#if i stay under my duvet for the whole week i might come through unscathed

[whentommymetalfie]

To live a life -chapter seven

Chapter one//Chapter two//Chapter three//

Chapter four//Chapter five//Chapter six//

A/N: well here it is, finally. The wrap up. I really hope you’ll enjoy it! 

Chapter summary: Tommy comes to terms with the lasting repercussions of his injury. 

And an epilogue set around six months after the accident. 

Warnings: descriptions of brain injury

Pairing: Tommy/Alfie

Wordcount: 6500

Things do get better.

There’s that saying, right -it’s always darkest before the dawn- and Alfie of course realises it’s a bullshit cliché, but he can sort of understand it now.

Because things do get better.

At least for a while.

A few days pass after the fight and Tommy’s subsequent barefoot walk through the storm, and he obediently stays in bed to rest his torn up feet. And sleep. Thankfully, he doesn’t catch pneumonia or something of the sort, which Alfie somehow expects. But no, apparently God deems that Tommy’s got enough on his plate already, and all he gets is sore feet and a light cough that’s bound to go away with a few good days' rest.

Alfie thinks he might be imagining it, but he seems more at peace with the bedrest this time, too. Perhaps it’s because he knows for sure that it’ll end soon, can see the all the injuries heal up.

Charlie keeps Tommy company; builds forts at the foot of the bed with pillows, or brings all his toy cars and spreads them out on the duvet. He hasn’t fully grasped the use of the cars yet, and treats them more like pets than anything else. Sure, he can drive them along Tommy’s leg while mimicking motor sounds, but will just as soon tuck them in under the blankets next to him. Tommy seems happy to indulge him, and listens intently when Charlie tells him and the cars bedtime stories.

And Alfie feels more at peace than he has in months.  

But after five days of this, which is longer than Alfie expected, Tommy becomes restless.

“Are you going to the office today?”

Alfie looks up from his shirt buttons to Tommy, who’s sat on the bed with the teacup he brought him.

“Figured I’d swing by. Make sure all the buildings are still standing and all that. But I’ll stay home if you want some company.”

“I thought- thought I’d come with you. For a while,” Tommy says, adding with an uncharacteristic note of hesitance, “If you want me to.”

Alfie smiles. “Of course. How’re your feet, then? Hold up for walking?”

“They’re fine.” Tommy pulls a foot out from under the duvet and holds it up. “See?”

Something about the almost childish eagerness makes Alfie’s chest absolutely ache.  

Seating himself on the edge of the bed, he takes the ankle and presses a kiss against it. “Fine then. Guess you’d better get dressed. Or I might change my mind and just stay here in bed with you.”

Tommy is out of the bed before he can even finish the sentence.

“So, how do you want to do this?” Alfie turns to Tommy as he parks the car on the stable yard. “Want me to look intimidating and fend people off, eh? I can do a bit of that. Or do you feel up for talking?”  

“Think it’ll be fine,” Tommy says, lights a cigarette and climbs out of the car. Alfie follows suit. “I can keep up with you now. Even when you’re at your most incoherent.” He quirks an eyebrow at him over the hood of the car. “Which is always.”

Alfie makes a noise of feigned offence, secretly reveling in falling into the familiar banter as they make their way towards the office.

Tommy does seem more relaxed this time, he notes. More grounded. And they’re in luck, because everyone is too caught up to drag either of them into some long conversation, and interactions are limited to just quick greetings. So they make it to the office unscathed. Alfie unlocks and opens the door, holding it up for Tommy.

“After you, dearest.”

Rolling his eyes, Tommy walks past him and into the office. He stops in the middle of the room, eyebrows furrowing as he takes in his surroundings.

It’s not until then Alfie remembers the whole… trashing every object in the office debacle.  

“Alright… either my memory has completely stopped working, or something is different in here.” Tommy looks inquiringly at Alfie, before walking up to his own desk and studying the newly framed pictures. The new table lamp. The replaced chair.

“Yeah, well, there- there was a bit of an incident, wasn’t there? Yeah. Nothing major,” Alfie mutters as he hangs his coat up. He glances at the photos. “It’s a shame we don’t have any paintings of you. Not only a shame, reckon it’s some sort of crime, really, not having your face depicted on anything but blurry photographs. They don’t do you justice-“

“Don’t change the subject. What happened to our office?” Tommy asks, seeming rather amused.

