Archive of Our Own

A week before Freddie Thorne died, the doctors finally admitted there was nothing more to be done.

Ada knew the Shelby family’s reputation was the only thing that kept the doctors from giving up sooner. The Peaky Blinders were one of the most powerful organizations in Birmingham these days and Tommy was getting richer by the day. It appeared he’d finally managed to jump the gap into the kind of wealth and power which made regular people do things for you for nothing. It was sickening, but Ada had been willing to deal with it if it meant Freddie would live. Now there was no hope.

She sat awake for most of the night. She’d thought Freddie was asleep but realized a few hours before dawn that wasn’t true when he shifted and said, “Ada, I’d like to see Tommy. Can you get Tommy to come here?”

For a minute, Ada just stared at him sure he must have been raving or that she must have misheard him. She and Freddie didn’t talk to Tommy Shelby, at least not past exchanging pleasantries. They could come over to Watery Lane for a family dinner without it being awkward, but that was it. There was no playful teasing like there was with Arthur, John and Finn. There was no implied trust like there had been for Ada’s whole childhood. Tommy was the only Shelby who had never visited Freddie in the entire time he’d been in the hospital dying by degrees.

Ada told herself that was how it was and hadn’t let herself think on it more. If she did, she always remember a time when Tommy would have been the first person to the hospital and would have sat vigil with her. That had been a different time, a time before the war when Tommy had been Freddie’s best friend and Ada’s favorite brother, not the man who had betrayed them both.

(It wouldn’t be until years later, when Tommy is in the hospital after his ill-fated run-in with Father Hughes and doped up beyond coherence that he mentions in hazy passing that Grace was actually the one who sold Freddie out the night Karl was born. When she hears that Ada wants to scream at him and demand to know why he never thought to mention that to anyone. Then she remembers that its about Grace and she’s not surprised.)

“Why Tommy?” she asked Freddie before realizing how that sounded. “Are you sure you don’t want to see Arthur or John or-”

“I want to see Tommy,” Freddie said firmly, then broke into a coughing fit. When he got his breath back he went on, “You heard the doctors; I’m going to die. I can’t leave this world without talking to Tommy Shelby.”

She still argued. She didn’t see how anything could be changed by dragging Tommy fucking Shelby here against his will. It wasn’t like he was suddenly going to morph back into the person he’d been before the war just because a dying man who had once been his best friend wanted to see him.

Despite her arguments, Freddie eventually won out. Of course, she hadn’t actually argued to the best of her abilities. Freddie was dying and she would not spend what precious little time they had left arguing. That was how she found herself stepping out of a cab at Watery Lane at the crack of dawn trying to mentally prepare herself for a real conversation with her favorite turned most despised brother. She’d hoped Tommy wouldn’t be in yet so she could put it off a bit more, but when she asked the Peaky Blinder stoking the fire, he’d nodded towards the office.

Tommy was standing behind the desk, hands braced on the top, looking over a ledger. He looked wide awake, which wasn’t necessarily surprising; Ada didn’t think she’d seen him do more than doze since he’d returned from the war. In fact, if she didn’t have it on good account that he was still human she’d wonder if he’d somehow transcended the need for human things like sleep.

He looked up when she entered the room and his eyes pierced her to the core. “The doctors finally gave up,” he said. The words were cruel and the blank expression and tone only made it worse.

“Fuck you, Thomas Shelby!” Ada snarled. “Don’t make it sound like you’ve been waiting for this for years.” The fact that she’d told Freddie she was going to bring Tommy was the only thing that kept her from turning around and walking right out.

Tommy sighed. “Why are you here, Ada? Pol’s not in yet, so if you want to talk to her, you’ll have to-”

“I’m not here for Polly,” Ada interrupted. “I came here to see you.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, which Ada knew from experience was all the surprise he’d ever show these days. She missed the days before the war when he’d actually had expressions. She remembered how worried she’d been by the flat affect when he’d first come home. She wondered when she’d gotten so used to it that she’d stopped worrying.

Probably when he’d started being such a bastard.

“What do you want to see me for?” Tommy asked.

“Freddie asked to see you,” she said. Too late she realized she probably should have come up with some kind of argument for this. The avoidance that had existed between her, Freddie and Tommy was not one-sided; Tommy had been avoiding them too.

“It must have taken quite a bit of arguing to convince you to come here,” Tommy mused, lighting a cigarette.

“Freddie’s dying,” Ada forced the words out with all the fortitude she’d learned during her Shelby childhood. “No point in arguing.”

“I suppose,” Tommy said. After a moment he straightened up and turned away. “Do you have a car or do we need to take one of mine?”

