Like a Horse Made of Air
Chapter Five: Something on My Mind (Always in My Headspace)He wakes up slowly; an experience so rare he lingers just to enjoy the novelty.
He's warm and his body loose in a way he's more used to associating with a good fuck. This is better even without the sex, he thinks, as he tightens his arm around Wren's waist.
He doesn't sleep next to the whores he buys; a rule to keep the boundaries tidy. It's a rule he's never broken, even in instances he's been so high on opium he feels completely out of his head. It might leave him to face his demons every night on his own, but he has no desire to share so much of himself with someone who can be bought.
He hadn't known how much he needed someone he could trust until the day he realized he's come to trust Wren.
Before that night, if someone had told him Wren MacLeod had it in her to shoot a man in cold blood, Tommy would've scoffed. He hadn't thought she had enough spine to hold her own head up, never mind to take such initiative. In some ways he'd been right, Wren MacLeod wouldn't have. He'd mistaken her obedience as stemming from her own weakness. He hadn't accounted for Wren Ashby, the woman who lived behind the mask.
Tommy knows better now, sees her clearer.
He's in awe of the way she broke apart the shackles of her life and rose from the ashes like some phoenix of legend. Humbled by the drive that saw to her getting four fucking licenses the honest way in a matter of months. Inspired by the way that, when life served her a betrayal that would have broken most people, she didn't crumble.
Oh no, she lifted her head, stiffened that spine, and stood tall.
Covered in blood after her fist kill, corpse cooling at her feet, and she never wavered. Those hands steady as stone around that gun. Refused to let him take that burden off her. Refused the name of the man who betrayed her. Refused to walk out of that alley with anything less than her freedom even if it meant putting a bullet in everything that stood in her way.
She is the kind of woman that will walk through hell with him. No doubt, no hesitation. Tommy wants that—wants her—with a desperate ferocity that sometimes unnerves him.
When Blakely, the man he posted at her house for a night shift, told him she hadn't noticed a damned break in cause she was up in her bed fucking some man…
He's never pushed her. Never commanded or suggested or anything of the sort. She's been pushed too damn much in her life. He never wanted her to feel like he was something she had to free herself from; like he was something she had to escape. He didn't want to be another name beside MacLeod and Langley.
He wants to keep her—wants her to choose to be his—and so he settled in for the long game.
He had thought, while he issued orders and dealt with the rat they'd caught, that he'd miscalculated. As he tracked her down, he'd been furious with himself for missing her attention shifting to someone else. Nobody so much as takes a shit in Birmingham without Tommy Shelby knowing, people say.
That little tidbit that her lover was someone named Tommy felt like the world fucking mocking him and his hubris.
He'd found her in Molly's—a little tea shop frequented by looser women—just in time to watch her fiddle with a little tin and pop two tablets. His mind instantly went to the tin in the nightstand by his bed, the tablets she makes and the purpose they're for. When that tin skids across the floor he doesn't hesitate to snatch it up.
She puts packets of information in the lid of every tin, he knows. He steps outside and pulls out the little papers. The Green Lady, she calls it, and he reads the whole damn thing. A contraceptive like his: increased sex drive written there in black and white. He's both relieved she's being careful and further frustrated by what feels like confirmation.
He's eaten with jealousy, thinking about some wretched bastard getting to have her over and over. Knows the feel of the heat tablets like these leave in the blood. Tommy enjoys sex, always has. It's one of the few things that stuck with him even after France. Likes how it feels and loves the control. Likes reading his lovers body and taking them apart. He takes no small amount of pride that he's never left a woman anything other than satisfied.
He'd brooded over whether or not this man had managed to satisfy her.
She'd come out the shop cursing, she's surprisingly creative when she gets going. Normally he enjoys it. Likes her sass, the evidence of her fire. She's done nothing but flourish since she broke her chains, growing ever bolder, sure and steady on her feet. He hands her back her tin to see how she reacts. She out to know him well enough by now to know he's looked to see what it is.
He can see that she does know, in the flick of her gaze and the pink of her cheeks, but she doesn't do more than thank him sweetly.
It bites at him. So, he goes for blunt. For the first time he pushes at her. She doesn't give though, not even for him. He's impressed, even as her sidestepping prods at his temper. At this point he just wants the man's name so he can fucking kill him and be done with it. He throws the fact she's been caught in her face but even that hadn't gotten her to back down.
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.
Jesus Christ, but when she decided to push back did she ever get hers. Between the blow of the words and an unexpected peak at the woman he only usually gets to see when she's at home, Tommy had rather felt like he'd been in a wreck. Face first right into a damned wall. His own mind betrays him, abandoning all sense to imagine this woman with her little hands between her thighs and his name on her lips.
Fucking hell, he'd near lost it when he realizes she'd been going at it hard enough to convince Blakely she'd been proper fucking someone.
It's her wide-eyed embarrassment that brings him back down. Her eyes darting over his face trying to gauge his reaction and her hand still clapped over her mouth. He's tempted for a moment, to pull her hand away and make her say it again, with more details this time. He probably would have, he's no stranger to his own nature—he's been called an arse often enough to get the point—but noise from the lane reminds him they're in an alley.
