Summary - Sharp-tongued, steady-handed, and raised beside the Shelbys like blood, Dr. Emily Hughes weaves through their war for Birmingham with a surgeon’s precision—offering comfort, challenge, and quiet resistance, especially to the man who’s forgetting how to be anything but a weapon.
Word Count - 1,633
Warnings - literally none
A/N - God this chapter fucked me so hard. I think this one is pretty weak but I'm trying to get somewhere I promise. I'm sorry it's so short
Thanks for the support <3 Would love to know what you think!
Chapter 10
Emily smiled as she watched John and Esme dance in the middle of their wedding party. The alcohol was flowing freely and while she was enjoying herself, she was conscious of the risks of a fight. That was the last fucking thing they needed right now.
John caught her eye and smiled at her, and for a moment he looked so much like the young boy she once knew. Maybe he could be as happy with this new woman as he had been with Martha. Emily winked at him and he turned away.
“She’s perfect for him.” Polly’s voice didn’t startle her for once. Probably because it was already loud as fuck.
“I know. You should have heard the lip I got when I went to have a chat with her.” Emily chuckled and clinked her glass against Polly’s. “She’ll keep him on his toes, Pol.”
“And then some.” Pol agreed, leaning against the same makeshift table as Emily. The two of them deciding to just enjoy the ambiance for a moment.
“John needs a woman to keep him in check.” Tommy comments, coming out of almost nowhere with fresh glasses for both women. “Thought he was going to run.”
Emily looked up at him and smiled. “No. You laid it on thick with the guilt, Johnny couldn’t have done it after that.”
Tommy snorted. “At least a nice night came out of it, eh? Not many nights like this since France.”
It was nice. Tommy was right. John and Esme looked happy. How long since anyone could truly say that? Ada and Freddie were dancing with warm smiles. Arthur was having a laugh with a few of the Lee lads. Everyone was happy and dancing and drinking. No fighting, no anger, no yelling or plotting or ghosts hanging over the evening.
I’d like a wedding like this one. The thought came out of nowhere and she choked on her drink, earning a raised eyebrow from Tommy and … where the fuck did Polly go? How long had she zoned out?
God, for a moment she yearned so heavily though.
“Dance with me, Tommy?” She asked, looking up at him. He was cloaked in sunset, it felt so heavy. But maybe in a good way. She wasn’t even shaking right now. It felt perfect.
There was a long pause before Tommy spoke.
“Best not.” He finally replied, taking a sip of his drink. And Emily felt the heavy moment break. “Rather not get in the middle of that.”
It was a weak excuse, but Emily just nodded. They both knew what he hadn’t said aloud, what hadn’t been said aloud since that day at Clarkson’s farm when they were kids.
“Have you called that banker fellow yet?” Tommy asked suddenly. To anyone else, it would have felt like a non-sequitur. But she knew what he was really asking. "I'd like to move quickly with the investments. Money shouldn't sit this long."
Emily felt her smile slip for a moment and tried to bury the hurt.
“Not yet but I will in the morning.” She paused and put her glass down. “I think I’m going to go-” But her attempt at a graceful exit was interrupted by a single shout.
“Emmy! My water’s gone!”
It was late when Arthur made it home that night. It’d been a good night. Karl was a good-looking lad, and it was good for Freddie to toast to becoming a father. But Arthur left the celebration a little early, having felt the begins of a cross mood coming on him. Clearing his head by walking along the cut wasn’t his usual choice but for once the alcohol hadn’t been helping the way he hoped and maybe the fresh air could have done.
Essentially, he was too fucking sober to be dealing with his own head.
He hadn’t expected anyone else when he got home; the fact that not a single light was on only supported that idea. Everyone should still be at Ada and Freddie’s.
So you can imagine the way he fucking jumped when a voice spoke out from the darkness.
“You’re home early.”
“Jesus fucking hell!” He cursed, hand reaching for his cap when he registered the voice. He diverted the movement and turned on a light.
Emily was sitting at the table, hand cradling a full glass of whiskey, bottle a quarter empty on the table. Her eyes were closed, and her head was tilted towards the ceiling.
“No Jesus, just Emily.” She took a sip from the glass.
“What the fuck are you doing down here in the bleeding dark? Thought you were still at the party. Scared the fuck out of me, Em.”
She snorted at that, and then tipped the whole glass down her throat.
“Started thinking. Thought too much. So, I started drinking. On my way to drinking too much.” She reached for the bottle to pour another glass. “Can I ask you something, Arthur?”
“Yeah, ‘course Em.” He pulled out his own chair, and she offered him the bottle, but he waved it off. At least one of them should have a clear head here.
“Should it hurt this much? Deciding to settle, I mean.” She rubbed at her eyes, that telltale tremble in her fingers that he absolutely hated.
“What do you mean? Settle for what, love?”
She didn’t say anything for a few moments, head still tilted towards the planks in the ceiling. When she did speak, her voice was tired. “There’s a lad I know from back at university. Works in investments now, schemes and all that. Always was sweet on me back then.” She takes another sip of the drink. “Tommy wants to look into investments for the money, and this man’d be a good fit, so I should probably give him a ring. Thing is, if I do, he’ll want to take me out. Want to court me proper. Used to talk about marrying me some day.”
Arthur feels a bit like he’d been thrown overboard into the dark. “What would you tell him?”
She shrugged. “That's what I’ve been thinking about. Settling. See I’m getting old – don’t you dare say anything, Arthur – and I want a family. He was a good man: handsome, funny, kind, doting. From what I’ve heard, he’s still the same. We’d have enough money for a nice house. He’d be a good father and a sweet husband. I know he would.”
She closed her eyes and buried her face in her hands with a sad little laugh that made Arthur’s frown deepen. “I should jump on the opportunity – should be running to give him a ring. He could love me proper, make an honest woman of me in a few months. But I never thought… I always sort of hoped it would be… that if I ever got married it’d be with someone else.”
“Tommy.” Arthur offered quietly, reaching out for her glass and taking his own drink. Never mind what he thought, neither of them should be sober for this. “Honest I always thought it’d be too.”
He doesn’t know what he said to put the look of horror on her face.
“Was I that obvious? Fuck, no wonder he doesn’t want me. Fucking pathetic, I am.”
Wait what?
“No, love. He’s the fucking obvious one. What the hell do you mean he doesn’t want you, eh? He’s been head over heels for you for years.”
She shook her head, swallowing heavily.
“No.” There was certainty there. Something had happened, and thankfully the drink seemed to have loosened her tongue enough to tell him. “I thought so too maybe once – hoped. Before France, before the War. When we were 16, I kissed him. He started avoiding me; kissing me disgusted him that much. After two weeks I couldn’t take it anymore, told him I was sorry, that I wouldn’t ever bring it up again and we could go back to normal.”
What the fuck?
“This is Tommy we’re talking about, right? He’s been wrecked about you since we was in school.” He drained the glass. “God my brother is a fucking moron.”
She shook her head, voice sharpening. “Don’t talk about him like that.” Always so protective. “He doesn’t deserve scorn just because he didn’t return my feelings, Art. He deserves better than me anyway – someone who isn’t so fucked up in the head, someone whose parents didn’t fucking ruin her, someone less liable to go flying apart at the seams. And it’s only gotten worse since we all went over and came back. I wouldn’t want me either.
“It’s not his fault I’ve been hung up on this stupid fucking fantasy that can never actually come true. I’m thirty this year, it’s time to be realistic, innit?”
Nodding her head, mostly to herself, she poured another glass and drained it in one go. Arthur was too busy watching her hands shake to interrupt her.
“It’s time to grow up and get over myself. Peter’s a good man. He’ll treat me well. And if my kids have brown eyes instead of blue, well, brown’s a good colour too, eh?”
She looked at him, eyes desperate with tears around the edges. Arthur felt his own heart aching for her.
“Tell me it’s the right decision. Tell me to phone Peter, Arthur. Please?”
He stared at her for a second, let the desperation wash over him, before he stood up and walked around the table. Pulling her out of her chair and into a tight hug.
“I love you, sister.” He didn’t want to lie to her, so he didn’t. “No matter who you choose, you’ll always be a Shelby, alright? We’ll always be your family.”
She hugged him back just as tightly and didn’t say a word.
---
A/N2: Love Arthur man. I feel like he always needs more big brother moments
I promise the next chapter is coming but I am once again moving countries and it's been a pain in the ass. At least I'll be home in Dublin soon permanently.
Warnings: This will include dark elements. Please do not read if these elements or any dark elements make you uncomfortable.
Character: Tommy Shelby, maid!reader
Summary: you've adapted to your employer's moods, but you don't realise how attached he's become to you .
Please reblog if you enjoy and leave some feedback! Muah 💋
When you first arrived at the Shelby household, the thumps would make you flinch. The yelling would make you tense. The steady in and out of men in caps and jackets had you uneasy. Now it is merely routine.
Your eyes roll up lazily as the heavy bang is followed by a holler. A word which might be 'bugger' or something worse. You take the kettle and put it on the burner. Time for tea.
You hum to keep your patience at bay. You take down a saucer and cup. The blue paint trims the white porcelain in scenes of wilderness. Wild deer between leaning pine. Fine china. The kind you might covet knowing you could never afford it.
You balance the silver strainer over the brim of the cup and carefully measure out the leaves. When the water boils, you pour it over, the steam pluming up. As you wait for the steep, you hear footsteps on the stairs. The men leave without a word, though you feel as if you can hear their disappointment rippling in the air.
You lay out the tray. Teacup on saucer, sugar bowl, small jug of milk, and some biscuits freshly baked that morning. The latter will likely remain untouched but you are mindful to be thorough.
You carry your lot calmly through the spacious foyer of the house and up the stairs. You near the arched wooden doors and slow. You clear your throat and call through.
"Mr. Shelby."
"In," he demands tersely.
You look at the tray then the doors. You turn and use your elbow to push down the handle. You lean into the door to open it and turn.
Your employer looks up. "You could've said your hands were full."
"Sir."
You bring the tray over and set it on the small table near the leather settee. He's at his desk. He puffs on a cigarette.
You step away from the plume of smoke as he blows it out. His eyes follow you. He looks at the cigarette then you. He tamps it out in the tray and takes up a pen instead.
"Cinnamon," he says through the last of the smoke. He puts his attention on the ledger as his pen scratches.
You nod. "Biscuits, sir."
He doesn't look at you. He continues to write. You know better than to expect further. It's the most said between you on any occasion.
You close the door behind you. If he needs you, he'll ring the bell. He doesn't often. Not when there isn't company. You are always on time. Breakfast, lunch, tea. You never miss your cue.
Now, you must sweep away the dirt those men tracked in with them. You assume they fled at the roar of your boss’ ire.
🚬
You don't get much sleep, nor do you expect it. It doesn't come with the work, nor your station in life. Those without money do not rest. Not often.
Even so, you are disturbed by the noise scuffing in the back of your mind. That constant that keeps you from a true sleep. You are hovering on the edge, not able to get to the other side.
You fall onto your back and cover your mouth. You yawn. It isn't stopping. It's more than the wind. More than the house creaking with its own weight.
You get up. In the dark, you find the wool housecoat hung on the back of the door. You don't bother with a lamp. You ration your oil and wick.
There's more light in the corridor. You peer out as slats of moonlight pour in through the window panes, limning those drapes drawn together. There it is. The noise. Footsteps, back and forth, a soft mutter now and then.
You step out into the chill of the corridor. You shuffle along the wall as you follow the sound. You stand at the bottom of the stairs and peer up.
The yellow blaze of an electric light glares against the wall in the shape of a doorway. A shadow passes before it. An arm bent, hand curled, head tilted. Mr. Shelby rambles quietly as he weaves back and forth.
You watch for a moment then retreat.
Tea time. Saucer, cup, strainer, leaves... You work quietly. You forgo the tray. Touch of milk, no sugar. You know this.
You do your best not to clink the porcelain as you climb the stairs. You stop at the top as Mr. Shelby stands before the large portrait of himself. His silhouette is dark against the light of his open bedroom door.
As you near, you can see his jaw is set. He glares at his likeness. You pass him and enter his bedroom. You place the cup and saucer on the night table near his bed.
You return to the corridor. "Sir, your tea will get cold."
He flinches. He slowly looks at you. You step away from the door.
"Sir." You utter.
He nods and strides toward you. He is in his night clothes. His hair is mussed and his eyes are shadowed with dark circles. He does not look at you.
You don't move as he passes. He goes through the open doors. You take one step.
"You will join me." He says.
You pause and turn. You don’t expect the invitation. You don’t often see your boss in this state, if ever. No one does. He is private. Cautious, with good reason.
You follow him. He crosses the room and stops before the unlit fireplace. He grips the mantle.
"You may shut the doors. There's a terrible draft." He bids.
You obey and linger by the doors.
"Sit. Have the tea." He insists.
"It is for you--"
"I'm aware. You will have it." He traces his fingers along his jaw and pinches his lower lip as he stares into the fireplace. "I do not like waste."
"Yes, sir.” You relent. “Shall I stoke a fire while I let the tea cool?”
“I said sit.” He sighs.
You retrieve the tea and sit on the settee. You hold the cup and saucer over your lap. He bends his knees and grabs the split wood from the iron rack next to the fireplace. He stacks them inside the brick cove.
He works methodically as he stuffs kindling under the wood and lights it. He blows on it until it catches. He stands as the amber glow blooms around his robe. The satin ripples behind him, giving a peek of his linen night clothes and thick-soled slippers.
You cool the tea with your breath and sip. He plants a hand on the oak mantle above the fire and hangs his head. You sit in the silence, patient, waiting for your dismissal.
He straightens and rolls his shoulders. He shuffles across the wooden planks and onto the rug. He spins and sits on the other side of the settee. He exhales and leans his head against the cushion.
“You will purchase yourself a new robe. I will not have my staff walking around in patches.” He growls at the ceiling. You glance over at him. His eyes are closed, long lashes stark above his cheeks.
“Yes, sir.” You reply. You will be short some pence after the expenditure.
He takes another deep breath. You wait. He says nothing. You drink to keep from restlessness.
A low groan draws your attention back to your dour employer. He remains as he was. His chest rises and falls steadily. Another low drone rises from him. He’s snoring.
You turn to set the cup and saucer aside then stand. You take the woven throw from over the back of the settee. You put it over Mr. Shelby’s lap.
He needs rest. You do too. Once you dump the dregs of the tea, you’ll find some.
Summary - Sharp-tongued, steady-handed, and raised beside the Shelbys like blood, Dr. Emily Hughes weaves through their war for Birmingham with a surgeon’s precision—offering comfort, challenge, and quiet resistance, especially to the man who’s forgetting how to be anything but a weapon.
Word Count - 6,290
Warnings - less than canon-typical violence
A/N - Hey I'm alive I swear. I've gotten a bunch of messages wondering where the feck I am. Thank you for checking in! I actually had to move (temporarily) to North America for work and it's... really just... taken all my energy. It's good craic but it's also a lot you know?
Anyway - I will likely not disappear again!
Thanks for the support <3 Would love to know what you think!
Chapter 9
“We don’t fucking pay you?”
Tommy was furious, feeling fire coursing through his veins. It took everything in him not to start yelling – yelling at Emily was something that had only ever hurt them both.
The way she blinked at him from where she was serving dinner was completely lost and utterly confused for a few moments before she seemed to catch on, wincing.
“Well?”
He’d looked. When that O’Hare prick had offered her three times what they paid her, Tommy had wanted to know what that would actually look like. He’d been pouring over the books for hours today, because initially he hadn’t believed it. When he hadn’t seen her name on the payment ledger, he was convinced there was a mistake, so he went over almost every accounting book they had. He had just wanted to know how much she had turned down. Turned out to be literally nothing because they weren’t fucking paying her.
She shrugged, putting a bowl of stew in front of Finn, and another at the placemat meant for him.
“You do. Just not with money.”
Emily moved back to the stove, sounding utterly unbothered by what he’d just uncovered. How fucking long had she not been getting paid? Had she ever gotten any money from them?
“What the fuck do you mean we don’t pay her?” Arthur bit out, gaze turned to Polly, who was rolling her eyes. “For how long?”
“We’ve never paid her.” Polly responded, eyes locked on what she could see of Emily’s form through the kitchen door. “I’ve been telling her for years that she needs a salary. But no, girl’s convinced we ‘already do enough for her’.”
“…After everything we’ve fucking done for you?” Not for the first time, he hated himself for what he’d said to her in his anger. What they did for her? It was fucking nothing compared to what she did for them.
“You knew?” Tommy seethed, jaw tight, ignoring the horrible memory of his own harsh words in his head.
“Of course, I fucking knew. Who do you think ran this company while you were away? Who still manages the books?”
Emily returned a few seconds later with two more bowls, the last of the lot. One in front of Polly, and the final in front of the empty spot meant for her.
“I live here, so that’s room and board.” She said simply, taking her regular seat and folding a napkin on her lap. “I take money to buy the groceries from the box in the kitchen. I see those as my salary. What am I going to do with the money anyway, eh? It’s better reinvested into the business.”
Tommy grit his teeth, not sitting down. The outrage was so fucking heavy in his throat he could barely breathe around it.
“What about the things you want to buy, Em? Or girl-things that you need? Or the books you buy me?”
He looked at her, waiting for her to answer Finn’s questions. She shrugged.
“I don’t want for much, little love.” Finn always preened at that nickname. “I had some money saved up from my soldier salary until recently. And I make some money at the hospital now. If I need something that I can’t afford I can save for it like everyone else does.”
Like everyone else did? He was doing this so they didn’t have to live like everybody fucking else. He was doing this so she didn’t have to.
Besides, how the fuck had she been living on whatever paltry pennies she’d saved from the War? For two fucking years? There was no chance that she hadn’t given most of her money to Polly while they were away.
“You’re getting a bloody salary.” He managed through gritted teeth.
“A good one.” Arthur added. His older brother looked as outraged by this information as he was, as Polly was, as Emily should have been.
Years. She’d been building this company with them for years. Doing more than John and Arthur did, and on some days more than even he did. She ran it with him. She was the reason there was £10,000 in the safe right then. And she’d been doing it all for free.
Room and board? Communal grocery money? What the fuck was she on about?
She stared at him for a few moments, before she shrugged.
“If you want. I don’t know what I’d do with it though. It’s your family business’ money; you should keep it.”
“Your family too.” Arthur corrected, discontent and confusion thick in his voice.
With Arthur’s words it was like a lightbulb went off in his head, and he felt his breath stutter in his chest as memory after memory over the last almost-year came to him all at once.
“…But you were right yesterday, this is your family, your family business…”
“…I shouldn’t make deals on behalf of your family…”
“…I am not your family, Tommy. You made that fact effusively clear yesterday…”
“…Tell me it wasn’t you…”
“…Did you get your deal...”
“…the idea of anything happening to your family scares the hell out of me…”
When had Emily stopped saying we? Our? When did it become ‘you’ and ‘your family’? When had she started excluding herself from them? Seeing herself as an outsider? What had–
“My family! Not fucking yours!”
Almost seven fucking months ago. She had been separating herself since that day. Living outside the walls he’d created.
He placed his hands on the back of his chair, leaning forward and closing his eyes. His chest ached and he was suddenly nauseated. He couldn’t ignore the guilt this time; it was so thick he was surprised he wasn’t choking on it.
“Tommy?” He looked up at the sound of her voice, at the sound of her concern. She was watching him closely, brows furrowed. “I’ll take the money if you want. I’m sorry; I didn’t think it was important.”
“It is.” He managed, sounding more affected than he wanted but significantly less than he was. It was the best he could do.
She nodded, but the atmosphere through dinner was tense, and not even his mother’s stew recipe could fix it.
“Our family.”
The words fell out of his mouth automatically, startling the woman who was taking her earrings off. To be fair to her, he did usually knock.
“I’m sorry?”
She laid the small silver pair – the one that Arthur had bought her – into her jewellery box. Her head was tilted to the side, completely lost in this conversation and looking for some context.
“You have a family. This family.” He cleared his throat. Why was this so fucking difficult?
She just stared at him, brows furrowed.
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Tommy.” She said simply, blinking at him.
He fiddled, pulling out a cigarette for himself and offering her one which she declined. Taking a deep pull of smoke he finally looked back at her, still watching him, ever-patient. He turned his gaze back to the floor. Why did he feel like he was going to fucking confession?
“What I said– I didn’t–” He huffed a breath. “Fucking hell.”
The smaller hand threading into his own almost startled him, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected. Whenever he was with her, he could count on her warmth.
“It’s because of me.” He watched her frown deepen, but ploughed on before she could ask the questions he could see building behind her eyes. “What I said that day. That’s why you’ve been pulling away, eh? You said you forgave me, but it wasn’t enough.”
Her eyes widened, mouth opening and closing. Before she swallowed.
“Don’t.” She said at last, voice tight. “I’m not– it’s not your fault. It just put some things in perspective for me. You were right– no, shut up and let me talk.”
She raised her hand to quell his automatic protests, and reluctantly he waited.
“Thank you.” With her free hand, she rubbed her eyes. “You were right when you said you’ve all done so much for me. If it weren’t for Pol and your mum I’d have ended up in an orphanage or worse. If it weren’t for you, I’d have died that day in December.”
