My Guiding Lights (Tommy Shelby x reader)
Summary: Tommy does not handle being out of control well, it claws at him like street cats, fighting and biting until he cannot handle it anymore. So when you are giving birth to his first child, he takes matters into his own hands.
This is my contribution to @emilyhufflepufftlk 300 followers celebration! Congrats again!
My prompt was: the one with the birth
Quick disclaimer: I am not an expert in birthing practices during the 1920s nor am I Romani. For this story I did some research on both topics but not extensive, so please forgive me if I get anything inaccurate or misrepresent the Romani practices. I know I took some liberties because of what we have seen in the show.
Warnings: reader giving birth (if you haven't picked that up by now), mild language, brief mention of past violence, Tommy's mind and control freak tendencies.
Words: 4700
Tommy paced the snug of the Garrison, the few paces it consisted of. His feet guided him as his thoughts twisted and tumbled over one another. His strongest asset under attack. Stinging wasps infiltrated his mind. Fears plagued him. Stinging. Tormenting. Worry echoed with each footstep.
Back and forth.
Back and forth he paced.
He should have been utilizing these past few hours properly. The power-hungry businessman within him demanded it. Making plans for further expansion into and around London. Listening to the whispers of gossip and the hidden morsels of truth in them. Anything. Even cracking a few heads and bloodying his suit because someone looked at him wrong. Anything other than this useless pacing.
But the concern and fear kept an ever tightening chokehold around his throat, refusing to relent. So he paced.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
By the time he was done, there would certainly be a permanent groove embedded the wood floor.
Never more had he felt a predator trapped in a cage. Staring through the bars, eyeing those who stared warily at him, waiting….just waiting to sink his teeth into someone and shred them, just to momentarily sate the burning fear that choked him.
He stopped his pacing to throw back another glass of whiskey before resuming his relentless pacing. His suit jacket had been discarded within the first hour of his arrival at the Garrison. His sleeves were now rolled up, the top two buttons undone on his dress shirt. His hair most likely looked a mess with how often he had run his fingers through the dark strands. He knew this was a side of him rarely seen by the population of Birmingham. Thankfully so. For when Harry opened the door into the snug, to bring in their newest bottle of whiskey, he had physically recoiled when meeting Tommy's icy eyes. The gangster wondered how much of the manic consuming his mind bled through into his gaze, making him seem more crazed predator than human.
And so he paced.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
"Tommy, sit down." Arthur chuckled, throwing his cards down on the table. A groan left his lips when he realized that he lost another hand in the poker game Tommy was supposed to be playing with his brothers to distract him. Instead he was pacing.
Tommy ignored his older brother. His feet never stopped.
"C'mon, Tom." John smirked as he pulled the winnings closer to him. "You know Pol's takin' care of her. Esme's there too. She'll be fine."
"Not wot you was saying when your first was born, eh?" Arthur pointed out, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before draining it. "Puking behind the Garrison, you were. Drinking like a fish then to puke it all up from nerves. Me and Tommy almost put you outta your misery, knock you out cold. Fuck. Was planning on it when Ada came running' and screaming' about the baby being' born. Then you could barely walk back to Watery Lane, reeking of whiskey and vomit. If Martha wasn't holding a baby in her arms, she'd probably have hit you with her favorite pan. Yeah, that bloody heavy one too."
The corners of Tommy's mouth tilted upward as Arthur spoke, taking a moment to reminisce. He remembered Ada and Finn's births as a child himself. He could remember finally being allowed to return home after hours of being forced to stay outside while his mother screamed and cried with bringing new life into this unforgiving world. Yet with John's first, he had been a man and had a better understanding of what was going on. Of how precarious and difficult giving birth could be for both the woman and child. How there was no guarantee that both would survive. That a new life could just as easily rip away the one guiding it into the world. And all the blood and screams….
With that thought in mind, Tommy started pacing and chain smoking again. Fears renewed and clawed at him until he wanted to smash his head against the wall to just make it stop.
Right away this morning, before the sun even graced the sky and he opened his eyes, he knew something was wrong.
Tommy always woke up before his wife, usually before any other Shelby member since he was a child. There was something about waking up before the rest of the world, in taking those minutes of silence and peace to allow his mind to fully awaken and his body to restart. To just be….until he put on the suit and firmly tightened the stoic mask he wore and became what he needed to be.