Not the time or the place.
His temper has cooled with the revelation that Tommy is in fact himself, which means he didn't miss something and there is no competition, so it's easy enough to switch tracks to reassuring her. He has to tell her about the watch, but she takes that much better than he expected. There had been a moment where she'd looked like she was steadily heading toward pissed which had left him preparing for her to pull a gun on him, not thank him.
Angriest thanks he thinks he's ever heard, but he supposes it still counts.
He hadn't been able to resist wrapping his arm around her waist after that. Couldn't pass up the opportunity to feel her pressed against him. It had made it more difficult to leave her, but he didn't regret it. They both had business to tend to and while she might have thanked him for being concerned with her wellbeing he doubts she'll thank him for pulling her away from her work.
He figures one day she'll know about his nudging people along to get her going though he doesn't intend for that to be anytime soon. It's getting to be a moot point these days as he hasn't needed to do any nudging in a good while. He still keeps an eye on it, but she's up and running under her own momentum now.
There's always the family business for him though. With Wren's rising success as inspiration, he finds himself looking for more ways to break the holding pattern they seem to be stuck in. Arthur had finally ceded to let him take over bringing in new business recently, but his brother teeters back and forth between leaving Tommy to it and angrily picking over everything anybody does.
He rubs absent circles into his woman's belly as he watches the light shift across the wall.
He knows he needs to find something to prop Arthur up. He's not blind to his brother's cycling from Flanders Reds to Flanders Blues and back again. He'd like to get Arthur that pub he used to talk about in France, but the betting shop just isn't bringing in enough. The thefts and rackets keep them in the black but he's going to have to step something up and soon.
He knows the others have been watching him take on more of the business, that they see it as him grabbing for power. Arthur is ever and always happier taking orders than having to be the man with the answers. He won't lie and say he doesn't want the power that comes with the business for himself, but he also doesn't want to watch his brother break under the strain of his own misery either.
If Tommy taking what he wants eases his brother's burden, then why shouldn't he do it?
He wishes his siblings' struggles were all something Tommy could just lift off their shoulders. He wants so badly to pull them all up and out of the mud. Make every fucking cunt that ever thought to blow a whistle at them quake in terror when they walk through the door.
He still has no fucking clue how to help John. He's tried talking to him but if John is good at one thing it's deflecting. His younger brother is failing beneath the weight of being a dad to children without a mum. Tommy can see the guilt and regret in his brother's eyes when he looks at his kids. All that guilt and regret never stops John from spending his time anywhere but at home. Tommy does his best to make sure someone has an eye on the kids, it isn't their fault that Martha passed on and John can't cope, but he knows it falls on Polly more than him.
He would give a lot to know what's going on with Ada, never mind working out a solution. He wonders if she really thinks he doesn't know her tells. Ada's always that little bit nicer to him when she's done something she knows he won't like. An instinct to soften him to her when he inevitably finds out, he figures. Though she's been so sweet to him lately it's done little more than wind him up as he looks for whatever is about to go off.
And then there's Finn. There had been a time he thought he could raise the boy, bring him up to be a good man. But there's an innocence to him that even Ada lacks. Something about his nature that's just so much their mum it hurts to look at him. How can the Tommy that came back from France be any good for his mum's baby? Every time he thinks he's making some peace with the man he's become he looks at Finn and feels every bit of mud and blood and filth like he'll never be clean again.
Wren had told him last night it was ok to not be the man he'd been. He wants so badly to believe her, clings to the idea of it even now. If he can make something of himself maybe he can finally be the man his family needs. Be more the man he wants to be. For them and for her.
He had gone about the rest of his day in a significantly better mood. He'd seen Polly looking questions at him, but he'd ignored it. She knows he's put a watch on Wren's house and that he's taken to meeting her while she's about. She might even know he spends time in that house on Birch Street on a fairly regular basis. He won't give her any more information though, not yet at least. He won't be able to prevent it forever but as of right now he won't chance her meddling.
He'd gone and walked Finn home from school since he was planning to be out late. Ended up with George and Katie as well. He let them chatter at him as they walked. He'd been admittedly entertained by their school yard woes. He'd placed a hand on each little head as they hugged him when he left them on Watery Lane. He dreads the day these kids grow up enough to stop looking for affection from him.
Then he had gone off to find his woman. She wasn't hard to find, he knew her routine as well as he knew his own. Her head was up and her posture perfect, but he could see the subtle signs that told him she was tired. He'd gone and wrapped around her again, using her fatigue as an excuse to offer himself as support. He was pleased with the ease that she accepted his touch. Loved that he could see some of the stress on her melt away as she settled into his side.
Feeling a flicker of something playful, he'd bypassed their routine in favor of searching out her office. He wanted a look at her books to make sure everything was as it should be after last night and also get a peek into how well she's actually doing with that business of hers.
The startled indignation from her only fed that unexpected bit of playfulness, so he made a bit of a show as he looked around this new space.