Gritting his teeth, he knew exactly what day she was talking about. Every time he thought too hard about it, he felt a pressure in his chest, the lingering vestiges of his panic from that day.
“Mum help! Aunt Polly!” She was slipping from his grip, head lolling. It was hard to get a good hold on her with all the blood. God, there was so much blood and he didn’t know what to do.
Dragging her through the door to the house, nearly slipping in his haste, shoes slick with snow and ice and crimson.
“Mum!” His voice was raw and desperate. “Aunt Pol!”
He could hear the sound of their running footsteps down the stairs with Arthur at their heels. Pol paused, shocked, at the sight that greeted her, but his mum didn’t.
“Arthur, help Tommy. Fuck, get her on the table.”
Arthur grabbed the other side of her, helped Tommy lift her up. His mother was filling a bucket with water and setting on the kettle while Pol started pulling out every bandage and bottle of whiskey they had.
“What the fuck happened, Tom?” His aunt basically barked at him.
They hadn’t seen yet. All they’d seen was the blood. The blood he was basically drenched in, Arthur too now.
“No! Arthur, not on her back!” His brother paused, forehead crinkling.
“What the fuck are you on about?”
“That’s where she’s bleeding!” He basically screamed, the tears he’d been barely holding suddenly came pouring out of his eyes. “Put her on her side!”
Arthur didn’t fight him, maybe a little overwhelmed or maybe stunned by the usually easy-going Tommy’s temper. Together they managed to put her on her left, balancing.
“Tommy! You need to tell me what happened!” His mother’s voice was loud and firm, scary. She never spoke to them like that.
“Mrs. Hughes– I found–” He sobbed. “She– the horsewhip.”
The house went silent. His brother’s mouth fell open, eyes wide and horrified, looking between him and Emily and Tommy’s jacket that he had thrown over her back when he’d found her.
Polly and his mother stared for a few moments, the words registering. His mother’s hand covered her mouth as she struggled for her composure before she came charging into the room, cloths in one hand, water bucket in the other.
“Arthur, run upstairs and grab my sewing kit. Pol, we’re going to need every bandage in the house.” Finally she turned to him, “Hold her hand, Tommy. If she wakes up, I want her to know she’s safe. Can you do that for me, love?”
He had. He’d held her hand all night and all morning. Even as she cried against the hot water and burning alcohol used to clean the wounds. As she whimpered when the needle threaded through her skin. The entire time, his fingers were threaded with hers.
Forcefully shaking away the memory of that day, one of the worst of his fucking life, he managed to keep his focus on the Emily of today. The one that wore the scars from back then, but wasn’t bleeding out in his arms.
“If it weren’t for your family…” She trailed off with a heavy sigh, letting her forehead fall against his chest. “And then you paid for my education.”
The broken little laugh she let out was so sad that he couldn’t resist the urge to extinguish his cigarette and put his free hand around her, keeping her pressed more tightly to him.
“It’s hard not to feel like I owe you. And it’s hard to feel like family with a debt like that hanging over me. It feels presumptuous, wrong, after everything you’ve all done for me. I’m the charity case you’ve all invited into your home – what did your dad say that time? ‘The stray animal you all insisted on feeding’?”
His grip on her tightened further at that, holding her properly now. If he closed his eyes he could still hear Polly’s slap, the sound of Arthur’s chair skidding across the kitchen floor, John’s gasp, the roaring of the blood that rushed into his own ears.
“He was right. I’m just scared now that you’ve realised it, now that you said it out loud, you’ll take it away. I thought maybe if I hid a little bit, pulled back and distanced myself – if I wasn’t as integrated as I had been – that maybe I could make it last longer before I was asked to go.”
She sniffed, trying to pull back but he wouldn’t let her, couldn’t. He knew he wouldn’t be able to move in that moment even if someone started threatening him with a gun.
“I know I’ve not been the same since we got back. I started taking too much, pushing too hard, overstepping in every possible way. I asked Polly to warn me if I was ever losing your goodwill, but I should have asked you. Because you were the only one who saw it and told me the truth: I am not family. I only wanted to protect you all, but I went too far, and I’m sorry. I tried to fix it, but it looks like I messed that up too.”
He dropped his forehead to rest on top of her head. Slowly, he guided them back towards the bed. She was still in her day clothes and so was he, but that didn’t matter.
Turning them around, he managed to lay down with her pressed into his chest.
“You are not a charity case or a fucking animal.” He was basically growling the words out. “You could never push too far or take too much. Far as I’m concerned you’ve been family since the day we met, twenty-five years ago.”
She looked at him, flabbergasted expression on her face, but he smiled at her.
“Everything in this house is yours. If there ever was a debt – and there fucking wasn’t – you’ve paid it back a thousand time over, eh? There’d be no fucking business without you. You’re the only fucking thing holding us together. You forced us to accept Ada and Freddie, saved John from a bad marriage, keep Arthur from going too far, fill in for our mother with Finn. Pretty sure you’re the only reason Pol hasn’t tried to kill us yet.” He kissed her forehead. “You save me from myself every fucking day.”
It wasn’t easy being so honest. Yelling was easy, fighting was easy, drinking was easy, but telling someone how he felt, about his personal thoughts? That was like pulling teeth. He would rather do anything else.
But it was anger that got them here. It was his fucking anger, the fury that bubbled under his skin without control. The first and only time he’d unleashed his cruelty on Emily, and it had nearly broken her. She could normally take anything someone threw at her, managed the likes of Patrick O’Hare and Inspector Campbell without breaking a sweat. She’d been dealing with the Shelby’s infighting since she was a girl.
But once again, he’d forgotten. He’d forgotten that the War had changed her too. While he had got colder, Arthur had gotten more unpredictable, and John had gotten quieter, she’d gotten more insecure. She could still handle the difficult things, but she couldn’t handle his anger being directed at her.
She should never have had to. And she never would again, he swore to himself.
“Tommy, I–”
He shushed her.
“No. I’m telling the truth, eh? If it weren’t for you, I’d be in the bottom of the bloody cut by now. Or pretty fucking close to it.” Her grip tightened on his at that, and his chest went fuzzy. “You’re family. The heart of this fucking family. The only fucking thing holding us together. You’re a Shelby in everything but name. Don’t pull away, don’t exclude yourself, and don’t you ever fucking call yourself an animal again, you hear me love? Never again.”
It took a few seconds for her to collect herself enough to reply, but the shaky ‘okay’ he received quelled the guilt that had been lodged in his throat since dinner.
“Good. It’s our family, yeah?”
The nod took a few seconds for her to manage, but eventually it came through.
“Yeah. Our family.”
“Looks like rain.” Tommy had muttered to her and Polly earlier, tilting his head towards them as they headed out.
Immediately, Emily stood up and grabbed the accounting book she had been correcting.
‘Looks like rain’ Tommy wanted her to get cover. They had their own language through inside jokes and old stories, seemingly careless phrases with a hundred double meanings. And if they were using it, it was important.
So she went to work in Tommy’s office, settling at the desk, looking up to see Kimber and his accountant come through. Ah it was best she stayed out of sight – lest he know they manipulated him.
Careful to stay out of sight, it wasn’t until he was out the door that she emerged again. Tommy caught her eye, delighted and grinning. That alone would have had her beaming if it wasn’t for the fact that she also knew exactly what that paper was. Her face hurt with the width of her grin.
“Gentlemen, and ladies.” There was a hush over the room as Tommy began, all eyes on him. “I have in my hand a legal betting licence. Issued by the board of control. The Shelby family has its first legal racetrack pitch.”
The house erupted with cheering. Immediately Tommy picked her up in a hug and she squeezed him just as tightly.
“We did it, Em.” He whispered in her ear and she couldn’t help her disbelieving chuckle.
“We did.” She kissed his cheek. “Now let’s make it even better.”
“Grace was asking me about the business.”
Arthur watched Polly’s gaze turn to Emily at his words. The younger woman raised her eyebrows, but didn’t speak.
“What kind of questions?”
Tommy’s voice was business neutral. Once again, Arthur was getting the feeling that there was more going on here than he knew about.
“Where we keep contraband, about the junctions, how the cigarettes smell because of it.”
The sound of Emily spinning her spoon in tea was very loud, the room tense, and he had no idea why.
“Did she say why?” That was Pol.
He shrugged, “I think she’s curious, maybe angling for a job.”
“No.”
Emily’s voice held a level of finality too it that Arthur was unaccustomed too. He’d heard it, definitely more since they came back, but it was still odd. In his mind, Emily was soft and kind, gentle and patient. The one who always had a loving smile and infinite time to listen, who knew when and how to hug him, who dragged him out of bars after one too many and laughed under his arm on the way home.
He forgot sometimes that things had changed. Because there was a small part of him that still thought of Tommy when it heard the word gentle.
She was still sweet and kind and loving, still had patience to the end of the world for them. But she was also quiet, calculating, frightened. Sometimes she could get so distant that he panicked instinctually, afraid that would be the final nail in their family’s coffin. If the person who had spent her whole life dragging them back together was herself fading away… well.
He needed to focus.
“Why not?” Maybe he asked too many questions. Maybe that’s why no one told him anything.
Emily sighed and pulled out a cigarette.
“Finn, go put your plate away and get your book. Let’s do some reading.”
In the smile she flashed to the young boy was the Emily of 1913 – the one who never cared about strategy or manipulation, who was happy to bring in her doctor’s income and let them deal with the business on their own.
“I don’t trust her, Arthur.” Emily finally told him when Finn was gone. “I know you like her, all of you like her. But,” She sighed, “She lies. A lot. When she shouldn’t have to… and there’s just… there’s too many coincidences around her.”
“What aren’t you saying? What coincidences, Emily?” Pol said, heavily. Tommy’s eyes were locked on Emily. Then again, Arthur thought wryly, when the fuck weren’t they?
Emily sighed.
“I don’t want to say yet. I don’t have all the proof I need. Just… let’s just call it a bad feeling.”
“You’ve been saying that since Cheltenham.” Tommy took a drag of his own cigarette, leaning back into his chair.
She nodded. “And the feeling’s only gotten worse. We should be careful with her. I don’t know what’s wrong with her yet, maybe it’s nothing, but my instincts say she’s not what she seems.”
Arthur nodded. “Will do, love.”
Listening to Emily was easy, because he always knew her motives were to take care of them. Always had been. The War had changed her, but it hadn’t changed that.
Emily sighed when she thought of that day, the things she’d found out. It was too ridiculous to be true, but too dangerous to ignore if it turned out to be.
The coroner was a colleague – that’s the only reason she’d been allowed in to see the body. IRA had the place locked down to anyone who didn’t belong. Emily was a doctor; she belonged in the whole hospital.
“Which patient were you hoping to see, Dr. Hughes?” There were no IRA men in the actual autopsy room – small mercies.
“Just go to your office, Dr. Miller. Make tea.” She countered, “If anyone asks, I came to see Mrs. Jones.”
Cautiously, he’d agreed to her terms and slipped into the room next door. It didn’t take her long to get the sheet off the IRA man, Ryan, and start to take a look.
Abdominal wound. Small – low calibre. Nothing she recognized.
The bullet was in a cup next to the bed. It was a .32, Harrington & Richardson Self-Loader. She was almost shocked at her own knowledge for a moment, in 1913 she would never have known that.
An odd gun. Maguire had carried one in that meeting. Odds were Ryan had too. Shot with his own gun?
Probing the wound, there wasn’t anything too damning about it. Abdominal wound, blood loss then infection then death. He looks to have lost enough blood that he didn’t have to wait for the infection to finish it.
Finally she looked to his hands, specifically for any signs that there had been a struggle, any signs that maybe the gun had gone off in his palm. There was a small powder burn on the thumb of the left hand. He was left-handed, made sense.
Moving to the right hand, she paused. Hair. He’d grabbed the person who shot him.
Picking up the few errant strands, she held them up to the light.
Long, blonde hairs.
She pulled the pillow over her face and resisted the urge to scream into it. She couldn’t prove anything. And if she was going to make the case, she needed more than this. It would ruin lives if she was wrong.
“Polly.” The woman nearly jumped out of her skin, turning quickly in her chair to see Emily standing a few paces behind her, unreadable look on her face.
The betting house had been closed for over an hour now and it was supposed to be just her here. In fact, Emily was supposed to be working at the hospital today. So, seeing her here, wearing a look so void of feeling, the look she only adopted when something had rattled her, sent a pit directly to Polly’s stomach.
“What’s the matter? What’s happened?”
Emily blinked at her, voice flat when she did speak. “We have a big fucking problem. I need to talk to Tommy, right now.”
“How bad?”
“Potentially catastrophic.”
Polly took a deep breath. Emily was not one to take to undue hysterics, she wasn’t dramatic, and she rarely embellished. Normally it was something Polly valued, but just for a second, she wished Emily was prone to going overboard because maybe she’d be a little less worried.
“The boys are at the Garrison. We could head over…” She trailed off as Emily shook her head slowly.
“It has to be here. It has to be now. It can’t seem like something’s wrong – we don’t want the wrong person tipped off.”
“The wrong person?” Polly covered her mouth for a second, realising, “There’s a mole?”
“We need Tommy here, now.”
“You know who it is?”
“Now, Polly. Send one of the boys. If I go there…” And for a second there was a current of fire underneath her breath, the promise of violence and retribution. A taste of the girl who was just as dangerous as the boys she grew up with but chose to heal instead. Polly got the impression there would be no healing from the results of her fury.
“I’ll go. Won’t be long.”
“Tell Tommy,” Polly paused in her hurried movements, waiting for Emily to finish, “Tell him I’m making one of my mother’s recipes and I want him to try.”
Polly nodded. The two of them sometimes seemed to speak a different language filled with shared anecdotes and hidden meanings. As children they would play little games of make believe and tell stories no one else would even try to follow. Tommy would always know when she needed him and she would always know what was upsetting him when no one else could figure it out. Polly never knew how they knew each other so well, but what she did know here is that Tommy would understand the message, and he’d come running.
Not quite running, but definitely at a brisker pace. It was like a switch flipped when she’d walked in on Tommy being chatted up by Grace – poor girl had no idea he was so uninterested – and pasted on a long-suffering smile.
“Tommy, I’m here on behalf of Emily. She told me to tell you she’s making one of her mother’s recipes and wants you to give it a try. Of all the days to get a passion for cooking.” She laid her exasperation on thick, but all the while she looked for any change in Tommy’s demeanour.
She didn’t need to look too hard, his eyes hardened and the fist at his side tightened.
“Her mother’s recipe?” Polly nodded in confirmation, and somehow, he had both dismissed Grace and gotten them out onto the street in less than a minute.
“What’s happened?”
“Emily found a mole.” Her voice was low, quiet. “I don’t know who yet. She’s back at the house.”
His jaw tightened and he sped up yet again, long strides almost leaving her behind, but she didn’t mind.
“It was at the gallery.” She slipped her notepad across the table. “I got fast at notetaking at school. This is all they said.”
Tommy picked it up, flipped the two or three pages of the notepad, and threw it down on the table when he was finished. Shooting out of his chair, he lit a smoke, to help him calm down, but he couldn’t help but pace.
So much like his mother at times, Polly thought ruefully, picking up the notepad to get her own look and swallowing heavily at the words that met her.
“I sent Curly to the junction points; he’ll know if anything’s amiss. Inspector said he didn’t fuck with anything, but I trust coppers as far as I can throw them. Even if he seems to be in love with the twat.”
Maybe all the good sense from the boys’ mother actually somehow made its way into the one person in the family without Shelby blood.
“What did you tell him?” Tommy’s voice was tight, like the grip he had on the back of the chair he was sitting in before.
“That I got a tip we could have been robbed.” She shrugged, taking a swig from the bottle in the middle of the table. “What do you want to do, Tom?”
That was the question. What the fuck were they going to do?
But Tommy didn’t say anything, Polly’s brow furrowed as she watched a silent conversation happen between the two people in the room with her. She could swear they could read each other’s minds.
“Okay. I’ll get rid of the girl after the pub closes. If she knows what’s good for her, we’ll never see her again.” Another swig and heavy swallow follow. “You need to talk to Arthur, figure out what he’s let loose. And if you’ve told her anything. The minute I boot her though, the inspector’ll know, even if it’s in the dead of night. Better tell the boys to be on high alert, especially since we’ll all be with the Lee’s in two days.”
Tommy nodded, head bowed. In this moment, she swears she could see a peak at the boy he used to be. At the boy who never wanted this life, wanted to be a stablemaster and work with horses all day and never fire anything more than a starter pistol.
“I’ll get the word out and have Arthur come talk to you after the Garrison closes.” Polly said, standing. “Don’t be too kind when you confront her.”
Polly thought her voice was dark, but it held nothing to the deep hatred burning in Emily’s when she responded. “Don’t worry.”
If she was a better woman, Polly may have pitied that Grace girl.
As she went to get the ball moving, she heard the tell-tale sound of chair legs scraping across the ground and smiled. Even if she didn’t know how to comfort Tommy, Emily did.
“Oh, Emily! I’m just cleaning up. I think Arthur went home.” Grace greeted, trying not to show just how startled she’d been to turn and find the woman standing in the middle of the pub. How had she not heard her come in? “How’d the recipe turn out?”
“Whiskey, two glasses.”
Something here felt off, felt heavy. Emily was rarely so curt, in fact Grace had never seen it. Even when she was stressed, when things in the gang were going wrong, she was still kind.
Grace moved quickly to comply, abandoning her rag, and grabbing a bottle with both glasses. She sat opposite at the table and now that she had a better look at Emily’s face, she marvelled at the complete lack of expression. It was as if she was looking at Tommy when he was at his most cold.
“When I was at school in London, I tried Cognac for the first time.” Where the hell was this going? “It was good. I have a bottle at home, and I’ve come to enjoy the stuff. On occasion.” She slid Grace a glass of the whiskey, taking a small sip of her own before continuing. “It’s expensive, but well, we hoodlums are entitled to our pretentions.”
The world stopped, everything stopped, except her heart which had begun to beat so violently it felt as though it would burst from her chest.
“Tell me, Grace, do you find our pretentions breath-taking?”
She wasn’t even looking at her, chair pointed at the wall, gaze out the window. Leaving Grace with nothing but the profile of the woman, of the hard lines of her jaw and coldness in her emerald eyes.
Her gun. She needed her gun. She shot out of her chair, lunging for her purse, and yet still even with the gun in her hand, she didn’t feel safe. Even here, pointing it at Emily, she didn’t feel safe.
And she hadn’t even turned. The doctor hadn’t even averted her eyes from the moonlight out the Garrison’s dirty old windows.
“Knew there was a weapon in there.” She breathed more to herself than Grace, tipping the glass back and downing its contents.
“I am an agent of the crown.” She was near shouting, her fear causing the hand to shake. “I have the authority to shoot you at will.”
Emily still wasn’t looking at her.
“I’m not going to kill you, Grace.” She continued, finally turning, but not to face Grace, instead pouring herself another glass. “Mostly because I pity you.”
Grace paused at that, her hand wavering but not yet dropping. “This gun is loaded.”
“You fell for Tommy properly, didn’t you?” She snorted into her glass. “Suppose I can’t blame you. But you actually thought you’d come in here and we’d all end up on the wrong side of the hangman’s noose. And it all went to shit when you met Tommy.”
Now, she finally tilted back to look at Grace, at the gun that was pointed so low it would barely hit her. “Put that down and finish your drink.”
And Grace… did. She tucked the gun into her apron and retook her seat, just as she had been in it before. Except now, she was staring directly at Grace and Grace… almost wished she wasn’t because she never wanted to come face to face with this part of Emily.
This part that Harry had wanted her to understand was there. She’s nice as long as you’re good to her family. If you’re not… This was the woman who had the family of feared gangsters wrapped around her finger, who went to war and was one of the only women to serve in front line field medical tents, who was kind until she wasn’t and was willing to burn England to the ground if it meant keeping her family safe. She’d thought Emily was disarming when they first met – and she had been – but it was suddenly clear to her how disarming didn’t mean not dangerous.
“Your father was Sargent Robert Burgess, a copper, a union man. Shot by rebels in Galway.” Grace was so tense she felt liable to snap at a stiff breeze. “Saw a memorial for him when I was in the city, that’s where I knew your name from, your face. You look like him.
“That’s when you joined up, wasn’t it? You came here because you thought Fenians, communists, low people... they're all the same. Scum. Then you met our Tom.” She huffed, amused. “Like I said, can’t blame you.”
The tension eased a little and Grace’s hand barely shook as she took her glass for another sip. “What was he like,” she breathed, “before France, before the war?”
And she smiled, “Smiled lots. Oh God that smile could break your heart and make you feel alive at the same time. Got us out of lots of trouble as kids. And God his eyes were always full of things yet to come. He was so funny too. He loved to laugh and be mischievous. Wanted to work with horses and spun the most fantastic tales.” Grace felt herself smile against her will, while Emily sighed. “He still is. Still funny and silly and kind, and his smile can still light up a room, but he doesn’t know how to just be anymore. No one who went over came back the same.”
Once again Emily filled up her glass and Grace sat in silence, comforted only by the feel of the cold steel under her fingers.
