsy, granted, but she was still her father’s daughter and she could tell that something about that man was off. Mary couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she was being observed.

The man never approached her or made any advances, but nevertheless, he watched her — mostly whenever she danced or talked longer to any of the men who wanted to buy her drinks. He watched her especially closely when any of the men who flirted with her were Jews.

The man himself did not look very Jewish to Mary, although he very well could be, with his formidable beard and the black clothes one could definitely suspect. He must have been someone important, too, because he had this sort of air around him; the way he talked to people without looking at them, the way he walked around as if he owned the entire bloody street. Mary knew the type well, after all her father was one prime example of it.

“Had enough?” Michael asked her with a grin and lit a cigarette for her. Mary took a shallow drag and flashed him a brilliant smile.

“Never.”

“You seem quiet, Cousin.”

“I’m thinking.”

“I thought we came here to help you with that?” He was smirking at her and she returned the sentiment.

“Hm.” Michael leaned onto the wall and pointed at Finn with his cigarette. “Didn’t know your uncle could dance.”

Mary laughed at that loudly and shook her head. “Please stop calling him that, I always mean it as a joke.”

“So do I.” Michael’s smirk turned a bit mischievous.

“Not really, Cousin,” she grinned at him again, “when you say it, it’s almost mean.”

“You’re wrong,” Michael shook his head and ordered them another round. “I’m a very nice person.”

“And a Shelby.”

It was meant as a compliment and it seemed to have pleased him. Mary congratulated herself for it. She gladly accepted another gin and tonic and clinked her glass with his. She looked behind her shoulder to check on Finn, though in reality she was also curious to find out if the strange bearded man had finally had enough of spying on her.

“Michael?”

“Hm?” Michael was currently busy surveying the dancefloor for his next partner.

“Michael, I want to ask you something, but be discreet.” Mary leaned closer. “There is a man with a beard that has been watching me since we came here.”

“Man with a beard? You’d have to be more specific.” Michael was still distracted and Mary frowned in annoyance. She didn’t like to be dismissed.

“He’s sitting there at the corner table with some men. I think they’re armed.”

“Everybody’s armed, Mary, don’t panic.” Michael grinned at her cheekily and pointed to his own jacket, hinting at the holster. Mary rolled her eyes.

“They’re proper gunmen, Michael. You know what I mean.”

In truth, Mary knew he didn’t, not really. Michael didn’t have the eye for such things, not yet at least and not like her. She didn’t have the time to figure out how to mend his ego after she just tickled it and then promptly bruised it, because a man approached them then and goddamn… This one was properly handsome. Mary smiled at him, but then of course the man had to open his damn trap to say the one thing that killed the mood:

“Miss Shelby.”

She huffed and blew the cigarette smoke through her nose. Michael looked the man up and down and Mary saw immediately how ready her cousin was to attack the stranger for recognizing her. Perhaps still conflicted with being a nice person or a Shelby and trying to prove himself, Mary supposed, but she had no time for either from Michael. Push comes to shove, she’d have to figure out their strategy for him.

“Miss Shelby,” the man said again, frowning at her silence, “Mr. Solomons would like a word.”

Fuck.

Mary raised her eyebrows at that, she couldn’t help it. Michael squared his jaw and beckoned Finn towards them as soon as he noticed him coming back from the dancefloor.

“Alone,” the man stressed to Michael.

“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Michael scoffed.

“What’s going on?” Finn asked as he approached them, looking from his family to the stranger and trying to figure out the situation.

Mary cleared her throat and placed her hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Michael. Please stay with Finn. I’m sure I won’t take much of Mr. Solomons’ time,” she said calmly, then looked at the handsome stranger sternly. “Right?”

He seemed rather relieved now and she couldn’t honestly say if that made her feel any better or worse about the entire thing.

“Mary—” Finn tried to say something, obviously as concerned as he should be upon hearing the name of the Camden boss.

“It’s all right. We don’t want to keep Mr. Solomons waiting,” Mary said quickly, “do we?”

“No, Miss Shelby, we do not,” the man agreed.

Mary gave Michael’s shoulder one more reassuring squeeze, downed the rest of her drink and put her cigarette out, then followed Alfie’s assistant to the corner table. Surprisingly, Michael was a bit more informed on the matter of who Alfie Solomons was than Finn — Tommy Shelby’s business partner, yes — but neither of them knew what Mary knew. He was her father’s business partner, second. First and foremost, he had a reputation that preceded him — that of a dangerous, ruthless king of Camden Town.

“Mr. Solomons,” his assistant said as they reached the table, then gestured towards Mary as if she had been a gift he had just procured from overseas. She hated the notion.