Ada had been so ready for a fight it took her an embarrassingly long time to realize Tommy had just agreed. “Wait, what?” she stammered. “Just like that?”

“As you said; Freddie’s dying,” Tommy said turning to face her as he pulled on his long coat and razor-lined cap. “It would be cruel to deny the request of a dying man,” he headed towards the door. “Come on, then. Let’s go.”

~~~~

They ended up riding one of Tommy’s cars back to the hospital. Tommy drove and Ada rode in the passenger seat. They didn’t speak and silence hung between them, heavy and awkward. Ada tried not to fidget or do anything which would betray her discomfort. Tommy, of course, was perfectly stoic, as always.

In an attempt at keeping her mind off the silence, Ada tried to speculate on why Freddie would suddenly want to talk to Tommy after being at odds for so many years. She supposed it could just be that dying gave people perspective. Freddie and Tommy had been best friends throughout childhood. They’d always been there for each other. It was hard to tell when exactly things had broken--whether it had been in France or afterwards--but it was very possible all Freddie wanted was to see if any of that childhood friendship could be salvaged before the end.

Ada eyed her brother, driving with all the composure of a man on a business trip and thought that was highly unlikely.

~~~~

When Freddie had told Ada that he wanted to speak to Tommy his reasoning had been very clear. He’d known exactly why it was vitally important he see Tommy one last time before he died. Unfortunately, a combination of fever and exhaustion stole that reasoning from his mind almost as soon as Ada left. By the time Tommy Shelby let himself into the hospital room, Freddie was questioning why he’d thought this was a good idea.

Tommy sat down quietly in the chair by the bed which Ada usually occupied. He was wearing the same sort of functional overcoat he’d been wearing for years, which was interesting given that he was pretty filthy rich these days. He cradled his cap on his lap rather than sticking it in a pocket. Freddie could see the razor blades sewn into the brim glinting in the early morning sunlight.

Neither of them spoke.

The minutes dragged on. Neither was willing to break the silence first. It was hard to believe they had once been a pair of children who could chatter on for hours. Finally, Freddie admitted to himself that he would have to lower his pride and speak first. After all, at this point Tommy could keep this standoff going until Freddie literally died.

“Where’s Ada?” He asked.

“Waiting in the hall,” Tommy said. “Do you want me to get her?”

“No, just curious,” Freddie said. “I wanted to talk to you just the two of us.”

Tommy nodded and silence fell between them again.

“You’re not going to ask how I’m feeling?” Freddie asked.

“Ada said the doctors gave you a week to live,” Tommy said bluntly. “I imagine you’re feeling pretty fucking shitty.”

Freddie couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing. Unfortunately, the laughter quickly turned into a coughing fit. When he finally could breathe again he saw that Tommy was half out of his chair looking as close to worried as he’d managed since France.

“Should I get a nurse?” he asked.

“No, I’m fine,” Freddie waved him away.

Tommy sat back, any trace of worry washing away and his usual calm reasserting itself. “You said you wanted to talk to me,” he said. “About what?”

Of course that slammed Freddie up against the fact that he didn’t remember what he’d wanted to talk to Tommy about. They lapsed back into silence. This was getting really awkward.

“Do you ever think about France?” Freddie burst out, a little surprised by himself. He was pretty sure this was not what he’d been planning to say.

“Why do you ask?” Tommy said, his lips thinning like Freddie had broken some kind of unspoken rule.

Freddie didn’t have the energy to unpack that. “You never talk about it,” he said. “Sometimes I wonder if you think about about it at all. I know I’m not the only one.” He knew he was justified in asking, but it was difficult to believe that when looking at Tommy’s serene face. Something about his whole manner questioned why you couldn’t just put aside your problems and be as unnervingly functional as he was.

“Have you been thinking about it?” Tommy asked after a moment. It was difficult to tell if he was actually invested in the conversation or just trying to get it over with.

“I always do,” Freddie said, deciding to see how Tommy would react to a little frank honesty.

“More so than usual?” Tommy asked, still with no visible change in tone or expression.

Freddie sighed and figured he’d come this far, he may as well see it through. “I keep thinking about the night when we stumbled onto the Germans,” he admitted. “Sometimes I feel like I can hear their shovels coming through the walls.”

He paused. Tommy had gone stiff, his shoulders a single, rigid line. He fumbled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. Slowly, Freddie realized he’d actually struck a nerve.

