Chapter Content Warning: canon-typical content, mention of an absent father, sibling teasing, mentions of war.

Just a Phase

1919

Isiah was already fourteen and old enough to know that he should treat Clara Shelby well even when her twin brother teased, taunted, or ignored her. He was smart enough to know that the elder Shelbys expected that their sister would be taken care of by those who knew her. They had an expectation that she would be watched over and protected, which was why Isiah was insistent on walking her home when Finn decided that the rest of the boys were going to play by the Cut.

"You want to deal with them if something happens to her?" Isiah asked when Finn insisted they just leave her to find her own way home.

Finn shrugged, kicking at a rock on the ground. His sister was already making her way toward Watery Lane by herself, not even looking back at them once she had been told to go home.

"That's why girls should just stay at home to begin with."

Isiah raised an eyebrow at Finn's remark, his body already half-turned to follow after Clara. He glanced at her. Clara stopped and sent a fierce look towards Finn. Isiah took a step away from the boy.

"Go on ahead. I'll catch up after I drop her home," he said.

Clara half-heartedly fought Isiah when he slowed beside her, pushing his arm away and insisting she was no longer a child in need of an escort. Isiah sighed as he took his hand away from her slumped shoulders, watching as she shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her coat.

"I'd feel better knowing you got home safe," he said.

"Why do you care?"

As Clara looked up to Isiah now, her voice elevated and her height suddenly seemed an inch or so taller.

"Because your brother and aunt will have my head and Finn's and probably yours too if something bad ever happened to you."

"I can take care of myself, Siah."

"I know that, but the rest of them don't. And anyway, you're meant to tell me about that new book you've been reading."

"Tommy took it away," she said, bowing her head. "And he told me to go play, but now Finn won't let me."

When Isiah placed an arm around her shoulders a second time, Clara's small frame slumped and she allowed him to lead the way. She wasn't paying attention to Isiah, simply allowing him to lead her towards home as she became lost in thought.

"Chin up, Clara. Let's see one of those brilliant smiles of yours, eh?"

She shook her head. "Just let it be, Siah."

"You know he's just showin' off," Isiah offered as he watched her stare down at her feet, her eyebrows knitted in frustration.

"I wish I didn't even have brothers."

Isiah stayed quiet. He was an only child and had never experienced any of the difficulties the Shelbys did on that front. There were six Shelby kids and Isiah had learned from afar that brothers and sisters were an overwhelmingly messy business. He mostly found he didn't mind that it was just him and his father at home, though he liked the attention Clara and Finn often gave him, liked feeling like a part of something bigger.

Clara envied Isiah's quiet home life, and it wasn't out of the ordinary to find her visiting Isiah and the Reverend when she wanted a break from her siblings. Clara quite liked Jeremiah and the thought of having a papa. She couldn't remember much of her own father, but watching Isiah and Jeremiah helped paint a picture of what may have been.

"You don't mean it."

"I do. You're a better brother than Finn is, Siah."

"I'm not your brother, Clara. You've got more than enough of 'em without me. Four of 'em. And if I was your brother you'd have to do what I tell ya to do and you never do."

Clara gave him a perfunctory shove in the side before returning to the repetitious yet seemingly all-consuming act of scuffing her boots on the dirty cobblestones.

"And don't you worry about Finn. It's just a phase," he offered.

She let the idea settle in her mind. Isiah was older and she considered him to be pretty smart as far as boys go, so Clara often took what he said to heart. She knew Isiah wasn't as smart as Tommy, but he was smarter than Finn, maybe even smarter than Arthur and John on some things too. And even though Isiah teased her from time to time, he had a long history of sticking up for Clara's interests.

Tommy spotted the youngest of his siblings walking at an arduous pace down Watery Lane, tucked under the scrawny arm of Isiah Jesus. The Reverend's boy was a few years older than the twins but he accepted them anyhow, not that Isiah had much of a choice in the matter. Clara and Finn had long ago taken to following the older boy around the neighborhood whether he wanted it or not.

Tommy had been on his way to the pub for a drink when he saw the pair making their way down the street. Tommy had watched Clara scuffing her new black boots in the dirt as Isiah guided her along, the kids unaware of anyone taking an interest in them.

"What's just a phase?" Tommy asked, stepping up to the pair as he lit a cigarette.

Isiah dropped his arm from Clara's shoulders and for a moment both kids stared at the same patch of muddy cobblestone. Despite the closeness of their families and the level of privilege Isiah had shared with the Shelbys since the war, Tommy Shelby still unsettled him. Isiah had been privy to too much of what the Shelby men were capable of to ever feel truly comfortable in his presence.

