Fear No Fate

Chapter Six: Collide

Theo was quite taken with an old copper Clydesdale called Pharaoh. He'd already been in the barn when Tommy took ownership of the house a couple years ago. He had the marks and gentle temperament of a working horse, and the wear on his teeth had Tommy guessing the old boy was twenty years then, if not older. While Tommy had no need for him, he hadn't the heart to rehome him. He'd probably been there longer than his other horses had been alive. It wasn't any skin off his back to see to it that the gelding lived out the rest of his days at home, and spent his retirement well-cared for.

Pharaoh was quite massive, and built strong. He towered above his stall, dipping his neck low to gather the pellets in Theo's open palm with gentle lips. She kept close to him, whispering softly and rubbing her free hand along his muzzle, combing her fingers through his mane, completely unintimidated by his size. Tommy imagined he'd feel on top of the world riding the animal, with the wind whipping his face and the world at his back. But as a rule, a retired horse needn't feel the weight of man or cart ever again. He'd done his duty.

Tommy stepped forward to run a hand down the short hair of the horse's neck, admiring the thick muscles and the way his ears flicked to attention at the sound of his voice. Tommy praised the animal, unintentionally switching between English and Romani in his quiet commendations. When he glanced down at his companion, she was eyeing him with one dark brow raised in suspicion.

"You're the gypsy," she accused, her faint tone playful. Tommy snorted airily.

"Aye, I am," he admitted. "Born riding horses and cursing my enemies." He gave Pharaoh a hearty pat, and turned to face Theo. "Wagons and fortune tellers are a far cry from castles and lords. You still trust me?"

He could see the answer in her eyes before she gave it. The beautiful fool. If only she knew. How many people had he betrayed, how many promises had he broken? How many lives had he taken? He'd hacked his way to the top of a business that constantly teetered on a knife's edge. He was dangerous.

But he was beginning to think so was she. "I trust you," she said, and the words fell over him like a soft caress. Tommy closed his eyes briefly, savoring the sweetness.

"You shouldn't," he warned, opening his eyes again and taking a step closer to her.

Theo stood her ground, brow furrowing stubbornly. Pharaoh nudged her with his nose, in search of more pellets, breaking her searching gaze for just a moment as she gently pushed him away. "You saved me." She said as if it explained everything. As if that were enough for her.

"You saved yourself," he corrected, bringing a hand up, unable to stop himself from rubbing the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip, plump and pink and nearly healed. Only a thin dark line marred the soft skin. "I'm a bad man, Theo."

Tommy shifted his gaze from her lips to watch the silent questions dance in her eyes. His hand drifted to the back of her head. She leaned into the touch, a lovely flush beginning to seep into her cheeks. "Not to me," she whispered. Tommy huffed a breath of laughter.

"No," he said. "Not to you."

He was already dragging her into him when she stood on the tips of her toes and met him halfway. Their lips crashed together like two galaxies destined to collide. Theo's mind emptied of everything but him. The feel of his hands, one holding her face to his, the other splayed across her back, trapping her against him. He smelled of smoke and day old cologne. He tasted like tobacco, and whiskey, and second chances.

Theo melted into the warmth of him, hands sliding under his jacket, across the solid muscle of his chest, pulling him in with a white-knuckle grip on the smooth fabric of his waistcoat. Tommy released a hot, breathy groan against her mouth, teeth raking her bottom lip as the hand on her back snaked lower, lower, to cup the swell of her arse and bring their cores together. She could feel the hardness of him against her hip. The excitement of it drew a moan from her, arousal pulsing. Tommy Shelby, enigma of a man, hard for her.

For that moment, nothing else could have mattered. Not the terrifying abyss of a future unknown. Not the unanswered questions about the surreptitious family who gave her a chance at that future. Let the world burn. Let the ashes fall around them. If, in the end, it was Theo and Tommy, she would be happy.

His fingers brushed the side of her neck, and the portrait of a blonde woman, elegantly dressed, slid across her mind.

Theo jerked back, wide-eyed, stomach twisting, sick with disappointment in herself. How could she? Not when she knew exactly what it felt like to be betrayed, deceived in such a devastatingly intimate fashion. She pushed Tommy away, forcing space between them as she gathered her bearings.

Tommy had the nerve to look utterly confused. "What is it?" he asked, his ice blue eyes piercing her. "Theo-"

He took a step toward her, but she held up her hand. "Your wife?" Her voice cracked under the forced volume.

