Hello, just a note at the start of this chapter - in the last chapter, when Rosie said she thought it might be best if Clayton found himself walking into the cut and not turning out to be a strong swimmer, it was her telling Tommy to have him drowned, so Mrs Clayton wouldn't ever have to have him home. I realised from a few comments that that perhaps wasn't clear to some people. It sort of threw me for writing this chapter tbh, but I've ended up just writing it as I had planned, and figured we'd just have this little note to clarify the end of the last chapter here so we're all diving in from the same understanding.

Chapter 110

He had half expected her to sag when they got over the threshold. She had just ordered a man's death after all. Or she had requested it, and he had agreed to see it done. Regardless of the semantics, he imagined it was the first time she'd held a man's life in her hands and made a decision on it.

But she didn't fall weakly onto a seat, or shed tears, or make her way through to the kitchen for a desperately needed drink. She just came to a standstill once they were inside with the door locked behind them, her face turned to him, her eyes looking for something. Maybe she wanted him to excuse what she had done for her.

"You alright?" he asked, so quietly his 'voice' was a rumble in his chest more than it was words that left his mouth.

His hands moved to cup her face, to tilt it up so he could drink it in, search for signs of what she was thinking or feeling. He was almost surprised to see that her face hadn't changed in the last few minutes, not even some miniscule darkening around her eyes, not even a hint of the dead look he sometimes saw in Arthur's. No, she still looked as she always did. Alive. Vibrant. Contained with it - but no more than she was any other day. No, there were no signs to tell the world she had just become a self appointed judge - even if she wasn't quite yet the executioner.

She nodded as much as she could whilst he held her, her voice throaty and quiet too as she returned the question - "Are you?"

He snorted, then leant forward and kissed her forehead, before clicking his tongue and saying, "You asking me if I'm fine - Jesus."

She didn't sag, but he did notice that she seemed to relax slightly.

"You're the one who took him outside."

"Wasn't my first time," he told her, tracing his knuckle across her face, trying to map this change of direction for them, this revealing they had both done tonight, adding in what was probably a strange attempt at comfort, "You get used to it."

She was silent for a moment before she swallowed, looked down and then turned her eyes up to him, her auburn lashes fluttering, her amber eyes wide like a deer, as she admitted - half to him and almost, it seemed, half to herself-, "I - I don't feel any regret over what I just did."

She blinked, frowned, a little, then continued, "No, maybe that's not exactly true. Maybe what I mean is, I don't feel guilty. I feel the weight of it, I don't feel numb or anything - but I don't…" she trailed off, her eyes not leaving his as she took a breath then said, "I feel - a certainty,Tommy. I feel in my gut I did the right thing for that woman and child."

No. No, she didn't want him to excuse her at all. She just wanted to know he accepted her. Same as he always had. She just wanted to know that things between them were unchanged.

"I think you did too," he told her, his knuckle still wandering across her cheek, coming slowly down across her lips, which she puckered slightly, as if to kiss it, waiting for him to move on to her opposite cheek before she said - "I know you do - you'd have told me no otherwise. You'd have told me not to, same as I'd have told you not to."

He half inclined his head. She knew he'd have spoken up. But he could have thought she was doing the right thing and still judged her for doing it, he supposed. Perhaps that was what she'd been worried over. She'd still needed that reassurance that he loved her, even having seen this new side.

But was it new?

When Molly Jackson had attacked her elder daughter with a pot, Rosie had reacted, hadn't she? I got rid of her Lily, didn't I? She'd told the baby that day in the kitchen.

The whole thing just blurs, she'd told him when he'd asked for more detail, I got the pot off of her and I got the poker out of the kitchen fire and I just remember standing in front of Lily with them both in my hands and screaming at Molly that if she didn't get the fuck out I was going to maim her so she'd never work again. Christ. I'm an awful person, I know that, but I couldn't stand there and let her hurt that kid.

Alright, she hadn't said she'd been prepared to kill Molly Jackson. But she'd been prepared to main her with a hot poker. She was prepared to do whatever damage she needed to to protect the baby.

Could he say he was surprised at what she'd done then, to protect a woman and child living under a dangerous violent man?