Once he met you, the love of his life, and convinced you to start regularly sleeping in his bed, he was now not as quick to rise and greet the sun. He would be awake, but instead of crawling out of bed like before, with a cigarette in hand and searching for a glass of whiskey to toss back, he would linger. His hand might trace lightly over your exposed skin or listen to your breathing there in the morning gray. His thoughts would writhe and twist like normal, scheming and planning before he had even rubbed the sleep from his eyes. But with you in bed next to him, he remained just a little while longer, soaking up the peace he only found with you nearby. His wife. The one who truly saw past his mask and drew out the hidden, compassionate side of him he had thought long dead and buried.
So when he woke up this morning, finding himself alone in the bed, only the first rays of sunlight hinted in the sky….he knew something was wrong.
Dressed only in a pair of knickers, Tommy rushed downstairs to find you washing the dishes you had been too tired to finish last night. Your nightgown hung loosely over your frame, but clung jealously tight against your swollen belly. As he opened his mouth to ask what you were doing, you froze, hand gripping the edge of the sink with an intense look of concentration. After two deep breaths, your eyes focused back as if waking from an uncomfortable daydream. It was then you noticed him. A beguiling smile lit up your face as you spoke softly.
"We're having a baby today."
And his whole world imploded.
Apparently, your contractions had started the hour prior and because of them you could not sleep. So instead of waking Tommy, which he was quite unhappy about and made sure you understood, you had snuck downstairs to do some chores while you waited for your contractions to progress. He logically knew it took hours until it was time for the baby's arrival, especially with the first. It did not mean he liked the idea of you suffering alone, even if you assured him you were fine.
Eventually Polly arrived, took one look at you and stated, "I had a feeling when I woke up it'd be today." Then she eyed Tommy in his undressed state, since he refused to leave his wife alone, and forcibly commanded that he get dressed and get to the betting shop. This was women's business now.
Yet while at the betting shop, he could not think. Worries gnawed away at his mind like filthy rats. Panic and despair whispered their half-truths into his ears. In his distressed state, all he could do was stare at the green doors. Knowing on the other side was his beautiful wife in labor with their first child. A baby they were both thrilled to have. Now anxiety reminded him what you must endure to bring his child into the world, to place it in his arms. And how easily he could lose both you and the already beloved baby.
Only after two hours of being open, Arthur and John shut down the shop for the day and dragged his arse to the Garrison. They kept Scudboat and Lovelock back to maintain presence at the betting shop and announce that it was a Birmingham holiday.
Hours late here he was. Still pacing. That ever tightening chokehold of fear made it hard to breathe. The heavy stone of anxiety threatened to cave in his chest. There had been no word of how you were doing. Or how the babe was. So his mind conjured nightmares to fill in the void of information. He wondered if the combination of terrifying thoughts and excessive whiskey would send him puking his guts out behind the Garrison. Now he felt a stab of regret for teasing John so ruthlessly after his own turbulent experience.
"Tommy," John murmured again, an undertone of understanding in his voice. He met his older brother's eyes, compassion shining as he spoke words of reassurance. "She'll be fine. She's strong. Pol won't let anything 'appen."
Tommy nodded silently, letting his brother's words flow over him like a cool breeze.
"Think the babe will look like Tommy?" Arthur asked, rearranging the cards in his hand. Clearly attempting to break the tense air stifling the snug.
"I fooking hope not. Poor child will be teased if he's that ugly."
Tommy lightly smacked the back of John's head, even as John just smirked and swatted him back. For a moment, the despair lightened like the sun breaking through storm clouds.
Arthur laughed loudly. "Yeah, probably best the babe takes after y/n. A beauty she is. Poor girl can't go anywhere without men just staring at 'er."
"That's me wife you're talking about." Tommy growled but without any sort of heat behind his words.
"And the perfect wife for you!" Arthur raised his glass in a toast before tossing it back. John quickly followed suit.
Tommy made a mental note to ask about who has been staring at his wife. Then he started pacing again.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Finally, the storm swirling in his chest reached its peak, battering against his resolve until it lay decimated like a ship against the merciless rocks. He had to do something. Anything. If he continued pacing, drowning himself in whiskey and cigarettes, he was going to lose what last pieces of sanity he still maintained.
No one wanted to see the consequences of that.
Without a word, he grabbed his suit jacket and yanked it on. Even before his arms were fully in the sleeves, he had thrown open the door to the snug and raced out like the devil was on his heels. From behind, he could hear Arthur and John calling out to him but he kept moving. His fears, his sudden terror, growled at his heels like vicious wolves. His need to know, to see his wife, propelled him onward.
