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madame-wilsonn · 1 year

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It’s always been you

Summary: after years by his side, Tommy sees your friendship shattered when he decides to marry Grace and then later, hurts your boyfriend. Will you ever be reunited?

A/N: phew! this was...well it’s officially the longest one shot I've ever written and it’s in honor of my darling @runnning-outof-time bingo! I’ve worked very hard on this and I'm literally writing this on December 31st at half past two in the morning but it’s worth it! Also, big big thank you to my darling @choreosmania (you’re such a sexy little swine ily <3) Happy New Year everyone, I hope you enjoy this first fic of 2023!! 💗💗

Prompts: A holiday party—hurt/comfort—must include: a secret—enemies-to-lovers

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, swearwords, peaky related stuff and fluff (obviously)

Word count: 8,037 words

Tommy sat in the quiet office, waiting to hear the distinctive clicking on the hardwood floor. He had news to tell you. Something very important that got you rushing to the Shelby Company Ltd. Building. But for once, the news were good.

“What happened?” you almost screamed, erupting through the glass doors. You knew Tommy well enough to be concerned when he called you to his office for “important matters”. And the blood on his temple didn’t soothe your worry.

“I’m getting married, Y/N.”

He pronounced the words calmly. As if it wasn’t supposed to be exciting or thrilling or the best news you had heard all year. He had been through a lot and all you had wished for him was someone good. A nice girl to dust off the remains of the tunnels. Because even if he had changed, Tommy still deserved good things. He deserved to be loved, he deserved to be happy. Even if he didn’t believe it most of the time.

“This is amazing!” you exclaimed, rushing to embrace him. Tommy welcomed your hug, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. You were the first one to know. He wanted you to know before the rest of the family. Ever since he came back from France, you had been a constant. He was aware he was a different man— far from the young boy he was when he left but you accepted it. You didn’t try to make the young boy come back, you didn’t expect Tommy to act like someone he wasn’t anymore. And for that, he wanted to share the good news with you first, and you only.

“So who is the unfortunate creature?” your playful tone made Tommy shake his head. You smiled at him, wondering who had managed to bring back the grin on his face. He hadn’t mentioned anybody special and you hadn’t seen him with anybody either.

“It’s Grace,” Tommy finally said, his smile widening. But you weren’t smiling anymore.

You let him go, a cold pit in your stomach. No. No, you refused to believe it. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not after everything that happened. No, it was probably someone else. Another girl. You heard it wrong because he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t marry her.

Tommy noticed the sudden switch. Your joyful expression erased by a troubled frown, you backed away in disbelief. “Y/N…,” but you shook your head, a hollow chuckle escaping your trembling lips.

“No, no, you can’t marry her. Fuck, Tommy! You can’t be that naive, you– did you forget what she did?” The man lowered his head, sighing. You were reacting out of shock but it would pass, he just needed to let you have a moment. “You almost got killed because of her! She called the fucking cops on your own fucking sister and y-you want to marry her? No, no, please tell me this is supposed to be a joke because you can’t be serious right now…you can’t…”

“But I am, Y/N,” he began calmly, grabbing your hand. “She’s pregnant a-and she said she loved me.”

You snatched your hand away, angry tears rolling down your cheeks. “Are you fucking kidding me, Tommy? She said she loved you? So fucking what? She said she was a barmaid too, didn’t she? And how do you know the baby’s yours, hm? Isn’t she married?”

Tommy sighed, he was feeling less and less patient. Maybe he didn’t expect you to jump out of happiness, especially after knowing he would marry Grace. But he thought you would be happy for him because it was important. Because after all these years in the dark, trying to dig himself out of the tunnels, he had found light.

“She’s going to leave him, she doesn’t love him.”

“Oh right…because she loves you,” you spat out bitterly. “Is that why you asked me to come here? Did you expect me to give you my blessing to go marry a traitor?”

“Don’t call her that, alright?” The mere mention of the past was enough to make Tommy’s blood boil. He knew what Grace had done but he forgave her. You should understand that. You should understand that if he could forgive her, then you should too. Because there would be no one else for him, Grace was the one.

“Call her what? A traitor?” you taunted him even if your anger only masked the deep hurt you felt. She had harmed your family, she had harmed him and now he was opening the door for her. He was allowing her back in. What would she do this time? What would happen if this was another trap but he was too blinded to see? “That’s what she is, Tom! She betrayed you and you’re just giving her another chance! This will never end well, you hear me? And if you go through with this, it’s over. Forget about me.” you uttered the words with all the fierceness burning in your heart. If he wanted to marry a traitor, then he was no better than her. And you didn’t want to be friends with someone who would betray their own flesh and blood.

Tommy observed you for a moment, gauging how serious you were. But he didn’t find an ounce of hesitation in your gaze. You were ready to throw away your entire friendship just for that? You would give up on him because he finally found happiness?