He wasn’t sure how to go on from here. He talked about the War all the time in his recruiting for the Communists, but that was always in the abstract, in broad statements which everyone who had been in France would relate to. He never spoke in specifics. He especially never spoke of the tunnels, of the shovels and of the earth bearing down and drowning him. The only people he could ever possibly say anything about that to were Tommy and Danny Owens which had never been possible with either of them. He wasn’t sure what to say now that there was a chance for him to actually talk.

“Do you hear the shovels?” he asked.

Tommy just stared and said nothing, but his stillness was more of a rabbit frozen in fear than a glacier now, so Freddie figured that was probably a yes.

“It’s odd, actually,” Freddie went on, mostly to fill the silence. “I never used to think about the shovels. What haunted me was the memory of the dark and the closeness and the ceiling caving in on us.” he paused then and went on, “Sometimes it’s hard to remember that I’m not still down there, especially in tight places. Do you have that problem too?”

Tommy just looked at him. After a long time, he said, “If you’re having trouble sleeping because of the shovels, opium might help. I can give you some.”

Freddie couldn’t believe he’d thought this would end any differently than every other time he’d interacted with Tommy Shelby since they’d come back from France.

“Let me get this straight,” he said, struggling to keep his voice calm and level. If he started yelling he’d only end up drawing Ada and the nurses. “I open up about how I’m haunted by our time in France and you offer to buy me drugs so I’ll shut up about it? What the fucking hell? Sorry, if your new status as filthy rich has already rotted your brain, but throwing money at something doesn’t always fix it!”

Tommy’s face tightened with anger, true emotion showing for the first time in the conversation. “That is not not what I meant,” he said. “You said you were having trouble with hearing shovels. Opium helps with that. I have some. If you want I can give you some.”

Finally, finally, Freddie caught the implication. His jaw dropped and for several minutes all he could do was stare. He couldn’t believe it. He was hearing things Tommy Shelby would never…

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Tommy asked.

“Why am I-” Freddie had to cut himself off to keep from shouting. This was something that needed to be handled carefully . “Tommy, you just admitted to be smoking fucking opium; how did you expect me to react?”

Tommy just looked at him. “Do you want any or not?”

“Of course not!” Freddie snapped, voice rising before he remembered that he didn’t want to draw anyone. “Why would I want any?”

Tommy shifted and Freddie could see him preparing to get up and leave. “Don’t you dare,” Freddie said. “If you’re half as daring as your reputation suggests you’ll stay right there in that chair and answer my questions. How long?”

For a minute he thought Tommy was still going to get up and leave, then he sat back in his chair and lit another cigarette. “Since just after we got back from France,” he admitted.

That was a really long fucking time, especially not to get caught, but it was Tommy so perhaps it made sense. It wasn’t like anyone would expect Thomas Shelby to be smoking opium.

As he gave himself time to accept that, he started to realize he actually could pinpoint exactly when all this had started. When the fighting in France had ended, it was like Tommy had sunk down into himself. While the fighting had been going on he’d been a machine, working tirelessly to keep his brothers and the men under his command safe, but afterwards it had been different. It was like once there was no danger he’d started to contemplate what happened and quickly become so overwhelmed that he shut down. On the way home, he’d stared blankly out at the sea and then at the English countryside. Sometimes when you talked it didn’t seem like he could hear you. It hadn’t gotten better once they’d gotten back to Small Heath. After the fiftieth time someone had to track Tommy down because he’d been wandering around the streets of Birmingham like a ghost, Freddie had dragged him along to a couple Communist rallies, hoping to spark some of his old fervor, to no avail.

Then Tommy had simply be...better. It was like he’d flipped a switch and turned on the machine he was now. The Shelbys had all been too relieved to question it (Arthur and John had no heads for business but were perfectly capable of deluding themselves into believing they did and ruining things for Polly) and Tommy had quickly become too insufferable for Freddie to stomach worrying about him. No one had questioned how he’d managed to just get over everything.

Obviously, that had been a huge mistake.

“So you’ve been smoking opium for fucking years and no one knows?” Freddie pushed, trying to ignore his own guilt. He should have realized something wasn’t right. Someone should have.

“John knows,” Tommy said.

“That isn’t better, Tommy,” Freddie groaned. John and Arthur worshiped the ground Tommy walked on; the only thing John knowing would do was provide an explanation if Tommy managed to die via overdose.

“You’ve got to stop,” Freddie said, almost before he realized he’d decided to say anything. “Like, today. Right now.”

Tommy just looked at him and exhaled smoke. “Why should I listen to you?”

“Because I won’t be around to protect Ada and Karl from the inevitable fallout?” Freddie said. “Because we both know the Shelby Company won’t manage to survive you dying from an opium overdose? Because that stuff could literally kill you?”

