It's amazing how morning has a way of making things look different.
For her, as she opens her eyes to see the sleeping form next to her, his angular face looking almost innocent for once, it hits her for the first time what it means that she's just fucked Tommy Shelby. God, she's fucked up.
For him, as he looks around the room, he realizes how different it is from his for the first time and not really the first time. It's the first time he's been here, of course. Actually seen it. But he'd guessed. That it would be more spacious. That the furnishings would be finer. That the sheets wouldn't be just tattered scraps of cloth cycled through the generations. That they'd actually be soft. God, he'd dreamed about how soft they would be. They're softer somehow.
He also realizes the house is empty, apart from him. It feels quiet, still. Maybe she went out for breakfast, he thinks. Until he finds the note on the bedside table.
Driver came early. Until our paths cross again. - S.
"Oi, Tommy boy! In late today," Arthur calls as he enters. Tommy storms past to look at the board as John joins in on the ribbing.
"Anyone know if they've installed phone lines up to Grantham?" Tommy asks, only half paying attention to the numbers he is scanning.
"They have, but Southwell isn't open this early," Scudboat answers. "Opens at two."
"John, go down to the Garrison and have Harry check if Belton has a telephone line. If it does, have him call into the operator and come get me."
"Yes, sir," John answers with a smirk, mocking a salute as he moves to walk out.
"Stop right there, John," Polly belts from the doorway between the house and the betting parlor. "Nobody here has any business calling Belton. Go back to doing the odds."
Tommy turns, glaring at her. When he sees she won't back down, he says, "Fine. I'll do it myself."
When he reaches the doorway, he shrugs Polly off as she tries to grab his arm and shoves his way past. She looks back at him, hissing, "I'm warning you, Tommy, she won't forgive you for this."
"Blimey, what's Belton?" he hears John whisper loudly in the background.
"Belton House," Polly answers despite a warning look from Tommy. "Our dear Selene's soon to be residence."
"Saw her car go past only an hour or so ago, she's probably still on the road. Besides, Tommy, what do you have to say to Selene that you couldn't say yes - " Arthur stops as he realizes what's happening, mouth dropping wide.
"As Polly said, it's nobody's business. Get back to work. I'll be back soon."
"Come on, Tommy," John calls out, stepping forward. "You know what something like that does to a girl. You can't lie - "
Tommy turns back again, staring them down, "What if it's not a lie?"
"It doesn't make it a truth worth saying, Tommy," Polly chides. "What are you going to do if she does come back, hmm? Where's she going to sleep, here with all of us? Living in sin until you think you've saved up enough to marry her because you gave her no other choice? That's no kind of life for a girl like that, though I'm sure she would have bared it without complaint if she'd chosen it. But she didn't, Thomas. It's not your place to force her to."
"I'm not…" Tommy almost shouts before trailing off. He takes a breath to compose himself before starting again, "I just need a few years. She can stay at home, get a secretary job or something to occupy her time until things are better. Until we're legitimate."
"That house is due to be auctioned off next month. Oh, she didn't tell you. Her father wrote her out of everything when he found your letters to each other. It all went to some distant cousin. Even her dowry."
Tommy stops, silent for a minute, before leaning back against the wall. He looks up at the ceiling, mind working to try to find a solution, to try to find some way this can work that won't make one or both of them miserable.
There's a rattle as Polly opens a cupboard to pull down a glass and a bottle. She slams it down on the table. She looks up at him and says sternly, "Sit. Have some whisky to calm down."
He's still looking at the ceiling as he mutters, "I'll never see her again, Pol. If I let this happen, that's it."
"You don't know that. But if you don't let it happen, it will be."
"Why can't people like us have anything?" he mutters, closing his eyes and reaching a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Why can't I have just this one thing? For once in my fucking life."
Polly sighs and sits in one of the chairs, pouring herself a glass, "The problem is you aim too high, Thomas. You want things that are too fine for our blood."
"She said… I thought…."
"It's not like she has any more of a choice than you do. There'll be someone else. Someone who will make you forget about this. Until then, have a drink to take your mind off it."
"I'm not gonna forget, Pol."
"You will. Eventually."
When the invitation, gold leafed and glittering, comes in the mail a few weeks later, he nearly burns it on sight. He can see it going up in flames in his head. A simple press of his cigarette, a quick flick of his lighter.
But then the note falls out as he picks it up.
I won't expect you to give me away, but please don't throw away everything we had. - S.
He thinks about her, standing at the alter of a church with the pews on her side nearly empty except for a few distant relatives and colleagues who barely know her. Walking down the aisle without anybody at her side, empty space where her brother should have been. Putting her wedding dress on alone, the mother that should have been helping her long since passed.
And he thinks about how he wants to see her again, still. About staring at her as she says her vows, wondering if she will cry. About holding her arm as he leads her toward the man taking her away, wondering if he will cry. About running his fingers across her skin as he pushes the silk of the dress out of the way, wondering if she will let him have at least an ounce of vengeance by fucking her again while she's wearing it.
