Like a Horse Made of Air
Chapter Four: We Chase the Sun (We Savor the Burn)"Tommy," she whimpers.
Her cheek is pressed into the pillow while her hand works between her legs.
"Tommy," she cries as she peaks. "Tommy, please."
Then she slumps in a satiated sprawl amidst her bedding as dawn breaks over the city.
Not for the first time, does she wonder what he'd think about her newest bad habit. She wishes she could say she tried to imagine someone else, create a nameless man in her head so she doesn't spend her time projecting fantasies on a man she sees every day. The truth is her sorry attempts are hardly worth labelling as an honest try.
Attempts she gave up in the first week.
With a reluctant sigh she drags herself out of bed and sets up a bath. She's taken to bathing twice a day, some overly cautious part of her brain convinced someone will know exactly what she's up to if she doesn't. Breakfast next, followed by double checking her inventory log from the night before and making sure she packed accordingly.
Rosie has been as good as her word, discreetly spreading word about the availability of contraceptives through Wren's business. Her route has extended a fair bit to accommodate her growing business and diverse clientele. At the rate things are going she should be able to afford an actual shop in a few more months.
A knock echoes from the front.
She's quick to move through the house and open the door.
Blue eyes regard her 'neath a peaky cap and she doesn't even try to fight her smile, "Hello, Tommy."
She opens the door for him to enter and he nods as he steps through. He's made it to the kitchen and settled in what has become his chair by the time she closes the door and follows behind him. She makes up a little plate of toast with a soft cheese spread and sliced apples and leaves it on the table with a cup of tea for him to pick at. She makes herself a cup and then settles back to her work at the table.
She's cross checking the soothing mints that have come to be called Danny-Boys when he finally speaks up.
"Heard you sell contraceptives now," he states bluntly.
She pauses and looks up at him, "I do."
He takes a few drags on his cigarette then continues, "heard you had some that men can take."
She feels a little funny, having this conversation so soon after what she'd done in her bed. Like if she twitches wrong, he'll somehow just know she's taking a contraceptive herself now. That he'll see it written on her face the name she calls when she peaks.
Also cause for nerves is just how much she's inadvertently learned about this man's sex life. She doesn't think it would be far off to say nearly all of Small Heath's sex workers are now frequent customers. She hadn't asked after his or anyone else's habits. Hasn't needed too, finding most of her newest clientele overeager to overshare. Apparently, Tommy Shelby is a memorable man and every woman he passes some time with feels the right—or perhaps the need—to gloat.
"You heard right," she answers.
He locks eyes with her, and the silence drags before he quips, "you goin' to charge me?"
"If I were a better businesswoman I would," she quips back.
She gets up out of her seat and steps out the back. A quick perusal of her shelves nets what she's looking for and she returns with five different tins. She places them in a row in front of him.
"You have options," she explains. "This is Lothario, it's highly effective in so far as you won't get anyone pregnant while you take it, but it does tend to have the side effect of shortening a man's stamina. It takes seven days for full effect."
He nods to show he's listening when she pauses.
"This one is Jack; it works both as a contraceptive and an immune boost. You'll be less likely to pick up something you'd rather not, at the cost of a wait time. This one isn't fully effective until you've taken it for fourteen days and some herbs will interfere with it and render it a little to a lot less effective. Side effects can include occasional difficulty peaking, and bouts of insomnia."
She moves her finger to the next tin, "this one is King. I don't know why it's called that to be honest, it's pretty straight forward. You need to take it for five days for full effect, it's pretty stable, and side effects tend to be minimal. Occasionally causes decreased libido and lethargy."
"The Pipe is an old recipe," she continues. "It's again fairly stable, you'd just want to avoid carraway. It takes twenty-four hours for full effect. Side effects can include drowsiness and increased thirst."
"Lastly, we have—well," here she pauses, realizing, "it's called the Gypsy."
He lifts a brow at her, clearly amused.