“I can’t sleep without it,” Tommy said. It wasn’t even really an argument, just a statement of fact; a half-hearted excuse.

“Then don’t sleep,” Freddie said, perhaps a bit too harshly. “It’s better than killing yourself and destroying everything you’ve worked for for a little false peace.”

Tommy lit another cigarette and didn’t say anything for a hideously long time. Freddie was just gearing up for another assault when Tommy said, “Fine, I’ll get off it.”

“Just like that?” Freddie asked.

“Just like that,” Tommy agreed. 

~~~~

After leaving the hospital, Tommy Shelby drove back to Watery Lane. By this point it was late enough that the rest of the family was up and at work which was good because it meant he had the house to himself. There was no one to see him take his pipe and opium supply out of its hiding place and head out in the direction of the Cut.

This time of day the Cut was busy with traffic, but Tommy waiting until there was a lull before hurriedly dumping the pipe and dope into the water. There was no ceremony; he didn’t want anyone to see and he wasn’t convinced he wouldn’t back out it  he thought too hard about it. It was best to just get it over with.

He wasn’t even sure why he was doing this. Freddie was an old friend and more recent enemy who would be dead in a week. Tommy had no reason to listen to him. There was nothing to stop him from just not doing what Freddie said, but for some reason he had anyway.

The only explanation he could think of was that Freddie had made him face things he’d already known. His opium habit wasn’t sustainable and he knew that eventually someone would find out or he’d accidentally overdose. He was also very aware of the problem his increased tolerance was posing. He was now smoking the opium at night before he went to sleep and again in the morning when he got up, and he was still craving and irritable by the time he retired for the night. He could not allow himself to start smoking during the day. He needed to stop now before he couldn’t.

Still, once the pipe and drug were disposed of he lingered for a while, thinking things through and mentally preparing himself for what lay ahead. When he figured he couldn’t possibly waste anymore time without facing Polly’s wrath he headed back towards Watery Lane.

It was going to be a fucking long week.

~~~~

Tommy had been smoking opium for years, obviously he’d gone into withdrawal before so he had some idea what to expect. Fortunately , he’d already had his morning dose before Ada had arrived so he made it through the day just the same as always. He stayed a little late finishing a list of things which were too important to wait a few days. Since he had the foresight to know he’d probably be too sick to get much done for the next few days, he figured he might as well take advantage of it. When he finally headed to bed, he was starting to feel it. It was late he wanted a dose, but there was nothing so he went to bed and hoped for a couple hours of sleep.

He did get a couple hours, but then he was awake and soaked in sweat, his heart pounding. He could hear the shovels pounding at the wall and he jumped at shadows.

He didn’t get back to sleep.

~~~~

By morning, he was exhausted, aching, inexplicably anxious and both hot and cold at the same time which suggested a fever. The whole endeavor was beginning to seem like a bad idea. He really wanted some opium, but instead smoked cigarettes one after another which helped a little, but not much.

He thought he was, if not calm, but at least not particularly irritated when he went downstairs. The rest of the family was having breakfast. John and Esme had brought the kids over for breakfast so the kitchen was a riot of noise. Finn was laughing at something Arthur had said, bumped into a pan on the stove and sent it crashing to the ground. Tommy was yelling almost without thought. He already had such a headache and the noise just made it worse. He wished his family would be fucking sensible for once in their lives.

He didn’t realize just how quickly he’d gone off until he realized even Polly was staring at him in open-mouthed shock. He couldn’t exactly explain what was going on and why he was so short tempered, so he just turned and walked out.

In his office, he poured a glass of whiskey even though he was starting to feel sick to his stomach. He sat down in his chair with the intention of trying to get some work done.

Business had to go on.

~~~~

Of course, trying to work while in withdrawal from opium was not easy. Tommy tried to focus on his paperwork, but couldn’t. His head pounded and his body ached and it was hard to think. He kept smoking to drive back the cravings, interspersing this with glasses of whiskey when his stomach settled enough that he was fairly sure he could keep them down.

By midday he was pacing his office in an attempt to ward off the cramps which had begun to plague him. Someone knocked on the door. The sound drove knives of pain into his head. “What?” he roared at the closed door.

It opened and Arthur came in. “Don’t know why I expect you to be in a better mood,” he groused. “You sleep on fucking thumbtacks or something last night, Tommy?”

“What do you need, Arthur?” Tommy growled. He lit another cigarette and picked up his glass of whiskey as he passed the desk. He downed it in one swallow even as his stomach lurched warningly. He set the glass on the desk again and kept pacing.

