Nigel was going to the races with Tommy Shelby, and so far he'd gone through every outfit he owned, but nothing seemed fit for the occasion.
It wasn't that he really cared all that much, but Thomas Shelby had taken some sort of interest in him, and he didn't want to get on the man's bad side.
Why the man had invited him was lost on Nigel. They'd barely talked between then and now, only a few words exchanged at the garrison when Tommy reminded him of their upcoming appointment.
He didn't even stress out this much before dates, though, granted, he hadn't been on one of those in a while.
"Fucking hell," he muttered, doing up the last button of his shirt as he glowered at his reflection.
He wanted to dress in a way that didn't attract attention, and all of his clothes were meant for that—plain, casual, nothing to catch the eye—because he already got enough stares.
He was just about to pull off his shirt to try again when a knock sounded at the door. He was out of time and stuck in a dark shirt with a jacket that didn't quite match because he refused to spend money on clothes he didn't need.
With a curse, he turned sharply on his heel and walked over to pull open the door.
They were about the same height; if anything, Nigel was about half an inch taller, but Tommy had an air about him that made him seem larger than life. It was intimidating, but Nigel refused to let it show.
"Picking me up and everything, be careful, Mr. Shelby; people will start to think you're a gentleman," he said, stepping out and closing his door behind him before he pushed his hands into his pockets and rolled his shoulders back a little.
Leaning a little to the side, it was clear that he was favoring his left leg. It became even more obvious when one noticed he had a cane in his hand, and he caught Thomas' gaze darting down to the wooden cane.
It wasn't every day he needed the extra help, but today was unfortunately one of the times where he wouldn't leave the house without it. He knew they'd be walking a lot, and Nigel didn't want to spend the whole time in pain.
"Problem?" He muttered, his grip on the head of the cane shifting slightly as he stepped past Tommy to stand on the street.
"I told you to call me Tommy," was all the response he got, and Nigel very nearly smiled.
Thomas stepped after him, and the two of them started down the street together at an almost leisurely pace.
Tommy had of course pulled out a pack of cigarettes and started smoking, offering one to Nigel as well, though he politely turned it down.
"You're not much of a smoker?" Tommy asked, smoke drifting out from between his lips. He wasn't looking at Nigel, instead staring straight ahead, his blue eyes as sharp as ever.
The streets were quite empty, only a few people milling about here and there. It was a work day for most, and a lot of people were probably at the races as well, exactly where he and Tommy were heading now.
Nigel shrugged his shoulders, rubbing the pad of his thumb slowly across the head of his cane as they walked. "I'll smoke occasionally; I did the night you invited me to the races, but I try not to make a habit of it; my father always said it was a nasty habit," he replied, sidestepping a puddle that had pooled into a low spot on the cobblestone.
He didn't expect Tommy to show any interest and continue the conversation, but surprisingly he did. "Do you always listen to the orders of your father?" He asked, as if he knew the words would hurt.
The topic of his father wasn't an easy one, and he wasn't sure why he'd given Tommy an in on such a personal topic, but he couldn't backtrack now. "I suppose I try to; he was a very traditional man and had high expectations for everyone. I want to live up to those expectations, even if he's not around to see it," he replied, his stomach twisting with a strange sense of shame at the admission that he was letting the thoughts of a dead man run his life.
Nigel's father had been harsh and, yes, traditional. Every aspect of his son's life had been regimented, and never had Nigel been good enough, no matter how hard he tried.
His father's death hadn't been a shock; no death from the war was a shock exactly, but it had sent Nigel spiraling all the same. In a way, it was the start of his downfall and what drove him to Birmingham in the first place.
Tommy's cigarette dangled almost precariously between his lips, and for a moment his eyes turned to Nigel, who pretended not to notice. "And what about you? Are you a traditionalist?" He asked, as if he were genuinely interested in the answer.
The question managed to pull a laugh from Nigel, and he found himself falling behind as Tommy didn't pause to wait for him. "No, no, if anything, I'm the opposite; the world should progress; it's how it's always been and how it will always be," he replied, hurrying to catch up to Tommy as they rounded the corner, the faint smell of horses and the sound of people growing as they drew closer to their destination.
His leg gave a painful twinge, but he ignored it and simply shifted his weight, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. It was the mantra he lived by: go unoticed, slip by without drawing attention, and usually it was easy, but walking alongside Tommy Shelby put a damper on those plans. He could feel people staring.
Thomas plucked his cigarette from between his lips and dropped it onto a wet patch of stone, driving his heel briefly into the smoldering butt just to be sure it was out. "A revolutionary," he commented blandly, looking over to Nigel with a curious expression.