"It's not like I named them," she tells him. "It takes three days for full effect and is reliably effective unless you—for whatever reason—eat charcoal, larkspur, or traveling lilac. It's side effects are basically a guarantee though, with most men experiencing a heightened libido, increased sensitivity, and according to one woman's scathing commentary, an incurable itch in the feet."
"Take off on her, did he?" Tommy enquires.
"They," she clarifies. "She goes on about at least a dozen men that wandered off on her. Supposedly all gypsies."
"Makes you wonder what they were running from," he muses.
"If you read her journal you wouldn't wonder," Wren laughs. "Even as a woman I'd have run from that."
He shakes his head before lighting up another cigarette. He doesn't hesitate as he grabs the tin of Gypsy and turns it in his hand, "what's the dose?"
"Two tablets the first three days," she tells him. "One a day there after. If you miss two or more days, start over with two tablets for three days. You can take them as tablets or dissolve them in a cup of hot water and drink them. If you want to you can add sweetener, but don't add milk. The instructions and information are also on the inside of the lid."
He nods his understanding as he slips the tin away into an inner pocket.
"There's thirty-three doses in the tin," she informs him as she adds him to her book. "The precise time of day doesn't matter, so long as you keep a generally consistent schedule. I'll have another made up for you when you run low."
The conversation peters out then as she returns to her work. Out the corner of her eye she notices him picking at the plate and feels a small swell of triumph at getting the man to eat something. She deliberately drags out the rest of what needs doing 'til he obviously loses interest in the food. He cleans his own plate and cup despite her protests, setting them neatly in the rack to dry. Then they head out for the day.
When she returns home that night, she discovers the coins he left at her table.
I Don't Know (What You Mean to Me)She turns the tin in her fingers, around and around.
The contraceptive she'd chosen for herself is called the Green Lady. It's fairly similar to the Gypsy for all that it's a dose of different herbs. Three days for full effect. Two tablets a day, with no decrease. Side effects include sensitivity, vivid dreams, heightened libido, and increased thirst. No coffee, traveling lilac, moonwort, or mug-wort.
She takes two tablets and swallows them down with sips from her glass of water and then returns to spinning the tin.
She wonders if he chose the Gypsy for the same reason she chose the Green Lady. Many contraceptives list possible fatigue or lethargy as side effects. She hadn't been willing to risk a down swing considering her long hours and often physically demanding work. She knows Tommy demands even more of himself.
She also wonders if he chose it for what it does do: the sensitivity, the increased sex drive.
If he started taking it shortly after acquiring it, he should be well into the effects. Even now as she sits in Molly's Tea House waiting for a client, she can feel a persistent heat in her blood. Her nerves tingle and it's difficult not to drift off into a waking dream. These days he's always there on the edge of every thought, waiting patiently for her focus to slip.
She sighs and makes to put the tin away when she's jostled from behind. The tin drops from her hand and goes sliding across the floor. Wren turns a sharp eye on the careless patron as she rises out of her seat. She means to retrieve the tin, but first she has the rude wench to deal with and then her client shows. It isn't until she's stepping out of the shop and sets eyes on the devil himself that she realizes she never managed to get the tin back.
She curses under her breath even as she automatically falls into step with him.
He lifts a brow at her and she explains, "had a body knock me and lost a tin. No point going looking for it now, it'll be long gone."
He locks eyes with her for a moment before reaching into his jacket and offering her the contents. In his hands sits her tin.
"Saw you lose it," he tells her simply.
Having known Tommy as long as she has now, she knows he not only saw her take the tablets but also had no qualms about opening it up to see what it is she's taking. She takes the tin from his hands with an easy thanks. Silence settles for a moment, but she's honestly not surprised when he breaks it. Tommy Shelby is endlessly nosy.
"Who are you seeing, then?" He asks bluntly.
Feeling less than charitable she looks at him with a lifted brow and says, "obviously, I'm seeing Tommy."
She expects him to give her side-eye, she doesn't expect his immediate turn around.
"Tommy who?" he asks sharply.
"You might know him," she muses. "Dark hair, blue eyes. Wanders Small Heath in a three piece like he owns the place. Has something to do with those Peaky Blinders. You know, the gangsters with razors in their caps."
