𝘀𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝗳𝗶𝘃𝗲:
in the bleak midwinter

tw: death of a major character,
suic!de attempt.

Home. Tommy never thought he would find a home again, someone to love deeply and endlessly. He really thought Grace was the one and he had ruined his chance of being happy forever. But, was it possible for him? To be happy forever? Then, Margaret Kegley at the time stumbled into his life at the most unexpected moment. He had lost his wife a few weeks before, had just lost his brother and she entered this messy world of his but she managed to make it better. Much better.

Perhaps, life and God had given him a second chance.

Margaret was his second chance.

Again, Maggie completed him. She, compared to him, knew where to draw the line and when to not cross it. Something Thomas had been struggling ever since he came back from France. In his mind, Thomas Shelby had no limitations but his wife did. Maggie had limitations and she wasn't scared to show it. God knew he had crossed the line too many times with her, he had put her through a life of misery for the last few years yet she stayed.

It had been a week now, Thomas was completely sober of Opium which he never thought possible but again, his angel had helped him. Yes, Maggie was an angel. An angel sent to save him. He had never realised how life was good these last few days despite Mosley being a constant threat. The world seemed warmer and it was as though the landscape had gained a little more colours. Yet, he knew he didn't deserve her. Not at all, actually. He had known this ever since they danced in the small living room in Small Heath.

His children's laugh echoed in his mind and he noted that he had never heard laugh so loudly.

"Mag, I'm home," he called from the double doors as he took off his coat. He looked up, seeing her walk down the stairs.

"You are home early," she stated, offering him a smile. A warm one. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he admitted. "Just thought we would spend some time together before Mosley's meeting tomorrow," he added as she hummed. "Are the boys busy?"

"In the playroom," she answered with a chuckle. "Elliot loves to play with these little horses that you bought for him. He adores it," she told him, reaching his side as she circled her arms around her torso and rested her head against his back.

Tommy reached for her hand and gently brought it to his lips as he kissed her knuckles, "I am happy he does," he whispered, eyes closed. "Take me to the boys, yeah?"

"Of course," she replied, tip toeing to kiss below his ear. Grabbing his hand in hers, she lead him upstairs and pushed the playroom door. "Look boys, daddy is home," she said, snapping them out whatever they were doing.

Elliot was the fastest, he rose on his feet and ran to his father. Tommy wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him tight as Elliot smiled widely at his sight. Although, Charles reached for Margaret's side, clutching to her skirt.

"Go on, Charlie," she cooed, her hand on his head. "Go hug your dad," she added as he finally left her side and let his father's arms around him.

Thomas always knew that with Grace's death, he had stepped away from his role of father and Charles had suffered of it. Well, not completely away but he hadn't been here for him. The year Margaret came back, Lizzie had bought the Christmas gifts...Not him. Lizzie. He hadn't been a good father to Charlie, and he regretted it. It wasn't surprising to see his boy clinging onto Maggie's side, she had been more present than him, she had raised him and took him as her own. But, he was in good hands, with her.

"Daddy, are you going to stay with us?" Elliot asked ,
a hint of hopefulness in his voice.

Tommy smiled softly, "Yes. I came home early so we can all spend time together," he told him, ruffling his hair. "I have to talk with your mum and then, we will eat the four of us, around the table, eh?"

The two boys nodded, rather content with the news as Tommy took hold of Margaret's hand and led her outside the room. She trailed behind him until they reached their bedroom, as soon as she closed the door, he released a shaky breath.

"I fear for what's to come," he told her, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Maggie cupped his face as he leaned into her touch, "Tell
me. Tell me what's to come, Thomas. Let me in," she pleaded softly.

"If I let you in, you will be in danger," he muttered, shaking his head. "If I le—"

"Thomas, you have to," she told him, moving his head so he could look right into her eyes. "It always had been you and I through everything. The Changrettas, Michael and now Mosley. You and I."

"Maggie..." he paused, rising on his feet as her hands left his face. "It is different this time."

With a sigh, she sat down next to him, "Do you remember when I came to watch Bonnie fight in your factory?" She asked and he hummed softly, a smile gracing his features. "You asked me if I was afraid of death. What did I tell you?"

"No," he responded right away, recalling the conversation very vividly. "You told me no."