“Mr. Solomons.” She smiled at him brightly and outstretched her hand. “How do you do, sir?”

Alfie looked at her as if he saw a ghost and she retracted her hand immediately. A long moment of silence stretched between them, until finally Alfie waved his hand dismissively at his men.

“Leave us,” he said in a low, raspy voice that made the hair stand up on the back of Mary’s neck.

All of the men left at once and it was just the two of them now, her standing by the table like a waitress and the boss of Camden Town squinting at her suspiciously, with his jaw clenched so tightly that he should honestly be worried for the state of his molars.

“Please,” he said finally, as if suddenly remembering something. Then, he gestured to the chair in front of him. Mary sat down and cleared her throat, then reached into her purse for a cigarette.

“Now, I actually do mind that, yeah,” he said and she stopped what she was doing immediately.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir. Would you like one?” she asked, but all she got in response was a low grunt. Alfie went silent again after that and so she put down her purse on the table and looked at him with big, round eyes in hopes to appear entirely innocent. The look never failed her before and she had high hopes for it now.

“Right, the thing is, Mary… I can call you Mary, right, you don’t mind, do ya? Right, so Mary, this here is my establishment,” Alfie said and grunted, as if confirming something with himself, “and you waltzing in, unannounced, on a Saturday… It disrupts some vital parts of my business.”

Mary’s eyes got even bigger and this time it had nothing to do with her trying to sweeten him up.

“Mr. Solomons, if I had done something to disrespect you, I—”

“Nonsense,” Alfie interrupted then and raised his hand. “Why on Earth would you want to disrespect me, Mary?”

She went pale now, she could feel it. Alfie watched her with the same serious and stern expression as before and Mary grew even more nervous since she could read exactly nothing from his face. Usually, she was pretty good at that, but not with this man.

“Now, Mary,” Alfie grunted and gestured broadly around himself, “this lovely little business I’m runnin’ here, right, depends entirely on myself and my stellar fuckin’ reputation,” he raised his eyebrows at her as if asking to confirm she got what he was saying. She didn’t but she nodded all the same. “Right. So, you can probably see how you, comin’ here, drinkin’ my booze, disruptin’ my bloody peace… You see how this could potentially cause me problems, Mary?”

She honestly had no idea what the fuck he was on about but she nodded once more.

“Glad we agree. Now, the thing is, Mary, this fine establishment won’t run itself, so to speak, yeah, and so it requires some level of supervision, one way or another. I am that supervision, Mary, the ungrateful damn task that it is, but I do it gladly and I’ll tell ya why,” he leaned in closer and she did everything in her power to not move back and run the fuck out of there, “yeah, it’s because once or twice in a year we get an otherwordly fuckin’ shiksa that comes in and messes up all my fuckin’ plans.” Alfie clicked his tongue and finally leaned back in his chair. Mary felt like she couldn’t breathe. “Yeah.” Alfie nodded to himself again. “Dos ken nor a goy, eh?”

It was official — she had no clue what the fuck he was saying to her but the message was clear. She made a grave mistake coming here and getting out would prove to be tricky. Mary decided to use the opportunity in his momentary silence and said:

“Mr. Solomons, please accept my apologies, sir, I… We won’t bother you or your business any longer,” she tried to stand up but then Alfie leaned forward towards her once more and pointed at something behind her shoulder.

“You see that, Mary?”

Despite her better judgment, she turned around to look.

“You danced with that poor twat not an hour ago and he’s been watchin’ ya for exactly an hour, yeah. Now, you see that?” Alfie pointed towards the other end of the room and Mary followed his finger. “That sadness fuckin’ embodied, right, that there is Julia. She’s my neighbor’s daughter, a fine but foolish little girl, and that twat’s fiancé. They make a fine pair, right? Well, now they won’t.”

Mary looked at Alfie in absolute shock but said nothing. Was… was he hinting at her being a heartbreaker because she agreed to one dance with some naive Jewish boy? That just made no damn sense.

“Now, Mary, that there is Rachel,” Alfie nodded towards another girl who not so long ago was dancing with Finn. “Now, yer little cousin tried to kiss her. If he does it again, I’m afraid I’ll have to break his legs. But I’m a nice man, right, and I do appreciate your father’s business, I do. So, I’ll ask the lad which one we should snap first, that’s just common courtesy, you see, Mary, that’s something you learn when yer older, yeah.”

Mary frowned and looked Alfie straight in the eye now.

“My uncle.”

Alfie raised both eyebrows, looking absolutely astounded now. “Yer uncle what?”

“He’s my uncle, actually. Sir. My daddy’s youngest brother, sir.”

She avoided calling her father that whenever she could help it but she also knew that men like Alfie lived for the word.

