Chapter Content Warning: canon-typical content, bullying, fighting/ injury/ blood, coppers.

Precedents

1919

It was pure adrenaline propelling Clara through the muddy streets of Birmingham. After the initial shock from her encounter with Aunt Polly wore off, she was left feeling both a bit pitiful and a bit spiteful. She had spent a few aimless blocks thinking over how she would explain away her actions, what words she would relay to her brothers and Aunt Polly to rectify things, but in each scenario, Clara imagined she would end up being punished for something she didn't feel deserving of being punished for.

When she truly realized the amount of trouble she was likely to be in for all the lying and the secrecy and the sneaking about, Clara took heed of the precedents set by her older siblings, deciding to make sure whatever penance was coming her way was at least well worth it. It didn't take more than a few seconds for Clara to decide on where to spend her afternoon and she stepped to the side of a kind-looking woman, tapping her on the arm and pleasantly asking, "Excuse me, ma'am. Which way to the gallery?

Clara had only been to Birmingham's Museum and Art Gallery a handful of times, two of which were at the bookends of the war. After pulling a sobbing Clara from Tommy's arms as the boys boarded the trains at New Street Station, Polly had taken Clara to the museum, knowing that the girl needed a distraction. That had been the first visit.

And at Clara's begging upon his return, Tommy had allowed the young girl to act as his guide as she pulled him through the exhibits. Tired as he was, Tommy was just pleased that the little girl had wanted a thing to do with him. Before arriving home, he had convinced himself that it had been too long, that the young twins wouldn't possibly remember him, that his sweet sister couldn't possibly like the man who returned, the empty feeling man who had replaced her smiling Tommy.

Clara knew very little about art in an academic sense, but she considered herself to be a creator of sorts and as such, she enjoyed browsing the exhibits. She found the space to be very sparsely crowded, with just a few patrons browsing the halls. On finding an empty bench in the sculpture hall, Clara settled with her book open on her lap. She was eager for a bit of calm before heading home and paid little attention to the other patrons, focusing on the continued adventures of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.

When it neared three o'clock, with well forty-five minutes of walking between the museum and home, Clara knew she should prepare herself to leave, but a sense of heaviness filled her limbs at the mere thought and a general malaise overtook her, so she remained in her spot attempting to finish her chapter despite an unsettling flutter in her stomach.

"...And how are things progressing with the Shelbys?"

"I've been invited to-"

"Good, good, but be careful. You must keep your wits about you among these savages."

Clara couldn't see the pair who belonged to the voices, their identities concealed by the curved wall of an alcove between them. She averted her gaze anyhow, lifting the book in her hands and staring deliberately at words she had already read. Despite her family's familiarity among Birmingham's citizens, it wasn't often that Clara heard her family name while out, specifically not from foreign-accented lips and never so far out of Small Heath.

Clara strained to hear more but the voices had gone quiet, replaced by the growing sound of footsteps. She felt eyes on her as someone stepped out from the alcove, walking across the gallery in front of her.

Clara waited, staring at those same words for a few more moments before marking her place though she wasn't quite near the end of a chapter. She was suddenly feeling eager to return to Small Heath.

The sound of Clara's ragged breaths was nearly as loud as the sound of her boot heels pounding on the pavement beneath her. She weaved through the dense crowds outside the New Street Station, quickly apologizing when she bumped those she passed, a habit that couldn't be quashed despite her nerves. Aside from the rushed apologies, Clara kept her head down as she went.

"What's a rotten little Shelby doing in Cheapside?"

Wally Bartow's hand slipped around Clara's arm just above the elbow as he pulled her back and she spun on a heel as he grasped her.

"And without those dimwit Peaky boys to protect her?"

A shiver ran down Clara's spine, Wally's words a mere whisper as his hot mouth hovered near her ear.

Clara pushed at him, fighting against the grasp. "Get off of me, Wally. I'll—"

"You won't be going nowhere, Shelby. Gonna teach you what happens when little Peaky scum like you come into Cheapside."

Wally pulled her in front of him, her back flush against his chest so she faced the younger boy, Wally's brother. "Go on, Albie. Get her good."

Clara remembered a time when Albie and Finn had been good friends. It was in the first weeks of school when they were little more than small children and the notion of family-based, territorial feuds meant little.

Clara took advantage of Albie's moment of hesitation, landing her elbow in Wally's stomach, shocking him just enough that she was also able to shove her elbow into his face when he doubled over from holding his stomach. She took only a second to observe the result of the collision, the blood pouring from his nose.