No. No, he couldn't honestly say he was surprised. Perhaps he'd always known her capabilities.

"Not that I'd assume you'd listen, of course, but I'd tell you," she said, the corners of her mouth flicking up slightly, a feeble attempt at a joke that couldn't quite crack through.

There was too much weight in the air, too much charge. Too much knowledge of what had just passed and too much breath being held whilst waiting to find out the results.

"I'd listen," he told her, "To you. I might not agree with you, but I'll always listen to you, I've told you that. You're my right hand."

"Your right hand's gone red, Tommy," she replied, her eyes boring into his, her voice throaty.

He nodded wordlessly a few times, before, keeping his own tones low - "Yeah. Well - feels natural to me. Maybe that was what attracted me to you in the first place - that red hair. Maybe I figured the red hair meant there'd be a temper."

"And a violence?" she whispered.

Did she fear that? He didn't actually think she did.

"Maybe. Certainly a ferocity. A strength. The sort of strength someone like me needed to have at their side. Sort of strength I could know I could lean on that wouldn't crumble."

"I like the idea that that's what you see when you look at me," she breathed.

He put his hands to her neck and kissed her deeply, tilting her head back, feeling the scratch of her unruly hair against his fingers, trying to convey the admiration, no - the reverence - he felt for her. Polly might drag them to church, but he had never felt any kind of awe like he felt now.

"Come," he growled, dropping his hand to thread it through hers, tugging her gently through to his office, pushing her into a seat whilst he went into his drawer and pulled out…

"The Fool?" Rosie said, slightly apprehensively, as she took the card he offered her.

"Do you remember what Johnny Dogs told you about The Fool card?"

She shook her head, biting her lip.

"On The Fool card, the rose represents purity," he told her, coming around to stand against the desk, in front of her, "I want you to know - need you to know - I have nothing but respect - admiration, even - for the purity behind your decision tonight. I know you made that decision because you wanted to protect that family, to salvage whatever chance of happiness they might have left to them.

She traced her hand across the card, taking in the illustration, then said softly, "In the past - back in the days of Henry Who Ate-" she broke off and they exchanged amused little smiles as they reminded themselves of Katie's misnomering of the king with the six wives, "They'd keep a fool - someone - someone, I suppose, maybe a little like Curly - at court. Because they thought their minds being simpler meant they were closer to God."

"Appropriate."

"How so?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I am impressed by you, my love, every single day in some way. But tonight - tonight I feel like you are a diety I should kneel before."

She gave a little snort, "There was me thinking you were simply calling yourself a God, Tommy."

He shook his head, smirking a little.

"You did call us Hades and Persephone once before," she reminded him.

He nodded, "And I was right - you've certainly brought rebirth to that family. A new, fresh start for them."

"Through sending Paul Senior to the underworld."

"Where you can shove him in the river and ensure he never leaves."

"Appropriate, given he's going to drown," she said cynically, before saying, more softly, "I don't know that I want us to be the god and goddess of death, Tommy."

"A pity - I've said more than once that you'll be the death of me."

"I mean it Tommy. I don't think what I did tonight was wrong, but I don't want it becoming a habit."

Perhaps she didn't fear the idea of her violence, perhaps she'd always known it was in her, as he knew his own. But she feared its growth, it seemed.

He smiled softly, reached out a hand and stroked her cheek, shaking his head, "It's a common misunderstanding. Thanatos was actually the god of death. Hades and Persephone merely ruled the underworld, where the dead were sent."

She forced a smile, "And you rule Small Heath, with the cut as your river that people must be ferried across?"

He gave a small upward quirk of his lips, a small nod, "Small Heath is an underworld of sorts. Criminal gangs running riot, for one thing."

She laughed at that - only a small one, but a genuine one and he smiled more widely at the sound of it.

"And when I have run Campbell out of my kingdom, I will make you its queen," he continued, "And you will be its goddess, who brings spring and rebirth in her wake. Who offers fresh starts to those in need, like you did tonight with the Claytons. Like you did with me, when you wandered into my life."

"You offered me the fresh start, Thomas."