“Then leave, Y/N,” his blue eyes were cold, enough to freeze you on the spot. You watched him as he nonchalantly grabbed a cigarette out of his pocket. The Tommy you loved wasn’t there anymore. You didn’t recognize this man standing tall and proud before you. You shook your head, walking out of the office but before reaching the door you stopped. “When this all goes to shit—and it will— don’t expect me to be there for you. Goodbye, Thomas.” You slammed the glassdoor on your way out, leaving Tommy alone in the gigantic office.

“You’re inviting Y/N?” Polly asked, surprised as her nephew handed her two invitations. She had been the first one to know about the terrible argument between him and Y/N. Polly was many things to the children: a mother, an aunt, a friend at times. But there had always been a strong bond between her and Y/N. Polly had grown up with her mother and when she passed, the Shelby matriarch didn’t hesitate to take the little girl in. She was already spending most of the time with the rest of the Shelbys anyway. They had all accepted her whole-heartedly as part of their clan, especially Tommy. They were inseparable. If Y/N was somewhere, Tommy wasn’t far behind. They disagreed sometimes but their fights never lasted long.

That’s what Polly thought would happen the last time. Nothing more than a petty argument, a few days sulking and then it would go back to normal. Y/N would get over her hatred towards Grace and Tommy would understand that marrying her didn’t erase her wrongs. But neither seemed to budge, they were too stubborn, too set in their own positions.

Family meetings turned to awkward blanks and a tense atmosphere as everyone observed the broken pair. Y/N didn’t address Tommy unless it was necessary. Tommy treated Y/N like she was nothing more than an employee. But the rest of the family couldn’t help notice the glances one would throw when the other wasn’t paying attention.

“Well, she’s part of the family, isn’t she?” Tommy answered simply, passing a tired hand over his face. He had told the same thing to Grace a week before when she was making the invitations— to which she replied: “I’m your family too, now, Tommy.” But he insisted regardless of Grace’s reticence. His soon-to-be wife didn’t seem to understand why he would invite the girl who had decided to cut all relations with him. But Tommy, for some reason, couldn’t imagine his wedding without Y/N being there. And even if there was a very strong chance she declined the invitation, Tommy thought he could try. Maybe extend an olive branch her way and put an end to the ridiculous quarrel between them.

“Just give her the invitation, will ya, Pol?” his aunt observed him, he seemed exhausted. But not the exhaustion of a father who had a teething baby at home. Not the exhaustion of a businessman spending too much time at the office. No, something was bothering him.

“What’s going on, Tommy?”

He looked up, eyes reddened by the incessant rubbing, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he took out a file from a drawer and threw it on top of his desk. Polly opened it, finding letters and different annotations. “Mr. Changretta met a girl in the Italian restaurant on Fleet Street and took her back to a suite at the Midland Hotel,” she read out loud.

Fuck.

You had been seeing Angel for a few months. You had told Polly about him, how nice he was to you.

“Don’t tell her anything, alright? I’m going to deal with it?” Polly looked up from the file, a frown on her face. Tommy’s tone didn’t need clarifying. Anyone who hurt a Shelby would pay the consequences. These were the rules. But the Changrettas were a powerful family.

“Thomas, don’t start with the Italians, you hear me? I’ll tell Y/N what you found and she will handle it alone-”

“No, Polly. You won’t tell her. Just let me handle it.”

She handed him the file back, sighing. Tommy wouldn’t do something stupid, she told herself. Not when he had a baby, not right before his wedding. No, her nephew was a smart man. He would handle things properly.

You opened the glassdoors with such strength they hit the wall behind. But it didn’t matter, you didn’t care. Thomas got up from his desk as you ran towards him, rage deforming your features.

“Fuck you, Thomas! Fuck you!” you pushed him, tears blurring your vision. “How could you, hm? How could you do that? What…just because I refused to come to your fucking wedding you had to get revenge? Are you that fucking petty?” you screamed. You probably seemed mad, maybe you were. It didn’t matter. Not when he stood so calmly, even after what he did.

“Y/N…” he grabbed your wrists, holding them close to his chest. You easily got out of his grip, withdrawing as if his hands had burnt you.

“Why did you do that, hm? Just out of spite?” but Tommy stood there, observing you. “Answer me!” you demanded vehemently.

The office doors opened again. This time, Polly rushed inside, alerted by the screams.

“What’s going on?”

You turned to her, eyes swollen and red. “Maybe you should ask your nephew, hm?” your finger pointed accusingly towards Tommy, you explained “He went to Angel and took his fucking eyes out.”

“What?” Polly observed Tommy in disbelief. Not because she was surprised by his action. But because two weeks ago, she warned him. She told him if he decided to deal with Changretta, he had to be diplomatic. This was far from diplomacy. This meant war with the Italians.

“And you wanna know why he did it, huh?” you continued, hands gesturing in anger “Because the great Thomas Shelby can’t stand that I hate his darling wife so he wants to make me pay. And for that, he’s just planning on hurting anybody I get close to, isn’t he?” a hollow laugh left your trembling lips, Tommy kept quiet.

