Chapter 37) Forbidden fruit

.-.-.

Tommy woke up from a hazy slumber, with his face nuzzling into strands of short hair. It took his foggy, hung-over mind a moment to remember his whereabouts, as he was leaning into the warmth emitting from the soft body in his arms.

His short term memory suddenly cleared. Maria had spent the night with him. He could still feel her fingertips carefully brushing his face, creating small circles that lulled him to sleep. At least, that must have been what she'd thought. Through his lashes, he had watched her bright doe-eyes grow serene and tension left her limbs as her fingertips continued their circling motion over his face. She hadn't been scared of touching him, she didn't stop and the best part was, she wasn't drunk.

Last night, he'd felt her weight push down on the bed and for a moment, he forgot to breath. She'd chosen to sleep next to him, be near him.

Through heavy lids, he'd watched her while her breath had gone steady and deep. Her lips had slightly parted, her hands crossed against her chest. She'd looked serene, as if for a moment she had forgotten that she was lying next to a cut throat gangster with suicidal tendencies.

This would never have happened in Small Heath, Tommy had been very aware of that fact. But here, in the city of a thousand sins, both their roles seemed to fade and Tommy was glad that for a moment, it was enough to simply be a man and a young woman.

During the darkest of night, he vaguely recalled her frantically murmuring in her sleep. Night terrors, he'd been more than familiar with them. The selfish side of him did not want to wake her up, because that would lead to her realising where she was, with who she was with, which would lead to her leaving. Their bubble would burst and Tommy wasn't ready to let it go.

Without a thought, he had fallen into a drunken sleep with his arms wrapped around her, pressing her back against his chest and rested his chin against the back of her head. The small act hadn't been sexual, merely a way to provide some comfort and receive some himself.

But if Maria woke up this instant, his small act of comfort would immediately be deemed as something vile. During the night, he'd subconsciously slide his arms from her waist to her chest and his hands cupped around her modest sized breasts. And as a direct result of that, his morning erection was firmly pressing against her lower back.

Tommy, fully aware and awake did not dare to breathe, because a clear feeling of shame and awkwardness started to unfold.

The bubble had burst, as the sun started to come up their roles revived and the truth became inevitably clear. The mute murderous criminal was deflowering her Catholic sense of virtue.

The palm of his hand sensed a calm heartbeat, which meant she was still asleep and not aware of her employer groping her.

Skillfully and slowly, he detached himself from her warm, alluring body. It was almost painful to untangle his arms and retreat to the far side of the bed.

Fuck, he breathed, staring up at the ceiling to give himself a moment to ease his thumping heartbeat. Stealing a glance, he watched her from aside, still very aware of his throbbing member. Oh, this would have been so much easier if she'd just been a random Brummie git or an Amsterdam working girl, or any other female in general.

But it wasn't that simple and it certainly wasn't about one girl refusing to spread her legs for the damaged king of Small Heath. Because if he wanted, he could have her, he held all the strings, she was in his control. If he wanted her to jump, she'd ask how high. If he ordered her to kiss him, she would. If he wanted to pin her down on her back, he could.

But that was the thing, there was a distinct difference in what he could do and what he wanted; and what he wanted wasn't plain and meaningless sex, he could have plenty of that. What he wanted from her was what they had last night, everything and more, right before their intimate bubble burst and their roles were clear again.

Maria shifted in her sleep, perhaps vaguely aware of the lack of warmth surrounding her or another nightmare interfering with her dreams. He couldn't help roaming his eyes over her body. The thin fabric of her nightgown didn't leave much for the imagination. Now that she was no longer under the care of her Uncle's strict regime, and therefore no longer starving, her body had blossomed. Her limbs were no longer stick figures, her thighs lay gracelessly exposed, begging to be touched.

Fuck, if she woke up now and turn around she'd see nothing more than hopeless lust and want in his eyes and arousal; if she looked further down. Yes, he wanted that, to touch her, kiss her, fuck her, claim her. Because if you tore away all the layers of the gangster persona, he was just a man. A hopeless lost cause of a man, but still just a longing man.

And a fool, for wanting something he couldn't possibly have.

With his bandaged hand he reached out for her, twining his middle and index finger around a lock of her short hair, before he rose from the bed. Still wearing the sweaty clothes from last night, Tommy retreated into the marble bathroom. Splashing cold water into his face, he leaned heavily on his elbows.

He blinked his eyes a few times and noticed his revolver on top of the marble sink. Luckily, Maria was the worst at hiding guns and he quickly tucked the weapon under his belt.