They eyed each other for a second there before Alfie barked out a laugh. Mary thought that she had just made a colossal fucking mistake and this would be the way she dies — at the hands of the psychotic King of Camden, no less, what a way to end a living — but then Alfie gestured at Ollie and said something to him in another language, pointing at Mary and smiling. Ollie smiled nervously and Alfie shook his head.

“Fuckin’ goyim, you’d do all kinds of unspeakable fuckin’ shit to yer family trees,” he said and motioned for Ollie to fuck off again. “Is he royalty like you?”

“Pardon me?”

Alfie laughed again. “Aye, pardon me, Your Highness. ‘S yer uncle there considered a prince like yer father? Or is it only ‘im and the aunt?”

Mary licked her lips and thought about it for a split of a second before she said:

“What you’re asking, sir, is if I’m a princess?”

Alfie leaned back in his seat and smirked. “Yeah.”

“They don’t speak to me about these things.”

Alfie frowned at that and nodded to himself again, as if confirming something to the devil on his shoulder. Come to think of it, Mary was pretty sure that in his case it would be two devils on both shoulders.

“‘S a shame, that. Yeah. You got the right to know.”

Mary bit her lower lip and nodded. “Please tell that to my father when you speak again, maybe he’ll listen to you.” She allowed herself a small smile and to her utter astonishment Alfie didn’t shoot her for it. He seemed rather amused now and she prayed it was genuine and not a sign of him dulling her vigilance just to shoot her point blank to prove a point.

“Now, this has been a pleasure, Mary, I mean it, really do. I hope to never see ya or that stunning hair of yours again, for the sake of my people.”

Even though this entire exchange has been bizarre and venturing into a territory of him essentially scolding her for sneaking out to a club… Mary had to admit that at the very least she lived a little tonight.

“Could I,” she frowned and bit her lip again, trying to find the right words, “could I ask you something, sir?”

Alfie seemed rather amused at that, or maybe it was all on the account of her insisting on calling him “sir” the entire time. All in all, Alfie looked to be in a benevolent mood because he gestured for her to continue.

“When you punch someone, do the rings help with momentum?”

For a second there she worried again that this time perhaps she’d done it. Alfie’s face froze in that hard to read mask of perfect seriousness and Mary scolded herself for always pushing the limits. Then, Alfie barked out another laugh and shook his head, before he stood up and outstretched his hand towards her. A bit surprised, Mary took it. Alfie helped her out of her chair and covered her hand in both of his, then nodded again. Slightly startled at the otherwise friendly gesture, Mary said nothing. She lost focus for a second and didn’t even notice the commotion by the bar.

Three men in dark coats entered the club and were now making their way towards Alfie’s table. One of them swiftly took his cap off, which caused Alfie’s men to immediately rise to attention.

“A pleasure, Mary, yeah, it really was,” Alfie said to her then, “but I’m afraid I’ll ‘ave to let ya go, as much as I’d love to answer more questions like that.”

“Why?” she asked, not really understanding the meaning.

“Aye, ‘m afraid yer father might ‘ave somethin’ to say about it, now wouldn’t ya, Tommy?”

Startled, Mary turned around now to stand face to face with her father.

Fuck.

John and Arthur were standing behind him, John looking insanely amused and Arthur glaring at Alfie with positively murderous intent.

Double fuck.

“Arthur, John, go take Finn and Michael outside, please,” Tommy said calmly. Mary noted that he wasn’t really looking at her uncles when he said that, but the order still held an impressive weight.

“Oh, yeah, Tommy!” Alfie exclaimed cheerfully as if all this had been his idea. “A word before ya leave, eh? Since I ‘ave you here all to myself and that.” Alfie let go of Mary’s hand and pointed towards her purse as soon as both John and Arthur were out of earshot. “Right, Tom. She did carry in a badly concealed weapon, yer girl. Now, ya might think about teachin’ her better. We wouldn’t want any accidents to happen, right, Tommy?”

Tommy glared at his daughter and she cleared her throat, looking away.

“Yeah, see, they make smaller holsters now, Tommy, entirely possible to adjust, a skinny thing that she is, much like her father, yeah. We could get her one, couldn’t we? And some dinner, perhaps?”

Mary looked at him then, wide-eyed and stunned. What the hell was he proposing, even?

“We?” Tommy asked coldly.

Mary blinked a couple of times, not really believing her own ears.

“Yeah. Me an’ my boys, Tom, we could get ya one. For Mary ‘ere. You know Mary, right, she’s yer daughter. She should be protected, eh? What if she gets ideas, Tommy, comes to Camden one fine evenin’, right, completely unannounced?” Alfie clicked his tongue again and Mary noticed that he was most likely either threatening them both or having the time of his life. Judging by his amused smirk, it could very well have been both.

