Like a Horse Made of Air
I went back and fixed Chapter 9. When I corrected Chapter 1 I didn't realize 9 got messed up but, it's all fixed. I think let me know. :)
Chapter Twelve:
She walks into the Garrison with the rest of the Shelby clan to find Arthur standing puffed and proud behind the bar.
"Welcome to me pub!" He beams as he flings his arms out wide and laughs.
Tommy stands leant against the bar with an indulgent smile on his face, a cigarette between his fingers and, a glass of whiskey at his elbow.
She can't help but think that if Sin had a body, it'd look an awful lot like Tommy Shelby.
She makes her way to her man and watches as he drops the smoke into the tray and lifts his arm up for her to tuck herself into him. There's chatter as the family laughs and cheers behind her, but her focus is on the blue eyes peering down at her.
"You're a good brother," she tells him as she cups his face.
"Maybe," he allows. "Doesn't change that I'm a bad man."
"Wouldn't change you for the world," she tells him honestly as she lifts up on her toes to kiss him.
When the kiss ends he presses his forehead to hers and closes his eyes sighing out a quiet, "I know."
"I love you, Tommy," she says.
"I love you too, Wren," he replies.
The day of the races comes all of a sudden, like it snuck up on them despite their counting of the days. She'd have helped Tommy get ready, but she knows he wouldn't let her even without asking. She sees the tension building in him every time the blonde spy comes up. In her mind she sees little glimpses of the blonde in a red dress being pushed over a billiards table only for Tommy to interrupt. She wonders if, with the mood he's in, if her Tommy will find it in him to interrupt too.
Either way she leaves him to it. With her increase in sales she needs to step up her production and she's beginning to wonder if she should take someone on as on apprentice. She knows Rosie has no interest, so she's invited Ada into the greenhouse with her.
"What do you think?" She asks the younger woman after she's walked her through making a batch of Danny-Boys.
"It's interesting," Ada allows distractedly.
"I'd believe that more if you didn't seem like you're a league and some away," Wren sighs.
Ada jolts guilty and sends her an apologetic glance, "sorry, I just. I'm sorry."
"Hey, now," she gently bumps shoulders. "You've been distracted for days. You want to talk about it?"
For a moment she thinks Ada's going to brush her off, but then she deflates and slumps into Wren who hastily wraps an arm to steady the suddenly teary girl.
"It's Freddie," she admits.
"This," Wren declares, "is a conversation best had with biscuits and liberally laced tea."
Ada chokes out a wet laugh but agrees, so they move to the sofa after arming themselves with sugary comfort food.
"Alright, what about Freddie then," Wren prods gently once they're settled.
The words come so quickly to Ada's lips she feels the poor young woman has been holding on to them for too long, "He says he isn't scared! He says we'll tell me brothers. That he loves me. That we'll get married and have a family. But then we fuck and once he's emptied his balls all's he wants to talk about is what Tommy's doing or what this other person is up to and. And somehow telling Tommy get's put off. 'Not yet, Ada, but soon,' he keeps saying. It's been a year. What the fuck does he think soon means, anyway?"
Wren bites her tongue and lets the younger woman vent.
"At first we met under one of the bridges and he'd take me against the wall. It took complaining about getting muddy before he started taking me anywhere else. Now he takes me to these dingy little basements, or cupboards, sometimes there's even a bed. We've been run out by the police twice! But it always goes the same way: He loves me. He fucks me. Then he asks about Tommy."
"Does he want to fuck you or Tommy?"
The words pop out before she can check them, but Ada just throws her hands up as she shouts.
"I know, right?!"
Then she deflates, "I'm so glad you got me on those tablets. I can't imagine what I'd do if I'd let him get me pregnant."
"I don't want to step on your toes here, Ada," Wren tells the girl gently. "Do you just want me to listen? Or do you want me advice?"
"I thought I knew what I was doing," Ada sniffles. "I really thought he loved me."
She pulls the other woman into a hug as she cries, rocking and offering her some comfort.
"What do I do?" Ada whispers as her tears finally calm.
