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It was done. The target was dead, as promised, Arthur and the others should have finished burning the licenses belonging to Sabini and the others by now, and then it was just a matter of leaving quietly without fuss just like they had come.
Except it was never that easy.
The men were dressed like police but they weren't, Tommy could tell. Especially when they opened their mouths and he heard they were Irish.
Campbell. He'd managed it after all. And Tommy had been too stupid to see the ruse.
He fought as the hired Irish guns dragged him out by the trucks, a secluded area where a murder wouldn't upset the toffs who had gone to have a pleasant day at the races.
"Get off me," Tommy snarled, nearly getting free before their fists slammed into his body and he lost his breath, collapsing to his knees before he was yanked upright again.
"Wait."
The familiar voice sounded and Tommy looked up, his face twisting into a snarl as he saw Campbell approaching.
"You bastard," he growled, spitting a gob of blood.
Campbell smiled, satisfied. "Thank you for your service, Mr. Shelby, but I think you can appreciate the fact that I can't keep you around? After all, you would have done the same to me, wouldn't you?"
Tommy struggled again, but the Irish thugs held him fast, wrenching his arms painfully in their sockets. Campbell came closer and pressed the tip of his cane up under Tommy's chin, lifting his head.
"I wonder what Grace will think when they find your body lying out here in the mud?" the Irishman mused. "I was going to have you taken somewhere far away, but…I like it here better. After all, what does it matter? There's nothing you can do either way. Nothing anyone can do now. Thomas Shelby, you're finished."
He jabbed the cane into Tommy's chest, making him grunt, then stepped back, pulling his gun.
"Goodbye."
Desperate, Tommy slammed his foot into the knee of the man to his right, launching himself to the side just as the gunshot rang out.
He felt the impact, but it was low, not to the heart. That was, for some reason, the only thing he could think as he fell to the ground, gritting his teeth from the pain. He heard Campbell cursing, and tried to drag himself up onto his elbows and knees as his side burned. Hands were in the back of his coat, trying to help him up—or rather, get him back into position to be more easily shot. He tried to tear the grip free and someone slammed a fist into the side of his head. Then there was more shouting as Tommy hit the ground again.
"Oi!"
Footsteps pounded and chaos erupted. More gunshots. The hands grabbing Tommy fell away and more bodies dropped. He tried to roll over to see, and more hands grabbed him.
Tommy lashed out with a roar, but voices finally trickled in.
"Tom! It's Arthur, just Arthur. Shit, John, he's been shot!"
Tommy finally focused on his brother's face hovering over him, then groaned as Arthur pressed a hand over the wound in his side. He weakly knocked his hand away.
"Campbell," Tommy gritted out. "Where is 'e?"
"Bastard got away," John said, crouching down beside them. "Arthur, we need to get him out of here. Campbell may have more men."
"Where will we take him?"
"We can take him to Ada's?" John suggested.
Tommy wanted to protest, remembering what Campbell had said about putting men outside Ada's house, but he didn't really have much say in the matter because as soon as they took him under the arms and lifted him upright, his vision swam with the pain and he cried out.
"Okay, Tommy, hold on, brother," Arthur was murmuring too loudly, patting his shoulder in what he probably thought was a gentle manner but which only sent pain jarring through Tommy all over again. He sagged in his brothers' grip as they hurried him along to whatever destination they had in mind. Tommy didn't care, he was just trying to help as much as possible by not letting his feet drag through the mud.
It reminded him too much of France. The mud, the pain, the coppery smell of blood…
He must have blacked out for a moment because the next thing he knew he was being loaded into the truck they had come in, and someone was balling a coat under his head, presumably to protect him from the rough ride to come.
"Johnny Dogs is driving, the other boys are gonna stay back and clean up," John's voice said as he climbed into the back, a rifle across his lap.
