"Your little bird isn't as bright any longer."

Sorcha held on tight; an empty bottle of whiskey in one hand, an empty shell of a man in the other.

Arthur Shelby was carrying her to bed.

He laid her over the sheets, brought a washing bowl of water from the bathroom, and sat by the bed wiping the dried tears from her face. As he cleaned her sadness away, gently propping her head up with the butt of his palm since she couldn't herself in a whiskey haze, Sorcha wanted to tell him something. Heavy-lidded, she wavered, eyes pinning him to place.

"It took everything away from me," she slurred over a parched tongue.

To say Arthur was concerned was an understatement. His eyebrows furrowed, a worried frown formed under his mustache. She had always been the strong one.

"The war," Sorcha clarified. "Those men...in the alley. The night we met again."

Her head lolled to the side this way and that, unable to keep focus of the light moving in and around Arthur's face. With shaking fingers, she reached out to pull the rag from his hand and brought it up to the other side of her face. He was holding her head up. It was on her to keep the rest of her body upright in their bed.

She swallowed thickly. "Even if they did what they wanted to me," she shrugged dismissively, "they wouldn't get anything from it. See, there's nothing left."

Sorcha wanted to explain to Arthur that she could have rebuilt her life even after being beaten when she struggled under their wandering hands snaking up her skirts. Even if Arthur hadn't come to the alleyway, even if Arthur hadn't pummeled them to an inch of their life in revenge. Even if none of that had happened, she could have bounced back. But the war...there was no bouncing back from that. It had consumed, destroyed, ravaged.

Pointing to herself, she continued, "There's nothing left in here. Soul's completely empty." Her eyes drifted up to the ceiling and tried to focus on the warmth of his palms flush against her neck, the way his fingers entwined with her hair. "How do you rebuild an empty soul, Arthur?"

If Arthur knew the answer to that he wouldn't be going down to Charlie's yard to punch his emptiness away in the boxing ring. His lips quivered. He didn't know. He held her head up, staring into her tired face, thumbing the deep bags under her eyes. Arthur didn't know how to rebuild an empty soul, but he'd do anything to fill hers even if it meant his own soul would have to be broken a little longer.

"Tommy says drink helps." Sorcha cast an incredulous look at the bottle of whiskey beside her. There were a few drops left at the bottom. She'd gone down the whole bottle and it hadn't fixed any of the emptiness. Logically she knew that the last driblets wouldn't do anything either, but she took the gamble anyway. Just to be sure. It was too important an opportunity to pass up.

She groped the sheets, fingers never reaching what it was aiming for, and tried to get a grip on the bottle. It eluded her, rolling further down the bed the closer she leaned in. Her mind went dizzy. Her brain seemed to knock about in her head. Frustrated, Sorcha gave up on the bottle which appeared hundred miles away.

"But Tommy doesn't know everything."

"Sorcha."

Her attention drew back to the man who was holding her upright. His light blue eyes were a much kinder countenance than his brother's. Sorcha could have drowned in Arthur's eyes. Happily too. Gratefully.

"It takes away. All of it. Drink, sex, life." His hands were shaking, rattling her brain about her skull even more. "But we have each other. We'll survive, you and I."

"How?" Her voice was small. She was so sure Arthur Shelby had all the answers.

"We'll take care of each other, eh?" Arthur pressed a kiss to her forehead, chasing after his breath as he pulled her into his chest. He was trying to be brave for the both of them but the weight of it was crushing his own ribs. Oxygen was being siphoned from his lungs. If Sorcha was sober, she'd know how to fix it.

She looked up into the crook of his neck and studied the stubble peppering the underside of his jaw. Even if she was god, she wouldn't have been able to conjure up anything so beautiful.

Arthur felt her slump against his body. He rubbed soothing circles between her shoulder blades. He would have sat there all night if he had to. Emptiness didn't feel like loneliness anymore. She was empty too. They'd rebuild their souls together. They had one another and that was a good step.

"Your brother let me shoot today," her words were muffled into his fleece undershirt. "Took me to a meetin' with Billy Kitchen. Wants me in London soon."

Arthur's body turned stiff in jealousy. His arms tightened around her.

"This world of his isn't my home." Sorcha leaned out from Arthur and splayed herself across the cool sheets. "I'm afraid to become something terrible."

Arthur Shelby looked down on the woman he loved. He'd already become something terrible. Would she still stay with him when she found out? If he didn't intervene in Tommy's plans, would she leave him? He couldn't risk it. He'd talk to Tommy, Arthur resolved, but he'd go to the boxing ring to clear his head first thing in the morning. Tommy always had a way of scrambling up his thoughts.

"I'll talk to Tommy. Don't you worry."

"Arthur." Sorcha's fingertips grazed against his cheekbones then his nose, his lips, the ridges of his brow. She was trying to memorize every inch of it. "I have no good apart from you."

He pressed a kiss to the inside of her palm as it caressed his lips. He would have strung together beautiful words to whisper back to her. It would have taken a moment and by the time he had composed a beautiful sentence, Sorcha's chest was rising and falling steadily, eyes shut, and her hand still tucked into his.

"You are the one my soul loves," he said into the silence. "Whatever's left of it."

Arthur Shelby went to sleep that night not knowing he'd kill a young boy in the ring in the morning.

AN: I really apologize for the long spaces between these chapters. Between focusing on another PB fic and struggling to make this a compelling story, time just passes quickly. Plus, I try to channel my own struggles and demons into these stories so writing can truly be a healing process for me which means it takes a very long time to get into that emotional headspace.

Thank you all for being so patient and for giving this story a chance!

The next chapter features more of Tommy and Sorcha gives him a good tongue-lashing. Someone ought to, after all!