A/N: promise me you will only read this chapter while listening to 'Nine Crimes' from Damien Rice.
Chapter 39) Losing Religion
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Arthur's final attempt to bribe Maria into taking a strong drink failed miserably. The poor thing was presumably in a state of shock and managed to spill half of the contents of her teacup all over the table, as her hands trembled as badly as her lower lip.
Arthur exchanged a gaze mixed with concern and impatience. "We should go out to celebrate our new contract," he pointed out eagerly, hinting to Tommy that he should fix the traumatised young woman so that they could ditch her back at the hotel to go roaming around Amsterdam.
"I've been to a club last night, you ain't going to believe-" Arthur babbled on about one of the many sex clubs in the red light district, but Tommy heard little and cared less.
Maria didn't seem to hear a word of the vulgar language; her vacant eyes were fixated on her jittering hands, her thoughts elsewhere. There was a nervous twitch playing at the corner of her lips and she flinched back when the loud barman slammed down another pint glass for Arthur.
We can't leave her alone like this, Tommy wrote down and passed the note to Arthur, who read it, sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Tom, we're in Amsterdam, the capital of Holland. Holland, the only place in the world where prostitution and drug trafficking is legal," leaning within ear reach, "she's going ta stay at the hotel, I ain't taking her with us."
Maria finally snapped out of her catatonic state and clasped her hand around Tommy's wrist, "please don't leave me alone," she pleaded gulping, the knuckles of her hand turning white.
Tommy threw Arthur a well-meant stare, furrowing his brows. Arthur groaned and arched his back.
"For fucks sake, this is our last day in Amsterdam, I'm not going to babysit a lass, not even if she's our lucky charm," his big brother sulked.
Tommy tore his arm loose from Maria's deadlock and scribbled down: It's not right to leave her alone, you go knock yourself out, I'll keep an eye on her.
"You're serious?" Arthur grunted in dislike, "You're picking her over me?"
Tommy stared from his sulking brother to the frightened bewildered state of his speaker.
Arthur, she looks like the young boys in the trenches, the ones who wet the bunk beds. We didn't leave those boys alone, now did we? Tommy wrote down.
"Oh, for fucks sake," Arthur slammed down a few bills and crunched his chair back, "you do what you're gut tells you to do, and I'll do what mine tells me. See ya t'night, or tomorrow morning, most likely."
Without further notice, Arthur left the pub.
There was an awkward silence between Tommy and Maria, she hadn't read the notes and therefore only knew half of the conversation between the two Blinder brothers. Unaware of the sacrifice her employer had made, she tried to drink some of her tea.
Tommy reached out his hand and gently placed the rattling porcelain back on its saucer and signed: If you could pick any place in Amsterdam, where would you go?
Maria looked uncertain and blinked a few times before answering doubtless: "to church."
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The Basilica of Saint Nicholas was located in the centre district of Amsterdam. It was the city's primary Roman Catholic Church, with the main facade flanked by two towers and a rose window in between. Sculptures of saints were place in a niche in the upper section of the gable top. The crossing of the main body of the church was articulated by a large octagonal tower, with a baroque style dome and lantern, crowned by a cross. At the south-east ends of each side aisles there were two chapels, one devoted to Mary and one to Joseph. The central dome was high and ornate, containing four levels of stained glass, encircling the dome.
Maria had never seen a place so colossal and majestic; it simply took her breath away as she stared up at the dome, craning her head between her shoulders.
As it was a Saturday afternoon, the place didn't hold many church goers. For the first time in months, her body felt serene again, anchored, whole.
"I'd like to burn a candle," she whispered breathless, still in awe of the beauty inside the house of God, "for my brother and father."
Tommy had chuckled when she told him she'd like to visit a church. When her face gave away she was being serious his brows rose up heavenwards and he'd pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. Ridiculing her wish, he'd drawn a tiny cross on his chest, but complied in escorting her to a Catholic church.
It had surprised her so much that he'd been willing to actually enter the church, her jaw had dropped. Her employer was out of his element in the house of God, fidgeting his fingers around his flat cap, wavering uncomfortably and eventually he lowered his head wear in an act of respect.
Accompanying her at the altar, he threw a few hasty glances over his shoulder towards the other church goers. His shoulders relaxed somewhat when he noticed the common lack of interest they had in the foreign travellers inside the Dutch Church.
Maria put two English pennies aside in a rusty box, to pay for two votive candles, she figured every donation was welcome and equal in the house of the Lord.
It was almost to the date since she'd been told the news of her brother's passing away. His life had ended too sudden, too soon. It had broken her mum, caused her father to pack up and join the front and in all honesty, left her quite indifferent. The toll of losing her only son, caused their mum to retreat inside her bedroom, merely a ghost of the strong woman she'd once had been. The lack of her mother's caring presence, the sudden responsibility for the twins and continuous labour around their farm, made it impossible to mourn for her brother David properly.
Up until this day, she still hadn't been able to allow herself time to grieve for David. Because he'd robbed her of her childhood. The moment David's body got pulverized by a grenade, her carefree life had ended. In a way, David had caused the destruction of their family. Her father hadn't been a fighter, a proper hunter without a doubt, but not a soldier. Her father died within the first two weeks, granted a quick and sudden death by a bullet between the eyes. It had been a clear shot, without pain.
Within two weeks after her mum lost her only son, she was a widow. And her grief had been too burdensome to remember she had three daughters who'd felt the same raw, aching loss.
Her family had been torn apart, by a foolish war, started by foolish men, in a country that hadn't been theirs in the first place. Her brother had burned, touched by hellfire, for nothing.
And he didn't deserve that, nor did he deserve to be resented by his own sister.
Maria lit the first small candle and placed it near the huge cross; "forgive me," she whispered, to her brother, who she missed dearly.
