Something was different about him. Polly was struck by a change in her nephew. She found him sitting at his desk in his office, swirling a glass of whisky in his hand, and looking quite…. Subdued? Morose? No, that wasn't right. However, she didn't dwell on her nephew's demeanor too long as she remembered why she was confronting her nephew in the first place. Michael was still with them and that made her furious.

"What the hell have you been telling Michael? I told you that I wanted him to get out. I told you…" "

Michael's a grown man. He made his decision."

"He's…'

Tommy stopped swirling the glass of whisky, raised it to his lips, and drank it all before setting the glass down with a resounding thud directly on the wood.

"He's family," Tommy said, his voice firm, before Polly could scold him yet again for making rings in the wood.

"He's a child."

"Pol, we've already had this conversation."

"He was supposed to take the train. He was supposed to…"

"When does a Shelby ever do what they're supposed to do?" Tommy asked without a trace of a smile. Polly couldn't argue with that and it infuriated her.

Fury.

That was a powerful word, a deadly word. Pol's fury. Her rage had brought an end to despicable Campbell, that disgusting, revolting, monster of a man who had been tormenting their family for far too long. She did not regret it; killing Campbell. She had done it for her boys, for Ada, and most of all for herself. She would do it again. Now, after everything she had endured, Michael was still lounging around the house and putting himself in danger. Tommy's encouragement was too much for her to handle. She knew Tommy had given his devil's blessing for Michael to work for the family business. He should have ordered Michael to leave. Once again, Tommy was defying her, as he always did in his cool detached way. Except something was different now. She saw the difference in the hard lines of his face. It wasn't fear. It wasn't anger. It was….

"Anything else?" Tommy asked, watching her with his cool blue eyes, determined eyes, purposeful eyes.

That's it.

Thomas Shelby was determined. He was no longer vacant, but present, looking at her as if he was truly seeing her and not blindly glancing over a body in the room or shadows in a world he wasn't part of. She saw traces of the old Tommy, the one before the war, someone with a purpose in life. This purpose was different because she saw that it was within him. He wasn't being pushed to action, or provided with a purpose by some external force or rival gang. The gears were turning in her nephew's head and the devil only knew what was making them turn.

"What is wrong with you?" she snapped, for lack of a better question to ask and partly because she was uneasy. She was losing the argument. Her anger wasn't propelling Tommy to action as it normally did. Before the races, even when he had argued and disagreed with her, she could tell he would yield to her in some small way. Of course, he would never admit to appeasing her outright. Now, she saw pure defiance. He was defying her and she was losing control as he drank his damn whisky. Even that action infuriated her. She had killed a man and he was sitting calmly in his chair at the desk her money had bought, drinking the whisky her shrewd business dealings had paid for, being ungrateful to the woman who had spilled blood to keep his from being spilled, so he could sit and drink his precious whisky and play emperor of a kingdom he thought he had created with his own bare hands.

"You come back alone from the races without a word of explanation to anyone…."

"And?" Tommy interrupted.

" I want an explanation."

There was a pause. Tommy rose from his chair, pushed it underneath his desk, and strode towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to the Justice of the Peace."

Polly stared at him in disbelief.

"Why in God's name are you going to the Justice of the Peace?"

She had never heard of such a ridiculous thing, especially after what had happened at the races. Lest he forgot, they were still The Peaky Blinders. What they needed was to stay away from court rooms, lawyers, and any sort of governmental authority.

"I'm getting married."

And with that he was gone. Polly contained herself just long enough to hear the front door close on the first floor before she reached for Tommy's empty glass and hurled it at the door. She watched as the glass shattered into crystals, as it smashed against the wooden door. Rather a broken glass than shed tears. Those shards of crystal were her tears, but they were sharp, just like her. She was strong and powerful, and no matter what had or hadn't changed inside her nephew, she was still Polly Shelby; furious, independent, intelligent, and ruthless Polly Shelby. She would make sure no one ever forgot that unalterable fact.