"Happy or sad?" she asked, clasping her hands together as she turned atop the stool she stood on.

"Sad." Thomas replied hoarsely from where he sat, soaked nearly to the bone across from her in his seat. His hair lie flat with the weight of the rain, clinging to the skin of his head with his eyes unreadable; he looked at her although she were just an article.

"Okay, but I warn you; I'll break your heart." she answered, sliding her fingers over one another as a small smile sat upon her lips. She only had eyes for Thomas and his stoic features who seemed anything but concerned with her warning. He shook his head before responding.

"Already broken."

Maggie's shoulder tensed up as they threw the man down upon the tabletop. He was writhing and howling with a large patch of red flowering from his lower abdomen. This wasn't the first man they'd brought to her with substantial bullet wounds and nor the first she'd seen, but the others had been in the arm or leg. It was the placement that made it hard to swallow, a tightness in her throat as she felt a wetness in the corner of her eyes at the sudden horror impacting her system.

"Why in the bloody hell did you move him-" she hissed incredulously at John and the other man with her arms straight by her side, wrists rolling as she tightly clutched her hand into a fist. John's gaze darted to her, apparently more disturbed by her sudden rage than the blood of the injured man that was cascaded down the shoulder of his suit jacket. His shoulders rose and fell in a dismissive but worried shrug, the pick in his mouth swiftly switching to the other corner as he leaned against the corner out of the way to try and avoid her scathing stare. She looked angrier than she was. In truth she was terrified.

"Don't just stand there!" she snapped, beckoning the first man with a wave of her hand, "You hold him down! I need him to be still and not flopping about- John! Take these bandages and open his shirt, put pressure on that wound! Stop him bleeding all over the table!" she found her legs returned to her in the face of a struggling patient, although her nerve wasn't very well in tact. There was a pit at the base of her stomach that she was ignoring, a nag in the back of her mind that told her from medical experience that a gunshot to the abdomen was more often fatal. And what was worse was they'd hauled him from who knew where to bring him to her. She should have been sent for! Perhaps he'd have a better chance. She swallowed hard, her back to the two men in the room who she felt overestimated her abilities given recent light. Maggie scrubbed her hands down in a basin of hot water, quickly as she could between her fingers. She'd managed to scrape some minimal things together in the short time she heard he was coming. A bottle of alcohol included. Hell. They had a pub if she couldn't get a bottle of it stat then what was the point.

She turned around with it in hand, in the other was a pair of forceps. There was an entry wound but no exit. The bullet was still inside him and she wasn't honestly sure if removing it would be the wisest but she had to see. She exhaled a shaky breathe as John cursed for her to hurry up. Stepping up to the table she tried to gather her thoughts despite her brain telling her she was already defeated. There was a staggering amount of blood on the tabletop as she signalled for John to release his pressure. Without another seconds hesitation, this man was short enough on time, she rained a splash of the alcohol over the entry wound. It cleared some of the blood and allowed her to see it better and would hopefully do something to dispose of possible infection. The bullet itself was hot from being fired and theoretically a sterile foreign piece within his body so there was no risk for that. She chided away the thoughts he might not have a chance for infection to set in at all later on. Right now her main concern was where the bullet lodged itself.

It was excruciating work trying to work against the thrashing and bucking despite him being held down. The drink being poured down his throat appeared to do very little in the way of helping as he was no more tame than he had been before. In any case Magdalene deduced judging from the entry that organs very well may have been struck and there was undoubtedly internal bleeding. It was in vain that during her tentative digging that she might be able to meticulously seal some damage and hope for the best.

"Oh..." she breathed, her eyes unwavering from the wound. His writhing became much slower once she touched his skin. Her gaze darted to his pale face, rugged with a few smeared finger prints of blood across his cheek as he stared horrified at the ceiling with a gaping mouth in a silent howl. A pang hit her heart and slid down her spine in a cold shudder, the blood rushing from her face as she dove to touch her fingers to his neck and search for a pulse.

"Oh no-" she murmured, repeating it to herself like a mantra. Maggie had no eyes for John and the other man in the room who were watching her with solemn faces as she held her ear above his mouth to listen for breathing, against his chest for a heart beat. Her chin trembled as she checked over again and somehow Maggie's desperate objections were drowned out by the sudden silence that fell sombrely over the room. Eventually the silence plagued her too and she very slowly straightened up.

"I'm sorry..." she murmured without taking her eyes from the gaping lifeless face, "I couldn't."

Her words tore through the room and quickly dropped with a heavy impact. Maggie could hardly bring herself to look at their faces but when she did she saw the funereal realness upon them. And a hint of disappointment. Without a word she released the bloodied forceps from her fingers and onto the table by the corpse and clasped her gore ridden hands together as she swiftly departed from the room. The metallic smell of blood that flooded the room distinctly rang of death and of a different time. Her heart felt although it were going to rattle out of her very rib cage, or rope its way up her throat and strangle her itself.