When he looked up again Arthur was looking at him with open concern. “Has something gone wrong?”

“Of course not,” Tommy snapped. His stomach lurched again and he caught himself on the back of his chair as another cramp rushed through his body. He tasted bile. “What makes you think something has gone wrong?”

“You’re all worked up,” Arthur pointed out. “What else am I supposed to think?”

“Nothing!” Tommy exploded. “You’re not supposed to think anything!” You’re supposed to let me do the fucking-” he gagged and had to stop to swallow. “-supposed to let me do the fucking thinking.”

“Tommy…” Arthur said carefully, like he was talking to a spooked horse. “You alright?”

“Of course, I’m fine,” Tommy snarled. “Why can’t you leave me alone for one-” He cut himself off and dove for his waste-paper basket.

He was vaguely aware of Arthur swearing and lunging around the desk to reach him. He wanted to shout at Arthur to back off. They’d grown up together; it wasn’t like Arthur had never seen him puke before.

He retched again and was horribly aware that this was making it painfully obvious he hadn’t put anything but alcohol in his stomach in the last twenty-four hours. He tried to shove Arthur away, but his brother would not go away.

“Sit down, Tommy,” Arthur coaxed in a surprisingly gentle voice, easing him down to the floor. “You don’t want to fall and make even more of a mess.”

The office door swung open and hit the wall with a bang that drove a spear of pain through Tommy’s head. “What’s going on?” Polly asked. “I heard banging and shouting.”

Tommy gagged. Nothing came up. His stomach was probably already empty. He couldn’t decide if that was a good thing, or just pathetic.

“Oh,” Polly said, coming around the desk. “That explains a lot. Serves you right, Tommy.”

Tommy’s first thought was that she knew about the opium. Terror rushed through him. As much as he played at not caring what Polly thought of him, the idea of facing her disappointment made him want to die of shame.

“You better take him home and make sure he goes to bed,” Polly told Arthur. “The last thing we want is for him to infect the rest of us with whatever hell-plague is powerful enough to take him down.”

Gradually Tommy realized she didn’t know. She’d only meant he deserved it in a general sense, probably for not listening to her advice, which was admittedly probably true. He fought back a sigh of relief.

Unfortunately, Arthur did not share Polly’s sense of relief. “What’s wrong with him?” he demanded. “He went and saw Freddie yesterday; maybe something’s really wrong!”

Tommy hadn’t intended to tell the family about him visiting Freddie, but he’d forgotten to tell Scudboat not to mention where he’d gone before leaving with Ada. By the time he’d returned from disposing of the opium, everyone had known he’d been to the hospital.

“If Freddie was that contagious they wouldn’t have let Ada sit by his bedside for months,” Polly said. “It’s probably just a stomach bug or something. Take him home so he can rest.”