"My wife." It only took a moment for Tommy to understand. "Grace." Theo grimaced as he swore, bringing the back of her hand up to wipe her wet and swollen lips. "The portrait in the hall?" he surmised, rubbing his own hand down his face. She nodded, which he mirrored as he dug into his pocket to retrieve his cigarette case. Tommy offered her one, which she took with shaking fingers. "Grace is my wife, yes," he said through the cigarette between his lips, striking a match. "But she's passed, a little over a year ago."

Theo's eyes shot up, and she blew out the bit of smoke she'd inhaled with the flame at the tip of her cigarette. "Passed," she breathed. "I'm so sorry."

"Me too," he said, and didn't elaborate. Natural curiosity urged her to ask how, but she wouldn't, couldn't do that to him. Make him relive it, whatever it was. A silence fell over them as they smoked, and she moved to perch herself on a stack of hay bales. "We've a son," he said finally. "Charlie. He's two. You'll likely meet him. My sister will be bringing him from London in the next day or so."

Christ, why did she have to bring it up? Her heart ached for Tommy and his boy. As much as it hurt to lose her daughter, she wondered if it wouldn't be worse to watch her live, and grow, and love. Then be the one to leave her behind, alone and unable to understand where her mother went. Theo smoothed her hair back and released a shaking breath.

"I am sorry," she repeated, her shoulders sinking, heavy with regret.

"You didn't know," Tommy said, focused on his cigarette as he flicked the ashes gathered on the end. "I ought to have been clearer. But I don't spend many afternoons kissing fucking countesses, do I?"

Theo tried not to wince at the word. Countess of what? Instead she offered him a rueful smile and reached for him. Tommy took her hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips.

"Let's head back to the house, eh? See what kind of damage Polly has done to your room."

Still feeling terrible, but accepting his obvious attempt to lighten the mood, Theo allowed Tommy to help her off the hay bales, and guide her toward the stable entrance, one gentle hand pressed low on her back. She stopped to give Pharaoh a pat goodbye, promising the old horse she'd return soon with a barrel of treats.

The metallic clank of a water bucket being kicked broke the quietness and startled the both of them. Tommy had her pressed behind him in an instant, facing the direction of the noise and sliding a hand inside his jacket.

"S-sorry!" A voice piped up from back behind the other stalls. A dark head popped up, followed by the face of a boy probably no older than his late teens. "Sorry, Mr. Shelby, sir."

"What are you doing back there, boy?" Tommy asked sternly. The boy stumbled out into the walkway, holding up several dirtied clothes.

"Just oiling the saddles, sir. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."

Tommy was silent for so long that Theo was beginning to feel sorry for the young lad. She chanced a glance over his shoulder to find his face set in stone, icy eyes burning as they stared down the stable hand. She thought to ask what the matter was. A clumsy boy couldn't have possibly upset him so. But then he spoke. "Is your name Jack?"

"Y-yes, sir," the boy confirmed, and Tommy hummed.

"Do you live in the village?"

"Yes."

"When do you leave?"

"At s-sunset," the boy was now visibly shaking. "Sir."

Tommy nodded, and then cleared his throat. "Stick around tonight, Jack. I'd like to have words with you."

"W-what for?"

Theo was dying to understand as well, as Tommy glanced back at her, then landed his piercing gaze on the boy one last time. "I think you know." Without another word, he grabbed her hand, dragging her behind him out of the stable.

Tommy was seething. He'd nearly forgotten Alfie's grim tidings. You ain't gotta worry about me and mine, mate, so much as yours. The stable hand that ran his mouth and cost him forty thousand pounds. And of course it was a boy. A stupid, ignorant boy, not much older than Finn, who was probably just drunk in a pub.

How many others might have heard, if it had already gotten to Camden Town?

He swore, stopping quite suddenly in his stride, could feel Theo bump into his back. "Tommy?" came her voice, soft and cracking with too much use today.

He wanted to tell her. What the boy had done, why it was bad. Why he looked like he was going to shit himself in Tommy's presence. The nature of his business and the reason why Alfie Solomons, keeper of his secrets, was a terrible fucking idea. And he wanted to tell her that he still dreamed of Grace. Could still feel the weight of her as she died in his arms, the warmth of her blood staining his hands. He wanted to tell her how she died.

He wanted to tell her how the moment she stepped barefoot onto the gravel drive and spoke his name, he could think of nothing but how to get her out of this. So that she might stay.

Instead he turned, pressed a kiss to her brow, and said, "Everything's all right. Let's go."