Lucille

The world outside the small window was still cloaked in the heavy, suffocating darkness of the early hours, but inside the bedroom, warmth lingered in the quiet shadows. The sheets were tangled between Tommy and Lucille, a sign of the restlessness that had plagued them both since the early days of the war. Even now, after all that had happened, sleep was still a fragile thing, always on the edge of breaking.

Tommy lay on his back, his body close enough to hers that Lucille could feel the warmth of his skin, his breath steady and deep, a reminder of the rare moments when the world wasn't trying to tear them apart. He had always been a restless sleeper, but tonight, it seemed like he was in a deeper sleep than usual.

This night, Lucille couldn't sleep. Adds had been restless before settling into her bed. The picture of her daughter's face stayed in her mind as Lucille lay her head against the pillow and tucked herself into Tommy's side. She lay next to him, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of the sheets, her thoughts tangled in a mess of worry and fear.

A shrill ring of the telephone shattered the stillness, slicing through the quiet of the room like a blade. Lucille's heart jolted, the immediate panic rising as she glanced at Tommy, who woke with a clamour of breath. His eyes were wild, just as she'd seen before. His hand reached out instinctively, gripping her wrist, his eyes opening only halfway, confusion clouding his face for a moment before he sat up sharply, fully awake now. Lucille soothes him with a kiss on his cheek.

"What's happening?" he muttered, his gaze sharp and focused despite the grogginess.

Lucille didn't answer right away, her fingers curling around the receiver of the phone, the cold sending a chill through her skin.

"Lucille?" Tommy's voice was more urgent now. "Answer it."

She nodded, pressing the receiver to her ear. Her breath hitched in her chest as she heard the sobbing before anything else. It was Polly. Her voice came through in ragged, broken gasps, as though she was barely holding herself together.

"Lucille... Tommy..." Polly's voice cracked, her sobs choking the words.

Tommy shot up from the bed, his bare feet slapping against the cold floor as he moved closer, his face darkening with a mix of concern and confusion.

"What is it, Polly?" he asked, his voice low but with a biting edge that only came out when something was terribly wrong. Lucille felt the tension in the room shift, the atmosphere changing with every passing second. "What happened?"

Polly's voice came through again, thick with tears. "It's Michael... they've arrested him... They've taken him..."

Lucille's breath caught in her throat. She could hear Polly's hysterical crying, the desperation in her voice cutting through the phone line like a knife. Tommy, too, seemed to falter for a moment, his face drained of colour, but the shock quickly gave way to anger.

Tommy's fists clenched at his sides. Lucille could feel his muscles tense beside her. For a moment, the room was silent except for Polly's broken sobs. Lucille's mind was spinning. It was as if the ground beneath them had shifted without warning.

"Polly, listen to me," Tommy's voice was low and controlled now, the way it always became when he was making decisions under pressure. "We'll get him back. But I need you to hold it together. I need you to tell me everything you know. Who took him? Where?"

There was a long pause, and Lucille's heart thudded heavily in her chest. She could feel the tension in Tommy's body, the way his hand was gripping her arm now, his fingers digging into her skin as though he needed something solid to hold onto.

"The Inspector," Pol said, voice shaking. "They've got him, they arrested him. The hauled him into the back of their cab. I tried-"

Her voice broke into a mangled sob. Tommy's voice cut through her panic, steady and commanding. "We'll get him back." Then he hung up the phone.

Lucille's voice broke the silence, quiet but full of concern. "Tommy... What are we going to do?"

Tommy's jaw tightened. "Get Arthur out first. Then we go after Michael."

"Arthur?"

"Michael wouldn't be the first target. This is Campbell."

Lucille's hand moved to her forehead, rubbing away the exhaustion that was already setting in. But then a sharp, frantic cry echoed through the house- small, trembling. Adds.

Tommy looked at Lucille, his face softening at the sound of their daughter's distress. Adds was already awake, the fear in her voice piercing through the quiet of the morning. Lucille moved quickly, her movements graceful but tense as she got out of bed and crossed the room to their daughter's bed.

She bent down, scooping Adds into her arms. The little girl's face was streaked with tears, her small hands clutching at her mother, the sound of her sobs muffled in the warmth of Lucille's embrace. The noise, the shouting, the fear, had stirred something in her. Lucille held her close, whispering soothing words in French, trying to calm the child, but Tommy could see the worry in her eyes. It was a reflection of the fear that had lodged itself deep in his own chest.

"Shh... It's alright, ma petite," Lucille murmured, her voice a soft lullaby against the chaos of their lives. "We're here. Everything's going to be alright."