“I happened to it, alright,” Alfie grunts. Unwilling to recall that incident. “Or, this whole fucking thing happened to it.” He runs his fingers through his beard, avoiding to look at Tommy and going to sit at his desk instead. “It was nothing-“ He hopes that waving a hand will further illustrate the point. “Just, you know that the wiring doesn’t always connect up here. And you weren’t there to keep it in order.”

He glances up at Tommy, who is holding one of the photographs in his hands. “No,” he says, putting it back down. “I wasn’t.”

Tommy walks around Alfie’s desk and leans against the edge of it, studying the new ashtray.

“I forget sometimes. That- that I was in the hospital for so long. That you had to deal with all of this on your own.”

Alfie shrugs. “Don’t concern yourself with that, love. Here now, ain’t ya’? Safe and sound. All that matters.”

Nodding slowly, Tommy runs a finger along the edge of the ashtray.

“You were there a lot. At the hospital”

It’s a statement, rather than a question.

“Yeah well- wasn’t anywhere else I wanted to be, was there?” Alfie pauses. “Do you remember anything? Before you woke up? Or before you could… Yeah, before you realised where you were?”

They haven’t spoken about this topic. Hasn’t been much time for that, has it? No, of course there’s been time. But Alfie has spent all of it trying to focus on the here and now. Think forward. Carefully avoid remembering the weeks in the hospital.

Tommy looks out the window. Quiet.

When he eventually answers, it’s in a quiet sort of voice. Distant, as he continues looking at the blue sky.

“It was mostly just… this nothingness. Not unpleasant, really, just like… being asleep,” he says. “But then sometimes it was more like- like being under water. Maybe that’s when I began waking up. And every now and then I’d be a little closer to the surface.” Tommy turns his eyes to Alfie, then. Reaches out and takes his hand where it rests on the desk. Runs his thumb along the knuckles.

“I could hear you talking sometimes. Or feel that you were holding my hand. Don’t know if I fully… understood what it meant right then. But I knew you were there. It helped.”

Alfie lets the following silence linger.

Although he spent the first years after the war filling every second with noise, unable to handle the silence, he’s found himself not minding it all that much since Tommy came into his life. Learnt to appreciate it even.

Tommy holds his hand, running his thumb over the wedding band and then along the knuckles again. Alfie squeezes his hand. Their eyes meet. The barest hint of a smile crosses Tommy’s face.

Then, he goes to open the window and light another cigarette.

Alfie opens a ledger that has been left on his desk, sighing when he stares down at the numbers filling the pages. May has apparently decided that now would be a good time for him to catch up on all the paperwork he’s been neglecting for the past… well, months, really.

“Why didn’t you let me hire a fucking accountant?” he grumbles and glares down at the papers.

“And miss out on the infinite joy that is book-keeping?”

Blinking in surprise, Alfie turns to look at Tommy who blows out a cloud of smoke into the warm summer air before glancing over his shoulder at him, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.  

“Better get to it.”

The little exchange leaves his chest feeling all light and warm, so what does it matter that the numbers on the pages don’t seem to fucking add up when he turns his attention back to them?

Tommy is well into his second cigarette when Alfie groans and slumps back in his chair, rubbing his temples.

“Numbers are a social construct that I from now on fucking refuse to associate with.”

He feels the warmth of Tommy’s body against his arm, and a waft of cigarette smoke seeps into his nostrils as he leans down slightly over the desk.

“It’s supposed to say 325 over there.”

Alfie straightens up as Tommy grabs the pencil, crosses over a sum and writes in a new one. He silently watches him do the same with two others, before putting down the pencil again and blinking down at the papers, seemingly just as surprised as Alfie.

Then he smiles. “Well, I can barely string a sentence together, but I can still count apparently.” He picks up the ledger, eyes still fastened on the pages with a new glint under the blue surface.

“I’ll see if I can sort it out,” he says and makes a move to walk to his own desk.

Alfie pulls him down onto his lap, planting a kiss on his mouth before Tommy can protest.