It had been two days since that man had died on the table in front of Magdalene. She'd scarcely seen Thomas and the voice in her mind kept wilfully suggesting that he was cross she hadn't been able to save that man. Naturally it was common knowledge that he'd died on the table despite their war-vet nurses attempts. She'd hardly even been able to touch him but how could she dare to throw "he was one foot in the grave the other on a banana peel" back at anyone. Besides, no one had brought it up accusingly to her for her to defend anyways. She just felt it. But the women were beginning to notice Maggie's imperfections.

"You've not been feeling well?"

Maggie's green eyes glanced up at the suggesting tone. Esme was looking at her inquisitively as the bowl scarcely filled to begin with of her stew had hardly been touched and was now cold.

"I suppose not." Maggie replied simply. That purse in her lips told her quickly that she wasn't buying it. She continued to play anyways.

"D'you think you're pregnant?" she ventured easily and Maggie jolted with a start.

"S'no shame, sometimes it just happens. If you like I could accompany you down to the-"

"Esme. I am not pregnant." Maggie replied fast, quick to cut the gypsy woman off before she uttered a swift rumour on who the hypothetical father might be. She imagined Esme had a colourful opinion on that matter. Esme raised a quizzical eyebrow imploring her to continue.

"I am practised in the medical field. I would know if I were." she assured her. With a sudden nervousness she felt the need to add, "Not that I could be..." to settle any sudden roaring assumptions about her virtue. Paranoid, but Esme seemed amused.

"Then perhaps it is your... Medical field that's seeing your appetite so troubled." she suggested.

"I don't know what you mean..." she said slowly. She knew very well what she meant and was most hesitant about inviting her to elaborate on it. Esme seemed more than willing.

"Well you know," she shrugged, "since the shooting. And the man that died on your table."

Magdalene was stunned, her eyebrows raising as she gave Esme a quick once over. It quickly became apparent that Esme didn't think she was pregnant at all and only used it as a means to open the conversation up to this. Her brashness on it Maggie couldn't tell f it was because she disliked her or it was just her nature. In any case it was a few long moments before she finally answered.

"Yes well... Something like that tends to keep people up at night..." she replied, carefully putting emphasis on the humanity of her situation if Esme was in fact lashing out at her. Did she know the unfortunate man? Or maybe John was being mouthy and let slip that she'd froze up when they brought him in and hardly managed to touch him before he passed. She shook the jaded thoughts from her mind, deciding to give Esme the benefit of the doubt as she continued.

"It's been some time since I've seen someone die, Esme. What happened during those years does fade with time but it doesn't get easier. Especially when you see it happen again." she confessed. Despite her sensitive revelation to Esme there was a certain tiredness to her voice that was asking not to be tampered with. Esme didn't seem to heed this and the toughness in the gypsy woman showed in her lack of mercy for Maggie's explanation.

"I just wonder about your... Medical field, is all." she fired back. Ah so that was it, and Maggie recalled the pitch and root she'd scraped clean off of Thomas's gunshot wound back when she first arrived in Birmingham. Esme was a faith above science girl, whatever faith that might be. Maggie let loose a sigh and opened her mouth but was at a loss for immediate words. Luckily she didn't have to.

"Esme."

They both jumped, startled by the presence of Polly suddenly in the doorway. Maggie had been so intent upon Esme's expression that she wondered exactly how long Pol had been there listening. Esme lifted her chin in an attempted show of defiance but it paled in comparison to the arched brow and daggers that Pol stared at her victims.

"Pol. I was only-"

"You've already gone and put your foot in your mouth, Esme, don't go and try cramming the other one up there too. Or do you have any glory stories from your time in the war to pass around with Magdalene and the boys?" she suggested. Her cold tone did anything but invite Esme to reply though and for a horrifying moment Maggie thought she might. She didn't though, thinking better of it to close her mouth and look down. Although if she were ashamed it didn't show on her face.

Polly watched her approach to exit through the door, cocking a brow as not so much as moving an inch to allow Esme to pass before she tentatively brushed by to escape her unforgiving gaze. Alone with Polly now Magdalene opened and closed her mouth, unsure how to thank her and in the end shut her lips tightly and exchanged a look that said enough. The older woman seemed satisfied enough to think nothing of it and when she spoke next said nothing of what had just happened.

"You're heading to the Garrison. Thomas is going to meet you there."

Polly wouldn't say what it was except that Thomas sent to have her meet with him there. With that signature chip on her shoulder she asked in response to her inquiries when Thomas had ever been straight with her about anything he wanted or did. This put it into perspective and as let up. Of course, now she was at the Garrison and unsure what to do with herself. Thomas wasn't there yet and the pub was buzzing with relative life in the late afternoon. Maggie was tucked away in the back private room as Arthur had told her to be. It made her palms sweat that he should ask to see her and only her, not anyone else. There was no doubt in her whirling mind that it was about the man who'd died.

