Chapter Text
TUMBLR | MASTERPOST | ART TAG
It's all thanks to Charlie, really. That he finds it.
They're walking the streets of London, Charlie's small hand holding two of Tommy's fingers in a tight grip. It's spring, the air still chilly most days despite the sunshine. Charlie is a patient three year old, but Tommy can tell he's almost had enough exploring for the day. He says he's hungry, and since it's not quite lunch time yet, Tommy promises to find them a snack in the meantime.
He spots the café at the end of Bonny Street, close to Camden Road station. There's a small sign above the door, reading Alfie's in bold, fun lettering. Tommy has been around these parts a few times even before the move, but the place had never caught his attention. It looks decent enough, a handful of customers sitting outside in the sun while most tables inside look empty.
Tommy tells Charlie to open the door for them, secretly helping. Inside, the smell of freshly baked bread and coffee hits them like a wall. The first thing catching Tommy's attention are the warm colours of golden brown, bread loafs and other baked goods filling the shelves.
The second thing is a dog lying in a big dog bed in front of the door. The dog is huge, lifting its head and perking its ears as the bell chimes above the door. Charlie stops dead in his tracks, Tommy nearly tripping over him.
"Daddy, look! A doggie!"
"Yeah," Tommy agrees, not sure if his son is scared or amazed. Judging by his tone, it's the familiar combination of the two. Instinctively he holds out an arm in front of Charlie, as if to shield him.
The dog doesn't move from its spot, but the tail starts flopping back and forth as it looks at them. There's a simple cardboard sign placed next to the dog bed, reading please pet me.
"Can I pet him?" Charlie asks, as if he could actually read.
Mostly amazed, then.
"I'm not sure," Tommy says hesitantly, watching the dog's big paws, big jaws, big everything.
A soft chuckle makes Tommy look over, finding a man standing behind the counter. It's hard to notice anything but the wild beard at first, more fuzzy than Tommy has probably ever seen. The man's got his arms crossed over his chest, tattoos peeking out from under the white t-shirt. He's got two chains around his neck, and more bracelets cluttering his wrists than Tommy can count.
Somehow, he's not the kind of man Tommy had expected to find inside a small London café.
The man uncrosses his arms and leans over the counter, peeking around the big showcase of pastries to smile at Charlie.
"No, you go ahead, mate." He gestures towards the dog. "Cyril is a very nice dog, you see. Totally harmless. And you'd make him very happy if you gave him a petting."
Charlie's face lights up, and he expectantly looks up at Tommy. Tommy looks between his son, the man behind the counter, and the massive dog.
"…Alright," he says after a moment, thinking no sane person would let a dangerous dog loose inside an open café. And the man looks sane enough.
Charlie makes a squealing happy noise, breaking free from his dad's hold and stomps over to the dog. Tommy can't tell if he means to sit down on the corner of the bed, or if he just loses his balance, but either way Tommy's heart skips a beat watching his son plop down right next to the big dog. Tommy half expects it to snap, but it remains perfectly still as Charlie pats the dog's wide spine with his little hand. Charlie laughs, his whole face scrunching up with delight.
The man behind the counter chuckles again, and Tommy turns his attention away from his son. The man's got his arms crossed on top of the counter now, still leaning over as he watches Charlie and the dog with a pleased grin. His teeth are all crooked, but it's still a nice smile.
Very nice.
Tommy looks back to Charlie, watching the dog finally turn its big head towards the boy. He's struck, once again, by just how big its jaws are. Charlie's arm looks tiny so up close. Tommy suddenly goes very still, heart stuttering.
"Is that a pitbull?"
He doesn't know much about dog breeds — they'd had a german shepherd in the army, but that's about as far as his knowledge goes — but it's difficult not to pick up what a pitbull looks like. There'd been talk about putting a ban on them last year, so Tommy knows of the prejudice around the breed. And as much as he wants to believe that no animal is born dangerous, that bad behaviour is usually the owners fault, just like with horses, Tommy can't help the fear stirring inside him at the risk of his son getting bit.
The man regards him for a moment before answering.
