.-.-.

Arthur managed to deliver Tommy a bloody nose. Fearing his dearly beloved brother broke his nasal bone, an endless night of restraining, comforting and fighting Arthur stopped around dawn. When Arthur finally collapsed and rhythmically started snoring, the walls started to come up at Tommy. The stench of fear seeping from his brother's pores, the mindless rambling, and the bloodlust in Arthur's flaring eyes, were the main ingredients for an ocean of unprocessed trauma to wash up and pull him back in.

Him and Arthur had been given the worst jobs and the young idiotic rascals they had been, fucking volunteered. It sounded too beautiful, almost poetic, destroying the enemy from within. Blasting those German bastards back to the hell they came from. For king and country.

'But at what fucking costs?' Tommy wondered, staring down at the unconscious weeping form of his brother. No man came back the same, their loss was universal, was bigger than race, class, religion. Every single one of them was damaged.

Sore, beaten and bloody, Tommy stared at his disheveled reflection in the bathroom mirror. Examining his nose, he could not map out any signs of broken bone. The gush of blood that streamed down his face during the fighting made it look worse than it really was.

Filling the basin with cool water, Tommy attempted to rid himself of all the blood. It had seeped into the collar of his white shirt and dribbled down to the row of buttons, coating the fabric in vivid red.

Mechanically, he washed his face, gently dabbing the area underneath his nose and held both hands underneath the surface.

The red fluid dissolved into the water, turning it pink. Tommy drained the basin and ran the water again, hot this time.

It didn't matter how hot and how raw he scrubbed his hands, a fine line of blood remained underneath his fingernails.

'You can't escape your destiny,' his aunt Pol had spoken more than once, during different occasions. The result had always been the same; he'd laugh at her, ridiculing her faith.

But the truth was, no-one can escape their destiny and he was destined to fight, or die trying.

He'd never been the strongest, or the tallest, but he was relentless. And he fought to win; dirty, violent, calculated. And if it was to the death, he'd fight like an animal. Biting, ripping, choking, crushing. He'd championed over men twice his size, twice his height, twice his weight.

He'd murdered men, played their judge and inflicted their lethal verdict. All in a blink of an eye, without a word, an honest process, a last words. The reason he survived was because they didn't. Men, some of which had barely reached adolescence, which had made them the easiest to kill. Their lack of life experience was their downfall. With some it was compassion, their hesitance to commit the ultimate crime; murder. With some it was fear, which made them the easiest to kill.

Tommy recalled vividly how he'd used the end of an empty shotgun to cave in the face of a German boy. A boy, a fucking kid, being put in a dead-end situation with a job too despicable for his unblemished hands.

It could take as long as a year to dig a tunnel and place the explosives. It was a deviant, soul-crushing task, which left him on the verge of a nervous-breakdown more than once. Tommy couldn't recall the last time he'd seen the sun, or smell fresh air. At one occasion Tommy's battalion accidentally dug into the opposing side's tunnel and an underground fight took place.

Shovels, chaos, basic flight or fight instinct and blood filled the cramped space in which two dozen men tried to eliminate the other party. Tommy had been knocked out cold and presumed dead.

When he woke up he'd been left alone, the corpses of the previous battle the silent witnesses of his breaking point.

Determined to at least see the sun and receive the gentle touch of a fresh summer breeze, Tommy ran like the devil was chasing him, which wasn't far from the truth. But instead of one devil it could be ten, a hundred and instead of flicked forked tongues and hooves, they wore the German flag.

Tommy literally bumped into the German boy in the tunnels; the poor kid had been petrified, pissing himself. Tripping over the copses of his allies the German boy had cried out, which had been his fatal mistake. If he would have kept his mouth shut…

But he didn't.

Deprived from sunlight, fresh air, empathy, morals and at this point, emotions, Tommy's body reacted purely on adrenaline. The last bit of his consciousness blocked out the snapping sounds of bone and his arms didn't stop hammering down the shotgun into the boy's face until he could no longer recognise it as human.

At nights the caved-in face of the German boy, woke him up in a cold sweat, fists clenched and screaming his throat sore.

Tommy watched a tremor in his hands. There was so much blood on his hands; it could fill up this entire bathroom.

Arthur whimpered in his sleep and it felt wrong to leave him alone. Arthur was his brother by blood and in arms, the only person Tommy truly and completely trusted. They shared a bond, nearly as sacred as marriage. For better or worse, since day one. The both of them, protecting their brothers and sister from any form of danger. It started with accepting beatings from their father to prevent the little ones being scarred for life. Their bond had given Tommy the strength to press the detonator, knowing he'd rather die than risk losing the only person he trusted.