"This answer still stands. I am not afraid of death or how I will die," she told him. "I know it will happen someday, and I'm not fucking scared."

"But I am," he told her firmly. "Maggie, whatever happens tomorrow. I want you and the boys to be safe," he said.

"And, we will," she promised, rising on her feet to reach for the box of cigarettes on her nightstand. Lighting one, she exhaled the smoke and cleared her throat. "I promise that we will be safe, but you need to let me in Thomas."

He sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly, "I've made a plan to kill him, Mosley. I got one of my old comrades, the best shooter I could find," he said. "When Mosley will get on the scene, I will wait for him to do his speech then I will send a signal and he will be killed."

"Will there be men?"

"Yes."

Margaret hummed, moving to stand in front of him as she cupped his face. The cigarette hung loosely at the corner of her mouth. "I love you," she whispered. "God will be with you tomorrow and you will come home to me, will you?"

"I will," he stated gently, leaning into her touch. "I always will."

"Good," she responded, taking the cigarette out of her mouth and leaned down to kiss his forehead. "I promise we will be alright."

Thomas hummed before standing up, he kissed her on the lips and headed downstairs. When Margaret joined them, the two little boys were attacking their father with questions and for once Tommy was answering to all of them. It was rather pleasant thought Margaret, they never had the chance to spend time as a family. Standing behind her husband, she laid a hand on his shoulder giving it a squeeze as he took it in his.

"What were you lots talking about?" Margaret asked, leaning down to kiss Tom's cheek before sitting down in her chair.

Elliot smiled, "Daddy was talking about Uncle Arthur before they were grown up," he told her with a smile. "He said that you were there too."

"Is it true?" Charlie chirped in.

Maggie smiled softly, "It is. I knew your Daddy before he was my husband," she explained. "We used to run around Uncle Charlie's yard. Technically, he used to chase after me," she pointed at Thomas as he snorted.

"I used to chase after your mum because she was a very stubborn little girl," he said to the two boys as they giggled. "She still is."

"Mum, did you know her? My real mum?" Charles asked, turning his head to look at her.

Maggie licked her bottom lip, sighing, "I didn't, my darling. But, I've been told she was an extraordinary woman. Wasn't she, Tom?"

"Yeah, yeah," he whispered back, swallowing thickly and closed his eyes at the memories of Grace in his mind. "That she was."

"But..." Elliot started with a frown, eyes glancing back and forth between his mum and his older brother. "She's our mum, isn't she?"

Charles smiled softly at his little brother, "Yeah, she is. She is our mum," he reassured his little brother.

The rest of the dinner had been joyful, the most joyful to be honest. Thomas had laughed, talked with the boys...he had been his old self. He even had taken the time to tuck them in bed with Margaret instead of going in his office like he usually did. Maggie knew the situation with Mosley was worse than before, but something within her didn't feel right. As though something bad was about to happen, but she no idea what.

"They're chatty," Thomas commented once they had closed the bedroom's door. "Never knew how much Elliot liked to ask questions."

Maggie beamed, "He's in his questions phase, I reckon," she chuckled. "He likes to ask a lot of unnecessary things." 

"Yeah," he hummed as he stood in front of the mirror, slowly taking off his tie and shirt. His eyes darted towards his wife as he watched her through the glass. Such a beauty. "I won't be here tomorrow."

"I know," she replied, stripping off her clothes and putting on her nightgown. One of the few Thomas had offered her, all of them from America. "I've told you. We will be fine, Tom. I just have an appointment with the doctor then I'll come back home."

"An appointment? For what?" He queried, rubbing the cigarette's filter against his lips before lighting it.

Maggie sighed, "He just wants to do a check up," she explained, running a hand through her hair.

Oh, the scar.

He had almost forgotten about it. It made him sick. The red scar on her stomach, bigger than the one on his cheek, made him sick to the stomach. And if he spent too of his time thinking about it, he was immediately back to the hospital room where she had told him she—they had lost the child. He just couldn't bring himself to think about it.

"Don't worry, I'm well," she whispered close to his ear, noticing his silence.

Thomas had sat down on the stool during his thinking, "I know you are, Mag," he answered lowly. "I just don't want to think about it again," he confessed, closing his eyes. "Can we not? Think about it?"