“Oh there’s no need to be all the way over there, is there, sweetheart?” he grins. “Isn’t this a perfectly good desk, eh? And a much more comfortable seat, if I do say so myself.

“So you’re proposing I just do all my work while sitting on your lap from now on?” Tommy snorts, but stays right where he is.

“Your words not min, love.”

Alfie kisses him again, and when he fumbles to persuade Tommy to let go of the ledger, Tommy quite willingly slips it back onto the desk and buries his hands in his hair instead.

Deepening the kiss, Alfie tugs him a little closer, and Tommy sighs into his mouth, virtually melting against him.

It’s been a long time since he kissed Tommy like this. Weeks probably. Fuck, could be months, even. Maybe not a single time after the accident. Because all he’s though of is how fragile Tommy has felt in his arms, how everything seemed to hurt him. But those thoughts are far from his mind now.

Tommy is breathless when they finally break the kiss, lips swollen and cheeks flushed as he looks at Alfie through his lashes.

“I’ve missed this.”

Humming and pressing a more chaste kiss against his lips, Alfie trails his fingers down his side. “Me too, love. Gotten spoiled, haven’t I? With all these years of having you within arm’s reach at all times.”

Tommy rests his forehead against Alfie’s. “Well, I’m here now. Suppose we have to make up for lost time.”

Alfie kisses him again.

...

That same night, Tommy takes out a book in the bedroom for the first time since the accident. Alfie tries not to make a big deal out of it, but he can’t help asking, none the less.  

“How’s it coming along? The reading.”

“It’s getting better,” Tommy says, holding the book a little closer. “Bit more slowly than I’d like. But it is something.”

Smiling to himself, Alfie picks up his own book and begins to read, still keeping most of his focus on Tommy. That he’s read this particular book upwards of a hundred times already helps.

Tommy’s eyes travel slowly across the pages, his forehead creasing as he focuses on the letters. Trying not to be obvious about his keen interest in this, Alfie continues reading. He still keeps an eye on Tommy though. He’s on that same page for quite a while. Bites his lip and leans down over the book.

Finally, Tommy straightens up a bit. Chews at his bottom lip for a moment. Then he points at a word and holds up the book for Alfie to see.

“What does it say here?”

“Epiphany,” Alfie answers with feigned casualty, all while his heart is beating double its usual rate in his chest out of pure joy.

Tommy nods and continues reading. As the minutes pass, he slowly creeps closer to Alfie: Leans in against his side. Rests his head on his shoulder. Lets out a pleased sigh when Alfie wraps an arm around him to hold him.

He asks about a few more words, and Alfie sees that same hesitation each time. Sees how much of an effort every question takes.

But he does asks.

…

It becomes routine after that. Going to the office. Staying a bit longer each day. Picking up that same book each night. Alfie still takes out his own book too, but mostly uses it to cover up the way he intently watches Tommy make progress in his own.

Eventually, Tommy doesn’t have to ask out loud about anymore when he’s unsure about a word, but will just point at it and Alfie instinctively tells him what it says. Sometimes, if it’s been a bad day, Alfie reads instead, running his finger along the words on the page to let Tommy follow along in the text.  

The improvement is slow. But there is an improvement.

One night, Tommy has just drifted off against his shoulder with the book hanging from a slack grip. He’s almost finished the chapter this time.

And Alfie realises he hasn’t had to ask about a single word today.

...

“--- You’re just afraid of taking that tooth out,” Lasse exclaims. “Let me tie a string around it and it’ll be over and done with.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Olle mutters and clutches his cheek.”  

Alfie stops outside of Charlie’s room to listen to the voices.

“Papa, why do tooths fall out?”

“Because you have other teeth underneath that want to get out.”

“Why?”

Silence.

“Know what, love, I’m not sure. But maybe we can find someone to ask.”

Alfie lingers there in the hallway, listening to the exchange with a fond smile on his face and forgetting all about whatever he was doing just a minute ago. He opens the door enough to peek into the dimly lit room to see his husband and son curled up together on the bed. Charlie is on Tommy’s lap, with Horse’s paw firmly clutched in one hand and the other holding onto the front of Tommy’s shirt. He tugs at that now.