It was clear to him that she'd not intended for anyone other than herself to see this room. Three walls were lined with floor to ceiling shelving while two desks set opposite each other. A fireplace took up space on the near wall with a surprisingly extravagant chair draped in blankets and pillows sat before it.
Books were scattered everywhere with only the surface of the brown desk spared. He drifts over and grabs a book off the red desk as he watches her freeze in the doorway. Curious at the steadily rising blush on her cheeks, he takes more of an interest in the text and flips it open.
He wasn't prepared for what he found. It's one thing to hear her say she'd been touching herself to thoughts of him and realize she's been thinking about sex and imagine what that might look like. It's entirely another thing to open a book left openly in her space and have visible proof she isn't just thinking but actively reading about it. The damn thing is so graphic, in a glance Tommy knows it can't be legal.
He looks around the room with far more interest and wonders what is actually hiding behind all those plain and misleading covers.
In the same vein as she'd handled him handing her back that tin, she'd just tilted up that pretty stubborn chin and asks him what he's after. He's impressed all over again by her poise. She might blush, but she doesn't fluster and sputter unnecessary excuses or give into flailing hysterics.
He's pleased at her precautions regarding her money. The split cashboxes are a clever ploy, for all he thinks she mostly did it out of practicality. Having found one box full of money most people wouldn't bother to go looking further, and few houses in Small Heath had the luxury of an attic which meant her real reserve had a double layer of protection.
He's more than a little distracted when they get to work. It takes him a bit off guard how much he enjoys doing something as simple as going through the books with her. And he's wondering if she'll let him take a closer look at her book collection. He finds himself deeply curious about her late-night reading. He's pleased to see her business is indeed doing well for such a new enterprise and admires her neat and precise bookwork.
Then the little inconsistencies begin to add up.
Taken individually it's nothing alarming. Pence go missing sometimes, or the math is a little off. Easy enough fix when you give a good look through. But week after week of a little here and a little there? That sets off alarms for Tommy. Theft is his business; he knows the signs of a smart thief. He goes through with a much sharper eye and hates what he finds.
Eleven weeks.
For nearly three months someone has been breaking into her house and no one had known until now. Not the men he'd posted to watch her house to prevent this. Not the woman who lived here. Not Tommy fucking Shelby, the man who was supposed to know everything going on in his city.
He is suddenly overwhelmingly grateful for the little cashbox in the kitchen. Right there on the ground floor, no need to climb up the stairs and go looking about. His blood freezes as he can't help but think of what might have happened had the thief not been after cash. Wren is a beautiful woman who lives alone in an old house with old locks.
He reminds himself she has a gun; he's seen her use it. He knows she'll shoot to kill, won't hesitate to defend herself. She'd never let someone come at her without a fight. But she's so small. Not delicate, but a bit short and curvy. Feminine. She'd fight but there'd be no guarantee she'd win.
And while people might gather he has an interest in her, it wouldn't be enough to deter them. She's not a Shelby, she's not associated with his family or his business. It wouldn't occur to a potential attacker that she's protected, if they knew about his interest at all.
For once his name won't shelter someone he cares about, and he hates it. The idea of a man slipping into her room where she's alone and vulnerable, Tommy's name on her lips while Tommy himself isn't near enough to be of any damn use.
It stirs something bitterly furious inside him, makes him crave the bright red of blood and the feel of flesh yielding beneath his fists.
"Tommy," Wren sighs, as if even in sleep she knows to call him back. He takes a moment to breathe deeply, his nose at her neck, each inhale flooding his lungs with the earthy sweet scent of her and lets the rage pass.
She had looked to him, dismayed and vulnerable. She'd asked him how this man had been getting in past the watch. He'd felt worse than useless when he had no answers for her.
So, he'd left to find the answers. He'd tracked down the rat they'd caught even though he was fairly sure he wasn't the repeat offender. It was best to be thorough and he is never willing to cut corners when it came to the safety of his family. Even putting a gun to the man's head didn't change his story though, and Tommy released him with a task. To listen for any news or plans regarding Wren or her house.
Then he turned to his own men. He tracked down every man he's posted on watch, and he used the new protocols now Wren knows about the post to steer the conversation. As much as his temper burns, he can't just put a gun to his men's heads and demand they tell him what he wants to know.
Their his men, and so they need to feel secure that he'll look after them. Though if one more man shrugs and declares boring as a report Tommy will be obligated to shoot him. He'd given up the hunt for the night only because he had no leads to follow.
He'd found no answers.
Climbing the stairs to his room felt like defeat. There'd be no rest for him that night, not even opium would soothe his seething fury. His thoughts turned to Wren then, as they were won't to do at the end of the day. Thought about how she was getting on, what she was doing. Then those imaginings took a black turn when his mind pointed out his woman was alone in a house that had proven an easy target.