From the corner of her eye, Polly noticed his clenched jaw. Her nephew stood there, unable to defend himself because he refused to let you know the reason.

Tommy had to speak with Polly. Keep her from explaining why Angel Changretta lost his sight. But he couldn’t do that with you in the room.

Polly seemed to understand her nephew’s lack of answer and called Lizzie.

“Y/N, sweetheart, let me talk to Tommy. Go with Lizzie, alright?”

You sighed, your chest heaving. The flaming rush that led you to the office was slowly dissolving, leaving you a pounding headache and exhaustion. You listened to Polly, deflated and followed Lizzie outside.

The Shelby matriarch waited to hear the click of the door and turned back to Tommy. He slumped in his chair, sighing. “Oh, you can sigh all you want but I’m not leaving.”

“Yeah, I know you won’t, Pol.” he lit up a cigarette, watching the cloud of smoke escaping from his lips.

“You have to apologize, Thomas. We can’t afford a war with the Italians. Not when you already have that business with the Russians.”

Tommy scoffed, shaking his head. “Oh yeah and how should I apologize, eh? In English or in Italian?”

Polly shook her head. Her nephew was too proud to realize the consequences of his actions.

“Or maybe we should ask them which fucking language they prefer?”

“Why, Thomas? Why?”

“Because anyone who hurts a Shelby pays the price, remember, Pol?” he said matter-of-factly, his voice low.

She observed him. This was more than just pride, this was more than just a show of power.

“Why didn’t you tell Y/N, then? Why let her believe you did it out of pure spite?”

Tommy took a minute to reply, smoking his cigarette as he stared at the family portrait on the desk. “She hates me already. No need to get her heart broken on top of it.”

Polly sighed. She sat next to him, grabbing a cigarette as well. He knew the consequences of his actions but it didn’t matter, he would blind the king himself if he dared disrespecting you. Even if your friendship had shattered to pieces, it didn’t make him care less about you. It didn’t change the years spent by your side. Tommy knew you like no one did. And even if you were a strong woman, he wouldn’t handle seeing you in pain. Much less for a scumbag like Angel Changretta.

“Don’t tell her, Polly, yeah?” his aunt stared at him, containing the smirk forming on her lips.

“I won’t but that’s not what you should be worried about, Tommy. The Changrettas will come after you.”

“Then let ‘em come, Pol. Let ‘em come.”

A cup of tea, a book in hand and a fire softly crackling in the hearth. All the elements for a perfect evening. And it would be perfect if Polly wasn’t standing over you, arms folded across her chest. “Come on, Y/N, just come! You can’t spend New year’s Eve alone!”

You rolled your eyes, finally giving up on your book. “I can, Polly. And I will. Now, you got the pearls you were looking for, go or you’ll be late.” Wrapping your robe closer around your chest, you opened the door. “And you know how your dear nephew loathes late people.”

Polly sighed. The only reason you refused to come was because said New Year’s party was at Arrow House. It was a stupid reason. And even though Polly had tried to be patient, she was tired of you and Tommy sulking like children, refusing to be near each other under any circumstance. “Y/N…”

“Polly…” you mimicked her. The woman sighed, closing the door and grabbing your hand.

“Alright, I won’t take another minute of you behaving like a kid. Sit,” her order was firm. It left no room for negotiation. And quite frankly, no matter how grown you were, you couldn’t ignore Polly’s scolding.

“You’re going to that party.” you opened your mouth, ready to retaliate “You are going. And you’ll talk to Tommy.” She fished a dress out of your wardrobe, throwing it on your bed. “ Go on, we don’t have all day. I need to do your hair.”

“Polly, please.”

It was hard for the family, you were aware of that. Tommy and you had always been close and the sudden distance between you had completely wrecked the usual balance. But you couldn’t just forgive and forget. It was better to ignore him than go to his house and sulk all night while the others were put in the middle.

“Y/N, this has to stop,” she spoke more softly, her hands rubbing your arms up and down. “Look, he doesn’t want you to know but…”, Polly hesitated. She promised she wouldn’t say anything but she couldn’t bear watching you and Tommy apart anymore. “Angel was cheating on you.”

“What?”

Polly sighed. “He was cheating with some other girl and that’s why Tommy gave the order. He asked me to keep it a secret and…”

“And you lied. You let me believe that Tommy did it because he was bitter,” you scoffed, shaking your head.

“Tommy didn’t want you to be heartbroken. He…he cares even if he has strange ways of showing it.”

You observed Polly, suddenly feeling stupid. You thought your anger towards Tommy was justified, that he deserved it because someone had to stop him. Someone had to make him understand he didn’t have all the rights to do whatever he pleased. But now…now you realized your outburst was unfair. He was trying to protect you, even if he could have let you deal with your troubles alone. He shielded you from the pain, took the blame for everything. Gosh you hated him.

