As it happened, sleep didn't come at all, and when the seventh chime from the church down the road sounded, Saoirse snuck into the bedroom to find Joe still sleeping. Eyeing him warily, she dressed quickly and quietly in the hopes of not disturbing him. She didn't want to face him after the previous night, not caring if that made her a coward or not. Her hands trembled at the mere thought of it, and when she applied her makeup in the cracked bathroom mirror she realised that there was going to be no way of covering her split lip which had now scabbed over into an unsightly mess. With a sigh, she began to formulate a lie in her head. A lie that she could easily recount should anyone enquire about her injury.

Saoirse scribbled Joe a note explaining that she had gone into work early to prepare for an important meeting and closed the front door inaudibly behind her. It was only once she had left her street that she released a breath she hadn't even known she was holding.

It was cold out, but she welcomed the biting wind because it allowed her to feel a physical pain, unlike the pain in her heart. Every emotion tore through her; confusion, hurt, upset. Even with her eyes open, she kept on envisaging the look on Joe's face when he had struck her. The look in his eyes had been alien to her.

Completely drenched in her thoughts, it took less than no time at all to reach the office and Saoirse realised to her dismay that it would be a while yet before anyone would be around to let her in. She supposed she could sit on the front step, but she didn't want to give the wrong idea to any early morning men on their way to work. One thing she knew was that it was far too cold to be standing around waiting, so she decided she may as well take a walk around the block. It would pass the time as well as stop her from freezing. Heading along the back alleyway, she had not got more than halfway down it when she heard a groan come from behind one of the outhouses. Frowning, and ignoring her better judgment, she stepped forward to have a closer look. Immediately, she fell to her knees when she realised it was Arthur. He was lying in a heap next to a smashed bottle of whiskey and something that looked suspiciously like vomit.

"Arthur," she pushed her hair away from her face and peered over him in concern. "Arthur it's me, it's Saoirse. Are you alright?"

"Saoirse," Arthur slurred, his head rolling from side to side. He opened his eyes but couldn't make them focus on her properly.

"You're freezing," Saoirse tutted, yanking off her coat and placing it over him. "Just stay right there, and I'll go and get someone to help."

"No," Arthur shook his head, grasping desperately at the sleeve of her blouse. "Don't want them to see me like this. Tommy, Polly, they'll fucking kill me."

"Well, we need to get you warm. You're lucky you're not dead from hypothermia already."

"Hypothermia? Swallow a fucking dictionary, did you?"

"You know what? If you're going to just take the piss then I'll leave you here," Saoirse warned him, half serious and half not.

Arthur sighed and rubbed a hand over his face as he sat up gingerly. He felt like he had gone twelve rounds in the boxing ring.

"I've got the key to the office somewhere," he announced, rifling around his waistcoat pocket, grinning with relief when his hand touched the cold brass. "We can sneak in there and lay low until I don't smell like a brewery."

"We'll be laying low for a long time then," Saoirse raised an eyebrow. She didn't care if she was being rude, and to a Shelby no less. She was at the end of her tether with men who were unable to handle their drink. Arthur just grinned and on shaky legs tried to stand up.

"Put this back on, sweetheart," he smiled, draping Saoirse's coat around her shoulders before starting to walk back up the alley towards the office door.

Using the wall and Saoirse to keep him steady, it took them longer than usual but eventually the cold air began to sober Arthur up. Taking the key from him, Saoirse unlocked the door and they hurried inside, groaning at the delightful warmth that awaited them. It was rather dark inside, the thick curtains not having been drawn yet nor the lights switched on, and Arthur was grateful for it. Well, it was more his head that was grateful for it, and when Saoirse led him into the back office, Tommy's office, and sat him down on a chair he sighed in relief.

"We need to get you warmed up," she said, motioning to his fingers which were still freezing cold. Taking one of his hands gently in between her own, she breathed on it and then began rubbing.

"If you wanted to hold my hand love, you only had to ask," Arthur grinned. "Although, plenty of girls might want to fight you for me."

"Shut up," Saoirse snorted. "Or else would you prefer I leave your fingers to fall off?"

Arthur didn't say anything, he just watched with amusement as she repeated her actions on his other hand.

"What happened to your face?" he asked.

"Got into a fight with the kitchen cupboard. The cupboard won."

Arthur wasn't sure he believed her, but he decided it maybe wasn't the time to pry. However, he made a little mental note to mention it to Tommy nonetheless.

"You feeling any better yet?" Saoirse asked him, changing the subject. He had some colour in his cheeks once again and his hands were warming up nicely.

