Fear No Fate

I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) - E.E. Cummings

A sleek black Bentley sped down an unpaved country road, narrow and winding. The sun was beginning to set, low in the sky, its golden rays shining through the windshield, making it difficult for her to follow the twist and turns of the road. Still she surged on, foot pressing the accelerator to the floor, intending to stop only once the tank ran dry of petrol.

"Christ," she cried softly, bringing a cigarette to her split and bloodied lips with a shaking hand. With the same hand she touched her fingers to the lesion at her hairline, wincing at the sharp pain that came when pressing the tender skin. Her fingertips came away red. She still bled, but not so much as before. She could no longer feel it drip down the side of her face, pooling in her collarbone.

She glanced at the rearview mirror, made sure no other vehicle followed pursuit, though the probability was very slight. The estates of this countryside were few and far between, truly isolated. They were free of any witnesses. She couldn't stop her eyes from glancing at the darkened form lying still in the back seat. "Christ," she said again.

Theodora DeNoble had just shot her husband.

While the bastard certainly deserved it, she knew she would hang for it. And though it had been in defense, she knew the barristers would paint her as a woman scorned. Jealous and hateful. For Hans DeNoble, heir to the DeNoble earldom in the Netherlands, happened to carry on a very scandalous and public affair with a widowed woman of less noble blood than Theo had been born with.

She could hardly care less. The marriage had been arranged since childhood, their fathers having formed a bond during their time together at Oxford, and a mistress was hardly a foreign concept. It was foolish to believe that her husband wouldn't eventually find his way into another woman's bed. It was none of her concern. Theo's only responsibility was to birth a son to secure her position as Countess, and do nothing to embarrass the DeNoble, or her maiden Winslow, name.

She thought she'd done a fine job of it. She was an attentive wife, and an exemplary member of society. But five years into the marriage, she struggled to carry a pregnancy to term. After three miscarriages and a stillborn daughter, she was becoming an embarrassment. Theo knew the marriage might come to an end for it. Divorce was rare but not unheard of in their circles. She would be disgraced and ousted, of course, but there wasn't anything she could do about that. Hans was the only son of seven children, and the DeNoble name had to continue. She would accept the terms of separation as they were presented.

She did not expect him to try to kill her.

Theo had to give it to him: Hans had always been a great actor. He was as handsome and suave as ever, the same sparkle in his dark eyes, not a hair out of place on his golden brown head or a waver in his voice as he asked if she'd like to take a drive with him. She'd accompanied him to London on a diplomatic visit, and had so far spent the majority of the trip in their hotel suite while he held meeting after meeting with local bureaucrats and old friends.

She thought they'd only cruise through the nearby neighborhoods, but Hans left the city behind all together, heading north. Theo didn't bother asking where he was intending to go, enjoying the quiet scenery, resting peacefully in the passenger seat as hour after hour passed by in a green blur.

She only realized she'd dozed off when the cutting of the engine jerked her awake. Theo lifted her head to look at Hans, who now appeared far less relaxed than he'd been, sitting stiff as a board, both hands on the steering wheel with a white-knuckle grip.

She was about to ask if everything was all right when he opened the driver's side door with a quiet, "Come."

Perhaps he wanted to stretch his legs. She wouldn't mind doing the same. Theo opened the car door and slid out her side, the heels of her shoes sinking slightly into the soft mud as she lifted her arms high in a full-body stretch. When she rounded to the back of the car, her heart dropped to her stomach. A pistol was already trained on her.

"I'm sorry," Hans said by way of explanation. His voice did not shake, but his outstretched arm did. "They won't let me be with her if you live."

Theo would have time to think about that after the fact. About how the circumstance of her tragic death had a hand in all this. It appeared her dear husband was in love with his lowly mistress. Certainly his family would take pity on him should his poor wife, their choice match, die childless far before her time. Perhaps they would allow him to marry for love the second time. Besides, the mistress had already proven her fertility in the success of her first marriage. The cards would have fallen in their favor.

In the moment, however, the half-second she had to react, she rushed at Hans. The gun sounded with a deafening bang as she shouldered him into the mud, but she felt no pain. He must have missed. They both landed with a grunt, Theo immediately working to wrestle the weapon away from him. Hans was not a large man. He was thinly built and only a couple inches taller than her. She stood a chance against him, if she fought hard enough.

Hans released an arm to land an elbow into her stomach, which she returned in kind to the space between his neck and shoulder. The mud left them sliding and fumbling against each other for purchase. Theo gripped both of his arms, keeping them locked and held away from her with as much strength as she could muster. She was no fighter, but she was determined not to die.

"Hans, please," she groaned, doing her best to avoid his bucking and kicking legs. In the chaos, he freed a hand, punched her square in the teeth. Her lip split at the impact and she cried out, her grip loosening enough for Hans to free himself, and he used the opportunity to bring the butt of the pistol down onto her face in several quick, heavy blows that left her on her back, seeing stars.

"I'm sorry," Hans said once more as he scrambled on top of her, knees digging into her sides to hold her in place as his hands curled around her throat, thumbs pressing deep into her windpipe. Theo gasped and sputtered, mouth opening and closing helplessly as she fought for the tiniest breath. The pressure in her head built, her vision throbbed and darkened at the edges, and the hands beating at him weakened with each passing moment. She stared up at her husband, watching the sparkle return to his monstrous dark eyes, as though he could feel how close he was to being free from her.

