((If anyone's wondering, Leah's a fool and didn't watch the last episode of season 1 before reading the last chapter.))

Polly didn't speak much more as she dragged Maggie away from the Garrison; she only said that they were going to Thomas and that they needed to move quickly. It wasn't a long walk away, but when Maggie asked what happened Polly replied rather curtly.

"Best you learn how to stop asking questions before it gets you into trouble." Polly warned. Maggie couldn't say she wasn't annoyed, but she was ready with a response.

"I'm asking as a need to know. If I'm expected to help Tommy then you're going to need to tell me what happened."

Pol stopped walking at the corner and stepped towards Maggie, forcing her to step back into the shadow of the building. Without the distraction of walking Maggie could see the seriousness and the threat in Polly's eyes that she hadn't been directly exposed to before. She refused to shy away from it, tilting her chin up and eyeing Polly back with a frown.

"If you're going to be a part of this you need to know how to turn your head the other way. If you talk, we'll find you, if you leave we'll still find you. You might think that you have a need to know, but you're not the one that's going to be making that call. Someone tells you it doesn't matter, you're going to shut your mouth and keep it that way. Am I clear?" Polly demanded, raising her eyebrow.

"I didn't realize I was being recruited though I can't imagine who you think I'll be talking to." Maggie practically scoffed. Polly gave her a long hard look before she spoke again.

"We don't need any more two faced women in this town." She said lowly. And without warning she sharply turned, tugging Maggie with her and leaving her wondering what on earth she was referring to.

When they finally got to the house it was a door set in the side of a street almost like any other. She rapped it sharply with her knuckles, then again shortly after with more urgency. Seconds after the door pried open revealing a young boy and another woman right after. She had dark hair and thick eye makeup like Pol's. Another gypsy woman.

"Finn, I told you not to answer the door on your own." she chastised lowly, glancing at Polly. Polly paid no mind, brushing past the pair and pulling Maggie with her. "Pol, who's this?"

"A friend. We won't be needing the Chemist. Is he still asleep?" she asked.

"Yes… Still upstairs. Didn't even stir." The woman replied clutching the shoulders of the boy named Finn. Polly began heading up the stairs, and before nodding politely to the women and glancing at the boy, Maggie followed.

"When did it happen?" Maggie asked. She was half tempted to ask if she was allowed to know that either, but Polly answered without turning around as they came to the top of the wooden stairs.

"Two days ago."

"Two!" Maggie repeated in shock. Pol had nothing to add, instead pushed open the door to the left and stepped in, beckoning for Maggie to hurry along.

And there he was when she came through the door. He looked different to her but he was still the same, she could see that. Lying on the bed with his head tilted against the pillow to the side. His arm was wrapped against his chest, and though the bandages looked mostly clean she could see some red splotches in places.

Being unable to see the actual wound made focusing on his face easier, although she wasn't exactly sure that was any better. His eyes looked tired and he was a little pale, though she couldn't tell if it was because of the lack of sun in Birmingham or not. There was a borderline gauntness too, but the only thing comforting about it was how undisturbed he looked.

She could feel a small smile, despite the circumstances, and did her best to keep it on the side of her face that Polly wasn't on. If the woman hadn't been watching her so closely and Tommy hadn't been shot she might have even laughed. But Polly was waiting. So she pulled her gloves off one at a time, lifted the hat from her head and placed both articles on a dresser to her left. Then she approached the bedside, sitting down on it gently before she sent a cautious look back to Polly. There was a more emotional look in her eye that she hadn't quite seen before that there was now. Like a mother worried for her child, she nodded in ascent for Maggie to continue.

Turning back to Thomas, her fingers began to work at untying the knot of the cloth by his neck and doing her best not to touch his skin. The warmth was almost frightening and the idea that she was here now, right in front of him without him knowing. Well, it was somewhat daunting to her for one reason or another. Successfully undoing the knot she let a breath loose with it, loosening the tightness enough to pull it down over his chest. Her eyes wandered over the tattoo she'd seen once or twice before, before finally to the wound, to the top right of the tattoo.

"Well whoever yanked out the bullet hadn't been very graceful." She admitted frankly. It looked although it had been torn out in the middle of the battlefield itself.

"Jeremiah." Polly informed her. "The Preacher."

The Preacher.

It also looked to be covered in an glue like substance. Not blood, or any sort of puss by any means, but it had some sort of granulated dust mixed into it. Maggie wrinkled her nose.

"Someone's been doing gypsy's work here…" she said softly, not wanting to wake Tommy. "Pitch and Angelica roots… It wasn't your doing was it? The method is rubbish." Maggie shook her head, almost apologetically in case it had been Polly who'd done it. By the response she'd assume that the answer was no. She groaned and rolled her eyes, cursing beneath her breath was giving a deadly glance to the door.