No matter how many times she referred to him ominously as "the man" there was no ridding his name. Rowan Walsh. She'd asked the day after about him. If he had family, if they were told. He had a fiance, no children thankfully although that didn't make it any less awful, and a father in the north of Birmingham.

She was torn from her terrible thoughts by the latch of the door opening and the smoky silhouette of Thomas Shelby in the doorway. Immediately her jaw tightened and she swallowed hard as he put sometime down on the table. Her eyes followed it without a word as she realized it was a glass of whisky. With his free hand he closed the door behind him and slid a second glass of whisky in his hand across the table to her that she just barely managed to reach up and stop before it tumbled onto her lap in a mess. She had half a mind to scold him for nearly making a mess of her skirt but closed her mouth given the circumstances.

Maggie thought he'd be angry but she couldn't read that in his body language.

Without a word he sad down, puffing his cigarette that was between his lips before slipping it between his fingers and stretching his arm across the back of the seat. He fixed his gaze on her and if it were possible she felt although she froze more, as if she could move so little she were stone. He didn't speak and after a moment of mustering up her courage she realized she'd have to.

"If you're starting this conversation off by giving me hard liquor I can't imagine you think it will lead somewhere good..." she tried to make light of it. Without looking away from her he almost smiled.

Almost.

Before he had a chance to reply she couldn't help but blurt out what was on her mind.

"Thomas... I tried. There was really nothing that I could do. They brought him in to me with a gaping hole in his gut, by the time I even touched him-" she sputtered before no sound whatsoever could escape her lips. Defeated she pressed them together and looked down at the honey hued substance in the glass between her fingers. She decided to make use of it, lifting it and slugging back a large gulp. It made her tongue tingle and her eyes water. Or maybe those were just tears. It didn't matter.

"I know." Thomas replied as smoke gently carried over her way. There was a surprising tenderness in his hollow voice that made her look up at him.

"I thought you'd be mad." she admitted hoarsely, clearing her throat of the whisky's sting that rested at the back of her tongue. He pursed his lips, looking down as he busied himself with tapping some ashes from his cigarette into a tray and shaking his head.

"I don't remember you ever pulling a trigger before, Miss McCrown."

He didn't need to say anymore. So she didn't shoot him but that didn't ease her guilt and that she wished she were able to save him. That didn't clear things up though.

"Well.. It's not that I'm not happy to have a drink with you, but I expect you called me here for a reason."

"Aye." he agreed. She waited for him to continue and watched the smoke lap past his lips effortlessly. He swallowed, clearing his throat before he retracted his arm from where it was draped to straighten his suit with a tug and leaned forward to smother his cigarette in the ash tray.

"John said you were unsettled when you left. Said it worried him, an I've been hearing from Pol and Arthur that you haven't been yourself."

Maggie's gaze was particularly fixed on the remains of the cigarette as he spoke, unable to look at his face. At least that cleared up whether John had been displeased with her failure to resuscitate a dead man. He was concerned, and that was a relief. But also told her why Esme had been so curt with her.

"I've seen that before. Mags." he spoke her name tenderly and ducked his head slightly to try and capture her attention. There was an earnestness behind those icy blue eyes that managed to make her look up at the mention of her name. She was going to have to say something, anything, although explaining herself wasn't necessary. If there was anyone who knew what it was like it was Thomas.

"It," she stalled to compose what she wanted to say, "has just been a long time. I thought all was well. I was tending to them just fine but seeing him on that table. Just like then, when you can hear your heartbeat in your ears and it's the loudest thing you've ever heard." she stopped to take another sip of her drink, less enthusiastic as the last one. Her eyes were misty as she made no attempt to hide the grimace from the strong drink.

"It comes back for you. Does it come back for you too, Thomas?" the asked. Her lips were feeling a little more loose than they usually were. She wasn't tipsy by any means, but she could welcome the pleasant warmth it would spread through her. His face was nearly unreadable as he studied hers, all she could tell was that he didn't fully have his heavy guard up as he often did. And what would he be hiding from, the glassy eyed nurse with a wibble in her chin? She wasn't exactly the picture of a glorious war hero that he need protect his pride. He sighed and shifted forward in his seat to scoot over. With his arm outstretched he motioned for her to come in and she obliged without more than a sniff from the stuffiness the whisky and emotions had given her. She leaned against his chest as he wrapped an arm around her, his fingers brushing the tips of her short hair as he placed a soft kiss on her temple before he rested his chin on the top of her head.

"Yes, Maggie," he responded late, "it comes back for me too."

It was hard to imagine. He was so collected all of the time with all of his reason and all of his answers. Thomas Shelby was a man who was always thinking, even in his tender moments like now. Her hand slid up his chest, her fingers tracing a small circle where she knew the bullet hole she tended to to be. What a question to ask. She chuckled spitefully at herself and could feel him quirking to look at her. Thomas didn't have a war to come back for him.

He was still in one.

As if on queue that's when the gunfire blasted in the front of the Garrison, the sound of glass shattering as the pub-goers cried out in surprise.