"I wouldn't go that far; I'm not going to overthrow the government and chop people heads off or anything; I may be from France, but the English have rubbed off on me," he replied, grinning just slightly as they began to weave their way through a bit of a crowd.
The races seemed even more popular than he'd realized, because the amount of people gathering for this was surprising, and in a moment of distraction, he nearly lost himself in the crowd, only to startle slightly as Tommy grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him forward.
He had expected Thomas to let go once he'd pulled Nigel back to his side, but no, the man's hand was firm, strong fingers holding surprisingly gently to Nigel's forearm so he could lead him through the crowd.
Tommy's hand was warm; Nigel could feel it through the sleeve of his jacket, and granted, his jacket was a bit thin, not really suited for the weather they were having, but he swore he could feel the steady warmth seeping into his skin at each point where Tommy's hand gripped him.
Nigel's eyes darted up, and he looked at Tommy's profile. The crease of his brow and the irritated purse of his lips coincided with his grip tightening. His body turned to the side, and finally they moved out of the crowd and toward the edge of a balcony of sorts that looked down on the racetrack. Tommy's hand was still gripping onto his arm, and Nigel wasn't sure when it would be appropriate to ask to be released.
Luckily he didn't have to, as Tommy pulled his hand back and cast Nigel only a glance before he focused in on the track below them.
"Will you be placing a bet?" Nigel asked, leaning against the railing, grateful he was able to take some weight off of his leg, which was still aching, perhaps worse than before.
Tommy was quiet for a moment, and Nigel wasn't sure he'd even heard the question, but after a few seconds of silence, he broke the peace. "Already have," he replied, but didn't care to elaborate on which horse or how exactly he'd placed the bet.
Nigel decided not to question it. He didn't know enough about horses to care which horse won the race, and Tommy Shelby's business wasn't really something he wanted to get mixed up in.
The horses were being walked out, the men leading them through slightly muddied ground over toward the starting line.
He decided he might as well strike up some sort of conversation, so he leaned toward Tommy so he could be heard over the talk crowd, "Which one did you bet on?" He asked, tilting his head a little, able to smell the scent of cigarettes lingering in the air around Tommy.
"The thoroughbred near the end of the line," he replied, giving a vague gesture downward that didn't help Nigel identify the animal he meant.
To his credit, Nigel did try his best to figure it out, but was left as clueless as before, so he dared to speak up again, because if Tommy Shelby was dumb enough to invite him somewhere, then Nigel was going to make sure he didn't give the man a moment of peace.
"That means nothing to me; is the horse brown?" He asked, his words so deadpan and serious that he wondered if Tommy would think it was sarcasm.
Instead, he managed to get a half smile from the man, and he turned to look at Nigel, pausing when he realized their faces were close and that his breath was nearly fanning across Nigel's cheek. "It's the white one actually," he corrected, staring for a moment too long before he turned his attention back to the horses, all of which had lined up at the start, a few pawing at the ground, clearly waiting for the race to start.
Nigel looked at the horses again, finding the white one that Tommy must have meant, though his thoughts were lagging behind him. The feeling of Thomas' breath across his face had distracted him, and now he couldn't push it aside.
He needed to though; Nigel had come here for a fresh start, to leave his problems behind, not to fall into the same deviances that had only resulted in problems and ridicule his whole life.
But why had Tommy looked at him like that? Nigel hadn't started it, so was he imagining things, or had Thomas Shelby's eyes really lingered more than they should have?
A gunshot sounded and Nigel flinched. The horses were off, racing down the track like the shot could have hit them. Dirt flew up under their hooves, and Nigel stared, a little amazed that the Jockeys managed to stay so steady in their saddles.
His hands braced against the railing, and he leaned forward, keeping his eyes on the horse that Thomas had bet on. When he chanced a glance at Tommy, the man was watching with cool indifference, seeming sure of his victory.
Nigel looked back at the horses, biting the inside of his cheek as they rounded the bend and the crowd's cheering swelled higher. He supposed he could see some of the appeal in the spectacle, but it still wasn't something he would dedicate more of his time to.
"Have you ever raced a horse?" He blurted out, turning his attention back to Tommy, who was still following the race carefully.
"I like the sport, but not enough to compete," he replied, joining Nigel ik leaning against the rails as the horses continued around the bend.
The crowd fluctuated between cheers and groans, but Nigel's full attention had turned to Tommy, even if the man was still focused on the race. "And why did you feel the need to drag me out to the races with you?" He asked, as Tommy hadn't actually explained why he'd wanted Nigel to come with him; he'd just told him to come.
"I liked your company," Tommy said, which was not the answer Nigel expected.
He wasn't sure if it was a good thing to have Tommy enjoy his company. The man was a gangster, a criminal—everything that Nigel said he didn't want to get involved in. Then again, it was hard not to involve himself when he lived in Birmingham, working at the garrison.