Arthur had always been Tommy's lifeline, beneath the gruffness and crude humour, Arthur had been Tommy's first and only protector.

Tommy's love for John was as unconditional, as for the rest of his siblings. But Arthur held a special place upon a pedestal. Because Arthur had always been there; during their hopeless childhood, for better or worse. Arthur had been by his side, in the tunnels, in the hospital.

And right here, right now, in Amsterdam, for better or worse.

.-.-.

It became evident in the morning that none of the three Blinders had been granted a good night's sleep. As an unspoken rule, not a single one of them spoke a word about yesterday's events.

United by silence, they picked up their suitcases and took the elevator to the ground floor.

There Arthur found out the ungodly amount of money he needed to pay for their nights spent, Maria's room services and his personal meltdown at the desk.

Arthur paid, mumbling how Pol was going to have their heads and winked at the receptionist.
Their first travel to the ferry was extremely uncomfortable. Neither wanted to address Arthur's black eye or Tommy's swollen nose.

Their taxi ride back to the ferry occasionally got interrupted by Maria's weak stomach. A shade of green decorated her pale face when the taxi stopped near the dock of the Hook of Holland. They had about half an hour left and Arthur bought some sandwiches to eat. Most ended up in Arthur's stomach as Tommy's body seemed able to live off nicotine alone and Maria's fear of feeding the food to the seagulls in the near future put her off.

Her gut feeling didn't let her down and for the first hour and a half Maria remained hunched over the railing.

The three of them raised a lot of eyebrows. Arthur still wore the wrinkled suit he'd used to disguise himself as Dr. Rivers. The heavy amount of cologne could not remove the stench of cold-sweat and alcohol. Then of course, the black eye and heavy bags underneath his eyes made Arthur appear even sketchier.

The insomnia that had nested inside Tommy's brain and kept him up for at least thirty-six hours had taken its toll. His dead tired red-rimmed eyes nervously scanned over the passengers and the icy cold wind stirred up another bloody-nose. Maria probably received the most unwelcome attention as she heaved over the edge of the railing, holding onto the iron bars as if her life depended on it.

They stood out from the crowd, to say the least.

As the ferry traveled on, Holland disappeared from the horizon, the view of the Hook of Holland swallowed by the endless waves of salty water.

"Thank God we're going home," Arthur grunted, "those cocksuckers can't pour a decent beer," due to the major hangover, Arthur's usual short-temper had reached an absolute low, "terrible beer, might've gotten the crabs from one of those sodden whores, I swear I will kiss the English soil once we're home."

Tommy only heard half of his brother's words of misery, wiping his sleeve over his nose. Dark blood absorbed into the darker material of his jacket. His face must hurt, especially his nose, were it not for the numbing side effects from the two lines of cocaine he'd taken before departing, it would have been much worse. Both him and Arthur had emptied Arthur's stash in a desperate attempt to remain conscious during their trip overseas.

Tommy lazily smoked a cigarette, anything to keep his fingers from twitching and his mind from racing was a blessing. The chemicals would fuel his sleep-deprived body for a while, but the abuse it inflicted onto his entire system would eventually catch up with him.

Tommy could already feel his energy crumble up inside him. Emotionally drained, the cocaine kept his eyes open and his fingers mechanically bringing the cigarette to his lips.

If Arthur expected a kind word, an attempt to discuss last night's blur between Amsterdam and the Somme, he was a fool. Tommy had already buried Arthur's meltdown, because it was too close to his own demons. The scraping of shovels echoed throughout the corners of his mind and every time he blinked, he saw the faceless head of the young German soldier. If he'd had anything in his stomach, he probably would have joined Maria up front, but the lack of food also made him focussed yet dizzy and weak.

Tommy wasn't sure if he'd blacked out, but when he finally tore his eyes from the endless sea, he noticed Maria sitting beside him instead of Arthur.

Neither made an attempt to start a conversation, both battling their own form of misery.

A familiar void lodged back in between them, in which silence was inevitable because Tommy sure as hell didn't want to raise the subject. They kissed, twice. He instigated the first, thoughtlessly and impulsive. But she kissed him the second time, sober and fully aware of what her actions meant.

She understood what her actions meant, right? What it meant to him. Even with all the naivety in the world, she surely must understand the consequence of kissing a man?