“And new tooths will be there always?”

“Sure. As long as we take care of them,” Tommy answers and kisses the top of his head.

As long as you don’t get them pulled out by a rival gang leader in some dark alley…

Apparently sensing his presence by now, Tommy glances up. “Are you coming in, or do you just plan on standing in the doorway?” “Nah, got bread in the oven that needs tending to,” Alfie says. “Always something that needs doing, innit? The job of a hardworking husband is never done, see. A round the clock work, providing for you two. Which I’m more than happy to do, of course.”  

Tommy shakes his head and smiles down at the book. “Just go. We’re eternally grateful for your loving care.”

“We are!” Charlie chimes in.

Alfie goes downstairs to fulfill said duties, starting off by checking on the bread, before going about washing up the last of the dishes from dinner.

Some time later, Cyril comes lumbering into the kitchen, seating himself next to Alfie to watch him take the bread out of the oven. Most likely hoping for something to fall on the floor.

It’s about then Tommy comes downstairs too, going straight for the kitchen door without a word.

Mildly surprised, Alfie goes after him, out into the cooling air of the late spring evening.

“Something on your mind, love?”

Tommy exhales a cloud of smoke and watches as it rises towards the sky. It dissipates in the light breeze, turning into small tendrils that finally disappear completely. Two blackbirds are occupying themselves with traversing the lawn in search of worms. One of them looks up. Cocks its head at Alfie. Oddly intelligent looking, right then. It chirps, the bright sound echoing in the quiet garden.

“I still get headaches,” Tommy says, finally. “ Every fucking night. It’s not getting better.”

Alfie shouldn’t feel this disappointed –discouraged, dejected?. He really shouldn’t. Things have been going far too smoothly, haven’t they? He should’ve known better. Not gotten his hopes up. He attempts to look at ease when he answers.

“Something to talk to the doctor about at the checkup tomorrow, innit? ” his tongue feels oddly… numb in his mouth. Too big for it. “Good for him to have at least something to work with. That’s what we’re paying him for, right? To fix things. Not just…” he’s forgotten to breathe throughout that whole sentence, and the words take that last bit of air and he ends up trailing off, filling his lunges rather than finishing the train of thought.

Putting the cigarette between his lips again, Tommy closes his eyes and fills his lungs with more smoke. It comes out as a cloud together with the words.

“Thought it’d sort itself out, when… the rest got better.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “It’s just impossible not to think about it, that something’s broken in there. Might be as good as it’ll ever get, this.” He blinks rapidly a few times, letting out a mirthless laugh as he stubs out the cigarette. “Maybe I should be grateful. Learn to live with it.”

Alfie wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him in against his side. Tommy’s head comes to rest on his shoulder.

The two blackbirds have taken to the branches of the oak tree now. Hidden among the leaves and gone from sight, but the chirping still fills the garden.

Alfie closes his eyes and listens to it.

...

Alfie and the doctor -whose name he’s never bothered to learn despite having more frequent contact with him than any person should realistically have these past few months- well, they have developed this sort of mutual understanding. He doesn’t question it when it’s always Alfie calling to ask about Tommy’s health: if he can start riding soon, for how long he can read each day... Alfie, in turn, does his best to be civil and not fucking punch him in the face. So he gets to sit in during the examination the next day, under the condition that he stays quiet -something Tommy makes very clear on their way there.

The doctor asks questions. Shines a light into Tommy’s eyes. Asks more questions. Has him look at a board full of letters. More questions. How exactly he’s supposed to say anything about the state of Tommy’s head just from this, Alfie’s got no fucking idea. But he’s not a doctor, is he?

“And how is your speech?” The doctor glances up at Tommy from his board.

“It’s fine. Most of the time.”

“And your memory?”

“It’s getting better. I still… get these gaps sometimes. But it’s better.”

The doctor hums and writes this down.

“And you say the headache gets progressively worse throughout the day.”

Tommy nods.

“Do you experience any of the other repercussions on a daily basis? Loss of motor skills and so on?”

“Comes and goes. Not enough to be a problem.”

God, how many fucking question can there be?

