2 July 1919
"Thomas we need to speak."
Tommy glanced up at his aunt, stood straight-backed in the doorway to his office. She was glowering at him, her lips pressed into a thin line, hands on her hips. She wasn't happy with him- which recently was nothing new.
"My office is empty." He said, gesturing derisively in front of him. "You're welcome to come in if you want."
"We're going to talk in the kitchen." She snapped back.
"Polly, I'm busy."
"Eliza's told me everything."
He dropped his pen onto the desk with a heavy sigh, rubbing his eyes. He was not in the mood for this, his mind busy with the intricacies of detailed paperwork and unpleasant memories of the night before. Eliza was the last person he wanted to see right now and the ensuing conversation was the last one he wanted to have.
But his aunt was also not in the mood. Her finger was tapping slowly against her hip as she watched him, a sign of her growing impatience. So, with another sigh, Tommy rose from his desk and followed Polly out into the busy shop floor. As he left the comforts of his office, he was hit with an onslaught of noise, from John's loud voice above the hum of footsteps, men's shouts and the shuffling of paper, to everywhere the metallic clatter of coins. It was a busy day which was to be followed by a busy week. He did not have time to be arguing with women.
She was standing with her back to the open door as Tommy neared the kitchen, arms crossed and looking at the empty fireplace. As he and Polly entered the room, she looked up, glancing over her shoulder. His aunt gestured briefly at him to close the doors, allowing Tommy a moment of respite from Eliza's heavy gaze, which he could still feel following him even when his back was turned.
"Thomas, sit." His aunt instructed.
"I'm not going to sit, Poll," he retorted with a roll of his eyes, turning back around to look at the two of them. "Can we just get this done?"
"I've told Polly everything." She stated, bluntly and coldly as she turned around to face him fully, arms still crossed and face set in stone.
She looked tired, he noticed, though a fierce anger boiling on her features was helping to make up for that. An anger that had not faded since last night- or since this morning, if you considered how late their conversation had taken place.
The last time they'd clashed this badly, the last time he'd hurt her near as much as this, was at Cheltenham and after that she hadn't spoken to, or even looked at him, for over a week. Now, though, it had been hardly twelve hours since their fight and it seemed she was ready to do it all over again.
Tommy wanted to wonder what was different, but in truth he knew the answer. Avoiding him after Cheltenham had been about punishment for what he'd done- a threat to see if he'd be willing to put effort in to help things heal. And he had put effort in, for once in his life he'd actually tried. It had all gone to shit anyway, and last night was just proof that there was no longer anything left to move on from.
"Then she'll tell you it's not happening." He replied, fishing through his suit pockets for a pack of cigarettes.
"Will I?" Polly countered, her tone jarring him enough to pause his search.
"Yes, you will." Tommy said, making it as clear as he could that the matter was final.
"No, I'm won't. You're going to let her tell the Inspector."
"Are you fucking serious?" He raised his eyebrows, running a cigarette across his lips as waited for her answer.
"You're going to tell us where the guns are, Tommy." Polly rested a palm on the table, pointing at him with her other hand, "then Eliza will tell the Inspector- and then this will all be over."
"I trusted you to run this company for four years." He muttered, shaking his head. "How the fuck it was still here when we came back, I have no idea."
Polly scoffed at his insult, throwing her hands into the air. He didn't miss the look the two women shared with each other, and it was enough to make him even more frustrated.
"So what?" He questioned, drawing their attention back to him, "what happens when you tell the inspector? He takes the guns and goes? I thought you were more intelligent than that."
"You forget I've spent weeks with no one but the Inspector for company," Eliza spoke up, aiming directly at his guilt as always, "believe me, he cares for nothing else but the guns. We're just criminals to him- that's all. He'll find people just like us anywhere else. Campbell will take the guns and go."
"The guns are the only power I have over him. He gets them and he has no reason to keep me- or any of us- alive anymore." He turned to face Polly, directing the next sentence at her, "we give him those guns, Poll, and we hang. All of us."
"Thomas Shelby admits he's not quite in control," Eliza's bitter words broke from the somewhat cool she'd managed to keep so far. "Who'd have expected that?"
