Power and Lies

Forty

"Diplomacy in general does not resolve conflicts. Wars end not due to peace processes, but due to one side giving up."

-Daniel Pipes

When she was quite young Freya had possessed a small terrarium where she had kept bits of moss and other miniature plants she had found about her home. She had gotten it as a gift from her grandmother on her father's side. She had not known the woman very well, but she did remember quite vividly her propensity for plants. She had sprawling gardens, and when she had gifted Freya with her small terrarium, she had no doubt hoped it would be the catalyst for her own collection. This was certainly never the case. But, Freya did enjoy gathering small pieces of things. And one day she had looked upon a small leaf and realized she had rather accidentally gathered herself a caterpillar.

She left it alone for the most part, not stopping to bother watching it create its cocoon. Then one day, on a rather drab and dreary day, Freya looked upon the terrarium once more and there was a butterfly. Reborn from the form of a grubby little imposter worm.

Freya had let the butterfly go.

She had never identified with a bug before in her years, but here she was, feeling oddly like a caterpillar attempting to be a butterfly.

"When will you tell me of the Russians?" She had asked Tommy over dinner. She was picking at bits of potato with a fork and doing her best to resist throwing them in bits of pent up frustration. Her anger had been exhausted, and aimed in the wrong direction. Now it had just given way to a constant throb or irritation in her chest.

"When it is time for you to know."

It was a very common answer from her husband when it came to business. Try as she may, she never could pull back the shroud of mystery that was Thomas Shelby as a businessman.

"I do not understand," she huffed, rather like a child, as she flicked a piece of carrot from her plate and onto the floor for the dog. "I have told you that I will not be in the dark any longer. And yet you insist upon keeping me there."

"I am not keeping you in the dark. I am simply not sharing things."

"You're lying to me."

A sigh escaped his lips and he took a drink of the whiskey before him. "I am not lying. A lie implies that I have modified a truth and given it to you. I have given you nothing. You will know when it is time for you to know. And I will hear no more of it. I need you elsewhere for now."

"Oh yes, the all important factory job. Tell me Tommy, when was I thrown so far away that I am in charge of factories now? Is that what Charlie will say of his mother?" It was a low blow, but she took it regardless, and she squared her shoulders to show Tommy she would not be backing down from it.

"You are to stop the strikes." Tommy would not be baited into his wife's temper tantrums. She had no clue how precariously close to losing everything they were if the factories truly shut down. Without the men manning it their family could stand to lose everything. But the knowledge would stress her when she had just returned to the practice, and so he would tread carefully. He had seen many different sides to his wife, and he could easily shuffle through them at this point to know which version he needed to prod out of her.

"That woman is insufferable," Freya muttered, mostly to herself. Tommy nodded in agreement. He was no stranger to Jessie, and although he would never admit the truth to any living soul, much less his wife- he did find a slight amount of delight within their banter. They were locked bitterly into a game of cat and mouse, and the positions changed daily. It did present him with the thrills he so long ago left behind. But he had far, far more important things to deal with. And Freya had handled her well.

"She is many things, I think you will find insufferable is likely the kindest thing she has been called."

"And how would you like me to go about this? Do I simply stuff her into a briefcase and shove her into the canal?" A slight snort accompanied her joke, but for the briefest second Tommy flashed back in time to when she first joined them. She was surely a force to be reckoned with. Deaths tore at her like fabrics withe frayed edges. She was never crafted to be a murderer. Whatever divine life there was on the other side had surely known that. And yet she had bloody hands just like the rest of them. And somewhere deep inside, Tommy felt the smallest bit of guilt bubble for the briefest of moments.

He did not spend nearly enough time admiring the woman he married recently. The thought had his lips pursed. His thoughts were consumed with putting out fires at the business, and although he loved and respected his wife, he had stopped examining the warrior she had become. A tragedy he had not seen coming. And yet he could not bring himself to tell her of the Russians, and the other safety threats. Tommy had to admit to himself it was a bit cowardly on his part. She was more than a pawn in a game to him now. Maybe in the earliest moments of their acquaintanceship but now she was everything. A loss of her would mean a loss of himself. And so she would have to simply deal with the task of the factories. A daunting and annoying, and arguably the most legally important job they had out of all. And decidedly the most safe.

"Should you feel like you need to bury her then I will not deny you."

Freya had hoped for some banter from her husband. Her attempt at a joke had fallen flat and once more they fell into quiet irritations. Her husbands eyes reflected a storm he would not share, and she found herself tracing the edges of melancholy once more rather unintentionally. If she was only to be given the factories to deal with then she would do so.

Rather dramatically she shoved her chair from the table, not wishing any longer to continue the quiet meal between them. She resolved herself to going down to the factories in person in the morning. She would leave Charlie with the nanny and investigate the conditions on her own. Surely there would be a peaceful solution to it all. Jessie Eden, for all of her annoying qualities and irksome likeability, could surely not be entirely correct. Nor could she be entirely wrong. Freya was a mother, she could bring peaceful resolution. And if that failed, well she was a blinder too, and she was sure she could find a trunk that would fit a petite woman in it rather easily. And she was quite sure she knew exactly where the water would be deepest.

She would treat this like a terrarium she decided. And she would simply have to separate grubs from butterflies.