She's learned he appreciates a quick wit and a smart tongue, a bit of boldness. She has no qualms about using that against him.
"I'm asking, because I want to be sure your safe," he growls at her.
"You're asking, because you're an interfering, nosy busybody," she tells him with a laugh. "It's alright though, I seem to enjoy your company anyway."
Suddenly she finds herself in an alley, his hands on her biceps and their faces inches apart. There's a tension in his jaw she doesn't expect and a sharpness in his eyes she's only seen in passing.
"I'm not seeing anyone, Tommy," she tells him honestly.
"So, you expect me to believe you're taking a contraceptive just because?" He scoffs.
"Contraceptives—at least of these sort—are better in the long term," she tells him. "Building it up in me blood and getting me body used to its effects is more efficient and more effective if I start now, before I'm seeing someone, then if I wait until I am. So no, I don't expect you to believe just because."
He studies her face, and she lets him.
"Then how do you explain the noises coming from your room last night," he asks.
She blinks in surprise. Last night she'd been—well, most nights she does. And he'd…he'd been in her house?
"I feel like me question about why, exactly, you were in me house last night is more valid," Wren starts slowly. "But I know you well enough to know you'll be difficult until you get your answer. So, the noises you heard was me, and me alone."
His eyes narrow at her, "which is why you were calling a man's name," he bites out.
Her temper flares and her voice snaps with ice, "calling your name. Or has the great Tommy Shelby never heard of masturbation?"
Then she realizes what she's just admitted and her hand slaps across her mouth as if she might snatch the words back. Her eyes are wide, and she feels a hot rush of mortification break over her. She watches almost detachedly as the realization flows through him. His face relaxes, and so does his grip as he settles back onto his feet. He's no longer poised and looming. He blinks a few times and refocuses on her.
"I wasn't in your house," he says abruptly.
She lifts her own brows back at him incredulous.
"I have a man stationed to keep an eye on your place," he explains. "It's your home and your business. A target now you've achieved a stable income. Plus, glass is expensive and you've a lot of it to break. Someone got in and the one assigned to the night watch didn't figure the rat got too far. But he went upstairs to check on you. Said you never noticed on account of you having a man over. A man named Tommy."
She closes her eyes and breaths deeply for a moment. She's touched that he cares so much about her safety. Annoyed that he didn't tell her about the watch. Grateful someone had caught the break-in. Horrified that someone apparently successfully broke in and she never noticed. Embarrassed someone had heard her. Furious that that someone hadn't done anything to let her know what was going on. She takes another deep breath and opens her eyes. He's watching her a touch warily now; she can't tell if that amuses her.
"Thank you for caring enough about me safety to take steps," she begins a bit stilted. "However, you should have told me you had taken those steps and your man should have definitely fucking done something to tell me he was in the damn house. Whether he thought I was fucking someone or not. The fact that someone successfully broke into me home should have been the priority—and I should have been informed as soon as was possible. Not, not whatever this is."
He nods slowly, his thumbs rubbing careful circles through the fabric of her sleeves.
"Was it really more important to you that I was possibly having sex?" She asks baffled.
"Thought the man might have let the rat in," Tommy answers frankly. "Distracted you while the other took whatever they wanted."
That's an unfortunately possible tactic—she's actually heard of it happening before—and Tommy's business deals with theft, she's sure he knows more than she ever will about ways to go about it.
"Well, I suppose you're a very good distraction," she quips, valiantly trying to deflect with humor.
Then she meets his eyes, and she suddenly finds breathing a bit difficult.
"The rat's been taken care of," he tells her. "I'll find you when you're ready to head home and we'll go over how to prevent a repeat. And I'll have a talk with the men about manners."
This, she thinks wryly, is a Tommy Shelby apology.
She nods and he smooths his hands down her arms 'til he has her hands in his. She can't quite stop the shiver that works through her at the touch. He's watching her, she knows he sees it. He tugs gently coaxing her into his side where he lets go of her hands to wrap an arm around her waist and guides her back onto the street.
He parts from her at the intersection, leaving her to wade through the rest of the day on her own.