"I feel like I've been run over by a freight train," Arthur groaned. "I don't know why I fucking do it to myself."

"The lure of the drink is just too strong?"

"Something like that," Arthur mumbled, looking down at the floor.

And that was when Saoirse saw it. Something in his eyes that just didn't look right. It was sadness. No, it was more than that. It was the look of someone whose very soul was in pain. Vulnerable was a word she never thought to acquaint with the man before her, but in that moment, it was the only word that came to mind. So, Saoirse did the only thing she could think of. She placed her arms around Arthur and hugged him. His body tensed momentarily but then just as quickly he was hugging her back. She felt his shoulders shake and then there was something wet on her neck where his face had burrowed into her like a child. Rubbing a hand up and down his back soothingly, she just held him while he released whatever it was that was hurting.

"Sorry about that," he cleared his throat, lifting his red-rimmed eyes to her with embarrassment. "I just get like this sometimes."

Saoirse took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly, not the least phased by his admission.

"Since the war, you know," he explained with a shrug. "Flanders Blues. One minute I'm doing ok and the next it's like I'm back there. I can hear the gunshots and the screams of young men, barely more than boys, begging for their mothers as they lay dying in a muddy field. I can smell the blood of the men who've been shot, the smoke of the guns. My heart races, my palms sweat, and my ears making this loud swooshing sort of noise, and drinking is the only thing that takes it away. I drink so I don't feel and I drink so I don't remember. I drink and hope that one day I won't ever wake up again, but I always do."

"Don't say that," Saoirse's bit at her bottom lip as it wobbled. The gut-wrenching agony in Arthur's eyes was killing her. She wished she had the power to take it all away from him. "There's people here that would miss you."

"Yeah right."

"It's true," she grabbed hold of his face and stared into his eyes, imploring him to listen and understand. "Your family for a start. They love you and they need you."

"They don't," he sniffed "I'm just a fucking disappointment to them. Look at me."

"You're not a disappointment to anyone. You get up every day and continue to live your life, despite feeling like this. That takes so much courage and so much strength. I'll never be able to comprehend what you boys had to go through so that we could have a life of peace and freedom, but those people who expect you to just suck it up and act like it was nothing of consequence, are the ones that are the disappointments," she spoke fiercely. "They're the cowards. You know why? Cos they're afraid of showing emotion. They're afraid of showing their real selves for fear of being judged or ridiculed. A person's emotions don't make them weak. They're what make them strong enough to conquer anything life throws at them. So, don't ever, ever let me hear you talk about yourself as though you're anything less than brave and strong. Are you listening?"

"I'm listening," Arthur nodded, humbled and overwhelmed by her speech. "And you know I think that you're strong too."

"Me?"

"Yeah. You grew up in that god awful place and look at you. You're still full of compassion for other people. You have more compassion than most people I've ever met."

"I don't think St. Bernadette's compares to fighting in the war," Saoirse smirked.

"You listen to me now," Arthur told her. "I've never heard anything nice about that place. Now, when I think about a young girl going in there after losing both of her parents, I imagine someone full of hatred and contempt for the world emerging at the age of sixteen, but you're nothing like that. You've not let whatever happened in there dampen your spirits or quash you."

"If only that was the truth, Arthur," she gave him a sad smile. Rolling up her blouse sleeve, she held out her arm to reveal faint, criss-cross lines marring her otherwise perfect skin. "This was the only way I could cope sometimes. We weren't allowed to cry or laugh or show any emotion at all unless we wanted to be punished. This was the way I let it all out. It wasn't that I wanted to die or anything drastic like that. It was just that I wanted a release for all the feelings inside me."

Arthur ran his finger over the lines, a sad expression on his face.

"See, I'm not as strong as you think," Saoirse mumbled shamefully.

"No," Arthur shook his head, looking up at her. "You are, love."

Saoirse smiled and cupped his cheek. "Why don't we agree to disagree and say that we both are?"

"I reckon I could agree to that," Arthur smiled back. "But let me just add one more thing onto that deal, yeah? If you ever, ever feel like you felt back then, enough to want to hurt yourself like that again, promise you'll come to me."

"I promise," she nodded. But deep down she knew she was a liar. Because no matter how bad things got, Saoirse had never relied on anyone else to fix her problems for her. She had to fix them herself. "Now why don't we get you a drink? Something warm and non-alcoholic?"

"Good idea," Arthur agreed. "And Saoirse? Thank you."

"Don't mention it," she smiled. "What are friends for?"

