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word count, 3,733
CHAPTER ONE
children's devilment

"on a gathering storm comes
a tall handsome man,
in a dusty black coat with
a red right hand"
- NICK CAGE & THE BAD SEEDS, red right hand

BIRMINGHAM, NINETEEN-NINETEEN

***

FRANTIC FEET SMACKED against the grit of Watery Lane; shameful thoughts contended against the plan that had been put in place. Timid shakes wracked the young girl's body, legs uncertain and unsteady as she blindly dashed towards the house across the street animated with people and the resounding heaves of the industrialisation alike. It wasn't as if paying attention to the commotion would have made any difference, every resident seemed to make a silent pact- to never make physical contact with any Shelby, especially the daughter of the young crime boss.

With her loose curls being ragged in the gentle wind and her heart a restless filly on a paddock, her hand eventually connected with the door-handle and with a sharp twist, the door opened with its usual murmur of complaint. And when it closes with the same click of metal against wood that she's heard a thousand times over, she forces air down her throat into her hollow lungs- her chest pulsating akin to her contrite heart.

The accustomed warmth that swarms her skin is the first welcome she receives, but a loud, complacent voice was quick to follow, quick to invade her brief moment of ease.

A head peered from the dining room, the definition of mischief etched on his face. "Well, did you get it, then?"

She doesn't hide the sullen scowl hardening her features when she faces him. "We've had more stupid ideas than I can count on two hands, you and me. But this one, has got to be the worst."

Finn Shelby sends her a rogue smile, revealing himself in the sage-stained doorway, knowing the girl too well- the anxious breaths and the sheen of sweat on her forehead sparkling in the hesitant glow of clouds sneaking through the windows. She may as well have had the word guilt scribed on her forehead and be done with it.

"You didn't think it was a stupid idea yesterday."

"I wasn't stealing from my own dad yesterday," Her lips screwed with distaste, the package in her pocket weighed heavily against her heart, a cramp clenched her heart as her body swarmed with the guilt. For all she cared in that moment, the package was a glowing lump of coal, tearing a hole through her coat and skin. It was perilous, and she was hostile to the hassle that followed. "He doesn't like it when I lie."

Finn's smile dims as he rolls his eyes at the comment, releasing a heavy breath twice the size of his scrawny body as he listened to the same dribble of concern he had put to rest long before dawn. "For the last time, you're not lying to him."

"Oh yeah?" Amelia narrowed her eyes towards him, her once harsh, ragged breaths had faded against the bustle from the morning crowds creeping through the window- but her heart hasn't stopped in its frantic nature. "What do you call it then? This morning he said 'stay out of trouble'—"

"You sure he wasn't talking to the cat?"

"Unless he was telling me to not piss on the floor this morning, no." She countered, a subtle smile weaved its way onto her lips as she remembered his assertive voice soften as Felix rubbed his head against his leg, purring lightly as he did. "He's missed four years, Finn. He still thinks our fun involves chasing each other around the dining table and... swiping food from the kitchen."

Those were simpler times, when his headaches were caused by the contented screams of children and not from the gaping scars, the extinct cries of soldiers caught in the crossfire clustered in his mind. It was also a time when the screams belonged to the daylight and not the grim evenings, but Amelia would rather stomp her feet on Polly's hairpin than tell anyone of this change.

Peaceful evenings were not the only thing Amelia Shelby missed before the wake of war- the unspoken skeleton lurking in Amelia's closet still remained unspoken. Amelia hadn't spoken about her since the letter from cowardice family came, but that didn't mean she didn't think about the prominent woman of her past. Two, painful syllables she would never dare voice out-loud again.

Finn shrugged, fingers tracing the outline of the box secreted in his pocket, slouching against the doorway, "He knows you're not six anymore, things change. God knows they've changed."

The words hold a barbarity that the girl is familiar to, but her heart cracks all the same. The war was still an unspoken word, but Finn had entered a rebellious stage, something the troubled girl struggled to adjust to. Especially when it came to speaking about... it.

He seems to realise his mistake in the silence that follows. Their eyes rival as the glint of a challenge flashes within hers. "Just... trust me on this, Lee, alright? They do it all the time, I think it's some sort of adult sport. A bit of fun."

Amelia raises her eyebrows as she reaches into her pocket, passive eyes flitting across the scriptions on the box in front of her. "It doesn't look like much fun, believe me."

Finn roams to the other end of the room to stand beside her, inquisitive eyes fixed on the box of cigarettes within her palm. "We'll never know unless we try."

The boy turns his head towards her, and when he sees the hesitation in her molten eyes clouding the curiosity beneath, he grins. "Or we don't have to, you know. If you're scared."

Her concern dispels as her features refines, her tongue sharpens to that of a dagger and her eyes set to stone. "I'm not scared."

