Chapter 36) Amsterdamned
.-.-.
For the rest of the week, Maria avoided him like the plague. In return, Tommy kept their communication level strictly in forms of orders. It scared him how natural it was for him to slip back into that cold and callous persona and how easily he brushed her rejection off.
At six o'clock in the morning, Arthur picked up Maria's dingy suitcase and stashed it into the back of their car with the others.
Looking up into the sky, his Maria seemed to do a silent prayer before she slid inside their car.
She managed to keep her breakfast in until they were installing themselves onto the deck of the ferry. The girl stood unsteadily on her feet, sweat pouring down her paling face and in a matter of seconds; she was feeding her breakfast to the seagulls.
Heaving, she clung to the rail of the ship and didn't leave that post for half an hour. Arthur, the kinder of the two Shelby brothers' managed to find her a bucket and pressed her down on a seat outside on deck. Ordering her to keep the horizon in sight, he tapped her gently on her cheeks and winced back when she started wheezing again.
Tommy checked his pocket watch for the sixth time, clenching his jaw. He'd wanted to reveal his master plan to Arthur but couldn't do so if his speaker was gagging every sentence.
Eventually, he tore off a note and handed his brother one of the files he had Maria type over.
"You're giving me homework?" Arthur laughed and briefly flipped through the pages.
Tommy nodded and tapped the side of his head. In order for his plan to work, Arthur needed to know every damn detail.
"This is a medical file, about you." Arthur stated baffled, reading through the pages, "Tom, what's this all about? What have you got there cooking in that thick head of yours?"
Instead of answering his brother, he nudged his head towards the file and motioned him to start reading. A few hours of their six hour trip passed in which Arthur struggled through endless pages of his medical journal, Maria managed to get an even greener shade on her face and Tommy emptied his second pack of cigarettes.
"Tom, why am I reading this?" Arthur asked troubled, "you're not dying are ya?"
Tommy shook his head and eyed up his speaker who still clenched her hands around the bucket as if her life depended on it.
I need you to translate; he informed her, keeping distance in case she would get sick again.
Maria faintly nodded and sat up to read Tommy's signs.
"I didn't tell you my plans beforehand, because I knew you wouldn't go along with it. But, before you start screaming at me Arthur, listen to me," Maria started her task, "we'll have a meeting with the director of the NCF tomorrow at noon. The thing is, he can't know who we are, because his business is completely legal. Corrupted, sure, but legal nevertheless, only supplying their goods to big medical companies. So instead of bombarding into his office as Peaky Blinders, we need to do this civil and perform a little play."
Tommy tapped down onto the medical file in Arthur hands and Maria continued her translation.
"You're going to be Dr. Rivers, a very respected doctor," he pointed his index finger to Maria, "she's going to be your secretary, "and I'm going to be the cured patient, who went from catatonic to walking and functioning by therapy and pharmacological treatment, cocaine," his brows fluttered up, scanning the baffled faces of Arthur and Maria, "this is your newest study Dr. Rivers, still very experimental and that's why I'll be attending to do some tricks and jump through some hoops. Now, in order to explore the beneficial effects from cocaine on veterans you need access to cocaine. Legal cocaine. To do well, of course you'll want to open up a charity and pharmacy for the wounded veterans of Birmingham. It'll be your legacy and you'll name it after some John Doe you met during the war who tragically died there. This way we're untraceable, the real Dr. Rivers won't have any notion that his name is being used. The director of the NCF won't even do a background check because it's easy cash and you're a very respectable doctor. We'll have access to cocaine, morphine and heroin, all made in Holland, and all legally shipped to Harwich. There the Lee's can partly take over and deliver it across country while we work our way from Birmingham to London and Manchester."
Tommy lowered his hands and Maria closed her mouth, while Arthur's dropped wide open.
"Polly will never approve any of this," his brother finally spoke after coming back to his senses, "and there is no way in hell that I'll be playing doctor."