“Yeah, right, Tom. Good chat. That’d be all now, yeah, wouldn’t it?”

“Thank you, Alfie.” Tommy outstretched his hand and Alfie shook it.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it, mate. Oh, an’ Tommy?”

Tommy kept his face entirely neutral, but Mary could see right away that his entire person tensed up.

“Yeah, do buy the girl a ring or two, eh? She’s got the right ideas, that one.”

“Goodnight, Alfie.” Tommy put his arm around Mary’s shoulders and promptly walked her out of the club.

“Get in,” he pointed towards the Bentley she had taken for the evening. He sat in the driver’s seat and immediately lit a cigarette. Mary glanced towards her uncles then, who were currently smoking cigarettes, laughing about something and, from the looks of it, teasing Michael mercilessly. She wanted nothing more than to ride back home with them. With a heavy sigh, she settled herself in the passenger's seat and looked straight ahead, readying herself for the angry rant that was undoubtedly already brewing in her father’s changeable psyche.

Of course, her father surprised her once more and stayed silent for nearly an hour. Mary did the same and only sighed impatiently from time to time, looking at his face every now and then in order to check for any signs of change. No such luck, of course. His head was an impenetrable fortress.

Tommy’s face was frozen in the cold mask his daughter knew so well. He was looking straight ahead and ignoring her completely. She honestly couldn’t tell if this was anger, disappointment, sadness, or perhaps all of the above, as it most often was. Very rarely would Tommy be affectionate or gentle with her, or at least somewhat open about his feelings. She usually had to look for that elsewhere.

As they reached the country roads outside of London, Mary felt restless. The vast nothingness of the dark fields and occasional barns and houses made her uneasy. She turned her head towards the window and lit a cigarette, then took a long drag. Before she could take another, however, it was snatched from her hand and thrown out the driver’s window.

“The hell!” Mary exclaimed and looked at her father in anger. This time, his features changed, all right. His face went from cold to furious in seconds.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he snarled.

“You tell me, eh?” she spat out and crossed her arms over her chest. “Let’s fucking hear it, what has that brat done now to anger the mighty Thomas Shelby!”

That earned her a shadow of a smirk, she could tell, but it was gone as soon as it started to appear.

“You disobey me, you disrespect me, and now you try to stink up my bloody car.”

Was… was he making a joke?

She looked at him, inspecting his face, but she honestly couldn’t really tell. Mary went silent after that. In all that commotion at the club, she had forgotten her coat and without a cigarette to make her heart beat faster, she was left feeling colder by the second.

She noticed then that the sun was beginning to rise somewhere in between the trees and the fields they passed. The rosy, golden glow made everything seem so mundane. Mary preferred the cozy shelter of the night. Nights were good for sneaking around, finding adventure, and keeping secrets. Now, she would have to go back to being an imaginary version of herself, a lonely nouveauriche daughter of a bookmaker, and doesn’t that just sound fucking delightful?

Then, just as the sun started to rise, Tommy took a sharp turn towards the woods and Mary had to hold on to her seat because the road wasn’t as smooth and easy as it had been just mere minutes ago. Then, her father stopped the car abruptly and everything went dark and still. Morning hasn’t reached these parts yet. All the spruces and the shadowy demons of the forest could pretend for a half hour or so that it was still nighttime.

“You could have been killed,” Tommy said then darkly. Mary turned to look at him after that remark but he was still looking ahead, holding the steering wheel tightly. She huffed and did the same — looked straight ahead and clenched her teeth. They stayed like that for a while, like father like daughter, and to Mary’s astonishment, it was Tommy who finally broke the silence:

“Jesus, fuck, you’re shivering,” he said quietly and put his coat over her shoulders.

She pouted angrily but wrapped herself in it all the same. The coat was heavy and warm. It was the good quality kind, too, with a dark blue lining and dark grey pattern. It smelled like soap and cigarettes, the two things that Mary associated with home and the memories that the Arrow House could never live up to. She leaned back in her seat now and closed her eyes, relishing in silence between them. She heard as her father lit a cigarette and she waited for the speech. To her astonishment, however, his fancy lighter clicked the second time and a cigarette was placed in between her fingers. Mary straightened in her seat and took a long, painful drag.

“It wasn’t the first time, was it?” Tommy asked then and suddenly she didn’t feel like teasing him or making light of the situation any longer. On some level, she knew he was somewhat right in his worst predictions.

“No.” She took another drag and opened the door to let some air in. “Third or fourth.”

Tommy shook his head and still refused to look at her for longer than a couple of seconds.