It was obvious Arthur wasn’t fully convinced, but Tommy was the only one who argued with Pol when she had that look on her face and even he made sure he considered all his options first. “Come on, Tom,” Arthur said and hauled Tommy bodily to his feet so suddenly he had no time to prepare and almost fell back to the floor. Arthur steadied him. “Let’s get you home.”

~~~~

Things did not get better from there. Tommy acknowledged that trying to work had been a terrible idea, but now he had nothing to do but lie in bed and feel miserable. He spent the rest of the day shivering, heaving into a basin on occasion and shouting at Arthur whenever he came too close. He barely slept and whenever he did he felt worse when he woke up. Arthur and Polly checked on him, and John poked his head in a time or two. If John had figured out what was actually wrong, he didn’t mention it, for which Tommy was very thankful.

Things only got worse as the sun set. He tossed and turned for what felt like forever. He just wanted some opium. He’d been resisting it all day, but it was getting harder and he couldn’t sleep. He wanted to sleep.

Sometime in the dead of night he couldn’t take it anymore. He shakily threw himself out of bed and hauled on his shoes and coat. He made his way down the hall, clinging precariously to the walls and trying to move quietly enough not to wake Polly who was a lighter sleeper than he was. He was out in the street before he realized he’d forgotten his cap.

He wrapped his coat tighter against the cold and stumbled along the street. He hadn’t realized just how weak he was until he faced walking such a long distance. He already wanted to sink down to the ground and rest, but he kept pushing himself onward. This whole fiasco had been a terrible idea from the start. He cursed Freddie for demanding this of him. He cursed himself for giving in.

He was halfway to the place he normally bought his opium when his logical self caught up. What was he doing? He’d decided logically that he needed to get off the opium; was he really going to give up so soon just because it had gotten a little difficult? Pathetic. If his father could see him now, he’d laugh about how far his high and mighty son had fallen.

The thought of doing anything that might gain that reaction from his father, was enough to get him to turn around. He set off back towards Water Lane. He would return home, go back to bed and stick things out until it was over.

But his feet still did not carry him home. When he next looked up he was outside the scrapyard. He would have been annoyed, but he was far too tired to walk all the way back to Watery Lane now. He would just have to stay here and rest until he was strong enough to move again.

He made his stumbling, shaking way to the stables. The cot in the tack-room was empty, the way it always was when nothing was wrong with the horses that required Charlie or Curly’s constant attention.. Tommy thought about going in and collapsing there to try to get some sleep but the thought of laying there thinking about how much better he’d feel right now if he’d just gone and gotten more fucking opium was intolerable. He stumbled past the tack-room and towards the stalls.

He hadn’t exactly been quiet while letting himself into the barn, so the horses were mostly awake. Several put their heads over their stall doors and whickered in greeting. Tommy let himself into the stall of a chestnut mare. She poked at his pockets, looking for treats.

“Sorry, girl,” Tommy said. His voice was surprisingly hoarse. “No treats. I wasn’t exactly planning to come out here tonight.” She huffed out a breath, sounding almost disappointed. He smiled vaguely.

He simply stood there for a long time, running his hands through her mane, his head resting against her neck. She was supporting most of his weight, but that was okay; she could take it.

He didn’t exactly remember when his legs gave out, but eventually he sunk down to the straw-covered floor of the stall. By that point he’d fallen into an exhausted stupor so deep he was barely aware of his surroundings. He patted clumsily at the mare’s nose as she nudged at him, trying to figure out if he was alright.

He must have slept because when he opened his eyes again it was lighter in the barn and Charlie was bending over him.

“When did you come here?” Charlie asked in a quiet tone which suggested he knew this was a fragile situation. Tommy was embarrassed to be found sick and sleeping on the floor of a horse stall. He shrugged in answer to Charlie’s question. He wasn’t even sure what time it was now, let alone what time it had been when he’d arrived at the stables. He meant to keep from giving too much away, but another cramp seized him and he was left curling into a tight ball and wincing.

Charlie patted him gently on the shoulder and then levered himself upright. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Stay right here.”

Like Tommy could do anything else. He could barely muster the energy to keep his eyes open.

After what felt like forever, Charlie returned with a heavy blanket which smelled comfortingly of horses. “Here,” he said, draping it over Tommy and sitting back on his heels, face tight. “How long has it been since your last dose?” he asked.

Tommy tensed. “What do you mean?”

“I know what opium withdrawal looks like,” Charlie said. “And even if I didn’t; I’ve known you since you were a little boy, Tom. I noticed.”

The shame of realizing Charlie knew about the opium was better than the thought of Polly knowing, but only just.

“You never told anyone,” he said.

Charlie shrugged. “Honestly, I thought everyone else knew and was ignoring it,” he said. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” When Tommy didn’t respond he went on, “When you first came back to the business after the war, I went to Pol, said that something wasn’t right and that I was worried about you. She told me, ‘Charlie, they’re all a little different. He’s coming to work now, pulling his own weight and has plans for the future; he’s fine. You’re overreacting.”

“You were overreacting,” Tommy said. “I was fine. I am fine.”

“You’re lying there in the throes of opium withdrawal,” Charlie said. “You’re not fine. You weren’t fine.”

The horrible thing was that even though he didn’t want to admit it, Tommy knew Charlie was right. His memories of after the war were a patchwork of moments spent feeling so much he thought he must be going insane and feeling so little he sometimes wondered if he was even still alive. Over it all was an exhaustion so deep it felt like he was walking through a haze. All he could think about was sleep, but he couldn’t sleep or was terrified to sleep. For weeks after they come home he’d spent his days wandering the streets of Birmingham, trying to figure out how to feel like he was part of the world again.

Things changed one day a couple weeks after they’d returned. The family was eating breakfast together--everyone, even John’s kids. Tommy vaguely remembered that he hadn’t been hungry and that he’d only sat down because Polly had been glaring at him. They’d been partway through the meal when a car had backfired in the street outside. Arthur and John had thrown themselves out of their chairs and onto the floor to take cover. All of Tommy’s instincts had screamed for him to do the same, but over that was the burning terror of being seen as insane. He’d stayed in his chair by sheer force of will. He literally broke the teacup he was holding in his struggle to remain still.

In the aftermath of the noise, Finn and John’s kids started crying. Polly and Ada had been staring in wide-eyed shock. Arthur and John had been shaking lumps on the floor, and Tommy had just...gotten up. He’d tossed the shards of the teacup onto the table and walked outside. The numb calm which had been his constant companion in France was back and he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the stability it gave him. He was a wreck without it.

He’d then proceeded to shout at the owner of the car for almost ten minutes, with blood dripping off his fingers from wounds he was too calm to feel. Eventually Polly came and dragged him back inside. Sitting at the table while Polly griped and bandaged his hand, he looked around at the remains of his family and still far too calm, he decided something needed to change and that it may as well be him.

That was the day he’d returned to the business and he’d expected to be fine, but the calm didn’t last. He still heard shovels. He still couldn’t sleep. He could get by during the day by focusing on the business and making plans for the future which took up too much of his attention to think about anything else, but France always crept back at night. That was when he’d turned to the opium. It was the only option which hadn’t included admitting to weakness and failing.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he grumbled to Charlie, vaguely aware that he sounded like a petulant child. “I’m handling it.”

Charlie just raised an eyebrow. “All the same,” he said. “You’re staying here until you get through the worst of it. I want to keep an eye on you.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I think it is,” Charlie said. “We both know you didn’t haul your sick ass out of bed last night just to come visit the horses. I’m glad you ended up here instead, and I want to make sure you don’t go wandering off again.”

Tommy couldn’t exactly argue with that. He curled deeper into the blanket and sighed.

“You want to move to the cot or just stay here for a while?” Charlie asked.

“I’m fine right here.”

“Alright,” Charlie clapped him on the shoulder and stood. “I’ll be in the other stalls checking on the horses and Curly’s around too. Yell if you need us.”

Tommy nodded in acknowledgement.

“Good, get some rest,” Charlie said and left the stall.