Fuck, he needed to blow off some steam but this was just about the last place he was willing to jerk off; with the object of his desire waking up behind a very thin wall. A smoke then and then coffee, lots of coffee, because Tommy couldn't honestly remember the last time he'd had a decent sleep.

.-.-.

Arthur clearly didn't come home as early as he'd promised.

Which was the understatement of the century.

After sneaking out of Maria's hotel room like a pathetic thief in the night, Tommy had knocked on Arthur's door. Once, twice and after the third time he'd burst into his brother's room.

He counted three prostitutes, littered onto Arthur's bed like a pack of kittens. A fourth tiptoed out of the bathroom, with a trail of snow just below her nose. The whore excused herself and hurriedly fled the scene.

Arthur came in to sight after stumbling up from behind the bed, the stench of alcohol and cheap perfume practically oozed from every inch of his body. Like a child caught stealing, he gave Tommy an apologetic, pleading look and muttered something about 'probably letting m'self go for a bit.'

On the verge of murdering his own brother in cold blood Tommy held up his hand, stretching his fingers out to indicate that Arthur had five fucking minutes to clear the mess he'd made.

Slamming the door shut again, Tommy angrily stormed back into Maria's hotel room, kicking aside the remaining suitcases.

Maria shot up from her slumber by the sound of the leather cases hitting the wall. Puffy, half-lidded eyes looked startled in his direction. Still fueled with anger towards his brother, he returned her shocked stare with a piercing one and held up his hand, giving Maria the same sign as Arthur, be ready in five minutes, before retreating back into the hallway.

The first prostitute passed him in a hurry and was still buttoning her dress. Nearly bumping into him, the young woman excused herself, aware that Tommy was ready to jump someone's throat.

Inside his own hotel room, Tommy started to change. Stepping into his old threadbare trousers he'd used in the stables and a shirt that he determinedly thought made him look like a fucking peasant, which would give him the perfect opportunity to overhear the entire meeting without being the centre of attention. What posh director would ever glance at a pedestrian?

Adjusting, his suspenders, Tommy flexed his neck and pressed his fist against the wall. 'Don't fuck this up, don't you dare fucking this up', he instructed himself firmly, 'don't fuck it up!'

Maria entered shortly after knocking on his door. His speaker looked presentable and immaculate. Wrapped in her black dress that Ada had helped her pick out, her hair was combed and held from her face by a few bobby pins. She could easily play the role of Dr. River's secretary. She didn't put on any make-up, which made Tommy wonder if she'd done that purposely.

Neither of them made an attempt to start a conversation and although Tommy was used to silence, this one made him uncomfortable. Maria quietly sat down on one of the round chairs, clasping her hands together and nervously bit her lower lip.

Tommy wondered if he owed her some kind of explanation for his previous actions during the night, but decided that this wasn't the place or the time to bring up the emasculate way he'd stormed into her bedroom and had spent the night.

Instead of giving her the slightest clue about his mindset, Tommy handed her one of the two copies of his medical files, instructed her to read through it again and lit up a much needed cigarette.

It took Arthur two more cigarettes to drag his sorry, hung-over ass into Tommy's room. Clearly, his brother literally fucked the night away, with smudges of lipstick all over his face, a very visible love bite in his neck and specks of snow still in his moustache.

Order coffee, Tommy signed to Maria, nudging his head towards the phone. The girl immediately shot into action. Arthur did his absolute best to keep his balance, failed, stumbled backwards, crashed a lamp down onto the floor, cursed and eventually dropped down onto the bed.

"Sorry Tom, give me a second," Arthur muttered, waving his arm in the air while he rubbed his forehead with the other, "just a second."

There was no possible way that Director Herman H. Baanders was going to fall for this weak attempt of impersonating the real doctor Rivers. Not in Arthur's current state.

Do you still have cocaine on you? Tommy signed to his brother. Arthur didn't seem to have the slightest clue what Tommy's hand signals meant, so Tommy directed himself to Maria.

The girl placed her hand over the phone and said to Arthur: "Tommy wants to know if you still have cocaine."

Arthur grunted something unintelligible and held up a tin box originally used for snuff tobacco. Well, at least that was something; his older brother's state of alertness under the influence of cocaine was astounding.

As the coffee got served, Arthur managed to sit up and snorted a line of cocaine the moment the serving lady left the room.

"There is no way in hell I'm wearing a bow tie," Arthur stated, staring in complete and utter disgust to the suit Tommy had packed for him.