"I told Esme to stop using those Pagan recipes off of Tommy's wound."

She looked right ready to go down and strangle Esme, who Maggie connected to be the woman who'd answered the door with Finn. She took the moment to really examine Tommy's face closer while Polly decided whether or not she was going to storm the first floor. Reaching out, she brushed the small bit of his dark hair from his forehead, touching the hot skin and trailing down his jawline. He'd always looked so sharp to her.

As if summoned he began to stir, moving against her palm and his eyes slowly prying open as he groggily shifted about. He looked at Polly first, then his gaze slowly moved to Maggie as she withdrew her hand. No one spoke, and Polly seemed to have quite forgotten her annoyances. But when Tommy opened his mouth it was that same deep familiar voice with the slight husk around the edges. Though she did note it was a little hoarser.

"Damnit Pol, you've gone and let me fucking die." He drawled monotonously. Maggie pressed her lips together to keep from smiling like a fool, looking to Polly to find her grinning slightly.

"Oh Tommy, look what you've done. Gone and put a bunch of holes in yourself while I was away."

"Nothing you haven't dealt with before." He chuckled, clearing his throat while he shifted.

"Yes. It'd seem our boys are quite good at that." Pol contributed. Tommy gave Maggie an open eyeful, hovering over her hair for a longer period of time than anywhere else.

"You've cut your hair..." He noted. His reach brought his hand to the tips of her short locks, thumb brushing against the side of her face as he examined it.

It was shorter. During the war she thought she'd be able to keep it tucked under a hat in a tight bun, long and beautiful like it had been her whole life. She was terribly fond if it, but the new fashion wasn't so bad. She'd opted for the finger wave bob, parted off center of her head but red and vibrant as ever.

"Well unfortunately during the war there were lice going around. I must've gotten it from one of the men, I'm willing to bet it had been you I got them from." She spoke a little more fondly than she'd meant to. She was less concerned about that than she thought she'd be. Polly spoke up though.

"I'll get Esme to fetch some water for you." She announced, "You'll need it to get that crap off of him."

"Saltwater. Or liquor too I suppose. Rum? Whisky? Either one." Maggie suggested.

Polly nodded, and then she was off, tersely heading down the stairs like a woman who had something to do. And she was, wasn't she?

There was a moment of silence that followed.

"So this is what you've been doing come the end of the war." Maggie stated without looking at him, instead she gently touched the pitch smeared around the bullet wound. It was an odd familiarity; one she found almost a sense of comfort it.

"Aye."

"Not much has changed. I guess. You're still living. Still reckless." She noted, looking back up to his gaze. He was firmly staring back, but after she'd finished speaking there was a tenseness in his jaw that unsettled her instantly.

"Yeah. And where did you go afterwards, huh? Not Warwickshire." He shot back with a sudden venom she hadn't heard from Thomas before. Her brow furrowed.

"Well since you know that I imagine you also know why I wasn't there." Maggie replied hastily. He nodded without looking at her, his jaw still set. "Thomas that's not fair."

His blues eyes flashed to her quickly with an aggressive arch in his brow.

"But you knew where I was, right? Couldn't be bothered to write?" He spoke like he had a vengeance, like he had some sort of bitter qualm with her that had never been settled. She scrutinized him in disbelief.

"Thomas, I had no family. I went to London to my aunt, I couldn't come to you with nothing. Expect you to take me in off of the streets, look after and support me." He didn't look convinced. "That's not how I work. You know that." She hadn't realized when she grabbed his forearm, but she was holding it as she urgently explained her views.

"You don't have to do everything by yourself, Maggie." He finally replied, soft but still cold. He was looking down at her hand on his arm. Before she could think up a reply Esme entered, a large bowl of water with a cloth draped in it and a bottle of rum under her arm. Truthfully Maggie was glad for the interruption. She put the bowl down on the bedside table with the bottle, nodded and quietly left as if sensing the tension in the room. Nobody had spoken.

"She seems nice." Maggie interjected into the air. Thomas nodded solemnly. "Is she-"

"John's wife."

"Oh. Your brother. How are your brothers?" Maggie cleared her throat.

"You're going to make small talk with me about my married brother, Magdalene."

"Only if you insist on making me feel more terrible, Mr. Shelby." She quipped back without a seconds hesitation. He looked at her sharply, but this time his jaw wasn't tense. This time she could see the traces of amusement of the man she once knew before. The side of Thomas Shelby that she was familiar with.

"Finn's quite strapping as well, is he seeing anyone?" she asked, giving her best straight face. This seemed to be enough to pull a smile to his lips, the kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

This was the Thomas Shelby she knew.