Say My Name (It Will Be Held Against You)By the time her normal end of day arrives she is so tired she could sleep for a week while simultaneously being so keyed up she fears she may never sleep again.
Somehow, all of that vanishes when Tommy falls into stride next to her. He doesn't hesitate at all when he slips his arm back around her waist, his body a long line of heat against her side. He's been close to her enough that's she's caught his sent before, but now she doesn't even have to turn her head as it fills her senses. She feels caught up and swept away. Enough so she's considering a discreet way to pinch herself on the off chance all of this is just a crazy dream.
The walk would be silent if not for the general cacophony of noise that comes with walking the streets of Small Heath.
Then they're at her door, she unlocks it and they step into her front room. Instead of striding through to his usual chair, however, he turns his attention to her door. She watches quietly as he studies the lock and the handle, then runs his hands over the frame. He flicks the lock from the inside, watching the bolt move then tests the handles lock. The scary thing is, so far as she can tell, nothing seems wrong.
"He picked the lock," Tommy tells her when he notices her watching.
"And how am I supposed to keep that from happening again?" she asks.
"These locks are at least fifteen years old," Tommy tells her. "They're out of date. Plenty of people have had enough time practicing on them which makes them easy targets. Just need to get new ones."
"I didn't know locks were like that," she says, though now it's been pointed out to her she feels a bit ridiculous for having not thought of it herself.
"Most people don't," he tells her as he shuts her door.
She expects what has become their normal: he goes through to his chair in the kitchen, she makes him a drink and a little plate of something then they sit at the table and talk. What she gets is Tommy heading up her stairs leaving her to follow after him. He finds the office easily—she can't tell if she's relieved or disappointed, she'd half thought he was looking for her room. It's as she steps in after him that she's reminded that she never repacked the trunk.
The trunk itself is empty and discarded next to the red desk, while its contents had been neatly redistributed. The books she's finished reading are organized on top of the desk while the ones she hasn't are piled next to her reading chair. An extravagant, stuffed piece of furniture that has very obviously been regularly occupied. She finds herself frozen in the door, while he picks up one of the texts as he absently looks around. He opens the book and glances at the pages, before stilling and focusing on whatever he's found. Considering the book, she'd give even odds he opened to a picture.
She watches in almost morbid curiosity as he flips through the text in his hand, eyes the stack on the desk, then the pile by the chair before looking at her.
She can feel the heat in her cheeks, there's nothing she can do about the blush, but she refuses to feel ashamed or act like she's done something wrong. So, she lifts her chin and straightens her spine as she finally walks fully into the room.
"Looking for something in particular?" She asks with forced calm.
He watches her, his face set in lines she can't read, "you're books."
"Brown desk," she informs him as she moves to said desk.
She opens up a few drawers and extracts her current ledger and inventory log then sets the journals on the wooden surface, "why are we looking at me books?"
"See if anything is missing," he answers as he sets the book he held back on the red desk. "You keep your cashbox in here?"
"No," she answers as he crosses the room to her. "Heard someone say you shouldn't keep your cash in rooms your likely to sleep. Seemed reasonable."
Tommy pauses and think a moment, "kitchen?"
"Yes and no," she replies. "There's a small box in the kitchen, but the actual cashbox is in the attic."
He lights a new cigarette and nods, "grab both."
"The attic access has drop stairs not more than a meter from my bedroom door," she tells him. "The noise it makes can be heard on the ground floor. There's no way he got to it."
"Not that man," he says as he turns and heads back into the hall.
"You think someone else got in?" She questions as she hurries to catch up.
"Lock that old and the house vacant for eight years," Tommy shrugs. "No telling."
Worried now herself, she slips past him and up to the fourth floor. There's a trick to opening the attic, a concealed chord you have to pull before the latch will budge. Then she grabs the tall chair she keeps in her room to get at the latch. She positions it carefully so when the stairs fold out they won't hit her and opens the panel. The noise is as horrendous as always, the creak and clatter of old wood and hinges. For once Tommy waits for her and she steps up into the attic ahead of him. He looks around from the stairs while she retrieves the cashbox.
