sweet french. peaky blinders

75

Tommy

The sunlight outside of their bedroom was dim through the dusty window and thick, laced curtains. The clumps of smoke and clouds that hung in the sky didn't help with the dullness. Neither did Tommy Shelby's temper. A dark cloud seemed to follow him through the streets of Birmingham to the house on Watery Lane, infecting every drop of land he touched. It was the curse of the Shelbys, to have such influence on their surroundings that their familial anger could turn any air sour.

Their old room felt small, now that they had their own large house. It too, was empty though, without Lucille's presence. Tommy could hear the babbles of his daughter downstairs with Polly, her mother nowhere in sight. His Aunt had told him not to worry. Birmingham had brought the toughness out in the french girl, and she was as mad about him as he was her, according to Pol.

The whole family loved her. How could they not? John had fallen in love on the spot, when they'd detailed the events in which Lucille had come to find Tommy and Dawson, bleeding on a French street. He'd practically kissed her on the cheek when he'd been told about the daring shot she'd made as a German soldier had come close to discovering them hidden in her car.

Tommy sighed and tried to return to his thoughts of business. It was dangerous how often she consumed his thoughts. He'd been caught out on it multiple times, and even then, as he tried not to, he thought of how often he fucking thought of her. It was relentless.

The front door opened, casting all concepts of business plans from his head. Heeled footsteps stopped in the hallway. It was Lucille, he was sure, as the footsteps finally continued up the stairs.

He stood, as she appeared at the door, blonde curls loosened and resting just past the neckline of her dress. Her hair was getting longer, he noticed. Tommy liked that about her- the length of her hair, so different from the cropped styles that were now popular. She didn't care about anything other than what she herself liked. And even then, it came second to her care for others, for their daughter. Adds shared the same, yellow locks that looked like spun silk. Just thinking of her threatened to pull a smile onto his lips.

As she stepped up to him lightly, hand finding his arm, he didn't say anything.

"Tommy," she breathed. His name on her lips finally brought his smile to the surface.

"You're alright."

"Of course I'm alright," Lucille said, then, upon seeing the tight set of his face, she reached forward, wrapping a hand around his arm. "Are you? What's wrong?"

"You went to London- to see him."

"I had Finn."

"Finn's just a boy," Tommy said, his voice rather harsh, but Lucille had been hardened too much to be bothered by such a thing.

"I couldn't take Dawson, not with the bounty on his head. And anyone else would be too angry in the face of it all. Just tell me what's wrong, Tommy," she said, voice strong and unwavering as she reached a hand to smooth along his jaw, turning so he would face her. "With words. No skirting around how you feel."

He almost laughed at this. With words. Tommy was good with words, could use them and bend them to please and use others. But feelings were something foreign, something he'd left in the comfort of the loft space of her old home in France. They'd had no use for the rest of the war and for the first months of his time in Small Heath. They'd begun to resurface, slowly and then in spurts, when Lucy and Adds had appeared.

It wasn't that he couldn't feel, because God, did Tommy Shelby feel things. They were feelings he hadn't known existed, until she showed him them, made him feel it. He just couldn't articulate them with words, as Lucille had said. He found he didn't want to. He was fine keeping them to himself, untainted and unknown.