A/N For this chapter I had 'Monster' from Imagine Dragons, on repeat. Feel free to do the same.

Chapter 25) Russo's grudge

.-.-.

He was slipping, in and out of consciousness. As a picture frame his eyes vaguely caught flashes of events. Grey pavement, spattered with warm blood, his. The back of his head exploding from pain. A pair of expensive calf leather boots came in view and the familiar selfabsorved sniggering from Russo rang in his ears.

"You honestly thought I'd let a pikey rat run my business?" The Italian asked rhetorical and he tapped the ash of his cigarette off above Tommy's head.

"You are going to pay an awfully high prize," Russo promised him solemnly, lips turned into a devilish smile and drew his right foot back, "a very high prize."

Unable to move Tommy choked on his tongue and drew his eyes shut as the tip of the leather boot kicked the light out of him.

.-.-.

His ears were ringing and he couldn't see clear. His mind seemed afloat, his body a vacant, aching shell. Although his surroundings started to come back he couldn't focus on anything aside his raging headache. The collision of the blunt object to the back of his head and the counter blow from Russo's merciless kick, it fucked up his brain. It felt like France all over again, the burial, the swelling inside his skull. Fear struck him hard and the flashback clenched around his throat, making it impossible to breath properly.

And then there was that indistinct low sound. Tommy suddenly realised it was his own hoarse moans.

"Tommy, please wake up!" Maria's pleading words cut through to his attention. The sound of her voice, even though it was afflicted with worry, took the sharpest fear away. This time he wasn't alone.

Reliving the underground moments of hell he tried to ask for help. It was irrational and embarrassing but momentarily his brains blocked out the memories of his inability to speak.

It took him a while to recognize the slurs and unintelligible sounds as his own.

The realization of his inability to form words made him abruptly stop.

She was close, she was holding him close. Ever so gentle her fingers brushed over his cheek.

"Tommy, please. You have to wake up!"

Reluctantly, he tried to stretch his stiffened limbs. The foul scent of vomit filled his nostrils, startling him. The burning taste of bile confirmed, he'd been throwing up. Through his lashes he tried to make anything out of his surroundings and realised his head was leaning on Maria's knees. Towering over him she franticly rubbed tears from her eyes. The poor thing was scared out of her mind.

That realisation sturred something inside of him. Alertered, his soldier side took over. First the basics, in order for him to survive Russo's grudge he needed to know where he was.

Carefully he glance up at the ceiling and gave his vision a moment to stop spinning. Drainpipes, cross beams. Where they in a basement? Hastily he let his right hand run over the foundation of the floor. Cold and damp stones. His brows furrowed up and he noticed the unmistakable scent of wet sand over the smell of vomit.

Vomit, there was that again. Tilting his chin to his chest he noticed the caked up chunks of his breakfast covering his waistcoat and shirt.

Brilliant, as if being at Russo's mercy wasn't denigrating enough. Not to mention, the fucking meatball knocked him out cold.

Knocking him cold. The soldier side took control again. With shaky fingers he ran his hand down his scalp. He flinched when he made contact with the bleeding lump on the back of his head.

Throwing up after being used for soccer practice, nausea and the world spinning as if a good night spend in the Garrison. He most definitely had a concussion.

"Tommy can you hear me?" Maria asked from above, chewing madly on her busted lower lip.

The sight of her infliction made rage fester in his stomach. That Russo kicked in his face was painful and inconvenient. But the thought of the sick bastard laying a hand on her was maddening.

Sitting up was still out of the question, every time his eyes shot across the room his brain was convulsing inside his skull. Obligated to give her some kind of measurement of his conscious state he reached for her hand and squeezed it, hard.

In return she only squeezed his harder, while her eyes glistened with tears.

"He's going to murder us, isn't he?" Maria breathed terror-stricken.

Tommy trustfully shook his head and failed to swallow the thick lead inside his throat. No, Russo wouldn't simply kill them. What the mad Italian had in store would be worse than death.