"Way I see it?" Wren says slowly. "You've a few options. First option: you can continue as you are. Keep seeing him and fucking him while having to put up with all the rest."
Ada scoffs to show what she thinks of that and Wren is privately glad.
"Second option," she continues. "Is that you put down boundaries. But if you do that you're going to have to hold your ground. You can't let him talk you into wavering or every time you try to get him to listen he'll just go right through you."
Ada frowns at this but nods a little.
"Third option," Wren tells her. "You stop seeing him. Find someone else and move on with your life."
She lets the silence settle a moment.
"I know that this might not be what you want to hear," Wren says carefully.
"But you think I should stop seeing him," Ada grumbles.
"Yes," Wren admits. "But not for the reason you think."
"You mean because Tommy would hate it and kill him if he finds out?" Ada snaps sarcastically.
"Tommy already knows," she tells the other woman. "And so far as I know, Freddie's still alive."
Ada actually sits up and stares at her, "he knows?"
"Yes, for a while now," Wren nods.
"He hasn't done anything," Ada blinks and slowly frowns.
"So far as I know, no," Wren agrees.
"Then why…?" Ada mumbles.
"Do you want to hear why I think you should stop seeing him? Or would you rather not?"
"Let's hear it then," Ada gestures with a hand.
"If I were dating a man, and the first time I had sex with him he wanted to take me beneath a bridge in the mud? I'd leave him right then and there. Do you want to know why?"
Ada nods as her eyes go wet again.
"Because when a man cares about his woman? He wants to do right by her. He'll go an hour out of his way to find the only shop that sells her favorite liquor. He'll carry her when she can't walk but is desperate to escape the house. And when he takes her? Especially that first time? If it's for her? He'll be out to impress her, make it special. He'll try to figure out what she likes so he can provide it, make it a memory for her to hold on to."
Ada's crying silently now, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"If a man is willing to take a woman in the mud, especially that first time, she's not his woman. It's not for her," Wren finishes.
Ada sobs as she covers her face with her hands.
"I'm sorry, Ada," she whispers into the girl's hair as she holds her. "I'm really, truly sorry."
When Tommy comes home that night he looks wired.
"What happened?" she asks carefully as he sits on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.
She sits up and gently places a hand against his back. He doesn't say anything, and they sit in silence while she rubs soothing circles into his back as the clock ticks the time away. She doesn't know how much time passes before he finally lifts his head out of his hands.
"I don't want to be the sort of man," he says hoarsely, "who can sit beside the woman he married and offer her up like a piece of meat like it means nothing."
He swallows hard, "I don't want to be a man who refuses to be satisfied, who can't find contentment in his life."
She moves around in front of him and cups his face in her hands, "You've many faults, Tommy Shelby, I won't lie. But of all the things your guilty of? Those aren't among them. And I know, simply by your willingness to see them as faults, that you'll never allow yourself to sink to those lows. And I'll help you. All in, remember?"
He meets her eyes steadily and rasps, "all in."
Then he pulls her down into his lap and wraps himself around her. She runs her fingers through his hair and hums a soft tune until he seems more settled.
When he's moved to get around for bed she finally asks again, "what happened?"
"Ploy worked," he says as he tugs up some sleep trousers and makes his way back to bed. "He left me with Roberts to work out business while he took the blonde to his house. Offered me the deal and a shot at his wife for two hours with her."
He lights a cigarette in their room for the first time since her illness, puffing away as he sits with his back to the headboard.
"Worked out the deal with Roberts, we can start moving men into Kimber's territory as soon as day after tomorrow. Sat in a car with Kimber's wife with me watch in me hand. Listened to her talk about being a milliner, before she married."
He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face as he says, "Didn't want to sit in that fucking car for another minute listening to that sad, miserable excuse for a woman. Took her home. Got in to see Kimber trying to rape the fucking blonde across a billiards table. Told him she had the clap and left."
So, apparently her Tommy interfered after all.