“He doesn’t love you. He would have kissed you by now if he had.” And Grace’s chest tightened for another reason. A deep feeling of loss. She thought he was going to on so many occasions. She hoped he was going to. But he hadn’t. “He will not protect you, he will not forgive you, he will never see you again. But Tommy is still kind despite everything. Because if he wasn’t I’d have put a bullet between your eyes and gone home to bed.”
Grace flinched at the nonchalant tone, at the flippant attitude to murder, to her murder. And her hand clutched tightly again to the gun in her hand.
“You will go upstairs and pack your belongings, quickly. Then you will leave the Garrison. In the morning you will be on the first train out of the city. Where you stay tonight is not my concern, whether that’s the street or in the bed of that inspector who wants to fuck you. But in the morning, I will look for you, and your future depends on what I find.”
Grace slammed the glass down on the table, a crack making its way up the edge.
“I could just kill you.”
Emily nodded, still staring her down. “You could. What happens after that is out of my hands, but I know who I am to my boys, to the Peaky Blinders. Tell me, Grace, what do you think would happen to you if I died in this pub tonight?”
The gun slid from her lap onto the floor. All her false bravado, gone, filled with nothing but dread. If Emily died here, tonight? If she killed the woman loved so dearly by the upper echelons of the Peaky Blinders? She shuddered to think of it.
“I’ll be here, but don’t tarry, Grace. I don’t have all night.”
When she came back down, no more than 15 minutes later, the gun was no longer on the floor and Emily was still in the same spot.
“Now get out. And if I ever see you again, I will kill you.”
--- Chapter 11 ---
A/N2: I told you I'd deal with Grace! Long chapter and I'm still alive!
(Listen I know the morgue system didn't exist back then but fiction)
Summary - Sharp-tongued, steady-handed, and raised beside the Shelbys like blood, Dr. Emily Hughes weaves through their war for Birmingham with a surgeon’s precision—offering comfort, challenge, and quiet resistance, especially to the man who’s forgetting how to be anything but a weapon.
Word Count - 6,096
Warnings - less than canon-typical violence
A/N - Hey it's July I've been moving all around the fucking country what a nightmare.
Thanks for the support <3 Would love to know what you think!
Chapter 8
“They can stay. It’s fine.” Emily said, cutting across the argument between a still terrified Finn and Polly, the former not wanting to be any farther from her than necessary – still frightened and clingier than he was normally.
It took a few seconds to realise the other person she was referring to was him. It hadn’t occurred to him to leave when Polly closed the meeting room doors.
“Sit down.” Pol ordered.
She sighed, taking the bottle of gin from Emily, who looked ready to keep helping out. He placed his hand on her unaffected shoulder and gently steered her into a chair. Finn immediately climbed into her lap. Smart lad, that would keep her sitting.
“I’ll just cut it open.” Polly muttered to herself, grabbing a pair of scissors. “It’s headed for the bin anyway.”
Emily quietly wiped away the remaining tracts of tears on his little face, offering a small smile to the boy.
“Thank you for sitting with me, Finny.”
His response was to lean forward and wrap his arms around her. She slid his cap off and kissed the top of his head.
I’ve had worse. And there was the worse. Polly’s scissors cutting the rear of the blouse open, exposing the scars that marred her back. The cigarette burns around her right shoulder, the strip of burned flesh from a hurled kettle. Clusters of small scars telling the sad story of a childhood. And the worst of them all – the handful of straight, rope-like scars going from just below her neck to just above the small of her back.
“Mum help! Aunt Polly!” She was slipping from his grip, head lolling. It was hard to get a good hold on her with all the blood. God, there was so much blood and he didn’t know what to–
He squeezed his eyes shut against the memory, taking a shaky breath and following it with a drag of his cigarette.
From the corner of her eye, she was watching him.
“Not pretty, is it?” She joked, offering a small smile. Lowering her head so her cheek rested on Finn’s hair, she sighed. “I don’t like looking at it either.”
“You’re beautiful.” He shot back automatically, furious at her words and refusing to let them stand for more than a second. “Always.”
Polly shook her head. “Idiots.” She muttered, which Tommy didn’t understand and didn’t care to. Polly thought they were all stupid most of the time.
Instead he poured them both a glass of gin out of the bottle Pol would be about to use on her back. With thanks, Em took a sip and closed her eyes.
“This is going to hurt.” Was all the warning they got before Pol had ripped the jagged piece of metal from her back.
Emily cried out, before swallowing a louder scream by sheer force of will. Her jaw was tensed so tightly he thought she might crack a tooth. Without thinking, he reached out and took her hand.
“Fuck you, Polly.” She seethed, gasping when her words were followed with a healthy dose of gin being poured over top. He let her squeeze his hand until her hands turned white along with his. He could bear the discomfort without question for her.
Finn kissed her cheek, bringing a sweet smile to her face despite the pain.
“Love you, Emmy.”
And she beamed. She always beamed when one of them said they loved her. Like they warmed her heart and soul just by saying aloud the words she should have already known were true.
“…this is your family, not mine. I don’t have one.” Maybe that was why. Maybe she held onto scraps of any affection with both hands because she was so scared it would disappear at any point. It wasn’t like his own actions had shown her any differently recently.
His stomach knotted at that thought.
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
Her hand twitched in his when the needle went in, but she gently kissed Finn’s forehead anyway.
“This is much more convenient than coming to yours.” Emily joked, putting her hands gently on Ada’s huge stomach. Seeing her and Freddie at the kitchen table for breakfast had been a surprise, but not an unwelcomed one. Considering the agony she was in this morning, she hadn’t been looking forward to a long walk to their place. “Give me a moment.”
But her hands were taken off the young woman’s body, forcing her to look into the Shelby girl’s face.
“Are you okay? Pol told me what happened; I’ve been sick with worry.” Ada breathed, sounding more a woman than the girl Emily knew her to be.
“We both have.” Freddie’s voice was gruff, but honest. He was staring at her shoulder as if he could see the wound through her blouse. His fists clenched and unclenched, like they always had when he was stressed as a boy.
“I’m fine. Don’t be ridiculous.” She squeezed the hands holding her own. Ignoring the twinge, the throbbing. “Now let me look at you.”
She smiled, hands sliding into places on the left and right hypochondrium and pressing in. Then down the flanks and finally onto the umbilicus. A small kick met her fingers in the centre and she laughed. “Quite a leg on that one.”
She felt the lie and frowned to herself slightly.
“You’re going to pop any day now, Ada. Be aware of that, eh? Make sure someone comes and finds me if I’m not there when your water goes.”
They weren’t paying enough attention to her words.
“Look at me.” Her face turned serious, and she made sure both of them met her eyes when she spoke. “This baby is in breech. It will be a difficult birth. You need a doctor there, do you understand me?”
“Course, Em.” Ada nodded to Freddie’s words, both of them sobering quickly.
“Good.”
She sat back into her chair and smiled up at Pol when she came in with a teapot. The news of a new boy to the family spread rather quickly, joy suffusing the home again. Though the teasing that erupted when the soon-to-be parents let it slip that they were going to name him after Karl Marx was nothing short of legendary.
It warmed her to see Tommy and Freddie laughing together again. She’d needed this as much as they had.
“Dr. Hughes!”
What?
“Inspector Campbell,” the annoyance was clear in her voice. “I’m with a patient.”
He didn’t seem to care, ripping the curtain open, alarming herself and the man she was assessing. She pulled the blanket over the stub of his leg, eyes apologetic.
“I’m sorry, Mr. White. We don’t normally have policemen barging on patients.” She felt truly bad for him. How low did you have to be to attack people at their most vulnerable?
“I think we’re overdue for another conversation, Dr. Hughes. I’m sure the good Mr. White won’t mind, will you sir?”
The man shook his head violently, and she didn’t blame him. This copper could be quite frightening when he wanted to be. What the fuck could he possibly be here for? The guns were going to be gone in two days, but there was no way he knew that.
Walking out of the room and handing her clipboard to the nurse, Rose, she asked that Mr. White be assessed and offered some comfort while he waited for another doctor. She doubted this would be a short conversation.
“I have an office, inspector. If you’ll come this way.”
Small Heath hospital wasn’t a small place, but it wasn’t the size of the ones she’d worked at in Galway or London. Still, big enough that every physician had their own room.
Opening the door, she bade him enter and closed it behind. A pile of paperwork waited on her desk, as well as a few of her things placed around the room. It was an impersonal place by design, the last thing she needed was someone going through it to find out more about her.
“Now, inspector, tell me: what do you require from me this time?” There would be no interruptions here, she knew. That frightened her but the risk an eavesdropper posed was so much greater in her mind. “Has something gone awry in your hunt for… what was it again that you had asked me about… was it guns?”
He tried to play it calm and collected, smirking at her, but she could see a strain around his eyes, a discomfort in his countenance. His smile was forced, his worry was not.
“You have a fine memory, doctor.” He took a seat at the table.
She raised her eyebrows, taking her own seat across the desk from him. It was comforting to have a distance and a physical barrier between them.
He continued without need of her input.
“The Shelby girl just got married to a communist. The other one’s about to marry a whore.” He laughed uneasily. “Not the most dignified company for a lady like yourself to keep.”
“Think what you wish about my friends, but know that they have never accosted me in the street or at my place of work.”
The smile he had been putting up did finally fall and that made her own grow.
“I cannot imagine what you hope to get out of this meeting, inspector.”
He leaned forward in his chair, cold gaze boring into her, but she refused to look away, she would not be the one to break here.
“I’m looking to make a deal.” Her eyebrows raised automatically. “Thomas won’t meet with me, and Mr. Churchill is getting quite impatient. You should know, if I’m fired, and it was the fault of you and your people…” He chuckled, “I would do things that would shame the devil.”
She swallowed, leaning back in her own chair. “I cannot stress enough that I, nor my friends, have any knowledge about your prize. You would have much greater luck attempting to get blood from a stone, inspector.”
He chuckled, looking down at his hands and back up at her. “I think it’s time we cut the crap, Dr. Hughes. You and I both know that you know about those guns.” She didn’t say anything, and he apparently wasn’t expecting her to. “The sooner you admit it, the sooner we are finished with this ridiculous farce and I can be on my way.”
“No one would appreciate that more than I.” She shot back, tone annoyed and sharp.
“I believe I’m starting to understand better the way things are run among your little hooligans in this hellhole.” It was like she hadn’t said a word. “I thought Arthur was in charge, but I was wrong. Then I thought it was Tommy and you were just his little whore.” He looked up at her, as if waiting for a reaction, one she refused to give him.
“Now I understand it’s more than that. You’re his right hand.”
Most people outside of the family didn’t realise that, and that was by design. Half of her was impressed that he did, and the other uneasy for the same reason.
“I find men don’t react well when you cut off their right hands.”
She blinked a few times, distantly wondering what weapons she had in reach, “Are you threatening me, inspector?”
He chuckled again, standing up from his chair. It took all her effort not to tense as he took a step towards her desk.
“I don’t threaten, Dr. Hughes.” He left a business card on the table. “I recommend Thomas gets in contact with me soon, before I get fired. Or you’ll see that my fury is a thing to behold. I would start with you, but I surely would not end there. Those scum associates of yours, even the sister with her baby, wouldn’t be spared. The only one to be spared would be the youngest one, Finn. He would however be lifted as a juvenile and dumped into that part of the adult prison where men have most appetite for boys like him.”
Her heart was pounding. For the first time since he came to town, she was afraid. Horribly afraid. And overwhelmingly furious. Her hand itched for a gun, but instead she sat placidly, meeting his gaze with unwavering intensity.
“Know that I would save them for my last day, but I could start so much earlier with you, Dr. Hughes. Cutting off a right hand ends a fight much quicker.”
She stayed sitting there for a good half an hour after the inspector had left.
He wouldn’t take it well. For all that Tommy was a shrewd businessman, a powerful gangster, someone confident and in control (usually), he didn’t take threats against his family well. Knowing that Campbell was threatening to kill her soon and the rest of his family when he left town… she worried he wouldn’t think clearly.
He’d meet with the inspector. But if she could be at that meeting…
“What is it?”
She nearly startled when Tommy took the seat across from her at the table. Blinking uncomprehendingly at him until he kept talking.
“You hardly ate anything at dinner, been in your head since you got home. What’s happened?”
She sighed. “You aren’t going to like it.”
He sort of figured whatever it was wouldn’t be good even before Emily warned him. He assumed it would probably annoy him or at worst inconvenience him. By the end of her recounting, he was fucking furious. Pacing up and down the dining room, agitated, burning through his cigarette aggressively.
“Tommy?” Her voice was soft, entreating, concerned. So gentle with him, as she always was. That inspector threatened to kill her, and she was more worried about what was going on in his head. He wanted to rip his head off, wanted to find that inspector and choke him until he was begging for air.
Emily was still just watching him pace, patient and attentive.
“I don’t think he can actually do any of that once he gets fired. I mean the idea of anything happening to your family scares the hell out of me, but I thought about it. You’ll be in too good of a position with money from the races and the rest you’ll get from Patrick. Could buy off every bleeding copper from here to London if you wanted.”
His heart clenched, willing her to stay silent; she was trying to fix it but for once she was also making it worse.
“I think it’ll be fine if you just wait it out–”
“It won’t be fucking fine!” He shouted back, stunning her into silence.
She was just blinking at him, speechless from his outburst. A kick of guilt his him – yelling at her always made him feel like shit, but this time he couldn’t control it. He took a few deep breaths, trying to keep his temper aimed in the right direction.
The two stared at each other for a few minutes, her eyes wide, him panting. Both their gazes shot to the doorway when Pol and Arthur appeared, probably attracted by Tommy’s yelling.
“What’s happened?” Arthur poured himself a glass of whiskey while Pol opened with the questions.
“That fucking inspector.” Tommy seethed and Arthur’s face darkened, eyes flitting between his brother and Emily.
“What’s he done now?”
“He showed up at my work – forced a meeting.” She said, sounding much more put together than Tommy did in this moment. “Threatened you all if Tommy didn’t meet with him.”
Pol raised her eyebrows and looked over at Tommy. Even she knew there was more to the story than Emily was telling her. Someone threatening them was just a fucking Monday.
“He threatened to kill Emily if I didn’t meet with him. Threatened to end the rest of us on his way out of Birmingham.” Tommy shot back; his voice still filled with rage that he was struggling to contain. “Said cutting off a right hand ends a fight much quicker.”
He could see her wince, regretting giving him quotes from the meeting, using Campbell’s metaphors, because it just made it worse. There were a few seconds of silence, Polly pulling out a cigarette of her own, Arthur slamming back his drink, and Emily standing to get another glass out of the cabinet.
There was no question who Tommy’s right hand was.
“I don’t think it’s something to worry about.” Emily finally offered, still the calmest in any room. “Once everything is finished,” and here she was purposely vague, knowing that it wasn’t yet time to share their plans to betray Kimber, “you’ll have enough money to be untouchable. Whether that inspector has a vendetta when he’s fired or not isn’t going to make a difference.”
Tommy ground his teeth, taking a near violent pull from his cigarette. She was still dancing around the main fucking issue… Or maybe to her it wasn’t the main issue. That thought felt like cold water had been poured down his back and he stopped his movements.
“I’ll meet with him.” He wasn’t yelling anymore, but his voice was low and still angry.
Emily sighed, “It’s not worth the fucking risk, Tommy. You can’t kill him. What the fuck could–”
She only stopped talking because he grabbed her arm, careful to keep his grip firm but not to hurt her.
“It’s worth the risk.”
Willing her not to argue with him, willing her to understand that the risk to everyone else wasn’t real, but the risk to her was. He couldn’t do this without her, couldn’t imagine who he’d be, what would be left of him, if anything ever happened to her. If meeting with the fucking copper would make her even a little safer then it was worth the bleeding risk.
Her shoulders dropped with a sigh, meeting his eyes, and slowly she nodded her head. He’d won. Thank fuck.
“Okay, but I’m coming with you.”
“Emily!” Lizzie’s voice was shocked, evidently not expecting to find the good doctor on the other side of her door. “What are you– I mean, come in.”
Walking into her flat, Emily looked around placidly. It was decently neat. Her bed was made; the bed she took her clients in. The bed she took Tom– no. That wasn’t what she was here for. Apparently, she’d caught Lizzie in the middle of unloading her groceries.
“I think you know why I’m here, Lizzie.”
The woman in question paused with the door halfway closed before she regained herself and shut it.
“Would you like tea? I just bought some new types that I’m excited to try.”
Emily just stared at her for a few moments, watching as her gaze shifted down and she began to pick at her clothes. Nervous and uncomfortable. She knew exactly what Emily was doing here.
“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say.”
Her voice was still soft and demure with that lilt of self-deprecation that didn’t work on her. She’d ended pregnancies for this woman; it wasn’t easy to lie to her after that. It wasn’t easy to lie to her normally.
“I just want to talk.” She said simply, “I told John I had some question so here I am.”
“You’re not against us?”
Emily didn’t respond immediately, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. Letting Lizzie stew, she pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Between the copper and this, the week was really trying to turn around on her. If she hadn’t gotten that new miracle medicine from Dr. Haddington, she’d be in a much less kind headspace.
“John is allowed to make his own decisions, as are you: you’re both adults.” She paused to take a deep drag of her cigarette, watching Lizzie continue to get more and more uncomfortable with the prolonged silences. “But I’m sure you know how important John is to me.”
The woman nodded quickly, “Of course. You’re his sister. He’s… he’s said– he’s told me how you take care of him, of all his family.”
She couldn’t help the warmth that bloomed, spreading from head to toe, letting her feel so profoundly loved. If she wasn’t in her business mindset, she would be smiling like an idiot. John was always such a sweet boy.
That’s why she had to do this.
“You’re right – I am close with the whole family. I’m also a doctor. Tell me Lizzie: have you told John that in addition to marrying him, you’ve been servicing Tommy? Or how about the list of other men you’re still currently fucking?”
She watched the other woman pale, eyes going wide. Was she fucking stupid? How did she not see this conversation coming? Did she think Emily would let anyone join this family?
“You haven’t told him about any of that, Lizzie. Why not?”
“I don’t want to lose him! He’s a good man, Emily. Please.” Her voice broke, hands wringing in her skirts. “I love him, please.”
Emily didn’t reply for a long time, trying to stop her own anger from exploding on this woman. She didn’t care that she was a sex worker, didn’t care that she made her money this way. What she cared about was the fucking lies.
“You want me to let you marry him under false pretext. Is that what you’re saying? Is that love to you, Lizzie? Lies and infidelity?”
Tears were dripping down Lizzie’s cheeks. Still looking down to the ground, even trembling now, but she remained silent.
“I asked you a fucking question, Lizzie.”
“I–” She swallowed heavily, sniffling. “I don’t want to lose him. He’s so good to me, Emily. I’ll change; I want to be better for him. The past is the past – I haven’t– Tommy hasn’t come to me in months.”
Emily resisted the urge to grind her teeth. Yeah, she had been pretty sure that Tommy hadn’t been going since she’d been back. That didn’t make her less mad that he had to begin with– no, she needed to keep her head.
But God what the fuck did Lizzie have that she didn’t?
“I will not stop him from marrying you.” When Lizzie looked up at that, almost relieved, Emily held her hand up to stall her premature joy. “But he will have all the information first.”
She stood up, extinguishing her cigarette in Lizzie’s ashtray.
“You have until the evening to tell him everything. If you have not, and I will check, then I will fill in the gaps with much more detail than I’m sure you want. Remember, I have treated you and most of your client base.”
She didn’t wait for the reply, didn’t pause to see the effects that her words had, just walked past the woman and left. She may have heard the beginning of a sob when the door closed behind her, but that wasn’t her concern.
The Lickey Tea Rooms. She’d never been here before and it felt a bit ridiculous being here now – especially to meet a bloody copper. The ornate murals on the walls and the maids walking around she was sure were made to make her feel out of place. Sadly, she’d been feeling out of place so often recently it barely registered now.
He was standing when they entered, Tommy on her left; she thought it would be amusing if she actually entered on his right side. A private little joke for herself.
“I chose this place because it is outside of both our jurisdictions.”
He seemed uncomfortable; the copper felt out of place. Not in this tearoom, but in this meeting. Or maybe he was playing it up. He was hard to read when it wasn’t just anger and disgust in his eyes.
“Would you like tea?” He was looking between them, acknowledging her. Taking her seriously as Tommy’s partner. She could at least respect that if nothing else. At least she didn’t have to hide her role in this meeting.
Pulling out her chair and seating her before taking his own, Tommy was in fine form. His gaze was cold and hard, unreadable to anyone else in the world.
Not her though. She could see that he was fucking furious.
“You asked for a meeting, and here we are.” He finally spoke, voice as chilly as the wind in winter. “I am a businessman, inspector. I want my business to be successful. I can’t do that if my people are harassed.”
She watched the man’s eyes flick to her then back to Tommy.
“And I want my city to run peacefully.”
“Which would be good for business.” She added, matching Tommy’s tone. “Seems we may be on the same side.”
The inspector huffed half a laugh, “How exactly can we be on the same side if you refuse to meet?”
“You expect us to meet with you when you attack my family in the street.”