One after the other he found himself imagining image after image. Wren at the stove while her lock gave, and some bastard snuck in behind her. Wren in that office, sitting reading in that chair or pouring over her books, while a man crept up the stairs. Wren up in her room tucked in bed asleep. Wren bathing. Wren in her bed again, but this time she's not sleeping, her hand between her thighs with her head thrown back. Some fucking dead man climbing on top of her or snatching her from the blankets and throwing her to the floor. The breathy cries of his name turning to screams as she begs him to save her.
He forces his mind to turn from fear and find a solution.
He thinks, that's what he's good at.
His first and most immediate instinct is to bring her home with him. He knows his house is safe, there're people loyal to him in it at all times, and people know to respect his space. He can see her here, moving amidst the familiar structure and interacting with his family. Then reality reasserts itself, because he knows her home means more than four walls to her. It had been her grandparents' house and now it's her home and her business.
The next obvious tack is to move himself in with her. Except his business keeps all hours. He couldn't guarantee he'd be home every night and the watch had already proven itself less than effective. Arthur, John, and Polly had their own homes on Watery Lane. Tommy is the only full adult who sleeps above the shop. Polly wouldn't mind sleeping over a few nights, but she wouldn't be pleased about making it a permanent situation.
Plus, there was Ada and Finn to think about. Ada's barely an adult at seventeen, but Finn is only ten. He already sees less of them than he likes, and it would put him out of their reach if they needed him.
Next then is posting the watch in the house itself, but if he can barely stomach the thought there isn't a chance she'll accept it. He trusts his men to a point but finds himself in a situation where he's not sure he can trust them with her.
Which leaves him to circle back to his first idea.
He'd scrubbed his hands over his face before getting up and packing a suitcase. The middle ground is to alternate which house they sleep in, and he figures it might go better if he shows he's willing to compromise first. He intends to keep her on Watery Lane for the most part—it's safer—but he doesn't mind sleeping on Birch Street once or twice a week.
Then he made his way back over to her.
It's a relief to see those eyes peering up at him when she answers the door. It hits him hard enough he almost just grabs her up and stalks off back the way he came. But her baffled question about the suitcase reminds him why he's decided against that.
He goes the route of least resistance and simply heads upstairs. It'd be easy for her to simply deny him and send him on his way if he's standing by her door suitcase in hand. Less easy to do if he's already put his clothes away and gotten ready for bed.
Her annoyance had been amusing and hadn't dissuaded him. Her trying to prove a point by refusing to rush after him simply gave him more time to enact his plan. Finding him in her closet apparently is what finally shakes her poise. It isn't until she's pointing out all the available space in the house that he realizes, as he'd gone over the scenarios available to them, he'd never once considered sleeping separately.
It's as he really looks at his suits hanging next to her dresses, his shirts next to her blouses, and his hands busily making room amidst her lingerie for his own underclothes, that he considers the intimacy of it. For all his trysts and love affairs, he's never gotten to the point of cohabitation in any of his relationships. Not even with Greta.
It doesn't surprise him that he wants that domesticity with her. After watching her call Danny back from the tunnels, his nebulous plan of pulling her in had solidified into putting a ring on her finger and giving her his name.
He finishes putting what he brought away, then continues with the next part of the plan: sleepwear.
She tries to stand her ground; he'll give her that. Eyes-wide and cheeks pink, that chin up. She breaks when he goes to remove his trousers, her flush darkening to red and spreading down her neck as she flees. Any doubts he may have had about her inexperience flee with her; she really is taking contraceptives to get used to them.
He shakes his head and finishes changing.
When he steps through the door of her office, he really does mean to start the conversation to get her on board with the plan. But she's all tucked up in that big chair, cheeks still pink and peeking at him from between her fingers like she's checking if he's decent. It's so fucking adorable he feels his heart squeeze and he doesn't even try to do anything other than going to his lovely woman and plucking her up to settle in his lap.
She startles, it becoming obvious it's been a long time since anyone's held her. He turns to the plate by the chair. He knows she likes to see him eat—she's commented more than once about her notion of him trying to subsist on smoke and whiskey alone—and begins picking at it.
When he feels her relax he notices her dilemma of what to do with herself. He gently coaxes her into a position that should be comfortable for both of them. Once she's there he never wants to let her go. He feels it as she melts into his hold, tension bleeding away and her head coming to rest against his. He wraps his arms around her and closes his eyes as he savors the feel of her.
Then like a bolt out of the blue:
"I feel safe," she realizes, "when I'm with you."
She'd shaken him down to his foundation with seven fucking words. Then gone on to hurt his heart talking about pretending to be ok, and having fits since she was six, and references herself as a beaten dog. He tries to turn the narrative, remind she got herself out but she's apparently not having that either.
He tells her something he'd meant to keep to himself. He'd not wanted to tell her he planned to kill her dad even with them being estranged. But if it'll help her to hear it he'll say it. So, he tells her he was in that alley because he intended to see those men dead himself.
And what does his Wren do?
She cups his cheek and says she's always seen him as having too much heart. Says we, when she tells him it's ok. Says we, when she says they can make something of what they've got. Then she wraps her arms around and just fucking holds on to him, like she means to hold him together as he finds himself falling apart.