He hesitated, then reminded her, "I've told you before - I offered it with no expectations, no conditions."

She nodded, frowning a little, not understanding why that was relevant at this moment.

"Stand up," he said, taking the card from her hands, placing it on the desk behind him then pulling her up, his hands on her shoulders, straightening up himself rather than delivering what he had to say in his leaning position, "That you got me to a point where I would offer that - that was a rebirth in me, Rosie, in who I'd become since France. And when you came, you gave us as a family, a rebirth. You brought your grain and you fed us, bound us round your table with your harvest. What I have with Finn now - it's because of you. What John has with his kids. What Arthur has, his focus, his distraction with The Garrison - all you, my love."

"You're not giving yourself enough credit Tommy."

"You're not giving yourself enough credit," he told her, "Fuck - I say what I have with Finn now. That we have Finn now, here, safe, is because of what you did today. Lifting those files. We owe you - all of us."

He kissed her again, his hands moving from the hold he had on her upper arms down to her waist, then down again to her arse, cupping it through her dress, lifting her up by it and turning, sitting her on the desk, their mouths never breaking as he did so.

She moaned a little, opening her legs for him to stand between them, their bodies flush together.

"I don't want you to owe me, Tommy," she breathed once they came apart, though she placed a kiss on his jaw before she looked up at him and said, "I don't want scores or favours. I just want you. I want you to be yours, and for you to be mine. I want us to help one another because we want to, not because anyone owes anybody anything."

"Generous offer my love, one only you could make because I'll forever owe you more than you owe me."

"I think the opposite," she told him, her hands tracing his back, "But maybe that's right. Maybe that's how it should be."

"This is how it should be," he growled putting his lips to her neck, kissing it, feeling the necklace he had given her dig into his skin, the only barrier between them, biting his teeth into her at the feel of it, liking that she wore his necklace, wanting to make her wear other marks of his.

Her hands swept up to cradle the back of his head as she extended her neck, offering him more of it as she murmured, "Always, Tommy."

He feasted happily, kissing, sucking, biting, for a while, then moved himself down, along the neckline of her dress, going as low as he could without having to take his hands from their place holding her, before he gave in and lay her down on the desk, tossing the contents of it to the floor with one sweep of his arm to allow her to lie comfortably.

He bent over her, kissing her mouth again and she arched her back, pressing her chest to his, her legs crossing around his waist as if to try and keep him closer. He slid down through them a little, bringing his face to her chest. His hands pawed inside her dress, grasping her breasts, pulling them out of their lodgings, freeing them. Her nipples were already hard, but he suckled at one whilst thumbing the other before switching, paying equal worship to both, enjoying the way she wriggled and moaned under him.

He moved back up, his mouth going to hers, realising that, for all he wanted to mark her, bite her, lick and suck and claim every inch of her, the simple pull of her mouth meeting his outweighed those desires.

His hands roamed her face as he kissed her, found her hair, stroked and massaged and held, his body felt every curve and contour of her under him.

But it wasn't yet enough.

He broke off their kissing for a moment, assessing the shape of the desk, the space on its top, assessing how he could move her, sliding his arms around her to do so, then climbing fully over her, resuming his kissing, his hand reaching behind him to find her knee, sliding up, pushing the fabric of her dress with it. She moaned under him, bucked her hips what little she could beneath his weight pressed against her, hooked her naked leg over his waist, moaning as his hand met her arse, sliding under it to cup and squeeze.

They ground against one another, her fingers threaded through his longer bits of hair on top of his head, one of his hands in her own hair in return, the other still groping, under her, pushing her up and to him.

"Tommy - please - undress me," she pleaded between kisses, her breath hot on his skin as she spoke into his ear.

He couldn't. He didn't trust himself. But instead of answering, he simply kissed her mouth, then her chin, her neck, her breasts, pushing her dress up as he moved down, until he was gripping her hips, nestled happily between her legs, face down in her silk underwear.

He traced the tip of his nose up across her, then kissed his way back down, feeling the shape and texture of her through the silk, smelling her through it, tasting the dampness she had dripped onto it.

