Sleepless nights had plagued Florence's mind in the days that followed her night at the Garrison with Elijah and the boys. She didn't know what was causing her to wake up in the night, for her the darkness wasn't riddled with torment the way it was for Tommy.

She would lay beside him at night, knowing that he wasn't sleeping either, but not wanting to say anything and discuss why she wasn't sleeping she would just lay there with her back to him. His arm would be around her waist and his warm breath would be steady against her back, telling her that he was awake, counting down the hours until the sun rose.

But this night was unlike the rest, Tommy lay asleep beside Florence, a sight that she was not used to, the only other time she had seen him sleep was that night when they came home from the Garrison. The sun was just beginning to rise outside, embers of warm light creeping through the lace curtains that hang over the window.

Florence admired the way that the sunlight danced over Tommy's skin, noting how peaceful he looked when he slept. She sat beside him, resting against the headboard, reading a book that Polly had given her that would inform her of everything she needed to know about the races. Tommy had been so visibly tired over the last few days that Florence wasn't surprised that he fell asleep so quickly.

Florence became startled as Tommy began mumbling in her sleep, his body jolting slightly. She placed her book on the floor beside her and turned her attention to Tommy, fearing that this might be caused by the nightmares that Polly spoke of. She waited with baited breath, wondering whether she should wake him, her mind running wild with panic at the thought of what might be terrorising him as he slept.

She couldn't bare it much longer, watching his body jolt in fear as he continued to mumble senselessly, she hated to think of him in pain, "Tommy, it's me."

Gently, she placed her hand on his cheek, brushing her thumb back and forth, hoping not to startle him, "Tommy, it's okay."

His hand wrapped tightly around her wrist and his eyes shot open, riddled with fear as he stared up at her, the sun framing her like some sort of guardian angel. Which she was when you compared her to the Shelby man.

"You're alright," She whispered as Tommy let go of her wrist, "Everything is okay."

"I'm sorry," He mumbled, sitting up and turning to sit on the edge of the bed, his back to her, "I didn't want you to see that."

"Hey," Florence soothed, moving towards the bed towards him, placing a gentle kiss to his shoulder blade, "It's okay."

"No, it's not," Tommy muttered, retrieving his cigarette from the bedside table, placing it between his lips and lighting it.

"Tommy," Florence sighed, sitting beside him on the bed and placing her hands over his, "I see you, all of you, and I love you."

"Well, you shouldn't," He sighed, running his hand through his hair, hating that Florence saw him in such vulnerability, or as he saw it, weakness.

"Thomas, look at me," She whispered, running her hand along his cheekbone, tilting his head to look at her, "I have known you my whole life, there is nothing you could say that would scare me."

"Flo," Tommy replied, placing his hand on her thigh, "If you saw the things that I see, the shovels that hit that wall every time I close my eyes then you would run a mile."

"Thomas," Florence answered, doing her best to stifle her frustration, "There is nothing that you could say that would be a burden to me."

"I shouldn't be here," Tommy replied, once again shutting himself off as he collected his clothes from the floor, slipping his trousers on followed by his shirt.

"You don't have to go," Florence insisted as she watched him get dressed, her heart aching as she felt the wall he had been building around himself growing taller and wider.

"Your mother will be up soon," Tommy whispered, slipping his waistcoat onto his body and buttoning it up as he admired the angel who sat before him in her white lace nightdress.

"Tommy, my mother wouldn't mind knowing that you stay here with me most nights," Florence assured him, even though she herself was not entirely sure what her mother would think.

"I won't have your mother thinking that I've ruined your virtue or whatever it is that mothers worry about," Tommy answered, even though he knew that Florence and her mother had a closer bond than most mothers and daughters, being only fourteen years apart in age.

"But you did," Florence smirked.

"Be good," Tommy muttered with a smile, gently kissing her lips one last time before opening the bedroom door only to be met with the sight of Imelda Dawson leaving her bedroom.

"Thomas, to what do we owe the pleasure on this mild morning?" Imelda stared at him standing in her daughter's doorway in pure shock.

"Just passing by," Tommy nodded awkwardly, "Good day, Imelda."

She watched as the Shelby man walked past her before heading down the stairs and out of the front door, returning her attention to her daughter who stood awkwardly in her doorway, "Are you going to tell me what Thomas Shelby was doing in your bedroom before morning has even broken?"

"No," Florence sighed, disappearing back into her room but leaving the door open as she rummaged in her wardrobe for something to wear.