"Polly doesn't need to approve anything, you're in charge," Maria spoke for Tommy, "and it's all pre-arranged Arthur, I sent out the message and received a letter back. Tomorrow at noon we have an appointment at the NCF with the director Herman H. Baanders, as Dr. Rivers, his secretary and his recovering patient."
"Well, you can tell mister director Herman to go fuck himself. And you can go fuck yourself Tom, this isn't just a bluff, this is insane. You should knock off the snow, 'cause you're getting delusional."
Without further notice, Arthur threw Tommy's medical files in his lap and marched over the deck, heading inside to probably order something strong to get the bad taste out of his mouth.
That could have gone better and a lot worse. Tommy unwrinkled his medical files and passed it over to Maria, nudging his index finger against his temple.
Memorize it, 'cause I don't want Arthur fucking this up, he signed to her, I've added and left out some bits and pieces so it'll be all in our favor.
"You're selling out your brain damage to cut a deal," Maria stated, flipping open the first page of his file.
Always use your disadvantage as an asset if it's possible, Tommy replied back, plus I can't have Arthur baffled in a meeting with the director of the NCF, he doesn't have the brains. I don't have the voice, so I had to be creative.
His plan wasn't just creative, it was exactly what Arthur had called it; insane, the biggest bluff he'd ever pulled and therefor, this needed to work. He needed to succeed, get the heads of his family turned and marvel at his success. He needed to accomplish things that seemed impossible to finally come out of the shadow of the old Tommy.
He needed to rise from the ashes of the Somme, create an empire and be worthy enough to participate in their family business.
You've got five hours to memorize this, don't get sick over it, Tommy signed to Maria and pushed the bucket back under her nose when she started to hiccup.
He retreated to the back of the ship, tracing over the outlines of Harwich. Four years ago he'd been staring at the same scene. He remembered telling John to dry his tears and stop acting like a bloody child, ruffling up his hair. Through a sentimental haze of thought, Tommy stared at the last trace of England and noticed how his hands started to shake.
.-.-.
In the early afternoon, their ferry made it into the haven of the Hook of Holland. Arthur was drunk, insufferable and a complete idiot. Arthur was going to take the first ferry back to Harwich and that was the end of it.
It took more than an hour of convincing, pleading and reasoning to make Arthur change his mind. It was mainly because of the big city of Amsterdam and all of its whores and hidden treasures that caused him to stay; and the fact that the next ferry back wouldn't leave until the next morning.
Because of their delay they missed their train to Amsterdam and had to pay a tremendous price to get a cab.
This didn't set well with Maria's stomach. While mediating between Tommy and Arthur, she had eaten lunch as she was under the impression that they'd be stepping onto a train; which for whatever reason didn't trigger her motion sickness.
Even though Tommy still held resentment towards the young woman, seeing her dash out of the cab and throw up her entire dinner twice in a row made him grow a little softer.
The capital of Holland was quite breathtaking, with its maze of canals, trams and aristocratic structures. Although the First World War had left its marks, the city seemed to flourish, both in wealth as culture. The sight of the famous Amsterdam's red-light district was enough to end Arthur's black mood. The man lit up as their taxi crossed De Wallen, the place where legal prostitution had taken its ground. From behind windows and glass doors scarcely ladies of the night were showing off their merchandise, their curves and contours illuminating with red lights and candles.
Maria stiffly kept her eyes on the road. It didn't show on her face, but the slight reddening of the top of her ears gave her away, which made Tommy's lips shape into a half smirk.
The driver stopped at De L'Europe Hotel, a five star establishment which a night cost just about the same amount of getting Precious back. Polly was going to tear his head off if she ever found out how much money their little trip to Amsterdam had cost.
But the director of the NFC had recommended the hotel and already booked them three bedrooms under the NFC's name, so it would be unwise to decline.