Russo was infamous for his taste of blood and twisted games. The Italian never stuck it under the table how he'd punish his working girls. Every once in a while a dead prostitute would wash up in the cut, mangled and tortured to death. But no-one ever batted an eye, police couldn't care less about a whore and other gangs well, honestly no-one cared about one dead whore.

Tommy had seen first hand what Russo was capable of when his uncle Charlie pulled one of the Italian's dead girls out of the water near their docks. Although the body was in a far state of decay, the forms of torture were imbedded inside her skin and muscles. Her eyes had been missing.

When Charlie asked him what to do with the body he'd simply ordered his uncle to get some weight on her and throw her back where he found her.

It was the first month that he'd been able to work in the stables, he hadn't been right in the head. He'd been so far away from his emotions he didn't feel anything when he looked into those hollow eye sockets.

Staring into Maria's tearfilled eyes, he wished he'd done more for the dead working girl drifting in between their docks.

Sorry, he mouthed, trying to keep his eyes from crossing. Fuck, if only he hadn't been so thick-headed to his aunt Pol. If only he'd told Maria to go home for the day. If only he'd gone to the hospital alone.

"Don't be," Maria pleaded, "it's my fault we're here. I hustled the cards. I made him gamble away his club. I'm the one to blame."

Endeared by her guilt ridden demeanor he stared up at her. Holy Mary, taking blame for simply following his orders. For wanting to better the lives of other less fortunate young women. If he'd only possessed a fraction of her compassion, then maybe they wouldn't be at the gates of hell.

Tommy Shelby couldn't remember ever feeling this guiltridden. Maria had been a Godsend, to him. Although he highly doubted any kind of God would find him and his sins worthy enough to be saved. Honesty, if the Heavens almighty would exist and took a good look down at his slate of crimes, they'd send him a first class ticket to eternal damnation.

'Maybe this is my golden ticket,' Tommy thought embittered, 'but for God's sake why drag her down with me?'

As the sound of footsteps echoed down a couple of stairs Tommy managed to rise into a sitting position. The soldier inside of him scanned the basement looking for any kind of weapon, while the human part of him whimpered in pain. There was nothing even remotely useful to use against Russo and his men.

While Maria hide behind him he yanked one of the stones out of the floor and hid it inside his balled hand. This was going to be it, but he'd die fighting. Not for himself, but for her.

Two of Russo's minions came in first. One was a tall dark skinned man. A particularly notable feature was his white sparkly teeth.

Russo slithered into the scene, practically drooling like a dog over a bone.

"Smiley, get him up on his knees," the Italian sneered to his stooge, "let's see how good Mister Shelby is at kneeling."

Tommy, in the state he was in, was no match for the 6 feet tall giant and was lifted from the ground as a ragdoll. He didn't put up a fight, it was useless right now. If he wanted to have a shot at surviving he needed to wait for the exact right moment.

Russo snapped his fingers at his other employee, a slim young Italian. By the looks of the young man's acne ridden face he couldn't be much over eighteen.

"Lorenzo, get a chair," Russo ordered roaming his eyes over the terrified young woman on the floor, "let's get the bella a front row seat."

Tommy could feel his blood boiling as he was roughly pushed down on his knees. The dark skinned man yanked his arms behind his back, keeping them firmly in place. Grabbing a fist full of Tommy's hair he jerked his head up so he was forced to face the big boss.

Having his head so violently turned made him almost cry out, but the last bit of his stubbornness made him clench his jaw and keep every sound in.

"What's the matter, Mister Shelby? Cat got your tongue?" Russo joked and gracefully maneuvered a switchblade in view. "Don't worry about that, we'll send it back to your family."

The tip of the knife scraped his upper lip. Russo leaned forward and took hold of his jaw, brushing the blade over his Adam's apple.

Tommy restrained the immense urge to draw back, instead he tightened his grip around the stone inside his left hand.

"Open your mouth." Russo ordered. "Open your fucking mouth or I'll stick this little fucker inside your eyeball."