“Just come, alright?”

Your initial reticence had seemingly disappeared and you nodded.

Polly helped you get ready and called her driver an hour later. You would arrive late, probably right in time for dinner but it didn’t matter. All you needed was a talk with Tommy. You needed to apologize and put an end to the conflict between—which seemed completely ridiculous now. Apprehension grew in the pit of your stomach as you got closer and closer to Arrow House. You didn’t know how he would react: would he listen to you? Would he try to avoid the conversation?

“We’re there, Y/N,” Polly’s firm hand squeezed yours, the great manor standing tall behind the window.

You took a deep breath, exiting the car. Each step brought you closer to him and it frightened you. You brought your coat closer to you, trying to stop your hands from shaking. Polly, noticing your anxiety, kept her hand tightly wrapped around yours and offered you a smile as you passed the threshold.

“Well, Polly, you’re…” Tommy appeared, his pocket watch in hand. He was probably going to comment on his aunt’s late arrival but he stopped himself mid sentence. Polly didn’t come alone tonight. No, you were here too.

Tommy had invited you, the same way he invited his brothers and their wife but unlike John, Esme or Arthur, he didn’t expect you to show up.

Even a year later, you didn’t forgive what happened to Angel Changretta. Tommy had paid the price already but losing Grace made him realize how alone he felt. After her death, he didn’t have anyone to turn to. Of course, there were Ada and Polly and Arthur’s clumsy attempts. But none were enough. Not compared to you.

Tommy remembered the days after his mother’s death, you had been the only one he could somehow confide in.

Sometimes, his grief grew so heavy he couldn’t speak anymore. His family didn’t understand that. They didn’t see his silence as the biggest proof of his sorrow, they saw it as a lack of emotion. But you had always been attentive enough to understand that words didn’t work, not when he felt like his heart was nothing but broken pieces scattered on the floor.

Your absence had never been as striking as it had been during the past year. But you were here now, on his doorstep with a soft smile brightening your features. Tommy moved towards you, he wanted to hug you, tell you just how much he had missed you.

“Y/N,” he mumbled instead, a polite nod to greet you.

Polly watched the scene, suppressing a grin. It wasn’t much but it was progress, she thought.

“Alright, Tom, are we spending the rest of the evening on the doorstep or can we get in? It’s freezing here!” The Shelby matriarch almost pushed her nephew out of the way and ran to greet the rest of the family. John’s kids screamed as they saw Polly, scaring to death Billy—Arthur’s baby.

The party was booming, jazz echoing through the halls and children running around. Although you didn’t come here often, you knew your way to the parlor where most of the family was. You hugged everyone, giggling at Arthur’s tight embrace and drunken comments. Quickly, you found yourself holding Esme’s little girl in your arms, chatting with her and Linda.

Tommy sat in the corner of the room, a glass of whiskey in hand and a cigarette in the other. He didn’t enjoy parties—too much noise, too much mess— but Arrow House had been so quiet. A deadly silence, gloomily settling in the manor until Tommy couldn’t handle it anymore. Inviting the family over brought back some of the liveliness: the chandeliers had been lit, music played on the phonograph and Charlie could run around with his cousins.

“Tom?” he blinked, startled as you stood before him. It had been a while since he heard you say his name. “Could I talk to you, please?” Tommy kept quiet for a moment, surprised by your proposal but he nodded, guiding you to his office.

There was a beat of silence as you stood in the middle of the room, twisting your fingers. You didn’t know how to start.

“Is everything okay?” Tommy finally asked, observing your nervous gestures.

“No…I mean, yes, I just…Polly told me about what you did and…and I guess I wanted to apologize.”

Tommy sighed, your words clear enough he didn’t need to ask what you were talking about. Polly promised she wouldn’t say anything but of course, his aunt never listened to him.

“You don’t have to apologize, I’m the one who blinded the man you loved, didn’t I?”

“You did it because he deserved it,” you reasoned simply. “And I didn’t love him, he was just a nice man…well, I thought so. I…why did you do it, Tom?”

Polly gave you a reason earlier today but you wanted to hear it from him. Why would he do something so reckless just over a love affair between you and some Italian man?

“I didn’t want you to get your heart broken over him. You didn’t deserve that,” he admitted, hands in his pocket.

“So you thought taking the blame would be better? You didn’t deserve getting yelled at.”

Tommy stared at you. He didn’t know what to answer. Letting you believe he was a terrible person somehow felt easier than watching you in pain. It was hard to explain but at the time, he didn’t need to explain anything. It was natural. Your friendship was already dead anyway, why break your heart to save something that wasn’t there anymore?

Before he could figure out an answer, Tommy felt your arms wrapped around his neck. You embraced him so tight it knocked the air out of his lungs. “Thank you,” a soft whisper, mumbled close to his ear.