"Mostly, I'd say. Probably some german shepherd in there, too."
"You don't know?"
"Well, he's a shelter dog, mate. Kinda hard to know these things when some prick just abandoned him, innit? But I know my breeds pretty well, and I'd say that's definitely a pitbull mix." He nods, looking over to Charlie and the dog again. "Yeah," he drawls, somehow making a single word sound like an entire sentence. Then he looks up at Tommy again, smiling. "Not that it matters, you know? Dogs are just dogs. Big hearts, all of them."
"Right," Tommy hears himself say, somewhat taken aback by the man's rambling.
The man must see the doubt lingering on his face, because he huffs and shakes his head a little as he straightens up.
"Really, you got nothing to worry about, mate," he assures him. "Cyril can tell he's only little. Lets kids do whatever they want to him, that lad. I didn't help him write that sign for nothing, yeah?"
Tommy is no stranger to the man's accent, having been to southern London many times through work, but the man's voice somehow seems to elevate it. It's rough and soft at the same time.
"Yeah, of course," Tommy nods, scoffing at himself. He can feel himself starting to blush, through he's not sure why. For being so mistrusting of an already misunderstood breed, maybe. For coming across as an overprotective parent. He takes a few steps closer to the counter, hands itching to reach into his pocket and pull out a smoke. "Sorry. He's just…"
He trails off, glancing over again to see Charlie touching one of the dog's ears with great interest. The dog side-eyes him, but keeps its head still. When Tommy turns back to the counter, the man's got yet another wide grin on his face.
"Fucking massive, right?"
Tommy blinks, taken aback by the swear word. Even Charlie who's busy petting the giant dog pauses for a second to look over. The man seems to realize his mistake, slamming a hand over his mouth.
"Shit, sorry, mate. I got a real foul mouth."
"That's alright," Tommy assures him, smiling faintly. If Polly was here, she'd probably grab Charlie and walk out, but Tommy is far too polite for that. And it doesn't really matter how foul this man's mouth is — it's not like they're gonna hang around here every day.
"You Alfie?"
It's an attempt to steer the conversation back to more casual ground, away from the dog and back to the task of feeding Charlie. But the man's smile still lights up like he never thought Tommy would ask.
"That's me. One and only. Well, there's another fella working here sometimes, but he's bloody useless. Burns the bread every time, you see. Can't handle anything but the register, that lad."
Before Tommy can respond, Charlie comes over to join them by the counter.
"How old is he?" He asks, pointing back to the dog still sitting on the bed, though it's looking longingly after Charlie with the tail still wagging.
The man — Alfie — leans forward and crosses his arms on top of the counter again, smiling at Charlie.
"Four years old, can you believe it."
Charlie makes a little surprised noise, looking up at Tommy.
"He's bigger than me, daddy."
"Older, Charlie," Tommy corrects him.
Alfie chuckles softly, a wheezy sort of sound that somehow fits the man. He nods down at Charlie.
"And how old are you, mate?"
He doesn't change his voice the way most grownups do when speaking to children, and for a moment Tommy thinks his son will be too surprised by Alfie's odd behaviour to answer properly, but then the kid's face lights up and he proudly tells Alfie:
"I'm three. Almost four!"
"Oh, I see," Alfie nods seriously, stroking his beard with one hand. The way he does it makes it seem like he's barely aware of doing it. "Now, that 'almost' is really important, innit? You grow a lot in just a couple months, don't you?"
Tommy can't help but hum in agreement, a smile tugging at his mouth as he ruffles his boy's hair.
"Plenty."
Charlie giggles, looking back to the dog. Its tail had gone still for a moment, but as soon as he regains Charlie's attention, it starts wagging again. Charlie lifts his hand to wave in response.
Alfie's straightens up with a hum, his eyes locking with Tommy's.
"So did you lot just come in here for the dog and not the food, then?"
"Food!" Charlie exclaims, head snapping back towards Alfie. He grabs onto the counter top with both hands and jumps in place.
Tommy scoffs, realizing they've been in here for several minutes at this point without ordering anything. He blames the dog for being such a distraction, throwing a glance to the small group of teenagers sitting by a table in the corner as he clears his throat.