Or had it been purely comfort? Inside the church she'd seemed so eager for any type of reassurance, kindness, consolation.

Didn't he go to brothels, purely for comfort, any type of release?

It was exactly the reason Tommy did not address the subject of whatever had happened between them in Amsterdam. Although the question seemed inevitable, he'd rather postpone the conversation as long as he could. Because what if it had been just a spur of the moment, stirred by her desperate need for comfort?

"In a few hours we'll be home," Maria spoke toneless, wrapping her arms around her chest. She looked as miserable as Tommy felt, so he passed her a cigarette.

He occupied himself by staring at the clouds, keeping his eyes firmly away from her, because his mind was already wrapping its claws around the underlying thoughts of her statement.

"I don't know what to tell my mum," Maria finally revealed.

And there it was, while Tommy's mind was still in Amsterdam, hers was already back in Small Heath, with her family. Where it should be, because objectively he shouldn't have kissed her. Not inside a church, not as her employer while holding all the strings.

Instead of looking at her, he took out his notebook and scribble down the sentence: then don't tell her anything, tore it off and slid it over to her side.

It was easier to ignore her and push her away. The lack of a decent sleep and food made his emotions run low, while the chemicals kept him numb. It was easier, this way. Craving food, sleep, alcohol, drugs, it was all easier than craving touch, kindness, her.

Presenting himself as a coldhearted bastard was simply more bearable, familiar and safe. They were heading home. Home sweet fucking home and he needed to prepare himself for being the damned king of Small Heath again. Kindness did not suit him and as long as he wore the bloody broken crown, he couldn't afford to be weakened by emotions.

And so he cut up the fragile fondness that manifested between the both of them during their shared time in Amsterdam, before it had the chance to blossom.

Simply because it was easier that way.

And Maria, being the humble obedient git she was, silently complied. It felt like a funeral, without a casket and any last words.

Maria retreated back to the railing, hunched forward. Leaning on her elbows, the young woman drifted further away from Tommy, sinking back into her private sea of solitude.

It was very much possible to mourn someone who hadn't passed away just yet. Tommy had gotten used to witnessing his relatives shared grief towards him, for the man he'd once had been. Tommy also knew the heartache of languishing a missed opportunity. And he'd done worse, he didn't just miss it, he successfully ruined it, for his sake.

.-.-.

Resentment greeted Maria in the form of bile and a burning throat. The city of Small Heath, with all its filth, smoke and poverty immediately brought her back to reality. It was this city where she truly kissed her childhood goodbye as she hesitantly waited at Uncle Walter's doorstep. She'd never met her mum's sister, but had assumed kindness must be in her blood.

It became clear that her aunt and mother didn't have anything in common aside of blood. And her uncle matched up perfectly with her aunt's silent grudge towards her sister and her children.

The car sickness strangely felt more like a blessing than a burden; it camouflaged the soft sobs coming from the back of her throat. And as she wiped her watery eyes with the back of her hand, it was easy to blame it on the waves of nausea.

When Arthur parked up front in her apartment complex, she did not expect a warm goodbye and she felt too battered to make an attempt herself. While Arthur picked her luggage from the trunk, she hesitated, cautiously fixing her gaze on Tommy.

He ignored her and gave a bored stare at his pocket watch, not giving her the slightest impression of empathy. Surely he must understand what she was about to face, an either hysterical mother or a depressive hollow shell of the woman. Both states had an equal core of heartache and Tommy was the one causing it all. It wasn't fair that she had to carry that burden alone and Tommy could go home and play the hero. It wasn't fair; she never had a voice in all of this. She never wanted to accompany him to Amsterdam, to be a part of his scheme which resulted in being held at gunpoint. She would have never left England willingly, travel overseas and momentarily forget her place.

As easily as he'd made her forget who she was, he had easily made her remember what she was; a working class girl, with no particular value other than being his speaker.

"You know what, you are right. You are not a good man," she hollowly spat as she exited the car.

Her tears left her cheeks damp, but she blamed the drizzly weather. She thanked Arthur for handing her suitcase and wished him well. The gruff man mumbled something about being his lucky charm and granted her a few days off, while pinching her cheek affectionately. It warmed her heart fairly, but it dropped the moment she entered her home.

The twins were over the moon the see their older sister and receive the foreign gifts. Her mum did not hug her back and ignored her completely until the twins started heading to bed.