Tommy was a man who had always liked to be in control. Who held all of the cards and could play them as he pleased. Who was three steps ahead of everyone else. It was not arrogance when he could confidently say he was the most intelligent man in Birmingham. Ever since he was a child, he had always been more clever and smarter than his peers. When others could only see a straight line, he saw multiple, twisting lines that got him farther and with more resources than that single straight line everyone else saw.
Beyond that, he needed that control as much as the air he breathed. For without it, he felt like a rowboat lost at sea, tossed about by waves and praying it would not capsize. Bad things usually happened when Tommy was not in control.
But in this situation….he had none. There was nothing he could do. There was no one he could pay for the right information. No way to be ahead of the game. He had no control over childbirth. Over the pain his wife would endure. No control if everything went to hell. There was not a goddamn thing his hands or his mind could do to solve it.
And that very simple fact terrified him down to his core.
Without a care, he threw open the front door to 6 Watery Lane and stalked in like a predator on the loose.
Almost immediately, Esme popped around the corner from the parlor. Shock initially crossed her face before morphing into confused annoyance. She crossed her arms over her chest, dark eyes narrowed at him. "You can't be 'ere."
"It's me own home."
"You can't be here!" Esme practically snarled. "You'll bring bad spirits with you!"
Tommy approached his sister-in-law, his movements smooth, not giving away the way he felt his bones vibrating with agitation and concern. He stopped just in front of her, towering over her smaller form, his voice cold and clipped when he directed his question to her. "Where is she?"
Before Esme could respond, Polly stood behind her, an almost matching scowl on her face.
"You shouldn't be here, Thomas. This is women's business. You'll make the birthing further unclean if you come in."
"And bring bad spirits with you." Esme mumbled, still glaring though.
Tommy raised his eyes to the ceiling for a moment, willing himself to take a deep breath and not yell at the women in his family. He knew they still clung to many of the Romani beliefs and superstitions. Something he had never truly believed himself. All those notions about luck and bad spirits and fate….as a young boy he had disregarded it and continued to ignore them for the most part. The only thing he did believe in was curses.
When he no longer felt the urge to rampage through his own house, looking for his own wife, who was going to give birth to his own child, he lowered his eyes back to the women folk. Slowly he enunciated his next words, allowing his frustration to bleed over every syllable and hopefully make them realize how serious he was. "Where. Is. My. Wife?"
"Tommy, you can't–" Polly stopped and looked back into the parlor room, clearly listening. With a grumble, she rolled her eyes and stepped to the side just enough to indicate her begrudging willingness for Tommy to enter. "She's asking for you."
With a nod at his aunt, he crossed into the parlor room, unsure exactly what he was stepping into but knowing he needed to be here. For both himself and you.
What he saw both made his heart race and blood turn to ice. There you stood in front of the fireplace, still dressed in the loose nightgown. The firelight danced across you, highlighting your swollen belly and the sweat on your brow. Your hands tightly gripped the back of a wooden chair, your eyes pinched shut and a pained grimace on your face.
"She's close. Won't be much longer now." Polly softly said, shifting to stand by Tommy's side.
He nodded mutely at the same time your eyes slowly opened and turned to him. A stab to the gut, a bullet to the shoulder, anything would have been less painful. For it was the pain still obvious in your eyes and in every bead of sweat dotting your skin, that hurt to bear witness to. The worst was the small, shaky smile you gave him, the reassurance he needed when it should be the other way around.
"Tommy…." You barely mouthed before pinching your eyes shut again and your lips pulled back in the grimace as the next wave of contractions slammed into your body.
Immediately, Tommy moved. He shucked his suit jacket off, tossing it carelessly onto the couch. In the next step, he moved behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders. "What can I do, darling? Please tell me I can help."
With the short reprieve between contractions, you leaned back, resting your head on his chest. "I'm fine."
He snorted. "You're in labor." His hand absent-mindedly ran along your side and towards your back. "How can I help?"
A soft sigh escaped you. "Right there. My lower back."
His hand returned to rubbing soothing circles and applying pressure against your lower back. In the next moment, you were leaning forward, gripping the chair with a death-like hold.
He turned his focus onto his aunt, a new layer of fear and worry dripped into his blood like poison. "Shouldn't she be….screaming?"
"Some women handle pain, even labor pains, differently." Polly stared thoughtfully at you, someone the matriarch had stated was family even before you married Tommy. "You remember when she fell and got that gash on her arm. It bleed so much, I worried she'd pass out, but the whole time she never cried. Even when I stitched her up. Brave, foolish girl."