There’s a skeleton propped in the corner of the room, with empty eye sockets and a grinning mouth. Alfie glares at it. Tries to ignore how hard his heart is beating in his chest as he anticipates the doctor’s verdict. Waits for him to deliver the bad news.

Maybe Tommy is going to die after all? Maybe there’s still something broken in there, just held together by a few tendrils of nerves, and it could break completely at any moment?

Or will he just have to live with pain for the rest of his life- and how the fuck is he supposed to survive that?

What kind of life would that be?

Tommy’s hand suddenly brushes over his, just lightly, and Alfie discovers he’s been clenching both of them hard enough to make the knuckles whiten.

He tries to relax his muscles without much success.

There are so many tests and questions that eventually even he becomes dizzy, and he can’t even imagine what Tommy must be feeling then.

Then, the doctor looks up from his clipboard, calm as ever.

“Well, mister Shelby as far as I can see, this problem should be solved by a pair of spectacles.”

Alfie straightens up a bit.

Tommy blinks in confusion. “What?”

“Well, your sight’s a bit impaired. Not by much. But enough to put unnecessary strain on the-“

“No, but- I would’ve noticed that,” Tommy cuts him off.

“Not necessarily,” the doctor replies calmly. “Severe head trauma does strange things to our perception of things. Coupled with your lost reading abilities, it’s not strange at all that you haven’t noticed.”

Alfie can’t really… grasp this… Could it really be that fucking simple? It seems a bit too good to be true… And if this experience has taught him anything, it’s that nothing’s ever simple.

The doctor is still talking, and he tries to pay attention.

“I will book you in for a full ocular examination and-“

Or is it that fucking simple?

“But of course it’s important that you take care of yourself, none the less. You’re still on the mend. Minimize stress, and overwhelming situations. No reading until- Mister Solomons, are you listening?”

Alfie blinks. The doctor is giving him a sharp look over the edge of his glasses that somehow makes him feel like a school boy. “Yeah, yeah, sure.”

“I was just saying how it’s of utmost importance that  Thomas takes care of himself,” the doctor says sternly. “But if there’s one thing these past months have taught me, it’s that I really should be telling you. That seems to be the only way of making sure my recommendations are actually followed.”

“Of course, yeah, I’ll take good care of him,” Alfie promises, trying to catch Tommy’s eye. But Tommy is staring vacantly down at the floor, silent.

The doctor seems satisfied with this, telling Alfie he’ll be in touch shortly, and then they’re suddenly shaking hands and saying goodbye.

The silence continues during the car ride home.

An odd numbness has settled in Alfie’s chest. He should be happy, right? Everything is okay.

Then why does he feel so fucking empty?

“This is good news, innit?” he eventually says, hoping that saying it out loud will make the words sink in properly.

Tommy nods slowly.

Something happens to his breathing. It slows down, becomes deeper. Raspy. He stares at the road ahead, the vacant look in his eyes washing all signs of awareness from his face.

“Tommy?” Alfie slows down and reaches over to place a hand on his thigh. Tommy flinches.

“Stop the car.”

Alfie drives the car to the side of the road, Tommy climbs out and slumps down over a fence, head hanging and arms shaking as they rest on the wooden boards. Following as quick as he can, Alfie comes to stand next to him, resting a hand on his back.

“Tommy, love, you alright?”

Still shaking, Tommy buries his fingers in his hair. Gasps for breaths. Hides his face from view. Despite having witnessed similar things many times before, Alfie fights not to start shaking him in hopes of snapping him out of it.

When small, muffled sounds begin escaping  Tommy’s lips, Alfie gently guides his face upwards. Tears are seeping down her cheeks. But he’s smiling.

“It’s- it’s nothing. I’ve been so fucking worried.. and it’s nothing.” Tommy laughs, wiping away the tears with the heel of his hand. “Just need a pair of fucking glasses.”

That’s when Alfie finally realises why he’s feeling so odd; because that knot of worry that’s been tied around his insides for so long is gone. And he’s completely forgotten what it feels like, not having it there. How it feels to actually breathe, feel something fully and not have that worry lacing every other emotion.

He wraps both arms around Tommy’s waist and lifts him off his feet, hugging him tightly and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Laughs until he's out of air, because the feeling bubbling in his chest needs to find an outlet.