But Tommy knew better. They were a long way from alright.

Adds calmed in her arms, but the silence that followed was almost worse than the screams. Lucille looked over at Tommy, her eyes full of the same weariness he felt but masked by the steely resolve of a mother.

"We'll keep her safe," Lucille said quietly. "We'll make sure she doesn't see this... this madness."

Tommy nodded, his gaze fixed on his daughter. "We will. We will. But first, we have to take care of it."

He turned away, grabbing his jacket from the chair. The plan was already forming, and the next steps already falling into place. But one thing hung in the air, heavy and unspoken: they couldn't keep living this way. Not forever. Not with everything unravelling so fast.

Lucille gently laid Adds back in the bed next to Tommy, hoping the it would bring her more comfort than her own. She brushed a lock of hair from the girl's forehead before standing and watching as Tommy placed a kiss on her head as she slept.

"Let's get it done," she said, her voice calm but laced with the quiet intensity of a woman who had nothing left to lose.

Tommy

The early morning light filtered through the stained glass windows, casting colourful patterns onto the cold stone floor of the church. It was a hollow beauty, the kind that felt out of place when there was so much darkness in the air. Tommy Shelby stood in the centre of the nave, his hands clasped behind his back, his face a mask of calculated calm. He could hear the echo of his own footsteps, each one a reminder of the weight that pressed against him, pulling him down into the abyss.

He wasn't sure whether it was the silence of the church or the crushing weight of everything that had happened over the past twenty-four hours, but it felt like time was standing still. His mind was consumed with one thing: how to keep Michael from getting lost in the system, how to keep Arthur from completely unravelling, and how to protect Lucille and Adds from the storm that was already coming.

Tommy didn't flinch when the door to the church creaked open, his sharp eyes tracking the shadow of a man stepping inside.

Inspector Campbell.

The man who had never been more than a thorn in Tommy's side, a constant reminder of the past Tommy couldn't escape, even as he fought tooth and nail to forge a future. The man who had once sworn vengeance on the Shelbys, who now seemed to take pleasure in their suffering.

"We had a fucking deal," Tommy spat.

The Inspector came out with something smug, begging him to watch his language in a place of worship. Tommy scoffed.

"We had a fucking deal."

The look on Campbell's face was bored. Tommy watched to take out his razor and cut him.

"Mr Shelby. If you read the papers, you might've seen that the Home Secretary has got himself into a bit of a fizz about certain moral issues. Prostitution, protection, racketeering, drinking, cocaine, and of course gambling. And he has demanded results."

"You offered me protection. You promised me protection."

"It was Mr Churchill that made you that promise," Campbell said. Tommy was pacing, breath heavy. "And you see, the Home Secretary outranks him. And I can hardly be blamed if your demented brother decides to go on some sort of blood orgy during dinner."

"Don't fucking lie. Don't sit here in your fucking church and lie to me," Tommy shouted, ripping the paper from his hands."

"You will need to contain your emotions or this meeting is at an end."

"Good." The mocking tone of the man's voice made Tommy grit his teeth. "That's better."

"So, let us review the new situation. I have your brother in a prison cell charged with the murder of Billy Kitchen. The case against him is strong and I have no doubt he will hang. Then there's Michael who's already admitted to helping Arthur burn down the Marquis pub." If the Inspector could smile, it would have been a menacing sight then. Like a predator that knew it had its prey trapped. "He was a tough nut to crack that boy, but crack he did. So I have your brother facing the noose, your cousin facing five years for arson. And I have your entire organisation in disarray in Birmingham and in London."

Tommy let his eyes flutter shut for a second before he returned to glaring. "What do you want?"

"What do I want? I don't understand."

Tommy spoke through gritted teeth. "I've already agreed to do your fucking killing for you. Now what is it?"

"Oh, there you go. You see... an agreement is not the same thing as an assurance is it?"

For the faintest of seconds, Tommy stopped breathing. It was slipping into place, starting to make sense.

"You see, I found I wasn't sleeping so well. It wasn't just the smell and the noise in that room, no. It was the nagging doubt. The knowledge that... Tommy Shelby is not afraid to die," The Inspector said. He was standing not, leaning with both hands on his cane. "And therefore, the threat to your own life might not be enough to make certain you will obey me on the given day. I need the power of life and death over your family. And that I now have. Your brother, your cousin, your sister, then there's Lucille..."

Tommy's body was like ice, rigid and cold as he stepped toward the Inspector, eyes black with malice. "You won't fucking touch her."