Tommy bit the inside of his cheek as the memory swept over him. It was before your relationship became concrete, when the two of you were just friends but he wanted so much more. The story you had shared was that you tripped and fell. Later, he learned the whole truth from one of the Peaky boys. That a drunkard had knocked you down and spat on you because in his intoxicated state, he confused you for his wife who was coming to retrieve him from the bar. The next day Tommy and his brothers paid the man a visit, educating him on what happens to those who hurt persons under the protection of the Peaky Blinders.
"I need to check her." Polly said, drawing Tommy out of his memories and back into reality.
Once the contraction ended, Tommy stepped back to roll up the sleeves of his shirt again while Polly checked your dialation.
The matriarch smiled up at you. "You're just about there. You're doing so good, love."
You nodded, already leaning forward with the next onslaught of pain.
"Tommy shouldn't be 'ere, s'not right." Esme said, taking a random scarf laying around and sliding her fingers through, making sure there were no knots.
Tommy glared at her, his voice ice cold. "I'm not leaving me wife while she's in pain."
With a huff, Esme got up, muttering under her breath continuously as she stomped over and rummaged through her bag.
Tommy swung his gaze back to his aunt. "Don't force me to leave. Please." He whispered. Even to his own ears, he sounded like a little boy. A vulnerability that had been shattered under the impact of his father's fists and the realization that the world did not care for lowlife scum like him and his family. But for this….for you, he would beg to not leave your side.
Polly hesitated but something in his gaze, in his words, made her inhale sharply and nod. Perhaps she caught a glimpse of that long lost boy she had watched vanish before her eyes. "Alright, Tom, but when it's time, you do what I say. No questions asked."
"Yes, boss."
She rolled her eyes, even as the corners of her lips tilted up. "I'll get the hot water and cloths ready."
As Polly headed towards the kitchen, Tommy returned to his spot behind his wife, rubbing your lower back and whispering encouragement. He knew enough from helping horses that nature would take its course and all one could do was wait.
Esme came to his side, holding a comb. "Let me brush her hair, can't have any knots. It'll help bring luck."
For the next several minutes, Tommy and Esme worked on you. His fears continued to fester. It was obvious each contraction seemed to worsen. The few times a whimper escaped your lips, he pressed his face against your head, wishing he could take away your pain. He would give anything to alleviate your pain, to take it upon himself. But he could not. So he did what he could to help, even if he felt useless. Which irked him. Made his skin crawl at his own uselessness. Those stinging thoughts in his mind transformed into vultures, circling, circling, waiting to feast on his decaying sanity.
What chewed away most at his confidence was how unresponsive you became as labor continued. He could still hear your breathing, could feel your heartbeat. But when Esme directed a question at you, it took several tries of your name before you responded.
He could not help but wonder if your continued silence was better or worse than screaming.
After some time, you stiffened. Your head shot up to where Polly had been standing, watching you with a hawk-like precision.
"I pushed….I–I didn't mean to. It just happened–"
"Good girl, it's alright. That just means it's time." His aunt said calmly, then directed the others like the general she was. "Tommy, help her around. Sit down in that chair, I want her squatting in front of you. You'll support her. Esme, prepare the cloths."
Tommy helped his wife quickly as his aunt directed. He sat down and spread his legs wide for you to squat between, facing outward. Pain seemed etched onto your beautiful face, your breathing shallow. Sweat coated your body. As soon as you were in position, you grabbed his hands, your arms over his thighs. He clutched your hands in return, hoping it brought you some idea of relief.
Polly knelt in front of you. "Alright, love, push when your body tells you too."
Time was irrelevant as you worked and fought to bring your child into the world. Your grip on his hands was borderline crushing but he never thought to complain or try and pull away. He continued to whisper, his lips against your temple, tasting your sweat, embracing what pain he could, to try and take it from you.
"I can't, Polly." You whimpered out after some time. The first words you had spoken since Tommy walked in a couple of hours ago. "I can't….I'm so tired."
His heart shattered like a glass window listening to you. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He wished he could offer you some comfort, some relief, but this was your battle, and he was stuck on the sidelines.
Polly's dark, knowing, eyes met yours. "Yes, you can. I promise. I can feel the head. You're almost there, love. A couple more pushes then you can meet your baby. Think about that. You can meet your babe in a few minutes. Don't give up."