Since Tommy was unable to simply ask for their reservations, Arthur was the one doing the work at the reception. He managed to nearly fuck it up by stating his own name and Maria was just in time to pipe in that director H. Baanders had booked three rooms for Dr. Rivers and his associates.
Tommy gave her a light squeeze on the shoulder as she took three keys from the receptionist.
A lift attendant bundled up their luggage on a cart and escorted them to the fifth floor.
"The rooms serve as opulent retreats that balance luxury with space," the attendant explained, opening the door and giving them their first peek inside, "the interior of the rooms shows a blend of classic design with modern amenities, while grand windows present picturesque views of Amsterdam's historic city center or the interior courtyard."
"It has a marble bathroom…" was all Maria could breath, tiptoeing after the attendance and awkwardly stroking over the smooth tiles of the bathroom. Her dingy suitcase was gently placed onto her bed and was a complete contrast to all the wealth.
Tommy had to agree, this was over the top and he wondered if the attendant could sniff out their poor backgrounds. Although his three piece suit was a layer of class, he and Arthur were just two Brummy's brought up from the filth of Small Heath.
The three of them each took a moment to retreat and settle in. Overlooking the river Amstel through his window Tommy felt on edge. His heart was drumming madly inside his chest. His knees buckled and he flopped down onto the queen size bed. Closing his eyes he tilted his head back and breathed. Deep. In and out, because that was all he needed to do, fucking breath.
His moment of serenity was brutally interrupted when Arthur burst through his door.
"Brother, don't tell me you're going ta bed. Not without someone to warm it for ya!" Arthur joked spreading his arms, "we're in Amsterdam. Fucking capital of the world. Let's show 'em some cock from Birmingham!"
Tommy stared at the ceiling, aware of how his fingers twitched. The last thing he had on his mind was dope and prostitutes, but in order to keep Arthur on track with his plan he needed to give his brother a bone.
So he sat up straight and took out his notebook, we'll go out, but keep in mind you need to be presentable in the morning.
Arthur's eyes scanned the note quickly and made an annoyed grunt, "you think I can't hold my liquor? I can drink any man under the table and run my fucking business the day after. Jeez Tom, don't be the party pooper, let's go." Arthur threw his cap on his lap and pointed at Tommy's head, "might want to wear that, t's no lady charmer those scars of yours."
If Tommy didn't need Arthur, he might have thrown him out of the window to take a dive into the Amstel for that comment because those words cut him to the fucking bone.
Slowly, he pressed his flat cap over his scalp, lit a cigarette and nearly bit the inside of his jaw open.
Leaving his room, a cold hand seemed to circle itself around his chest, making it awfully hard to breath. Walking by Maria's door, he noted he needed to give her some kind of information but Arthur was already on it.
Banging on her door, he informed her that they were going out and that it was in her best interest to stay indoors.
"You can order up some room service if you like," Arthur added, indicating to the phone that sat on her cabinet, "we'll see ya in a bit, love. Now, the Peaky boys are going to tear up Amsterdam!" He exclaimed so loudly that the entire floor was able to overhear him.
This night out was doomed to turn into a bloody fistfight, or worse. Tommy face-palmed himself. Through the cracks between his fingers, he noticed Maria's tentative gaze stare up to him.
"Tommy, are you alright?" She asked with a hint of worry in her voice.
Bitterly, he held his thumb up and retreated towards the elevator as Arthur closed her door.
"We should do this more often Tom, us, going out." Arthur stated loud, startling the elevator attendance, "next time we should take John too, vacation is good for the soul ya know?"
And while Arthur babbled on about how taking time off with the boys would be beneficial, Tommy closed his eyes and breathed.
.-.-.
In the city of a thousand sins, it wasn't hard to get your hands on anything, legal or illegal. This time spliff was Arthur's drug of choice and it didn't take him long to find a guy who knew a guy.