Tommy’s accusation actually seemed to amuse the inspector, the stressed corners of his eyes smoothing slightly. He was proud. That was… disturbing. She did terrible things, as did Tommy and the rest of the family, but they did not relish those things. Sure, a good fight was appreciated, but murder? Abuse? Necessary but not pride-inducing.
“I do what is necessary to meet my ends, Mr. Shelby. I’m sure you understand that.”
“As do we.” She butted in, knowing that Tommy would respond much less appropriately than she did. “But any aggression has come solely from your side, and I wonder to what end.”
“I’m not looking to start a war, Dr. Hughes, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“As the only person at this table who didn’t serve their country, what would you know of war?” His eyes darkened, embarrassment blooming into anger instead. She looked around the room lazily, noticing Tommy’s approval, before turning back to him. “What are we meant to think? You keep making threats and assumptions about us. About what we know and how we know it. You’re negotiating from a weak position, inspector.”
“I didn’t realise we were negotiating, Dr. Hughes.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. Still defensive. Still angry. Good.
Her and Tommy looked at each other, him offering just the smallest of nods. She could proceed now. Whose idea this tactic had been at this point, she wasn’t sure. The two of them were too in sync sometimes to tell.
“We don’t have your prize, inspector.” She watched as his jaw clenched, ready to argue, before she continued. “But we know who does.”
They were playing with fire now. A lot hedged on the idea that the rest of the family, that Curly and Charlie, that everyone who knew kept their bleeding mouths shut. If he had any proof that they actually had those guns, if he had been tipped off, then it was over.
He didn’t argue, but she could feel the weight of his gaze, piercing her. Keeping up her disinterested tone, she continued.
“Thing is, we don’t like people making moves in our territory without permission. Especially when the result of their sloppiness gets pinned on us. We are a lot of things, but sloppy isn’t one of them.”
She knew if he could, Tommy would roll his eyes. It was sloppy. They were never supposed to get these guns.
“They grabbed the wrong crate?” She could hear the exhaustion in her own voice. The men were probably drunk, or high, or both. How do you mix up petrol-engine motorbikes with guns? God she’d been back for only a few hours and there were already fires to put out.
Tommy nodded, lighting a cigarette. He leaned his head back against the wall behind her bed, first puff of smoke headed towards the ceiling of her bedroom.
The moon was full, and Birmingham was quiet – not usual but then again it was three in the morning. Even the liveliest shitholes had to have some quiet hours.
“Tell me the contents again.”
His voice was soft, more a confession than anything else, “Twenty-five Lewis machine guns with ten thousand rounds of ammunition. Fifty semi-automatic rifles, two hundred pistols with shells. All bound for Libya.”
“Fucking hell.” She breathed, closing her eyes for a second.
That was no small order. Between the unrest in Ireland and the sheer volume of guns… things were going to get interesting really quickly.
“Who knows?”
“Curly, Charlie, Polly. You.”
“Pol and Charlie want you to dump them.” It wasn’t a question, but Tommy nodded anyway.
His distant gaze only focused when she made her way to the bed, sitting and sliding up until she was sat next to him, pressed shoulder to knee. On the next pull of his cigarette, she took it from his mouth and took a drag for herself.
“Well. That’s one option.” She hummed, handing back the fag. “Definitely the safest one.”
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, and she met his gaze easily.
“It is.”
Slowly she offered a small smile, “It’s not the only one.”
He grinned back at her, tension in his shoulders somehow lessening. Handing back the cigarette, he nodded, “No, love, it isn’t.”
She leaned forward over the table. This invited the inspector to move in closer, which he did on instinct.
“We’ll give you the information on your thief. We’ll even tell you where the guns are headed. If our conditions are met.”
“What conditions are those?”
“We intend to do business with Billy Kimber.” She leaned back when Tommy started, “He runs most of the legal track-side betting outside of London. He has policemen on his payroll. We want you to put in a word with the Chief Inspector at Gloucestershire that his men should leave us alone when we make our move.”
“Oh, and stop lifting runners, stop looking into Shelby operations.” She crossed her legs, offering the inspector her flattest expression. “It’s a nuisance that could be done without.”
It was always interesting to see the reactions of people who got the opportunity to see different parts of her personality, different acts she put on. Campbell had only seen the posh doctor act. It was obvious that the cutthroat racketeer threw him off just a little.
“We’re fair people. It’s a fair offer.” Tommy mused. Under the table, she placed her hand on his. “Do we have a deal?”
The inspector was looking between them, silent, for so long that Tommy sighed.
“I need an answer. Right now.”
Slowly, the inspector nodded. “Very well.”
And somehow, they’d come out of this alright. Or so she hoped. Only time would tell.
“John?”
She closed her book and sat a little straighter, confused that the person coming to her at night for once wasn’t Tommy. She certainly hadn’t been expecting it to be him knocking.
“I– she–”
He swallowed heavily, swaying slightly. Eyes unfocused. Drunk. Immediately Emily knew what had happened. She grit her teeth against the instinctive pang of guilt, instead opening her arms for him like she used to when he was a little boy.
As if it had been the thing he was waiting for it, he practically fell into her embrace. The air was thick with the smell of cigarettes and whiskey. How drunk was he?
She kissed his temple and pulled them into the bed, so she was sitting with her back against the wall. His face was pressed into her neck, while her arms held him tightly.
Every one of the Shelbys found comfort in a different type of embrace: Arthur liked to be enveloped, full bear hugs and heavy weights on his chest, something to keep him grounded; Tommy preferred to be the weight, hands in his hair and soft movement, a gentle embrace he could hide himself in; Finn liked to be tucked under an arm, pressed to a side, like he was a part of some secret club; Ada liked to be the one doing the holding, clutching tightly while the hands that held her back were gentle and easy to shrug off if she needed, letting her feel more in control; and John was all about the tight embrace, being held with all possible strength, as if he was afraid of being forgotten.
It had been a long time since he’d come to her like this, but she hadn’t forgotten. Her arms were tight around him as he talked about Lizzie, as he vented, as he told her that he just needed someone. Coming back from the War to a dead wife had been a nightmare; one she could not imagine, nor did she want to.
“I’m here, Johnny.” She kissed his temple again. “Your kids are lucky to have you, love. And you will find a wife, you will. And she will love you as much as you deserve, the way you deserve.”
She and Tommy had been talking and… well she only hoped they didn’t ruin John’s trust with their little plan.
He fell asleep in her arms that night, worn by the emotional exhaustion and the heavy drinking. She kept him locked in an embrace the whole time. When he woke in her bed the next morning, she could see how embarrassed he was now that the drink had worn off. Still, he let her kiss his temple.
“Love you, Emmy.” The words were grumbled and said with a red face, but she beamed at him, nonetheless.
“I love you too, Johnny.”
The next night the guns were gone. She breathed a sigh of relief as she watched the contents of the casket get hauled into two crates in the back of Patrick’s vehicle. The moonlight felt too much like a spotlight and the sooner this got done, the better.
The Liden fellow had shown up again to help the boys move the gear. Tommy hadn’t wanted her here tonight, but she had to make sure this was done, see it with her own eyes.
“Well, Emily, I have to say: I never expected our association to be profitable in this way.”
Patrick hadn’t helped carry a single thing. Of course he hadn’t. She hadn’t either but that’s because she’d been glared away by Arthur.
“Have you got a buyer lined up?” She countered, unwilling to engage with the familiarity in his words.
“A few.” He chuckled, “but I fail to see how that’s your concern. Unless you want to leave this place? A smart, cutthroat businesswoman like yourself? I could use you in my organisation. I’ll also pay you at least triple what they do.”
Her eyebrows raised without conscious thought. He wasn’t even subtle about the offer, speaking in full hearing of the four others present. It earned him three furious glares, but she raised her hand to stall their responses.
“I have no intention of going anywhere.” She watched the tension in Tommy’s shoulders lessen at her words. As if she would ever leave. “As it is, I’m not a businesswoman; I’m a doctor.” She took a long drag of her cigarette, watching the smoke rise into the bright moonlight. “What you can do is hand over what we’re owed.”
He shrugged, tilting his head towards Mr. Liden, “You can’t blame a man for trying, can you, dear Emily?”
His man reached into the front of the car and produced a small burlap sack, handing it directly to Tommy. The middle Shelby brother peering in and likely doing a quick once over to make sure the amount at least looked right. The counting would happen later.
“If that’s all, Mr. O’Hare, we’ll be ending our business now.”
Tommy’s voice was cold, and he did not reach out to shake the man’s hand. Fair, but someone here had to have manners, so she did. Patrick returned the gesture.
“If you change your mind, you know how to contact me.”
She raised one eyebrow.
“I won’t. But as a parting gift, Patrick, I’ll let you know that there’s an Irish copper who seems to be on the trail of these guns. Getting quite close too. Best of luck with that nonsense.”
He nodded, appearing flippant, but she knew he took her words seriously. The boys made quick work of resettling the dirt over the now-empty coffin in the plot as she watched the two Londoners disappear from the field.
Tommy tossed her the bag and she looked inside. Fuck, that was a lot of money. Enough to protect them, enough to make a huge fucking difference. Maybe this would actually work out.
--- Chapter 10 ---
A/N2: So this is really really long but I've written the Grace-bit which is next chapter pinky promise
Summary - Sharp-tongued, steady-handed, and raised beside the Shelbys like blood, Dr. Emily Hughes weaves through their war for Birmingham with a surgeon’s precision—offering comfort, challenge, and quiet resistance, especially to the man who’s forgetting how to be anything but a weapon.
Word Count - 3,913
Warnings - sexual assault. Not super duper graphic but like. You are warned.
A/N - Hey it's June - I'm back. Stressed to all hell, but alive rip.
Thanks for the support <3 Would love to know what you think!
Chapter 7
Thankfully he and Emily were able to walk quickly through the back way, dodging all the staff and other less savoury characters hanging around.
“Prussian or Romanian?” She asked with a smirk, teasing.
She spun to dodge a man walking by with a large crate with a snort. While they didn’t talk about the plan, she still knew what he wanted from her – thank God he hadn’t fucked things up that badly.
“Prussian this time.” He smiled back, stifling a laugh as she grabbed his hand to pull him a little faster.
“I’m holding you to that dinner, Tommy!” She joked back, her smile absolutely took his breath away.
As they turned the corner, she dropped his hand, pausing for a brief moment. It was always interesting to watch her shift into someone else. Her shoulders rolled back, her smile turned calm and placid, her countenance sharpened into something posh and aloof.
Interesting and discomforting. Maybe it was because he knew she hated it, but he hated it too.
“Good day, gentleman. Apologies for the interruption, I’m Lady Catherine Everton. I just stepped out to speak with the man riding my family’s horse. If I could be permitted to pass back inside?”
The two men’s gazes turned to her, sizing her up and down. They weren’t quite leering, but Tommy didn’t like the way their gazes lingered.
“And he is?”
She huffed, convincingly annoyed. “My father insists on my having protection. Ridiculous if you ask me. He’s Prussian, doesn’t speak a word of English, so you can imagine the scintillating company that he makes.”
The two laughed, one stepping back to hold the door open for her.
“I hope your day gets better, Lady Catherine.” And she smiled demurely, sliding past the two of them.
As soon as they were on the other side, Tommy placed a hand on her spine, urging her towards the banister so they could take a look at the whole room.
“Left corner.” She said softly.
His eyes flicked up and then back down, lighting a cigarette to hide the motion.
“How about that dance, love?”
And her whole face lit up.
“You know he wants to fuck me.” It was through sheer force of will that he didn’t twitch at that, but his hand did tighten on her back, pulling her a little closer to him.
“That’s not happening.”
“Glad we agree.” She joked, spinning in his arms. “We should go dancing more.”
He felt himself smile, “There’ll not be no dancing in the Garrison. Singing’s more than enough, innit?”
Her body was pressed close enough to his that he could feel it when she laughed.
“Are you saying we can’t go anywhere but the Garrison ever again?”
“It’s a new acquisition, love. We have to support the family businesses.”
“A true family man, I see.” She twirled again, “Won’t even take his poor, sad best friend to go dancing more than once every few years.”
“Poor and sad are you now?” Her tinkling laugh raised his spirits. He knew he’d been smiling like an idiot for this whole dance, but he couldn’t be fucked to care.
“Not as poor and sad as Arthur’s going to be if you don’t start leading us back to the service door.”
There was no way Kimber would suffer a woman at the table, and they had to play his game now. So when Tommy came charging back with the bags from Arthur, she hung back a few moments to peer at the cuts on his cheek before kissing his forehead and telling him to clean them before he bandaged them.
“Whiskey, neat.” She ordered, leaning forward on the bar. In the corner of her eye she could see Tommy seated with him, and that’s where she needed to keep her sights.
“And a French 75. Put the lady’s on my table.”
Sighing, she should have seen this coming.
“I can buy my own drink.” She shot back, not bothering to look back at the man who was trying to flirt with her.
See the best part about being in Birmingham was that this rarely happened – people didn’t even try with her, scared of the woman who lived in the home and hearts of the terrifying family. Though sometimes it did ache in her heart when they called her Tommy’s girl – it wasn’t true but by God she wished it was.
He didn’t seem to care about her obvious annoyance, coming to lean next to her on the bar. “Don’t be like that, love. You’ve been left all alone, I’m just trying to offer you some company.”
“The only company I need is the drink.” And with that she took the glass from the bartender and stepped away.
Or she tried to, instead coming face to face with Billy Kimber.
“Your man said it was alright for me to have this dance.” She doubted that, but she happily played along, taking a sip before abandoning the glass back on the bar.
The music turned slower, a waltz rather than the quickstep it had been before. Kimber pulled her indecently close, hand a little lower than she would have liked, but she said nothing, offering him a look of disinterest and placidity. He seemed to respond well to the hard-to-get attitude before.
“You’re that lovely barmaid.” He said finally, as if coming to some grand conclusion.
“Your memory is sound.” She let her accent thicken a bit, but held her head higher.
“A woman as beautiful as you – hard to imagine you with that Peaky.”
Her eyes flicked to Tommy, who she could see watching intently, unhappy but not showing a lick of it. To anyone else, he’d have been the picture of uninterested.
She offered a small smile, “I’m attracted to power, Mr. Kimber.” She said softly. “In all of its forms.”
That was the right thing to say, as his eyes darkened. She could practically see him lusting after her.
When the dance finished and he went back to Tommy and his accountant, Emily lit a cigarette and pulled herself to the bar.
God she wanted to go home already. Sometimes, if she let herself think about it, Tommy’s ambitions scared her. He wanted to become a man who frequented these parties, welcomed and wanted in high society. Wanted to be counted among the toffs, the ruling elite. But this wasn’t her. It was a role she played, and though she played it beautifully, it crawled under her skin and made her itch, drained her energy and left her tired and sad.
Would he leave her behind one day? If she failed to live up to the expectations he was trying to set for his new life? She hoped not. Before the War, he wouldn’t have ever wanted this. Now though, she wondered how long she had left at his side before he found a proper posh girl to bring to these things – a girl who didn’t snap at men who flirted with her, effortlessly high society, who didn’t have to pause and steel herself to become what was needed in these scenarios.
Her mind turned to that barmaid again. Grace would probably do better here than she was. Somehow that ached more than anything else had yet.
In the corner of her eye, she watched Kimber turn to look at her, whispering something in Tommy’s ear. Only a few minutes ago, Tommy’d said that man wouldn’t be allowed to have his way with her. She hoped that was still true now that his ambitions were so close at hand.
One set of hands covered her breasts, resisting her struggles, pushing her shoulders into the ground, while the other ripped her skirt.
“Hush now, doctor, we don’t want anyone to hear. Think of this as a reward for all the work you’ve put in here.”
She could barely breathe, the scent of smoke and mud near overwhelming. Before her wrists were trapped, she’d managed to claw her hand violently against his face. She’d drawn blood, but not enough to stop him, only enough to make him mad.
“Fucking bitch. You’ve been teasing us for days. What did you think was going to happen?”
And his hands moved up and she couldn’t stop him. She tried to kick, tried to flail, but couldn’t scream. If she screamed they were dead – the whole tent was dead, but maybe death would be preferrable to feeling the way his cock slid against–
“We’re leaving.”
Violently, she flinched away from the hand that touched her, ripping herself out of its grip. Her hand balled into a fist and her heart pounded violently against her ribs, stealing her breath. The ringing in her ears reached a fever pitch and she was poised to strike. Poised to run.
Until her eyes flicked up to meet familiar blue. Very familiar blue.
Tommy?
What was he doing here? Was he with them? What was going on?
Slowly the sounds of the hall came back to her, the fast music and chatting patrons, the clink of a glass behind her at the bar. In her periphery the images of dancing men and women, spinning dresses and waiters moving through the crowd. The volume of worry she could now see in those familiar blue eyes.
The races. They were at Cheltenham. Kimber and the Lees and contracts. Fuck. With effort, she let her fingers relax, releasing her fist.
Tommy’s hand was hovering near her own, his whole body radiating concern, eyes locked with her own.
“Sorry.” She breathed, taking a heavy breath. Her voice sounded thin, even to her. “Sorry I was… I was somewhere else. We’re leaving?”
Slowly, he reached out again, watching her for reaction before cautiously putting his hand on her back. His tentative touch made her feel like a broken thing, a fragile piece of glass he was desperately attempting to not crack any more than it already was.
“Come on, love.”
He didn’t say anything as he guided her out of there, touch as soft and as gentle as he could make it. She was trembling under the hand he absolutely refused to remove from her back. Basically tucking her under his arm, trying to avoid letting anyone else so much as graze her side. The idea of anyone touching her right now made him feel violent.
It had scared him when he’d startled her. She looked at him with wild, unfocused eyes, pale faced and panicky. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so viscerally afraid. And she hadn’t recognized him, none of the warmth he so depended on in her eyes. That somehow frightened him the most.
He didn’t start the car right away when they got in. When he reached out for her hand, he started at how cold they were. Quickly he shucked out of his jacket and laid it over her shoulders, relieved when she pulled it tighter around herself.
She was still bloody shaking.
“Did you get your deal?” Her voice was stronger now, less small than it had been. So little of the fear lingered, but it was still there.
He didn’t respond to that, just kept looking at her. Waiting.
“Sorry about the end. It won’t happen again.”
“Want to tell me what it was?”
“France.” He almost flinched at that. “Didn’t sleep well last night, got stuck in my own head.”
Sometimes he forgot. Not that she’d gone over, but that she’d seen things too – that the thing’s she’d seen had gotten to her. She was always so much more put together than any of them were. Sometimes he forgot that she would have bad days too.
“Okay.” He started the car. If she wanted to talk, she would, and he would listen.
“Did you get your deal?” She asked again, clearing her throat. The jacket had helped with the shivering, but it wasn’t totally gone.
“Looks like it.”
She nodded. “What did he want at the end there?”
His grip tightened on the steering wheel.
“Looks like you’re making a deal.” The accountant confirmed that they were at least getting somewhere, but Kimber seemed uninterested. “I have a condition.”
Tommy felt himself tense at the way Kimber’s eyes slid back to Emily, at the way he traced her throat as she took a long drag of her cigarette. The way he lingered on her legs.
“Some time with your girl, Shelby. It’s a simple request.” He got closer, leaning towards Tommy. “I’d like to try my luck, and she’s far too pretty for a man like you.”
Swallowing harshly, Tommy tried not to grit his teeth. “She’s not part of any deal, Mr. Kimber.”
The thought of his hands on her, the way he’d take what he wanted from her. Looking at her like a cheap whore, like something he owned, filled Tommy with a rage he didn’t know he was capable of. Kimber wanted her and he was willing to force her into it.
The man raised his eyebrows. “Anything I fucking want is part of the deal.”
“Pick any other fucking woman. She’s not up for grabs.” The anger was coming into his voice now, the danger he had learned to master. The Devil of Birmingham.
“Gentlemen.” The accountant cut in. “Perhaps we should stay on track here. Mr. Shelby’s proposal is sound, Mr. Kimber. It will prevent significant losses for us.”
Kimber ground his jaw, attempting to stare Tommy down, but this wasn’t a fucking coin thrown on the floor of his pub. This wasn’t a petty ego trip. This was Emily – his fucking Emily – and he would throttle this man with his bare fucking hands right here before he let him touch her.
When Tommy didn’t answer, she nodded.
“I thought so.” Her voice was soft again. Distant. “Thank you for not letting him.”
“Don’t.” The word came out without his permission, stern and unyielding. “Don’t fucking thank me for that.”
The tension he hadn’t realised was building in his body, only began to loosen when she laid her head on his shoulder. Automatically he wrapped an arm around her in turn. Burrowing into his side, she sighed, still cold to touch.
“Okay Tommy. I won’t.”
By the time they made it back to Small Heath, he was calm again.
“What have you done?”
Tugging on the front of his cap and smiling when he shouted in indignation. Arthur snorted from his place on the bench seat.
“You don’t call family meetings often, Johnny. Tell me what you did.”
For John’s part, he glared at her without heat. She was teasing him, and he was used to that, but he had to put up a good face.
“I found me a woman.”
She furrowed her brows, taking a chair at the table, and accepting a glass from the oldest. He was seeing someone? Not anyone he told her about. Through the door she saw Tommy and Polly make their way in.