~~~~

Almost a week later, the end was near. Freddie drifted in and out of sleep, barely coherent most of the time. Sometimes he recognized Ada, other times he called her by the names of his mother and sisters and their friends. Other times he had hideous nightmares which tended to end with him screaming for various people to run.

Finally--far too soon--the doctors told her that the time had come for anyone who needed to say goodbye to come. Ada did the only thing she could think of and went to call Polly.

Polly listened while she related the news then asked, “Do you want me to come? I can bring Arthur, John and Finn too, if you’d like.”

Ada said yes and went to make some other calls. By the time she was finished, Polly had shown up with Arthur, John and Finn in tow. Tommy wasn’t with them and it was quickly obvious no one had bothered to tell him what was going on. Ada couldn’t decide how she felt about that, especially since Freddie had never told her what had happened during his other meeting with Tommy. She eventually decided it didn’t matter, given Freddie wasn’t conscious enough to know whether Tommy showed up to say goodbye or not.

Polly and the others stayed for hours and probably would have stayed the night if some of Ada and Freddie’s communist friends hadn’t arrived with Karl. Things weren’t as tense between the rest of the Shelbys and the communists as they were between Tommy and the communists, but that was different than saying having them all in the same room was a good idea. The Shelbys said their goodbyes and left. Polly gave Ada a bone-crushing hug before she left and whispered to call if she needed anything.

The next few hours were spent trying to pretend she wasn’t waiting for her husband to die and trying to figure out how to explain death to her three-year-old. Deep inside, she knew she hadn’t really accepted that this was the end, that Freddie wasn’t going to get better.

Kitty Jurossi was the last of the communists to leave, even though Ada had hoped everyone would all get the hint and leave when her closest friends had left to put Karl to bed. Ada would be alone once Kitty left but she was glad to see her go. Kitty always treated Ada like her dedication to communism was suspect simply because she was related to Tommy Shelby. Ada wasn’t sure why. She knew Tommy had dated Kitty’s sister before the war and had been very devoted when Greta had gotten sick and died, but she couldn’t figure out what had happened to make Kitty hate him so much. Still, she was afraid to find out so she’d never asked and Kitty never said.

Ada was just leading Kitty out of the room when footsteps sounded on the floor. Kitty looked up first and stiffened. Ada followed her gaze. It was Tommy, followed closely by Charlie Strong.

Arthur had mentioned in passing that Tommy had been sick but Ada had assumed he meant a head cold or something else which would do nothing but make him irritable for a few days, but one look at Tommy told a whole different story. He was almost gray, with darker than usual circles under his eyes. His face was more cavernous than usual as well; he’d lost weight since she’d last seen him which was worrying since it had only been a week. It was obvious this illness was actually something serious.