He puts it away without sending an answer.
A few days later, he's at the Garrison holding court when a familiar face walks through the pub's doors. He dismisses everybody else and tells Harry to invite him in. That bastard enters the booth, taking a seat across from Tommy with a smirk settled on his face. He puts down two glasses on the table, sliding one over. Tommy can already tell from the color that whatever's in that glass is much nicer than the average swill customers at the Garrison usually drink. That he usually drinks. He wonders if he brought his own bottle or if this is something Harry's been keeping hidden away for a special occasion.
"On me," he says with a smile, offering a brief toast as he picks up his own glass for a sip. "I have to say I'm surprised you are so welcoming today."
Tommy doesn't make a move toward the glass, leaning back and simply watching the other man instead. He doesn't want to owe him anything - and if he's going to take something from him, it's going to be something worth far more than this glass of whisky.
"I wondered what you're doing in our pub. It's a bit far to come for a drink."
"Just came to town to help settle some of Selene's affairs and got thirsty."
"There are other establishments more suited to your taste in Birmingham."
"I thought perhaps now that she's not here to watch you might want to finish what you started last time. It wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me to deprive you of that opportunity by visiting another establishment, would it?"
"It wouldn't be very wise of me to send you home with several scars, would it?" Tommy returns with a smirk, recognizing a trap when he sees one.
He sees the other man wince for a brief second before an amicable smile returns to his face, "How honorable. As I should have expected from a war hero."
"I wouldn't call myself a hero," Tommy says gruffly, lifting the glass he already had to his mouth. A few moments of silence pass as they both drink and stare each other down.
"I presume you've received the invitation by now?" Nick says, finally revealing the real reason he came here.
"Yes," Tommy answers, taking another sip from his drink.
"Selene was just so intent on sending it, but I trust you'll turn her down nicely."
"Now why do you think that?"
"I had some people ask around about you after our previous meeting."
"I'm sure you did."
"They say you're a gypsy and a thug. Is that true?"
"Technically, I'm only half gypsy."
"Not that I mind personally - to each their own - but some people might find it unseemly for such people to be at a wedding hosted by an earl. It would reflect badly on her, and reputation is of the outmost importance, especially as a newcomer to society."
"Did you know I was a gypsy and a thug at first glance?"
"No, but - "
"Then I doubt your guests will."
"People talk, Mr. Shelby," he says sternly, pausing to put down his glass. "Let me make this plain. You are not welcome at my wedding."
"Wouldn't Selene be heartbroken to hear that?" Tommy says, the threat obvious despite his cordial tone. "After all, she's like a sister to me."
"Funny how that word can be used to brush so much under the rug, isn't it?"
"What word?"
"Like. Let's try again without it. What is Selene to you?"
"What was it she said?" Tommy asks with a smirk, pretending to rack his memory. "Her brother's best friend? Sounds about right."
"You're a slippery one, aren't you?" Nick says, expression sharpening to a glare.
"No more slippery than you, Lord Brownlow. After all, you were the one who let your fiancé send an invitation you had no intention of honoring."
"Should I have told her I didn't want you at our wedding because my driver saw your coat in the entryway of her home when he went to get her luggage while picking her up from Birmingham instead? It was a cold night, Mr. Shelby. Don't say you accidentally left it there."
There's silence as Tommy simply stares at him, a challenge in his eyes.
After a moment, Nick laughs, "I see. Maybe I should tell her you told me instead, since you practically are by refusing to deny it. Luckily for her, I am such a patient and forgiving man. A saint, practically. Unlike some men she knows. Of course, it wouldn't be necessary to mention something like that if I was sure it would never happen again, now would it?"
"Some would argue it isn't necessary regardless - at least you don't seem to have thought it was until this very moment."
"You fucked my wife, Tommy," Nick spits, standing up and leaning forward against the table. "I never want to see your face again, and I never want her to either. If you have any objections to that, you shouldn't have fucked my wife. And before you bite back that she's not my wife yet, remember that those medals might win you some nominal respect, but they don't change who you are. Everything you have, everything your family has - what little they have - is built on crumbs, and somebody like me can take it all away from you with the snap of a finger."
The threat looms in the air for a second, neither man even doing so much as taking a breath. Finally, Nick turns and walks out, the door of the booth and then of the Garrison slamming behind him.
Tommy picks up the still full glass in front of him and jerks up to standing, throwing it against the door. He leans against the table and huffs, knuckles white, eyes scrunched closed.
A/N: Hello, thanks for reading! Updates will be coming a bit more slowly as I have other stories to work on and have school/personal things going on for the next few months as well. I expect to update about once per month, currently. Any feedback or comments readers have helps inspire me to write so much, so if you want more frequent updates it would be great to hear your thoughts and anything you like or feel about this chapter or the story as a whole.