"No! Please don't hurt him!" Maria cried out from behind him. Unable to see what was happening to her was a form of torture on it's own. He registered her whimpers of pain, the scrunching of a chair and smack of her being backhanded in the face.

Russo paused and dully looked up, letting go of Tommy's chin.

"Oh, I nearly forgot about the bella. How impolite of me," the Italian signaled his minion to move her in close.

"She's in for a good show, Mister Shelby, don't disappoint us," Russo continued his sick little game and ordered the man listening to the name Smiley to lay him face down on the floor.

Nudging his head to keep a clear view of what was going on he looked over at his right where Maria sat faintly on a wooden chair. Her lower lip was thick, a blow to the face had reopened the cut and blood trickled down her chin.

Russo's expensive boot firmly planted itself on his temple, enforcing pressure on his head, the Italian whispered. "Bella donna, I want you to look at him, while I make him sing."

As Russo finished his sentence, Tommy solemnly promised to keep his jaws locked and bite through whatever ordeal they had in store for him. He'd keep his mouth shut even it was the last thing he'd do.

The man named Smiley took hold of his right hand while he planted his boot firmly in the crease of Tommy's back. His right arm got straightened above his back and slowly yet steadily turned clockwise.

Grunting and fighting against the pair of boots holding his body down a small hiss escaped through his teeth. Unwillingly, the muscles of his right arm where stretched further and further up unto the point he could no longer keep it in.

In matter of seconds he cried out like a wild animal. But the satisfaction of his humiliating sounds did not ease the torture.

Agonizingly slow, his arm was stretched to the absolute limit. Cringing from pain Tommy threw his solemn promise out of the window and howled like a mad dog. The twisting became unbearable, he felt something tear inside his bicep and then, a sickening pop. His eyes shot open and for a moment he couldn't breath nor cry, the pain forced itself over him and all he could do was endure.

Realising his shoulder was dislocated from its socket he felt his stomach convulce and the bitter taste of bile rose up through his throat.

The grip around his right wrist eased and his arm fell next to his body like a sack of potatoes. The pain was overpowering, he didn't even try to use his arm. All he did was suck air in and out through his teeth.

"What a lovely tune, Mister Shelby." Russo scornfully declared. His boot crushed his cheekbone and scraped his skin raw on the floor. The Italian lazely lifted his foot from his head and stepped aside his tortured opponent.

"Too bad the bella didn't bother to enjoy the show." Russo clacked his tongue offended, direction himself to Maria. The young woman hadn't been able to bring herself to watch the scene and hid her face underneath her bucket hat. During the process of Tommy's torture she'd clasped her hands over her ears.

"I told you to watch puttanna," Russo snapped at her, clearly annoyed that she hadn't been enjoying the show as a complete spectator. Roughly he pulled her off her chair and threw her down on her knees in front of Tommy.

"Luckily I'm a most forgiving man," Russo announced almost angelic. Grabbing her by the collar of her dress he shoved her head a few inches lower.

"Besides, he has two arms," The Italian added diabolical, expression filled with triumph and laughed, placing his boot back on Tommy's temple.

Tommy had never been a man to plead or beg. But the thought of repeating the excruciating ordeal was enough to make him moan and whimper. Through squinted eyes he captured how tears trickled down Maria's face. Holy Mary. The thought of her being at Russo's mercy drove him mad enough to lightened up the last spark he had left in his beaten body.

Instead of whimpering, he grunted and bolted his good shoulder up. Growling he tried to twist his head free and tried to swing his leg at his torturers.

Russo sighed annoyed by his action, threw his foot up and kicked it back down on Tommy's face. The grinding noise that followed was enough to silence the room. Russo blunt kick broke his cheekbone.

Through tear shot eyes, Tommy was vaguely aware of Maria's head being yanked up by her hair to spectate his torture. His muscles grew limp. Everything to tear himself free had been ineffective. The realisation that this was going to be the end slowly started to sink in as a trail of blood blurred his vision.