He'd spent hours feeling worthless for failing her and she offers him her trust and her comfort like he hadn't failed at all. Like she thinks he's worth it. And when he'd tried to send her to bed, she'd done a complete turn from trying to talk him into sleeping anywhere else to demanding he come to bed with her. Then when he'd gotten her to go she'd pressed a sweet kiss to his brow before she went.
She'd curled right into him too, when he'd finally made good on his word and came to bed, sighing his name and tangling her fingers in his shirt.
He'd not slept terribly long—his body too used to waking at odd hours—but it was the best sleep he's gotten in years.
He's a lucky, lucky man he knows.
Not every man gets to fall asleep and wake up beside a good woman.
As it gets to a more decent hour he can feel her waking. The little shifts in her breathing, her small noises, and little stretches. He watches her eyelashes flutter before she opens her eyes.
She's sleep soft as she whispers his name. Her face turns to him, and her limbs tangle with his. He brushes the hair out of her face and cups her cheek. It feels as natural as breathing to lean down and press a kiss to her lips. She responds by shifting around to give him better access, her hands cupping the back of his head. He leads her into a gentle push and pull, keeping it slow and easy for both their sakes.
When he breaks the kiss she hums and offers him a hazy good morning. He threads his fingers into her hair and presses a kiss to her forehead in response.
"Sleep alright then, eh?" He asks her.
She hums again, "suppose I did. You?"
"Suppose I did," he teases and gets a huff of laughter for his trouble.
He tugs her into another kiss. Runs his hand along her back in a soothing pattern.
She's languid in his arms after he pulls back and he unabashedly takes advantage, "hey, sweetheart, you think you can do me a favor?"
She blinks up at him, "what do you need?"
He gives her another kiss before he answers, "I need you to pack a bag of your things."
She frowns and he pulls her closer, keeps up the steady rhythm of his hand on her back and presses a kiss to her forehead.
"Why do you want me to pack a bag?" She asks slowly.
"To take to mine," he tells her before he gently tips her head and kisses her neck.
"I feel like," she starts then mews a bit when he finds a good spot, "I feel like you're—mph—you're trying to bribe me. What aren't you telling me?"
He has half a mind to reach down her body and distract her. It's a shame it won't work as well as he'd like—she's too damn stubborn apparently—otherwise they'd of both had a bit of fun this morning.
He sighs and pulls back to see her face and she lifts a brow at him—a habit he knows she picked up from him—as she locks eyes, "I want you to stay on Watery Lane with me."
"Thought you just moved in here?" She blinks, confused.
"Some stuff," he agrees. "For when we stay here. I know this place is important to you. And that you work your business out of here, so you're not just goin' to walk away from it. So, I don't mind staying here a night or two out of a week."
She pushes up on her elbow and gives him an incredulous look, "you don't mind, huh? Are you even hearing the words coming out of your mouth?"
He rolls on his back and reaches for his cigarettes telling her as he lights up, "it's not safe here."
"One night in me bed," she huffs as she pushes to sitting up, "and you think you can just dictate me life to me? No, it wasn't even that. You planned this before you came back last night."
He pushes up to sitting too and catches that stubborn chin.
"Wren, I'm not trying to be unreasonable—"
"No, you're just succeeding," she mutters.
"I'm compromising aren't I?" He tsks at her.
"Compromising on what?" She asks him, and he sighs. "No, really, I mean it. From where I'm sitting it just looks like you deciding what you want to happen and expecting me to fall in line."
He grunts as he flicks some ash into the tray on the nightstand, "you know it ain't safe."
"Tommy," she scrubs a hand over her face before shoving her hair back. "Look. You're…You're important to me, alright? I do, sincerely, enjoy having you around. But there's a difference between what a friend can get away with and…and what a partner can get away with. There are different expectations, different privileges, different responsibilities."
She looks at him a moment before she says softly, "sometimes it feels like you're me best friend. Sometimes it feels like we could be more than that. Then other times? You just, you pull away. And I'm left feeling like I'm looking at a stranger. And when we're friends? I can handle that. But last night and this morning? I don't…"
She isn't often openly upset like this, he thinks with guilt pricking at him, and he reaches out slowly—giving her plenty of time to pull away—and carefully takes her hand. She swallows tightly but holds on to him. It eases him that she doesn't reject his comfort.
"I'm not," he starts a bit hoarsely, "I'm not trying to pull away."
"It's not a physical thing," she tells him as she squeezes his hand. "It's mental. You get in your head, and you stop… I don't know all the right words. But, even when you're still speaking to me? It comes just like that, we aren't talking anymore, just speaking. It's shallow. And I'm not asking for you to tell me every little secret or thought that crosses your mind. Alright? I'm not. Just."
He licks his lips and looks at her, this beautiful woman. The same woman who had held him like he meant something, and not even a full day later? He's hurt her.
He doesn't want to hurt her, so he asks, "just?"
"I need to know what we are, Tommy," she sighs. "If I don't know what we are I don't know what I can rightly expect from you or what I have the right to ask for."