Within half an hour into their adventure in Amsterdam Arthur rolled a joint. Back alleys are universal so no-one turned their heads as Arthur took a big drag and spread the thick scent of marijuana through the cafe.
"C'mon lighten up will ya?" Arthur pressed, nudging the joint between Tommy's fingers, "tomorrow will work, you're the little mastermind of the family, I promise you I won't let myself go too far."
Reluctantly, Tommy steadied himself and took a drag of the joint and another. Arthur's words eased him and the spliff had a mellowing effect on the claws that wrapped itself around his chest. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all, maybe he needed this; some off time with his brother, for old times' sake, to unwind and regain his self-control.
As the joint passed between them, Tommy's handwriting got sloppier and the Dutch beers made both of them thirstier.
The sex industry in Amsterdam was immense. More organized, prepped up and glamorous than in the UK. Of course most sex trades were still made in sleazy backrooms, young women being used as things for simple cash or pleasure.
The two brothers wondered through the overcrowded maze of strip clubs, brothels and live sex shows. With Arthur's foreign tongue they caught on some unwanted attention from pickpockets but since the Shelby's were the inventors of pickpocketing Arthur nearly knocked a tooth out of a youngster who dared to gaze at his wallet.
They went to visit the Casa Rosso, one of the oldest erotic theatres in the city. Some blokes were having a bachelor party and were invited on the stage. The rest of the show didn't leave much room for the imagination as all girls eagerly stripped themselves of their clothes.
While Arthur had his hand firmly wrapped around the bosom of a rather cheeky prostitute, Tommy was more reserved and declined a girl who tried to sit on his lap and brush his flat cap back.
Draining his glass, Tommy was fully aware he wasn't in the mood for this. He couldn't care less about the revealing ass and tits that jiggled on the stage, he wanted to go back to the hotel, clear his head, fucking breath and get his act together for tomorrow.
I'm going back to the hotel, he wrote down for Arthur who managed to get his face out of the cleavage of his girl for a mere second to read Tommy's note.
"Already? C'mon Tom we barely got here!" Arthur whined, ordering a girl to get them a few more drinks.
You can stay, but I'm not. One of us has to be able to think tomorrow, Tommy wrote back, dodging another lustful look from one of the girls working.
"Fine, go back, I'll only stay for a little while," Arthur flat out lied, eyes already back on the giggling woman straddling his lap.
Tommy rolled his eyes with a sigh and got up. Dusk had settled outside and the roaring city seemed to come more and more alive. Sucking on his cigarette, Tommy straightened his jacket and pushed himself through the ocean of people.
Someone shoved him back and curses were fired at his head. For a second, Tommy realised he was a nobody in this city, a complete contrast of his status in Small Heath. The thought alarmed something inside his chest and his throat went dry.
Turmoil suddenly filled the air, followed by a loud crash and panic shouting. It caused a chain reaction in the mass of people. In a frenzy, a women pressed herself aside Tommy, shouting and pointing across the street. Other people passed her, startled and caring only for their own security.
The soldier side of him jumped into immediate action. Pulling himself up by a lamp post, Tommy was able to locate the cause of all the panic. A tram had crashed into a carriage. While smoke hissed through the panic filled streets, Tommy could only hear one thing clearly. The soul shattering neighing of a dying horse.
And it was as if someone pulled a switch. The Dutch language morphed and blended into German, the panic for the derailed tram turned into a battlefield and the spliff combined with alcohol in his system brought him back ten feet below earth. Where blood spilled like rain, where hate and survival consumed him and where there was no time to breath. No light, no way out, only death.
Tommy ran like the devil chased him, pushing and shoving against anyone who got in his way. In a frenzied, hallucinated state he rushed through foggy cold allies. The sounds of shovels echoed in every corner of his mind and he could feel the narrow streets closing in on him.