Clara took off, promising herself that she wouldn't stop running until she was safely inside the walls of her home. Mid-promise, something hard and sharp collided with her forehead as she turned to run and a moment later, she felt a boot land hard in the middle of her back.

The book in her arms went flying across the alleyway as Clara landed hard on the ground, the bare skin of her hands and knees scraping against the brick, pebbles, and the newly fallen shards of glass.

Clara let out a loud wail at the contact. A stinging burn crept through the freshly opened skin and Clara felt her lip already beginning to swell in size, another casualty of the fall. Clara stretched out a hand to push herself up, screaming anew when Wally's boot landed on the spot, crushing her fingers into the ground before he stood up fully.

"No. One. Messes. With. The. Cheapies," Wally ground out, his words punctuated by kicks as Clara struggled to pull her knees to her chest and cover her head with her arms, wishing for nothing more than a reprieve. She'd take a thousand of the worst kind of punishments that could be doled out at home to stop it all.

Clara wasn't sure what sent the boys running, but she was finally able to pull her arms from her head long enough to see they both were turning at the end of the street, sprinting faster than she thought possible. Clara turned away from the boys to see a man standing in front of her.

"And what are you doing so far from home, Miss Shelby?"

She recognized the voice, the accent, and the way her surname sounded like a dirty word that pained him when spoken. She opened her mouth to speak but the man pulled her to her feet before she could make a sound.

"Been visiting with your sister?"

Clara looked to her feet, the distinct feeling of bile rising towards her mouth. Her throat was already growing sore from trying not to cry and she winced as she swallowed the bile back down. He shook her roughly, pulling on her attention.

"Silly of me not to introduce myself. I've had the honor of meeting so many of you Shelbys, I forget you and I haven't met. Chief Inspector Campbell. You see, I mean to speak with your sister's husband, a Mr. Freddie—"

Clara didn't wait for the end of his sentence, taking a large intake of breath before breaking into a painful sprint in the general direction she knew Small Heath to be. She focused not on the sounds of the man's shouts but on steadying the cadence of her erratic breaths, hoping that the burning sob threatening to rip through her chest wouldn't slow her down.

While Tommy had his eyes trained on the ledgers in front of him, his mind was stuck on the rhythmic tick and tock of his pocket watch. Even without the business with the guns, the Shelbys were doing well, and doing well meant there was more money to keep track of, more information to be shared only with kin, more for him to hold all on his own.

Tommy rubbed at his eyes. He knew the books needed tending, knew that Polly and John had been otherwise occupied as of late and that Arthur was generally rubbish with the books. It was up to him to catch up. Still, as he sipped the remaining drops from another glass of whiskey, Tommy started figuring the numbers could be dealt with in the morning. They wouldn't be going anywhere.

When Jeremiah's boy appeared in the open doorway, he had already decided to head over to the Garrison before opening.

"Mr. Shelby, sir?"

"What can I do for you, Isiah?" he asked, watching the boy, taking everything in him not to question him on everything he knew about Clara and her recent mischief.

The Jesus boy usually avoided Tommy, seemingly hesitant and uneasy in his presence from the very moment they met. Though the boy was fidgeting with his hands, Isiah's newly deepened voice was certain now and his deliberate eyes didn't leave Tommy's.

"There's something wrong with your sister," he said.

Tommy stood up swiftly, meeting him at the door. "Where is she?"

"In her room. She—"

Tommy didn't wait for the last of Isiah's words, taking a few quick strides across the shop and up the stairs with Isiah following just a few steps behind.

Finn and Isiah had been down at the far end of Watery Lane when they saw Clara run by, her blue coat and blonde hair little more than a blur as she moved past them. She ignored the boys' calls after her, running faster when she figured they were chasing behind. She had pulled her bedroom door shut, locking it from the inside when Finn had been only six steps behind her.

Finn stood just outside Clara's door, still attempting to get inside, knocking and twisting the handle, pleading for his sister to let him in.

"What's happened, Finn?" Tommy asked.

"I don't know. She locked us out, Tommy, but there's blood."

Finn pointed towards the door handle and sure enough, there was a thin layer of red covering the dingy metal.

"And you don't know what happened either, I suppose?" Tommy rounded on Isiah. "Told me she was spending time with you today."

"Mr. Shelby, I—"

Tommy scoffed, turning back to the door. "Clara, open up."