“You don’t understand, Mary. We just finished a war. And it’s still not over.” He squeezed the steering wheel with one hand and sucked on the end of his cigarette so violently that he nearly finished it in one go. “That fucking… peace or whatever we have with Solomons, it’s still so fuckin’ shaky you’d think it was a baby.” He opened the door on his side then and threw the rest of his cigarette outside.

He ran a hand through his hair, making an utter mess out of it, then put his cap back on and got out of the car.

He slammed the door behind him and paced back and forth, while Mary leaned back in her seat and let out a long sigh. She wasn’t moved with that outburst. She had seen worse. Tommy circled the car and then stopped by the passenger’s door, opened it wide and grabbed her by the elbow.

“Let’s go.”

He pulled her towards him and she rolled her eyes, but obeyed him all the same. Was he going to leave her there in the middle of the woods? Force her to walk home? She looked around in the dusky darkness, trying to figure out which way was Birmingham.

“Come on.” He waved his hand and went straight ahead, as if he knew exactly where they were going.

Mary huffed and put his coat properly on, then followed. Her walk was kind of shaky, as the ground was soggy and she was wearing heels. It wasn’t ideal, either, they were good shoes and she would hate for them to get wet.

“Where are we going?” she whined, trying to keep up. She threw away the rest of her cigarette and tried to make out the shape of her father’s figure in the murky shadows.

She stepped in a puddle or two along the way, swearing profusely each time, and finally after what seemed like ages but was probably minutes, they reached a clearing. Tommy turned around then, assessing the space before him as if trying to figure out if he should buy this space or not. Mary rolled her eyes and checked the state of her shoes.

“Bloody hell!” she barked, then gave her father an angry look. “What are we doing here!”

He scoffed and outstretched his hand. “Your gun.” He motioned towards her to give it to him and Mary frowned in confusion.

“What, you trying to shoot me now, Daddy?” She crossed her arms over her chest which may have done more for her defiant stance had she not been wearing her father’s giant coat.

“Give it here.” Tommy gestured once more, this time more impatiently, and she finally took it out of her purse and gave it to him. It was a small caliber revolver that probably wouldn’t do much damage at a long distance, but did its job just fine up close and personal.

Tommy inspected the gun in the dusky lighting, then opened the chamber and checked for bullets.

“All there,” Mary scoffed and rolled her eyes.

Tommy closed the chamber then and weighted the gun in his hand. He took a look around and beckoned his daughter closer.

“I need you to shoot that branch there.” He handed her the gun back and pointed towards the target.

“What?” she snapped. “But it’s dark!”

Tommy looked at her sternly, she could see it well despite the lack of light. It was more of a feeling than the actual sighting.

“Fine!” Mary rolled up the sleeves of the coat and took the gun from her father. She pointed it towards the tree and took a first shot. She missed the branch entirely but shot the tree right in the middle. Entirely pleased with herself, she turned around and looked at her father triumphantly. “Can we go now?”

Tommy said nothing to that. He stared into space blankly, then lit a cigarette and pointed with it towards the tree. “That’s not what I told you to shoot,” he said coldly.

“Please,” she scoffed, “I got that bitch right in the stomach on the first try!”

“That’s not what I told you to shoot. I told you where to shoot, you weren’t focused and you disobeyed me. You missed the target, we’re both dead.”

“What?” she hissed and furrowed her brow. “Is that one of your sick mind games again? You’re trying to prove to me that I’m an idiot again, or a child, is that it?!” she scoffed and turned her back to him, then started walking. “Forget it, fuck this shit!”

“Mary.”

“NO!”

“Well, you are a child!” Tommy shouted after her and she laughed at that coldly. “Come back here!”

She stepped into another puddle and groaned, then she actually stopped, threw her head back and let out a shrill shriek that could have startled a dead man.

“FUCK!” she roared at the top of her lungs, not really caring now if anyone would hear her or what would her father think. “FUCK!” She picked up the nearest rock she could grab and threw it aimlessly, then pointed the gun at the nearest tree and took a shot. “Fuck!” And another. “Fuck this! FUCK!”

She turned around then and, panting heavily, got back to the clearing where Tommy still stood, looking at the sky and smoking. He reached into his jacket and looked at his pocket watch, then pointed towards the branch wordlessly, still the same one, and took another long drag of his cigarette. Mary roared again like a wild animal and took a couple of steps towards her mark, but Tommy stopped her right there:

“Stand where you are.”

“I can’t fucking see!” she screamed but took her aim and shot. She got the branch on the second try. She had one bullet left.

She let out a heavy breath and looked up, trying to steady herself. She didn’t have to look at her father, she already knew what he was doing — standing like a bloody statue and doing fucking nothing.