Somewhere in his mind there was a small bit of conscious thought left, whispering that this was his trauma playing tricks on him. And maybe if he'd been across the North Sea, on familiar ground, he would have been able to take those words to heart. But the high pitched tormented sounds of the dying horse rammed through his sanity and a floodgate of terror beyond belief rushed through his entire body. This city, so far from Small Heath couldn't provide him the shelter he needed, his sanctuary at Charlie's yard was a world away. And he had no clue where he was.
Through gritted teeth, he busted his knuckles open on brick walls. In order to break the cycle of nightmares he needed to feel something. Pain, was a solid, familiar feeling. It attached him to the reality he desperately needed. He launched his fist into the wall for the second time, he went berserk. Kicking over a garbage can and howling like a wild animal.
It wasn't enough to pause the scrapings of the shovels, the smell of gunpowder filling his nostrils and claustrophobia cutting off his air supply.
He started moving again, choking to get some oxygen into his system and trying to outrun invisible enemies.
Two Dutch blokes were smoking cigarettes underneath a streetlight. They were young men, just two young men having a laugh. But the Dutch language was so similar to German, it stirred up the unavoidable urge to kill both men. Their foreign words got underneath his skin, inside his head and all he could hear were the voices of the enemy. It was pure and utter flight or fight and his sanity wasn't in his control anymore. He was out of his fucking mind, but aware.
As a last resort he took out his revolver and fired two shots into the air. Both young men froze for a moment before covering away into the safety of a bar.
His hands were shaking uncontrollably and breathing was still not on the menu. Madness feasted inside his head and there was no escaping it.
When he pressed the barrel of the gun against his temple, Tommy realised he was never going to sleep with a weapon in arms reach ever again.
In one quick motion, he emptied the bullets from the cylinder and dug his revolver in the holster and sank down to his knees, holding both sides of his head to keep the shovels at bay.
.-.-.
It had taken him an eternity to find his way back to his hotel and a lifetime to find the balls to knock on her door. Tommy couldn't honestly think of any reason why she would allow him inside her room in the middle of the night, but was prepared to beg for entrance. Arthur was still out, the traumatic events were literally choking the life out of him and he needed some kind of solid rock for his madness to get him through the night.
Puffy half lidded eyes met his through a crack in the door, widening open in surprise and recognition.
"Tommy?" Maria whispered startled, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the hall light, "what on earth…" the rest of her words died in the back of her throat, taken by the poor state of her employer.
Cold sweat ran down his back and chest, there was blood dripping down his fingers onto the luxurious carpet due to the cuts in his knuckles. He ran his undamaged hand through his face, unable to look at her. Fear wound him up, blocking his breath and he pushed aside her to get near the window. Feverishly he tried to open them, but his twitching hands incapacitated him. A deep, unearthly moan escaped the back of his throat and for a moment he was sure he was going to drown in his own sorrows.
A set of hands took over and opened the window for him. A soft breeze brushed over his glistening cheeks and a small bit of comfort washed over him. He was above ground, there was air, there was fresh air and wind.
His legs caved in and he tumbled onto the floor. With his face planted into a soft rug he let out a jittery sigh. He made it, he survived.
Maria tiptoed around his stirring body and a set of doe-eyes scanned him over from head to toe.
Biting her lips she knelt down at his right side, giving lingering eye contact every so often. She checked his pulse as Tommy used all his effort to regain back control over his breathing.
"What did you take Tommy?" She asked soft but stern, "your pupils are the size of saucers."
She must have sensed his dread, because she didn't let go of his wrist. Instead, she clasped his hand and squeezed it lightly.
The warmth coming from that tiny gesture made the shovels pause and Tommy felt as if he had one foot back into reality. From a side angle he stared up at her, wrapped in a white nightgown she was a beacon of serenity. An angel.
"Tommy, you need to sit up, you're bleeding all over the rug," she murmured, nudging his hand. He allowed her to pull him into a sitting position; she excused herself and went into the bathroom for a moment.
