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notyour-valentine · 2 years

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The Head of the Snake ~ Tommy Shelby x wife (Angst)

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Summary: Tommy returns exhausted from a BUF event in the middle of the night, and all he wants is peace. But he finds anything but

Note: Written for @raincoffeeandfandoms and her 2.5k Celebration. For it I chose night and even tried to put a spin on your "Black and White" theme. I hope you enjoy!

All my writing is produced by an adult and created with an adult audience in mind (18/21+). You are responsible for your own media consumption. I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Wordcount: 1577 words

As soon as he heard the front door slam shut behind him, Tommy pressed the palms of his hands over his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath.

He was home.

It was over, at least for tonight. By now all the downstairs fires had died down, and only the lamps on the stairs remained.

From the corridor came Frances.

“Didn’t I tell you there was no need to wait up?”, he asked, his voice uncommonly soft.

Even though she had gone against his instructions, Thomas Shelby was beyond glad to see a familiar, friendly face. “It was no trouble, Mr. Shelby.”, she assured him as she slipped the thick tailored coat from his tense shoulders.

Every inch of his body hurt, and that was saying nothing of his mind, and on nights like these the stairs seemed endless.

“Mrs Shelby is still up as well, Sir.”, she told him, just as he reached the halfway point, under the portrait of Monaghan Boy.

Once upon a time, when the world was both smaller and simpler, that horse and it’s success had meant everything to him, and the money they had made with him, his victories, and finally losses, had paved the way for the rise of Shelby Company ltd.

And the road that led him here. Right here. To tonight.

Often, he wondered where he had gone wrong. If there had been a split in the road he had not taken, a corner he hadn’t turned, a bridge he hadn’t considered crossing, or if he had crossed one too many, leapt too high, ventured to far.

Monaghan Boy did not have the answer, and he wouldn’t dare ask Frances the question and so he rallied himself once more and leaned his weight on the banister on the way up.

Never had he felt so old before.

When he looked down the corridor he could see the doors to the children’s rooms already shut.

Of course. They were fast asleep, as they should, and although he felt a burning tightness in his chest that only the sight of his children could ease.

He needed a reminder what he was doing all this for, not just against, needed to hear the soft sounds of their breaths, feel the smoothness of their cheeks, and the softness of their hair.

But it was too late for that, he would only ever wake them.

So he turned the other way and approached his bedchamber.

To his surprise, Frances hadn’t been wrong. His wife was still up, still waiting for him.

She was sitting on the windowsill, in her white nightgown and robe that seemed ever paler compared to the pitch black night sky. The only speck of colour, it seemed, was the glow of her cigarette.

“I’m home.”, he announced, as if she could somehow have missed the arrival of his car on the driveway below, or the sound of the door opening and closing in his wake.

The only response was the crackling of the cigarette’s paper being burned with another inhale.

So it would be another one of these nights, Tommy thought bitterly, but he didn’t have the fight in him and so he only began to undress as quickly and efficiently as he could, placing first his jacket, then his vest over the back of his dressing table chair.

Every single movement, no matter how small, reminded him of the exhaustion he felt body and soul, the kind no sleep - only peace could solve.

He tore his cufflinks out of his shirt, their clattering on the shiny wood making his head throb so much he barely missed the sound of her voice.

“We didn’t wait up for you tonight.”

Her voice was soft, calm, without any trace of emotion, only the slight rasp due to the cigarette and the lat ehour.

“Well I didn’t ask you to.”

Tommy knew he would be late. He was nearly always late.

“We wouldn’t have done if you did.”, she replied, just as cooly as she had spoken previously.

Now that caught his attention.

His arm resting on the back of the chair, he turned to look at her, seeing only a quarter of her face in the reflection of the window.

It was as if she couldn’t even look at him, as if merely meeting his gaze would stain her.

“So you really did it?”, she asked, tapping the ash away.

“By ‘it’ you mean following the plan I agreed on with Churchill, then yes. I did it.”, he spat.

He never should have told her, never would have told her if he hadn’t hoped that doing so would make her help him.