"And you say you're a bad man," she shakes her head as she leans against his shoulder. "You know how many people—man or woman—would have let him do whatever he wanted if it got them what they wanted? Some of 'em would have even been willing to sit in that room and watch. But Tommy Shelby? That Peaky fucking Devil that every one's so scared of? He saw a bad man and wanted to be better."
He wraps an arm around her and asks, "would you want me if I wasn't a bad man?"
"Well that's the thing isn't it?" She muses. "Things like good or bad, they're awfully subjective. Even society's opinion on it changes decade to decade. The only thing I can say is that I love the Tommy Shelby I've been given the privilege to know. Whether or not I'd like some other incarnation? Well, I can't rightly know for sure can I?"
"Suppose that's an honest answer," he huffs a laugh.
"Well, would you love me if I was Wren MacLeod? Obedient, polite, quiet little bird," she asks.
"Didn't think Wren MacLeod would be the sort of girl that would be willing to be anywhere near a man like me," he admits.
"Well it's all rather a moot point isn't it?" She shrugs.
"Suppose it is," he agrees.
He dims the lamp, and they curl into each other for sleep.
They're finishing up a rare, shared lunch when she notices Tommy checking his watch.
"Somewhere you need to be?" She asks curiously.
"Aye," he sighs. "Got word this morning some possible IRA men want to meet me at the pub. I have to head out to make the meeting."
He presses a quick kiss to the top of her head as he leaves, "I'll see you later," drifting over his shoulder.
It's just as well he's distracted, Wren struggles beneath the weight of a vision as it grabs her and sinks in it's teeth. She sees the blonde spy leaning against the window of the snug. Tommy inside with two men drinking. The men leave: one dragging out the other as he sings.
The singing man stumbling out of the Black Swan as the blonde spy follows him. She gets caught. She kills him. Then all at once all she can see is another man—an IRA man she knows—grappling with Tommy on the floor. Tommy's jacket has been flipped over his own head, he can't breathe. Tommy covered in blood as he beats the man's head in with a bucket. Tommy with a gun to his head.
She comes to gasping for breath and shaking all over.
The spy is going to kill a man and bring the IRA down on Tommy.
"No," she whispers hoarsely then scrambles to her feet. She forces herself to pause and make sure she's presentable and also that she has her gun on her then she leaves the house. She's mindful of foot traffic as she finds a deserted alley and makes her way to the roofs. This time she makes sure to tie a scarf over her mouth and nose as she walks the sky roads.
She finds the Garrison from the rooftops easy enough. Then she waits. She's not worried about following the wrong woman. She's caught glimpses of Grace in the streets and seen more than she'd like of the woman in visions. At this point Wren feels like she'd recognize the other woman's form anywhere.
She came in time to watch the drunken Irishman get dragged away by his friend while he sings at the top of his voice. A few hours pass and then Tommy leaves, cigarette between his lips and peaky cap tilted down over his eyes. It's dark by the time Grace leaves and she relaxes a bit.
The vision had shown them in daylight, but she follows her from above just in case. The woman goes to a tea shop—not Molly's—and stays there for nearly an hour before heading into her flat and locking up for the night.
She's late getting home; it's well passed dinner.
"Sorry," she apologizes as she kisses his cheek. "Something came up and time got away from me. Unfortunately, I didn't finish it so I'm afraid I might be late coming in for a while."
"Anything I can help with?" Tommy asks with a frown.
She smiles ruefully, "it's tedious and time consuming, but I have it covered."
"Let me know if you change your mind," He says.
She kisses him properly this time, "you'll be the first to know."
Daylight leaves her anxious, and she's always a bit jittery before she manages to pin down the blonde below. It's been three days of tracking the spy's movements and she can tell Tommy is getting worried about her abnormal behavior.
It's a testament to the trust he has in her that he doesn't push or have her watched.
She'd tell him, but she has no idea where to even start. She's half convinced it won't happen—the woman's supposed to be a trained spy for fuck's sake. She'd like to think Tommy would believe her, but she doesn't know if he'd think she's being paranoid. Every time she closes her eyes she sees him fighting for his life or kneeling frozen with a gun to his head.
She has to be sure.