Maria returned and positioned herself in front of him, pushing a glass of water against his shaking hands. He didn't take it; instead he reached back and pulled his revolver into view. Her eyes widened, but she took the weapon out of his hands.
Hide it, he signed abashed and leaned his head back against the window frame. The grip inside his chest tightened and even though the windows were fully open he was choking.
"Tommy, breath," she ordered him sternly, capturing his chin between her warm fingers, "I mean it, breath." Drawing her knees up she stared at him, intently focused on his chest.
"Tommy, I mean it, just breath," she begged, shaking his shoulders when he started gasping for air. She took his bloody hand and pressed it onto her throat.
"Breath, just like I do. In and out, calmly," she pressed squeezing his wrist, "just breathe, you're hyperventilating."
Minutes passed painfully slow as he started to regain his breath back under control. He'd squeezed his hand roughly around her throat but she didn't even flinch, sensing his utter panic and desperate need for something, anything to hold onto. His empty revolver lay forgotten by her bare feet. All she did was clench his wrist, keep his hand around her throat and stare at his chest.
"You're good," Maria uttered and untangled his iron grasp around her neck.
Now that the rush and adrenaline wore off, his lids started to feel heavy. Half aware, he heard her tiptoe through the room. She took hold in front of him and sat back. The revolver was gone and she held out the glass again.
"Your hand looks awful," she stated concerned and started to tear off a strip of her night gown, "let me see while you drink this." She clasped his good hand around the glass of water and stared at him until he took a sip.
As she took his bleeding hand, Tommy noticed the damage he'd brought onto himself. His knuckles were swollen and skinned raw from the beatings against the walls. They'd be left with nasty dark bruises and cuts tomorrow morning.
She dabbed the blood from his wounds, one by one as he sipped from his water. Tearing off a fresh line of her nightgown, Maria used it as a bandage.
"Eat something, I have grapes and caviar," she ordered him, setting down a silver tray, "don't look at me like that. Arthur told me I could get room service, I wanted to indulge. I hate it, by the way," Maria remarked staring at the fish eggs and toast, "I did like the lobster though."
Looking across the room, she dragged an opened champagne bottle into view, "in case you want a drink, you're paying for it anyway. Arthur's right, doesn't matter how expensive it is, it all taste like piss."
Indian styled she watched him, on the verge of passing out, nibbling on some expensive leftovers and drinking lukewarm, flat champagne. If he'd been a spectator of this scene he would have a good laugh over it.
The alcohol was more than welcome, easing the last of the tremors in his fingertips.
"It's late," Maria stated. Tommy failed to find a deeper meaning behind her statement, as his lids got heavy. Reliving his trauma in France had drained him. His heart had finally stopped pounding inside his chest and the soft Dutch breeze was enough to lull him to sleep. If her statement was an attempt to get him out of her room, it had failed. As long as she didn't give him a direct order, he'd kept his arse firmly parked onto the expensive bloody rug.
Her order never came; instead she took the bottle from his hand and took a sip. Her face turned sour as she swallowed and she passed it back.
After most of the content of the bottle ended up in his stomach, the familiar buzz made him slightly lightheaded and drawn to bury himself into the soft covers of the bed.
Gracelessly, he pulled himself up on all fours, took a moment to find enough balance and slouched down onto the edge of the large queen size bed.
"You're staying," he watched her awkwardly getting up from the floor too, although the nightstand didn't produce much light the antipathy on her face was clear as day. He lazily nodded in response, placing his arms behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. He was ready to pass out now.
This left his reluctant roommate with two options; she could either stay as well, or change her room with his.
Indecisive, she took another sip from the champagne and Tommy was well aware he'd placed them both on thin ice by testing his limits and testing her Catholic heart. Leaning his head back onto his elbows he noted he must look as a wolf in sheep's clothes, although his outfit was sweat drenched and disheveled. Taking the liberty to kick his shoes off, he risked a peek and caught her staring at the door.