His words were met with silence and a clear lack of movement on the other side of the thin wooden door. Tommy didn't wait more than a few seconds for an answer, shoving his shoulder into the wood, splintering the frame at the location of the lock.

Clara was curled into a small ball, painful sounding cries muffled against the blanket she buried her face in. Tommy lowered himself to kneel beside her bed, reaching out to gently rub her back. Clara flinched, pulling herself away from him into the topmost corner of her bed.

"Go away," she said, the words quickly followed by a hiccup.

"C'mon there, Clara. Tell me what happened. You're hurt?"

Clara let out a wail in response, unable to come up with a simple answer to her brother's question. Many things had 'happened' as Tommy put it.

Aunt Polly had tricked her, found her out.

Clara had betrayed Ada and Freddie.

She hadn't had a proper relationship with Tommy for weeks.

And now she was covered in throbbing bruises and wounds filled with dirt and blood.

Tommy sat beside her on the mattress, attempting again to soothe her so he could assess. He placed a hand on her shoulder and Clara turned towards him, arms flailing as her small fists banged against his chest in an attempt to push him away. Tommy caught her wrist, seeing the blood and mud caked on her hand, and he moved her to sit up straight despite her continuous wailing.

Tommy pulled his sister onto his lap though she continued to fight him, pushing against him, using every extremity as a weapon. Tommy held on tightly, arms wrapped around her until he felt the fight begin to subside. The fighting was replaced with more tears as Clara began crying hard against his chest. This time, his sister didn't struggle when he rubbed a hand up and down her back, rocking her gently in his arms.

"I need to get you cleaned up," Tommy said though the girl was still emitting loud, woeful sobs that were painful for Tommy and the boys to listen to.

Clara shook her head against his chest, leaving blood on his white shirt from the cut on her forehead. He ignored her protest, lifting her in his arms. Tommy carried her down the steps with Isiah and Finn at his heels as he stepped out onto the lane, regretting that he had finished the last of the liquor in the house and the shop.

"Is your father at home?"

Isiah shook his head across once. "He's out preaching. I can go find him."

Tommy shook his head. He knew Jeremiah could have her cleaned up quickly but he wasn't keen to wait on Isiah to find his father. Tommy thought it best to take her to the Garrison and take care of it himself.

"Right. I want you two to go back and lock up the shop."

Finn and Isiah both nodded once, turning and heading straight back into the house as Tommy continued down the lane to the Garrison.

Two men were occupying a corner bench in the pub when Tommy came through the doors. He shouted for them to leave, not paying much attention to them as they hurried out. Tommy placed Clara on a clean tabletop, allowing him to get the first proper view of her injuries as he pulled up a chair.

"Christ, Clara," he offered, running a hand through his hair after taking in her injuries under the brighter light of the pub. She had a deep cut on her forehead above the same cheek that had already been sporting a bruise for a few weeks now. The bruise had finally begun to fade just days before. Besides that, her face and hands were scraped, muddy, and bloodstained.

"Oh, Mr. Shelby. What can I—? Is she—?"

Clara eyed the blonde woman coming out from the backroom as she set a few bottles down on the bar.

"We're both fine, Grace. I'll need a bottle of rum, light or dark, doesn't matter, and a clean rag. And lock up for a bit." Tommy didn't even glance at the woman, focused on his sister's bruised and broken skin. "Is there anything I can't see?" he asked.

Clara shook her head, fumbling with the end of her sweater.

"I need the truth, Clara."

She slowly pulled up the ends of her skirts far enough to show her bloodied, scraped-up knees. The damage was mostly superficial but that didn't mean that the cleanup would be any better for her, the dirt, blood, and debris commingled as it was with her skin.

"Anything else?"

Clara wrapped her arms around her abdomen and Tommy waited patiently for her to pull up her sweater. She winced when her brother touched his rough hand to the tender skin of her stomach, feeling his way along the dark red flesh.

"Just bruises," he offered, pulling his hand away and resetting her shirt.

Tommy took a bottle of booze in his hand, preparing to soak the rag Grace had handed him. "Clara, I'm going to need you to—"

"No, Tommy, I don't want it!"

Twice during the last month, Clara had watched as Tommy cleaned Arthur's wounds and she wanted nothing to do with it even if she knew it needed to be done. She had a moment of thinking that she had earned this for herself-the injuries, the painful cleanup, and the feelings of hurt. This was, after all, entirely her doing.