"We don't have to," she pressed herself to reply as his two arms circled her waist and he rested his head on her lower stomach.

"I love you, Maggie," he spoke, letting out a sigh of satisfaction as she ran her fingers through his hair. It felt nice. "I really do."

"Me too, Tom," she reassured him. "Always."

A tall child. That was what he was. A tall and scared child. They had spent most of their night holding onto each other like two kids scared to let go, he would whisper sweet things and she would kiss his lips without uttering a word. It did feel strange. The calm before the storm, wasn't it how the authors called it in books? The period of time where everything felt so stable and calm, but it was unusual, so unusual that she felt like something bad was going to happen. Apparently, Thomas felt it too.

"Mag, ask Frances to call the doctor and make him to come here," he said as they both sat in his office, cigarettes between their lips. "I think you shouldn't leave the house."

"Don't...don't make me stay here all day. It is one appointment, Tom," she uttered with a sigh, pouring herself a drink. Was it too early to drink? Meh, she didn't care. "I'll be back before you even make your way back here."

"It's just..."

"Tom."

He sighed, clearly defeated, "Alright, but be safe," he said, grabbing his jacket as he moved in front of her. Cupping her face, he ran the pad of his thumbs on her cheekbones, appreciating her features. "I love you, eh?"

"I love you," she whispered back as he leaned down, kissing her lips so gently and lovingly. "I love you. Be safe," she told him as he gave her a nod.

As she watched him go, she let out a breath as an uneasy feeling settled in her. Why did it feel like the last time?

...

Margaret never cared of how she was going to die, after all the possibilities were infinite. But, if she died that way, it would be fucking ridiculous. This IRA lady and her men had kidnapped her as soon as she had stepped foot outside the doctor's office. Perhaps, she should have listened to Tommy when he told her to make the doctor come to the house. But, God...God, she was too stubborn to listen and stated she wanted to go in the city. Fucking hell. Letting out a long sigh, she closed her eyes looking down at her feet because she couldn't look at her in the eyes. Couldn't bring herself to face the enemy like she would have done years ago.

What if she died?

She hadn't seen her kids in hours, she hadn't kissed them goodbye this time because they were busy with their violin practice. Elliot and Charles had simply gave her a wave and wide smiles as she promised Frances she would be back before night. Before her boys would be in bed, and she would have been the one tucking them in and kissing their foreheads good night.

"Margaret Shelby, is that who you are?" The man asked, snapping her out of her thoughts.

Margaret kissed her top teeth, humming, "Correct."

"Do you know why you are here?" The woman asked, her Irish accent coming off strong.

She loathed Irish accents.

"No. Please, enlighten me," Maggie replied, trying to stay as composed as she could.

To be honest, Margaret had no idea why she was there. Where was even there? She couldn't see a thing or recognise the place.

"You have committed a crime," the woman stated as Margaret snorted so loudly, it cut her off. "What is it?"

"I have committed many crimes, Captain," she told them, noticing the badges on her uniform. "Which one am I going to get punished for?"

"I'm Captain Swing," she introduced herself, sitting down in front of her so Margaret could have a better view of her. "Technically, Thomas Shelby committed the crime," she added. "Are you aware of it?"

Maggie shrugged softly, "I am sure my husband hides a lot of things from me, Laura McKee," she whispered, smirking as she noticed the surprised look on the woman's face. "Of course I know who you are," she added with a chuckle. "Laura McKee, Captain Swing, leading member of the IRA."

"You have done your research, Mrs. Shelby," she replied. "I take it that you are not aware of your husband's attempt tonight?"

Of course she knew, she had begged him to tell her yesterday.

"No, I am not," she swallowed, keeping her voice steady. "May I smoke?"

"Mmh, you may," Laura answered, lighting the cigarette as she placed it between Maggie's lips. "Thomas Shelby tried to assassinate Oward Mosley."

"Oh, please. Who wouldn't? The man is a fucking fascist, Laura," Margaret sighed. "A fascist. Did you know he is friend with Hitler? The chancellor in Berlin?"

"We don't care about that," she told Margaret.

With a soft chuckle, she shook her head, "What a shame. You, Irish people, need to stop worrying so much about your country. I've read about you lots," she told Laura. "Shaving women's head for fornicating with the so-called enemy. Or even just sympathising. Isn't that ridiculous?—Are you going to shave my head, too?"