It had been so long, he didn’t even realize how much he had missed it. You always hugged him like your life depended on it, like at any point he would disappear and you needed to make the most of whatever time you had left. Not much had changed, not even the perfume you wore. Tommy finally wrapped his own arms around your figure, his head resting on your shoulder. He closed his eyes for a moment. He dreaded the moment you would pull away, afraid it was the last time and he didn’t enjoy it enough.

But you didn’t want to let go either. You had missed him terribly. Often people wondered what you found in him, why a girl like you would care so deeply about the devil of Small Heath. And you understood the concern: Tommy was from being a saint. But there was so much to him, so much you were never able to express. He had unique ways of showing his love but you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. If you had to learn a lesson from all these years apart, it was that. You needed him just like you knew he needed you.

“Mr. Shelby?” a soft knock on the office door and Tommy loosened his hold, allowing Frances to come inside. “The fireworks are ready, sir.”

“Fireworks, huh?” you asked in a playful tone.

“Wanted to start the year on the right foot.”

Tommy’s hand rested safely on the small of your back, guiding you outside. Polly instantly noticed the gesture as you arrived in the garden. She didn’t comment—there would be more appropriate times for that— but she couldn’t help flashing a sly smirk your way.

It was a minute to midnight, everyone was ready. The kids sat expectedly, waiting for the magic to start while the adults checked their watch. At last, Tommy signed for the fireworks to be lit.

Midnight sharp. A first bang, followed by another. The entire family marveled at the colors and festive motifs as they all hugged each other. A bright smile on your face, you turned to Tommy and kissed his cheek. “Happy New Year, Tom.”

But before he could answer, the noise was covered by cars screeching in the driveway and explosions—different from the fireworks. You merely had time to register the screams, Arthur yelling to get inside with the kids and bullets flying left and right. You couldn’t see who was shooting, your mind numbing the noise as you stood there, completely frozen. Fireworks were still shooting in the sky and in hues of red and blue, you saw John and the bullets passing through his chest, you saw Michael right behind him fall to the ground and you felt something running down your arm. A wave of hot liquid soaking your coat as arms pushed you away from the bullet. Gravel scratched your cheek—a sting long forgotten as you bled out on the ground. Tommy lay on top of you, he pushed the hair out of your face and spoke to you but all you could hear was the ringing in your head.

“...Okay? Y/N?”

You blinked, mumbling about your arm—at least you thought you did, you weren’t sure your lips could still move. Tommy seemed to understand and he took off his scarf, wrapping it around the wound.

“It hurts, Tom.”

“I know, I know, love,” he held you, leaning against the wall. You felt the wool of his coat around you and the fast thumps of his heart against your cheek. He shouted instructions, his loud voice rumbling in his chest. Someone was crying, you couldn’t see who it was. Your arm was getting numb, you couldn’t feel the tip of your fingers anymore. The pain was so raw you thought you would pass out. Somewhere in the distance, the cries were covered by sirens. You were so tired, so cold.

“Hey, hey, Y/N, stay awake, love,” Tommy’s hands cooled down your flushed cheeks.

“’m so tired.”

“Yeah, yeah but you have to stay awake, alright? You have to stay awake, the ambulance is coming,” Even in your half-conscious state, you picked up on the worry in his voice. Tommy couldn’t lose you. He had lost enough already, he wouldn’t handle losing you as well. The dark attire, the funeral, everyone crying and him just standing there, only crumbling in the middle of the night, guilt gnawing at his insides. No, he couldn’t do it all again. “Please, Y/N…”

“Hey,” you quietly joined Tommy in front of the fireplace, sitting on the carpet. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he sipped his whiskey.

“How is your arm doing?” his gaze darted towards the fresh bandages wrapped around the bullet wound.

You had spent the few hours following the attack at the hospital. Thankfully, no bone was touched. Your injury was taken care of quickly, you didn’t even realize it was over—which probably had to do with the heavy dose of anesthetic they gave you. Tommy proposed to take you back home and stay with you, leaving Polly with Michael and John…

Oh John…

You didn’t see him, didn’t have time to say goodbye. But a part of you was glad you didn’t go to the morgue. That way, the last memory you would keep of him would be his booming laugh and the jokes he’d share at dinner. Not the gruesome view of his wan skin covered by blood and lifeless eyes. No, that way, you cherished that last evening with him, his smile and his hugs and everything that made him him.

“It’s okay. I don’t feel much with all the painkillers.”

Tommy nodded, his eyes stopping on your cheek. His fingers instinctively reached for the scratch, his thumb gently trailing over the redded marks. “It’s from the gravel, don’t worry,” you assured him, your hand closing over his fingers.

He frowned, his jaw clenching. “‘m sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“Are you joking? Tom, hey,” you tilted his chin, making him look at you. “You saved my life. If it wasn’t for you, I would’ve gotten that bullet…”

Right to the heart.

“I know,” he interrupted you.