He was going to be tortured to death and once they were done with him they were going to murder Maria. Probably rape her first and then beat the life out of her. And there was nothing within his power he could do about it.

"Please, don't hurt him, please!" Maria begged to Russo and Tommy felt as if his insides were being ripped to pieces. Instead of pleading on his behalf she should be more concerned for her own safety.

"Please, I'll do anything!" His loyal speaker begged.

Her pleads caused a sickly amused flicker in Russo's eyes.

"Anything, you say?"

The interest of the Italian mobster suddenly spiraled from Tommy to the young woman begging on her knees.

Tilting her chin up she met eyes with Tommy.

"Well then, let's get that pretty mouth of hers to work. That's been the plan the moment she stepped in my club anyways," directing himself to Tommy he added, "I might keep her around, once I've disposed of your corpse in the cut. If there's anything left of it anyways."

The revelation of Maria's future as Russo's personal sex slave made the thoughts of being tortured to death seem irrelevant.

Blinking to clear his vision from blood and black dots, Tommy desperately tried to bring all the attention back on himself.

But his dread towards Maria sealed fate sparked up Russo's sick pleasure. The Italian stepped off his face and his thick fingers twined through Maria's short hair.

"It's your turn to watch the show, filthy pikey," Russo spat at him and started to unbuckle his belt.

Withering on the floor Tommy tried to break free from Smiley's death grip, but failed and was shoved roughly down onto the chair.

"First, you can enjoy the show, let your pretty little bella do what she's good for. And then I'll hurt you so bad you wish you could crawl back into your whore-of-a-mother's womb."

Tipping her bucket hat to her feet, Russo unzipped his fly and towered over Maria, pushing her head up by tugging her hair back.

Tommy made an egoistic choice, he wished for death. This whole scene was so utterly wrong and there was nothing he could do. The man named Smiley must have sensed his dread and chuckled amused, placing his head into a death grip, enabling him to look elsewhere. Incapable of interfering with the events forthcoming he did the only thing he could do; close his eyes.

Russo's indulged sniggering abruptly stopped and an agonizing scream startled all bystanders.

Tommy's shot his eyes back open. It took him a moment to register what had happened.

Maria's right hand clenched around her bloody bucket hat and Russo had jumped back two feet, holding both hands trembling around his crotch.

Astounded by the girls cleverness Tommy noticed the reflection of a sewed-in razorblade hidden in the hem of her bucket hat.

Mortified, Russo peeked through his fingers to his bloody manhood and gushes of blood started to seep down the expensive material of his paints.

"She cut me, that bitch cut me!" Russo roared, voice breaking as his first shock made place for fear. "Get a doctor! Get a doctor!"

The tumult caused by their leader's hoarse orders made the grip around Tommy's neck ease.

This was it.

The short moment of startlement was his only chance and he took immediate action. Although his head was on the verge of exploding he bolted up and wrestled his good arm free.

In spite of his right arm's poor state Tommy managed to throw in a good punch with his left.

Withering in pain his opponent stumbled back and reached for his revolver. Tommy threw himself at the man. Colliding into his opponent with all the force he could muster they fell down on the uneven floor. The pain that shot through his dislocated shoulder was blinding, but not as blinding as the utter rage that kept his system running. Mercilessly he smashed the stone down on Smiley's face. After a few more punches Tommy reckoned the man would need another nickname as the stone broke most of his front teeth. Yanking a revolver out of the man's limp hand he felt insusceptible, the cold metal never felt so empowering. Bringing himself back on his knees he scanned their current situation.

Tommy quickly realised Russo fled the scene, like the coward he was. The other, younger Italian had frozen on the spot and hurried to throw his hands up in the air.

Today was not a day to be forgiving, but firing the revolver was a great risk, alerting Russo's men. Without further notice Tommy collided the back of the gun against the young man's temple, knocking him out for a while.

Maria crawled up from the floor, face and chest speckled with blood. Her face was completely blank drained from emotion, only her eyes told the immense trauma she'd endured seconds ago.