Tommy didn't respond and threw the three piece white striped suit into his brother's lap. Maria kept her gaze firmly fixed onto her cup of coffee as Arthur shamelessly undressed and then inspected the clothes given to him.

"Wool, I fucking hate wool," Arthur snarled, jogging to pull his trousers up, "why do I have to dress up like a sodding la-di-da?" Sulking, Arthur buttoned his blouse and pulled his sleeves up, "I hate this fucking plan of yours, it ain't going to work, Tom, c'mon I'm not a smooth talker, I don't know a fucking thing about surgery or medical equipment. Why can't we just fucking walk in there as the Peaky Blinders and do what we do best?" To give his words more meaning he jammed his fist into the palm of his hand.

"Because sometimes you need to be civil and sophisticated," Maria started out of the blue and continued with a soft spoken voice: "the thing is with dealing with the privileged class is to let them do all the talking. Most of those men are so self-centered and full of themselves they don't care much about what the other has to say. All they want is their ego to be flattered and gain more fortune. Just play along, act as if you own the world as well and show off your patient, the medical file speaks for itself and I wonder if Director Baaners has the slightest medical experience himself. The factory produces cocaine as medical supply, but that doesn't mean neither the staff nor the director has to be aware of every detail within the product."

Both Blinder brothers exchanged gazes. "You think they won't notice?" Arthur asked, directing himself towards Tommy.

Tommy shook his head in response, thankful for his speaker's words of wisdom. Maybe they had a shot after all.

.-.-.

Maria walked quietly behind the two Blinders. Both men seemed fully aware of what was at stake. Arthur had managed to alter from his usual 'more brawn than brains' self to a beacon of intellect. Horned glasses and a bowtie added more details to the real Dr. Rivers and the use of baby powder to whiten his hair did the trick. Arthur still hadn't been thrilled about his change of image and had been bickering non-stop. He'd even made a comment on why Tommy hadn't bribed John into this ridiculous adventure. When Tommy flatly pointed out that John had the skin of a newborn and couldn't possibly take on the role of a fifty year old man, Arthur had grumbled something underneath his breath and finally started to cooperate.

Maria wondered if it had been kindness or convenience, as they traveled by foot to the Nederlandsche Cocainefabriek. Although she didn't fully understand the depth of the deal that could possibly be made today, she was aware that in order to stay on the Blinders good side, they needed to succeed.

As she passed through narrow streets, that didn't appear much different than the ones in Small Heath, she wondered if Tommy had forgiven her. As Ada had explained, Tommy's communication skills on the matter weren't present. Simply asking him seemed an absurd idea and the more Maria thought about it, the more she realised that she couldn't recall Tommy ever talking about his feelings. Not during their time working in the stables, not after receiving Dr. Rivers's verdict during their appointment. Tommy simply held everything back by wrapping himself in a state of silent indifference.

The only time Maria could recall Tommy breaking, was when they had escaped Russo's mansion. He'd been in immense pain, on the verge of losing consciousness and barely believing he was still breathing. A raw shared relief had passed between them and it had seemed that realising he had survived, broke him. Whatever previous trauma crossed his mind, it had been enough to make him choke up and hold her as tight as his damaged body allowed him to.

She'd never tell a living soul about it, but it was that moment when she knew she'd seen the full extent of Tommy's damage. It wasn't the absence of his voice that crippled him; it was the absence of emotions. He kept everything in, all locked behind those two icy blue, cold and calculated eyes.

She'd seen a shard of the broken man inside, that night a few miles away from Russo's mansion. There was so much pain, self-loathing and despair inside of him, she wondered if there was enough whiskey in the world to help him cope with that.

And then there was last night.

When she opened her hotel room she didn't see a man, but a hunted wild animal. Instinctively, she'd known he was reliving France. As he mentioned during the appointment with Dr. Rivers, at times he thought he was back there. Although he'd frightened her dearly, bleeding and pulling out guns, she'd felt the overwhelming need to take the fear away.

As she'd bandaged his bloody knuckles she wondered how many men he must have killed with those bare hands; and how many had been killed in cold blood. She'd braced herself as she wondered what kind of monster it made her, caring for a murderer, a thief, a criminal, an aspiring drug trafficker, a cold hearted gangster.

All those labels, joined with the sinister things her uncle had said about the Shelby family should be enough to make her stop caring for him.

But you can't change what you feel, not even when you try to lock it deep inside your chest and pray for the Lord to take those feelings away.