“It’s okay, Alfie. Everything will be okay.”

Sure it is. That’s what Alfie’s been saying all along, right? He should say it again, because Tommy seems to be crying, still. Harder now. Convulsively.

It takes for Tommy to start hushing him softly and card his fingers through his hair for Alfie to realise it’s him making those sounds, that at some point, the laughter has turned into sobs.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here.”

Alfie straightens up, just enough to lean his forehead against Tommy’s, hands coming to cup his cheeks.

“I know, love,” he whispers. “I know.”

Epilogue

“I’m gonna live in hay.”

Charlie swings his arm back and forth as they walk towards the stables. Alfie swings his along, occasionally raising it enough to lift Charlie off his feet, making him squeal with laughter.

He chuckles, looking down at Charlie. “Really? Live, eh?”

“Yes. You and papa too. Edi and Cyril. And Arfer and-” Charlie lists the entire extended family.

“Well your father would probably like to do that. Not in the hay perhaps, but in the stables. Isn’t it enough you get to be in it every once in a while? Think you’d get a little bored eventually.”

“Never ever,” Charlie says and shakes his head. Alfie would bet good money on having waited well over four months for the hay to finally be brought indoors being influential on this certainty. He’s equally sure that come the end of September, Charlie will have lost interest in the hayloft. Until next summer. But until then, he can look forward to a few weeks when all that’s on the agenda is activities involving hay. God help them when one of the Shelby’s let it slip that they used to build tunnels in the hay at Charlie’s yard when they were little. He distinctly remembers John telling him of how Tommy had fallen asleep in one of the tunnels and they very nearly didn’t find him…

“But how am I supposed to cook? Or should we eat hay, like the horses?”

“No,” Charlie giggles. “You’re being silly.”

They pass one of the pastures, and Charlie looks intently at the horses grazing in the distance.

Then he tugs at Alfie’s hand.

“When can I ride the big horses?”

“Well, when you’re tall enough to actually get up on one, how does that sound?”

“But I’m tall!” Charlie insists and gets up on his tiptoes for increased effect. “Almost as tall as papa.”

Alfie chuckles, “That’s not saying a lot, love.”

“Almost as tall as uncle Finn!” Charlie walks on his tiptoes for a little bit. Then he catches sight of May, leading Astrades across the stable yard and he pulls at Alfie’s hand to make him walk faster. May sees them and stands there waiting as Charlie more or less drags Alfie across the yard.

“Morning Charlie,” May smiles. “Morning!” Charlie looks up at the horse with shining eyes. “Can I please pet the horse, please?”

“Of course. It’s a little bit your horse, isn’t it?”

Alfie lifts Charlie up into his arms to allow him to pet the horse. That ought to keep him occupied for a bit, so he turns his attention to May

“Where’s Tommy then? Hiding out in the office, is he, despite the weather? Would be just like him.”

May’s gaze flickers a little and she clears her throat. “Not really.” A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as she nods towards one of the pastures. The largest one, where they train the race horses.

Alfie has decidedly had enough heart stopping moments to last a lifetime already. For fucks sake, he’s getting on in age, can’t be constantly experiencing these little miniature heart attacks…

A black horse that he would recognize anywhere is absolutely flying over the grass at the far edge of the enclosure.

“Bloody hell.”

“Bloody hell!” Charlie mimics enthusiastically, turning his attention away from the horse and towards the enclosure, eyes growing as big as saucers as he tugs at Alfie’s beard. “Look, papa is riding!”

“Sure is,” Alfie grumbles, his forehead already setting into a deep frown. He gives May a look. “Thought we’d finally agreed upon selling that fu- that horse?” Or shooting it…“Or… you know, at least not having Tommy ride it?”

And he was also pretty sure that when Tommy said he’d been riding a bit for the past month, thiswas not what he meant.

“Tommy insisted we keep him,” May says. “And he’s a completely different horse now you wouldn’t believe-“ her eyes light up, the way Tommy’s always does when he talks about horses, but when she sees Alfie’s frown, she cuts herself off and turns to Charlie. “Know what sweetie, how about you come with me and brush Astrades mane?” May asks and ruffles Charlie’s hair. “Think your fathers need to talk a little. And then we can go take a look at the hayloft.”

