Dorothea

She wished that she could have told him everything. She wished that for once she could put everything out in the open; she had intended to at first, but seeing him face to face again after so long had changed everything.

Dorothea didn't want him to know everything. She didn't want him to know about The Ice Palace, about the things she had been forced to do, about the things she regretted and the things she should have regretted but didn't.

So, she had just told him what she needed him to know; that she had gotten mixed up with a bad crowd, found herself under contract working for the Dirtyhands gang and that her most recent job had turned sour, that she had killed someone she shouldn't have and now she needed him to help get her out of the firing line.

She had a feeling he knew that she wasn't giving him the full story, but if he did Tommy hadn't said so, in fact, he hadn't said anything at all.

He had been silent while she spoke, interrupting her not even once, but she could see anger burning in his eyes. Despite his cool and unbothered facade; he was furious. Then, his eyes which had been searching hers as she talked, sparking with the intensity of stuttering flames from a bonfire- drained cold. Maybe he had saw himself through the mirror of her eyes and not liked it, or maybe it was because she was staring at him; whatever it was it turned him into some kind of statue made of ice, and she couldn't help but shudder.

Dorothea told herself it was because of the rain; it was the weather and her injuries that had made her shake, but in reality it was probably because she had just realised that this wasn't her Tommy that she was speaking to. This Tommy was a dangerous stranger; and he was much more dangerous looking when he wasn't angry.

She thought maybe this was a mistake, actually it most definitely was a mistake; and she just hoped that it would turn out to be less of a mistake than everything she had done thus far.

After saying her bit, she closed her eyes and inhaled a long heavy breath, turning her head skyward and bracing herself for the blunt force of his words. She wished now that she hadn't given him the rum back, she could've done with a drink right about now.

"Tell me this is a fucking joke." There it was. His words were frostbitten, sharp and biting like a winter cold and yet spoken so casually as if he were asking for her favourite colour.

For a moment it was as if she were sitting with Benedict Hale in his office, and her shoulders jolted as she heard his glass hit the table.

Her eyes fluttered open and she was reminded where she was, who she was with; it was Tommy. But it wasn't her Tommy.

And that made her nervous.

"I wish I could say it was." She breathed out just barely. Dorothea was suddenly aware of her exhaustion, she hadn't slept for the last two days, and compiled with the cold, with the wound on her side still bleeding and the weight of everything sitting upon her, she felt so very tired.

She wanted to climb into bed, pull the sheets over her head and wake up to discover that this was all just one very bad dream.

But it wasn't a bad dream, it was a nightmare; and it was all so very real.

"Benedict fucking Hale, Dorothea." Tommy's voice had raised ever so slightly, and she had looked into his eyes searching for the fire but they were still frosted over.

She sighed. He was hiding from her, just like she was from him.

"Benedict fucking Hale has a bounty on your head because you killed his brother and you want me to what? Pay it off?"

Now it was her turn to be silent. Now she was angry.

Did he think she'd killed the man for sport? It had been an in the moment thing, he wanted her dead and she was insistent on keeping her heart beating, it was the only thing she could have done to save herself. Maybe she should have let him run her through with his knife though, because what she thought was saving herself was actually guaranteeing her a worse fate.

She had to tell herself to try and bite her tongue from yelling this back at him, she needed Tommy on her side, she couldn't do this without him otherwise.

"Dirtyhands aren't my business Dorothea, do you know how much it'd cost if I were to make it my business?" His words were carefully pronounced, slow and emphasized like an adult reprimanding a child to make sure they understood the consequences of their actions.

This made her furious.

She was no child, she was no idiot.

Dorothea knew he wouldn't bail her out even if she had batted her eyelashes and said some pretty words and flirted. Men like him, men like Benedict and the rest of the bosses of the most prolific gangs didn't do anything for free. Not even for a pretty face, and especially not unless they stood to gain something great from it.

The old Tommy perhaps might have done so for the old her, but he was no longer that boy; he wasn't the boy that had tugged on the ribbons in her hair, that had listened to her poetry and told her it was beautiful even though it made no sense and was absolutely dreadful, or the boy who had dared her to do stupid and reckless things-things that she had done without question because that Dotty had wanted to impress him.

He wasn't her Tommy, not the Tommy she remembered.

That Tommy was a fading memory.

The man looking at her now was a beautiful and cold stranger.

"Don't talk to me as if I'm a fool Thomas. I'm well aware of the cost and my worth." She said, making sure her words were as icy as his had been. She had shot up from her chair, ignoring the pain shooting through her side as the sutured wound stretched and leaned over the table to push into his personal space, leveling her eyes with his.

He blew smoke in her face and she gave a belligerent snarl, twisting away from him and taking his glass filled with rum with her.

"On my last job for him Benedict sent me to get some documents, very important information apparently, documents he didn't want just anyone getting their hands on." She explained, and it didn't take Tommy long to figure out her plan. She had just ducked the tip of her tongue into the liquid in the glass when he had realised.

"You want to bargain these documents for your head?" He raised a single eyebrow and she nodded her head a single time.

"Information is worth more than money Tommy."