He nods slowly, "that's fair."
He holds the cigarette between his lips so he can free a hand to run through his hair as he weighs his words. This morning wasn't going anything like to plan and he's already fucked up. He isn't keen to make it worse.
"I want to be more," he declares as he meets her eyes.
He watches surprise flicker across her face as some of the tense upset eases away. Amused, and relieved he feels some of his own tension slip away.
"That would be where we're headed then," she replies as her demeanor lightens. "So, is this morning you're way of telling me you want to be a couple? Because if so, I can tell you there are much better ways to go about it. I'd have expected you to be smoother than this."
He blinks, once, caught off guard. If he wanted proof that she was genuinely misunderstanding him, there it was. Not that he was upset with her conclusion seeing as she's perked up and it's actually something he wants. It will be as simple as letting this play out, he'll get what he wants easily enough.
Then she continues, "it's a bit fast to be moving in together though. I know we've known each other for almost a year, but I think we're still in the learning stages."
He barely keeps from wincing. Never mind then.
"I do want us to be together, officially," he leads. "But that isn't me main motivation for moving you."
She blinks at him before sighing, she lets go of his hand to rub both hands over her face, "I feel like we're having two different conversations right now, and I don't like it."
Then she straightens her spine and squares her shoulders, "Tommy, the only way being together is going to work is if you talk to me. I know your business isn't legal. I get that you do bad things. It honestly doesn't bother me…"
Here she blushes a bit as she says, "I like that you're a man who takes what he wants. I like knowing that if it comes down to it? You're just as willing to pull the trigger. I think it's part of why I feel safe with you. You watched me murder a man in cold blood, and I don't feel like I have to hide."
"Are you understanding me?" She asks him imploringly. "You aren't going to scare me away being honest. I want you—need you—to feel like you can be yourself with me. I won't live a life ignorant and in the dark. And I…I want to be a part of your life and not just an accessory hanging off your arm. I want to be your partner same as I want you to be mine."
"All in, eh?" he muses as he leans back against the headboard and grabs a new cigarette.
"All in," she agrees.
"Alright," he sighs as he rolls the cigarette across his lip before lighting it. "Truth is, I don't know who's breaking into your house or how they're getting past the watch."
"Thought you said you dealt with the rat," she frowns.
"The one we caught," he agrees. "But he hasn't been knocking you over for weeks. Night before was his first pass."
She nods and offers, "I'm going to get the doors, windows, and glass inspected. Replace what needs replacing and make sure when the new locks go in there won't be just another hole to climb in."
"That'll help," it's his turn to nod. "But it'll take time. It won't fix them getting past the watch either. And I can't be here every night, much as I'd like to be. I've got a family to take care of, Finn and Ada at home. Business that keeps odd hours. Pol will cover a night or two, but she won't thank me for asking for more than that."
"I understand," she tells him as she moves to lean into his side.
He wraps his arm around her as she settles, "that mean you'll pack a bag?"
"Aye," she sighs, "suppose it does."
The shop is open by the time they make it to Watery Lane. Means everyone but Finn and Ada are in as he shows Wren through the door, her luggage in his hand. He gets her up the stairs and to his room without being stopped and sets the luggage next the bed. He turns his head and watches her look around his space.
It's another first for him, he's never had anyone up in his room. Too many people coming and going through the house and shop. Too likely for someone to barge in just because they could. Even having the room at the highest point of the house doesn't really escape all the noise below.
"Cohabitating it is then," she tells him wryly as she looks at him.
"So it is," he agrees. "You can put your things wherever, feel free to move what you need to make room. I'm going to head downstairs and check in. Alright?"
She shrugs, nods, and says, "alright."
He steps to her while studying her face and he gently tugs her to him. She lets him lean in and kiss her, tilting her face up for him.
"It's not so bad is it?" He whispers. "We can make this work."
She leans into him a moment and whispers, "I want this to work."
He presses a kiss to her forehead, then steps back, "you go on and get settled. I'll be in the shop."
He's not surprised to find Polly waiting for him at the foot of the stairs. So much for avoiding her meddling a little longer.
"Unless I'm mistaken," she starts archly, "that was MacLeod's youngest you just took up the stairs."
He pauses on his way to his office to face his aunt, "Ashby. That's Wren Ashby and I wouldn't bring up MacLeod."
"Ashby is her mum's name, isn't it?" Polly persists.
"Her mum's dad's name, yes," He answers as he makes it to his desk and sorts through the paperwork left on top.
"So, it's true then," Polly laughs. "The baby and daddy had a falling out."
He thinks of Wren covered in Langley's blood with a gun at her dad's head and says, "you could say that. Might remember she has a gun these days and isn't afraid to use it."
Not that he thinks Wren will shoot his aunt, but he doesn't want Polly driving Wren up the wall either.
"You gave that girl a gun," Polly scoffs. "What were you thinking?"
"I didn't give that woman a gun," Tommy rolls his eyes. "She got it on her own."
"And that makes it better does it? You should take it from her before she hurts herself," Polly sighs.