Carefully, she lit the second candle and placed it closely to the first, "forgive me," she whispered again, to her father who'd wished a better life for her than the one she was living now, "forgive me," she whispered to The Father that saw all her sins with His all-seeing eyes, "forgive me," she whispered for all the people she'd wronged from the moment she'd set foot in Small Heath. The list was long, starting with her Aunt and Uncle and ending with the silent companion next to her.
Aware of Tommy's still bearing, Maria quickly made a cross and chose to retreat to the last row of seats.
Taking place on a pew, she'd clasped her hands together and closed her eyes, 'Dear God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against You whom I should love above all things, I firmly intend, with Your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin,'
When she reopened her eyes she'd noticed how Tommy had mimicked her actions, holding his hands and keeping his head solemnly lowered.
I thought you didn't believe in God, Maria signed startled.
I don't, Tommy signed back, but your brother and father were brave men and it suits me to pay them my respect.
Although she fully believed that Tommy would never share a word about the horrors he'd endured in France, it brought her hope to see him pay his respects to her brother and father.
She fought a lump in her throat that was impossible to swallow. Her memories brought her back to the church in her hometown, she remembered standing in line all wrapped in black. She'd shook hand after hand in order to receive the condolences and respect from all of those people. It didn't mean a thing to her, because their actions spoke louder than their words. Eventually, her mum had to pack up their humble belongings, because not one of those 'sympathetic' churchgoers wanted to take them in.
And the family that had taken them in, only used their good Christian duty as an excuse to use them as slaves.
The armed pagan beside her showed her brother and father more respect than her entire hometown and family. He'd taken them under his wings when they had no place to go. And the mere fact that he'd chosen to join her inside and had taken off his flat cap spoke volumes. More than once, he'd made it clear he despised all forms of religion and never let a chance go by to ridicule her Catholic background.
The tightening of her throat and the affinity of Tommy's actions forced emotions, which since now she'd managed to keep buried inside, to finally seep out in the form of quiet tears.
Quickly, she wiped them away, afraid to let them be noticed.
"I miss them, every day," she silently confessed, pressing her lips firmly shut to retain more tears to fall, "it's not fair they had to die, I- we used to be so happy. I love my brother," she paused, because she didn't want to have her heartache to be on full display, "but I resent him too. He went to war to seek adventure, thrill, for the sake of heroism. He destroyed my life when he destroyed his own. At nights, I've dreamed of digging up his grave and shake him like a ragdoll. But then I wake up and realize all we have is an empty grave."
She'd never before confessed to anyone how deeply she resented her brother, how at times she'd hoped he'd burned for dying on the battlefield.
Maybe Tommy Shelby was the worst person to be repenting too, because his list of mortal sins and crimes was longer than the bible, but she longed to get it off her chest.
"Does that make me a monster?" She questioned.
Tommy's fingers fidgeted with the brim of his hat as he solemnly shook his head. Placing his flat cap back on, he sighed wearily and answered: it's not fair to be forced to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.
She nodded softly in response, letting her head rest against his stiff shoulder. In response, Tommy's hand formed around her knee, pressing lightly.
For a moment, she wanted to believe everything was going to be alright. That the death of her brother and father hadn't been for nothing, that her mum would eventually be proud of her again, and that her young siblings would be brought up with the same warmth, security and kindness she'd been granted during her childhood. That maybe the silenced and damaged man providing comfort could be whole again. And that maybe, she'd get back a shard of her innocence.
Maria rested her hand over Tommy's, the want of being comforted still present, "do you think everything will be alright?" She didn't want to be specific, nor did she care about hearing the truth. Because, truth was, how could it ever be alright?
She didn't want to hear the truth and her wish must have been readable in her begging upwards gaze. Because Tommy gently brushed a thumb over her cheek, elevating her chin, being invasively close.
It will be, read his lips, nearly brushing hers, as he squeezed her chin lightly.
She was being pulled closer. Despite the heaviness in her stomach, it fluttered at the feeling of her body pressing against his. She sunk into the warmth of his side, appreciative of the small gesture. For a moment, his touch made the cool Church of Saint Nicholas somewhat warmer and her future a little less bleak.
His kiss didn't take her by surprise, but the urgency did. As if to seal is promise, Tommy pressed his lips hard against hers and the whole world fell away. His hand rested below her ear, his thumb caressing her cheek and for a moment Maria surrendered to the primal desire that lives inside us all. Their kiss deepened as Tommy pulled her closer, until there was no space left between them and she could feel the beating of his heart against her own chest.
Inside the house of God, she'd connected with Tommy in ways that should have felt vile and depraved.
Mere minutes ago, she'd prayed to God to help her remain on the path of righteousness. She should stop, break it off, push him away, but by God, she didn't want to. His touch felt like salvation, the kiss obliterated every thought. Second thoughts, worry, grief and resentment evaporated, all because he felt so good, touching and kissing her.
It was only inevitable that their moment was ruined by admonishing murmurs of spectators.
As Maria wilted back, widening her eyes at an aggravated preacher sending out his indignation in foreigner tongue, Tommy's reaction was swift and resolute. He tightened the grip around her waist and pulled her on her feet. Staring the evangelist down, he guided her out of the House of God.
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A/N: I swear, this just happened. I had absolutely NO intention to make Tommy kiss her inside a CHURCH. And I think that's why it's perfect, it just happened. I don't think I've ever been so happy of how two characters just spontaneous kissed. Oh and Tommy, being so respectful, taking of his flat cap which means showing his scars for everyone to see. In a poetic kind of way, both opened up and found the right kind of comfort together.
Have I mentioned Tommy kissed Maria, inside a CHURCH?
Xoxox Nukyster
