The hospital was quiet at eleven thirty-seven pm. The large grandfather clock ticked, someone coughed in an adjacent room, the pipes of the building creaked. Tommy wanted to scream. He hated silence. Hated the quiet. Hated damn near everything about this hospital. During the war, he had slept while bombs were dropped miles away, while men died next to him, he had slept without knowing if he would ever wake up. He hadn't much cared. When it came down to it, he still didn't. But he had things to build, now. A dynasty. An empire. There was work that needed to get done. He twisted his fists into the starchy white sheets. Closed his eyes. Tick, tick, tick, went the clock. Went the grenade.

The tick tick tick became click click click and within moments of hearing her sharp footsteps approaching, Polly Grey burst through the doors of the corridor into the long and otherwise completely empty room. She was wearing a long black coat whose shoulders were damp from the rain, and a massive hat that hid her face, which was set, her cheeky eyes flat. Tommy knew something was wrong before she had a chance to say "Arthur's done something stupid", and she said it very quickly.

"What, Pol?"

She shook her head, pursed her lips. Prepared herself, not him.

"Polly. Tell me."

She raised her gaze to meet his eyes. "He went after them. To punish the ones who gave the order. The Germans. He was drinking, he was out of his mind-,"

"You mean they know."

She breathed in sharply between her teeth. He wanted his gun. He wanted a cig.

"Yes. They know. Which means they'll be coming." She leaned closer to him on his bed, leaning on her hand on the mattress and making it sink in, which made his side pull and twinge. Where the fuck was his gun? What would a hospital have done with it? It must have still been on him when he was admitted. He couldn't remember any of it. "Tommy. You have to get out of here."

He nodded. He knew. He wasn't really listening. Come on now, Tom, time to go.

"Are you armed?" He asked her.

"No," She said, and the briefest flashes of panic were beginning to leak through her dark eyes. "There's already men parked outside. Watching." Parked outside. Out front. He needed to find another exit. He needed to find someone who would know one.

"Can you find a way?" Polly was saying, and he almost smiled.

"Polly," he said, "you should know better than anyone I can find a way out of anything."

It was meant to reassure her, but when he pulled the sheets back and shoulder screamed and popped and he stood up from that god forsaken bed and ignored the feeling of new blood dampening his bandages. "Now go on. Get out of here. They might recognize your car."

"Where are you going?" She asked him, pleading that he would tell her, that it would somehow ease the thumping of her heart.

"To try to find a girl who hates me," he called back, his voice casual, even.

Polly watched him stride towards the still-open doors, shoulder held at an awkward angle, no shirt or shoes, stooped to the side he was favoring, all lines and sharp edges and mussed, dark hair, and she begged to whatever or whoever was listening that he had spent the last few minutes being Tommy Shelby even through the pain and the drugs and that he somehow had a plan, and dear, sweet Jesus that it was a fucking good one.

Tessa was at the hospital because she had fallen asleep. In her father's office, waiting for him to arrive. He never did. It was unlike him to forget their appointment, which was the only reason she had remained for so long, sure that he would show the moment she decided to leave. Her face had been planted firmly against the solid oak of his desk, and she had to peel her cheek off its surface when she woke with a start to the silent room. Where am I was closely followed by bloody hell what time is it as she rose quickly. At this point, it was evident that her father had forgotten, or been held up, but the bottom line was that he was not likely making their nine o'clock. She stumbled a bit down the hall after locking the office door behind her, giving a small smile to a passing night nurse who was carrying an armful of laundry. She had only turned another two corners before someone called her name so loudly she almost screamed.

"Tessa! Miss Tessa!"

"Missy! Jesus Christ, I nearly pissed myself. What's wrong?"

Missy had two curls falling in front of her eyes. "It's Mr. Shelby, ma'am, ee's gone!"
"Gone? What do you mean, gone?" He wasn't due to be discharged for another two weeks, at the earliest.

"Just disappeared! I was only wondering if 'oo'd seen him!"

"I haven't, no, I'm sorry. Speaking of missing men, have you seen my father?"

Missy shook her head. The curls bounced. "Not since this morning, ma'am. I'll tell eem you was looking for eem if I see eem, though."

"Okay. Thank you, Missy. Good luck finding that asshole."