Damn him! Theo flung her arms out to the sides. They felt like they were made of lead. She gripped a handful of wet mud, fingers digging in deep, and shoved it up into Hans's open mouth and eyes. He choked, crying out in disgust, and while his grip barely loosened, it provided enough distraction for her to stretch her fingertips to find the cool metal of the gun. Without any hesitation, and knowing the bullet meant for her was empty of its chamber, she brought the barrel of the gun up to her husband's head, cocked, and pulled the trigger.

The bastard fell forward, the full weight of him crushing whatever air from her lungs she'd been able to suck in once his grip on her neck slackened. Theo rolled and pushed him off her. Her breath came in painful wheezes but adrenaline already had her on her feet, screaming through clenched teeth as she kicked his worthless body over and over and over again.

She would hang, she knew she would. The Lord DeNoble and all his men would come for her, but damned if she wouldn't give herself a head start. So Theo dragged the body of her dear husband into the back of his lovely Bentley, knowing she would have to dispose of both sooner rather than later, but having no idea how. She hoped the road she drove now would guide her to her answer.

Looking back she supposed, in a way, it did.

She'd only glanced at the rearview mirror for a second. The setting sun left spots dancing in her eyes which she mistook for headlights. It was enough time for the deer to leap from the tall grasses flanking the road. Theo gasped, slamming her foot on the brakes, and jerked the steering wheel. The Bentley skidded off the road, Theo no longer able to control it but trying to turn the wheel back in a feeble attempt to correct her dire mistake. It was too late. With a terrible crunch, the nose of the vehicle met with the base of a tree trunk, and blackness folded over her in an instant.

Thomas Shelby had been sitting behind a large mahogany desk in the study of Arrow House when the sounds of the distant crash disrupted the silence. Nursing a tumbler of whiskey and puffing on his twentieth cigarette of the day, he stared down at the articles of incorporation he'd been given this morning to review.

He lifted his head at the unmistakable sound of shattering glass and crunching metal. Tommy turned in his chair, pulling a drape back to peek out the window directly behind him, but saw nothing. Only his own vehicle parked safely in the driveway. An accident on the main road, then.

He turned back to the documents before him, but the words blurred on the page. He wasn't necessarily one to lend a helping hand, but that crash did not sound good. Not if he could hear it from up at the house. The nearest neighbor was two kilometers each way, and besides, what if it was someone he knew? What if it was Polly, or Ada?

Cursing, he stubbed out the cigarette and rose, just as a knock sounded on the study door. A timid maid peeked her head in, "Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Shelby, but did you hear-?"

"I heard," he responded, shrugging a suit jacket on. "Going to check it out now."

"Would you like someone to go with you? I can get Jack from the stables-"

"That's all right, Frances," he donned his cap and brushed past the maid. "I'll be back if help's needed."

The main road was a few minutes' drive from Arrow House. Tommy kept his eyes peeled, searching for any signs of a crash site. He didn't have to look long.

Once on the main road, the vehicle was only a few yards past the entrance to his property. A gleaming black Bentley, brand new, and totally destroyed, its nose folded in at the base of an old oak tree. He slowed, coming to a stop as closely as he could get while remaining on the road. Tommy wasted no time in investigating, cutting through the waist high grass. A pair of brake lights shined red, and the crushed engine smoked.

The form of a woman lay slumped against the window of the driver's side. Her dark hair fell in her face, hiding any identity, but Tommy already knew from the make of the vehicle that it wasn't anybody belonging to him.

While the passenger door had caved in upon impact, the driver was able to narrowly avoid the same consequence. Lucky that, too, or he bet her legs would have been crushed to pieces. When he opened the door, the woman fell limp into his arms. Tommy pulled her out of the vehicle and lay her on the ground, brushing the hair from her face. The coat and dress she wore was once a tasteful shade of sky blue, but was strangely covered with mud. Her probably very pretty face was terribly beaten, and the unmistakable imprint of fingers bruised the delicate skin of her throat. Well, a car crash certainly hadn't caused that.

Tommy cushioned her head with his hand held at the base of her skull, and lightly tapped her cheek. "Hey," he urged between taps, "Wake up. Wake up."

She did wake eventually, with a frightful gasp as though he'd just pulled her back from death itself. She gripped Tommy tightly, hands fisted at the lapels of his jacket, bloodshot eyes wide with panic, trying to use him to pull herself up. "You're all right – hey! You're all right," he assured, trying to hold her in place should she further injure herself. "You've had an accident. Look at me." He tilted his face each way to try to catch her roaming attention and make sure she understood what he was saying. "You've had an accident. Where are you coming from?"

Her eyes were growing hazy and unfocused, oddly indigo irises rolling this way and that, and her grip on him lessened. He knew she would lose consciousness again momentarily. Tommy cursed and gave her a gentle shake. "I killed him," she breathed. "I killed him."

"Killed?" Utterly perplexed and now wishing he'd remained in his office, Tommy groaned and gave the woman another shake. "Killed who? Who did you kill?"

"Don't let them find me," she whimpered softly, then went limp against him.

"Fucking hell," Tommy grumbled, releasing her to fall to the ground a little less gently than he should have been. He turned back to the vehicle, tore open the back door, and just as he dreaded, another form lay across the back seat, the suit he wore just as muddied as the woman's clothes. He dragged the body of the man out by his feet. He fell to the ground in several dull thuds. Tommy nudged the man, already growing stiff, onto his back, and grimaced. There he was, the 'him' she spoke of, eyes open and empty with death, a chunk of his skull missing where his brain had been blown out with the pistol she apparently chucked into the backseat.

Fucking amateurs.

A/N: Heyyyyy guys. It's been a few years. I put this up on AO3, but figured I'd give it to my OG site too. :) Hope you enjoy!