“There will be no walking or aiming or choosing your target in the real field,” he said then, voice still cold as ice.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Mary scoffed and turned towards him. “There is no field for me!” She approached him, waving the revolver around.

“What the fuck are you doing!” Tommy was at her side in seconds and grabbed both of her wrists, holding her arms up. For the first time in a long time, he looked his daughter right in the eye for longer than two seconds. “What are you doing!” he demanded again and shook her arms a little, trying to get some sense into her.

Mary looked up and let out a humorless laugh. “You still think this is the war, don’t you? Hm? But it isn’t. You’re home, soldier. At fucking ease.”

Tommy took a sharp breath and held her wrists tighter. She didn’t even flinch.

“Who do I remind you of?” she sneered.

“Stop this.”

“How dare you think of me as helpless. Hm?” she scoffed and rolled her eyes again.

“You want to play the real game, Mary? Hm? The big game? Well, this is fuckin’ it,” Tommy pointed towards the tree she was shooting at. “Only that tree would be ten big fucking men with machine guns, coming at you from all sides and trying to fuckin’ kill you! And there’ll be no fuckin’ thinking, no fuckin’ guidance, no fuckin’ help! Just you. And death. And fuckin’ nonsense of it all.”

She sneered again and cackled humorlessly. “What about the soldier’s minute, eh?”

She felt his grip loosen then and she looked down now, entirely resigned.

“How do you know about that?”

She scoffed and turned her back towards him once more. “You talk when you’re drunk. You and I have had many long talks over whisky, Daddy. You’re quite talkative when you drink. Drunk you and sad me have many secrets.” Her voice turned eerie and Tommy honestly couldn’t bear to listen to it any longer.

“Who do I remind you of?” she asked again, in that monotone that sounded exactly like him. It felt like being in a dream that wouldn’t end.

Mary stood with her back to him and the trees cast long shadows of the woods on her entire person, making her look like a witch from a Grimm fairytale.

“Stop it,” Tommy said quietly.

“Why can’t you look at me? Hm?” She put the gun in the coat pocket and turned around. Her eyes were cold. “Fucking look at me!”

“No,” he barked. “Stop this.”

“Don’t run away!” She practically launched herself at him and he caught her before she fell. “Not again,” she pleaded, pressing herself tightly to his chest. “Don’t. Just… Don’t go again.”

Startled at her plea, Tommy put his hand gently on her head, as if he was afraid to touch her. He felt her tremble at that and soon he also felt her tears soaking through his shirt. Mary made almost no sound as she cried and it broke his heart, that frightening coldness he knew so well. He gave her that, Tommy was sure of it, marked her with his fucking curse of a character like a virus.

Mary was right, of course. He was trying to protect her without thinking of her as her own person. Year after year, she looked more and more like her mother; same face, same hair, that same bloody fire that used to make Tommy think nothing could snuff out. There was a time, before she got sick, that Mary’s mother didn’t seem mortal to him at all.

“I’m here,” he said quietly and that finally made her come back to him. She grabbed him tighter and sniffled, letting go of her anger for now.

“I was scared,” she whispered.

Tommy let out a long sigh and rested his chin on top of her head.

“As you should be,” he said calmly, “he’s insane. And he is dangerous.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed and dried her eyes with the back of her hand. “I could’ve shot him point blank. He underestimated me and you know it.”

Tommy chuckled softly at that and put his hands on Mary’s shoulders. “You want to shoot Alfie Solomons?”

“I don’t necessarily want to.” She shrugged and he grinned at her as if she just told the funniest joke.

“Jesus Christ,” Tommy shook his head and pulled her back to him to hold her again. “A bloody good thing they don’t draft women, eh? Five minutes with you there, the Germans would’ve been blown to bloody pieces.”

She laughed at that and looked him in the eye, savoring the moment. Very rarely would her father joke like that with her. The war was a touchy subject still and it meant something that he would try to let her take a peek at his experience, if only just a little.

“You do remember talking to me about this?” she asked quietly, searching for recognition in his eyes. Tommy turned his head away then and let go of her. She sighed in disappointment.

“I—”

“It’s alright.” She shook her head and cleared her throat. “Come on. It’s getting light.”

“Right.” Tommy lit another cigarette and looked around, trying to get back to his cold, composed self after their mutual outburst of human emotion. “Let’s go back.”

“Not what I meant. Give me your gun,” Mary said with a mischievous smirk and outstretched her hand.

“You have one bullet left,” Tommy said dryly.

“You counted.” She smiled. “I’m impressed, Dad.”

Tommy rolled his eyes and handed her his Webley. It was an army model he was used to, much heavier than what she was carrying, but with a steadier grip and deadlier caliber. “Careful with that.”