“Alright John there’s only one man guarding the house.” Tommy said in lieu of greeting, rejecting the glass Arthur offered him. John got to the point rather quick after that.
Lizzie Stark.
John wanted to marry Lizzie fucking Stark.
It took all her self-control not to laugh like everyone else. God Johnny.
It wasn’t even that she was a whore, it was that she knew for a fact that she was still taking other clients – perks of being a bleeding doctor. Fuck, even Tommy had been one of her fucking clients. That thought sobered her quickly.
Right. He’d have anyone but her.
“Johnny.” She said, breaking into the teasing and laughter, waiting till his eyes met hers. His defensive anger falling away when she smiled sweetly at him. “Could I talk to her before you get married? Make sure she’s up to the job, little brother?”
He took a few moments to contemplate, looking out the window and then back to her. Purposefully it seemed ignoring his brothers. Eventually, he nodded to her.
“Thank you, love.”
She knew what the wire cutters meant. She’d heard stories on the front from the boys who ended up in her care. Polly only seemed to take the threat more seriously when all of them froze, looking at each other in shocked understanding. When John’s voice shook as he bade her to stop moving.
The boys were saying something about Erasmus Lee having been in France, about the grenade possibly being anywhere, but her mind was rushing a mile a minute.
If they wanted to kill Tommy, bombing the betting shop wasn’t smart. It was in fact the worst way to get Tommy – the man whose name was on the bullet. Hands going numb, the towel dropped from where she had been holding it against Scudboat’s face.
She was bolting before she could even think about it.
“It’s not here!” She shouted back, halfway out the door already, skirt hiked up.
The Lee’s had probably seen them leave the races. They probably knew what Tommy’s car fucking looked like. The car was a perfect way to kill him – to increase the chances that it would get the man they actually wanted dead.
Her heart was in her throat as she ran faster than she’d ever done before.
Finn was always playing with bloody cars, in the scrapyard or in their garage it didn’t matter. He liked turning the wheel and making engine noises. He’d snuck away after barging into the Garrison with his warning. She couldn’t be sure where he was but it wasn’t a low chance it was in the bloody garage and she’d be dead in hell before anything happened to that boy.
She shoved through the crowd of men chatting nearby, stunned still when she finally made it to the vehicle.
“Finn.” He smiled at her, evidently not registering the fear in her face or voice. “Finn, sweetheart, how did you get in the car?”
“I climbed over the front!” He laughed as she edged closer to the side, primed to grab him if she had to. “Look Em, I’m all grown up now.”
Normally she’d have complimented him, agreed with him, and he’d have beamed. Normally there wasn’t a fucking grenade in the car.
“Crawl back out, Finn. Right now. Exactly the way you went in.”
He thought it was a game. The way she was slowly edging closer to him. He thought she was playing with him, going to chase him like she often did. He would run and she would catch him and tickle him and he’d giggle.
As soon as he reached for the driver’s door, she leapt across the seat and grabbed him. Not fast enough. Not fast enough to stop the door from opening. She didn’t see the grenade but she heard the pin hit the ground, and she pulled him into her arms, enveloping his small body in her hold.
Between her body and the wall to shield him, she hoped that would be enough.
The last thing she heard before the bomb went off was shouts of her name.
Tommy blamed the shock for how long it took him to run after Emily. Always five or ten steps ahead, of course she figured it out, shooting out of the betting shop like a bullet from a gun. The fact that John and Arthur ran after him just as fast, no longer afraid that every step would end in an explosion, only highlighted their faith in her.
He almost stopped when he heard Finn’s giggle and Emily’s voice laced with unbridled terror. He was almost close enough, almost there. Only a few steps away when he saw Emily grab Finn, and envelope his body with her own, pressing both of them low to the wall.
Arthur and John yelled their names, horror overcoming them when they saw the pin on the ground.
The bomb went up and took and car with it, all three boys sent back by the force of the explosion.
His ears were ringing, his head ached. Blinking the dust and debris out of his eyes, Tommy was already rolling over to get up. To his left and right, John and Arthur were doing the same. So were some of the blokes who’d been unlucky enough to be hanging around.
They looked okay, his brothers looked fine. The ones he could see anyway.
“Are you okay? Finn, does anything hurt? Look at me.” Emily’s voice was wild, frightened, but hearing her sent shockwaves of overpowering relief through him.
What remained of the car sat burning, but Tommy could not have cared less in that moment. His legs, only not trembling through sheer force of will, pulled him towards the two voices coming from the corner of the garage. The smoke was thick, the heat searing, but he didn’t care – he needed to see.
There they were: Emily on her knees, holding tightly to a crying Finn. Both covered in soot. For all that he was still a little boy, Finn didn’t cry much. But right now, pressed into Emily’s neck, he was sobbing. That made sense – this must have been fucking terrifying for him. It was terrifying enough for them.
Emily turned to look when his footsteps approached, hackles raising and falling as soon as she realised it was him.
“It was in the car.” She said, even though it was obviously. Her shoulders started sagging a little, relieved herself. “I remembered Finn liked to play in it.”
He nodded, he’d pieced most of it together on the run over, the worst run he’d ever taken. Placing a hand on Finn’s shoulder, he squeezed, comforting the boy. Finn’s response was to sob harder, hiding his face deeper into Emily’s neck.
She was still breathing harshly, fingers of one hand gripping as tightly as she could to the young Shelby. Squeezing Tommy’s hand still on Finn’s shoulder with her free one, she pushed them to standing, letting the boy stay in her arms, carrying him like he weighed nothing.
They were fine. A few scrapes and bruises, but okay.
Or…
“You’re bleeding.”
There was a small spot of red growing on her back, just below her shoulder.
She blinked at him before trying to look over on her own. A small piece of what looked like metal was sticking out.
“Shrapnel.” She said wearily. “It’s fine. I’ve had worse. Pol can pull it out.”
He hated when she said that. I’ve had worse. He knew it was true, but he fucking hated it.
Kissing the top of Finn’s head, she started to make her way out of the garage, bade that he follow her – as if he’d ever done anything else. At the same time, Arthur and John came out from around the burning remains of their car.
“Fucking hell, woman.” Arthur breathed, relief and teasing in his voice. “We’re going to need a new car.”
John reached out and ruffled Finn’s hair, comforted by the sight of his brother being okay.
“Well we can afford one, eh?” The third brother joked, smiling at Emily, who smiled back, tiredly. The five thousand quid in the safe agreed with him. So did the five thousand they were expecting at the end of the week.
A couple hundred for a car was nothing if it meant the family was safe.
“Come on. Let’s get you both home.” Tommy said, his voice low, eyes falling back to the metal still protruding from under her blouse.
---
A/N2: Couldn't figure out a good place to stop so I just kept going... hope you guys liked it. I promise we are so close to coming to a head. And I'll be dealing with Grace in the next chapter... or 2?
Summary - Sharp-tongued, steady-handed, and raised beside the Shelbys like blood, Dr. Emily Hughes weaves through their war for Birmingham with a surgeon’s precision—offering comfort, challenge, and quiet resistance, especially to the man who’s forgetting how to be anything but a weapon.
Word Count - 2,429
Warnings - none new
A/N - This'll be the last update until June cause I got some work stuff coming up. I might write out what happened at the ball as a fun side-scene/short one-off but not rn.
Oh also I got the figures for the guns based on the prices they would have expected to have been worth in the 1920s. I didn't just make it up. They would have been worth roughly £12k.
Thanks for the support <3 Would love to know what you think!
Chapter 6
Thomas didn’t sleep that night. He couldn’t. And he wasn’t the only one.
Between him and Arthur, he lost track of the number of cigarettes they burned through, just that they’d filled two ashtrays. John wanted to stay too but someone had to be home with the kids.
“Emily’s going to be fine.” Polly had said before heading up to bed. “You boys worry about that girl far too much. I have more faith in her than any of you.”
Tommy also had more faith in her than anyone else, but she didn’t understand that wasn’t the issue. The issue was that she was in danger and he wasn’t in it with her. She didn’t have any of them to protect her. Will was fine but he wasn’t Tommy.
“It’s as your Ms. Hughes promised.” He picked up one of the Lewis Machine Guns, turning it in his hands.
There was something in his gaze, appraising it like he was looking for something specific.
“Dr. Hughes.” John corrected automatically. He hadn’t stopped scowling since they got out here. Even through the digging, which was almost impressive.
He hummed. “Spiral springs are in good condition. Recoil enhancers have been installed.” Liden pulled the magazine out with a practiced hand, inspecting it for a few moments before reinstalling. “Wherever you got these, they’re good quality.”
“You know your guns, Mr. Liden.” Tommy commented, taking a drag of his cigarette.
“We all had our roles in France.” His eyes were distant again for a few seconds, before looking at Tommy with a hidden intensity.
Arthur squinted, then combed his hair back, sweat keeping it in place. The silence was expectant.
“100th Company of the Machine Gun Corps.” He said heavily. “You all served?”
They all nodded, something unspoken passing between them. An understanding.
“Good. We’ll hold our end of the bargain.” He dropped the gun back into the coffin with a nod. “I’m sure this will be very profitable for everyone.”
So now there was a briefcase of cash sitting in the safe in Tommy’s office. Five fucking thousand pound. Closing his eyes, Tommy leaned his head back – the other half would come in two weeks when O’Hare’s men showed up. He should be fucking thrilled. But all he could think of was it wouldn’t be okay until Emily was back.
“Five fucking thousand.” Arthur breathed, leaning back in his chair. There was awe in his voice, almost disbelief. “And that’s just half.”
Tommy didn’t say anything, just took another drink. It was so much fucking money.
“How long do these fucking parties last, eh?” Arthur griped. “When the fuck is she getting home?”
“They’re all night affairs, Arthur.” He needed another cigarette.
Arthur sighed, “Fuck. I’m getting another bottle.”
The sun had just begun to peak over the horizon when the front door opened, and Tommy actually startled. His head snapped to the front door, in the corner of his eye he saw Arthur shooting up in his chair.
Emily slid into the house, exhausted and moving heavily, but still somehow just as beautiful as when she’d left all those hours ago. In her hands were her shoes, the hem of the red dress trailing along the ground.
When she saw them seated at the table, she paused mid-step, tilting her head to the side.
“It’s a little early to be down here, eh?”
“Thought you were staying in Luton.” Tommy volleyed, both men ignoring her comment.
She hummed, taking the seat closest to her, right next to Arthur. The oldest Shelby automatically put an arm around her.
“I’m not stupid. I saw Louis early. Thought he was coming back here so I hitched a ride on the way out.” She let her head rest on Arthur’s shoulder, closing her eyes and letting out a long suffering sigh. “Got tired of those fucking toffs touching me and looking at me like a piece of meat. I just wanted to go home.”
Arthur pulled her a little tighter, taking a smidge more of her weight. Comforting her. Emily had never been one for strangers touching her – when she was a kid it was always flinches when people tried. With Arthur’s arm around her, she smiled, stretching up to kiss his cheek before laying her head back down. His older brother smiled, pleased.
“How’d it go with that Liden fellow?”
Tommy lit another cigarette, “Half’s in the safe now.”
She didn’t react immediately, just stared at him quietly for a minute.
“Is that good?” If it wasn’t for the intensity of her stare, she would have seemed half asleep – soft words, leaning heavily into Arthur’s body.
Tommy wished he was as confused by that as Arthur seemed. The oldest giving the top of her head a funny look before raising his eyebrows at Tommy.
“Why the fuck wouldn’t it be?”
Tommy sighed, neither of them answered Arthur’s question. No matter how used to it he was, it was an odd thing to be so seen by someone else. The way her eyes traced his face, stared into his eyes, like his every breath was being catalogued and understood, it made his chest feel heavy.
Eventually he nodded, and she closed her eyes again.
“Okay.” Her voice was thin, almost small. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much.
She knew one day the Garrison would belong to the Shelbys. It felt like an I-told-you-so-moment but she wasn’t sure exactly who she was supposed to be smug to. It just felt right to be smug about it.
God, she was too tired to be thinking straight. Only gotten about 30 minutes before Finn had come bursting into her room so she could get him ready for school.
Between the lack of sleep and the anxiety of having been fucking threatened by the IRA it’d been a hell of day and she thought she could be forgiven for not being at her best.
“You’ll both forgive me if I indulge a little.”
Tommy had only just poured the drinks and already one was gone. At least this man was happy to pour his own second. Placidly she took a sip of hers, focusing on the one who would prove to be difficult. The second man.
She didn’t think Tommy noticed yet, but he soon would. The second man would be trouble and no mistake. The lines of his face were harsher, less genial.
“It takes a lot for a man from Sparkbrook to step inside this pub.” The first continued.
“We’re open to all kinds.” She said simply. Tommy nodded to her words. “As long as they pay and don’t cause trouble… well too much trouble.”
The charismatic one – Ryan, that was his name – smiled back at her, but the other seemed less impressed.
“You said you had business.” Tommy started, and she took the offered cigarette from him, letting him light one for her then himself.
Ryan nodded, his focus was on Tommy, but the other, he was staring pretty resolutely at her. Maybe she saw that she understood what he was here, or maybe he thought her weak. Either would work.
“It’s delicate, Mr. Shelby. A question of who knows what about what. It concerns the factory down the road at the BSA.” There was a pause as he put the whiskey back down. “Now as you might know most of the paint shop there is Irish. Big old place like that rumour get started.”
“Rumours that there was a robbery.” The other one added, still looking at her.
Her mind was racing. There was always a fucking leak with these things. This is exactly why Pol wanted the guns gone as fast as possible.
“Robbery of what?” Tommy asked, his voice flat and affectless. It shouldn’t have been so attractive when he slipped into this role – the kingpin, the gangster, the Devil of Birmingham – but God it was. What would her father have said if he could see her now?
“Guns, Mr. Shelby. A serious amount of guns.” Ryan continued, still so genial, so kind.
Crossing her legs and taking a long drawn-out drag of her cigarette, Emily raised her eyebrows. “Hm. And exactly how do you think we’re involved with that?”
Ryan smiled at her, the other one’s eyes narrowed. “When it comes to speculation you can’t beat a factory night shift.” Ryan was a nice man, she thought, in another life she might have thought him a good one.
The other man jumped in there, “Some say there was word from the proofing bay – it was the Peaky Blinders who took it.”
Tommy and her made eye contact briefly. This right here was what she was afraid of the whole time. God, thank fuck those guns would be gone in a few days.
“Your night shift must be dreaming.” There wasn’t a hint of doubt in Tommy’s voice.
“Maybe they are–”
“Maybe they’re not.” Oh the other one was getting testy now. Good. It was about time the cards started getting on the table plainly.
“What we’re trying to say is, Mr. Shelby, Dr. Hughes, that if either of you were to hear about the whereabouts of said items, we’d pay good money.”
Right there. The other man’s eye tightened there, a flash of something. Approval? Power? Ryan may have simply been a messenger boy, or just a man who would be seen as disarming, but this other fellow – there was more there. He had a sense of confidence borne of something greater than being an Irish rebel.
“You have good money?” Tommy’s counter pulled her out of her thoughts, tuning her back in.
“We have the collections from the pubs.”
Knocking the ash off her cigarette, Emily raised a brow, putting as much incredulity in her voice as she could. “Interesting. And on whose behalf exactly are we offering this collection? I’m assuming you aren’t a bunch of upstart nobodies?”
“We speak for the Irish Republican Army.” Oh there he is, the unkind one’s ego was hurt.
“Do you now?”
“We fucking do.” She just kept smiling, watching him scowl deeper. “You think we’re jokers?”
She looked at Tommy, who was putting on as much of a disinterested act as he could.
“Are we laughing?” She countered.
The thing is, she knew the song he started singing word for word. Her father used to sing it when he drank sometimes. Not with the pride and anger of the man before her, but with his own melancholy.
Tommy and her looked at each other in near sync, both already exhausted of this man. Still this didn’t exactly dissuade her from thinking that he was someone. No one mouthed off to Tommy unless they were incredibly powerful or incredibly stupid and despite the evidence to the contrary, she had a feeling he wasn’t stupid.
Ryan tried to get the man – Maguire was his name apparently – on track several times, but ended up having to push him out of the snug. She followed them to the door of the snug and watched Ryan shove his still singing companion out of the Garrison.
“Alright boys. If I hear about who knows what about what I’ll let you know.” Tommy called after them and she couldn’t help but smile.
When they were finally gone, Tommy switched briefly to Romani as they turned to the bar, “Nobodies.” The old language flowing easy from his tongue., “At least this will be over soon.”
Emily shook her head, replying in his ancestral tongue. “Maybe not both of them. I’m going to look into Maguire – I have a feeling he’s more than we think.”
“Well at least he was better in tune than some of the people here.” Grace joked as they approached, already reaching to hand Tommy another bottle.
“Whiskey is good proofing water, it tells you who’s real and who isn’t.” Emily nodded to Tommy’s words – drink usually made intentions at least a little clearer.
“And what did my countrymen want?”
“Who the fuck knows.” Emily fake griped, offering the barmaid a little smile.
Tommy took a long drag, “They drink at the Black Swan in Sparkbrook. They’re only rebels because they like the songs.”
“You have sympathies with them.”
Emily actually snorted at that, “We have no sympathies of any description.”
In the corner of her eye, she could see Tommy holding in a smirk of his own. She was quoting him there and he caught it immediately. Even if it wasn’t true.
“Their accents were so thick it’s a wonder you could understand them. Next time I could translate.”
Tommy actually looked a little charmed at that, but something about it rubbed Emily the wrong way. It was the same feeling she got when Grace lied to her twice in a row about why she left Ireland. There was something else at play here but she wasn’t any closer to putting her finger on it yet.
“I don’t think a pub will adequately launder all the money you just made.” Emily smirked over at Tommy playfully, and he huffed a laugh.
“No.” He breathed, taking a sip of his drink.
“You’re soft, Tommy.” Her smile itself turned soft, leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I’m proud of you.”
He looked at her, quirking a single eyebrow, but didn’t refute her point. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” And he tipped his glass to her in thanks.
God, but she could kiss him right now. Too bad they didn’t do that.
A dead IRA man. Fuck they were really in it now, weren’t they?
She closed her eyes and slipped back into her own room. Convenient that she had gone to Tommy that night, had wanted comfort. Too bad she’d been beaten by Danny, especially considering the news he brought.
They thought the gang did it, but they didn’t. She knew they didn’t – no orders like that would dare go through without Tommy’s say so and he would tell her.
He would.
Right?
“Do you know which one it was?”
Tommy looked over at her, quirking a brow. Emily’d hemmed the dress from the ball to mid-calf height and altered the sleeves a little. It was still quite fancy, but not too much so for the races, especially if she was going to play a posh girl, and by God she looked beautiful. Even his uncle Charlie had complimented her, between his cautious warning.
“Maguire or Ryan – the ones who visited us. Did Danny say which had been killed?” How had she heard about that? He was going to tell her on the drive. His silence spurred her on. “I was coming to you last night, but Danny got there first. Heard a little, but not much; didn’t want to eavesdrop.”
“No.” He breathed. Even if she had stayed, he wouldn’t have minded – probably would have preferred it – and Danny wouldn’t have cared. “Does it matter?”
She paused, a pregnant pause. “I think it would be worse if it was Maguire. I think he’s someone.”
Tommy didn’t say anything to that. He didn’t think either of them had been anybody, but Emily was better at reading people. Used to be she would read them and he would charm them, but it was so much harder to be charming these days.
“Tell me it wasn’t you.”
His gaze snapped from the road back over to her for a moment, stunned.
“You think I wouldn’t run that by you first, eh?”
She wasn’t looking at him. In the corner of his eye, he could see her gaze out the window.
“Of course it wasn’t us.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel, but she still didn’t react.
They sat in silence for almost twenty minutes before Emily spoke again.
“Be careful with the barmaid.”
“What?”
“Grace. She’s…” Emily shook her head. Her voice was hesitant, careful, as though she was afraid of his reaction. “She’s lied too many times, and she’s nosy. I don’t trust her. I know you boys like her, but… well I know my opinion isn’t worth much…” She cringed. “Just be careful with her.”
She startled forcefully when he pulled the car to the side of the road, slamming his foot on the break, but she still didn’t look over to him.
“Don’t we have somewhere to be?” Her voice was still cautious and he was fucking tired of it.
“What’s going on?”
“I just have a bad–”
“–feeling.” He finished, scowling. “What are you on about ‘your opinion isn’t worth much’? Who else’s opinion do I fucking listen to, eh? Who runs this fucking business with me?”
It bothered him that she flinched at that.
“I didn’t mean–” She cut herself off that time. “Sorry I’m just in my head today. It’ll pass.”
Lying.
“Want to try that again, love?” He reached out and turned her head towards him, meeting minimal resistance. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing.” She rubbed her eyes and followed by shaking her head. “I just don’t want to overstep again. You like the girl, Arthur and John like her too. That’s fine, just be careful.”
‘Overstep again.’ Fucking hell. If he didn’t know her so well, he’d think she was being difficult on purpose, but sadly this was on him.
“Make any more shitty deals on behalf of my fucking family you want to tell me about? Are you trying to ruin us?”