Polly gave the girl a pointed glare as she mulled over what Tommy had said and he could tell that his aunt was conflicted. It gave him hope she might see sense and join his side. The moment that thought entered his mind, however, he already regretted thinking it, almost rolling his eyes at how childish it was to b waiting for his aunt to pick sides as if they were children again.
If they just did as I say, I wouldn't have to be childish, he thought with reproach. His only mistake was vocalising those thoughts.
"You talk like this isn't final when it is." Tommy's cigarette was burning quick as he pointed at them both, untouched since he'd lit it. "War has made you think you can challenge what I say, but you don't run this company anymore. I do- so do as I say."
"Oh shut up, Thomas," Polly snapped dismissively, as Eliza laughed with scorn, 'your mother and I didn't raise you to speak like your father."
That was definitely enough to make him regret his words. Tommy would rather die then turn into his father.
"I still say no." He ordered.
"You are a fool Tommy!" Polly cried out, "I give up."
Tommy followed her briefly with his gaze as she walked from the kitchen, before turning back to face Eliza. She was still stood with her arms crossed, but her eyebrows had raised mockingly.
"You know we're right," she stated, a look of disgust on her face, "even if you won't admit it."
He stared at her for another beat, wanting to say something in return but coming up short. Instead he choose to shake his head at her and walk away, keen to make up for the time the pair of them had wasted.
4 July 1919
There were voices coming from the kitchen as Eliza stepped into the Shelby living room, faint behind the closed door but loud enough that she could manage to make out an unfamiliar, deep Irish voice. Her heart began to beat faster with the fear that it might be Inspector Campbell. He had sworn he'd know if she told anyone about her order to find the guns, and whilst she hadn't believed that for a moment, a part of Eliza still feared it might be true. She opened the door slowly, looking into the kitchen. The reality was so much worse.
The first thing she saw was Arthur sat restlessly at the kitchen table, and then her gaze drifted quickly to the man opposite him. Arthur Shelby, the father not the son- though in no way did he deserve that title anymore- was leaning back in his chair, turning to look at Eliza as she walked in. Polly stood across the room from her, the look she gave her one of exasperation and pain, before she turned her head quickly to the side to see Finn and John stood next to her. John looked just as hurt, though Finn more mildly confused. The atmosphere in the room was indescribable, nothing but a deadly tension caused by years of painful, buried memories resurfacing violently.
"Elizabeth Scott," Arthur Sr. relaxed back into his chair, contemplative tone to his words, "I'd recognise that red hair anywhere. You've grown up nicely haven't you- not some little girl trailing after my sister anymore."
Polly sighed infuriatingly at that, turning her head to the side to avoid looking at her brother. Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his seat, John shook his head and Eliza just stared.
She would never have expected to see Arthur Shelby again. It had been a decade since he'd left. A long, god-awful decade that his abandonment had marked a suitable beginning to, and whilst she'd never liked the man- even feared him as a girl- it was undeniable that if he'd actually been here when his children had needed him, things may have managed to turn out for the better. Or for the worst- it was always hard to tell with him.
"People do tend to change a lot in ten years," she commented coolly.
"And some very much for the better," he smiled, looking her up and down, "you're a proper woman now, Elizabeth."
John muttered something dark at that, looking up at his father in anger. Arthur continued to shift uncomfortably in his chair, attention kept focused on the floor, unsure on how to react to the eldest Shelby. Eliza was not short on words though, and with emotions already flared from these past few days, the last thing she wanted to do was be civil to a man so undeserving of an easy treatment.
"Helping heal a broken family after their father abandons them does a lot for that. It forces you to grow up a bit," she scorned. "Besides, what makes you think you have right to be back here talking to me, or to anyone in fact?"
"Eliza-" Arthur muttered in a weak attempt to side with his father.
"Don't you dare stand by him Arthur!" She cried, looking at the son incredulously, "You sit here and give him your time when he's deserving of none? You are a disgrace to your family, Mr Shelby, and you should be ashamed to show your face anywhere in Birmingham again."
"She's got a tongue," Mr Shelby chuckled, "you let all your women speak to you this way, son? Thomas as head of this family and the women saying what they like- what kind of man are you Arthur?"
"That's enough, Eliza." Arthur said in response to his fathers words, leaning forward in his chair to try and gain some form of upper hand.