Today is the day though, she feels, as the blonde breaks pattern and heads into Sparkbrook. She watches the woman take up position watching the pub—trying to be inconspicuous in a fucking pink suit—and settles in to wait herself. The time passes and she watches with the spy as the IRA man from the week before enters the pub with a group.
It's a long few hours later during one of the few hours the streets nearly empty that the man staggers back out the door.
The blonde gives chase and so does Wren. She's torn between pained embarrassment for whoever taught the fool, and exasperated indignation as she watches the woman blunder along. She knows there'll be a witness if she lets things get as far as they would naturally, so she picks her moment and flicks a pebble at the man's back. Predictably he turns and catches sight of the woman following him.
She'd hoped being caught out in the open would make the idiot flee, but apparently that's not to be as the woman draws a gun. Wren leaves the rooftops as quickly and quietly as possible, coming up to the turn just as she hears a gun go off. When she rounds the corner she sees the blonde staring blankly down at the corpse with blood on her hands before she turns mechanically—back the way she'd come, seriously was this woman even trained?—and right into Wren's path.
She grabs her and forces her back towards the corpse, managing to get the woman's gun away from her.
"What," the woman's eyes are wide and her voice breathless. "Who? What are you doing?"
"I won't let your fuck up kill him," she tells the woman seriously.
The woman's eyes clear a bit and focus on her and she whispers, "you're Wren Ashby."
"You've killed an IRA man, you stupid bitch," Wren says darkly. "So soon after he had a meeting with me man. Who do you think they'll blame when they find his body?"
"He attacked me," she tries to rally.
"Yes, because you're apparently shit at your job," she tells the woman in disgust. "Do they even train their spies, or do they just throw you to the wolves? Doesn't matter though it's all about to be a moot point."
Wren sees realization dawn on Grace's face when the woman stumbles over the dead man's legs. Wren quickly pistol whips the blonde, causing her to stagger and crack her head into the wall. She carefully pushes the dazed woman to a good angle then kneels by the corpse and wraps the dead man's hand around the handle and makes him pull the trigger. Red blooms on the woman's ridiculous pink suit as she slides down the alley wall leaving a smear of blood behind her.
It was a clean shot; Grace is dead before she hits the ground.
Wren lets the hand fall to create a natural look. Then she moves to the woman's corpse, pulling out a badge she'd lifted just in case, and tucks it into the woman's hand before letting that fall as well. She does a quick survey of the scene, then rewraps the scarf around her to better hide her face and hair as she makes quick work to move like she's running from something.
When she runs into a group of locals she uses a heavy accent to tell the women a story.
A story of how a woman waved a badge at a man, a struggle for a gun, and how both ended up dead in the alley.
"On order of the Inspector," Wren tells the strangers. "Kept sayin' it over and over. Should we call the police?"
Most of the women look torn but one clearly has no qualms and rushes away. The group quickly scatters with none of them wanting to be caught out when the coppers come. Wren uses the distraction to return to the sky roads.
She watches dispassionately as the police arrive and question the woman who called. To Wren's amusement the woman tells the story as if she'd been the witness, it doesn't take much to figure she's angling for a reward. Between the call put in and the number of women in that group she'd say the story connecting the Inspector to the IRA man's murder will outpace any speculation regarding the man's previous visit to the Garrison.
Campbell himself shows up and walks with heavy steps over to the blonde, where he crouches down next to the corpse and runs a gentle hand over her hair and cups her cheek.
He loved her; Wren realizes as she watches.
Well, she had promised Tommy they'd take everything from the man. Looks like she'd drawn first blood.
The Inspector straightens and starts barking orders. He's on the hunt for Fenians now, which will pull his attention away from Tommy. Another unexpected bonus. She slips away, leaving the man to his grief fueled fury.
When she gets back to the Respite, the first thing she does is clean up, change, and burn the clothes she'd been wearing including the scarf. Then she settles into her day, being sure to be home with plenty of time to cook for the big dinner that night. The routine of these gatherings is muscle memory by this point, almost effortless. No one looks at her and suspects a thing.
No one, she thinks wryly, but Tommy.