He sighed and took her hand in his, threading their fingers together, “I’ll be careful.”
She nodded, and while she didn’t look at him, she did squeeze his hand.
--- Chapter 8 ---
A/N2: The guns are going to be GONE... mostly. I PROMISE WE'RE GOING SOMEWHERE SOON!! (Next chapter things might start coming together). I'm still trying to figure out how slow this burn should be tbh.
Lying on his chest and listening to the steady, confident rhythm of his heartbeat — that was true bliss. A kind of peace no price could buy. Just being there, just feeling the rise and fall of his chest with every deep breath. The warmth of his body seeped into your skin, soothing you, lulling you into stillness. The tips of your fingers traced lazy paths across his bare skin, slowly, almost idly, memorizing every line, every curve. The scent of his cologne, soaked into his shirt — familiar, grounding. Slightly bitter, with a note of tobacco and something deeply, inexplicably personal.
And of course — the grumbling. It wouldn’t be him without it.
“Woman, I’m working” he muttered with mild annoyance, eyes never leaving the papers in his hand. He was lying on the couch, all business, voice edged with irritation, but never real anger.
You’d come into his office without knocking, without greeting, without ceremony. Just walked in like it was the most natural thing in the world — like he’d been waiting for you all along. Maybe he had.
“Lie down. I want to sleep,” you’d said plainly, not as a request but as a statement of fact.
He tried to say no. Tried to cling to order, to his rules. But you knew exactly which strings to pull.
“I’ll start crying,” you said simply, almost drowsily. “And when Aunt Polly comes to ask what’s wrong, I’ll tell her you yelled at me.”
That, he couldn’t afford. Because fear — though expertly hidden — did exist in Thomas Shelby. Especially when it came to Aunt Polly. It lived in the image of her methodically peeling the skin off his back with tweezers — and not for the first time.
And so, here you were — sprawled across his chest like a sun-drenched cat, having found the perfect spot. He held you with one arm, the other still turning pages, scanning lines of text. From time to time, his fingers moved slowly over your back — gently, protectively, as if making sure you were still there. His lips brushed your forehead between paragraphs, briefly, wordlessly — yet carrying that particular warmth he only knew how to give in silence.
Summary: Tommy's wife has trouble sleeping and resorts to a method he disapproves of. As usual, he tries to solve this issue in his own ways.
A/N: I stopped frequently reposting old works because I thought "oh, I'm gonna work on new stuff now," and then I didn't. Anyway, this is one of my favorites
Tommy sighed in relief as he found her car parked in front of their old house at Watery Lane. He's been looking for her for hours and although her whereabouts weren't exactly mysterious, Tommy couldn't stop his hands from trembling with the possibility of her being gone.
The house was dark as usual, even if they had enough money for it, none of the Shelby's saw the point of paying for electricity for a house they barely went to, the only electric light came from the betting shop, since the business place was closed for the day, the house only counted with the light from streets that shined through the windows.
Thomas walked from each to each room looking for his wife until he finally got to their old shared bedroom. She was sitting on the bed staring at the wall, arms resting on her knees while her hands played with a bottle of something he couldn't identify.
"I thought you didn't like this bedroom," Tommy drawled, holding himself from scolding her, she might not be physically injured, but he knew she wouldn't run away if she was alright.
"I don't, it's too small,"
"Yeah, I don't like it either," Tommy agreed and sat by her side, "so we shouldn't be here,"
She peeked at him by the side of her eye and brought her hands near her chest, trying to hide the label of the bottle, "I needed a place to relax,"
"Oh, why didn't you try a spa?"
"Because in case you haven't noticed, it's three in the morning, we must be the only people awake in Birmingham," she humorlessly chuckled, "well, perhaps with exception of the night shift workers,"
"Right, but why here in all the places?"
"...It was our home for many years, I thought the feeling of familiarity would help me relax, help me sleep,"
Tommy arched his eyebrows at his wife's answer, she had problems sleeping for some time since the business started to grow and brought some consequences, but for the last few years he could swear she's been sleeping well, she's been even able to convince him to try to rest.
"You should see a doctor," he spoke softly with a bit of humour, usually, she was the one suggesting that.
"Nah, all doctors are children of rich people who don't actually care about people," she bitterly spat, it was an honest belief of her, however, there was another reason why she refused to see a doctor.
It was because she already did, during the busy weeks Tommy was barely home, she managed to sneak a doctor into the house and the diagnosis wasn't pleasant, stress was keeping her from a well-deserved night of sleep and the recommendation was to absent herself from any stressful situation. Well, being married to Thomas Shelby was very stressful.
She thought of taking a break, perhaps going on holiday with the children, every time Tommy got home though, he seemed to need her more, business related papers, loneliness, a stress relief, she filled all the gaps Tommy turned a blind eye through the day, because he was always sure she'd effortlessly fill them for him.
He needed her, he told her that many times, mostly not verbally, but the way his tired eyes bored into hers when he got home from work, the way his hands pulled her close to him and how he seemed lost when she didn't greet him at the door left no doubts, together with whiskey, opium and cigarettes, she kept the broken pieces of him tightly tied.
Hell, she knew the best she could do for herself was to leave him, Tommy was unstoppable, he had no limitations or limits, he'd never rest and he lived something near fine with it. She was different, she didn't mind doing paperwork or looking after the broken man she called husband, but she needed assurance things wouldn't fall apart at any moment, she needed to sleep knowing her empire wasn't built on unstable land and that was something Tommy couldn't offer.
Trying to solve this impasse, she bought sleeping pills, the strongest she could find. They worked well for the first two years, eventually she became immune to the effect, increasing the dose wasn't an option anymore either, it'd probably make her overdose instead of sleep.
Now, she was sitting near the cause of her insomnia in the old bedroom they shared, refusing to confess the true reason for her sleepless nights.
"What 's that?" Tommy suddenly asked, eyeing the bottle in her hands.
"Nothing,"
"Show me," he offered his hand for her to give him the flask.
"No,"
"What is it? A secret? Show me," he tried to take it from her hand and she pushed him away, "what the fuck are you hiding?"
"It's none of your business, did you come here only to bother me?" she complained.
"Worrying about you it's bothering now, eh? Give me that fucking thing," he forcefully took the bottle from her.
She pressed her lips together as Tommy read the label, "Did the doctor give them to you?"
"No,"
"Who did?"
"I bought them,"
"With whose prescription?"
"Nobody's, Tommy! I just take them to sleep,"
"These are fucking strong, did you take all of them?"
"Yeah,"
"How long have you been taking these things?" he frowned, insisting when she didn't answer, "Hm?"
"Two years,"
"Two fucking years? Does a doctor know about it?"
"What right do you have to scold me, Tom? Do you think I can't smell opium on you?"
"It's not the fucking same, these can be dangerous,"
"Oh, and yours are not?"
"For fuck's sake," he sighed and stood up, adopting a scolding posture, "why didn't you see a doctor?"
"I don't like doctors, Tommy,"
"Neither do I, but I'd see one if you asked, I know what I'm doing, it's what I always did, you got these pills out of nowhere and hid them from me,"
"I never hid them from you, if you got to bed a bit earlier you'd have seen me taking them!"
"Argh, sorry for not keeping an eye on you, you know I have so much free time," he said ironically, "why don't you go around saying how much of a bad husband I am?!"
"Well, I wouldn't be lying, would I?" she snapped, "I went to a doctor, Tommy! Do you wanna know what he told me?! To stay away from stressful things, but guess what? You stress me out, being by your side is stressful!"
Tommy gulped, assimilating the words his wife just told him, he was not by any means surprised by them, he knew it was all true, but he never expected her to throw them on his face like this.
"...you're with me by choice, if you're not happy, leave," his tone of voice was calm, but there was a dangerous challenge in it. After so long together, she doubted Tommy would accept a divorce, it was certain that when she died, the name Shelby would in her grave.
Besides, leaving Tommy was not her true wish, except for the lack of sleep, her life was comfortable, her child went to the best school, she wore the best clothes, drove the fastest cars and drank the best wine. Also, her love for Tommy was undeniable.
"I don't want to leave you," she mumbled, watching Tommy's tense expression change to relief, "but I need to sleep, I need to be alright so I can help you to be alright,"
"I don't want you to be with me for pity," he sat back down.
"It's not pity, I wouldn't be here if it was," she hesitated for a second before confessing, "I love you,"
He weakly smiled, still looking shaken by her previous harsh statement, Tommy always thought of himself as a not good enough husband, now she just crossed all the lines and defined him as a bad one.
"Tommy," she whispered, "nothing in this world would make me leave you, you won't get rid of me so easily,"
"Nothing?"
"Nothing, not even my sleep craving body,"
Tommy nodded, humorlessly chuckling, he stood up and took the car's keys from his pocket, "Let's go then,"
"I came with my own car,"
"I'll tell the driver to bring it home tomorrow, c'mon,"
As Tommy made the way to his car, she followed after him. It took a few minutes until they got on the road.
Tommy drove slowly, at this hour there was no one in the streets but them. The darkness of the night would have consumed the scenario if it wasn't for the car's headlights.
Despite the engine's noise, she relaxed, the car smelled of cigarettes and Tommy's cologne, it was a familiar scent and she felt safe sitting beside her husband. However, the unknown road Tommy was taking strokes an alert light in her head.
"This is not the way home," she warned.
"I know, I've thought of going somewhere else first," Tommy answered, secretly with no idea of where he was driving to, he only knew it wasn't home.
"Where?"
"You'll see when you get there,"
"I can't keep secrets from you but you can keep secrets from me?"
"It's not a secret, it's a surprise,"
"Tsk, I don't believe you set up a surprise at three in the morning,"
"Better believe,"
As the world got silent, she rested her head on his shoulder, allowing her eyes to close and her arms to wrap around his.
"You know, only this time I'll let you put your feet on the seat," Tommy spoke softly.
"Oh, such a gentleman," she took her heels off, "where are we going, Tom?" she peeked the road through her heavy eyelids.
"Right now I'm trying to find a rotary on the way home,"
"Where the fuck are we going anyway?"
"Just wait and see,"
"Go on, Tommy, quit the mystery,"
"Be patient, love."
She sighed in frustration and made herself even more comfortable in the car seat. The shakes caused by the bumpy road worked almost like motherly lulling.
Tommy's plan went exactly like he expected, his wife fell into deep slumber, this time without the need of any pills.
Summary - Sharp-tongued, steady-handed, and raised beside the Shelbys like blood, Dr. Emily Hughes weaves through their war for Birmingham with a surgeon’s precision—offering comfort, challenge, and quiet resistance, especially to the man who’s forgetting how to be anything but a weapon.
Word Count - 4,400
Warnings - Non-graphic animal death (the horse from season 1)
A/N - There's a lot going on. Many feelings.
Thanks for the support <3 Would love to know what you think!
Chapter 5
Her hands wouldn’t stop fucking shaking. Today was not a good day. None of this made sense because the day itself was quite successful – managing to get Thomas to let up on Ada and Freddie. But by God her hands wouldn’t stop fucking trembling. Doing anything today had been an exercise in futility. Then again, everything had felt that way since the War.
“She’s decided to keep the baby.”
Emily nearly jumped out of her skin, not expecting the interruption. She should be paying better attention, she knew that, and if she was anywhere other than the Shelby family kitchen, she’d have been ashamed of herself. Even here where she was safe, she was still a little embarrassed to be caught so off guard.
Working to stop the trembling of her fingers did not entirely succeed if the look on Pol’s face was anything to go by.
Emily just hummed, giving the potatoes one final rinse.
“I’ll check her over again after dinner then, make a birthing plan.”
Pol was silent for long enough that Emily’d almost forgotten she was there, or well, hoped she would leave soon. It would be nice to not feel so watched when she also felt so vulnerable.
“Daft girl.” Pol finally muttered, and Emily let herself breathe as the older woman marched out. She’d talk to Pol later about not being so harsh on Ada or maybe tomorrow. Hopefully her fucking hands wouldn’t betray her tomorrow.
“Move.” A second jump, more violent than the first, but this time one of Pol’s hands stopped her moving too much.
“We should put a bell on you.” Emily muttered and the older woman huffed.
“Give me the damn knife, stupid child.”
Blinking at Polly, it wasn’t until she was basically shoved aside that she understood. A small part of her felt ashamed, a larger one was so grateful.
“Thank you, Polly.” Her voice was small, thin. She knew she sounded like a young girl in that moment. She pressed her cold hands against the counter for a brief moment and caught her breath. The tightness in her chest eased just a touch. She hadn’t even really noticed it was there.
For a few moments she stood and let her eyes close and just breathe, just feel safe and okay and like she was in Birmingham. Like she was home.
Then she reached around Polly for the beef, but a hand caught her wrist mid-movement.
“I need to finish dinner, Pol.” She breathed, hand only barely trembling in Polly’s grasp. “You can do the cutting, but the last thing anyone wants to do is eat your cooking.”
She got a cuff about the head for that, which only made her chuckle, but she was allowed to continue.
Pol continued to cut the potatoes and Emily tried to hide her little grin – she was a softie at heart. This whole bleeding family was despite how they all denied it.
“Give me the gun.” She stood in front of him, blocking as much of the horse from view as she could.
She supposed it was a good thing that she’d stayed up with Tommy that night. That she’d been there when Curly came calling at his window.
Curly and Charlie were headed out the back now. Tommy wasn’t shaking, probably by sheer force of will.
She placed two hands on his chest and gently pushed him back. Water running down her forehead and into her eyes and soaking into his shirt. They hadn’t grabbed an umbrella before they came running and what was left of the downpour was still rolling off her.
“Give me the gun, love.”
He didn’t say anything, but he also didn’t fight back when her hand threaded into his. The gun came free when she pulled on it very lightly.
“Turn around, Tommy.” He still wasn’t moving, wasn’t speaking. He was still just staring at the white mare, at the beautiful girl who did not deserve the death it was about it have. “For me, Tommy. My Tommy. Please, turn around.”
She kissed him on the cheek, could feel him trembling now so very finely under her fingers. If she wasn’t touching him, even she wouldn’t know. It took so long for him to respond, until he finally blinked at her, lost and scared.
“Why does the horse need to be put down, Uncle Charlie?” He had been such an inquisitive child. “She’s not hurting nobody.”
“She’s too hurt, Tommy. She’s only going to be in pain, you see. This isn’t fixable.” He pulled the two of them closer to the pony, to show them the leg she couldn’t place on the ground. The way it was swollen and twisted incorrectly. “It’s a mercy.”
“Don’t feel like one.” He’d muttered, still so very distressed. For days after the pony – Current – had been put down, he was so sad. She hadn’t been used to Tommy being sad back then, it was a painful thing that she was now.
“Turn around, love.” She whispered and finally he nodded. Blue eyes wide and so young. “Let me do this.”
And he listened, turning his back to her. Her shoulders fell, and she turned to the horse. Running her hand along the mare’s head, she pressed a kiss to her nose.
“I am so very sorry, beautiful girl.” Her hands weren’t shaking right now. The moment Tommy started trembling it’s like her own stopped. The moment she decided to take the gun it all stopped. What had happened to her that this didn’t make her hands shake but cutting vegetables did?
When the deed was done, and her ears still rang with the bang, she turned away, getting Tommy back in her vision. His shoulders were high, the trembling heavier. She walked to face him, raising her hand to cup his cheek, to get his eyes to look at her.
Shell shock was not a hard thing to spot these days. He was not as bad as someone like Danny, she knew that, but that did not make his pain less real.
“It’s done. Tommy, we’re finished. Let’s go home.”
Getting him away from this place was her main priority. She threaded the fingers of both their hands together, walking backwards to pull him with her – there was no need for him to turn around, no need for him to see.
He was so very pale. And now that she was holding them, his hands were trembling just as much as the rest of him. Or maybe that was her. Or maybe that was both of them. The violence was done so her shaking could start again.
When she looked up, there was something wild and frightened in his eyes, something vulnerable and heartbroken.
Horses were special to him, reminded him of before, she knew. They had always been kept close to his heart, something that still brought him so much joy, reminded him of the boy who wanted to do nothing but work with horses all day. Innocent and sweet and naïve to the horrors of war.
As they passed Charlie, she told him it was done, to take care of the cleanup himself. To be kind to the mare in death. The fact that they hadn’t named her yet burned something in Emily’s chest.
That night she didn’t let Tommy settle alone. He was barely aware, movement slow and clumsy as he tried to undress. Her hands slid over his on the buttons, still again. She undressed him as gently as she as she could, taking care to talk to him softly as she did. Not about anything in particular, just gentle words and soft memories. He didn’t speak, but his stare was unwavering.
She was still so deeply in love with him, even a decade later, but any thoughts of passion tonight never even crossed her mind. She hadn’t allowed it to since that night- no. No bad memories tonight.
When she helped him under the sheets, he grabbed her wrist and said the first thing he had since Charlie told him the horse wasn’t saveable.
“Stay.”
“Okay, love. Let me get changed. I’m not leaving.” Not even to get her own clothes.
Beyond any ability for shame, she stripped in front of him, taking one of his nightshirts and slipping it over her own body. Settling in next to him, she pulled his head onto her chest, ear over her heart.
She trailed her fingers through his hair, touch light, trying to remind him that he wasn’t alone. That he was safe. She’d dried his hair off when they got home, but still some dampness remained. It was cold on her chest, but she didn’t mind.
She didn’t sleep until long after he had. Watching him rest settled her own breathing. Her hands shook again, but him being here made it bearable.
The next day Freddie proposed. He showed up at the house and shook Thomas’ hand. Shook Arthur’s hand. Shook John’s hand.
Hugged her, for the first time since the day she dug a bullet out of his shoulder, he hugged her.
“I stuck up for you.” She squeezed his arm. “You better not make a liar of me, Freddie.”
And he smiled, brilliantly, like every time he got away with a silly prank as a boy, like every time he got Tommy to go along with one of his ridiculous plans – which was rare, it was usually the other way around.
Ada slipped into his side and pressed close. “I know better than to disappoint you, Em.”
He kissed the side of Ada’s head and the Shelby girl beamed. More was coming, she knew, but for this one moment it was okay.
“Wedding before or after the baby do you think?” She asked rolling her eyes, “It’s not like you’ve done anything else in bloody order.”
Ada and Freddie’s wedding was nothing huge, but it was still sweet. They went to the registry office and had a small ceremony. The Shelby clan and Emily were all there, supporting bride and groom.
She was Ada’s witness on the marriage certificate and stood at her right as maid of honour. Being asked warmed her so violently inside that she thought she would combust. She was smiling the whole time, in such high spirits, so pleased to see the family getting along. Arthur was the one to walk Ada down what served as an aisle, and when the couple said ‘I do’ she smiled over at Tommy, the best man.
Today was a good fucking day.
“And that would be mine. Thank you, gents.”
The boys groaned as she took the pot in the middle of the table, offering a cheeky with to Arthur since half the money was his.
“You’re a cheat!”
“It isn’t cheating just because I’m better than you, Arthur.” She took a drag of her cigarette, grinning brightly at his faux-annoyed face. He wasn’t actually mad; she could always tell when it was real. Besides, he’d won most of the other hands tonight.
“It should be!”
Grace sidled into the snug with a cursory knock, dropping off more beers and some water on Emily’s request.
“You’re a stickler, Em, you know that?” She flipped John off as she took a sip of her water, washing away the lingering taste of the shitty ales they were drinking. “What’re you washing down for, eh? It’s barely a drink.”
That didn’t mean she didn’t notice the way Grace blushed when Tommy nodded at her in thanks, or the way she got a little too close to him when leaning over the table. Poor girl, she knew the pain of falling for Thomas Shelby.
“Yeah, and tomorrow when you wake up with Satan’s own band playing a bleeding Souza march in your head, you’ll wish you listened to me.”
Arthur leaned forward when the door closed behind her, the shrill voices of the singing masses being muted once again.
“You know she’s sweet on you, Tom.” He teased, signature older brother grin on his face.
Tommy returned only his flattest expression.
“It don’t got to be her, but you know it might be time, Tommy.” John added on.
“Time for what?” His voice was still emotionless, not giving in to the shit his brothers were slinging.
Emily purposefully did not say anything, did not read into it. The two of them did not discuss romance, ever. It was one rule that she had implemented when they were eighteen after she’d humiliated herself. So, she took the opportunity to shuffle the cards and stay out of it.
“Time you took yourself a woman.”
“Just play the bloody hand!” Tommy shot back which only made his brothers laugh.
“Nah, you stay the way you are, Tommy!” Arthur chuckled. “Remember what dad used to say: fast women and slow horses…”
“Will ruin your life.” Even Emily couldn’t help snorting at their duo act.
She opened her own mouth, to change the subject or announce the deal when the cars pulling up distracted her. Too many, too fast, not people they knew. Fuck it was happening.
“Coppers.” Arthur breathed, but she shook her head and Tommy said ‘no’.
After the second call and the gunshot, Tommy lifted himself out of his chair, buttoning his jacket. He made eye contact with her, she nodded to his silent question, sliding in behind so she would exit last and least noticeably. And making sure to carry the empty glasses.
When Tommy told everyone to go home, she made her way to Grace’s side and grabbed her by the arm.