Unbeknownst to the pair of them, a pair of feet silently disappeared back outside before Saoirse left the office. A pair of feet that had heard the heartfelt conversation inside.

After a rough start to the morning, the rest of the day went without a hitch. Tommy had a few meetings that Saoirse was required to take notes for, and Arthur was sent to do some errands. What kind of errands, Saoirse didn't know, and in all honesty, she didn't think she wanted to know. After the meetings, Tommy had disappeared for a few hours leaving Saoirse to do some paperwork and write up the notes from the meetings, as well as schedule some appointments for the next few weeks. She had just finished typing up her last report when Tommy called her into his office.

"Did you finish that Bernham report?" he asked.

"Almost," Saoirse answered. "I've just got a little bit left to write up and then it's ready to have the lawyer look over."

"And the notes from the meeting with Ives?"

"Yep, all done and filed away."

Tommy nodded, pulling a bottle of whiskey out of his desk drawer along with two glasses. "Drink?"

"Oh, no thank you," Saoirse declined politely.

"Very well," Tommy muttered, pouring the amber liquid into a glass and taking a sip before he leaned back in his chair to look at her.

Saoirse didn't know why, but there was something about the way he was looking at her that made her feel as though he could see every thought running through her head.

"So, do you want to tell me what's happened to your lip?"

"Excuse me?" she sputtered. She had not been expecting that. She didn't know why she thought he had not noticed. It was obvious that Tommy Shelby noticed everything, but Saoirse just figured that after spending almost all day with him, he would have mentioned it before now if he intended to.

"Your lip," Tommy repeated, eyeing her almost lazily. The expression on his face could have been that of someone inquiring about the weather. "Arthur mentioned something about you and the kitchen cupboard having an altercation."

If you know then why the hell are you asking?

"I'm asking because it's my business to know why my secretary has turned up with a bust lip," Tommy answered, and with a horrified grimace Saoirse realised that she had spoken out loud.

"Well, it's exactly like I told Arthur," she replied, forcing herself to try and meet his gaze. "I got up in the middle of the night for a drink and I hadn't noticed that one of the cupboard doors was open; you know, the ones above the sink? It was dark because our electric's gone off again. Anyway, I walked right into it and quite frankly I was lucky to get away with just a split lip."

Tommy narrowed his eyes at her. On the surface, her answer seemed plausible alongside the calm manner with which she delivered it. However, when he looked closer he noticed the way her eyes flickered around nervously, unable to meet his own for longer than a few seconds; the way her hand twitched subconsciously on her lap. He continued to stare at her, thinking that perhaps she might cave under his intense gaze and reveal what he thought to be the truth. But no. She remained silent.

"Well, maybe your landlord needs to invest in some better lighting for when you're wandering around in the night," he smirked.

"You're probably right," she smiled, although it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"I overheard the two of you this morning in the office," he said suddenly.

Saoirse opened her mouth to speak and closed it again. She wasn't sure how to reply, and it was difficult to tell by the tone of his voice whether he was annoyed or not.

"I had a feeling when Polly said he didn't return home last night that he had probably gotten stinking drunk and ended up in a state. So how did you come upon him?"

"I found him behind one of the outhouses in the alleyway," she answered quietly.

Tommy let out a sigh and shook his head. "You know, since the war, he gets himself into these states and no one can talk reason into him. I've tried, Polly's tried, we've all tried; even bloody Ada's tried. But he's stuck in his head and it's proving to be his own worst enemy."

"Forgive me for speaking out of line Mr Shelby, but as someone who fought in the war himself, I thought you might be a little more understanding towards your brother. If you truly did hear the conversation between me and Arthur, then you would know that he feels as though he is a disappointment to you all. I swear, I'm not trying to be rude, but as his brother, or at the least a human being, do you not feel an ounce of sympathy towards him? Perhaps this is the point where you tell me that you suffer no ill effects of your time spent fighting? And do you know what I would say to that? Lies. Complete and utter lies. I don't know anyone who couldn't be affected by the horrors of war, which is why I find your complete lack of empathy towards Arthur diabolical."

Tommy tried his hardest to hold back a grin at the impassioned tirade that had left her red face and shaking with anger. The fierce way in which she had defended his brother, like a lioness defending its cub, had only lifted her in his estimations. And it proved to him that how she had spoken with Arthur that morning had been sincere and heartfelt.

"Have you quite finished?" Tommy said finally, raising an eyebrow. "I'll take your silence as an affirmative. You're completely right in what you're saying, Saoirse. However, don't for one single minute think that I don't feel sympathy towards my brother because I do. The battles inside his head are the ones that all of us serving men feel daily. The only thing that differs between me and Arthur is that while he lets his consume him, I let mine empower me."