He takes it from her when she reaches him, shouldering the weight easily. Then they descend back down to the office. He drops the box on the brown desk before following her down to the kitchen. He lifts his brow at her when she pulls the smaller box out from under the wash basin. She shrugs as answer as she returns back the way they came.
They spend the next few hours going through everything and, to her dismay, they find she has had repeated instances of theft.
"How did I not notice," she mutters as she rubs at her forehead.
"He was smart about it," Tommy comments.
She looks to him and Tommy meets her eyes.
"If he had taken more at once, or the small amounts more frequently," Tommy continues, "you would have noticed. As it is, the only one who would notice a few missing pence is someone who didn't have anything worth stealing. Given how he went about it, I'm not surprised you didn't. What I don't like, is that it went on so long."
She blinks at him a moment before she realizes, "you said you have me house watched."
He nods, eyes distant as smoke drifts around him.
"You can't get in the house through the back," she continues, "not without going through glass. The vents in the greenhouse don't open wide enough to slip an adults arm through never mind a body and the roof connects all the way up to the third floor. There's no windows on either side of the building. Which leaves just the front."
"The books show missing money starting eleven weeks ago," she watches him light a new a cigarette before sipping from his glass of amaretto. "How long have you had a man on me house?"
There's a long silence before he says, "ten."
"Ten days?" She asks. "Ten weeks?"
He shakes his head a bit, "months. Ten months."
She sits back in surprise. Quietly she says, "it's been a little over ten months since I pulled the trigger."
"Aye," he agrees. "It has been."
"You know," she muses, "it's been as long since I talked to…to them."
"I know," he says.
"Have they tried to? Talk to me, I mean," she asks him.
He studies her face before he says, "your sister."
"Thank you," she sighs. Though whether she's thanking him for keeping Ella at bay or for answering her she isn't sure.
Silence reigns as she stares at her hands, and he finishes off his amaretto.
Shaking off her less than welcome thoughts she returns to the original topic, "how has he been getting passed your watch?"
She watches as he rubs his thumb across his bottom lip, ever present cigarette balanced between his fingers. Then he rises to his feet, grabs his cap and his jacket and marches off down the stairs.
Startled she follows him down, "Tommy?"
He stops at the door to pull the jacket on and then the coat from off the stand, his cap going on his head last.
He looks back at her for a heartbeat, then leaves without saying a word.
She locks the door and frowns as she finds none of the sense of security that normally comes with the act. She'll have to put off the shop, she thinks, as she turns away. If she's going to put money into her own security she's going to do it properly. Which means shelling out for all new locks. She should probably have the windows and all the glass double checked and sorted while she's at it.
As uncomfortable as these most recent revelations have left her, it doesn't change the fact she still has work to do. She turns to doing the nightly inventory. When she's done, she doesn't feel comfortable enough to take a proper bath, so simply quickly wipes herself down—eyes frequently darting about as if expecting someone to burst in on her at any moment. She finds a new hiding place for the small box, hidden in one of the several old bread boxes scattered about.
She makes a simple meal and retreats back upstairs to her reading chair.
Then a knock comes at her door.
She blinks in surprise, checking the clock to confirm the late hour. The knock comes again and reluctantly she wraps a robe around herself and goes to answer. Confused and a little wary, she cracks the door only to step back and open it when she spots the familiar figure.
"Why do you have a suitcase?" she asks as he sets said luggage down and strips off his coat.
He hangs up the coat and sets the lock on the door before picking the case back up and striding off up the stairs. Heaving a sigh of annoyance, she wanders off after him refusing to rush. She steps into the office expecting him to have taken over the desk again, only to find he's not there. Frowning in confusion she heads out, peaking into the rooms as she passes them. It's as she steps onto the fourth floor and sees the lamp in her bedroom lit that she begins to feel nervous.
Entering her room she finds the man in her closet, neatly putting away what looks an awful lot like a decent amount of men's clothes amidst her own wardrobe.
"Tommy," Wren questions slowly. "What are you doing?"