She gasped and cried out as he pressed his mouth right to her core and huffed puffs of hot air against it, her body squirming down to grind against his face, her legs coming up to crush his head between them, her hand reaching down to grasp his hair again.

He wouldn't have minded if she had crushed his skull to powder right there and he responded by flattening his tongue to her and licking as he'd like to, worshipping as he'd like to, as if there were no veil of silk between them.

It took longer to make her fall apart than it might have done had there been no veil. But soon enough she did, the slick of it feeling different under his senses than the dampness of her arousal had been. She breathed heavily, her back arched, her eyes screwed shut, looking red and pink and flushed and soft and beautiful as he gazed up at her from his place between her legs.

He stayed locked there until she had ridden out her pleasure, until her breathing had come back down a little, until her legs unpeeled themselves and fell, splayed, as if in exhaustion, to the desk.

He journeyed back up to kiss her mouth again, and she responded enthusiastically.

"Is that what you meant, that night, when you licked my fingers…" she said, somehow managing to blush even in that moment at the memory before she quoted him, "You said you could drink from me, right at the source…"

He nodded, dropping another kiss on her before he answered, "Yes. But one day there will no nothing between me and the source."

"I wish that could have been today," she whispered.

He sighed, "I wish that too. But you know why it can't be. Not today - but I've promised you, soon. Once Campbell and Grace are gone."

"Once you've wrapped up with Kimber," she replied, her voice a little blank.

He imagined she was trying to cover a tone of displeasure.

"Next week we have the eighth race we'll have provided security for. Given he hasn't lost a penny to rafflers or chalkers in the last seven, I'm expecting this one'll be the same and that he'll throw us a bone soon."

"And the Lee's are on ceasefire," she replied, raising an eyebrow.

"That's why I'm expecting this one to go smoothly."

"And once your business with Kimber is done - you'll give Campbell the guns and he'll go away and take Grace with him," she parroted his own words, her voice that same blank way.

"You could try and sound like you have some faith in me, you know," he said, raising an eyebrow, smirking a little, not caring for the blankness of her tone - not on a night like tonight.

She was his right hand, he'd told her so. He didn't want her doubting him, not for a minute. A man couldn't manage without his right hand. No matter how bloodied, how red.

"It's not that I don't have faith in you, you know I have faith in you," she said, putting on the show of a smile, "And I love you. And I'd choose you, a million times over, and all that comes with you. I'd rather this was as it is than that it was nothing at all…"

"But?" he questioned.

She smiled sheepishly, but genuinely, then craned her neck to kiss him, digging her hands into his head to hold him by her as she said, "But because I love you - and I want you, I'm impatient and I sometimes wish we were just normal people - and that I didn't have to wait like this. I sometimes wish we were a normal man and woman who had met and could just get on with doing what people who meet and fall in love do. And it's a nasty little truth that if you weren't you and you were normal that I probably wouldn't love you like I do, of course. But sometimes it would be nice just to be able to pretend, for a little while - to not have to stop ourselves because there's danger outside the door."

He dropped his forehead to hers and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, inhaling the smell of her skin and her hair, before snapping his eyes open, cocking a brow and saying, "We could pretend for a little while I suppose."

"We could?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow in return, sensing a trap.

"Yes," he nodded, pushing himself up, kneeling back.

He waited for her to push herself up to a sitting position, her legs still parted around him as he knelt between them, then ran his hands over her the bare skin of them, still exposed from where she hadn't yet pulled her dress back down.

"The thing is, if we were normal, a normal man and woman who had met, fallen in love and gotten - well, let's say engaged, since you wouldn't be working at the council if we'd gotten married thanks to their marriage bar."

She nodded.

"But even an engaged man might have something to say about his future wife going to work with no stockings on. Entirely unrespectable. Making a show of me, so you are. Sort of thing a normal man might get a bit annoyed about."

"Is that right, Mr Shelby?" she asked, smirking.

"Uhuh."

"And what would you do with me, if you were a normal man, annoyed by me making such a show of you?"

He flicked his eyebrows, jumped off the desk and pulled her round to the edge of it, his hands on her waist, "Oh, I think you know exactly what I'd do, Miss Jackson."

Thank you as always for reading along.