Tommy took a puff off his cigarette and raised an eyebrow.

Isiah cleared his throat, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "Um. I was just walking her home, Mr. Shelby, sir."

Tommy nodded. "Thank you, Isiah. I've got it from here."

Isiah nodded once and muttered a hurried goodbye to Clara before taking his leave, running with long legs back towards the Cut.

Tommy looked down at his sister as Isiah turned the corner, pulling the cigarette from his mouth as Clara resumed the comprehensive examination of her feet. "You finished playing with the boys?"

Clara shrugged.

"What were you and Isiah talking about?"

"Nothing," she answered.

"Mhmm," Tommy mumbled as he took a drag. "Isiah's right, Clara. Finn's just going through a phase, but if he's not treating you right, you tell us and we'll set the boy straight."

"Finn didn't do anything," she insisted.

"Is that right?" he asked.

Clara nodded, still studying her feet and the cobblestone beneath them.

Tommy had set out with every intention of just going to the Garrison and having a drink. He had made a mental note to take Clara to get a book another day, but seeing her now he figured the drink could wait. He fit his hand under her chin, lifting her sad little face to look at his.

"Well, have you held up your end of the deal, Miss Shelby?" he asked.

Clara had all but forgotten about the deal made hours earlier, a lost thought after an afternoon running about with the boys. At its mention, Clara grabbed Tommy's hand, pulling on his arm in the direction of the book shop.

"I've been good all day like you said. Even when Finn was being mean. We're going now?"

"I thought you told me Finn didn't do anything?" Tommy said, pulling her back to him.

"Well, he was only a little mean."

"I see, only a little mean, eh? Then he doesn't need a talking to?"

"No!" she answered almost too quickly for Tommy's liking.

He supposed that Finn did need a talking to, and had been needing it for a few months now, but Clara clearly didn't want it to be on her account.

"Alright then, but no more lying. If I've asked something, you tell me the truth, is that understood?"

Clara nodded, not liking that by protecting Finn she was the one getting chastised.

"Off we go then, Clara girl." Tommy nodded in the direction of the shop and Clara set off at a brisk pace, tugging at the hand she was still holding.

"Slow down," he said, smiling as she pulled against him.

"But the shop closes at five and it's already past four."

Clara's body made a steep angle with the ground as she leaned away from her brother's firmly rooted form.

"We have plenty of time and I'll not have you running wild through the streets."

Clara scoffed, standing herself up straight and reluctantly waiting for Tommy to set their pace, which felt almost as arduous as the pace she'd set while walking home with Isiah.

"So, what did you get up to this afternoon?" he asked, flicking away the ash at the end of his cigarette.

"I just had to follow the boys around since you took my book away," she answered.

Tommy watched as she continued to scuff her boots. They were fairly new and he should have chided her on Polly's behalf but he let it go.

"My book?" Tommy said, squeezing the little hand inside his so that she looked up to him.

"Well, your book," she corrected. "The book I was reading."

Tommy nodded. "Better. So, you were off with the boys all day?"

"Until Finn said they were going to the Cut and I cou—" she grumbled, stopping herself when she realized that Tommy had seemingly deceived her into telling him things she hadn't meant to.

Tommy let out a puff of smoke and Clara stopped walking. He could spot the signs of his sister preparing to give him an earful.

The signs were small, like the way she shifted her weight back on one foot, bending the knee of the other, preparing to stomp. It was in the way those skinny arms pulled tight across her chest. Then there was the look that always took over her face when she was overthinking something, knitted brows, and the smallest hint of a scowl.

"Why can't I just go play by the Cut like Finn? Or help in the shop? Or go out like Ada? Or—?"

Tommy elected to stop her before she really got started on her mentally itemized list of things she wasn't allowed to do, something he knew she'd follow up by giving him all the reasons she felt the restrictions were all types of unfair.

"I don't ever want you going out as our Ada does," Tommy said, not hiding the bit of laughter that came with it. "You're a respectable young lady, Clara. And the family business isn't for little ladies either for that matter."

As for trusting Finn to watch over their sister while they played by the Cut, Tommy couldn't be so sure of that. Jeremiah's boy was right. His youngest brother was going through a phase, pushing his sister away, frequently putting her down, especially in front of his horde of friends. Tommy supposed he had done similarly to Ada at that age, as had John. But Small Heath was different now and it wasn't safe for a little girl to go play away from her own street without someone watching over her.

Tommy wished that she could just accept things for the way they were, but Clara was looking up at him with arms folded even tighter across her chest, face shifting from overthinking to anger.

One of her dusty leather boots finally hit the cobblestone. "But Aunt Polly let me help. Said I have an accounting mind and neat penmanship."