The sound of running feet from another floor alerted them both. Without exchanging a word Maria hooked her shoulder underneath his good arm and helped him across the basement.

Tommy could feel himself coming close to blacking out as they stumbled into a narrow hallway. He managed to remain soundless for most of the walk until they reached the stairs connecting the basement to the ground floor. His dislocated shoulder budged against the handrail, sending a hot jolt of pain through his aching socket. The pain left him strengthless and he sank against her.

The footsteps ran faster, it was just a matter of time before Russo's man would march around the corner and find them.

Tommy felt Maria struggle to keep his weight up. Together they were weak and slow, because he was stalling her.

Besides, he'd been wishing for death, so maybe that was all he deserved.

For a brief moment he allowed himself to hid his face in the crook of her neck. The sent and softness of her overwhelmed him and kept him able to stay lucid.

He was slowing her down, he should cut her loose.

Resolute he made his decision, clung to her body and with the last bit of strength he possessed he drew back.

Without any explanation he shoved the conquered revolver in her hand and with pain in his heart pointed to the stairs.

The lack of her body for support made him lean heavily against the wall and he could feel the blood from his head wound seep against the cool brick wall. He was close to passing out, so close.

Go, he mouthed and gave her a light push away from him. She needed to get going, she had every right to live and see another day. He'd be able to fight Russo's men and give her a head start. She deserved that, he owed her that.

"I'm not leaving you here," Maria whispered at him, pushing the revolver back against his hand.

He gritted his teeth bitterly, his fingers trembled so hard he wasn't even able to take it back.

While he could feel his knees buckle, he blinked through the blurriness and black dots and brought his trembling hand to her face. He tried to wipe away the specks of blood but only smudge it more. She needed to run, their time was running out and he could feel his eyes rolling back. He couldn't bear the thought of her seeing him being beaten to death by a hoard of men high on bloodlust.

Go, he mouthed again and drew his head back against the wall. Closing his eyes he was vaguely aware how his body started to sink down to the floor.

"Tommy," her voice sounded close and guttural.

Through his lashes he noticed how the tips of their noses where touching and how her eyes posed a bewildered shimmer. Her gaze was unearthly, animalistic and a complete contrast of her petite frame. He'd seen that glance before, more times then he'd wished to count. It was the gaze of approaching death and simple flight or fight. Humanity's last link to its feral ancestors.

"Get the fuck up those stairs," she hissed through her teeth. It wasn't a plea, it was a direct order. Vigorously she sank her fingernails into the skin of his jaw and took hold of his chin.

Forced to look her in the eyes she pushed the barrel of the revolver against her temple.

"Get up those stairs, or I'll pull the trigger."

It was her last straw to keep him from falling apart and she wasn't bluffing.

"I'll do it, I swear to God Tommy, I'll do it! Get up those stairs!" The mixture of fear and hysteria deprived her from common sense and she'd pull the fucking trigger if he didn't comply. The barrel of the revolver dug itself deeper into the delicate skin of her temple and her fingertip trembled over the trigger.

Bowing forward he pressed his forehead against hers, his good hand reaching weakly for the revolver, but she shrugged him off.

"Damn it, Tommy, move!" She spat at him. He didn't respond, couldn't find the strength to put up a fight. He simply allowed her to clutch her arm around his back and limped forward.

Just one more step, just one more step, he kept telling himself as he climbed the stairs, being pushed and pulled by Maria.

A bullet grazed just aside his head and dug itself into the brick wall. Russo's men were on the far end of the basement hallway, hunting them like bloodhounds.

Miraculously, they reached the ground floor, Maria froze for a moment, twirled on her feet and snapped her head from side to side. Pushing him against the wall to keep him on his feet she rammed her shoulder into a grandiose marble statue of a naked Greek Goddess.

The sculpture vaulted and crashed down on the floor, the broken torso blocking the basement door. It would buy them some extra time.

"The garage is that way," she informed Tommy, nudging him in the ribs to keep his head together.