“That means you, Grace.” The woman looked ready to protest so Emily gave her the hardest stare she could. “Go. Now.”
Girl wasn’t brave enough to argue with Emily and so took off her apron and followed the ends of the crowd out. Emily slipped behind the bar and donned the apron as fast as she could. If this was going to work, she had to be the woman that caught Kimber’s eye – not some girl that she still couldn’t trust.
“Go to the back, Harry. It might get dangerous.” She whispered to the man, pouring a set of whiskeys. “I can do this.”
Harry was smart and didn’t even attempt to argue, just slipped back where the stock was kept. Sometimes she wondered if he wasn’t the smartest fucker in the city. She finished pouring the drinks and brought them over on a tray, purposefully unresponsive. With the crowd that had been here before, and the fact that Kimber seemed to not have an eye for bloody detail, it would look like she was just the barmaid.
She could practically feel his eyes tracing up her body as she leaned over the table.
“Who’s this now?” His smile, she was sure, was meant to be enticing.
“Emily.” She said simply. A man who was used to getting what he wanted. Maybe a little bit of effort would entice him. “Anything else I can get you, gents?”
“I can think of a few things.” Kimber said heavily, still staring, though she noticed his hand was about to reach out for her. And she wasn’t the only one since she saw John’s eye twitch and Tommy’s ‘go home’ was said with more force than was necessary.
Playing at taking her apron off and heading out the back way, Emily heard Kimber’s comment about her: “Don’t think I’d have ever left this shithole if I knew you could find a woman like that.”
Well, it looked like she’d definitely gotten his attention. She could only hope this meeting went well and her skills wouldn’t be needed to patch anyone up.
“Gift for a Dr. Emily Hughes.”
“From who?” John shot back, eyes narrowing.
“A Mr. Patrick O’Hare, OBE.” The young man returned, giving the packages a pointed look.
There was a lot, John thought, even as he leaned back to shout Emily’s name. This was the stuff that posh cunt had said he’d said – the dress, the shoes, the jewellery. He felt his face scowling before he even noticed, the thought of that man turning his stomach.
“Oh.” The woman in question slid under his arm, squinting at the packages with disdain. “Patrick’s things. Give it here.”
John reached to take the packages instead, marvelling at the weight for some fucking clothes. She smiled thankfully at him.
“Mr. O’Hare would also like to say that he will be by this afternoon around half 6. And also that he is looking forward to hearing your opinion on the clothes.” And with that the young man tipped his hat and left.
“He looks forward to hearing my opinion, does he?” She mocked with a roll of her eyes. “Fucking prick. Come on, let’s take a look at whatever nonsense I’m going to be wearing.”
Breakfast had just been cleared off the table when John put the packages down, Arthur leaning over his shoulder, cigarette dangling from his lips.
“What’s all this now?”
“That London prick.” John muttered, watching Tommy’s eyebrows raise.
Emily didn’t hesitate to open the largest box, tissue paper moved aside automatically. The woman hummed, touching the fabric, and followed by closing the box immediately.
“Red. Shocking.” Incredulity dripped from her tone, and Arthur laughed. “At least it’s soft. He always did like to dress me up in red.”
John raised his eyebrows, “How often did you hang around him?”
Pausing in her movements, she took a moment to think. Her eyes unfocused as she reached into her own memories.
“A dozen times or so?” There wasn’t a lot of confidence in that number. Still it made John scowl. “He didn’t start dressing me like a fucking doll until about the fifth one.”
“Why’d you let him?”
She blinked at Arthur’s question, hand stilling for only a fraction of a second before she shrugged. “I started making some interesting connections; it wasn’t worth ending over something petty. I can put up with a lot if I need to.”
That thought came back to John again, the one from the car, the one that made his stomach twist. She’s too used to being treated like shit.
The smallest box was the next one she opened, unable to keep from laughing at how she lifted the necklace out of the box, keeping it far enough away from herself that it seemed more a threat than a piece of jewellery.
“It isn’t going to bite, Emmy.”
“That’s a lot of gems for a tight necklace.” She muttered. “It’s going to pinch me.”
Even Arthur and Tommy were nearly laughing now. God, Emily really was the most sour person when it came to these things, so very particular. He knew that she did like jewellery, but only specific things – never bracelets and never anything too tight. Maybe he knew too fucking much about her preferences – he wasn’t even sure he knew that about Ada.
“It probably costs more than a bloody car.” Arthur muttered squinting at it.
Emily tossed it to him, the oldest quick to catch it.
“I’m sure it’ll look lovely on you, Arty. Really’ll bring out your eyes.” There was a lot of laughter at that. Tommy making a comment about pretty girls that had Arthur turning all shades of embarrassed red. Picking on their big brother could be so fucking easy sometimes.
“It’s really pretty though, Em.” Ada commented, sliding into the room and taking the necklace from her brother’s offended hands. She’d spent the night here last night, Freddie having a late meeting and she had decided stayed up with Emily, chatting instead of being home alone.
“Tell you what: after the ball tonight, it’s yours.” Emily said things like that so simply. If Ada liked it she could have it, no mind the value. Sometimes he wondered why Emily worked so hard to improve their business when she could not care less about money besides having enough to survive.
Then he remembered: it was because she loved them.
The youngest present Shelby just smiled, pleased, and continued to admire the necklace that definitely looked heavy from John’s perspective.
“I suppose I should put this all upstairs.” She muttered, the mood sobering. “I’ll start getting ready later. It’ll just be you boys going with Patrick’s man for the inspection, yeah?”
Tommy nodded, taking a drag of his cigarette.
“I don’t like you going with him alone.”
And John had to agree. He’d watched in that first meeting as she’d threatened to expose him, his deepest secret, and destroy his life. And somehow they were supposed to trust that the wouldn’t pull anything when he was alone with her? When none of them were there to protect her?
“I’m not daft, Tommy. I’ve already given some evidence to my reporter friend – and I’ll be sure to let Patrick know that if anything happens to me or if he betrays you, those’ll find their way to every paper from here to bloody India.” She snorted. “Anyway, I’ll also have a gun in my bag if the threat isn’t enough.”
Tommy’s face stayed stern, he wasn’t convinced. Neither was John, though he had to admit he felt at least a little better than he had a few moments ago knowing she had thought about this.
Ada helped Emily take the boxes upstairs, Arthur waiting till they were out of earshot before turning to Tommy.
“She can’t go alone.” His voice was heavy, unwavering. Not angry, but definitely stern. He was in prime older brother form.
Tommy nodded. “Louis’ll linger nearby if she needs him. Not much else to be done.”
Louis would never be able to blend in to a place like that, but he could park the car nearby, be ready to rush in and pull her out if something went awry. Could follow the car and if it was diverted, could chase it down and protect her.
John couldn’t help the discomfort he was feeling. He didn’t like this, but Pol said it was going to be fine.
It wasn’t the dress, the shoes, or the way her hair that was done up that made Tommy’s heart stop for a moment when she came down the stairs. Yes, he appreciated her in finery, he did all he did so that she had the life she deserved, but that wasn’t what made his chest lurch.
It was the way she looked at him, eyes twinkling, and bashfulness in her smile. The warmth in her voice when she asked, “What do you think? Am I pretty enough?”
He took the cigarette from his mouth, worried it would slip from between his lips.
“Beautiful.” And he swallowed. His voice had been too heavy, it sounded too real. It was too real. “All for this posh prick, hm?”
She snorted at that, sliding into the room and taking a seat. “He does have nice taste in clothes, I’ll give him that.” Reaching out, she plucked the cigarette direct from his fingers and took a drag. “Is it bad that I’m already tired?”
To anyone else it would seem like a normal question, a silly joke. But not to him – to him the vulnerability was obvious.
“You don’t have to, love.” He said with a shrug, lighting himself another cigarette. “Could tell him to go fuck himself.”
She smiled at him, warmly, but he did have the sense she was trying to convey that he was an idiot.
“I think the 10 thousand pound would beg to differ.” She leaned her head to rest on the back of the chair. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. “It’s one evening. I’ll stay the night in Luton. It’ll be far too late; I’ll miss the last train by the time I’m free.”
He raised his eyebrows, “With him?”
Her face scrunched up in disgust, “Absolutely fucking not.” She rolled her head to get him in her vision without having to lift off the chair back, “I booked a room at an inn.”
Gears turning, he just nodded. Their conversation interrupted by a few knocks at the door.
“And that’s my cue.” She breathed, taking a stand.
Tommy watched as she rolled her shoulders back, straightening her spine, and banishing every ounce of vulnerability from her face. Emmy became Dr. Hughes in that moment; if it wasn’t so impressive, it would be scary.
“Emily, darling. Lovely as always.” Emily could basically feel John’s glare, the coldness of Tommy radiating from her back. Arthur and Pol were openly scowling from across the room.
“Thomas and Arthur Shelby, Polly Gray, this is Patrick O’Hare.” She greeted, ushering him into the sitting room with his man. “You remember John.”
“Gentlemen. And lady.” He nodded to the man at his side. “Matthew Liden. He’ll be joining you to verify the cargo and is prepared to make payment should it be as promised.”
Patrick caught Tommy’s eye and there was something dangerous in his gaze, a threat. A man who made himself seem loud and flashy, but was able to live up to his lethal reputation should it be necessary. One actor to another, they shared an understanding.
Looking at his companion, this Liden. The man was confident, held himself well. His eyes were unfocused, as though he weren’t paying a lick of attention. Like the poor blokes with shellshock who regressed inside, the ones who didn’t rage, didn’t hear German artillery in the streets, the ones who quietly went about their day-to-day until they hung themselves in the kitchen.
Tommy nodded, “I’m sure this will be a profitable enterprise for you.”
Patrick hummed. “I should hope.” For a second his gaze was hard, the mask dropping just enough that the threat was obvious. “Now. Dr. Hughes, we have quite a bit of ground to cover.”
She nodded, eyes squinting just a touch. Tommy could practically see the gears in her head turning. Quickly, she offered a kiss to each of their cheeks, except Pol who she hugged.
O’Hare tracked the movement carefully, genial mask fully in place, offering only a small, placid smile. But his eyes – they were intense. Tracking, cataloguing.
Smart girl. She wanted him to know that they cared about her, that she played a significant role here. That he would have something to contend with should she not return.
“Try and enjoy yourself, eh?” John whispered, just loud enough for the three of them to hear.
Summary - Sharp-tongued, steady-handed, and raised beside the Shelbys like blood, Dr. Emily Hughes weaves through their war for Birmingham with a surgeon’s precision—offering comfort, challenge, and quiet resistance, especially to the man who’s forgetting how to be anything but a weapon.
Word Count - 4,121
Warnings - Nothing that wasn't there before
A/N - Polly is Conniving and I support her.
Thanks for the support <3 Would love to know what you think!
Chapter 4
The anger carried Tommy into his confrontation with Ada and then his subsequent conversation at home with Polly. It even lasted until the betting shop had closed. He’d regretted what he said as soon as it came out of his mouth, but he was angry enough to ignore the guilt.
They weren’t supposed to have fucking secrets. Emily and him were supposed to share everything but she’d been keeping this secret for fucking months. A big fucking secret that he should have known about from the bloody beginning.
“Arthur, where’s Emily?”
It was Finn’s question that caught his attention. It was late, dinner long over and she still wasn’t home. The anger was still burning in his chest, but a tendril of worry had made its way in.
For his part, Arthur looked to Polly who shook her head.
“I don’t know, Finn. Ada, you hear from Emily?”
She shook her head, “Not since this morning.” She was giving Tommy quite a wide berth, but it may have only been because she was, for some reason, just as pissed at him as he was at her.
“Tommy?”
“No.” He said simply, pulling out yet another cigarette and lighting it.
“She’s probably at John’s.” Ada offered with a shrug. “You know she stays there to help with the kids sometimes. John’s useless at bedtime.”
John was useless at all times since Martha had died.
Arthur didn’t look pleased with Ada’s suggestion, Tommy didn’t feel pleased with it either, but he seemed to accept it. Maybe she’d just forgotten to let anyone know she’d not be home. Or maybe it was another fucking secret.
“She said she’d read with me tonight.” Finn showed his book to Arthur with a sad pout. Black Beauty, Emily had bought that for him just yesterday.
“It’s a story about a real horse.” The book wasn’t too long, but it had a green cover and a drawing of a horse on the front. “In the book, the horse is the one who tells his own story.”
“The horse tells the story?” He asked, disbelieving. She nodded, reaching around his body on her lap to take her teacup off the table. “Horses can’t tell stories, Emmy! That’s silly!”
He tried not to laugh at the disgust in his littlest brother’s tone, Emily hiding her own smirk in the hair at the back of Finn’s head.
“That’s true, sweetie.” She said, infinitely patient. Always so fucking patient with the Shelby boys. “I think I explained bad. Remember we were talking about fiction and non-fiction? This is fiction. The horse was real, but his owner tells the story and pretends it’s the horse doing it.”
Finn’s face scrunched up, taking the book from Emily’s hands and running his fingers over the design on the front. He loved horses, like Tommy did, like Emily did, or more like they had before. Before, when all they wanted to do was ride them and care for them. When this life would never have occurred to them.
“Okay. Can we read it now?”
“Not now, Finn. Tonight. Right now, you need to finish your breakfast and then I’ll take you to school.”
And there went that acceptance. Emily was strict about not breaking her word to Finn if she could help it. He’d been clingier since they all came back, almost afraid they would leave again, and Emily had been working hard to make sure he felt better.
He thought of that bullet with his name on it, could practically feel it digging through his pocket and into his thigh. But that was just for him, right? There’s no way the Lees would–
“I’ll read with you, Finn.” Ada offered, gesturing their little brother over but he crossed his arms and shook his head.
“No. Emily reads with me.” There was that touchiness. “We’re going to learn the horse’s story together!”
“Call John.” Tommy directed that command to Polly. “Make sure she’s there.”
She wasn’t. When Polly shook her head at him, Tommy immediately looked over at Arthur who was already poised to go searching.
It took a good couple of hours, but eventually the bartender at the Marquis told them he’d seen her. She had a few drinks earlier in the evening and then left with a man he didn’t know. Tommy ground his teeth when he said the man’d been chatting her up for a while before they left.
“Blimey, couldn’t she had said something if she went looking for a fuck.” Arthur groused, tossing his jacket back on the hook, ignorant to how the source of Tommy’s anger had partially shifted. “Could have saved us so much bloody time. I’m going to bed.”
Tommy didn’t follow and he didn’t intend to rest.
She was back decently early the next morning. John hadn’t made it in, and Ada was still asleep, but everyone else was around. Breakfast hadn’t been made yet. Tommy had lost track of his cigarettes at this point, exhausted and somehow angrier.
Polly, Arthur, and his eyes immediately shot to her when she came onto the betting shop floor. She was wearing the same clothes from yesterday, making a beeline for the stairs.
“Good morning.” That’s all she had to say?
“Where the fuck have you been, eh?”
Emily stopped in her tracks and regarded him flatly, noticing at last the way all three of them were staring at her. Tommy didn’t yell but he was aware of how harsh he sounded.
“Out.” Contrastingly, her voice was even. Controlled. Removed.
“You didn’t come home last night and that’s all you have to fucking say?”
Her eyebrows raised at him, something about the lack of warmth in her gaze made him uncomfortable. It pushed into the guilt that had made a home in his chest. He leaned into his anger enough to ignore it.
“What of it?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He was toeing the line of yelling now, but he couldn’t stop himself.
She sighed and turned away from him back towards the stairs.
“I am not your family, Tommy. You made that fact effusively clear yesterday. You are not entitled to my whereabouts just because you want them.”
The guilt reared its ugly head and suddenly even his anger wasn’t strong enough to keep it at bay, draining away to near nothing. He’d regretted it as soon as he’d said it, and even more so now. He hadn’t fucking meant that. He’d just been so angry, because he was so frightened.
Halfway through her ascent, she added over her shoulder: “I’m going to change and then I’ll telephone Patrick – I haven’t forgotten, if that’s your concern.”
It took about a minute for him to move, finally remembering that they hadn’t been alone during that argument when he saw Arthur and Pol staring at him, the former surprised and the latter disappointed. He didn’t bother to say anything to them, didn’t even bother to take the time to hear what they were going to say – it couldn’t be any worse than what he was thinking.
“Fuck me.” He growled, extinguishing the butt of his cigarette in an ashtray and quickly making his way upstairs.
“People normally knock.” Emily said, placidly. Even her sarcasm felt flat.
He shut the door behind him and let out a huff of air. She wasn’t looking at him, hadn’t even turned around when he barged in, still staring into the darkness of her closet.
“If you’re going to ask where I was again, can we skip ahead in that conversation and begin directly from the part where I ask you to leave? It remains none of your concern.”
Her tone was clipped, controlled. This was how she spoke to other people, people she didn’t trust. One night, after they’d drank a bottle of whiskey between just them, she admitted that talking posh when she was at school was her way of protecting herself. Slipping in larger words, changing the structure of her sentences, even softening her accent. She said it distanced her from the conversation, made her feel more secure. That the person she was talking to didn’t respect her and it was her own version of a shield when she knew someone was looking down on her.
She said she wished she’d had the knowledge to be able to pull it off when her mother was still in her life. That she thought it might have been helpful against someone that hurt her, that maybe it would have made little her feel a bit less worthless.
She was doing it to him right now.
Drunkenly slurring, “I mean I can control my emotions, yeah? That’s all bloody good and all, keeps me from losing it when I know I shouldn’t, but the posh bit’s good at making me feel bigger. Can’t hurt me if I’m bigger, yeah?”
“It’s odd.”
He was leaned back against the pile of hay just outside Charlie's yard. They had laid there staring at the moon together. Tomorrow she would have to head back to school for another few months.
He’d heard her talking posh when someone had phoned the house looking for her, someone she obviously didn’t want to talk to.
“Hearing you talk like that. I don’t like it.”
She giggled at that, “Good thing I don’t need to do it around you then, eh?”
The way she’d beamed at him made his chest feel full. He was going to miss her constantly till she was back home.
“I’m sorry.” He was. He really was. “Okay? I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
“No need to apologise.” She offered, still so fucking flat. He hated this fucking tone, hated having this version of Emily talking to him. “You were just speaking your mind. Though perhaps less loudly in the future should you feel yourself getting angry in the stables; you nearly spooked the horse.”
She pulled a new blouse out of the closet, a blue one, and laid it down on her bed. Moving away, she found a new focus of attention in her dresser. The floor creaking as she shifted. Emily still didn’t even glance at him once. And she was still talking like that.
“Em.” He heard the pleading in his own voice. The sadness.
She hummed in acknowledgement, her eyes finally flicking over to look at him before returning to the skirt she grabbed.
“Can you please leave me? I need to get dressed.” She placed the skirt on her bed, and finally turned vaguely in his direction, but she stillwasn’t looking at him and she was still talking like that. “I’ll let you know when I call Patrick so you can listen in, that way you can be assured I’m doing as I promised.”
She really thought he didn’t trust her. She wasn’t forgiving him. She always forgave him. Why wasn’t she forgiving him?
He took a step closer to her and saw the way she tensed, afraid, and it felt like someone had just punched him in the stomach. His step stuttered. Did she think he would hurt her? That he could ever hurt her?
Steeling himself, he got close enough to reach out and take her hands. They were cold – she was always cold, always had been since they were kids. That’s why there were two blankets on her bed and why she carried a pair of gloves with her no matter what season it was. She tried to pull away, but he held firm.
“What do you want from me?” It was the first time her voice wasn’t flat, but she sounded so exhausted that it ached just as fiercely.
“I want you to forgive me.”
She sighed. “You just told me what you thought, and you were right. I’m not a Shelby, this is your family, not mine. I don’t have one.” The bitter twist in her words felt like someone had physically stabbed him. “I had no right to be making deals on your behalf. However, I will not apologize for keeping Ada’s confidence, because even if I’m not her family, I am her friend. I do not owe you her secrets.”
“You are family. Of course you’re fucking family.” He could hear the anger building in his tone again, the sharpness, but this time it was solely directed at himself. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was an ass, love. We’re your family and you’re the heart of us.”
She was the only heart he had left.
She tried to turn from him, move her gaze away so he wouldn’t see the heartbreak in her eyes. The doubt and fear, the loneliness of being excluded from the only people she had in the world. This was what she had been trying to hide behind her tough front, beneath her education and false confidence.
Threading fingers into dark curls, he pulled her into his arms. Still tense, he held on until she relaxed, until her arms came around him too, until she let her head rest on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean it.”
“I forgive you.” And his shoulders relaxed.
The plan she had made, the deal she had struck with O’Hare, was a good one. It was more than he was ever going to get, and he told her as much. Told her not to call it off. She told him to stop fucking apologizing when she’d already forgiven him. He chuckled.
“Tired, Emmy?” Her weight leaned more heavily into him, but he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. It soothed him to have her close. If he couldn’t have her the way he wanted, he could at least have these moments.
She hummed. “Katie and Leo kept me up half the night. I love John’s kids, but God they need more structure than he gives them.”
But now he had to pull back, just enough to look at her face, brow creasing. “Pol called John last night, said you weren’t there.”
And he ignored the anger that flared at the idea of her sharing another man’s bed. The possessive fury.