Dorothea had no idea how she had ended up sitting in the dining room of the Shelby household with a frowning Polly, a curious Ada and the rest of the Shelby boys, minus Arthur all eyeing her.

She was starting to regret letting Tommy bring her back to his home, she'd only agreed in the first place because where else would she go, her old home? Definitley not.

It was much smaller than she remembered, but then she had grown and so had the rest of the Shelbys; 5 years had made a lot of difference.

She let her thoughts stray way back to when she was a girl, just barely a teenager and her and Tommy would joke that the younger ones were their own children and they were a happy married couple. Life had been so innocent and peaceful then, before life had been stolen from her and from him.

She tugged on her sleeves and cast Tommy a glance. The atmosphere in the room was irrefutably awkward.

"Where's Arthur?" Tommy had spoke aloud first, after a minute or so of hushed whispering to Polly. Usually she would have been able to pick up on the conversation easily, but at the moment she was too tired, and she settled with assuming that he was giving his aunt a diluted version of their conversation in The Garrison.

"Bed, too much drink." Ada had said, taking her eyes off Dorothea for a moment to look at her brother. Dorothea felt uncomfortable sat beside her, she had been ushered into a chair by the girl almost immediately, and her pretty features that were pulled into concern wouldn't leave her alone. Compared to the polished girl, Dorothea knew she looked a state, damp hair and non standard clothing, all bloodied up and with ruined makeup-no wonder they were all staring.

Polly took matters into her own hands all at once, remarkably sending Finn and John off elsewhere and telling Ada to fetch a needle and thread. The younger Shelbys had barely kicked up a fuss and left immediately. Dorothea felt like she could breathe again once the unwanted eyes on her had lifted; she much preferred to be invisible than the center of attention.

"So I suppose Dot will be staying with us for a little while?" Polly had asked, pausing from making tea to look pointedly at Tommy.

Dorothea noticed it was an unhappy look and that Tommy had pretended to ignore it while he lit a new cigarette.

"It's business."

"It always is with you," Polly sighed in response, rolling her eyes at his words and shaking her head as she set a teacup down in front of Dorothea.

Tommy glared at the older woman before turning to look at her, he had barely done so after bringing her to the house and just now he was noticing her biting her lip and pressing both hands to her side. Red was starting to seep through her fingers.

Ada returned just in time, with the thread and needle, and Dorothea had found herself tensing when she heard Tommy speak again. "Clean her up will you Pol?"

"I can do it myself." She said through gritted teeth, and she had heard an uncertain noise from Ada who was pawing through the sewing kit ,and a clucking sound from Polly who completely disagreed. The mothering quality to the gesture made her bristle, it was foreign to her ears and directed toward her made her feel uncomfortable.

Polly set a bowl of clean water and a cloth on the table, and Dorothea reached for the cloth, soaking it in water before scrubbing her face clean of dirt and removing the dried blood from her scratches.

"Ada, set up a space for Dot in your room." Polly had said, ushering the young girl away again and then nudging Tommy with and elbow too.

"You can make yourself useful elsewhere too, this here's women's business."

Tommy hadn't looked like he wanted to leave the room, but Dorothea was glad that he eventually did. She needed to stitch her wound back up and she couldn't do that without taking off her shirt, not like that was the part that bothered her though, it was more the fact that she probably had just as much scars from her scuffles as a war veteran. And that was something she didn't want Tommy to ever see.

Then she realised that that was why Polly had sent everyone else away, she had figured out something was up when Dorothea hadn't even so much as peeled up the hem of her shirt to peek at the bleeding wound. If her memory served her right, Dorothea noted that the woman had always been so perceptive, she saw and heard more than most people would because she paid attention to little things that no one else bothered too.

"You do need help don't you?"

Dorothea looked up at the woman who had her hands placed on her hips in an 'i told you so' manner. She did need help but didn't want to admit it, she didn't like the idea of not being able to do something for herself, which was why she had hated that she needed to come back here.

"I remember when you were young, Tommy was always bringing you in here to get patched up cause you were scared to tell your parents you'd hurt yourself mucking about with the boys."

She knew that Polly was only trying to make her feel more at ease, but she couldn't help but want to yell out that she wasn't that girl, not anymore.

Her breath came out shaky as she pulled her hands away from her side, she felt a warm trickle slip down her skin and winced.

"Come on then lets take a look at you." The other woman's voice was gentle, coaxing and this time Dorothea didn't feeling like fighting the woman when she offered her help.

Unfastening her shirt she waited for Polly to make a comment.

The woman didn't, taking the cloth from Dorothea and then soaking it in alcohol to clean around the stitches.

Pain shot through her side and she gripped the table with her knuckles, biting her tongue to muffle her cry. Polly apologized and then next time gave warning before dabbing lighter at the wound.

"You won't tell Tommy?" She muttered, through gritted teeth as Polly measured out thread for the needle.

She knew there was no need to ask Polly to keep her scars secret, but for her own piece of mind she had needed to hear the woman say so aloud.

"Every woman has a right to keep her own secrets, so long as those secrets don't get anyone hurt."

The warning wasn't outright but Dorothea understood it; don't get Tommy more involved than he needs to be. She responded with a nod, and then they had fell into silence while Polly focused on fixing her up with neat stitches.