You nodded before giving a grunt with the next contraction.
"One more! The head almost came out!"
Tommy pressed his lips to his wife's ear. "Let's meet our child, eh? My strong wife. Let's see our baby."
He wondered if you heard his words, if that was the encouragement you needed. For in the next instant, you let out a pained cry as your body shuddered.
"Yes! One more! I've got the head!" Polly said, with her hands underneath your sweat-soaked nightgown.
"Hear that? One more, my sweet darling. One more." Tommy crooned.
Then he heard it. The squelch. The flush. The sound of life entering the world.
Immediately, you sagged in his arms, all energy drained, like a puppet with its strings cut. He grabbed a hold and fell with you to the ground, cradling you in his lap. Blood stained your dress and legs, soaking into his clothes but he did not even notice. His sole focus was on the rapid breathing of his wife, your eyes closed and lips pressed together.
"Oh love, he's beautiful." Polly cooed as she cradled the bloody bundle in her arms. She used a different cloth to wipe away his face and head, a beaming smile on her face.
At her words, Tommy felt his heart miss a beat. A son. He had a son.
"Open your eyes, love. Meet your son." Polly carefully knelt down, holding the baby. She placed the newborn on your chest.
Even as shivers rocked through your body in response to the trauma it just experienced, your hands reflexively stilled as they cradled the newborn against you.
"We need something of Tommy's to wrap him in!" Esme cried.
"Me coat." He mumbled, eyes locked onto his son. Yet relief waited at the threshold, not quite ready to enter in and erase the fears and worries Tommy still harbored.
Esme grabbed the coat, bringing it over and gently laying it over the baby and his wife's bloody, sweaty body.
While you gazed lovingly down at the baby you had brought into the world, Tommy watched his aunt and Esme turn your body carefully and reach back under your nightgown. After several long moments, the faintest hint of concern slid off Polly's face.
She glanced up at him, most likely feeling his gaze locked on her. "The afterbirth is out and her bleeding is already slowing down. She'll be alright, Tom. I promise."
And with that simple, reassuring promise, the foul air that filled his lungs with fear was knocked away with a swift kick. Relief finally crossed the threshold and anchored itself into his mind. His arms tightened around his still trembling wife. The emotional turmoil he had warred with throughout the day seeped out, leaving him emotionally exhausted. Yet through it all, he had never felt more alive. More hopeful.
His focus dropped down to the baby on your chest, his little mouth opening and closing slowly and his tiny fingers twitching. A sense of awe and wonder crawled up his spine to twist around his heart. You, his beautiful wife, had given him a child. A single tear escaped his watery eyes and dropped into your hair but neither of you seemed to notice, too absorbed in the miracle you had created together.
"You did it." He croaked out. "We've a son. Our son."
"Our baby." You murmured.
As if hearing your words, the newborn opened his eyes….and Tommy thought he could drown into the vast blue of them. For they were his eyes staring back at him.
At that moment, he knew he would do anything for his son. He thought he knew love when he gave his heart to you, when he allowed himself to be completely vulnerable with you in ways he had never been with anyone else. But this….staring into his son's eyes. It was a far different feeling than he expected. For you, his wife, he would sell his soul to the devil without a second thought to take care of you. But for his son, for this new babe in your arms that with a single look shook the foundations of his world, he would storm the gates of hell and rip the devil's heart out himself if anyone dared harm his child.
"I love you." Tommy whispered as overwhelming emotions welled up in his chest, clinging to his throat, and threatening to escape in sobs of sheer relief and devotion. Instead he placed a kiss to your temple and ran a single finger over the top of his son's head.
"I love you too, Tommy." You glanced up at him, from where you reclined against his chest, before turning back to your baby. "And we love you. Mummy and daddy love you so much."
Tommy stared down at his family, the love of his life and his newest reason to be better, to do better. His heart stretched and strained, trying desperately to fit the love overfilling it, just trying to accommodate it all somehow.
As he continued to gaze down at his son while Polly helped you to try and feed him, he knew one thing for certain. What ruthlessness people thought he harbored was nothing compared to what would be unleashed if anyone dared to touch his family. A peaked cap or a bullet to the brain would be the least of their concerns. He would overthrow governments to keep his family safe. He would break countries to keep his family protected. Nothing was outside of the realm of possibility he would do. For as his love grew to encompass his new son, his need to see him and you safe mirrored it. Whatever it would take. He would see it done.
For his wife and now his son were his guiding lights and he refused to allow anyone to put them out.
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