Tommy stared at her foot, chuckling at Polly's words being recycled through the mouth of the baby. "Oh, you have an accounting mind and neat penmanship, do you? That's quite a combination, then… an accounting mind, neat penmanship, a cheeky mouth, and a stomping foot."

Tommy still couldn't fathom his aunt letting the kids help with the betting business. He tried to picture the twins in the shop, taking down bets from the rough, scruffy men of Small Heath, being there when the inevitable fights broke out, listening to hours on end of their coarse talk. He was surprised Finn and Clara had any innocence left in them at all.

"I do have an accounting mind, Tommy," she answered, matter-of-factly.

"And someday you'll use those skills, but for now, you're to be a kid. Let your brothers take care of the counting and stop with the stomping and the cheek."

"But I like counting and I'm not even giving cheek."

Tommy laughed to himself, steering her towards the front door of the book shop. Upon entering, Tommy had directed Clara to the rear, where they kept the small selection of books meant for children.

"I'm much too old for these, Thomas."

He took a deep breath with the utterance of his full name, losing count of the number of times he had heard her use it today. He remembered the days when his baby sister had been relatively easy. Compared to the others, he supposed she still was easy, her and Finn, but he still longed for simpler times.

Clara had always been a bit on the feisty side though, a product of being a Shelby. These days Tommy thought she was also developing an abundant and at times, annoyingly matter-of-fact attitude. It wasn't quite arrogance, but his sister now possessed a certain boldness, a certain bit of self-conviction that had never been present when she was younger.

"Since when?" he asked.

"Since I'm to be eleven on Monday and I'm not a child anymore. I want to read those books." Clara pointed to the Sherlock Holmes books on the shelf near the front window.

"What did Aunt Pol say about those books?"

"She said that a little girl has no need to read of murder and detectives, but—"

Tommy had overheard the conversation a few days before while his aunt and sister were preparing a family dinner. Clara had earned herself a few sharp sentences of a lecture from Polly over the whole thing. The whole thing had brought Clara to silently wallow by her brother's side on the sofa as soon as Polly released her from her duties.

Tommy had to admit, the girl was certainly persistent if nothing else.

"And what need exactly does a little girl have to read of murder and detectives?"

Clara scowled. "I don't want to read the baby books anymore. They're not challenging."

Tommy sighed. He knew that much was true. Though he told his sister that she was too little for the books he kept on his own shelf, it was merely based on the subject matter. She was more than capable of getting through the words.

"Please, Tommy. It's all I want," she said, "And you've missed…"

Clara dipped her head, gulping as she clasped her hands together. She hadn't intended on saying the second part out loud and she allowed the words to trail away to nothing.

Tommy nodded his head but stayed quiet, letting her words properly register and settle for both of them, processing what she had said and what she hadn't allowed herself to say. In the quiet of the shop, Clara turned away from him, picking up a random book from the children's shelves and holding it out to him.

"We can get this one," she said gently.

Tommy took the book from her hand, placing it back on the shelf before taking a knee in front of her. He placed his hands on her arms and looked into her eyes. Though she had been holding them back, tears had escaped to streak down both of her cheeks. Still, Clara remained quiet.

"I've missed four of your birthdays, but I'm home now. I'll not be missing another."

Clara nodded, wiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her coat, though the tears she cleared away were simply replaced by fresh ones. Tommy stood just in front of her but she focused on a book on the shelf beyond his right ear, avoiding his gaze.

"Clara?" he prompted.

She looked at him again, chewing her bottom lip, wiping the tears away again. "Are you certain you won't have to go back?"

"I'm certain. The war is good and over."

She hiccuped. "And Arthur won't make you go away?"

Tommy rolled his eyes, figuring she must've overheard it earlier in the shop. Arthur couldn't keep his mouth shut no matter who was listening.

"Arthur has no say in where I go or what I do."

"But he's your big brother."

"He is and I love him dearly, but Arthur doesn't tell me what to do… Clara, you listen to me. We're home for good, all of us."

Tommy's words acted as a release and Clara latched her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder. When her tears showed no signs of stopping and her grip remained steady, Tommy pulled his sister up in his arms, settling her on his hip. He walked towards the front of the store and pointed towards the books displayed in the front window.

"All of them, Mr. Shelby?" the shopkeeper asked.

Tommy nodded once. "Have them wrapped and sent round by Monday."

By the time Clara cried herself to sleep in her brother's arms, they were approaching Watery Lane. Tommy had had the very same conversation with Clara more than once since being home. It was becoming clear that even after all this time, she quite obviously didn't believe that the boys weren't going back. Tommy couldn't blame her. There were nights when he still didn't believe that the war was over himself.