She gives Alfie a questioning look, to which he responds with a nod. Always eager to be near one of the horses, Charlie happily takes May by the hand and follows her into the stables. Cyril, who’s trailed silently by their side, goes to sleep by the stable wall, on his favourite tuft of grass. So that leaves Alfie to go down towards the pasture.  

Sometimes he forgets how fast the horses are. Sure he’s seen more races than he can count over the years, but it’s different when it’s Tommy up on one of them, rather than one of their jockeys. He’s set on being pissed off -worry tends to do that to him. But when he reaches the fence and watches Tommy ride Azra down the length of the far edge of the field… All the fragility that plagued his every motion those first months is washed away when he’s up on that horse. Now he just looks strong. And so fucking happy. When he sees that, it’s hard to stay angry.

Alfie reluctantly has to admit that they were right, May and Tommy: it’s a fine horse.

Not that he’s about to let Tommy know, of course.

When Tommy sees him, he easily slows Azra to a trot. As he comes closer, Alfie can’t quite keep the frown in place. Hair windswept and cheeks flushed from the ride, Tommy makes for quite the sight. Then he smiles at him –one of those smiles that light up an entire room. And any plans Alfie might have had of being truly disapproving of this little stunt seem entirely unimportant.

Alfie waits until he’s close enough before he speaks. No yelling around that fucking horse…

“Now, when you said riding- Tommy, my dove, I just sort of presumed you meant some light trotting. There’s a bit of a difference between that and fucking… dashing around at break neck speed, wouldn’t you say?”

Tommy laughs. Fucking laughs. This bright, happy, sound that bubbles up from the pit of his stomach.

“Oh that was nothing. You should see him up on the track…” he nods towards the training course.

“Should I, now? Or will that just bring me even closer to an early grave?” Alfie grumbles.

“Stop sulking and give me a hand,” Tommy chuckles and beckons him closer. “Just in case I swoon a little.”

Alfie complies of course, heaving himself over the fence and approaching the horse slowly, hoping he doesn’t exude some sort of nervous energy. When he’s close enough, Tommy swings a leg over the saddle and slides off the horse, Alfie’s hands coming up around his waist to steady him. Just in case. But Tommy lands smoothly on the ground. Alfie casts a suspicious glance at Azra, who just blinks calmly, before occupying himself with a grass tuft.

“I have two complaints, alright?” Alfie states. “Just two of them, and that’s generous of me, mind you. One, the speed. Two, this fucking horse.” He tries to sound firm, willing to turn this into a fight if he has too. But Tommy just smiles.

“Well then I have two things to say to you, One, I’ve ridden faster on a trafficked Birmingham street-“ Well that’s a story Alfie needs to hear. Or not. Probably not. What you don’t know won’t hurt you- “Two, this horse wouldn’t hurt a fly.” As if someone up there just wants to offer an input, there’s a loud crash from somewhere by the stables. Alfie takes a step back instinctively, pulling Tommy away from the horse and tightly against his chest. Why are there always fucking noises everywhere…  Azra just calmly keeps eating. He looks up for a moment, mouth full of grass. Gives Alfie a decidedly judgmental look that reminds him an eerie amount of Tommy. Then he lowers his head again.

Tommy gives him similarly pointed look. An ‘I told you so’- look.

Alfie really should insist that these little riding adventures are put on hold for a few months yet. Preferably to the distant future of never.

He should insist that they sell this fucking horse.

He should insist that Tommy thinks of his head and the sort of damage falling off could do.

Yeah, there are a lot of things he should insist on.

But Tommy is so happy. It’s as if this light is shining all the way from inside his chest, making his eyes sparkle and his smile so bright it completely melts his heart … And fuck, he knew this, didn’t he? Knew it from the very moment Tommy stepped into his office, all those years ago. Tommy will always need some danger in his life. Risks. Something that makes the adrenaline start pumping. If it’s not Birmingham gangsters or the fucking mafia, it’s a hot blooded horse. Tommy suffocates without it. This is a safer option than all those other things… And it doesn’t leave his eyes all hollowed out and lined with dark circles, or his jaw permanently clenched tight. He looks at Tommy, who drags a hand through his windswept hair, trying in vain to get it in order. waiting for his reaction.