But Campbell knew he had him. "I have had eyes on her from the day she was stupid enough to come here. She is safe only as long as I want her to be. I've been ahead of you every step of the way." The Inspector tapped his cane against the stone floor with three, slow movements. "And, as my father used to say, to make sure your dog obeys you, you have to show it the stick, once in a while."

Lucille

Tommy had not spoke since he'd come back. He'd retreated back into himself , solemn and serious. Lucille hated it.

"John?"

The rest of the family stood around the betting den, faces pale and arms crossed. Even Finn sat at the table, looking younger than Lucille remembered him to look.

"The coppers have lifted ten of our men in Camden Town, the rest of them are on the run."

Polly pushed herself from the wall, face like thunder. "They've taken Michael."

Tommy shook his face. "Business first."

"They took Michael last night."

Lucille cringed, hearing the same shrillness to her voice as she'd heard over the phone in the early hours of that morning. She'd never heard Polly sound so scared. It had rattled her.

"I said business first."

"They picked him up..."

Tommy snapped. "Polly, business first! John?"

"They took all our whisky, so no doubt they'll be supping that for Christmas. They've impounded all our vans, put their own locks on the warehouse," John continued. Then she felt eyes on her as he glanced her way. "The Eden Club and all our pubs have been raided by the coppers and handed back to Sabini and Solomons."

Lucille's heart sunk.

"Dawson! Ada went to see him yesterday," she managed to stutter out. "Tell me they're both safe."

"They weren't taken. They weren't at the pub when it was raided," John said, but his face was still downturned, lips thinned. Even still, Lucille let herself breathe again. "The Black Country boys think it was Arthur killed Billy because that's what the coppers told them. So there'll be no more free passes for our whisky boats."

Polly threw a hand against the wooden table. Finn flinched.

"I don't give a fuck about whisky. I don't give a fuck about Billy Kitchen. I want my son out of prison. Now."

For a moment, none of them spoke. Then Esme stepped forward from where she'd hung like a spider in the corner.

"Thomas, I spoke to Johnny Dogs."

Aunt Pol glared at her without a care. "This meeting should just be family."

"I can help," Esme tried, but Pol's wild stare quickly shut her down.

"It's family only, she is not blood, Tommy!"

"Let her speak," Lucille pleaded, sitting down beside Finn, her knees feeling weak.

But Polly continued her rant. "Or is this a business...? Have you forgotten...?"

"Enough!" Tommy shouted, hitting his hand against the table the same way Polly had. "Enough, Polly. Esme?"

The woman was flittish, but spoke anyway.

"I spoke to Johnny Dogs. The Lees are kin."

"The bloody Lees!" Polly shouted, but no one listened.

"They can give us men!"

"We don't need more fucking men! It's men that have done the damage! It... It is men fighting like cockerels that have put us here in the first place." Polly turned on her suddenly and Lucille felt her body still. "You. You should be raging. Or do you encourage the violence? Have you forgotten who you are?"

Lucille felt her face flush despite the iciness in her spine. She opened her mouth to answer, but Tommy had disregarded Polly's small, sharp speech.

"Esme, I'll take up their offer. We need men."

Polly shook her head, then she strode forward, taking Finn by the shoulder.

"If Michael ever gets out of prison, I am taking him away from this family. For good. This life is bad. This life is all bad."

"Aunt Pol, what are you doing?"

The boy stumbled to his feet, the chair falling flat behind him.

"Shut up and walk."

The door slammed shut behind them.

"Thomas? Should I go and speak to Queen Mary Lee at the Black Patch?"

"Yes."

"She can give us soldiers for a few nights," Esme said, watching him carefully.

"Mm, good."

The room went still again.

"John, go and bring up the car."

John looked between them all for a moment, then stood up from his chair and left. Only when the door had shut behind them, did Esme move from the far side of the room to Tommy's desk.

Esme was skitterish, her unsettling gaze wide. Then she bent down to Tommy, never moving her eyes from him. "Imagine riding away, Thomas. Living the real life, you know? Your Gypsy half is the stronger. You just want to ride away. France is the new place for us, they say. Lot of metal lying around still. Guns and trucks and spent shells and things," Esme said, her voice a hypnotic whisper. Lucille stepped forward, watching the way Tommy's head slowly lifted from his hands. "Then you go south. Saintes-Maries, where the Black Madonna is. My brothers go sometimes for the fair. It's like a home for us. They still let you get lost there."

France, talking about going to France. Lucille let a hollow laugh leave her lips. She stood from her chair.

"France? France is the haven you speak of?" She said, then Esme switched her attention upwards. "Do you forget where I come from? Do you forget the warzone in which we met?"

Esme levelled her with a watchful look. "I wasn't talking to you. You don't get to decide."