"You ask your son what kind of man he is?" She queried bitterly, still looking at Mr Shelby, "I ask you what kind of man deserts his family? That's the action of a coward, not a-"
"Enough!" Arthur stood up in his chair, shouting at her furiously.
"Brother-" John stepped forward to defend her, tense with anger as well.
"It's alright." She interrupted, raising her hands in defence. "I'm done Arthur. I just suggest you be too, though. He will do nothing but hurt you again."
She neared the younger Arthur, giving him a look of sympathetic warning. It was not his fault he looked to protect his father. He'd always idolised the man, and feelings like that didn't go away easily- the need to please and stand by them. Eliza knew the feeling well enough.
She moved past Arthur, glancing briefly at Polly to give her a quick nod. She left out the back, the kitchen voices growing faint again as she shut the door, a quiet murmur as broken as the people they belonged to. She turned to walk away, and was suddenly face to face with Tommy.
She couldn't stop herself from staring at him with a gentle tenderness, a momentary truce to allow a minute of kindness. Eliza moved to the side to let him get to the door, but put a hand on his bicep as he took a step forward. Tommy looked at her in confusion and mild distaste. She still looked at him kindly.
"What?" He questioned impatiently.
"It's not Arthur's fault." She warned him, though it only served to confuse Tommy further.
Eliza let go of his arm and walked off, leaving him to make the painful discovery for himself. Once she had hoped to be the one to help heal the wounds left by Tommy's father, deep and scarring. But right now that role could not be her's, and the kindest thing to do would be let him face the ugly truth that sat in his kitchen alone, without the pity he'd think she was giving. It was surprisingly difficult to walk away, but it seemed to get easier every day.
8 July 1919
There is the thick, suffocating smell of smoke in the air. As it grows strong so does the stench of burning flesh. All around her Eliza can see nothing but the long, unending roll of fields in the country, the black mud broken and cracked from the continuous cycle of freezing and unfreezing, year, after year, after year.
There are very few trees, and the ones still managing to stand are nothing but white skeletons, leaves replaced with the claw-like reach of their branches. The smoke grows thicker. The sky is blackish blue, mixed lightly with a brighter grey as the smog spreads out to fill the night air, like a bleak replacement for clouds on a summer day.
There is wind, strong enough to make her dress whip and crack, blowing her linen cap so hard she watches, helpless, as the white material flies away into the air, like a dove fading into the distance.
Her hair falls out it's pinning to flutter blindly in front of her eyes, and as she watches the red strands they turn slowly into fire, and before her suddenly is the camp, burning hot and fast. The tents are on fire, the huts nothing but charred splinters, and everywhere the deafening crash of mortars can be heard. The main building is not in her view however, and that means it must be behind her, and as she realises that Eliza becomes aware of a quiet whisper of voices. She hears them coming from behind her.
She knows she must turn around. It is inevitable, but still a horrifying fear runs like ice through her veins at the though. She turns.
The hospital goes up in roaring flames as she does, a mortar exploding right in the centre of it. She screams, but no one came hear. She runs, but she doesn't move. All around her wood and debris lands, flying like daggers through the air. The quiet whispers turn into screams and shouts, men crying for their mothers, crying for their nurses. She is the only one that can help them, but she still cannot move.
And now, like creatures from hell, hands start emerging from the burning rubble. Blue hands, followed by blue arms and then blue heads, with eyes dripping blood, all crawling from the building. They call for her, cry blood for her, and every second they near her.
They are the victims of the plague, the ones she could not rescue. The men whose coughing turned into suffocation, who died in dead of night with no one but her, a strange nurse in a stranger place, by their side.
Yet the soldier at the front is different. He is not blue like the others, but soaked in deep, brown blood. And unlike the others, his eyes are not dripping red, but rather a chilling blue, staring straight at her. He calls, and she recognises his voice. He reaches for her, and she recognises his face.
The smoke and the fear begin to choke her, and like the men that surround her she tries to take breaths in vein. She knows she is turning blue, she knows she is dying. There is nothing she can do to stop it.
"Eliza." The blood-soaked man cries.
"Eliza."
"Eliza."
"Eliza!"
She woke with a sudden start, taking a deep and gasping breath as she sat up, the following breaths coming in short bursts, still half-stuck in the nightmare as she fumbled around desperately for anything to calm her.