Missy gave her a small smile, and Tessa turned back around. After only a few more echoing steps down the hallway's deserted corridors, she was once again intercepted, this time with a hand slapped over her mouth as she was yanked into what, in the dim lighting, she thought was probably a storage closet. The hand muffled her yelp. It smelled like smoke. A deep voice said "Don't. Scream," before she could place a good kick to the kidnapper's legs.

She knew that voice.
"I can't very well scream with your hand on my mouth, can I?" She said, reaching up to drag it off. Her heart was pumping so fast it felt like it was skipping beats after two shocks in under a minute, and in the low glow of the gaslamps in the hallway through the closet's open door, Tommy Shelby's cheekbones looked like they would slice the hand of anyone who slapped him, which she told herself was the singular reason she didn't. That, and he was grabbing her right wrist in a deathgrip.

"That was the idea."

"What the fuck are you doing?"

He was breathing hard. He still wasn't wearing a shirt, just his garment of bandages, which were blossoming red. Black tattoos peaked out from underneath them on his chest and arms and his black hair was tousled from having spent several days in the hospital bed. Black and red.

"I need you to get me out of here," He said, like that was a reasonable thing to ask, to just fucking say, with no explanation even if there was one that could justify it, which Tessa was seriously doubting.
"You- what? Are you delusional? Are you having delusions?" She was tempted to touch his forehead to measure his temperature but wasn't stupid enough to try to touch him without warning. His grip on her arm felt like a vice and he was really standing quite close to her, closer than she thought was entirely necessary, and it was making the insanity of his request even more difficult for her to process. And he kept looking at her.

"I'm not delusional." Despite his quick breathing, his voice was low and even. "I have to leave. Now."

"Okay, then fucking leave, I won't try to stop you," She said, trying to wiggle her wrist away from him, which didn't work.

"Tessa. You don't understand." He was very close to her. She thought this was probably a technique he used, in other scenarios. In this scenario, however, it could also be because he seemed to be having a hard time standing upright on his own. Bullet to the gut. Bullet to the shoulder. It figured. "They're coming for me, they know I'm here. They'll be here any minute. You have to get me out."

She didn't even bother asking who "they" were.

"You want me to aid in the rescue of a gangster." She said it because now was the only moment she thought she could get away with it, the only when maybe he might be desperate enough to tell her the truth. She didn't know why she wanted to hear him say it. He didn't look desperate. He looked at her absolutely silently, absolutely cold, absolutely unbothered by the quickly approaching threat to his life. And hers, probably, if she agreed to help him. Would she risk getting shot at just so that her father could have his precious business deal, just so one more bad man's eyes could stay open a little longer? The eyes in question were drilling through her in the dark, and she kept flicking her gaze back up to his despite knowing that doing so was dangerous, that every time she did she found she cared less and less about stupid things like self preservation. His head was tilted a little to the side, like he was waiting for her, waiting for her to say yes, like he knew that she would, like he knew before she even did, he just had to give her some time to get there on her own. His hand felt like it could snap her wrist with one sharp twist. Her eyes shifted to his face again and his lashes were catching what little light was shining in through the cracked door to his left, like butterfly legs. The closet was musty and something being stored in the cubbies on the wall was pressing sharply into her back. And he was absolutely enrapturing to her, in that moment, in all the good and bad ways, broken bones and butterfly legs. God, what the fuck, she thought.

"Fine. I'll do it. If you agree to work with my father." She raised her chin and stared back at him with all the defiance she could muster. "And if you fucking let go of me."

"I don't make deals without knowing what is is I'm agreeing to." His voice was quiet, every syllable precise. Lovely. His jaw was set.
"Let's just say its worth your life. Come on. We need to go." She began to move past him.

"Wait," his hand was still on her wrist, holding her back, tight. Hers were warm from her rushing blood. His were cool. For one insane moment she wanted to put his hand on her forehead, to take some of the heat, instead of the other way around, but his mouth kept moving as he spoke and she forced herself to focus. "What's your plan?"

"I'm getting you out of the hospital, remember? Jesus, how much morphine did they give you?"

"No," he said, dangerous but still so completely, bafflingly calm, which only served to make the danger worse. For a moment, she almost pitied whoever it was that was after him. "Your plan for once we get out."

"What, there's more?"

"Do you have a car?" He said, insistent, ignoring her.

"No."

"Do you have a horse?"

She hesitated. For too long.

"Good. I'll need your horse." She glared at him. "Also, I need a gun."