Tommy had watched the scene unfold before him. You and that bullet rushing at you. It had left a strange impression of déjà-vu. A familiar sequence. Memories of one fateful evening under glistening chandeliers, guests screaming, the noise covered by his own buzzing fear. His stomach churned at the idea—the sparkle of your dress fading under warm red, holding your lifeless body as he begged for you to stay. So he did what he didn’t have the chance to do a year before: he pushed you to the ground, deviating the trajectory. The bullet didn’t miss, it went to your arm but you were okay. You were okay.

“But I didn’t save John,” Tommy let the words sting his tongue, not even realizing how broken his voice sounded or how easily the truth came out. He felt his eyes burn with the tears he couldn’t shed, his jaw aching under the tight pressure.

But your hand found a place on his shoulder, a simple gesture alleviating Tommy’s sorrow.

“I’m sorry, Tom,” you whispered but he shook his head. “It’s not your fault, don’t do this to yourself.”

He scoffed bitterly, bolting the remnants of whiskey. It was his fault. Maybe you were too kind to admit it or even to see it but Tommy knew it was. His hand may not have been the one blinding Angel Changretta but his mouth gave the orders.

“Hey,” your hands gently framed his face, your forehead resting against his. “You can’t control everything, you can’t predict the future. Maybe this was avoidable or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was going to happen no matter what. And there is nothing you can do to change that. Blaming yourself won’t make any of this better.”

Tommy observed you, your words sinking in. A part of him wanted to believe you. A part of him knew you were right. But he couldn’t help the guilt gnawing at his insides.

“All I can think about is what you said. That day when I told you about Grace. You said it would go wrong. I didn’t want to believe you then but you were right. It all went wrong,” he confessed. Your words had haunted him ever since that first night alone in Arrow House. He desperately wanted to go back. Listen to you and let Grace sail away. Maybe then, all of this wouldn't have happened. Maybe he wouldn’t feel the constant grief laying heavily on his chest.

“I said that out of anger, Tom. I never meant…” you sighed, realizing the impact of your wrath. You had been so blinded by your rage you didn’t even consider the consequences of your words.

A pinch of guilt in your chest, you bit your lip. “All these years not talking to you, d’you know what I regretted the most?”

Your thumb trailed across his cheek as he kept quiet. “How safe you made me feel,” you uttered. Those words were true, you meant every single one of them, in every way they could be interpreted. He was the arms you ran into after each heartbreak, each torment. An unsuspected haven hiding under intimidating layers of arrogance and rigidity.

“And after tonight, I can only say the feeling has increased. I know you want to blame yourself for everything that went wrong but I don’t think it’s fair. You do so much good, Tom. You protect us, as best as you can. I know that, Polly knows that. And John knew that too.”

A single tear rolled down Tommy’s freckled cheek. You leaned in, kissing his pain away as his hands tightened around your waist. He embraced you, head resting on your shoulder and even though the wound was still raw, Tommy chose to believe you.

Laughs and chatters echoing through Charlie’s yard, the smell of roasted meat and the entire family gathered around a lavish meal: the perfect way to celebrate John. No matter the pain, no matter the grief, the Shelby clan knew that he would have wanted them to remember the good moments only. The memory of his buoyant energy soothed their sorrow as they chose to say goodbye reminiscing the pranks and jokes John was a master of.

Tommy sat at the end of the table, playing with the flask of whiskey in his hand. He had tuned out the chatter around, turning the loud voices and exclamations into a mere buzzing in the background. Although he seemed miles away from the actual scene, his eyes were fixed on the other side of the table.

You sat next to Ada, chatting about something or another, still wearing your mourning attire. Since the night before, Tommy hadn’t been able to get you out of his mind. For some reason, your presence seemed to haunt his thoughts even more so than usual.

Even after you had gone to bed, Tommy stayed wide awake, incapable of forgetting the solace you had offered him. Your gentleness, your words, your hands. Everything about you made him crave more. He longed for your arms around him, for your voice to whisper in his ear and quiet the demons in his mind. Tommy couldn’t shake that feeling—a wave of peace and tranquility washing over him amidst a tempestuous ocean.

“I heard you and Y/N finally buried the hatchet,” Polly sat down next to him, a sly smirk illuminating her tired face.

Tommy sipped on his whiskey, shrugging. “Yeah, guess I have to thank you for that.”

His gaze was still fixed on the other end of the table. Although his aunt promised she would keep his secret, for once he was glad that she did the complete opposite of what he wanted. If it wasn’t for Polly’s meddling, Tommy would still be living with that cold, empty pit: the knowledge that no matter how close he was sitting, you would only get further and further away.

“I wanted to keep your secret,” she began, her gaze briefly following his. Polly turned to her nephew, observing his tired features. She often worried about him. The more time passed, the more he looked like his mother. And although nothing could be done for Martha, Polly didn’t want the history to repeat itself. Regardless of yours and Tommy’s bond, you were good to him. The Shelby matriarch handled the matters of the heart in the family for a reason, she wasn’t going to let the only good thing in Tommy’s life slip through his fingers. “But then I remembered the time you came home from school and told me you had met your wife.”