Kitty and Tommy stared at each other for a stretching minute, their faces as impassive as sheets of ice. “Kitty,” Tommy finally said. “Good to see you again.”

“I cannot say the same for you,” Kitty said stiffly then turned to Ada. “Be sure to call if you need anything,” and walked away.

Ada, Tommy and Charlie watched her go. “What the hell you do to her?” Charlie asked. “I thought she liked you.”

Tommy just shrugged and lit a cigarette.

“Why are you here, Tommy?” Ada asked.

Tommy looked at her. “You know why I’m here.”

He was right, she did know. “How did you know to come, then?”

“Finn,” Tommy said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. He offered no further explanation. Of course he didn’t.

“And why are you here, Charlie?” Ada asked, turning to her uncle since she obviously wasn’t going to get anything else out of her brother.

“Charlie’s babysitting me,” Tommy huffed. “Unnecessarily.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Charlie said.

“Can I see Freddie?” Tommy asked throwing away what was left of his cigarette.

“He’s not conscious,” Ada said. “The doctors don’t think he will be again.” If she’d had to say that to anyone else she might have broken down, but something about saying it to Tommy made it easier to keep a straight face.

Tommy took it with a nod. “Can I still see him?”

“Yes,” Ada stepped aside and he breezed past her and into the room.

Charlie stepped closer and enveloped her in a hug. “I’m so sorry,” he said into her hair.

Ada burst into tears. She’d drifted away from the whole family since marrying Freddie, but Charlie most of all. Granted, Charlie had always been closer to Tommy than to the rest of them, but he was still Ada’s uncle and he’d been a more steady presence in her life than either of her parents had been.

“Thank you for coming,” she said once she’d regained some control of herself. “Even if it was just to keep Tommy from blowing up the world.”

“More to make sure he doesn’t make any poor decisions now that he’d just starting to get better,” Charlie said.

“What’s wrong with him anyway?” Ada asked. She wished she could keep from asking but after so much time spent watching Freddie deteriorate her first thought was that Tommy was dying and she didn’t want him to die.

“Just a bad flu,” Charlie said, obviously trying to sound casual.

“You’re a horrible liar, Uncle Charlie. I don’t believe you,” Ada said. “What’s actually wrong?”

“You’ll have to ask him,” Charlie said.

Charlie strode towards the door to the hospital room and Ada followed him. The door was slightly ajar and as they drew closer Ada could hear Tommy talking, “This whole fiasco is all your fault, you know? And the worst part of it is that I can’t even say you were wrong.”

Charlie swung the door open. Tommy was standing at the window with his back to Freddie’s bed. Freddie was still unconscious.

“What’s his fault?” Ada asked.

Tommy turned to face them. There was no way to tell if he’d been startled by their entrance or not. “Nothing,” he said and left the room, lighting another cigarette as he went. Ada followed while Charlie stayed in the room, presumably to say his goodbyes.

“You look awful,” Ada told her brother. “What happened?”

“Bad flu,” Tommy said. His lie was much more convincing that Charlie’s had been, but he didn’t look at her when he spoke.

“That’s what Charlie said,” Ada pointed out. “I don’t believe either of you.”

Tommy just shrugged and took another drag of his cigarette.

“Tommy-”

“I’m not dying, Ada,” he said a bit sharper than before. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Fine,” Ada snapped. “If that’s how you want to be.” She leaned against the wall and took out a cigarette of her own. She’d stopped smoking in Freddie’s room weeks ago and it had been hours since she’d last had one.

The cigarette was half gone when Charlie came out of the room. He gave Ada’a brief hug then turned back to Tommy. “I need to get back to the stables,” he said. “Do you have anything you need to do before that?”

Tommy glanced at Ada. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

Ada was so shocked she almost dropped her cigarette. Before the war, she would have wanted Tommy to be by her side at the end of Freddie’s life, but things were different now. Tommy had been unusually civil these days, but that didn’t change the fact that he had betrayed her and Freddie.

“No,” she said as stiffly and powerfully as possible. “Polly is going to come back and sit with me.”

“Alright,” Tommy said, stubbing out his cigarette. There was no way to tell if he was disappointed or not. He glanced at her and it took her a minute to realize he didn’t know what to say to her.

Finally he reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Good luck, Ada,” he said quietly then turned and walked away, Charlie trailing after him. Ada could tell he was already lighting another cigarette. She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes.

~~~~

After a few minutes spent leaning against the wall, Ada went and called Polly, who arrived within the hour. They sat silent vigil together throughout the night, and when Freddie died near dawn, Ada was holding his hand.

Ada didn’t see Tommy again until he was speaking at Freddie’s funeral.