Gun metal and Daisies (Thomas Shelby)

If i cannot bend Heaven, i will raise hell.

"Aphrodite," I plead to the moon drenched sky "Tell me; if love is meant to heal, then why does it destroy those who choose it?"
From somewhere beyond the clouds, I heard the Goddess laugh.
And I knew.

Saturday.
It had been two days since that day.
That awful day.
That wonderful day.

After Bubs - or, er - Thomas was all stitched up and talking again. They found themselves talking about everything and nothing. Dorothy thought back to that day and sighed: things did not end on a good note.

——

Thomas and Dorothy howled with laughter as Thomas re-told some childhood stories, mostly centred around his brothers antics as they got into God-knows-what.

After sobering up, Thomas thought back to her words earlier that evening.
"The man I've spent time with is Bubs. I've been naïve to think I knew him-."

Thomas also realised that he knew nothing of the girl other than the basic small talk things they had previously discussed.

"So where about are you based? I've never seen you 'round ole' Watery Lane before, eh?"

His question made her stiffen. The life at home that she'd forgotten about when she was with him came rushing back in a blur, all too familiar.

"Oh, that's nothing to worry about, Bubs." Dorothy's smile wasn't genuine but just a quip to get Thomas off her back so she wouldn't have to answer questions.

Seeing her stiffness, he decided that maybe the question could wait for another time; "so still Bubs, eh?" He nudged gently.

"Of course you are! Still my good friend Bubs." She smiled proudly.
Thomas' heart twanged at her words.

The light-hearted conversation moved on, at one point, Dorothy broke open a tin that had boiled sweets in them, Thomas recognised the sweets as the ones the lady down the market used to sell before she passed.

"She gave me the recipe for them when I told her I was baking sweets in the bakery, she said 'I always remember you youngins coming into ma shop and feastin' on ma boiled sweets! I always knew how you liked 'em!'"
Dorothy giggles at the accent and Thomas smiled fondly at the memory of the lady.

Thomas like he'd stated previously, never had a sweet tooth, especially not after the war; but he did indulge a bit in the boiled sweets he remembered so strongly from when he was young and wide-eyed.

The conversation carried on, Thomas spoke with as big gestures as he could manage with his injured shoulder. He talked about his brothers, his sister, his Aunt Pol. For a brief moment he even mentioned a memory he had of his mother. Dorothy felt like she knew them personally from the stories Thomas told.

Dorothy knew what happened in that home before the war. She did grow up on the same streets as the Shelby boys, albeit, she didn't hang around them, but she knew of them.

She knew that their mother died. She knew that their father left. She knew of the Gray children being taken away. She knew of all of it.

Thomas paused when he'd realised he'd been talking for fifteen minutes straight - more than he had in a long time - and looked at Dorothy intently.

"Well I think I've talked enough about my escapades and family; what about yours?"
Thomas knew she knew all of the things that had occurred in his boyhood, so he found it highly unfair that he didn't know any of hers.