"Right." He gestures to the pasty showcase next to them. "Go ahead and pick something, Charlie."
Charlie makes a little gasping noise, moving to press his hands and face against the glass. Alfie chuckles, drawing Tommy's attention yet again. He's watching the boy with a kind smile, and Tommy can't stop the warmth spreading from his chest.
"What'cha want, mate?"
"That one!"
Charlie points at what looks like a cinnamon roll, only the little sign next to it says something else.
"Cha...llah?" Tommy reads, looking hopefully to Alfie.
Alfie grins, nodding as he opens the back of the glass box to reach inside.
"My own cinnamon challah bread, that. How many?"
"Two," Tommy decides, patting his pockets to locate his wallet.
Alfie puts two thick slices on a plate. He puts it down between them, but before Tommy can ask about coffee, the man reaches for a glass jar sitting on the counter. It's filled with little bone-shaped biscuits, and Alfie pulls one out and leans over the counter to offer it to a wide-eyed Charlie.
"You wanna go give this to Cyril for me, mate?"
Charlie nods, taking the cookie with an excited grin and bounces over to the dog who's waiting for him. Tommy watches the boy hesitate before holding the treat out in his hand.
"Coffee?"
Tommy meets Alfie's questioning eyes, before his gaze darts back to Charlie.
"Yes," he says, distracted. "Latte, please."
Alfie hums, stepping away from the counter and out of Tommy's line of vision.
The dog seems hesitant to take the treat from the Charlie's hand, but then it slowly opens its big jaws and oh so carefully bites down on the biscuit and takes it out of the boy's hand. Charlie squeals happily, giggling as he pets the dog while he eats, and Tommy finds himself releasing a breath.
He looks back to where Alfie is standing by the coffee machine, finding the man already watching him with a small smile. Tommy scoffs and ducks his head down, a little embarrassed.
"So, Birmingham, eh?"
Tommy looks up again, cocking an eyebrow. Alfie's attention is on where he's pouring the milk.
"You got a good ear."
"Nah," Alfie huffs, crow feet appearing around his eyes. There's a flash of teeth. "You're just a textbook example, mate."
Tommy snorts, shaking his head. He's tempted to say so are you but it feels... dangerous. As if that'd make this little back and forth less innocent. It's already so far from what Tommy is used to when speaking to his employees or meeting with business partners. He tries to remember last time he took part in casual small talk like this, but fails.
Alfie returns to the counter with Tommy's latte, gently putting it down next to their plate. There's a fancy heart pattern in the milk foam, and while Tommy knows that's pretty much the standard for most places serving coffee nowadays, it still makes heat rise to his face.
"Something for your boy?" Alfie asks. "Glass of milk? Still growing, ain't he?"
"Yeah, perfect, thank you," Tommy nods.
Alfie turns away again. The group of teenagers that'd been sitting in the corner gets up and starts to gather their things, and Tommy feels a strange sort of relief. They tell Alfie bye as a they pass the counter, each giving Cyril a pat on the head as they walk by the dog's bed. Charlie looks shy for a moment, sitting next to the dog again, before waving at the teenagers as they head for the door. They happily wave back at him, making Charlie laugh. Tommy feels himself smile.
"Regulars," Alfie says, placing a glass of milk next to Tommy's latte. It takes Tommy a moment to realize he's talking about the kids that just left. "Most people coming here, are, in fact," he goes on, sounding thoughtful. "Not you, though," he add, lifting a finger to briefly point at Tommy across the counter, smiling. "Haven't seen your face here before. I'd remember."
Tommy parts his lips, but no words come out. There's a glint of something in Alfie's eyes, something that makes Tommy's heart miss a beat. He waits for the man's smile to twist into a smirk, for that look in his eyes to turn into something suggestive. Something familiar. But it doesn't happen; Alfie's smile remains soft and genuine.
"We just moved from Birmingham," he admits, taking out his wallet.