Clara hadn't even meant to go through that part of town. She knew better than to linger in Cheapside, but she had been rushing and distracted on taking leave from the museum. That was an accident, but going to the museum had been her doing. Sneaking off to see Ada had been her doing. Still, thinking she almost deserved it and willingly accepting that fate were two very different things.

"I know you don't, but we haven't got much of a choice. Should I have my friend Grace tie you down?"

The question was meant as a joke but Clara didn't take it as one. She eyed the woman on the other side of the room before shaking her head. Tommy nodded, taking that as permission to proceed. He positioned himself in front of where Clara sat on the table, leaning forward in his chair.

"Alright then, you just hold still and we'll be done in—Fuck, Clara!"

At his approach, Clara had fought him off, holding Tommy's hand back from her face with both of her own. Tommy had barely touched the rag to her face when she kicked at him. Tommy shouldn't have been surprised when the toe of Clara's boot connected hard enough with his kneecap that he bit down on his tongue, drawing a bit of blood, but he hadn't been expecting the severity of his sister's response.

Clara hadn't expected it either, her damp eyes widening for a moment after. Clara immediately moved to get away from her brother, fearing some reprisal for the outburst.

Tommy pulled his sister off the table and into his lap, securing an arm around her which only caused Clara to let out an anticipatory scream so piercing that Tommy thought a glass or two behind the bar might shatter. Grace took hold of Tommy's wrist, stopping him from attempting another go at his sister's wounds with the alcohol-soaked rag. She pulled a spare chair up to the table, but hesitated beside the seat.

"Let's ease into it. Maybe we can start with a little water first?" Grace went around the bar and came back with a small bucket and a fresh rag.

Tommy stared at Grace's easy smile before glancing down at Clara's pale face, considering it. Though he had been holding her still, Clara had somehow wormed her way around so she was now nearly lying across his lap, fresh tears littering her cheeks.

Grace cleared her throat. "So, who have we got here, Mr. Shelby? Tell me you've not been kidnapping innocent little girls."

"This far from innocent little girl is my sister. Clara, say hello to Miss Burgess," he answered. Tommy shifted Clara on his lap so that she was sitting up, leaning back against his chest and Clara acknowledged the woman with a small nod, her body still heaving with erratic breaths.

"A proper hello."

"Pleased to meet you," Clara said, offering a bloody palm.

"Will you look at that, proper manners on a Shelby?" Grace said, smiling. "I'll start with this one if that's alright?" she said as she wrapped the small hand in the wet rag, cleaning the blood from its surface.

"My Clara is a dignified young lady when she wants to be."

"Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Clara. You can call me Grace."

Clara didn't respond, focused on the movement of Grace's hands.

Grace continued the gentle clearing of dirt and blood from the girl's face and extremities, attempting to engage her in conversation throughout.

Growing tired as Grace worked, Clara leaned her head back against her brother's chest and made little effort to respond, her eyes feeling heavy as she strained to keep watch of Grace's progress.

Grace talked with Tommy instead, sighing deeply when she finally reached the bloody right hand they had all been ignoring. Though the gash on Clara's forehead was deeper, Grace knew the hand would be the thing to start up Clara's screaming once again.

"I'll have to pull this out and then—" Grace stopped talking when she saw Tommy shake his head.

"And then we're almost done," he offered.

Tommy wrapped a hand around each of Clara's arms. He held one to her body and the other he used to hold Clara's arm out flat on the table. Clara hadn't even noticed that Tommy had slipped his feet around her legs to restrict her from kicking, confining her to his lap, and allowing Grace the room to safely do what needed to be done.

It was a piece of broken glass settled in Clara's palm, something which had become lodged there when she put out her hands to break her fall.

After giving Clara an encouraging smile, Grace quickly pulled the shard free, putting pressure on the wound which was yet again pouring out blood while Clara screamed and writhed against her brother's hold. It was several moments before the blood slowed and Tommy once again shifted Clara in his arms.

Somehow, without having to say it, Grace understood what Tommy wanted her to do. He tightened his grip in the second before Grace pushed the alcohol-soaked rag down between both of Clara's hands, holding them together for a few moments before soaking the rag again and pressing it to the scrapes on her knees.

"One more, my girl," Tommy said. "Take a deep breath."

Clara closed her eyes as Grace pressed the rag to her face, the woman standing up quickly once her job was through and giving Clara and Tommy a bit of space.

"Alright, that's it, my brave girl. That was the hard part." Tommy turned Clara towards him and pulled the sobbing girl to his chest. He placed a long kiss on her hairline.