Tommy clenches his jaw and glares at the older woman, "You don't know her, Pol. If you give her a chance, you'd like her."
"Men and their cocks never cease to amaze me," Polly rolls her eyes. "You think you fucking her has changed her?"
Tommy takes quick steps and slams the door to the little room closed before rounding on Polly. She makes a show of being unimpressed, but he hardly cares, "I'm saying this to you, so you'll give her a fair chance. But this goes no further. You understand?"
For the first time since the start of this conversation Polly looks like she's taking him seriously, "good god, you've got her pregnant."
He closes his eyes and takes a breath before looking at her again, "no, Polly. She's not fucking pregnant."
"What is it then, Tommy," she demands.
"Not until you agree this goes no further," Tommy declares.
"Fine. No further," she agrees.
"I was there when she had the so called 'falling out' with her dad. Same night Langley got shot," Tommy starts.
And instantly Polly jumps in with, "she saw you kill him. And now she's what? Blackmailing you?"
"If anyone was doing any blackmailing it would be me, considering I didn't kill him. I watched her do it herself. Had to step in and stop her from shooting MacLeod too." Tommy tells her with no small amount of exasperation.
Surprise flashes across Polly's face, "wouldn't have thought she had it in her."
"Aye, neither did he," Tommy agrees as he lights up a cigarette. "Tried to take the gun off her, but she wouldn't let me. Held the gun to MacLeod's head until he gave up the key to her grandparent's old house. Copper showed up after that and she bolted. Figure she thought she'd be given up, but I had enough time to threaten Abel to keep his mouth shut. Threat has stuck, he hasn't told anyone."
"Why'd she do it?" Polly asks with a frown.
"Remember Ada Young?" He asks her.
She says, "of course I do. May her soul rest in peace."
"Well apparently MacLeod forgot," Tommy tells her.
"No," Polly breaths standing up straight.
"Aye," Tommy reports grimly. "He meant to give her up to that bastard for a car. Fortunately, she took off before MacLeod came home to demand she go through with it. Popped up a few weeks later with gun in hand and made what she thought of it known."
"Good for her," Polly declares, her stance clearly changed. "Why are we putting her up? You said she has that house."
"Found out someone's been knocking her place over for near three months just yesterday," Tommy informs her as he leans against the wall. "They've been smart so far, haven't taken anything other than petty cash which is why she didn't notice."
"Past your watch?" Polly frowns.
"Nobody's seen a thing," Tommy answers.
"What are you going to do about it?" Polly looks to him.
"Keep her here," Tommy says. "Until I figure out how they're doing it and take care of the problem."
"You've been spending an awful lot of time with her this past year," Polly muses.
"I don't need you to meddle, Pol," Tommy sighs. "She's here to keep her safe."
"And you think I don't know what it means that you care so much about keeping her safe," Polly scoffs.
Tommy spots Wren drifting into the shop, looking around with curiosity. He straightens up and walks out the door throwing back, "I've already talked to her, Pol. We're together."
He doesn't bother clarifying the talk had only happened that morning.
"All set then, eh?" He asks her when he gets close enough to be heard. He sees Arthur stepping out of his office from the corner of his eye.
"Everything's put away," she answers. "Am I coming here after I finish up work at home?"
"I'm going to be bring your cashbox here in a bit," he tells her. "You'll be able to finish up here. You moved the little box back where it was before we left?"
"Yes, I put the box back," she lifts a brow at him. "You convinced me it was better they don't know we're on to them. But I do me inventory at the end of the day, and I need to be near me workroom for that."
Tommy doesn't get a chance to answer before a heavy hand lands on his shoulder and Arthur leers over his shoulder.
"Well, hello, pretty," Arthur slurs already drunk. "What you doin' with this one, hey? Tommy's no fun these days. I could show you a good time. What's you're rate?"
Tommy turns and gets a grip on his brother—half to hold him back and half to hold him up.
"This is Wren Ashby, Arthur," Tommy fights to keep his voice even. "She's not a whore."
Best to keep it simple when he's like this, Tommy knows. He'll just get everything mixed up otherwise.
"Not a whore," Arthur mutters like the notion confuses him. "What she doin' 'round here then?"
"Business," Tommy tells him.
"Business. Fuck business, Tommy. It's always business with you," Arthur complains.
"You've trusted me with a lot of responsibility, Arthur," Tommy reminds him gently. "Don't want you to think I don't appreciate it."
"Should spen' more time appreaci-app—fucking a woman, you'd be easier to live with," Arthur grumbles. "What she doin' for business then? We hire her?"
He glances at Wren—who's been mercifully quiet so far—who looks patiently back at him. Something about that look reminds him of the day she talked down Danny in the street, how she soothed him. Danny's turns have all but disappeared for the most part, except for the occasional shakes or startle.
He'll pay her whatever she wants he decides as he says, "she's an accountant, licensed and everything. So, she's who we'll go to for the books from now on."
"Licensed! Ha!" Arthur laughs like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. "We're movin' up in the world, brother."