He lifts a brow at her as he exaggerates putting away an undershirt.
"Don't you pull that face at me," she huffs. "Yes I can see you putting clothes in me closet. The question is—well that's the problem isn't it? I have a lot of questions, but you seem keen to ignore them."
He finally says, "I'll be staying here."
She stares at him for long moments which apparently doesn't faze him, he simply finishes putting everything up and tucks the suitcase out of the way.
Finally, she manages to find her voice, "this house has six rooms. More if you count the first floor. There are multiple beds, with mattresses and bedding and everything. Maybe not set up right this second, but easily arranged. If that doesn't suit you, there are a few couches to pick from. Or the tub. Or the floor."
He steps into the middle of her room and makes a show of looking around then says, "this will work for me."
"This is me bedroom, Tommy," she throws her hands up. "I sleep here."
"And now," he says as he begins to undress, "so do I." *
She makes a valiant effort to stand her ground, chin up and holding his eyes.
But then he shrugs off his suspenders, hands going to his fly, and she flees back to her chair. She presses her palms to her hot cheeks and squeezes her eyes closed. It is one thing to look at drawings and pictures in books or read text off the page. It is quite another thing to have a man strip off in front of her in the middle of her own bedroom.
He's going to kill her, she thinks faintly, and for once he won't have even meant to do it.
She's managed to get a grip on herself and cuddled back into her chair when he appears clad in sleepwear. There is something both disarming and jarring about seeing Tommy Shelby anything other than completely put together.
He crosses the room to where she sits and picks her up, easy as anything as he ignores her yelp, and sits into the seat himself with her on his lap. She finds herself clinging to his shoulders as she stares with wide eyes. But Tommy just settles like her chair is his throne, one arm wrapped around her waist while he picks at her partially eaten dinner. He offers her a bite, and she shakes her head no. He shrugs and eats it himself. Slowly she calms, sinking into the unexpected comfort.
She lets her grip relax but doesn't know what to do after that. Should she turn more into him? Turn and put her back against his front? She bites her lip nervously.
"Put this arm 'round me shoulders," he tells her as he taps the arm in question. "Lean into me, you don't need to hold yourself away."
His hands guide her gently and she finds herself fully sideways across his lap, with one arm around the back of his shoulders and the other hand on his chest meaning the entire length of her body is tucked along the front of his. Tommy's hand pets gently along her waist and hip when it isn't gripping her along that same space. Her forehead comes to rest naturally against the side of his head her face tucked into his neck. Every breath in is laden with his sent, every exhale fans against his throat. She can tell when he's finished eating, as his other hand wraps around her too.
Tommy Shelby is holding her.
He's reassuringly warm, the heat from his body soaking into hers and loosening the tension from the long, difficult day. His grip is firm. He feels steady, like something that can't be easily moved.
The last time someone offered her comfort like this, her grandpa was still alive.
She once genuinely believed she loved and trusted her dad. But the more time she takes to think about it all, the more she questions her own assumptions. Every good memory she has, all the lessons she cherishes most, came from her grandparents.
She recalls the first exchange she and Tommy had in this house:
"The house is a mess," she finds herself saying. "And honestly, so am I."
"I'd be more surprised if it wasn't," he replies unbothered as he steps up into the house, Wren finds herself moving out of his way simply by the persuasion of his own movements. "It's been…eight years? Since your grandfather passed and no one to look after it since."
He pauses as he settles in an empty chair at the kitchen table, dropping his flat cap on a clear spot beside the old glass ashtray, before turning that blue-eyed gaze on her, "at least as many years since anyone's looked after you, I'd wager."
She feels him all around her. The solidness of his body beneath hers. The way he tips his head. The flex of his hands and the strength of his arms. She can feel the beat of his heart against her palm, and the rise and fall of his chest against her own.
"I feel safe," she realizes, "when I'm with you."
She feels him shift around her, his nose in her hair, then he asks softly, "yeah?"
"Yeah," she affirms. "Guess I didn't realize until I couldn't pretend anymore."
"Pretend what?" he asks.