His taunt nudged Amelia into commitment as the two of them sat in front of the dining-room's fire, each balancing a stick between two fingers. To her misery, Finn had kept up with his part of the bargain as he revealed a pack of matches, most likely from their Aunt's generous stash.

"And you're certain about this?" She rolls the stick between her thumb and index finger, testing the weight of it as Finn is already striking a match.

He cocks his head towards her, eyebrows arched as the amusement creeped back onto his face. "Who would've thought Amelia Shelby was scared of a cig."

"I already told you I'm not, Finnley."

"Then what are we bloody waiting for?" His exclamation splinters upon the wall like fragile crockery, Amelia visibly winces at the contact. Still, she snatches the lit cigarette from his hand, but not without throwing a look over her shoulder towards the curtained door- skeptible that his voice was too loud to go unnoticed, despite the bustle and chaos of a lively business room.

"Use your indoor voice for heavens sake, or all of Small Heath will hear about this stupid idea." She bit back, her tone knotted with irritation when Amelia was just a little envious of his reckless confidence.

Though she would never admit it, the eleven year old girl was often in awe of his collective nature, even if it got her into bother routinely. It was another secret she kept, bolted within the security of her mind, that the trouble she got into often allowed a smile to curl around her lips. As much as she would fight her tender heart's corner, always feeling a flicker of guilt somewhere in her flesh, Finn Shelby was often right about one thing. Their devilment always turned out to be a bit of fun.

"Not the entirety of Small Heath, Pol's deaf as a bat." Finn pointed out, eyes locked to the cigarette, face creased in concentration at the modest task.

"Not when it comes to our swearing." She reminded him, eyes flickering to the door every so often before Finn succeeded in lighting his own cigarette.

The two of them looked at each other with matching smirks flourishing.

"Cheers, then." Finn tapped his against Amelia's.

She simply giggled in return before placing it between her two lips, taking in a sharp breath for the ash to drift down her throat. But the burning sensation flaring in her lungs did not settle well with her, causing a fit of violent coughs to hack the nasty substance away. Embers of tar lingering in her throat, eyes watering as she continued to heave it back up.

The boy watched with mild amusement, revelling at her reaction as he took another drag from his own. "It's awful the first time, ain't it?"

"What- you've done this before?"

His back straightens with pride. "Just the once, tried it last week. Someone had dropped one on the ground, and I just thought 'why the hell not'."

"I'll show you hell, liar." She hisses, eyes narrowed while his widen with genuine fear. His body subtly inches its way to the edge of the chair, just in case Amelia chooses to jump on him, seeing the concept breach her eyes.

But she doesn't get a chance, not when the betting room door flings open, curtain's whining against the metal hooks as they are thrashed to the side. The two children hold their breaths at the sound, guilty hands snapping behind their backs in an attempt to hide the cigarettes from the intruder.

This would be a pitiful attempt if it was Polly Gray, who unremarkably resembled a bloodhound that could scout out the children's most concealed secrets. They simply hoard their breath in their mouth and make brisk peace with God in preparation as their head snaps towards the door. Relieved breaths escape their mouths when they realise it's just Arthur.

Arthur Shelby did not seem his composed business-self, though. Seemingly distressed and irritated, his eyes were slitted as they darted across the room. His amplified emotions do simmer when his gaze finds the two children, quizzically studying him.

Straightening his waistcoat and back, he sends the two a smile, even with the uneasy expression tarnishing his face with uneasy creases and folds. "Hello, you two."

The two send one back, though Amelia's head fell to the side in question. "Alright, Uncle Arthur?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm alright, love." He nods off their concern, hands burrowed in his pockets, but the way the silence hangs in the air hints that there's more that he wants to say.

And after a few steps towards where the two are seated, craftily masking their nerves with butter-wouldn't-melt smiles, he finally voices it. "Where's your dad, then?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." She shrugged, her legs aimlessly swinging under her chair like a pendulum before they still, remembrance rising in her eyes. "I think he said something about riding Monaghan Boy and Chinatown before Felix annoyed him again."

Arthur chuckled, knowing the hatred his brother expressed towards the cat, but he knew Tommy Shelby to be a masterful liar and could easily conceal his fond nature for contempt towards the former stray. At this point, Arthur was non-the-wiser towards his true feelings, his brother has grown to become someone unpredictable, putting him on edge, his ease at throwing careless lies around concerned him more than he showed. Tommy Shelby had made life a living hell, as if the torment of war wasn't bad enough already.

He simply shakes his head as the humour fades, staring at Amelia with a few thoughts passing through his mind. And for a minute, he forgets the headache that his brother caused him and revelling in the presence of a niece whose gentle nature he would never understand, or her infatuation with the gaunt cat. "Alright then, I hope you two are keeping yourselves out of trouble. Wouldn't want to upset Aunt Pol, now, would we?"

