The first thing Alfie saw when he cracked open his swollen eyelids was Tommy Shelby. The little man was practically towering over him as he lay in a bed that was as hard as a plank and too short. Alfie could see his feet were dangling over the edge of the bed. He smelled smoke and for a brief terrifying moment that made his heart feel as if it were going to burst out of his chest, Alfie thought he was being burned alive. He quickly collected himself when he realized he was in a hospital and remembered Tommy Shelby liked to have a smoke. He also realized he was in a private room.

Give my regards to Thomas Shelby.

Alfie closed his eyes then opened them again, hoping he was hallucinating his rival's presence as he tried to calm himself down. He did not want to see Shelby's reptilian face first thing in the…. What time was it now?

Damn it. He's still here.

This was the last place he wanted to see Shelby. To tell the truth, the situation he was in was beyond humiliating. It was absolutely degrading.

"What time is it?" he asked, turning to look out the grimy window and seeing that a sliver of the sky was a faint pink. His head was pounding and his back was killing him.

"Dawn."

"Lovely. I always did love sunrises. So easy to miss." His throat was parched and the words had difficult forming on his chapped lips. He knew it wasn't necessary to talk, but he didn't want to look as disoriented and confused as he felt. Blurred images and sensations passed through his mind and through his body followed by sharp agonizing bouts of pain.

I could use a drink.

" Just as it was so easy for you to miss that you were in danger."

Alfie couldn't tell if he was being smug or just downright blunt.

Probably both.

In any case, he wasn't being sympathetic.

"Did you come here to gloat? Kick a man while he's down Shelby? If I recall," he said wincing. "I showed a bit more courtesy to you."

"You pointed a gun in my face."

"AND I gave you a handkerchief. You had a bit of a nose-bleed if I recall correctly."

"I'm not here to rehash the past Solomons. We have a problem."

"You mean, YOU have a problem. I'm the collateral of a bloody Scott. You're the one he's after." A dull rage began to rise inside him as he remembered being shoved against that wall, feeling like his nose was about to be smashed into a pulp and that all the blood was going to drain out of his body. It was a miracle that he hadn't bled out completely. He remembered Ada pressing her white coat against his back. An image of her, illuminated by white lights flashed in front of his eyes. He shook his head, blinking to clear his vision.

"His name's Kincaid," Tommy said, clearly pretending he hadn't noticed his disorientation. "The knife he stuck in your back was a knife that he bought at a local butcher-shop. I had my men investigate him."

And I'm going to kill him… slowly. Unless… he's already dead.

He looked sharply at Tommy, wondering why the man was even bothering to visit him. They weren't what he would consider friends.

" So… you and your little toadies offed him already and came here to bring me the good news."

"He's not the problem," Tommy said. "He's under the employment of a man named Churchill.'

That floored Alfie. Had he heard that correctly?

"You're telling me, that the Prime Minister of England, sent a Scott to do me in?"

Burn me alive and gut me in an alley?

"It's an alias."

"You'd bloody well hope so, otherwise Parliament's got a lot of explaining to do."

"I see you haven't lost your sense of humor."

"And I see you're still as dull as ditchwater. Get me a drink will you?" he barked, glancing at the pitcher of water by his bedside out of his reach as his entire body throbbed with pain. His face felt stiff. He was sure it was swelled up like a goddamn melon and his nose was a smaller mellon on top of that. He could barely open his eyes. He glanced over at the pitcher.

What's the point of putting it somewhere I can't reach?

Tommy walked over to the bed-stand and poured the water into a cup. He handed it wordlessly to Alfie, who grabbed it and downed the contents in one gulp.

So… the Scott's working for this Churchill. I'm guessing he wants you dead and your business all for himself. " He bit down on his tongue as pain shot through his back. It was getting worse.

Where's the nurse? He clearly wasn't medicated enough if he was cracking jokes with Tommy Shelby and feeling every stabbing pain throughout his body.

"You're very sharp this morning."

"What do you want Shelby?" He wasn't in the mood for games. What he did want was morphine. Once Shelby left he was going to get that nurse to give him some.

"I have men posted around the hospital, keeping an eye on you."

"What do you want?"

"Your men, your connections. Seeing as you're going to be here for a while, I need access to your resources."

Strange, Tommy Shelby's asking for my permission. How polite.

Well, I'm touched by your concern Shelby, but you underestimate me. I'm getting out of this bed today."

Tommy crossed his arms, not even bothering to hide his skepticism. Alfie knew it was a bluff that wasn't even worth being called out on, but he didn't like the idea one bit that he was here, racked with pain, while his business was left in the hands of his employees.

"Not according to your nurses. You need to be monitored."

A knock on the door made Alfie start, which was highly unusual.

Jittery. I'm goddamned jittery. Alfie saw that his hand was shaking. He set the cup down on the edge of the bed.

" I didn't mean to interrupt you two love-birds, but it's time to talk business." A dark haired man who strongly resembled a weasel or creature of the rodent variety, entered the room and trained his eyes on Alfie. Alfie was instantly on his guard.

Who the hell are you?

Crisp white shirt, suit jacket. Looked like a politician. Alfie bit down on his tongue, bracing himself as he tried to move into a sitting position.

"Please, please don't strain yourself," the man said in a syrupy voice laced with condescension. Even bedridden and in pain, Alfie wasn't a fool. He knew when he was being talked down to.

" Doesn't he look dreadful? The man asked, turning to Thomas as if he weren't in the room. "Kincaid tends to have that affect on people. It's nothing personal Alfie. I needed to acquire Thomas's attention."

So you're Churchill.

"You have a strange way of doing it," Tommy said coolly. Alfie grudgingly agreed with him on that. There was no love between him and Thomas Shelby, so to target him made no sense whatsoever. He could also see that the weasel in the suit was ruffling Shelby's feathers.

A smirk pulled on Churchill's lips.

"You know, the two of you have a lot more in common than you think. When it comes down to it, I think you are two sides of the same coin, wouldn't you agree, Thomas?"

"You're a dead man," Alfie said, training his eyes on the man's face. "Mark my words, you're dead. DEAD. YOU HEAR ME!"

The man didn't even flinch and that infuriated Alfie to no end. He wanted to throttle him. He wanted to lunge out of this bed and smash the man's head against the wall. He clenched his battered fists together, gritting his teeth in pain.

"We should let Mr. Solomons rest. If I could have a word,Thomas?"

Alfie met Tommy's eyes before they swiveled to Churchill's face, studying, evaluating,

Sizing him up.

More pain racked his body and it took all of his self control not to scream. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, drip down his face. He could hear moans and screams down the hall.

I hate hospitals. He'd never been in one, except maybe once and that was when he was born. This… this was lunacy… Goddamn…

"Get the hell out!" he screamed at Churchill, unable to hold back anymore. He wanted that man gone. He wanted Shelby gone and most of all he wanted some goddamn morphine.

"NURSE!"