Eliza could hardly breath, and she knew she was crying, the broken sobs interrupting her lungs' violent attempts to heave air. There was still fire in her vision, burning thick and fast, although it may have just been the hair that was plastered across her eyes- she still had no idea where the line between dream and reality started, or where it stopped.
But what she did know at least, was that there was a hand on her waist, and another gripping her hands, which had caught her when she'd been fumbling wildly, and that their hold made her feel safe and not alone.
These hands clung onto her, and her onto them, warm and heavy with an assertive pressure that was helping drag her back into truth. A thumb, connected to the hand holding hers, was moving gently back and forth, drawing soft circles into the back of her hand. Eliza could hear a voice as well, and at times it seemed to call her name, though mostly it just whispered things too quiet to hear over the crash of the mortars that echoed still in her ears. But even distant in the background, it was still soothing.
She leant forwards briefly, resting her head against a chest that smelt familiar and comforting- of sharp tobacco and expensive cologne. She managed to calm her gasping at last, breathing in deep the warm smell, and breathing out heavily the smoke and fire that once filled her lungs. Eliza could finally make better sense of her surroundings, being dragged slowly from her dream. The room was dark, the sofa and its cushions soft and easy to sink into. She was sat upright, and someone, who must have been the person holding onto her and whispering things in her ear, was crouched before her.
Eliza, breathing now calmed and at last aware she was in the Shelby living room, drew back to sit more upright. She looked at the person in front of her, and recognised him. He was a boy she'd used to know, who'd sat in this room with her many times, a boy who was no longer a boy, but a soldier and a man- the one in her dreams, blood-soaked and blue eyed.
Tommy was crouched in front of Eliza, his hand on her waist, looking at her with wide, and what could easily have been mistaken as frightened, eyes.
Her own eyes widening to match, she pulled her hand from his and drew back even further onto the sofa, moving from his grip. His hands fell to his knees and he stood back up.
"Are you alright?" He asked, voice low and gentle.
She nodded quickly, not trusting herself to answer with words.
"What happened?" He continued, offering her a hand to stand up.
Eliza took it reluctantly, rising from the sofa with weak legs. Accepting a moment to gain her balance, griping his palm, she tried to figure out for herself what had happened. It had been her job to make sure Finn got to bed last night, and she knew she'd come into this room after he had gone upstairs. She must have fallen asleep waiting to make sure he'd fallen asleep himself.
But if Tommy's question was in regards to the nightmare, her answer was less clear. Since coming back, Eliza had been so careful to make sure she never fell asleep anywhere other than her bed. The nightmares were a regular occurrence, one that plagued her sleep constantly, waking her up in screams and cold sweats at least once a night.
Tonight, though, she had not been so careful and it was no surprise that the horrors of France had crept into her mind even here, and that Tommy had been the one to find her. She was thankful for that, really. If it had been Finn, or even Polly, the experience may have frightened them more than her. She could tell Tommy was used to this.
"I fell asleep," she said in response to his question, letting go of his hand and moving her hair from her eyes. "I shouldn't have- I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He said sincerely. "What was it about?"
Eliza paused, looking at him. Her brown eyes met his blue eyes and there was an understanding between them, a tenderness born from a shared experience that words could never describe, but that a warm and vulnerable glance could.
"Fire." She murmured quietly.
Tommy nodded in understanding, watching as she put on her coat.
"Do you want me to walk you home?"
It was a bit of an empty request, one that his tone suggested he already knew the answer to when he asked. Eliza gave him a small smile of thanks but shook her head anyway.
"I'll be fine." Tommy nodded at that, returning her small smile, "can you check on Finn for me? Make sure I didn't wake him."
"Of course."
They nodded at each other again, briefly, before she turned and left. These last minutes of pure weakness in front Tommy were strange, but not unkind, and it felt a strange juxtaposition to what was currently between them.
It's been so long since I've updated- sorry! But I have two more chapters almost ready to post and after them the fic will be finished! It's a quick end, but I plan on starting a sequel (or just a second part to this fic within here) very soon, just after I've gone back and done some heavy editing, so if you fear I'm almost done, don't because I am not! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed!
(27/03/21)