Tommy’s head shot up at Polly’s words. It had been so long, somehow buried under the decades of war and pain and loss. A memory lost, somewhere before France, somewhere before his mum’s death and his father’s leaving. Somewhere Tommy was still a boy who wasted the week’s money on top hats and coconuts and you were still a little girl with braids and a toothy smile.

It had been another dusty afternoon, running home after school. Tommy was with his brothers, kicking a ball and laughing the soot away. But even in the middle of a very important game, the little boy didn’t miss the cruel snickering echoing through the streets. He remembered abandoning the ball, his brothers’ exclamations ignored as he followed a lone, shriek cry for help.

Behind an alley, tall boys circling a smaller figure. Tommy knew them, some scumbags from school who spent their days attacking those who couldn’t defend themselves. And their new target was you, only 8 but already tougher than those boys. They were mocking you, making fun of your father—or lack thereof. You didn’t care, your mum explained it all to you but those idiots didn’t seem to understand.

Tommy stepped up, easily reminding them their own lives weren’t perfect—they lived in dingy Small Heath just like that little girl after all, they weren’t any better. You had watched the scene, scared for your daring savior—those boys could easily take him—but he got a pocket knife out and in the blink of an eye, the boys scurried off the alley.

“Thank you, Tommy,” you had shyly muttered, the first words you ever said to him. Tommy had seen you, sometimes you came over with your mum but you always stayed hidden in her skirts.

Tommy remembered how your light voice made him smile. And with the full weight of his 11 years old, he realized that the chirpy melody was too beautiful to be tainted by sorrow or even anger. He couldn’t understand it then but the radiant grin you offered him on that first, real meeting, made his heart flutter and his cheek redden.

Kindly, Tommy took you back to your house and made sure you arrived safely but before leaving, you granted him another smile. “Thank you,” you had repeated and Tommy waved the gesture off as if it was nothing. It was to him.

He remembered how you looked around, searching for something until your gaze dropped on a small dandelion. It had somehow grown on your doorstep, finding a crack through the pavement and shamelessly growing, unafraid of the industrial monster around. You handed him the flower, tiptoeing to kiss his cheek. The first kiss Tommy didn’t get from his mum or his aunt. The first kiss he got from an actual girl. He took the flower, staring at you dumbfounded.

On the way back to his house, Tommy couldn’t help but touch his freshly kissed cheek, observing the dandelion. He had passed the threshold, arriving in the living room, still as starstruck as he had been ever since your lips touched his skin. Polly observed her nephew, wondering what in the world could have turned the usually loud boy so quiet.

“I–I think I met my wife, Pol,” he mumbled, showing the bright yellow dandelion.

Tommy stared at the dried flower between his fingers. It had been there all along, at the bottom of a drawer in his childhood bedroom. After the lunch in Charlie’s yard, Tommy had spent another sleepless night. It wasn’t nightmares or ruminations this time, no. It was that old, shrunken up dandelion. He had been unable to shake the growing feeling in his chest, the memories of an entire life spent by your side.

“Hey, you said you wanted to see me?” Tommy blinked his thoughts away, quickly hiding the flower in his pocket.

He cleared his throat, leaving his chair and grabbing his coat. “Yeah, I…I wanted to take you somewhere.”

Instinctively, Tommy extended his arm towards you and you linked your fingers with his. He almost stopped in his tracks, surprised by the striking contrast. Your soft finger rubbing the rough and calloused skin of his hand.

You quickly recognized the path you took countless times before. It brought you right to the Canal, a secret spot Tommy showed you when you were merely 16. There was not enough space, not enough quiet on Watery Lane so he found somewhere else. A place known by you and him only. A place you would escape to when you wanted to chat or just get away from thin walls and wandering ears.

“It’s been so long since I came here,” you uttered, nostalgia rushing through your veins. All these years and yet, it stayed the same. Nothing had changed since the last time you met there. As if the Canal knew. As if it waited for you to come back, freezing dear memories in time.

Tommy walked to the water, watching a bird on the other side of the bank. He stayed quiet, deep in his thoughts. Something in him told him to bring you here but now…now he didn't know what to do. He considered admitting the strange feelings. Maybe admitting it outloud would make it easier? Or at least make him realize how stupid those thoughts were.

“The trip down memory lane sounds fun, Tom, honestly but, uh, why d’you bring me here? It’s fucking freezing,” you muttered after a good 15 minutes spent in silence.

Tommy walked back to you, leaving his incessant thoughts behind. He handed you a cigarette, observing your features as you exhaled the smoke.

“I had a crush on you,” he finally blurted out. The words lingered in the air for a moment. Tommy didn’t even realize what he said until he noticed the frown on your face.

“What?”