"I don't know," she frowns. "That everything's fine? That I'm ok?"
He pulls back a bit to look her in the face, "I want you to be ok."
"I believe you," she tells him. "It's just, I've spent so many years trying to be—I don't know. I'd say to be good, but really what did good have to do with what was asked of me? I don't know that I ever knew what being ok meant. I mean, I was what? Six? Seven? The first time I had an episode. What child has fits like that?"
He holds her a bit tighter as he begins to rub a hand gently along her back, his eyes locked on her.
"I know you said your Gram taught you how to handle an episode," he says slowly. "But I hadn't realized you meant that young."
Wren looks away, focusing on where her hand rests against his chest instead.
"It think it was what changed things," she continues. "I remember being around home with them a lot. But after that fit, I suddenly spent most my time here. I got better for a while. But then…But then Gram passed and then Grandpa. Dad made me move back into his house."
Tommy reaches up and gently smooths her hair out of her face, his hand cupping her cheek before returning to her back. She looks up and meets blue eyes.
"I loved me parents as a child," she muses slowly. "Because I didn't understand that they were hurting me. And when Grandpa died, I had gotten better but I hadn't got me feet under me. It probably wasn't difficult to break me back down. But even the most loyal dog will bite if you beat it enough."
"You got yourself free," he reminds her, or maybe he's reminding himself.
She huffs a laugh, "if it had been anyone other than you in the alley that night, the only thing I would have got myself was a one-way ticket to the noose. I wasn't thinking, hadn't had much in the way of a thought after walking away from that house. Just found a gun under a bridge and used it."
He shakes his head a bit, "It wouldn't have been anyone else in the alley that night because I was following them."
"Why?" She asks him.
"Because I was going to kill them," he tells her honestly.
She lifts her fingertips to his cheek and for a moment he closes his eyes and leans into her palm. But then he takes a deep breath and looks her in the eye.
"I heard the gossip going 'round," he tells her, "but that night at the pub, I heard Langley and MacLeod talking. I won't repeat what they were saying. Just know that I never would have let it happen. People might say I came back from France without a heart, but even the devil himself would have shot them dead had he heard."
"I've never thought you heartless," she tells him as she gently smooths her palm back over his chest. "It's plain you have too much going on inside you to mistake you for unfeeling. Rather, I think you've a big heart. Which means it hasn't managed to avoid enough of the blows life has been throwing. I think it's been a lot all at once for too long and your too sore to want to risk putting it out there and have someone else take a swing."
He covers her hand with his own lacing his fingers between hers and holding on.
"Think that's the nicest thing anyone has said about me since before France," he swallows tightly.
"People change every day," she reassures. "Whether they realize it or not. Grandpa used to tell me that. We can't go back to what we were and that's ok. There's nothing saying we can't make something of who we are now."
He's looking at her like he had during their conversation after she fist helped Danny. He's holding on to her like he thinks she'll vanish if he lets go. She lets go of his hand to wrap her arms around him and holds him as tight as she can manage. His breath stutters against her cheek and she closes her own wet eyes as his tears fall.
She doesn't know how long they sit like that, but she holds onto him as long as he lets her. Eventually, the tears run dry, and the swell of emotion drains away. They separate slowly, easing back a little bit at a time 'til they're simply leaning into each other instead of clinging.
He presses a kiss to her forehead then nudges her, "go on. You need rest."
"So don't you," she counters.
"I'll be in," he soothes.
She hesitates but she thinks he might need a moment alone so; she sighs and relents. He steadies her as she rises from his lap. On impulse, she turns where she stands between his knees and gently cups his face in her hands. He lets her tilt his head enough so she can place a soft kiss upon his forehead as he had for her. Then she lets him go and leaves him to the glow of the fireplace while she heads to bed.
She hangs up her robe and climbs beneath the covers, leaving a lamp dimmed low for when he comes up. She's nearly asleep when she finally feels the bed dip with his weight. He leaves the lamp on as he climbs beneath the covers. He finds her easily and draws her into his arms. She curls around him and listens to the beat of his heart before sleep finally claims her.