Those feelings had been the reason she started praying again. At first, she prayed for Tommy, it was the night he'd driven Russo's Chrysler into the hospital and she eventually had been dropped off at Watery Lane by John. At night, when she was sure her mum and sisters were fast asleep, she'd clasped her hands together and prayed. She'd made a promise to attend Sunday services again, if her work allowed it. She'd made a few more promises and begged Him to keep Tommy safe and if that wasn't possible, then to at least forgive his sins and allow him into His kingdom, because there was kindness inside of him, generosity, compassion. It lay hidden, as if it was something to be ashamed of, but it was there and it would show, seldom.

Maria's prayers must have had some meaning, because Tommy woke up the next day. At first Maria thought it was a miracle, but slowly started to realise that she was being tested from above - because ever since their paths crossed, hers intertwined with his and darkened. And yet, she didn't want to flee and rush back to where hers turned into a T split. She no longer wanted to be the weak and fragile young woman that had been forced to leave everything she loved behind in order to have a roof over her head.

Tommy had saved her from a life of poverty and misery, but at what cause? She'd committed more than a dozen sinful acts since she'd been given the job as his speaker; varying from lying, stealing, cutting and being promiscuous.

She had prayed and asked for forgiveness for all her sins because all those things were wrong, vile, the work of the devil. She shouldn't feel so indifferent and self-righteous for cutting Russo, she should have felt more remorse when she stole John's cigarettes, smuggled them into the hospital and handed them to Tommy. Her mother, who'd given life to her, taught her right from wrong, loved her dearly, how many times had she lied to her face?

And last night, when she felt obligated to tell Tommy she'd never slept with a man, that she wasn't a whore and was sorry for kissing him, had she been completely honest?

'The devil made me do it', wasn't that just a poor excuse? 'The alcohol made me do it?' wasn't that just a poor excuse too?

Last night, she'd desperately wanted to make him believe that she still held true to her self-respect, beliefs and virtue.

Because if she was being completely honest with herself, she didn't think she'd been able to put up a fight if he'd kissed her again.

Although her memory of the night they'd kissed was a blur, she could still recall how his lips pressed hard and forcefully against hers, his callous hands firmly clasped around the shape of her bare waist to minimize the space between their bodies. The alcohol she'd consumed had blurred her senses during the party, but the raw skin to skin contact made her hypersensitivity to all senses. Tommy's rough reaction to the simple peck on the lips had taken her breath away, made her shoulders taut and knees weak. An unfamiliar ache between her thighs had made her want more. To touch him in a way she shouldn't, run her fingers over places that were strictly forbidden.

She remembered how the hairs on her neck and arms stood up when Tommy jerked back as been touched by fire.

She'd called out his name when he got up in a hurry to leave, and for a moment he'd looked at her in a way only a man could look at a woman; with desire, want and need. It had frightened her and yet she longed for his closeness, for reassurance because she was so intoxicated and confused about craving immoral pleasure. Sex was a taboo, always had been. It had made her feel uncomfortable and she'd rather not talk about it. Not with her mother, not with her peers and certainly not with any man.

Tommy had dropped her nightgown on her lap and left without giving her the least bit of comfort and so she figured he didn't care much about her or her feelings. It had been the thing her mum always warned her about, men simply take what they can get without thinking about the consequences. In order to protect her, both her parents had been strict with her upbringing. She'd been forbidden to go to their local dancing class once they learned there would be boys too. Her father had flogged her when he overheard two boys saying one of them had kissed her.

That kiss hadn't been much of a kiss. It didn't last more than a few brief seconds and she'd done it mainly because her friends had teased her for being such a prude. It had been more of a dare; she didn't fancy the boy and had been glad to get it over with.

She'd never seen her father unleash such fury and hadn't been able to sit up straight for a week. It had made her feel so dirty and she'd despised herself for making her normally calm and kindhearted father livid.

She didn't want to be dirty, a whore, a vile slut, because if she gave away her self-respect and virtue, there was absolutely nothing left she could possibly offer. If she lost that, Small Heath would have taken away every bit of the person she believed she thought she was and wanted to be.

Torn between her strong beliefs, her Catholic background and the simple fact that she was a human with needs and desires, she bumped into Arthur's back as the two Blinder brothers paused in front of a huge warehouse.

Arthur scratched the back of his head, checking the street sign twice: "Tom, M'lady I guess this must be it…"

.-.-.

A/N: Oh both so torn, I'd almost feel sorry for them. Almost.

Xoxox Nukyster