She scoffed and engaged the safety. “Tell me where.”

Tommy smirked at that and cleared his throat. “Not what I meant, darling,” he approached her carefully and corrected her stance. “Careful with your other hand, eh? ‘Cause if you hold it like that, you will punch yourself straight in the face.”

She laughed at that and looked at him with much brighter eyes than before. “Are you serious?”

“Oh, I guarantee it.” He put his arm around her gently and pointed the branch for her. She didn’t get it at the first or the second try, the impact was something to get used to. It was different, but Mary adapted quickly and besides — she wanted to make her father proud. In the end, she could tell he was impressed.

“So who taught you how to shoot?” Tommy asked, as they walked arm in arm towards the car, sharing his very last cigarette from the pack.

“Uncle Charlie,” Mary chirped, obviously very pleased with herself.

“He’s a rubbish aim,” Tommy scoffed and threw the rest of the cigarette into the nearby puddle.

“Maybe, but I’m not.”

He chuckled at her confidence and firmly held her hand in his for the rest of the way. It was already light out when they arrived at the Arrow House. As soon as they got inside, it felt as if some sort of curse had been lifted. She was no fragile thing, his daughter. Tommy finally realized she just did his best to fool everyone around her into thinking she was.

Mary went to bed and he went to his office to do some work, fooling himself into thinking he wasn’t tired. Just as he sat down behind the desk with a fresh glass of whisky, the phone rang. Tommy looked at the time. It was only half past six.

“Yes?” he said sternly and took a sip of his drink. He was actually in a good mood for once and prayed the person on the other line this wouldn’t be bad news.

“Tommy!” Alfie Solomons exclaimed cheerfully. “Managed to get any sleep?”

Tommy surveyed suspiciously the glass he was holding. Some intuition on that man…

“What do you want, Alfie?”

“Very rude of ya, mate, I’m just callin’ to say hello, aren’t I, the lovely bloody person that I am,” Alfie grumbled and Tommy closed his eyes for a minute, deciding just to listen. “Right, so as I was fuckin’ saying, mate, before you interrupted my train of fuckin’ thoughts in your impertinent fuckin’ manner—”

“Goodbye, Alfie.”

“Nah, don’t be a prick! Don’t hang up, Tommy, come on.”

Tommy smiled to himself and downed the rest of his whisky in one go.

“Tommy, it’s six in the bloody morning, mate.”

“Thank you for informing me, Alfie.”

“Nah, mate, don’t be difficult, right, I can hear you drinkin’ yer fuckin’ whisky over there, mate.”

Tommy smiled to himself and closed his eyes again. “It’s still midnight to me.”

“Now, how does that work for ya, exactly, mate? Who do I bloody call to be able to set my own fuckin’ time in the world?”

Tommy said nothing to that but sincerely hoped that Alfie, true to his character, would continue the conversation for them both. God, he was tired.

“So, did I manage to scare her like ya asked?”

Tommy’s smile grew wider. “Not in the slightest. Shit job you did there, Alfie.”

“Bloody impertinent you are, Tom! What was I supposed to do, eh? Couldn’t very well threaten a lady, now, what would that do to my fuckin’ reputation, I ask?”

“Didn’t realize you had one, Alfie.”

“The bloody cheek on ya, lad, be glad this here is over the fuckin’ phone, mate, I offed people for less.”

“Right. And where was that fire when I asked for help with my wild beast of a daughter, eh?”

“Nah, mate, come now, it’s yer bloody daughter, innit?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“How the fuck am I gonna threaten Tommy Shelby’s daughter, mate? You seen me walkin’ around town, threaten people’s daughters? I should ask ya for some extra bloody percentage for the babysittin’, mate.”

“We could arrange for something, Alfie.”

“Aye, like what?”

“I don’t know, you’re a reasonable man. Isn’t there something you would want, Alfie?”

Alfie let out a long sigh and Tommy could practically picture his smile. “Bloody hell, Thomas, the mouth on ya.”

“So you said.”

“Nah. ‘t was the cheek, first, lad. Pay attention, Tommy, if you stop, right, I’ll be bloody inconsolable, won’t I?”

Thomy chuckled at that and looked towards the whisky bottle, then pointlessly tilted the empty glass.

“I still think you could have tried a bit harder, Alfie. Were you holding back on my account?”

“Nah, mate, remember when you first waltzed into the bakery? All beaten, bloodied, fuckin’ broken, eh? Remember that, mate?”

“Vaguely.”

“Right. Ya still managed to get yer bloody deal, the fuckin’ percent ‘n’ all, and then make me fuckin’ forget my bloody name when you looked at me with those big eyes of fuckin’ blue, mate.”