It was her turn to look at him funny. “I was though. Got in close to ten. I told Pol I’d be spending the night at his; asked her to break the news to Finn that I couldn’t read with him last night and tell him I’d make it up to him today.”
Wait what? Pol told them she wasn’t at John’s.
“What about that bloke at the Marquis? Barman said he was chatting you up.”
She blinked at him, lost. He knew when she was lying… and she wasn’t lying. Why would Pol keep this from them?
“Yeah. I went for a drink, met up with Dr. Haddington by chance, and…” Taking a step back, he didn’t let her get too far, grabbing her hand again and threading their fingers together. Comfort. “I got my old job back. I’m starting at the hospital next week.”
She continued on about how she’d let him walk her to John’s since it was so late, and then he’d gone home to his wife, but Tommy was too focused on his own disappointment.
“I thought…” He trailed off. He thought she was going to help him run the business, lead the family side-by-side. They were supposed to do this together.
It was like she read his mind, knew what the unhappiness in his eyes meant.
“I’m still going to help, Tommy. With anything and everything you want. I will always be what you need me to be.” It sounded like a vow because it was a vow. She’d made this vow before, and she’d always lived up to it. “But you were right yesterday, this is your family, your family business. And I’m a doctor, I should be doing that work or what was the point of that degree you worked so hard to pay for, eh?”
What he’d said yesterday. Yesterday she had been happy to work full time for the company. Yesterday this wouldn’t have been more than a passing thought that she dismissed. Yesterday he said a stupid thing and even if she’d forgiven him, she still took in what he said, still changed because of it.
This was going to take more than an apology.
People were happy again. Monaghan Boy had lost his race, but the people of Birmingham got their money back. It was a smart strategy, especially after the raids had pissed so many off, since the Inspector had pinned his reasoning on the Peaky Blinders.
But good will was something that came easily to them from the people of the city and, for the life of her, Grace could not understood why.
Watching the Shelbys, as she tended to do when they were at the Garrison, she could tell something was just slightly off that night despite the more jovial atmosphere. Tommy seemed tense, and he was sticking very close to Emily. At one point, she watched him glare John out of his seat, the one closest to the doctor, so that he could take it himself.
“Is everything alright?” Grace asked casually, grabbing another bottle of gin for Arthur. The oldest looked surprised and then confused.
“I don’t know – you all look tense.” She offered when he didn’t say anything. She wasn’t going to name Tommy specifically, but she didn’t need to.
Arthur chuckled, “You noticed that, eh?” He took a drag of his cigarette. “Tommy put his foot in it with Emily. They fought; they made up. He always gets touchy after. Should have seen them as kids, he’d apologise to her then trail after her for days like a bleeding dog.” His teasing tone turned more serious as he watched the pair for a moment, saw Emily lean up and whisper something into Tommy’s ear that made him smile. How was she able to get him to smile so easily? “He needs her though, always has. Don’t know where we’d be without her.”
He took the bottle with a nod and headed back into the snug, door shutting loudly behind him.
Harry really hadn’t been kidding when he’d told her how important Dr. Hughes was to the family. The inspector had already tried to get through to her, tried to get her to give something up, but even Grace knew she was a tough woman. Still, if even a fraction of what she knew about her relationship with the Shelbys was true, there wasn’t a doubt that she knew where those guns were.
“He’s going to show up.” They didn’t often talk at night when one of them had found their way into the other’s bed. But tonight… sleep was elusive. Tommy’s head was still tucked under her chin and her fingers were running soothingly through his hair, but she knew he was awake.
His grip around her waist tightened briefly. “I know how to deal with Billy Kimber.”
“I know you do, Tommy. You aren’t as hard to read as you think you are. You’re going to get him to want to meet you at Cheltenham, play on his ego, and leverage the Lee’s feud. I know.” She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I just worry.”
“There’s nothing to worry about, love. Not with you helping.” His voice was softer, quieter. The whispering made everything feel less dangerous. “Besides, you’ll come to the races with me. Get to watch out for yourself.”
“If we get tossed out again, you have to buy me dinner, you hear me, Thomas?”
She could feel his smile, lighting up at the memory of how they’d snuck into the VIP area as teens and only got half a dance before they were escorted out. It’d started raining, but Tommy insisted on finishing the dance. No restaurant would let them in soaking as they were.
“I promise.”
“Freddie’s been our friend for years.” Emily said simply.
Tommy watched as she flipped the page in her book, not looking up at him. How was her version of an easy day sitting in his office with him? The letter Polly had given him still sat between them on the desk. If Emily hadn’t been in the room when he’d gotten it, he probably would have tossed it in the fire immediately.
He hummed, pulling out a cigarette.
“The three of us used to be thick as thieves, Tommy. He took a bullet for you in France.” Her hand tightened on the book, and he said nothing. “I remember digging it out of him. I remember the story about what happened.”
His jaw worked. He remembered when Freddie made it back to the front, telling him that Emily’d been the one to patch him up. Told him she looked worn, tired, but so fucking relieved to hear that he and Freddie were doing as well as they could. Hearing about her, getting the letter that she sent with Freddie, made the last few months more bearable.
“Do you really trust him so little now?” Now she looked up, but quickly her eyes went back down.
“All this communism shit’s gone to his head.” He bit out. This was uncomfortable at best. “He’s not the man he was.”
She closed the book then, squinting at him.
“Who is?”
Leaning forward, he took a deep drag of his cigarette. At least she was looking at him properly now, no longer hiding herself away. Still afraid, but he was working to keep himself in check, hoping she wouldn’t retreat again.
He’d made her scared of pushing too far. Made her feel like she didn’t belong. And now he had to deal with the consequences. A part of him was still relieved that she was still willing to give her opinion without being prompted. That was a good sign.
“I can’t trust him anymore.” The words came out sounding like a confession more than the cold statement Tommy intended.
“Do you trust me?”
His eyes shot back up, words coming out automatically. “More than anyone.”
“Okay.” She nodded, as if that wasn’t already a given. As if there was any way she wasn’t the most loyal person he knew. “Can you trust that I trust him? He loves her. He’s still the same smarmy troublemaker he was when we were racing horses and climbing buildings… and so are you. Even if both of you show it differently now.”
She was the same too. Sitting here with her, he still felt like he had before the War: at home. He knew he was colder, more reserved, less gentle. And he wasn’t going to deny that she was quieter, sadder, and the harshest parts of her personality came out more often than they had before. But being around her made him feel like him again, like the him before, like the him he didn’t know how to be around anyone else if she wasn’t there too.
“Tommy.” Her voice was soft, soft in a way it was whenever she was trying to extinguish a quarrel within the family.
“Tommy, come on. Arthur, stop!” Her eyes had flicked between the two brothers. Grabbing the older Shelby by the wrist, she had stopped him from rushing out the door in a rage.
For his own part Tommy had been shaking, filled with fury. He couldn’t remember now what the fight had been about – they were many back in the day, but they were the things brothers had been supposed to fight about, they hadn’t been as bad as now. Hadn’t been about money or gang feuds or killing.
He didn’t want to fight with his brothers now. He hadn’t then either. But he just couldn’t stop sometimes.
“Please. For me?” Her voice had cracked, tears in her eyes.
Her mother had just disappeared with her little brother, Polly and their mother had just taken her in. This had been the first fight since she’d moved in properly. Overwhelmed at the yelling, at the anger, shaking in fear and terrified that this would be the thing to pull them apart and send yet another family the way of the first.
Arthur’s shoulders had fallen when he had realised that she had started crying. Anger tempered with concern, frustration at Tommy still obvious but less volatile. Even then, Emily hadn’t been a crier, had always been so strong, so seeing it was enough to stop him in his tracks.
Just as he had then, Tommy sighed and let go of the anger growing in his chest. Leaning back in his chair, he took a sip of his drink.
“What are you reading?”
In the corner of his eye, he saw her smirk. She knew she had won.
Summary: Mrs. Shelby worries Tommy’s fits might take him away from her. She vowed to stay with him in sickness and in health and intends to keep it, it doesn’t matter how hard he makes things be.
A/N: It feels so strange to write for season 6, I didn’t know what to do with the child death plotline, so I just stuck it up my ass, no child dies here.
WARNING: This fic contains Tommy's fits (obviously), panic attacks and the 1920s mentality
The heavy velvet curtains swayed with the breeze. Even during colder months, Tommy insisted a crack of the window should be open, he breathed better this way. The bedroom smelled of Mrs. Shelby’s moisturizer and clean sheets. The fireplace cracked, Tommy turned a page of his book and a maid in high heels walked past the door. Those were the louder sounds of that night. The world was quiet.
Mrs. Shelby’s eyes were fixed in the same spot for a while, resting her head on Tommy's thigh, her mind kept drifting back to the state she found him that morning. At first, she thought he had only slipped, then he didn't stand up. Against his will, she called a doctor, who only defined the episode as a fit. There had to be something more, Tommy barely reacted to the diagnosis. She knew he was reckless, his life was always on the line, but was he really selfish to the point of not searching for a diagnosis? If his condition was grave, would he abandon his family just for some more hours of work?
In a deep inhale, she pressed a sloppy kiss above his knee, desperate for assurance he was still there, with her, where he belonged. Tommy was slipping through her fingers and she was scared, scared he'd fall and never get up again, scared his brain would be damaged, scared there was no cure. Unconsciously, she dug her nails on his skin, she'd never find peace if he was gone. Thomas was her peace.
The man who had a long criminal record, cursed every three words and hid corpses under their wine cellar, was an angelic painting in the canvas of her brain. He looked so fragile in sleepwear and a book in hand, his long lashes blinked on the captivating eyes, they were the first thing to catch her attention years ago, blue, not like the ocean or the sky, blue like sadness itself, challenging, his full lips tasted like whiskey and remained closed, it was his eyes that said come closer, take down the walls around this heart.
His hands, built as fighting machines and carrying a ring of loyalty to his criminal organisation, were also so gentle on her, touching her skin with the tenderness she had never experienced before, he supported her waist, bouncing her up and down in a rhythm of her choosing and kissing her chest, right where her heart was, those, neither of them knew yet, but would be marked in her forever. Only the thought of losing him one day terrified her.
Nuzzling his thigh, she brushed her face on him, a habit he was often entertained by, if he was a horse, she was the barn's cat, you couldn't take one without the other. Peeking above the book, Tommy ran a heavy hand on her hair. “Promise me you will look for a better doctor, Tom,”
“I will,” he answered.
They didn't talk about it again.
—
She didn't know why Tommy still went to the parliament, in his endless scheming, he drained his own health. In their bedroom's suite, she hoped her kisses would keep him home a little longer, her head was off the shower’s curtain. How bad could it be to get a little late and be an attentive husband?
“I have to go,” he said against her lips, holding her hand that was locked to his tie.
“Just a little longer? Please?” she tried to persuade him into the shower.
“Begging for a quickie, love?” Tommy teased, setting himself free and heading to the exit, “I expect the same enthusiasm when I get home.”
The sunrise shone beautifully through the windows, lighting up the dark green walls. The early mornings were Tommy's favorite, he stopped at the top of the stairs, watching the passage of sleepy-looking maids, still tempted to return to his wife's arms.
A single minute later, she heard a heavy thump and the maids screaming. She didn't even turn the shower off, grabbing her robe and running off the bedroom. In the middle of the steps, Tommy's suitcase was open, a cascade of documents fell to the floor, inches away, his body shook with violence. “Oh my God, Tommy!!!”
She fell to her knees beside him, unsure of what to do. His pupils had rolled to the back of his head, making his eyes completely white, his face was red and his breath trembling at the same pace of shakes. What if he was choking? Cradling his head, she held him like a baby. “Tommy! Tommy, love! Can you hear me?!” Her hands ran through every spot of his head, as if she'd find a power off button. Nothing could be done, she held him against her body tight enough to restrain his movements.
As suddenly as he started, Tommy stopped shaking. He covered his face with a hand while his other arm kept still beneath him, broken. She looked up, helping him hide from the circle of maids around them. “What are you looking at? Go back to work!” She barked.
The crowd dissipated, without realizing, she lulled her husband back and forth, “it’s okay, it’s okay now,” she whispered. It soothed both of them. She caressed his head, following the way down to his neck and back, finishing with circular moves between his shoulder blades. “I got you, eh?”
Tommy moved slowly, hissing when his arm hurt, had had his ribs smashed before, he recognized the sort of pain. His eyes moved around the room, his house’s entrance hall, not a tunnel. Looking up, his wife stared at him, hand cupping the back of his head. He frowned, using his leg to try to get up, since the arm he was laying on was unusable, he only managed with her help, she pulled him up by under his arms exactly like she did with their children. How humiliating.
“Go to your office,” she instructed, “I’ll get your papers and call a doctor.” Her tone was calm, Thomas was no fool though, she spoke softly to induce his mood, not because she was calm herself. The worry was still clear on her face. Holding his broken arm, Tommy headed to his office, as soon as she was alone, Mrs. Shelby snapped her fingers for a maid to pick up the papers, at that moment she didn’t care for any of the business. As a matter of fact, she wished the company and the parliament exploded, it was them that made Tommy sick.
-
“You need some rest, no driving or playing sports, other than that you're alright, Mr. Shelby,” Dr. Holford put a cast in Tommy's arm. After the incident, the house was full of whispers, the kindest maids pitied Tommy, the meanest claimed his condition was punishment for his sins.
“What about his head?” Mrs. Shelby asked.
“What about it?”
“Doctor, as I told you, Tommy has been going through fits, like fainting but- I don't know, wouldn’t you recommend we do some deeper examinations in a hospital?”
Tommy and the doctor switched a look. His lips pursed as he explained, “Look, Mrs. Shelby, an unhealthy lifestyle, such as drinking or working too hard might lead to fits,”
“But Tommy doesn’t drink anymore,” she argued. Tommy nodded to Holford and he left against her protests, “can you believe it?! I’m not- Fuck it, that’s it, we’re going to a hospital now,”
Tommy sighed, his eyes had dark circles since early in the morning, the fit seemed to make them worse. As he walked to his desk, she noticed he had lost weight, for the first time she saw how much older he looked compared to before Polly’s death or before he became a MP. Those people were destroying him, she couldn’t allow that. “What is it, Tommy? Do you really trust that fucker? He only looked at your arm! He ignored me!”
Tommy unlocked a drawer and revealed an examination file, she rushed to get it, lifting the X-ray against the sunlight as he had done months ago, the tumour was huge, pressing parts of the brain she couldn’t tell the function, not that it mattered, the thing simply shouldn't be there. “That’s me,” Tommy said, “it’s inoperable, non transmissible, but it’ll get me gone in six months,”
Her face was blank, Tommy’s voice got farther and farther, her silky dress got too warm for the current season, sticking to her body as if it was two sides smaller. “What?” The office suddenly felt sultry, she frowned at the sight of the windows open. It didn’t make sense. Taking a step back, she turned her back on him, the bookshelves were blurry and her face got sweaty. No, she wanted to look at him. “Tommy,” she called, the X-ray fell from her hand. Her legs were weak and her lips dried. “No,” she whispered. Six months? Tommy would be gone in six months. The paintings she had carefully helped him choose were spinning. The world got darker…
And darker…
Tommy held her head before it hit the floor, he called for help. It was the last thing she heard.
-
A weak hum was the only sound she was strong enough to make, some nice wind refreshed her face while her left hand was too warm. “She’s waking up!” a female familiar voice said, Clara? No, perhaps Sandra. Her brain found out the warmth on her hand was Tommy, he was holding her hand a bit too tightly. The wind was gone, the maid with the fan got dismissed. “Can you hear me, love?”
She turned her face to the sound of Tommy’s voice. Weakly nodding. In their bedroom, all windows were open, the heavy blanket replaced by a light sheet, everything set up for her comfort. She felt something cold on her lips. “Here, have some water,” he said. Mrs. Shelby kept her eyes closed until she felt normal again, wishing that when she opened her eyes, Tommy’s arm wouldn’t be broken, she’d tell him of the dream she had and he’d conclude it was from the nerves. She was worried about his fits but he’d be diagnosed and medicated, nothing grave, only her worrying too much.
“Francis told me the same thing happened when I had the accident with Father Hughes,” Tommy commented, “Why did you never tell me?”
“Accident,” she scoffed, a cracked skull with internal bleeding was not an accident, “what would you have done? Doctor said it’s emotional.”
He sighed, caressing her fingers, her hand looked so fragile in his, her knuckles were delicate, not battered like his own, her wedding ring was displayed with pride, she always kept it clean and lustrous. The only person to never try to limit him. She was always there, now he’d have to leave her, defeated by his own body. He didn’t want to go, if he received the same news from her, his reaction would probably be similar. The truth was, in those circumstances, he’d do anything she asked.
Her eyes opened, she looked at his cast, the grey in his hair, in six months it’d be all gone, what an awful wife she was, Tommy was not even fifty yet and looked so much older, wasn’t she meant to take care of him? “What will you do?”
“Y/N…”
“Don’t kid me, Thomas,” she demanded.
“What do you want me to do? I’ll finish this business, then-” his jaw clenched as he looked away from her, “Then I’ll go away, I can’t drag down you with me,”
“You already have,” she coldly stated, “I’ll go with you,”
“No-”
“And don’t try to stop me, I’ll find you anywhere! If you go to the hills, I’ll find you, if you go back to France, I’ll find you and I’ll stay with you until you’re gone!” She snapped, “And I swear to you that if when I’m gone you don’t come to take me to the other side, I’ll find you in heaven or hell!”
Tommy gulped, “So I don't have a say on it?”
“No,” she nodded, “you can make things easier or harder for both of us.”
-
Eight months later
Marianne Allen grew up in a catholic school, unlike some of her friends, she never looked at the boys sitting at the other side of the isle, her eyes were fixed in the rosary in her hand. At seventeen, she went to a charm school, becoming remarkable for her polite and delicate manners, her tea, embroideries, dancing and piano play were the best. She knew the bible inside out. The perfect wife. The most moral amongst the women. All her dedication was wasted by the Great War, her husband died and she’d been alone since. Her hair got grey, her beautiful smile put wrinkles around her eyes, she was still virtuous, but no one looked at her in the streets anymore.
It never stopped her from looking at people, Mrs. Allen had mixed feelings about the couple who rented the house across the street. The rumors didn't go easy on them. They were gypsies, criminals, the whispers went far enough to say the man was a MP, the type to make your life worse and never show his face. They were in fact strange, she thought the gypsy part was right, they were barely ever home, if they were, their children were too, brought by a woman in a Rolls Royce she overheard was called Ada, they only stayed for a few of weeks and disappeared again.
Although reluctant, she was determined to know the couple better to satisfy her own curiosity. A sunny Friday evening, she learned by watching through the window the children had left yesterday, she baked a Shepherds pie and crossed the street, she was short on time before they left again. Close to their door, she heard the woman laughing, the man kept talking excitedly, they sounded like newlyweds.
Breathing in to get some courage, she knocked, the laugh immediately stopped, everything got quiet, she heard the man asking something and steps coming to answer the door. The woman was wearing a yellowish dress, the cut was simple but the cloth showed how expensive it was. She carried an orchid brooch in her chest which Marianne’s eyes fell on.
The woman sized her up and weakly smiled, “Hello,”
“H-hi,” Mrs. Allen greeted, “I'm Marianne Allen, your neighbor from across the street, hm, I never got the chance of welcoming you, you're rarely ever home,”
“Y/N Shelby,” she shook Marianne’s hand, “I’d invite you in for some tea, but my husband and I are just about to leave,”
“I imagined so, please, take this pie,” Marianne kept looking at the brooch, “An orchid? It means-”
“Love and strength,” she completed, “my husband stole it from Tiffany's,”
“Oh, hm, I see,” Mrs. Allen stepped back, the rumours were right, those people were strange, “I must go home now.”
Without bigger goodbyes, the elderly lady crossed the street. Mrs. Shelby laughed, the brooch wasn’t stolen, she only wanted to get a reaction. “Tommy!” She went back inside, “Our lunch is guaranteed.”
“Who was it?” He asked, pouring them two glasses of whiskey.
“Ah, some neighbour from across the street,” she shrugged off, took her glass and proposed a toast, “a last trip before we get that fucker Holford?”
His glass touched hers, they gulped down their drinks and sat down to eat.
Summary: You’re married to Thomas Shelby and expecting his third child, but the kids have been driving you mad all day and the house has descended into chaos. Luckily, Thomas comes home to restore some peace and quiet
A/N: So @mollyxoxox246 requested: If u still do requests, Hey I got a request Hope this make sense so basically U have 2 kids with Tommy and u are pregnant with u 3 and the kids been naughty all day and Tommy come home and hear the kids not listening to u and he yells at the kids. Thank you so much for requesting! I love some Tommy domestic fluff and it was fun to write this short little fic!
Words: 1193
***
Finally, it was quiet. The only sounds you heard now were the dripping of the faucet and the ticking of the clock overhead. Apart from that, the house was completely still. Too quiet, some part of you warned you internally, but like hell you’d be the one to break the silence now. The truth was that your kids had been driving you mad all day. Yes, they were cute. Yes, they could be sweet. Yes, you loved them. But, by God, they were loud and demanding.