It's late and their guests are gone. They've retreated to their room for the night, going about their nighttime routine. Except, even as she slides beneath the covers, he's watching her out the corner of his eye.
It's not overt. If she were any less familiar with him she'd never have noticed. Which, she figures, is how she's been had. No one knows her like Tommy.
He's the only one who's ever seen her with blood on her hands.
She meets his eyes as he comes to bed and tells him honestly, "I killed the spy."
He doesn't say anything as he settles himself beside her, draping the blanket over his legs and lighting up a smoke as he leans against the headboard.
"News spread fast," he says simply. "Heard a blonde woman claiming to work for the Crown tried to arrest a possible IRA man and ended up seeing the both of them dead. Our Inspector seems to be beside himself as he tears apart Sparkbrook on a hunt for the IRA."
"Shortly after you left, I remembered someone saying something about the spy having history with the IRA, possibly killing her father," she tells him. "When I remembered you were meeting possible IRA men…"
"You thought she might do something." He finishes.
"Revenge is a powerful motivator, but also a careless one," she whispers as she runs her hand over the scar on his shoulder.
An ever-present reminder of her loss of control.
He reaches up and twines his fingers with hers, moving their linked hands to rest over his heart.
She swallows hard, "I'd hoped I was wrong. Then today… If she killed a man just three days after a meeting with you and walked away? It would have fallen on your head and the IRA would be knocking on our door. Turns out she was shit at her job, anyway, tried doing surveillance in a neighborhood inhabited by sober colors in a fucking pink walking suit."
Tommy lifts his brow, clearly incredulous but she meets his eyes steadily and he shakes his head.
"She was caught right out in the open," she sighs. "And instead of running she pulled a gun. She'd taken the shot before I could do anything, so I made sure she paid the price for her mistakes. Fed some locals a story and then doubled back on the roofs to see which way our Inspector jumped."
"Turns out," she continues slowly, "he was in love with her. It was plain to see before he even reached out to touch her."
Tommy pulls on his cigarette lazily, smoke drifting in unhurried curls from his lips.
"First blood to us," he muses, his voice low. "He'll be well distracted chasing Fenians from here on."
"I thought much the same," she admits.
He still has her hand, still holds it over his heart, and she leans against his shoulder and waits.
"Why didn't you tell me?" He asks into the silence.
"I felt ridiculous," she admits. "Stalking that woman from the rooftops. She was supposed to be a spy, an agent of the Crown. I'd rather have thought they'd have trained such impulses out of her. But, I just…Something in me couldn't let it go. I figured if it turned out to be nothing, well…"
He squeezes her hand, "You'd thought I'd what?... Judge you?"
She presses her face into his shoulder, "I don't know. I guess I'd thought you might convince me to walk away from it and I just…I needed to be sure."
He coaxes her into his lap so that they're face to face, and he winds a hand into her hair at the back of her head and holds her there. He locks eyes with her. The silence stretches, but she refuses to waver. Whatever he wants from her, she'll do her best to give.
"You will never keep something like this from me again," he says firmly into the heavy silence. "I promise to listen, I promise to consider everything you have to say, and you will promise to never go out and do something—knowing you might get killed—while leaving me in the dark."
"I promise, Tommy," she tells him. "I promise."
He studies her face for a long moment before he drops his cigarette in the tray. He brushes his knuckles from her temple to her chin and presses his thumb into her bottom lip.
"The moment I heard the spy was dead, I knew it was you," he tells her slowly. "And then I realized you were out there, risking your life, and I hadn't had any idea until it was over. You could've been hurt; you could've needed me. And I wouldn't have known, wouldn't have had any idea where to start."
She licks her lips—and inadvertently his thumb—and whispers, "I'm sorry."
He nods faintly and slowly releases his hold on her.
Then he orders, "strip."
It's an easy ask, she sleeps in nothing but a nightshift, and she has it off and on the floor in a single movement. He reaches beneath her and removes his own trousers, where they shortly join her shift. His hands on her hips move her over his cock, only just thickening, and holds her still.