“So?”

“She’s got yer eyes, mate.”

“She’s also my daughter, Alfie.”

“Right. But still. Do ya see why I only date brunettes, Tommy?”

Tommy cleared his throat and squinted at the telephone for no damn reason at all. Alfie interpreted that silence as an invitation to continue:

“Yeah, with all that bloody fire, Tommy, she would burn my house down to the ground, mate. So nah. Forgive me for not playin’ with Shelby bloody fire.”

“Fair enough,” Tommy said and closed his eyes again.

“You still there, Tom?”

“Hm.”

“Right. Will ya be a good lad and go the fuck to sleep for once in yer life, then?”

Tommy smiled to himself and shook his head pointlessly. “It’s nearly seven, Alfie. I need to get to work soon.”

“Bullshit, mate. It’s Sunday.”

“Ah… and so it is.”

“Right. Since ya asked so bloody nicely, I’m gonna get my coat now, Tommy. Should be there shortly.”

“For what?” Tommy scoffed and rubbed his face with the free hand.

“To hold yer hand and tuck your stupid ass into that ridiculously large bed. ‘S ‘cause I’m generous like that, Tommy.”

“You sure, Alfie? Might wanna reconsider… On the account of our Shelby fire and whatnot.”

“Nah. ‘s the brunettes, mate, I’m tellin’ ya. Good for talkin’, good for fuckin’.”

“Hm. Like rum, you say?”

“Yeah, suppose so, mate, could be. Doesn’t hurt they don’t clash with my clothes too much, do they?”

Tommy laughed at that and shook his head. “Fine.”

“Aye, it rarely is for us, mate, but it doesn’t hurt to try to make the best of it.”

Tommy refused to open his eyes now for anything, but suddenly he felt like sharing: “Have I told you she’s an amazing shot?”

“That a metaphor, sweetie?”

“No.”

“Why was she shootin’ at ya, mate?”

“She wasn’t shooting at me, we… Had to talk.”

“With bullets?”

“Never mind with what, it… anyway, she hit a mark from about twenty yards, in the dark, pissed as all hell and yelling at me.”

Alfie whistled quietly. “Bloody hell. You let her yell at ya? Even I don’t do that, mate. That’s some preferential fuckin’ treatment, I’d say.”

“Alfie.”

“Yeah, alright. But that was one time, and you did piss me off. Come to think of it, I’d like to see that.”

“What?”

“You know, Baby Shelby. A good marksman’s hard to come by, mate. We could always use one, just not with that ridiculous lady revolver of hers. Should give her a proper rifle.”

“Absolutely fuckin’ not!”

“Aye, then why the fuck ‘d you start the subject, mate? Fuckin’ pointless of ya, Tommy.”

Bloody hell, he should hang up. With them rambling like old men, they will never stop the bloody talking.

“Yeah, she tried the Webley. ‘T was bloody funny, remember those?”

“Yeah, ‘course I do. Hate them.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Bloody army editions, can’t stand them.”

“Hm. Well, she almost knocked her lights out, everybody does that, there’s just… There’s something with the impact,” Tommy yawned and hoped he did so quietly.

“Yeah, mate, alright. You’ll tell me in a minute, I really need to get goin’.”

“Yeah? Got somewhere to be?”

“Aye, promised that ridiculous bloody Shelby I’d come chase away his bloody nightmares.”

“That’s thoughtful of you, Alfie.”

“Yeah, got my bloody reputation to uphold, don’t I? Otherwise all kinds of sorts will come to my fuckin’ turf, demanding shit.”

“Alfie.”

“What?”

“Hang up. Come over.”

“Yeah, alright. I’ll be there.”

“Alright. Oh, and Alfie?

“What?”

“If you want to bring her a gift, apparently she likes bullets now.”

“Yeah, what the fuck, mate? Bloody Shelbys, swear to fuck, that’s a bizarre thing to say, mate.”

“Hmm. Just hurry up, old man.”

“Yeah, alright, what caliber? With some luck she’ll bloody shoot ya before I do.”

Tommy chuckled softly at that. “I’m going to bed.”

“As you should, yeah.”

“But you’ll be here.”

“As soon as we shut the fuck up, yeah.”

“Well, alright.”

“Yeah, it is, treacle. Goodnight.”

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What Alfie said: “Dos ken nor a goy, eh?” — Something only a goy would do or is capable of doing.

Shiksa — “a gentile girl or woman”, almost always meant in a negative way

That being said — I am not Jewish, I don’t speak Hebrew no Jiddish. Please feel free to send me a message or a comment if I got something wrong! This is all for artistic purposes and I just wanted my favorite character to speak like he would on the show <3

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