Tommy moaned as someone prodded his wound and he opened his eyes, seeing Arthur fussing over it, pressing a handkerchief there in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. He reached up and grabbed his brother's sleeve, startling Arthur slightly.
"Hey, Tommy, you'll be right as rain soon enough. Little bugger just went in the hip, nothing too bad," Arthur was telling him.
"Grace," Tommy slurred, trying to get his tongue to work. "She…she's waiting."
Arthur and John exchanged a glance and Tommy yanked more insistently at Arthur's sleeve. "Tell 'er…I wanted to come."
Arthur smiled and grabbed Tommy's hand, squeezing it. "Sure thing, Tom. We'll tell her that. She won't 'old it against you."
They went over a bump in the road and Arthur's hand jolted against Tommy's wound. He cried out as Arthur apologized and cursed in one breath, then closed his eyes and let himself drift.
~~~~~~~
Tommy didn't regain consciousness until he felt himself being lifted up again and a familiar female voice shouting.
"What the hell happened? Is he shot?"
"Sorry for the surprise visit, Ada, but we didn't know where else to go," John told her.
"Did you consider a hospital?" Ada asked sharply with not a little sarcasm.
"And have Tom kill us?" Arthur snorted. "Besides, he may not be safe in a hospital right now."
Tommy moaned as he was heaved out of the back of the truck, trying to raise his head to see what was going on, but couldn't seem to find the energy. So all he could see was feet as he was dragged inside, the strain of the position pulling on his wound.
"Johnny, go help Ada prepare someplace to put him." Arthur said
"Now, hold on!" Ada protested.
"Ada look at 'im!" Arthur protested.
Ada cursed and her feet left Tommy's field of vision. "Fine, bring him into the kitchen. It will be easier to clean up the blood."
Tommy cried out as Arthur and John heaved him up and started to carry him inside. He might kill them now if they didn't stop jostling his wound.
"Back here!" Ada called as they got through the door and dragged Tommy with them.
"Wait…" Tommy murmured, trying to get their attention.
"What's that, Tom?" Arthur asked, ducking his head slightly to hear him better.
Tommy gritted his teeth. "One of you…needs to get back…take out Campbell…"
"Tommy, he'd already be long gone," John tried to protest. "We'll get him another time."
Tommy tried to protest, but his left leg jarred against something—probably Arthur—and it sent a jolt of pain through his wound. He cried out and Arthur and John hurried him forward into the kitchen.
"Here, get him up here," Ada was saying.
Tommy suddenly felt himself being lifted and placed on a hard surface. He was looking up at pans hanging above him and several faces finally came into view.
"Bullet's still in 'im," Arthur said as he appeared, loosening Tommy's collar and then clumsily ripping his shirt open. Tommy was shocked to see it was mostly red. He'd lost a lot of blood. It was a small wonder he felt so terrible.
"God," Ada said, pressing a hand to her mouth.
"Ada, you got anything we can use?" John demanded.
"Um…come with me, we'll find something," she said and left the room hurriedly.
Meanwhile, Johnny Dogs was pulling a flask from his coat pocket and uncapping it. "Here, get this in him."
Arthur took the flask and reached down to prop Tommy's head up. "Here ya go, Tom. Get this down."
Tommy choked on the liquor at his current angle, and it burned his throat. He coughed and the action agitated his wound. Arthur patted him on the chest, looking helpless. If Tommy had any breath, he would have cursed all of them out, but, more's the pity, he didn't.
"Arthur!" John called, running back in. "Got a penknife! Ada's getting some linens."
"Good, good," Arthur said and reached into his pockets, searching for a lighter or matches. Tommy reached up weakly and fumbled at his coat pocket before John got the picture and pulled his lighter out for him, handing it to Arthur. The eldest Shelby flicked it open and ran the penknife through the flame to sterilize it.
"Do you need hot water or something?" Ada asked, coming in with bandages.
"You're the one who 'took a nursing course'," John quipped.
Ada shot him a look, but went to the stove and put water on all the same.