The two shake their heads mutely as he turns to leave, feet stamping until he draws the curtains once more and slamming the door behind him, taking the rage-induced sound with him.

And they simply sit there for a moment, until Finn's eyes leave the door that Arthur had charged through to the more interesting matter, the cigarette in his hand. But Amelia's gaze was chained to the door, almost, eyebrows pinched as a steady thought passed her mind.

"Arthur's mad as hell." She noted, voicing her thoughts out loud as Finn lifted his head at the words, curiosity stitched within his features.

"How'd you know?"

"He looked as if he was ready to rip the door off it's bloody hinges," She quipped, a knowing smile inching its way onto her face when she noticed Finn's jaw hanging open. "Didn't you see the way he stormed into the room with that murderous glint in his eyes?"

Finn made a noise of understanding before knocking his shoulder against hers, a smile on his face. "You're brilliant, you know."

The smirk that makes its way onto her face says it all. "Oh, I know."

But her settlement and cocky demeanour towards their devilment cracks upon hearing a faint scrape of wood against metal, switfly followed by a motif of steps, leather against wood. The smirk dims, ears bristle, eyebrows heighten as the impending doom rapidly approaches.

Her eyes lock with Finn's, and then at the cigarettes displayed in their hands, and then to the door.

He voices what the two of them are thinking. "Fuck."

But instead of waiting for the inevitable outcome of reprimands and scoldings, Amelia plucked the cigarette out of Finn Shelby's hand, tossing it and her own in the general vicinity of the fire.

They are louder now, a couple of strides before the dining room door when Amelia slides onto the floor, navy dress protecting her knees and shins from being scratched against the coarse wood.

Finn's flustered gawking doesn't hinder her determination as she slips under the table.

The noise outside the door hesitates as the handle of the door whines, offering a few moments in preparation before the person would infiltrate the scene of the crime.

"What are you—"

The boy doesn't get the chance to finish his question when a hand shoots out from under the table, wrapping around his ankle, giving him a fierce jerk. The action sends his body tumbling to the floorboards with a sharp thud and a startled yelp just as the door swings open.

Amelia twists her neck in suspense, a mild flush of panic consumes her as leaden tailored trousers and dress shoes come into view from her place under the table. That slither of hope of it being someone, anyone, but the person who had entered the room vanished- the wire suspending her from misfortune snapped.

The dress shoes falter at the sound of Finn's body hitting the wooden floorboards. "Finn?"

Her stomach sinks as she watches his conducted prowl around the table to the boy sprawled on the floor. Amelia's eyes are wide as they meet Finn's. She simply places a finger on her lips, running another in a vertical line across her neck. A silent warning that voices words Finn understands, sitting himself up to seem as natural as possible.

His little head tilts up to meet his brother's interrogative gaze while Tommy Shelby simply looks down upon his little brother, eyebrows raised in an unspoken question.

It doesn't take long for his head to drop against the intensity, choosing to focus on brushing the dust and ash from his shirt and trousers. In truth, he disturbed their staring contest in fear that he would decipher the lies in the colour of his eyes and find out their dirty truth.

His instinct to protect the girl concealed under the table was stronger than giving in to Tommy's orders, a list of rules he had set in place from their return from war. At the top of this list, underlined a hundred times in blotched writing was to never lie. But a stronger agreement had been put in place long before Tommy's policies, an unbreakable vow, how Amelia and Finn would share the other's burdens like the bread and wine at Mass on Sunday's.

If Amelia was more God-fearing, she would swear it upon Mother Mary. But she hadn't spoken to emulsion of the woman for a while. The war didn't change some things, it seemed.

It didn't grant Finn Shelby the gift of being a capable liar, either.

"Arthur's mad as hell." Finn informed, the only words he could muster without incriminating the two of them. But it was too late, the evidence was displayed on the ground, illuminated by the pale flames from the fire that had snitched on them. He was forced to follow Tommy's observation towards the cigarettes scattered upon the ground.

Amelia's head twitched upward to watch her dad take off his peaky hat with one hand and crouch down, picking up the two cigarettes before lifting himself a little, becoming on eye-level with the guilty party. He held them in front of Finn's face with a miffed sigh, his own eyes flickering between the two in connection before fully disposing them into the fire.

"What does a ten-year-old know about hell, eh?" He chided with a small, knowing smile, hitting the harmless fabric of his hat against the boy's head.

Finn's eyebrows pinched together. "I'm eleven Sunday!"