"I'm going to put me cock inside you," he tells her steadily. "And then you're going to ride me. And while you do I'm going to push and pull on you. I'm going to crush you against me. I'm going to do whatever the fuck I want to you. And no matter what, you're going to do your best to keep going and never let me cock slip out. You hear me?"
"Yes, Tommy," she replies.
He rocks her over him with intent now, and she helps. He grows thicker and she grows wetter with every pass, as he makes sure to get her pearl and catch her slit with the head of his cock each time. His eyes watching her, bright and burning. Then he shifts and flexes and he's sliding inside of her.
At first he allows her to move easily, rising and falling while she braces her hands on his shoulders. Then he starts to work against her. She has to fight his grip to rise and each time he makes it harder for her. Then he suddenly shifts to putting pressure that throws her off, his cocking hitting her at odd angles as she works to keep from being pushed off his lap. He curls his forearms around the back of her shoulders with his hands at the top before pulling down, she fights but she moves very little as he locks her down.
She's sweaty and straining when he adjusts his grip so one arm braces across her back and frees one of his hands. Then he begins messaging her arse cheeks, alternating between gripping handfuls and swatting. The impact makes her inner muscles clench and flutter around him and she's mewling and grunting as she does her best to be good and fight his hold. Then he slips that hand further down and begins teasing it along where he stretches her open.
She has her elbows balanced on his shoulders for leverage while her hands grip at his head. Her thighs shake with effort, and she can feel sweat dripping down her back.
He works the finger slowly in beside his cock, then begins to work it in and out to its own rhythm as he occasionally crooks it and tugs.
She's making sobbing panting noises now, but he's still silent as he watches her.
Eventually he alternates between spanking and fingering her. His arm an unforgiving band across her back that sometimes resists her efforts or tugs and sharply forces her down. His cock is a constant heat, as she clenches and flutters with her struggle.
"Tommy," she sobs. "Tommy, Tommy, Tommy."
He wraps his free arm around her waist, forcing her to tilt her hips so that her pearl grinds against him with every move she makes. Her body jerks and hitches then she's cries out as an orgasm rips her apart. She's struggling to catch her breath when he finally speaks.
Voice terrifyingly soft he asks, "did I say you could stop?"
She whimpers and fights and tries.
He begins to run his hand in long strokes down her body. Tilting her forward to rub down her back and over her arse, tilting her back to play with her tits and tease her pearl. Forward and back. Forward and back. The motion creates a strange rocking pressure inside her where he's still lodged deep as he can get in this position.
She's crying now, tears trailing down her cheeks, but he's merciless. He goads her when he thinks she's giving up, his voice that low soft drawl while he pinches her pearl, her nipples, her thighs, her arse.
When she peaks again she screams.
But he keeps her going, again and again, until she starts to feel the hard twitches of his cock that mean he's close. She fights with everything she has to pull him over, and he fights back viciously making every movement thrice as hard or outright impossible.
Then he's pushing her and no matter how hard she fights she slips off him with a sob. He rolls her onto her belly and lifts her hips as he kneels up behind her and slams in from this new angle. He can get deeper like this she realizes as she scrambles for hold on the covers. Each thrust of his body hits with force, and she blindly tries to push back at him.
Make sure to keep him inside, don't let him slip out.
She half expects silence, but he starts to let out hard, low grunts. Then he leans over her hooking his arms under and around so he can use her own body as leverage and pulls her into his thrusts and then he's cumming. The noise that tears out of him is guttural and wholly masculine as he fucks her through his own pleasure.
Finally he stills and they quiet. She thinks she's on the verge of passing out when he finally pulls out of her. She feels him move away and keens wordlessly at the loss.
He hushes her with a voice gone rough, "easy. Easy, Love. I'm just getting something to clean us up with. I'm right here. I'm here. Easy, easy."
He wipes her down with a rag, then cleans himself up. With that done he rearranges her; she tries to help but her bones are jelly and she's fading. His voice is a soothing refrain in her ears the whole time as he drifts between reassurance and praise. Then he's wrapping himself back around her, his body a grounding comfort, and she's gone.