He never expected her to turn her back on him and his cause, not after everything, not after Polly, but she had made no attempt to hide it then, nor did it now as she scoffed and shook her head.

“I remember everyone telling me again and again about how much you are like a horse, but Tommy, you really are a horse.”

“What?”, he asked.

“You are a horse.”

With that, she snuffed out her cigarette and got up, her open robe flapping behind her from the swiftness of her movement as she grabbed his face between two hands.

“Like a racehorse with the blinkers on only you put them there yourself.”

Her fingers found his temples, limiting his eyesight to replicate the blinkers.

“Racing ahead, blindly, stupidly, unable to see the truth of the realisation.”

He moved his head to rid himself of her touch, so warm, so smooth, but right now he could barely stomach her presence.

“They put the blinkers on so that the horse doesn’t startle and injure itself and others.”, he scoffed, turning his back on her.

“And why does the horse startle, Tommy?”, she asked calmly. “Because it’s not made to race. It’s forced to.”

He glared at her, his lips parted and his icy blue eyes piercing.

“No one forces me to do anything.”, he snarled.

It was too late and he was too tired for this. He just wanted to close his eyes and not think, not hear, not sense.

“So you’re doing this because you want to?”

Tommy knows she is asking about Mosley. About the BUF and about the event he had attended tonight, where he had introduced the man.

“I do it because it allows me to get close to him, to gain his trust and gather insight so Churchill can bring them down.”

She snorted once more and shook her head.

“Take your fuckling blinkers off, Tommy.”, she snarled. “Take them off and see what you are doing.”

“The right fucking thing for once!”, he spat right back at her.

“No, you’re not!”

Her voice was dangerously low, and she showed not the slightest sign of folding as Tommy stepped closer to her.

Of all people, he needed her to understand, to believe him. How many times had he tried to explain it to her and every single time she had refused to believe him.

Why was she being so fucking difficult?

“Love-”, he tried once more.

“No!”, she commanded. “No, Tommy. Think, for once about what you’re doing. Not what you or Churchill or anyone are planning to do, or going to do, but what you are actually doing.”

His law muscles tightened as he stared at her, this woman who had loved him fiercely and consistently, even when he had proved himself unworthy of it time and time again.

She had been with him, had supported and shielded him in her own way, protected him from his family, from his nightmares and on some nights even from himself.

And when he looked at her with this fierce determination in her eyes, a sharp terrifying fear took hold inside him, but he had no time to either reassure himself or ask, as she continued - relentless, just like the rest of them.

“You are out there, on a stage with him, with them. You just gave him something money can’t buy. Legitimacy in this city, the city you call yours.”

“It’s all part of-”

“The plan. I know.”, she said, waving it off before he could even begin. “But what if you do manage to bring down Mosley, or even all of the BUF? They will still have thousands of member and sympathisers, and thousands in this city alone, thanks to you.”

Tommy felt his blood run cold.

“Little boys are running around all over Birmingham, playing Peaky Blinders with caps and knives just like their big hero Tommy Shelby. And now their big hero Tommy Shelby is standing shoulder to shoulder with fascists that tell people to throw rocks at their neighbours for all sorts of reasons. Tell me, Tommy, what will the little boys do? What will their fathers do who are employed by the thousands in your factories and docs and companies?”

He inhaled sharply, but that wasn’t deemed a suitable reply and so she shook her head and turned.

“I’m sleeping in the nursery tonight.”, she said, reaching for her blanket.

That made rage bubble up inside him. She was his wife, she was supposed to support him, not stab him in the back.

“You kill a snake by cutting off it’s head!”, he told her harshly just as she was at the door.

She turned slowly, glaring at him.

“And what good will that do if its venom is already spread?"

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed and as always I'd love to hear your thoughts!

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@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @chlorrox @watercolorskyy @books-livre @quarterpastmidnight @lilyevanswhore @polishcrazyone @zablife @just-a-harmless-patato @stevie75 @flyingjosephine-blog @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @babayaga67 @butterfly-skinnylegend @shelbydelrey @mrkdvidal1989 @raincoffeeandfandoms @midnightmagpiemama @adaydreamaway08 @trixie23

Tommy

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