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Thomas Shelby~You’re The Devil, Thomas Shelby
You hadn’t seen Tommy in quite a few years… Your interests had changed and your paths had diverged away from each other a long time ago. However, now it seemed that was changing and you were about to become very involved with Thomas Shelby.
He turned up at your door, looking bloody and dishevelled. Despite not seeing him since you were a lot younger, he still looks the same. Older, maybe, more mature, but still just as handsome. You swore at him, cried out wanting to know what the hell he was doing here. He didn’t give you much of explanation: just that he needed some where safe that wasn’t Small Heath.
You sighed but let him in. Fuck, why did you always have to let him in?
Thomas Shelby always brought trouble with him, and you had a feeling that the trouble he was bringing with him wasn’t something small scale. No, this would be dangerous but you were far too wrapped up in helping him that the danger you were putting yourself in became second thought.
“Right,” you murmur, pulling out a chair at your dining table and gesturing for him to sit down, “Tell me what the hell is going on. Don’t skip any important details. If my life’s now in danger, I at least want to know who it is that’s trying to kill me. And you.”
Tommy followed your instructions and sat down. You position yourself opposite him and kept your eyes focused on him.
Part of you always knew that you would see Tommy again. And, somewhere deep down you always knew that it probably wouldn’t be because of his undying love for you or because he missed you and needed to desperately see you again. It would be for business. That was a fact that took you a long while to accept; Thomas Shelby wasn’t a man that just turned up and swept his child hood sweetheart off their feet and says ‘Let’s run away.’ No, he was a family man and more importantly a business man. He wasn’t going to leave this life. It seemed like neither were you.
“…So?”
“The Russians,” Tommy murmured, reaching for his cigarettes.
He puts one in his mouth and goes to light it but you interrupt him.
“Not in the house,” you snap, snatching it out of his mouth, “I’m trying to give them up.”
That was partially true, but you’d mostly stopped because they reminded you too much of Tommy. Remembering him hurt, especially when he was linked in your head to such ordinary things. You don’t tell him, he doesn’t need to know.
“You’re going to need one when you hear the full story,” Tommy warns.
“You want to find some other sorry soul to help you out?” you ask and he shakes his head, “Then no lighting up in the house.”
“You won’t even give a dying man his last request?” Tommy says, with a faint hint of a smile.
“You’re not dying. Take a lot more than a few Russians to put you six feet under,” you reply, “Now, why are they after you and how long do we have before they’re here?”
He recalls the story, from the beginning. True to your request, he misses no details; Tommy even tells you about Grace. You didn’t tell him but you already knew about Grace’s death: word got around fast, and with your connections, you always kept tabs on your friends- even estranged ones. It was a pity: you would’ve liked her- a woman that could handle Thomas Shelby. And then he tells you about his son, Charlie, and about the fact that he’d been threatened too.
“Really, Tommy? Those sort of Russians?” you sigh, “Right, well, we better start making a fucking plan. I have a few connections that might help, and I’m sure I can get to that Priest too.”
“You think?”
“Yeah. The Russians you’re talking about- they might be powerful and dangerous but they’re careless because they think they’re untouchable. I think it’s time to show them that they’re not.”
He hums in approval.
“Of course you’ve already got an idea, haven’t you?”
“Their vault. It’s worth thousands.”
“You want to rob it,” you chuckle in amusement, “This is going to be more fun that I thought.”
It’s then that you notice blood seeping through his crisp, white shirt. You stand up, alerted, and Tommy’s eyes follow you upwards. He’s confused about your sudden movement. It looks like it’s getting worse.
“Take your shirt off, Tommy,” you instruct.
“Woah, hey-“
“-I’m not trying to see you shirtless; I’m trying to save your life. Now take your shirt off before you bleed out.”
Tommy touches his chest and feels that his wound was getting worse. He cursed under his breath but began removing his jacket and shirt. You throw the clothing to one side, and drag him to your bedroom. Tommy lies on the bed and you grab a wash bowl, cloth, alcohol and your sewing stuff. You fill the bowl with hot water, and rush back to Tommy. You clean the cut with the cloth but notice it looks infected.
“Fuck.”
“What?” Tommy asks.
“Been a long time since I’ve done this, Tommy.”
You were a nurse in the war, and had seen worse than this but it had been a few years since the war. Sure, you still had the skills but you were nervous. When you were operating on the soldiers, you didn’t know them and they were often to mentally damaged to acknowledge the pain.
“I’m sure you’ve still got it in you- ah-“
-He yelps out when you pour some of the alcohol on the wound.
“What the fucking hell was that for?” Tommy curses.
“It’s infected,” you explain, “And that was to disinfect it.”
He grabs the alcohol bottle from your hand and takes a swig. Tommy already know what’s coming: stitches. He’d had the done before but that didn’t mean it was any less painful.
“Tommy, I’m going to have to-“
“-Just get on with it, Y/N. I can take it.”
You nod and grab your needle. With a lighter, you sterilise the tip, and then thread it. As swiftly as you can, you begin stitching the wound closed. Seven stitches later and it’s basically closed. You finish the last one, cut the cotton and sigh out of relief. It’s shut and doesn’t look infected anymore. During that process, Tommy had reached out and still held onto your upper arm.
“You’re alright, Tommy,” you promise, gently rubbing your hand over his, “It’s over.”
“You’re an angel.”
“Hm, and you’re the Devil, Thomas Shelby,” you laugh, “Next time you come see me, make sure it’s not because you’re bleeding to death, okay?”
“I won’t.”
You brush his hair out of his face and gently kiss his forehead.
“Get some rest. I’ll check on you in a few hours.”
“I’m fine-“
“-When’s the last time you slept? Actually slept?”
He kept quiet, and you nodded.
“Rest. I’ve got this house guarded, you’ll be fine.”
“Thank you,” he says hoarsely.
Thomas looks at you through half open eyelids. His vision is kind of hazy but he can still clearly see your figure. He reaches out for you, and you take his hand, a concerned look on your face.
“In another life, Y/N, I would’ve married you,” he confesses, “I would’ve come back from that war and married you.”
You smile sadly.
“And in another life, Tommy, I would’ve said yes.”
He closes his eyes and lets his hand drop from yours.
“Rest. We’ll deal with the Russians in the morning.”
Tommy nods. For the first time since this whole mess started, he genuinely believes it can end. And with the Peaky Blinders on top.
You were his angel, his guardian angel.