The Shelby's were commonplace at his work; he was almost used to them by now.
Despite himself, he found a smile pulling at his lips, and he shifted on his heels, his grip on his cane moving as well. "If I'd known how easy it was to get on your good side, then I would have tried it earlier," he said, glancing briefly down at the racetrack to see that the horses were nearing the finish line, Tommy's white horse in the lead by a fair stretch.
"Looks like you bet on the right horse," he said, turning back to Tommy, trying to hide the surprise he felt when he realized that Thomas was looking at him, studying him really. Cold blue eyes trailed up and down his body, lingering for a moment on his leg before sliding up across his slim waist to settle on his face, their eyes meeting.
Nigel felt it again—that twist in his stomach, the thought that Thomas was looking for just a little too long. He cursed himself for the thought and for the fact he didn't mind it. Tommy's stare was unnerving, but something about it made Nigel want more.
It felt as if he was toeing the line of danger.
"I always bet on the right horse," Tommy said as the crowd erupted in cheers around them.
Neither of them turned to look who had won; they both knew it was Thomas' pick.
"What is it you like about my company?" Nigel blurted out as he stood up straight and shifted his hold on the head of his cane. The crowd was moving around them, disappointed or excited racegoers moving past, either applauding their good luck for betting on the winner or cursing themselves for losing so much money.
He wondered if Tommy had ever lost money on a race in his life.
The crowd was background noise. Tommy was the focal point; he held all of Nigel's attention even though he was being entirely unremarkable.
"Because I find you interesting," Tommy said, the most honest thing he'd said all day, and for some reason it struck Nigel sharply. He'd never thought of himself as interesting.
Nigel turned his gaze down toward the emptying track as well, his body leaning forward over the rails. "You barely know me; we've had an interesting conversation; I'll give you that, but otherwise, what is there to find so interesting about me?" He chuckled, his warm eyes alight with amusement.
He didn't really expect an answer because Thomas hadn't given him very good responses before, but Tommy seemed to be seriously considering the question.
"I get the feeling you're running from something, and trust me, I know what it looks like to run; I've been doing it for years," he finally said, his fingers twitching up like he wanted to lift a nonexistent cigarette to his lips, an instinctive action even when he held nothing.
"Whatever you're running from will find you eventually, and I want to know what it is," Tommy added, standing up straight and turning his attention away from Nigel to stare down at the race track, watching as it was cleared and the horses were led away.
Nigel let out a scoff and crossed his arms over the railing, propping himself up. His earlier amusement faded into annoyance as a gust of cold went sent a biting chill down his spine.
"I won't deny I'm running from something, but you'll be waiting an awful long time to learn what it is. I have no intention of letting my past catch up with me," he said, though he knew his words held very little certainty. Nigel wasn't someone who would go down easily, and he'd chosen his hiding place well. Birmingham would keep him safe, and when it failed, then he would simply run again.
The process would repeat again and again, but Nigel did not intend to let himself be caught; if it came down to it, he would prefer to die.
"And there you go again, being interesting," Tommy said, as if what Nigel had just said was fascinating. "Somethings out to get you; you're fucking terrified, so scared of whatever the hell it is that you've decided I'm tame in comparison," he muttered, raising his hand to point a finger at Nigel almost accusingly.
He was right—not that Nigel had really considered it until that moment, but he was right. There were things in the world worse than Thomas Shelby, and Nigel knew it, so even if he was cautious around the Shelby's, he wasn't truly scared, and that was so out of the ordinary that Tommy had decided he was interesting.
It felt like a cruel trick.
Tommy's twitching fingers rose up, and he pulled out a fresh cigarette, not bothering to offer any to Nigel this time. His hand cupped around the end of the cigarette as his lighter flickered, the wind picking up again, bringing the scent of rain along with it.
Looking up at the sky, Nigel confirmed that dark clouds were moving toward them; they'd both end up soaked if they didn't leave soon.
The lighter slid back into Tommy's pocket, and he tilted his head, indicating that Nigel should walk with him.
"Are you walking me home too? Careful or I'll accuse you of being a gentleman again," he said, shifting his weight.
"You can accuse me of whatever you like; it won't make it true." Tommy replied, but didn't really try to dismiss the accusation.
He seemed content to walk silently away from the track as the air turned cooler and rain clouds gathered above them.
YOU ARE READING
King Of My Heart (Thomas Shelby x OC)
FanfictionNigel Montgomery runs away from his problems; he always has and always will; this doesn't change after the war. Birmingham is as good a place as any to run away to, so reluctantly Nigel settled down into the monotony of a new life. He does everythin...