she was meant to leave; to new york, to boston, to wherever the fuck her heart desired. she had cut ties, she was going to start a new life. away from this. no longer chasing after the memory of her father, the need to make sure that she done this all for him. she was no longer tied down by a ghost hovering over her shoulder, reminding her why she needed to do this. she had find a light, she had found thomas shelby in the dingy little pub called the garrison, and something had told her that this was far from over. all of it. she had waited for him; waited, waited, waited. campbell had turned up instead, pointing a gun, waiting for her. he had known, and grace wishes she had seen it coming. she had fired and she had run. back. back to thomas; back to where she told herself she would no longer go. back to small heath and the flat that she had lived in for more days than she was meant to. that she was considering home. he was waiting for her, of course, he was. the door kicked in; the lock broken, the contents inside everywhere. she couldn’t find herself surprised at that, though. could only stare at him; he knew. they all knew. she should have fucking gone to new york, but her fingers trembled as she took in the sight of his. fear gripping her heart, curling fingers around her throat, making speech impossible. he yells at her, because he has to. because this is what she deserves. only, he sounds broken. a broken, desperate man, just trying to understand. she had done this to him, and something in her chest hurts to sharply that she’s surprised it didn’t have her falling like campbell had when she fired her gun at him. she can feel it; can feel the thump, thump, thump, loud enough that grace thinks that maybe tommy can hear it too. he stares at her, and tears swim in her eyes. “i’m sorry,” she whispers, because that is all she can find within herself to say. it’s the truth. it’s a fact. she’s so sorry it makes her feel sick; has kept her up more nights than he could imagine. they made love in this room, she thinks, when she looks at him. they moaned into each other’s mouths and grace has never felt more alive than she did with thomas shelby’s fingers creating patterns on her body. it was the first time since this all started that she had been able to sleep; knew it to be the same for him, too. when she woke in the middle of the night and watched him; the calm on his face, the vulnerability there that she would not see any other time. until now. not quite the same; a broken trust. she had ruined it. “i’m so sorry, thomas,” he wouldn’t believe her – what reason did he have to? tears fall over her cheeks, and grace furiously tries to wipe them away. doesn’t want him to think she’s crying to make him feel sorry for her. no, it’s very much the opposite. she wants him to be angry with her, she deserves it. “i don’t deserve your forgiveness… but you have to believe me, i did this because i had to… the minute that i realised– i tried to make it stop. so many times. he wouldn’t let me,” his blood stains her fingers, her shoes. this time, she can’t say she cares about the death of a man on her hands. “i couldn’t let him get to you, i tried to make it stop…” she stands in the doorway of the shell of what could have been her life. “i’m so sorry.”