"But at what cost? Arthur is destroying himself physically in the hopes of healing. But in not allowing yourself to have an outlet for your emotions, Mr Shelby, you're only rotting yourself from the inside. How is that any different to what your brother is doing?"

"Perhaps you're right," Tommy shrugged. "And perhaps you're not. How a person chooses to deal with things is their own choice, isn't it?" His eye flicked down towards her arms and Saoirse knew what he was referring to. "Let me say one thing to you, Saoirse. My brother, while he may be somewhat more emotionally open than the rest of us, does not usually show that side to anyone who isn't his family. The fact that he chose to show that part of himself to you says a lot. And I must thank you for being there for him."

"No thanks necessary," Saoirse smiled genuinely. "I would happily be there for Arthur whenever he needs me."

"Well, it seems that we are very lucky to have you, aren't we?"

"I don't know about that. It is only Arthur I offered to help, I don't remember extending that offer to the rest of you," she grinned, her eyes twinkling playfully.

"Offering Arthur preferential treatment?" Tommy smirked. "Perhaps you've forgotten that I'm the one who pays your wages, eh?"

"Oh, I've not forgotten. It's just that I prefer Arthur is all," she grinned again. "Now before you cry at my admission, shall I go and finish that report? Or did you need me for anything else?"

"No, I think you should go before you wound me any further with your words," Tommy's eyes glistened with humour. "Finish your report and then get yourself home, ok?"

"Thank you, Mr Shelby."

"Oh, and Saoirse? Call me Tommy, won't you? I believe we're past formalities now."

Saoirse walked out of the office feeling like she had just won a great victory. She felt warm and fuzzy inside, all from being able to use someone's first name. It was the small things in life.

Saoirse did everything she could to make her dreaded journey home take as long as possible. She walked the longest way, dawdled, stopped and looked in every shop window. But eventually she conceded that she had to face the music. What awaited her when she returned was nothing short of surprising. Unlocking the door, she sniffed. Burning. Something was burning. She followed the smell into the kitchen where Joe was standing at the stove, peering into a pan with a frown on his face.

"You're back," he beamed, moving the pan and walking towards her.

Subconsciously, Saoirse felt her feet move to take a step backwards and the smile on Joe's face faltered. He looked hurt.

"Don't be afraid of me, Saoirse," he spoke quietly, as one would an animal when they didn't wish to spook it. He lifted his hand slowly to cup her cheek, pretending he didn't see the way her body flinched when he touched her. He ran his thumb gently over her lip, looking ashamed of himself when it ran across the scab. "Does it hurt?"

"Not really," Saoirse mumbled, unable to tear her eyes away from his.

"You weren't here when I woke up this mornin'. I know you had to go to work early, but I wish I'd had the chance to apologise instead of spendin' the entire day wonderin' if you would come back at all."

"Sorry."

"What are you sorry for? You didn't do anythin' wrong. It's me who's sorry. I don't know how to even begin to apologise for what I did last night. I'm so ashamed of myself, Saoirse. You mean everythin' in the world to me, and knowin' that I hurt you like that makes me feel like the worst human on this earth. Do you think you'll ever be able to forgive me?"

Saoirse looked at Joe. Looked at him and saw the sincerity on his face. How could she not forgive him? He looked like a little lost puppy who was craving the love of its master after chewing their shoe.

"I understand if you don't think you can. But I want you to know that from the bottom of my heart, I'll do everythin' I can to earn your forgiveness and prove how sorry I am. That's what this was all about," Joe motioned to the stove behind him. "I wanted to try and cook you a nice dinner, but truly I've buggered it. I left the pan for two minutes while I went to change and the whole thing burnt."

"You were cooking for me?" Saoirse gave a small smile, peering over his shoulder at the stove.

"Aye," he grinned. "I was. But it's safe to say that I'm not fit to be left in the kitchen unsupervised."

"Well, the thought was there," she stood up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. "Why don't you sit down and I'll make us something?"

"Why don't we make somethin' together?"

"Only if you promise not to burn anything else," Saoirse teased.

"Cross my heart."

And just like that, last night was forgotten. Well, perhaps not forgotten but set aside somewhere it wouldn't constantly be on Saoirse's mind. She believed Joe's apology and one thing she had learned from her time in the orphanage was that harbouring resentment was bad for the inner soul. If she didn't forgive Joe, the only person to suffer would be her. All she could do now was move on and allow things to go back to normal.