"You've heard a lot, eh?"

"Of course, I would be a fool to not read about the people that are considered threats to my children," she spat. "Have you ever loved, Captain Swing? Had a child, perhaps?" Laura shook her head. "Ah, no? Shame, again. I have two boys, but you must know that already..."

"Yes. Elliot and Charles Shelby," Laura answered as she watched the ashes fall down on Margaret's clothes. "Is Thomas a good father?"

"The best," she snorted. "It is ironic. How two people with bloody hands can be such good parents...I've always wondered if they would turn like him—us, because I'm no saint, Captain Swing. God don't see me as a friend, but the Devil does."

"You, Shelby people, are ridiculous," she stated with a dry chuckle. "Do you know what's to come, Margaret?"

Offering her a smile, she crossed her legs together, "Death," she said, sure of herself. "I was bound to die one way or another."

"Very well," she rose on her feet, grabbing her gun as she prepared it.

"Wait," she said loudly. "I have a request. Perhaps, you can deliver a letter for me? I didn't have the time to say goodbye to my boys," Maggie uttered, swallowing the big lump in her throat.

Laura sighed, checked her watch and looked up at her man, "Go get her a pen and paper," she ordered as he nodded his head.

He came back with a pen and two piece of paper. Perhaps, Captain Swing was giving her the chance to write two letters. One to her boys and the other one to her husband. How could she had been so naive, though? Death wasn't scary, well it never scared her. It was meant to be. It was God's will. But, how could He be so cruel and not let her kiss her boys one last time?

Her vision became blurry as she wrote down every word that came into her mind, tears pricked her eyes and she could feel that some of them were falling onto the white paper. Despite her sadness, she realised that she had lived the best years of her life. She had became the mother of Charles, fallen in love, married Thomas, had Elliot and above all, she was happy. Happy to have lived all these special things that were part of life. Because before coming back to Small Heath, Margaret Shelby thought she would end up alone with no one to cherish and to hold onto forever, and Thomas had proved her wrong time and time again.

Folding the letters, she released a breathe and handed it to Laura, "Will he get my body back? I want to be set on fire in a nice black caravane," she admitted.

"Fucking Gypsy stuff," the man groaned behind her.

"Yes," she hummed. "It is fucking Gypsy stuff. I have asked a question, will I be returned to my husband?"

"Of course," Laura nodded her head.

"Thank you."

Somehow, it scared Laura to see her so...composed? She wasn't afraid, that was for sure. She had seen her shed a few tears as she wrote her letters, but again, any mother would cry writing to her children. It almost felt unfair to punish her instead of Thomas Shelby, but IRA needed him. It was a weird thing to see someone accept their fate so easily. Laura knew a lot of people who would have been crying out loud, shouting at God to save them, but instead Margaret Shelby stayed still with ashes spread on her clothes and her head high up. Like royalty.

"A Christmas Carol by Christina Rossetti is Tom's favourite poem," she whispered softly, a smile gracing her features. "Whenever you are ready, Laura," she noticed the woman, hearing the gun cock.

Funny, she thought. Margaret always thought she would be the one pulling the trigger.

"Snow has fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago.

Our—"

The loud bang echoed through the room as Margaret's voice faded and her lifeless body fell onto the ground. This was it.

Margaret Shelby had left this world.

...

Reaching home, Thomas never felt so hollow. His plan had completely failed. Where did everything go wrong? He pondered the question until he reached the Arrow House, Arthur by his side as they drove silently. Perhaps it would be easier if he left this world, wouldn't it? Margaret was still there to take care of the kids and they wouldn't be alone, he was sure that he wouldn't be a huge loss for the two boys.

As soon as the car stopped, he grabbed his gun and hurried himself out of sight, in the field. It was a foggy morning, the ground was muddy and it was cold. So cold. He screamed, screamed so loud that the birds flew away and he closed his eyes for a mere second. Would it be worth it? To leave this world? To leave everything behind? Shakily but firmly, he brought the gun to his temple and exhaled deeply. It was easy, wasn't it? To pull the trigger?

Just bam. A few seconds and he would be gone.