“Yeah, before France, had a crush on you.”

“Really? I–I always thought you were in love with Greta Jurossi,” you chuckled, the image of a younger Tommy appearing somewhere in your mind.

“Nah, she was just helping me. I never told anyone but she knew and she said she would play cupid.” Tommy shook his head at the memory, he had spent hours with Greta, listening to her talk about women loved and how to be romantic.

“D’you remember that time we ended up in the linen closet?”

You hummed.

“Yeah well, that was her idea. She read it in some book, said that by the end the characters kissed and then got married,” Tommy chuckled. It did sound ridiculous now that he said it. “But you grew tired of waiting for her to come back with help so you knocked the damn door down.”

You giggled, remembering that one particular afternoon. You had found yourself locked up in the linen closet and for some unknown reason—well, it was at the time—Tommy just sat there and tried to convince you to wait. Greta promised she would get some help to get you out but time passed and you were still stuck in that closet. Tired of waiting, you did what any other sensible person would do and forced the door open. You never understood why the two kept behaving so strangely but now it all made sense.

“Oh, my poor Tommy, I ruined your plans, didn’t I?” you pouted, a tender expression gracing your features.

“Yeah…” he observed you, hands brushing the hair framing your face.

You had changed so much. Long gone were the two kids from Small Heath who only had each other. But in your gaze, Tommy found a sparkle, the same gleam the little girl with her braids and toothy smile carried proudly. The dandelion weighed in his pocket. It was the reminder that beautiful things grew everywhere—even in the dusty hell of Small Heath. A reminder that, once, Tommy was just a boy and you were just the girl who kissed him. He had given up on being a simple man. Someone who craved to be loved just as much as he craved to love. But the boy he had buried under the mud was still there, still craving the tender smiles and soft kisses.

Tommy felt himself lean in, closer and closer until his lips gently touched yours. His hands caressed your cheeks, slowly trailing down your neck as you responded to the kiss. Your arm wrapped his waist, you brought him closer. It should have been strange, kissing him. It should have felt weird and probably even repulsing. But you still melted against him, fingers getting lost in his raven hair.

Reluctantly, Tommy’s lips left yours cold and hungry for more. He rested his forehead against yours, sighing. “I think I love you, Y/N.”

You shouldn’t have been feeling that peculiar flutter in your stomach at his words. You shouldn’t be craving more, more of his lips, more of his touch, more of the sparkle he lit. But it didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t feel like a mistake, something that should never happen again. No, it was the missing piece of the puzzle. What should have happened all these years ago but never really did.

You felt a yearning. It had been hidden, retained, buried for so long. Too long. And now, you both realized it was everything you wanted, everything you needed. The source of your happiness, your peace, safely resting in each other’s hands.

“No, I don’t think…I know,” Tommy mumbled, his lips brushing yours before kissing you once again.

The sun shone, its gleam covering the guests in golden hues. Arrow House was dressed in its best attire, tents had been installed in the gardens and enthusiasm flowed through the sweet summer air.

Tommy stood at the end of the alley, facing the few guests. Arthur was beside him, talking his ear off as they waited patiently for you. You had decided to get married in your garden with Jeremiah to officiate and only your close family and friends attending. It was unusual, unconventional even. But the Shelby clan wasn’t known for respecting conventions.

At last, the bride’s melody covered the excited chatter as everyone got up. You sauntered through the alley, walking by each of the guests, a bright smile hidden by your veil. You instantly fixed your gaze on Tommy. He looked dashing in his navy blue suit, you thought.

Polly walked next to you, proudly giving you away. The tradition was for the father of the bride to bring her down the aisle but you never had a father. What you had was your aunt who raised you and loved you enough to replace whatever masculine presence people valued so much.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,” she whispered to you, tears glistening in her honey-like eyes. She embraced you tightly, finally leaving you with Tommy.

Your soon-to-be husband beamed at the sight of you: an angel sent to him for a reason he still couldn’t understand. Gently, he lifted the veil covering your face and his smile only brightened. Even after all these years, he couldn’t help but still be starstruck by your beauty.

“You look beautiful, love,” he mumbled, his gaze overflowing with adoration.

“You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Tommy chuckled at your playful tone, his hand reaching for yours. You observed him, a radiant grin engraved on your face. He was beautiful and the best part, he was yours. A part of you wanted to leave everyone there, let them enjoy the champagne and the food while you ran away. Let them dance, let them sing and hide with Tommy, have him all to yourself again.

You made a note to yourself to thank Polly. She made Tommy pick the gorgeous shade—that way, he could be your something blue. But it’s not the suit that piqued your curiosity.

Among the immaculate flowers Tommy wore in his breast pocket, there was a smaller, rusty one.

“Y-You kept it?” you asked, pointing to the old dandelion. The first thing you ever offered him.

Tommy smiled, squeezing your hand. He leaned in and whispered:

“I needed my lucky charm.”

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