The journey to the garage was a form of torture on its own. It was unearthly pain shooting up from all parts of his body. But with the image of Maria holding a gun on herself burned into his mind,he kept placing his feet in front of the other, biting through it all.

It was no surprise to see that Russo had a large variety of luxurious automobiles. Maria rapitly claimed the task of finding a car with the keys in the ignition while Tommy was still stuck with his current job; remaining on his feet.

Drifting in and out of consciousness he got shoved into a Chrysler and wondered how Maria planned this one out. He was in no shape to drive, with only one usable arm and on the verge of collapsing.

Maria swooped her legs over his. Positioning herself on his lap she trying her best not to inflict any more pain on his body as she slammed the door shut.

She dabbed him hurriedly in his face to snap him back to reality.

"All you need to do is us the pedals, I'll stear." She smacked him harshly across the face when he failed to keep his eyes open. "Please, Tommy, we've almost made it! Stay awake!"

Her revelation instigated a small stirr through his body.

Mechanically he turned the keys with his left hand and stomped the clutch pedal down. Leaning sideways he used his left hand to shift into the first gear.

Maria removed the handbrake and clutched her left hand around the steering wheel.

Meanwhile Russo's man had managed to burst through the door, aimed and fired at them. A rain of bullets nested itself into the Chrysler. Their side window smashed, glass shattered in the back and by the sounds of it, one bullet had managed to pierce through their right back tire.

Maria screamed frantically, squirming into his lap and dugging her head down while Tommy's body jolted up from a much needed adrenaline rush.

He kicked his foot onto the accelerator pedal and the car shot forward. More bullets were fired and one smashed through the left side mirror.

Speeding out of the garage, Maria did her absolute best to keep the Chrysler under control. But this being her first time as a driver and the fact that they were fleeing from a fate worse than death made her twirl the car over the cobblestones.

Weren't it for Tommy's fast interference they'd be driving straight into the fountain. Maria's body was tossed off his lap and slammed against the car door.

Tommy shifted to his left when he got the car under control and put it in second gear. Reaching back he firmly wrapped his left hand around the steering wheel while he tried to press his wounded hand against his chest to minimise the piercing pain.

Maria struggled to get back into a sitting position, swinging the revolver thoughtlessly in her hand.

Tommy snatched her wrist out of the air and yanked her back into the seat aware that her startled motions could make the revolver go off and blow another hole inside his head. Now that the possibility of a successful escape came in reach his death wish was the last thing on his mind.

The car accelerated as they drove into a muddy forest road. It was dark and with no lamppost to guide their way it was a matter of time for them to drive into a tree or a ditch.

Besides that, their car had a flat tire and swirled from side to side. Meanwhile Russo's men had taken the liberty to chase after them with the remaining cars.

They were greatly outnumbered, in men and weapons. Tommy sure as hell would lose if it came to a fist fight. The Italian's where gaining territory and had the advantage of being familiar with the layout of the forest.

If they didn't come up with a plan they'd soon be back in Russo's blood covered hands.

Thinking fast, Tommy suddenly made a U-turn, shifted into reverse and drove back into the uneven forest ground as far as the car allowed it. Rapidly he snatched the revolver from Maria's hand and left the girl speechless as he stepped outside the car.

With two blunt smacks with the back of the revolver he broke the headlights of the car. Quickly he duck down aside the Chrysler and held his breath as the other cars were coming in fast.

The first car rushed by and soon the other five did as well. Tommy did not dare to breath and counted to ten before he allowed himself to fall down on his knees.

Maria jumped out of the car, alerted by his downfall. Shaking with adrenaline her knees buckled and while holding herself up by the door she gagged and threw up.

Breathless, they looked at each other, both too caught up in their personal trainwreck of thoughts, both deeply plagued by the ordeal Russo put them through.

Stunned to have made it out of Russo's mansion alive, Tommy suddenly realised he'd still held the revolver up, directly aiming at Maria.

Shocked he dropped the weapon on the ground and nearly fell forward. With his good hand he was able to keep himself from a face first collision with the forest floor.