Grace set two fresh rags on the table and when Clara began to calm, Tommy got to work ripping them into strips which he wrapped and tied around the girls' hands. It wasn't long before Clara was asleep against his chest, every bit of fight in her diminished.

Clara shifted in her bed, attempting to release the stiffness in her body, a quick intake of breath falling from her lips as she put unexpected pressure on the bruised abdomen. She sucked her swollen bottom lip into her mouth, a shaky breath tumbling out as she remembered the events of the day.

"Morning, Clara."

Clara tensed at the sound of her brother's voice, slow and calm. She pulled the blanket over her shoulders, carefully wrapping the fabric around herself like a shield. The blanket was unremarkable, a dull brown in color, and made of a fabric that most would consider scratchy, but because Tommy had been the one to give it to her, it had remained on Clara's bed ever since.

"Let's have a chat, you and me," he prompted.

"I wanna sleep, Tommy."

"I wasn't asking."

Clara slowly turned herself over in the bed, keeping the blanket wrapped close under her bruised chin, staring at him with eyes that were already becoming wet as she kept her head on her pillow. Clara could see that it still wasn't quite morning yet, darkness still overwhelming the bit of sky visible through the part in her curtains.

Tommy was sitting in a wooden chair he'd pulled near to the bed from a far corner. His jacket and tie were draped over the back, sleeves rolled to the elbows.

Clara watched his deep breath and the sigh that came with the exhale. Tommy stood up, coming to sit beside her on the bed.

"This needed stitches." Tommy touched his thumb to the blood that had pooled in the wound on her forehead and he wiped the blood on his pant leg before shifting his eyes to Clara's. "How're you feeling?"

Clara pushed through the pain resonating through her body and sat up, climbing into her brother's arms.

Tommy held her, attempting to slow the sudden bout of crying. He waited for several minutes for his sister to reach some level of calm, for her to reset herself with a big breath. When it didn't come, Tommy shifted her in his arms to better see her face.

Tommy had already let her sleep through most of the night, a luxury he had not afforded to himself. As it was now early morning again, he had a whole new day of business to attend to. There would be no rest for him and once the day got started, there would be no time for his sister either.

"I want you to tell me what happened."

Clara tried to curl back into his chest, a pink tint forcing its way into her cheeks, but he stopped her, a hand firm yet gentle on the back of her neck. Though Clara was eager for the comfort of just being with her brother, she wanted only that, just the comfort of Tommy. She didn't want the bossy tone or the penetrating eyes, the rough grip. Clara would've liked to fall back asleep in Tommy's arms, only to wake up when this was all forgotten and Ada was back home. She had no interest in fighting him or listening to his shouting. Clara was tired of it all.

"C'mon, my girl," he prompted, his voice a bit softer. Tommy was still met with silence aside from the residual sniffles. He waited for a beat, assuming she'd want to fill the quiet void herself, but Clara remained silent and still aside from a little quiver in the corner of her lip.

"I already know you've been sneaking off to see Freddie and Ada."

Clara swallowed the lump in her throat. "I—"

"You're not in trouble, but I'd like to know where they are."

Clara's gaze snapped to her brother's face and she narrowed her eyes. "I won't tattle on them."

"It's not tattling, Clara. I want you to tell me the truth. It's for the best that I know."

Clara pushed herself off Tommy's lap. "No, I don't care what you say. I won't tell you."

Tommy fixed her with a long stare and Clara focused on the charred remnants of wood in the fireplace across the room.

"That's a good girl."

Clara sneaked a glance in his direction and then narrowed her eyes.

"You heard me right. That's a good thing. If you'd tell anyone, I imagine it would be me. And since you won't tell me, that means you've done a good job of keeping our sister safe."

"But Aunt Polly—"

"Aunt Polly doesn't know where they live unless Ada's gone ahead and shown her. All she knew was where you two have been meeting."

Tommy finally saw Clara take the deep resetting breath he had been waiting for, recognizing the tension as it quickly drained from her body.

"But there will be no more visits, no more lies, no more sneaking around."

Clara opened her mouth, intent on arguing that point, but Tommy started speaking again before she could even get started.

"We're done fighting, Clara. There will be no more of this between you and me. We do things my way from now on."

With that, Tommy stood up, shrugging into his jacket and picking up the book he had set on the floor beside the chair. He set the book down in Clara's lap, waiting for a reaction. She ran her bandaged hand over the cover, it was dirty and damaged, but still in one piece.

"And that includes adventures to Cheapside. You keep yourself close to home."