Don't you dare hand me a present, her mother signed harshly as the twins sulkily turned their backs towards them and went to their bedroom.

You drugged me and were gone for three days, no doubt off with that devil, her mother signaled, getting close enough to make her uncomfortable. Her mum looked her up from head to toe, leaned forward and sniffed her hair, you smell like cigarettes and cologne!

The inevitable corset tightened cruelly around Maria's chest and the familiar feeling of inward conflict occupied every space inside her heart.

She'd wronged her mother, drugged her for convenience and only left a basic note. Her mum, who hardly let her out on play dates when she was young, must have gone mad with worry for the past few days.

"Mum I'm sorry I-"

Her mother's hand slapped her with so much force it made her head bounce to the other side. While her cheek burned, her jaw dropped and in reflex, she stumbled a few steps back.

Her mum's boney finger pointed at her, eyes pierced in utter disgust.

If your father was still alive, I'd ask him to lock you up and throw away the key, her mum signed, your uncle was right, that devil has gotten into you and you know what, I'm washing my hands of it all! I won't stop you next time you decide to run off in the middle of the night, so by God, don't drug me, I still have two other children to care for.

Maria swallowed, once, twice and a third time, to memorize every spiteful word until she felt truly dead inside. The lack of sleep, the continuous motion of stress and sense of hopelessness made her feel utterly numb.

Just know that I'm selling my soul because you're too weak to carry our burden, Maria signed to her mum.

After receiving another slap across the cheek Maria laughed hollowly. The woman in front of her was a joke, a damn joke. Lecturing her daughter's failing attempt to keep their family together and safe, while she'd given up the moment she received the news of her only son's passing. Their mum never found back any of her strength. Although her physical presence remained, her mind had dwelled elsewhere, reminiscing over the life she lost, failing to acknowledge the children who were still among the living.

If you would have been more of a mum, or woman, instead of turning into the weeping widow, we could have stayed in Cranleigh! We might have lived inside a shed or a box, but we could have stayed home! Hot angry tears started to form in the corner of her eyes and the simmering heat of rage seemed to boil her from the inside out.

But no, you didn't think we could be strong enough alone, that we could be independent and so you dragged us all the way to this miserable place to slave for your sister's family who didn't want to take us in the first place! I've been beaten, ridiculed, even spat on and you NEVER tried to defend me from Uncle Walter, my cousins and aunt Mirjam!

Maria rummaged in her pockets and tossed the content of coins all over the floor and continued her vent; here is your blood money and don't you dare to be spiteful about it! I might have done things that would shame the devil, but I've done it all for you and April and May. I've done everything to keep my loved ones safe. That's more than I can say from you!

She welcomed the darkness of her windowless bedroom as an old companion. This dear old friend fitted her overall state of misery.

Nothing was fair, nothing made sense anymore. The people she cared for treated her like dirt, it was maddening. Lost and confused, she curled up in her bed. The blanket and mattress still smelled damp and musty, but the softness was comforting.

Her head felt like a ball of tangled yarn; an endless mess off loose ends and tight knots. And the worst thing was that she didn't have anyone to turn to. There wasn't a single soul in this city who she could trust with her heartache.

Through her tears she had to chuckle, it was a cold and empty sound. What did she honestly think would happen once they returned to Small Heath? A miracle? Did she honestly dare to believe that a few stolen kisses would make everything alright? That Tommy would all of a sudden be blessed with a fresh pair of brains, unburdened from his traumas, both inside and out?

Wasn't it pathetic that after every awful thing that happened to her, she still wanted to believe in miracles? She wasn't anything special, she just happened to be of convenience.

.-.-.

A/N: Welcome back to Small Heath, the place that shatters all hopes and dreams. With the first part of this chapter I wanted to make you all remember that Tommy is a murderer. I know he'd gotten a little soft in the last two chapters, so I basically wanted to rub in everyone's face that he caved in a young man's face, in detail. Again, welcome back!

Hands up from the poor souls who thought that things would improve. Nope, of course not, that would be too easy. There are too many aspects in both their lives/character that still prevents them from opening up. There is family, there are trust issues, there is the fact that the first woman in Tommy's life didn't love/care for him, there are a lot of things that make it hard to fix a happy ending. Plus, there is an empire that needs to be created. So business before pleasure.

P.S this will probably be the last chapter for a while, I'm going on a holiday for +- two weeks. So please enlighten me with your thoughts, those are tiny little muses!

Xoxox Nukyster