What must she be thinking of him? Bursting into her room in the middle of the night, bleeding, pointing guns, choking on his own breath; warming up her bed, in the city of a thousand sins.
If there was any bit of integrity in his bones, he should pick his sorry arse up and leave.
'Alright Tom, time to man up and do the right thing', he thought to himself and stirred his aching body to get into action.
It was then that he overheard the sound of a door being locked and Maria took a place by his side on the edge of the bed. She had a different air over her, maybe it was the champagne that gave her confidence, maybe it was his exhausted demeanour that made him appear less of a threat.
Whatever it was, her action intrigued Tommy. Postponing his sleep for a bit, he watched Maria take another swig from the champagne before putting it onto the nightstand.
"I've never slept with a man, nor am I planning to do so tonight. I don't want to be a whore," she stated firmly, "and I don't want to be a liar. I've kissed you once, I was drunk but that's not an excuse. I hope you can forgive me."
Her eyes locked onto his and in them lay a mixture of repent and remorse. She awaited his verdict.
So that was it then? She feared to be the one thing her uncle despised, a whore. And after all the sinister and violent horrors he'd caused her to participate in, she was asking for his forgiveness?
Holy Mary came from such different background it was almost alien. Another sign of their overall contrast, she'd sacrifice her own needs and desires, minimize her personal happiness for everyone surrounding her. While he'd burn every bridge, house or church down to get what he wanted.
"I don't want to be your whore," she formulated as her breath hitched sharply in the back of her throat.
Those words placed the weight of the world down on his shoulders, because she'd seen him, in more ways than he wanted. And she accepted him, in more ways than he accepted himself. She was the first woman that saw something in him, after the war. She'd been the reason he'd gotten out of the stables and brought him closer to his family. She'd given him confidence and gave him the tools to find a new purpose in his life. There had been a time he'd placed her life over his and yet she'd chosen to save him.
It was too painful to admit, but she scared him. In his world, her kindness meant weakness, yet her kindness had brought him out of his downward spiral. Her reaction to search for the goodness inside people made him unsteady, because with his background, his rules, his way of life, it was so easy to lose that human touch.
He was fully aware he'd damaged her, cut up some rough edges around her soul. And if he wasn't such a coward he would have let her go. Because a girl from her class had no particular value, had nothing else to bring to the table other than her virtue and purity.
It didn't change the fact that he wanted her; it only made it more impossible, unbearable.
Weakly, he reached out to her hand and took it from her lap. He could feel her pulse stutter underneath his fingertips. Through heavy lidded eyes, he tried to show her some sense of sincerity that could match hers. Slowly, he pressed the palm of her hand against his cheek.
He didn't want to hurt her, or taint her. He didn't want to be her superior. He didn't even want to see. He didn't want to think. All he wanted was to feel.
Cautiously, her fingers brushed over the bridge of his nose, soothing his temple and then carefully removing his flat cap. Reflexively he caught her wrist, then relaxed his hand again. This was the ugly part of him she had accepted. With closed eyes, he allowed her to touch him, for once coping with the fact that his hideous trauma lay out in the open. Soft fingertips carefully ran over the deep lines of his scars. She was gentle, but didn't make him feel like a small child.
He kissed her fingertips as they brushed over his lips. At the darkest of night, in the city of a thousand sins Tommy Shelby finally granted himself a moment at peace from the war inside his head.
.-.-.
A/N I've rewritten the last piece at least four times. A comment made by IrelandForever and a comment from my beta reader made me rethink what exactly I wanted to be doing in this scene. I'll be honest, I'd intended to use a big part of a drabble I wrote down months ago, in which more happened then just a simple touch. But the thing is, it's not a simple touch. Tommy can fuck every whore he wants, but this bit abled him to open up and let someone in. And I couldn't bring myself to make Maria act against pretty much everything she believes in.
Xoxox Nukyster