"Ah," Alfie says, hands flat on the counter as he leans back. For a moment Tommy feels exposed, prepared for Alfie to get nosy and ask questions he doesn't feel like answering, but then Alfie hums. "Well," he grins. "Welcome to fucking London, mate."
Tommy scoffs, relaxing his shoulders. He looks over to Charlie, but the boy is too busy with the dog to hear the bad word. Alfie seems to remember himself and makes an apologizing gesture. Tommy just smiles, nodding in thanks.
"Charlie," he calls out once he's paid for their good, loud enough to catch his son's attention. "Let's pick a table."
With one last pat on the dog's head, Charlie jogs over. Tommy takes their drinks, one in each hand, while Alfie leans over the counter to hand Charlie their plate.
"You got it, mate?" He asks before letting go. "Be careful, yeah?"
Charlie nods, focusing as he holds the plate steady with both hands. He follows Tommy over to one of the tables next to the windows, letting Tommy take the plate from him once he's sat the drinks down.
It takes Charlie approximately half an hour to finish his bread slice.
Mainly because he's a slow eater, but also because the world is full of distractions. He has to look over every time a new customer walks through the door, giggling every time they pet Cyril and the dog's tail starts slapping against the bed again.
At one point a lady comes in with another dog on a leash, and Charlie stares in awe as the dog follows the woman up to the counter, standing on its back legs to receive one of those bone-shaped biscuits and a pat from a grinning Alfie. The lady doesn't stay, just grabs her coffee and goes, but not before the two dogs get to say a brief hello. Alfie looks over to their table when Charlie laughs into his hands at the dogs' wagging tails, and Tommy automatically returns the man's smile.
When Alfie comes over to wipe off the table in the corner, Charlie has to pause from eating to watch what he's doing. Once Alfie notices, he chuckles and asks if they liked the bread. Tommy lets Charlie answer for them, the boy nodding enthusiastically. Alfie grins, pointing to Charlie's glass and reminds him to not forget drink his milk before disappearing behind the counter again.
Once they're finished eating, nothing but bread crumbs left on the plate, Charlie jumps off his chair and bounces over to Cyril. The dog is lying down, curled up on its belly, but it happily lifts his head when Charlie sits down on the bed again. The dog licks Charlie's hand, and Charlie shrieks happily.
Tommy takes their plate and empty cups back to the counter, Alfie giving him a thankful smile.
"I'll be seeing you," Alfie says, sounding a bit like he's trailing off at the end.
"Thomas Shelby," Tommy offers, extending a hand.
Alfie smiles, sliding his hand into Tommy's to shake it, firmly. His palm is warm, rough from labour.
"Alfie Solomons. Hmm. Well. I'll be seeing you, Tommy."
Tommy almost opens his mouth to ask, how he can be so sure, but decides not to. He just smiles faintly, nodding before withdrawing his hand.
"Tell Mr. Solomons bye now, Charlie," Tommy instructs, ruffling his son's hair as he comes over to the dog bed to help him put his jacket back on.
Charlie makes a little protesting noise, but doesn't fuss. He gives Cyril one last pat on the head before waving at Alfie.
"Goodbye!"
Alfie waves back, his smile all teeth and sparkling eyes.
"See you, mate."
Tommy helps Charlie open the door for them, the chilly air welcoming them as they step back out on the street. Once again Tommy's hands itch to reach for a smoke, but then Charlie is there, wrapping his little hand around his dad's fingers.
"Are we going home?" The boy asks, looking up at him. He's still got bread crumbs around his mouth.
Tommy swallows, feeling his heart clench inside his chest. The new apartment doesn't feel like home, not yet, and Tommy is worried that it never will. Its walls are empty and dull, a lack of life that makes you feel cold even when you're not. But it's free of memories, free of ghosts.
"Yes, Charlie," Tommy says, smiling down at his son. "Can you make it? Or do you want a ride?"
Charlie grins, reaching his arms up. Tommy laughs, lifting him off the ground and putting the boy on top of his shoulders. Charlie giggles, the weight of his hands coming to rest on top of Tommy's hat, trusting his dad to keep him balanced.
"Let's go home," Tommy says, allowing himself a smile.