"Tommy!" Arthur's voice echoed, meaning he was looking for him and that made him nervous for some reasons. "Tommy!"

With a shaky sigh, he pushed the gun closer to his head as thought it would help him pull the trigger easily. Hearing the footsteps, he didn't think once and pulled it. But nothing happened, he stayed still with his eyes closed waiting for death to take him. Take him away from this world. Nothing came. His knees collapsed as he fell on the mud, the gun falling next to him as Arthur reached his side.

"Tom, eh? Brother, get up," he pleaded, voice slightly shaking as he cupped his brother's face. "Something happened. Maggie isn't home, I-"

"What?"

That immediately brought him back to reality. Not home? How?

"She's not home, Tom. The boys and Frances hadn't seen her since she left for her doctor's appointment," he explained slowly. "Frances said they had received two letters this morning."

"I-I need to go and see," he muttered to himself as he struggled to pull himself back on his legs.

He should have known.

He had felt in his heart yesterday. He had told her to stay home and she hadn't listened. When did she ever listen? Thomas knew it would be bad of her to leave the house, and he hadn't prevented it. How could he have been so stupid? He pushed the doors open, looking around frantically and something didn't feel right; as though she was gone. He couldn't feel her like he used to.

"Frances!" He shouted loudly, waiting for the maid to show up. "Frances!"

"Yes, Mr. Shelby?" She hurried herself to answer, her face perplexed.

He sighed, "She didn't come home last night?"

Frances gulped, then shook her head, "She-she never did, Mr. Shelby."

Was he getting punished for all his sins?

"Where all the letters?" He begged, trying to not let his voice beak at the end. God, he was exhausted. "The boys, are they okay?"

"They are still asleep," she replied. "The letters are in your office."

Humming, she made his way towards the office with Arthur behind; his oldest brother closed the door behind himself, leaving them into the office alone. The two letters were on his desk, one had To Tommy written on it and the other one had To Charlie and Elliot. Thomas could recognise this handwriting between hundreds, Margaret had written these letters. Taking the one with his name on it, he unfolded it and read slowly. Sometimes, he stopped to watch the spots her tears had left and he cussed under his breath. He reached the end of the letter and felt his heart tightening—her handwriting had gotten a little messier and she had tried her best to make it look perfect. He knew it.

If you read this, it means I haven't made it back home. This Laura McKee promised to bring back my body, please set it on fire in a nice caravane. And, please remember that I was not scared.

Sick. He was going to be sick. Rushing to the closest bin he could find, he threw up and stayed like this for a few minutes. Straightening himself, he put the piece of paper down, clenched his jaw and let out a sigh. This was his fault. He had brought this death upon her head, he had put her in danger once again. The letter said that she had been kidnapped and was going to get killed as a sort of punishment for his attempt on Mosley, he couldn't help but wonder why Margaret? Why did they take her away from him?

The sickness came back as he thought of him minutes ago, trying to end his life on the field as he thought of nothing else but himself. It showed how selfish he could be. He couldn't even bring himself to think of the boys and their reactions when they would wake up, how was he going to handle this mess?

"Arthur..." Thomas cleared his throat, closing his eyes. "Margaret is dead. She was killed by Laura McKee, leading member of the IRA."

"Why, Tom?" Arthur asked, a frown on his face and his lips formed a thin line meaning he was trying to not break down. "Maggie had nothing to do with anything."

"To punish me," he mumbled. "For trying to kill Mosley," he added.

No other words were spoken. Arthur exited the office in tears, unable to control himself and Thomas stared blankly at the portrait of himself, right below the fireplace. Margaret hated it, and knowing she did, only made him want to tear the portrait apart.

Cursed. That was what he was. Completely cursed.

Margaret Shelby was gone, leaving behind her shattered husband and two scared kids.

It ended the same as it began. Thomas grieving his lost wife with children by his side, and a threat upon their heads. Once again.

——————

AUTHORS NOTE, oh my... i can't believe it's the end???? i'm sorry for making her die but i feel like it was the only good ending!

huge thank you to men_lover  for being the most amazing, sweet, weird and cute person i know. i love you and thank you for the endless support!!!

but also thank you to everyone who read and continued to read despite my LONG breaks, but i hope you all loved it and i'll forever be grateful for you all <3333

the epilogue will be up in a few x