"Alright," Arthur said, looking a little pale. He forced a smile and squeezed Tommy's shoulder. "Alright, only take a minute, Tom." He looked to the other men and nodded.
John took up position at Tommy's head and leaned hard against his shoulders while Johnny Dogs held his legs down.
Tommy didn't have time to brace himself before Arthur shoved the penknife into the bullet wound and started digging.
He cried out, throwing his head back as his body arched instinctively with agony."
"Fuck, hold 'im!" Arthur growled, gritting his teeth as he twisted the blade again and elicited a groan from Tommy's throat, his vision clouding.
It seemed to go on for an eternity, until Ada cried out and strode forward, then the hot agony stopped briefly, leaving behind the blood trickling down his side.
"You're a butcher, Arthur! Let me do it! You hold him!"
Arthur backed away, a little sheepish and a little relieved. Tommy groaned out a curse and rolled his head back.
"Just a little longer, Tommy," Ada murmured, before the agony started again.
Frankly, Tommy felt no difference between when she did it and when Arthur had, but at least in Ada's hands, the knife found metal more quickly.
"I think I got it!" Ada said, sounding too excited.
"Good, good!" Arthur said, squeezing Tommy's arm hard enough to hurt. "Can you get it out?"
Ada made sounds of concentration. "Almost, it's slippery…shit." The knife slipped and Tommy screamed, thrashing before everyone leaned in on him.
"What the fuck is going on here?"
Everyone looked up to see Polly striding into the room, fury on her face.
"Tommy got shot," John said simply.
"And you're finishing the job, I see," Polly snorted, then came over and snatched the knife from Ada. "Move."
Tommy groaned in protest, before Polly inserted the knife into the bullet hole again and with one sharp twist, the bullet popped out.
Tommy didn't realize he was screaming until he stopped, unable to find the energy anymore. Then he slumped on the table and his eyes closed. But right before he did so, he wondered if the blood on the front of Polly's dress was actually his or someone else's.
~~~~~~~
Tommy woke in his own bed, feeling groggy. He reached up slowly to touch the thick bandages wrapped around his waist, the spot tender. He groaned and slid his eyes shut again.
"Don't go back to sleep again yet," came a voice beside his bed.
He forced his eyes back open and slowly turned his head to see Polly sitting in a chair she had pulled over to his bed from his desk, a book in her lap, which she didn't look like she had been reading.
"How do you feel?" she demanded.
Tommy sighed and reached up slowly to rub his eyes. "Like I got hit by a car."
"Well, your siblings' medical knowledge leaves something to be desired," she snorted.
Tommy wanted to say something about her own bedside manner, but didn't have the energy. "How long was I sleeping?"
"About five hours," Polly said. "Not long enough."
Tommy groaned and tried to shift himself to sit up.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Polly demanded.
"Have to find Campbell," Tommy grunted. "He got away, and Grace…"
"Campbell's not going to be a problem anymore," Polly said firmly.
Tommy stopped and looked at her. "Why's that?"
Polly's only reply was to light a cigarette, taking a long puff as she looked away.
"Pol, why's that?" Tommy demanded.
"Because I killed him," she said simply.
Tommy was silent for a long moment before he simply nodded. He fumbled on the side table for a cigarette of his own before Polly had mercy on him and handed him one before holding the lighter for him. Tommy puffed and watched the smoke float away in the dim room.
"So it's over," he murmured.
"With him, yes."
"Now we just have all the rest of them to deal with," Tommy said to himself. "Sabini and the others, they won't be happy after what we did. We'll have to make plans and…"
"Tommy," Polly cut in sharply. "You recover first. Then plans."
"That's not how I work, Pol," he said sardonically.
"It is today," Polly said firmly, and got up, obviously having decided that he wasn't going to die. "Rest."
As she walked toward the door, Tommy called her back. "Pol, what would you said if I told you I wanted to get married?"