Thomas was still at the bottom, in a room that looked like a place where patients might be prepped for surgery, or maybe have the actual surgery. His dark silhouette wholeheartedly shocked her as she clambered to her feet after the drop down the chute, but her heart was still in her throat from the slide and she had no more surprised screams left in her for the night. She had thought he would be long gone by now. She had landed on her ankle wrong. He was holding a scalpel, spinning it between his fingers and leaning against something that could have been an operating table, looking like he could have stood up against all three of the armed men upstairs armed with only his tiny little knife. He did not ask if she was okay.

"Yep, time to go," He said instead, grabbing her wrist and pulling. She had had enough of men touching her. She had had enough of helping some insane bastard get back on the streets just so that he could inevitably hurt more people. She yanked her wrist out of his grip, and probably only succeeded because he hadn't been expecting her resistance.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He hissed at her. "We need to go, they're coming down here-,"

The adrenaline made her feel like she was floating. Like she was still being lifted off her feet. Her vision was swimming.

"Fuck," Tommy swore, but he moved towards her slowly, unthreateningly. "Look. Look at me." She didn't want to. She wanted to look up at the sky, because thats where she was going, she was floating away, "Tessa, I need you to look at me, eh?"

And then she looked at him and his eyes then she was looking at the sky and his voice was like water. He talked like every word he said was a fact, an absolution, a commandment. They were. She looked at him, feeling half awake, kept looking at him. His eyes were intense, leaving no room for fear, his voice hard, leaving no room for debate. "Those men are coming down here right now. They will kill us if they find us. You need to keep it together. You need to get us out of here." She wished she hadn't let him have all of her cocaine.

She dug her nails into her palms until they cut into her skin. Breathed out through her nose twice. Her feet had settled back down onto the ground. Her mind as well. "There's a back door."

Tommy held up a hand, gestured, "After you."

She turned and nearly impaled herself tripping over a sideways steel dolley. "Fucking- did you knock this over?"
"Yes," Thomas said, clearly at the end of his rope, brushing past her to the other side of the room in the direction she had been moving before she stopped.

"Did you fucking knock it over on purpose?"

"Yes," he said again, firmly, like she was the idiot in this situation, and one that he did not have time for.

"Are you insane?" She whisper-screamed. "Why would you do that?! That's how they knew where you are!"

"They were going to kill you."

"They were not going to kill me-,"

"Alright, if you can't find another time to argue with me about this I'm going to fucking knock you out and leave you here," Tommy said, grabbing another scaplel from a nearby table so that he was weilding one in both fists. The moonlight slanting in from the one high window glinted off the metal, off his eyes.

"Thomas," she said, because she had suddenly remembered something, something she couldn't believe that she had for even a second forgotten, her voice as mundane like they were at a bookshop talking about the rainy weather. She held up her right hand. It was holding Romanoff's gun. Thomas Shelby's face lit up like a child seeing the presents under the tree on Christmas morning. He looked so different when he smiled, it crinkled his eyes but didn't meet them. Still sharp. Eyes like blades. A smile like a scalpel. She still handed him the gun, trading him for one of the little silver knives.

The back door of the hospital was really an entrance for the cooks through the basement kitchen, heavy and oak and Tessa couldn't get it to budge because she was shaking and Tommy had to slam his good shoulder against it but it creaked open and let them into the cobblestone alley beyond so at least the cocaine was doing enough to keep him on his feet. He couldn't even feel his side or his shoulder, but the hospital's stone walls felt intricately detailed under his fingertips. The full moon was much too bright for his liking, and when he peered around the corner he saw three shiny black cars parked right at the front of the hospital's front steps. The London night was missing the heavy coating of Birmingham coal that clouded the air, and it smelled sharp like metal and the tainted water of the Thames. A clock in the distance chimed twelve times and for every strike he whispered "fuck" under his breath, head falling back against the stone. Tessa had her palms pressed against her eyes despite the scalpel clutched between two fingers of her right hand, still shaking, silent. She had gotten them out. It was his turn.

"Where's the horse?" He asked her, trying to ground her.

"My father's stable. Two miles north."

"Okay. Can you walk?"

She nodded, like there was any alternative, and dropped her hands, balling them into fists at her sides. The knife stuck out between her fingers. They walked as quickly as possible without being innocuous, without running, which is what Tommy wanted to do. He wanted to sprint. He wanted to run and ride and drive but her legs were shorter and her breaths were still coming in gasps and he could see that her neck was red even in the light of the moon. The men in the hospital had shaken her. She was a rich girl, likely not used to being roughed up. Not used to being touched without permission.

"What if someone sees us?" She asked, after a few silent minutes. Her long hair was tangled from the drop down the chute, her expensive dress dirtied, and there was a cut on her cheek that was bleeding steadily down her neck and onto her collar. He felt the weight of the pistol in his hand. Opened the chamber to see six shiny bullets. Spun them. Cocked the hammer, uncocked it. Comfort. Safety. Let them fucking come for him.

"I have an idea."

"You and your fucking ideas," she said, under her breath, holding her arms in her opposite hands like she could keep herself together.

"You're one to talk." He was walking faster than her. He let her catch up, restraining himself from taking out his frustration at being held back by her presence on her and her shorter legs. "How the fuck did you get this off of him?" He lifted the gun.

"Men think with their cocks, not their brains." She paused. "It probably means they'll know I'm with you, now."

"Mm. Worth the trade."
"Yeah. For you, maybe."

"For you too." She didn't respond.

"Hey," He stopped her. Held her arms in his hands and forced her to look directly at him. "Once tonight is over, my men will take care of everything. I owe you a debt. I'll stay true to my word." He could feel her shaking in his hands. "And trust me, you might well end up being very glad you got me a gun." She did not look like she believed him, and he couldn't quite blame her. She stared at him. Shook her head. It made a few more drops of blood drip down her smooth cheek.

"Very comforting," she said, spinning around and walking away, hobbling a little on her weak ankle. He let her take the lead, kept the gun out.