Can’t seem to stop smiling today, can he?

Yeah, this sort of danger is one Alfie can live with.

“Well… if you fucking say so,” he grumbles. “Just… be careful. Mind your head and all that.”

Tommy feigns a look of shock, grabbing his shoulders. “Who are you, calm reasonable man, and what have you done to my husband?”

Alfie bites the inside of his cheek to keep the scowl in place. Tommy pulls out the glasses from his inner pocket, studying him thoroughly from behind the round steel frames. “No, it really is you. Or is there an unknown brother I know nothing about? Are you some sort of impostor?”

Alfie gives up and barks out a laugh, pulling him closer and pressing a kiss against those smiling lips.

“I’m a married man, I can’t go around kissing strangers in open fields-“ Tommy mumbles. “And my husband is a real brute. God knows what he’ll do if he-“ Alfie deepens the kiss, effectively swallowing the rest of that sentence.

But it’s very hard to kiss someone when you’re laughing so hard you’re nearly choking.

“You’ll be the fucking death of me.” He wipes away a tear and tries in vain to catch his breath and cradles Tommy’s face between his hands. Smiles at him, and is rewarded with a bright smile in return.  

The glasses suit him. They frame his eyes in a very becoming way.

Azra nudges Tommy’s cheek, demanding attention. Alfie shoots him a glare.

“I need to cool him off,” Tommy says. “You can go up to the office. I’ll be there in a bit.”

“Nah, think I’m just going to sit here and watch. You make for quite a sight,” Alfie runs his fingers through Tommy’s hair, very purposefully messing it up even further. “See, I like it when your hair gets all wind swept like this. And your cheeks get a bit of colour. Something about this debouched look really does it for me.”

“You’re impossible,” Tommy rolls his eyes, kisses him again, and then swings himself up in the saddle with such ease that it leaves Alfie speechless for a moment. “Well, stay then. It won’t take long.”

Alfie stands by the fence watching, feeling perfectly content to do nothing but that for the time being. Now when Tommy  is just trotting, the scene exudes nothing but peace. He happily lets himself sink into that same feeling.

A dog barking makes Alfie tear his eyes away from Tommy for a moment, to see Charlie and Cyril come down the hill towards them. May is stood up on the yard, keeping a watchful eye on them, and Alfie waves at her to show that he’s got it from here.

“Daddy, there’s lots lots of hay! I’m gonna jump from really high- climb and then jump,” Charlie babbles when he’s close enough. Alfie catches him as he throws himself into his arms.

“I bet you are.”

Charlie watches with wide eyed fascination as Tommy rides alongside the far edge of the pasture. Then he screws his face up, and tugs at Alfie’s sleeve.

“Is that the mean horse?”

“His name is Azra,” Alfie tells him. “Remember what we talked about, eh?”  

Charlie nods slowly.

“Not mean. Just scared. Papa said so.”  

Hoisting him up a little higher in his arms, Alfie presses a kiss against his temple.

“Yeah, that’s right, innit,” he says, perching Charlie on the fence to give him a good view of the pasture. They both look as Tommy brings Azra around at the farthest corner, riding him back along the fence. “Horses are only dangerous if they’re scared or hurt,” Alfie continues. “You’ve got to show them they’re safe. Teach them to trust you and all that. And it can take a really long time, so you’ve got to be patient. Take care of them”

Charlie nods thoughtfully, his tiny fingers grabbing onto Alfie’s beard as he considers this. Then, he cocks his head a little, eyes still fastened on Azra. “Horse isn’t scared now,” he decides. “He’s happy. Happy horse.”

He waves eagerly at Tommy, who reciprocates and veers off from his path to ride Azra towards the gate.

Alfie thinks again of how fucking lucky he got.

“Yeah.” He smiles. “I think so too.”

....... 

A/N: there you have it! The conclusion. Is anyone surprised there’s a happy ending? I’m guessing no. You know that’s how I roll.

I’d love to hear your thoughts and feelings not only on the chapter but of the story as a whole. It’s the longest one I’ve written, and it’s definitely been a challenge. But a mostly enjoyable one! Thank you for reading ❤️