Forbidden Alliances // Alfie Solomons Peaky Blinders

(86) Tend

*edited 03/21/23*

"Whuh-" Alfie broke himself off, approaching her with pinched brows and wide eyes pierced painfully by the image he was nearing. "Are you hurt, Love?" His voice was gentle and concerned when his hand went to her clothed wrist, slowly moving to take the knife from her shaking hand.

Freya's eyes went out to him soullessly. They were pale and shiny as she fought tears despite the lack of emotional provocation to cry.

The sight was strange because Alfie wasn't afraid she would hurt him, he was afraid she would hurt herself.

When Alfie looked down at her, she didn't look normal. There was blood everywhere. Her eyes were dull and lifeless, her muscles were so tense and stiff he was sure she could have been a statue of the woman he loved, and her face wasn't even as colorful as it once was hours ago.

"Fucking 'ell..." Alfie sighed, sniffling and moving to take the jacket off her shoulders, revealing even more blood as it soaked through the cloth of the jacket, her vest, and her button-up.

Alfie took the jacket and slapped the soaking material to the wood floors. He had to back away, nearly flinching when he realized how battered she was. "I shoulda fuckin' been there..." His hand covered his nose and mouth as he regretted the decision to listen.

Freya's eyes refused to meet him. They were aimlessly floating like bubbles in the air. She was knocked out of her senses and Alfie couldn't bring himself to touch her without crying himself when she didn't act like she was there at all.

The tears in her innocent eyes summoned dangerous weapons in his heart.

He knew he could have prevented it: the blood on her clothes, the chunks of brain matter on her skin, the tremble in her hand. He could have saved her from it.

"Wot 'appened?" he asked softly, choking back his emotions and cringing as he moved to unbutton her vest and slipped the weapons from her holsters. He threw the wet vest down on top of the coat on the ground, listening to the loud smacking of the blood hitting the hard floor. The sound made him wince and his stomach started to turn into knots.

She didn't respond, she didn't fight, and she could barely keep herself upright, let alone meet his eye or explain herself. Alfie caught on and stopped asking questions. But as his hands got covered in Russian blood, he hesitated to touch her skin.

She wasn't there, not really. He didn't want to startle her or trigger a dangerous response to his touch. He didn't know what happened and the avoidance of causing further damage was difficult when he didn't know what she had gone through.

"Freya..." he spoke softly, waiting for her eyes to go out to him and stop staring past him or through him like he was a fucking ghost. "Freya..." he tried again.

Nothing.

"My love," he pronounced hurtfully, slowly shaking his head as he observed her breathing patterns and sighed when he felt how cold her fingertips were.

Her eyes finally went to his and the pattern of her chest changed. The rise and fall stopped when she held her breath and her brows creased with sudden disgust.

"I shot him..."

Her voice was completely disconnected from her body, with no emotion, no soul, no note of feeling in it at all.

"I know..." Alfie expressed quietly, nodding his head and taking both her hands into his. Blood covered his hands but he couldn't care when her beautiful face flushed with horror.

Her eyes widened with realization and the tears became more prominent in them. But like the sea, her face was washed with relief just as quickly. If her visible pain was the sand of the earth, something just as mysterious as the ocean swept it all away.