"I've been to France, Esme. So has John. Now get your coat and go with your husband." Tommy leaned further in and took Esme's face harshly between thumb and fingers. "And if you ever talk about getting lost again, I will cut you from this family."

He let her go. Esme paused, and glanced around them slowly, purposefully. Then smirked.

"What family?"

They were left alone. The air was cold, and empty, and it almost felt hard to breathe. Lucille steeled herself to the floor. She would not be the first of the both of them to move.

"This was always the problem," Tommy said from his seat at the desk. His hands were folded together. She couldn't see his face from where she stood behind him, but she knew he'd look tired. "They bring emotion to the table first everytime."

Lucille shook her head and looked to the ceiling. Emotion. It was the constant, unrelenting force that seemed to undo them every single time. But Tommy's view of it was too simple. It was something else. Something deeper. And it gnawed at her now, like an unspoken truth hanging in the air between them.

She exhaled slowly, crossing her arms as she let the room fill with the tension of their unspoken thoughts. She wasn't sure how much longer she could stand there, quiet, still. It felt like the world outside, the cold streets of Small Heath, the chaos they had just witnessed in that meeting, had started to bleed into the walls of the house.

Still, she kept her ground, standing just beyond his reach. Tommy was always the first to act, to do. But he wasn't the only one with a mind sharp enough to see things for what they were. She needed him to understand that, even if it meant breaking the silence.

"You think it's just emotion?" she said quietly, her voice almost lost in the stillness. She didn't want to argue, not here, not like this, but something in her was rising up, pushing against the knot in her chest. "It's human instinct. What happens when you tear everyone apart, Tommy? When you push them too far? You expect them to just sit back and let you call the shots, without anyone feeling something? It doesn't work that way."

She knew her words were coming out sharper than she intended, but the truth was that she was tired- so tired- of holding it all in, of standing behind Tommy's plans without ever asking where the emotional cost of it all went. They were both running on fumes.

Tommy's hands tightened on the desk, his knuckles white against the wood. His shoulders tensed, the only sign of life in his otherwise still figure. She could feel the quiet anger starting to build in him, but he kept it contained. The air around him was like a pressurised, ready to burst.

He didn't turn to look at her, but his voice was raw when he spoke again. "You think I don't know that, Lucille?" His tone was colder now, harder. "I know what it does. I've been trying to keep everyone together. You, the business, this bloody family. But they keep fucking it up. Every time."

His words were like knives, cutting through the stillness, and she felt the sting of it even though she knew they weren't just aimed at her.

Lucille swallowed, forcing herself to stand tall. "You can't do it all, Tommy," she said softly, stepping a little closer, though still maintaining the distance. She wasn't sure if he even realized it, but Tommy had always carried the burden of the family like a weight on his shoulders, as if he had to bear it all alone. And it was wearing him down.

The hurt, the exhaustion, the loneliness. It was all bleeding into his words now.

"And I can't watch you burn yourself out while they..." She paused, taking a slow breath. "While they fight for scraps and never see the bigger picture." Her voice was soft now, but resolute. "This life, this family, if we keep tearing at each other like this, we'll have nothing left."

Tommy's eyes flickered toward the window. His jaw was tight, his mind clearly elsewhere, still spinning through the many battles that awaited him. He was always thinking, always plotting. But for a brief moment, the armor around him cracked, just a little. His shoulders dropped, the weight of the world briefly becoming too much to bear.

"And I know you," she said, stepping closer, spreading her hands across his shoulders, and sensing him lean into the faintest hints of her touch. "You feel just as much as them."

Her hands drifted lower, across his chest, spreading beneath the wool of his suit jacket, her chin resting on his shoulder. She could feel the firmness of his muscle, the tension, and sense the quickening of his pulse beneath her fingertips. Tommy leaned into her further and she knew his eyes were closed.

"Lucille..." He trailed off, his voice quieter now, hesitant. He looked at her over his shoulder, and there was something in his eyes, something raw, something human. It was intoxicating.

"I know," she whispered.

She felt a hand pull at her cheek, another at her neck, caressing the skin not covered by blonde hair. Tommy was pulling her in, so softly, as if he was scared she would break, scared she would disappear. Lucille moved around him, sat on his lap, and watched his eyes dance over her face, committing her to memory. The movement scared her.

"Tommy," she said, then his eyes stopped moving, and focused again on her eyes. She moved her fingers to soothe the crease between his brow. "Tommy."

"I'm not going anywhere," she said.

He closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting their foreheads together.

"I know," he said, copying her words.

"I know," he said, like a promise to himself."

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