Then mercifully the other man staggers off—apparently to gloat about having a licensed accountant to the other men—and leaves him with the woman in question.
"I'll pay you," he tells her as he herds her away from the shop and through to the front room. "Just dealing with Arthur some days ought to provide a wage. And it'll be fair, I know how hard you worked for your licenses."
"Tommy," she interrupts with a hand on his arm. "It's ok."
He looks down at her and the words pull up out of him, "can you help him? Like you helped Danny."
"I don't know," she answers her eyes soft. "But if you want me to, I'll try."
He swallows hard as he nods once.
"How often does he get drunk this early?" She asks quietly.
"Easier to tell you when he's sober," Tommy sighs. "Which is rarely. John and I drink too, but we don't tend towards getting as bottled as Arthur."
"You prefer opium," she says so mildly he's nodded his agreement before the words register.
He pauses and looks at her and she shrugs, "you said I could move whatever to make room."
He had said that. Hadn't even given it a second thought.
He takes a slow breath in, "it helps me sleep sometimes."
"I'm not judging you, Tommy," she tells him her face earnest. "God knows I have no leg to stand on."
"Aye," he smiles wryly. "And what's your vice?"
"For one," she smiles at him, "you've drank me amaretto. For two…"
She hesitates a moment and he watches with interest as a blush creeps across her cheeks.
She lifts that chin and looks him in the eyes and tells him, "I've tried a few things, but I don't like how fuzzy they leave me so I. Well, I masturbate, a lot. It makes me feel good and leaves me head clear. Sometimes I've taken a 'lunch break' to head home in the middle of the day…"
"Actually," she seems to realize just then, "last night was the first night I haven't since I started."
For a long moment Tommy's mind struggles under the imagery that surfaces as she talks. He licks his lip and can't resist telling her, "no need to hold back on me account."
She groans as she turns her face away.
"Should I close the door?" He teases and makes as if to do it.
She grabs him and yelps, "Tommy!"
He wraps his arms around her, enjoying the feel of her and her flustered state.
"Easy, sweetheart," he soothes, rubbing her back as she peaks up at him through her fingers.
"I was being honest," she grumbles at him.
"Aye, I know," he tells her. "I appreciate your honesty."
Quiet reigns between them for a moment. It's one of the things he enjoys most about being around her, how easy it is to just be.
"Hey, Tommy," she asks slowly.
He looks down at her to show he's listening.
"Why didn't you just tell him we're together?"
He has a heartbeat of surprise—he hadn't even thought to tell Arthur despite telling Polly—but a ready excuse, "state he's in, he might have said something I'd have to correct him over. We fight enough as it is. I told Pol already. I'll tell John when there's a moment."
"Alright," she allows as she shifts her arms around him, and he heaves an internal sigh.
"What about me inventory," she picks back up.
He thinks a moment, "would it be hard to switch to doing it in the mornings? I honestly thought that was what you were doing anyway."
"I like doing the first run at night, so I can do the garden work and double check everything in the morning," she tells him. "Suppose I can do a count on me bag at night here and cross check at the workspace in the morning."
His sigh is external this time as he tells her, "I'll get this sorted, eh? We're on to them now, it's only a matter of time. And I meant it when I said I'll pay you for the work."
"We'll get this sorted," she reminds him softly. "I'm with you. When do you want me back to look over your books?"
"Any time between six and ten will be fine," Tommy tells her.
"You've Finn and Ada," she muses. "When do you usually have dinner?"
He realizes he's not sure, and hates it, "Pol usually handles that."
"I'll check with her than," she nods absently. "If I'm coming back early might as well make it in time for dinner. It'll be nice to have an excuse to actually cook."
"She doesn't just feed Finn and Ada," he warns. "She's got me, John, and Arthur. Plus, John's four: George, Mary, Jack, and Martin."
"I was thinking bigger actually," she tells him. "Gather up all your men and their families as will come."
He shrugs, "that'll take more than one table."
"From the looks we have several," she hums thoughtfully apparently undeterred. "I think it would be a good idea to have a big dinner at least a few times a week. Getting everyone together for something other than business—including the wives and children—and offering them food and hospitality. It'll help build good will and cement their loyalty. Make you feel more accessible."
"Want to be accessible, do I?" He asks her curiously, wondering at her angle.
"All in, remember? Your priorities are mine now, and these are your people. There's a reason meals are important in every culture, why most share food before or as they do business. Reciprocity is a powerful tool."
He considers her argument and finds no fault in it. So, he reaches into his pocket for his wallet and pulls out a handful of notes and puts them in her hand, "get what you want tonight. We'll set up a food budget tomorrow."
"Mighty generous of you, Mr. Shelby," she smiles at him.
"Mr. Shelby, eh? Been a long time since you called me that," he mentions thoughtfully.
"Tommy suits you," she laughs. "Now I better get out of here before we spend the day."
She pushes up on tiptoe to kiss the edge of his jaw before slipping away. He smiles to himself as he rolls a cigarette across his lip and lights up, heading back to the shop.
(remember to sketch out Tommy thinking about how to take care of his family)