Tommy stifled a laugh, shaking his head slightly before crouching down once more. This time, facing the second, deserted chair, cocking to his head to the side upon seeing a familiar pair of blue eye's gazing back at him from the darkness under the table, face flaring orange from the beacon of sizzling light.

A sheepish grin tugs onto her lips while his eyebrows furrow in question. "Hi, da."

He unconsciously smiles at her, as if it was the only logical reaction to anything his little Lia did. But the cigarettes smelting in the fire persisted in his mind, resting his hands on his knees as he strained his lips into a frown.

"Come on, trouble." He sighed, extending out a hand which she grudgingly took, tugging her out from underneath the table until she rose to her feet.

Tommy remained squatted down on the ground, tired eyes softened at the expression she was pulling, lips pouted as she rocked on her feet, a nervous stance as she stared down upon him.

He liked to believe that he was the one in control of the entire family- that the people he cared about most listened to the things he had to say. But it was clear that Amelia Shelby had a control over him that almost scared him, a power she thankfully wasn't aware of yet.

But he knew it, especially now, when the remnants of his heart became reluctant to ground her over misbehaviours such as these.

His focus instead diverged to the dress she was wearing, blotched with the dirt and dust. He began brushing it off with one hand. "Look at you, eh? Ruining the dress your Aunt got you."

"Not from an Aunt that matters," She grumbled as she swatted his hands away. "It's not my fault you didn't let me burn it."

The unimpressed look that surfaced in his eyes was met with a matching gaze. "Would've been a waste of a good dress."

"Well, it's not been a waste." Amelia gestured towards the tarnished dress. "See? It cleaned the floor, and so I'll just chuck it away to save Pol the hassle of washing it."

"Amelia." Her name sounded more like a warning, especially as the corners of his mouth tightened after saying it.

But she simply placed her hands on her hips, staring right down at him, a stand-off that often occurred between the two headstrong Shelby's.

"Dad."

Finn's eyes dart between the two with a grin on his face when his mimics their tone. "Finn."

Their heads turn simultaneously towards the boy standing beside them, the two children giggling at the event while Tommy hides his small smile by dragging a hand over his face.

The children fire their names in similar tones back at one another as he got up from his strenuous position. But before he turns to leave, he quashes a smile as he places his hat upon Amelia's head, the oversized hat sagged over her eyes.

He flicked her nose for good measure, earning a whine of complaint as he ruffled Finn's hair, turning on his heel to draw the curtains, opening the double-doors to the betting room.

Amelia watched with a hand tilting the slumped fabric upwards, blowing some loose curls away from her face with a faint smile. Things hadn't been close to the way they were before, but Tommy Shelby was trying, and perhaps that meant more to her than everything being normal. Not that life could ever return back to normal, their previous way of living was unreachable, a remote memory of what life was before greater forces meddled with the family.

When she looked at him, she saw everything still. She saw her father, the person he used to be and the person he had become- but more than anything, she saw him standing next to her and sitting by her side. It was hard, looking at him- noticing the uneasy expression he always wore, the troubled thoughts swarming his mind, sometimes restraining his words as something else, something darker breaks through the chasm of his brain.

Amelia's smile had fallen long before her dad had left the room. Amelia hadn't truthfully, honestly smiled for a long time.

It seemed the truth had died along with her, with everything that followed structured from one form lie or another.

The worst, most tragic thing of all was that the two of them didn't even realise it was lies and pretence. But pretending was the only way to make the past bearable, to pretend that it never happened at all. To pretend that it was normal, that the smiles were carefree- not disturbed by moments from the past.

Amelia hadn't realised that there was more to lying than the words that you speak, forgetting that the truth bellowing in her heart, the feelings cutting away at her, imprisoned within the walls of her soul was the worst lie of them all.

And while she hated the truth her father concealed from her, she was the worst perpetrator of them all, as she turned to face Finn with a stiff grin, another moment materializing in her mind once more.

***

AUTHOR'S NOTE: let's all forget that this chapter took a month to write, apparently. sounding like a broken record, but this is far from my best and I just... really don't like it? I don't know- it just seems very blocky and un-eventful, but I wanted at least one (semi) soft chapter before the life of Amelia and Tommy turns into a trainwreck.

and can I just... a thousand reads? over a hundred votes? mind = blown. it warms my heart honestly, and i'm actually super self-conscious over my writing, so the fact people are even reading my dribble, let alone leaving such lovely words is honestly the best.

hopefully the next chapter will be better than this one- but what do you think? did you like some amelia and finn brother/sister content or do you prefer more actiony-moving on the plot chapters? i'm debating a blend and hoping for the best.

to my readers, both silent and vocal, you're the best and ily all <33

as always, remember to vote and comment folks :)) and stay safe regarding the corona virus! I hope you are all doing well.

UP NEXT ⟶ CHAPTER TWO