Now that they appeared to be safe, the adrenaline started to wear off and all the pain his body had endured seemed to strike him ten times harder.

The grunt that escaped the back of his throat was soft and hoarse and sounded like a dying animal.

Maria kneeled down in front of him, the animalistic glance still present but shards of compassion shimmered through.

The pain, it was so excruciating and overwhelming, swallowing him whole. With the absolute last bit of resort he leaned forward and wrapped his left arm tightly around her shoulders. Carefully she twinied hers around his lower back and he allowed himself to find safety in the crook of her neck.

God, the pain. He was in so much pain that even breathing felt like torture. Her frail body was the only thing that kept him from falling. Like a tower of strength her arms provided a humble bit of comfort.

"We made it," she whispered into his hair, "you've made it."

A whimpering sigh escaped from the back of his throat and a shudder ran through his body. His knees buckled and he clung to her gentle embrace.

This was the second time in life he'd been given a second chance and he was paying a high price. But this time, instead of being dug out of the mud from France, he'd been saved by a girl. She could have left him behind but chose to risk her own life to save him from a slow, agonizing death.

The blinding headache, the aching of his dislocated shoulder, the throbbing pain from his collarbone, all combined and blended in with the haunting memories of the Somme. There was just so much a body and soul could take.

He choked on his own tears, unable to express himself never felt so heavy on his shoulders. The burden of forcing himself to distance his mental pain had made him so numb. But now that his body underwent the recurrence of his war trauma, his mind was unable to block all suppressed memories.

Flashes of the battlefield, instinct taking over common sense, fighting with fists and teeth below grounds. The self instigated explosion, the crippling fear of slowly suffocating, waiting for death. Wishing for death, seeing sunlight again. His blood covered hands, unable to scratch his brain out to stop the pure agony. Bright lights, the numbing sting of a syringe. Tubes down his throat and Arthur staring at him as if seeing a ghost. His head trauma. Silence, his incapability to form words and the scar tissue, an eternal reminder of the root of his handicap. The grief and self-hatred that came with it every time he looked into the mirror. The loneliness he forced upon himself. The blocked memories combined with the fresh ones, it was too much, simply too much to take.

With no words to express himself he broke down, unable to keep it in any longer. He fought it with every fiber of his body and soul but he cried. Hating his physical reaction he sobbed and buried his face deeper into the crook of her neck. He hated, absolutely hated himself for expressing his weakness in such an unmasculate way. God, he still loathed Arthur for seeing him in an equal stated at the hospital.

She didn't speak, only held him close. Her silence allowed him to bear his grief and choke through his tears and pain. Her lack of words did not create a void, but made it easier to breath and calm him down. The flashes of memories started to blur and find their way back into the far corner of his mind.

Maria untangled herself from his tightened grip and caught his gaze at eye level. Cautiously, she let her hand move to the back of his scalp. Her fingertips where bloody when she reached back, his head wound was still bleeding and he did his absolute best to keep his eyes open. The smell of damp forest ground blend with his cold sweat, the iron taste of blood, they both were covered with it.

"Tommy, please, stay with me," She whispered, reaching for his left hand. "We have to get you to a hospital." Tightly squeezing his hand with her own, her voice betrayed her. "Please, stay with me. You need to drive us back to a hospital."

.-.-.

A/N….So, I'm not going to lie. I loved writing every word of it. To build a man back up, you have to break him down. They say that a tragedy or a shared trauma can either break or make a relationship. When I started drabbling down the storyline for this story this chapter, the hospital chapter and the chapter were they play poker with Russo weren't included yet. Simply because I didn't make them up yet. Russo wasn't supposed to play a big role in the story, but I'm happy he does. Again, I love a slow-burn and I needed some kind of shared process to make Tommy fall for Maria. Not just because she happens to be part of the opposite sex, or because she's a convenient tool.

I think it's safe to say, she has earned her stripes.

And I finally broke MuteTommy.

Xoxoxo Nukyster