"Floss, my love," Imelda's sweet soothing voice rang through the house as she approached her daughter's room, "I know it's probably fun, but sneaking around with a man who does the things that the Shelbys do, it'll only end in tears."

"I know what they do, and I know that Tommy would protect me," Florence assured her mother, retrieving a navy blue dress from her wardrobe and placing it on the bed.

"I thought the same about your father," Imelda sighed, the words startling Florence as her mother rarely spoke of the man. She seemed to hate the topic of conversation, and Florence could understand why, but she knew that Polly also knew who the man was, and she knew her mother felt that by keeping it from the girl, she was protecting her.

"You were fourteen when you had me," Florence replied, "I'm twenty three."

"I know, you don't have to remind me sweet girl," Imelda answered, torn seeing her daughter so blissfully blinded by love, but knowing the risk that comes with the Shelby name, "I'm going to get started on the designs for the Harrington wedding."

Her husband might have been the brains of their family's successful business, but Margaret Harrington was a socialite mastermind. The minute she worried that her social reputation was in danger of being threatened by her youngest son's promiscuity, she knew that she had to take action.

Diana Carmichael was the daughter of another distinguished family just outside of Birmingham. Margaret knew that the girl's parents were eager for her to marry well, and what better than a union between the Carmichael and Harrington families?

She had assumed that Elijah, being the oldest, would be the first to marry, but she was certain that he wasn't a threat to the family's reputation in the way that George was.

As Florence finished getting herself ready for the day ahead she became startled by the sound of a verbal altercation downstairs, the sound of voices she didn't recognise travelling through the house. Knowing that her mother was downstairs alone she knew that something wasn't right, so she rushed out of her room and straight down the stairs.

Reaching the bottom she spotted two police officers standing opposite her mother, one with his hands firmly gripping her wrists. She didn't recognise them, which meant they were probably new.

"Oi!" She shouted, causing the two men to turn to face her as she paced towards them, the man's hands still on her mother's wrists, "Get your hands off her now."

"We're here by orders of the crown," The cocky police officer told her as he continued to grip her mother's arms, Imelda wincing at the tightness of the grip, "We've been sent in search of some stolen contraband."

"And if you don't release my mother, you'll have the Shelby brothers breathing down your neck," Florence told him firmly, watching the colour drain from the men's faces, "Yeah, I thought you'd know what that means."

"We were told that Arthur Shelby had agreed to it," The tentative police officer answered as his colleague continued to grip Imelda's arms.

"Arthur Shelby didn't agree to shit, and you know it," Florence answered firmly, "So, let my mother go."

The police officer dropped Imelda's arms immediately, muttering a weak apology, before turning to Florence, "There'll be no need to tell Mr Shelby about this little misunderstanding will there?"

"Not today," Florence sighed, "But if you so much as look at my mother again, I'm sure that Thomas Shelby and his brothers would have no problem with cutting you both a smile, understood?"

"Yes," The more sheepish copper nodded frantically.

"Good," Florence smiled insincerely, "There's the door, now leave."

The two Dawson women watched the police officers exit their house, instantly feeling more at ease without their presence. While the police were meant to be a reassuring presence the people of Small Heath, especially the women, had little trust in them. Florence knew that she had to be guarded in the information she shared, especially after what she had been told about this new copper from Belfast.

"Are you alright?" Florence asked her mother as she brushed herself down, "They didn't hurt you, did they?"

"I'm fine, my darling," Imelda insisted, "I've dealt with far scarier, far bigger men in my life."

"Well, if they come by again, I'll tell Tommy and the boys, they'll deal with it," Florence assured her mother, pulling back the curtain and noticing that the street was empty except for a dozen police officers lingering on horses, almost as if they knew that the Shelby boys had plans outside of Small Heath that morning.

"Imelda, Florence," Polly's voice rang through the house as the back door opened, Polly stepping inside, "Finn said he saw coppers leaving, everything alright?"

"I sorted it," Florence sighed, resting her hands on her hips, "They were hounding Ma for information on stolen goods, they said something about a tip off."

"What did you tell them?" Polly asked, glancing at the red marks on Imelda's arms, "And who the fuck did that?"

"The coppers," Florence answered, "But I warned them what Tommy and the boys would do if it went any further, and that scared them off, but they said that Arthur had agreed to all this."

"He wouldn't do such a foolish thing," Polly scoffed, knowing her nephews.

"Floss told them as much, didn't seem to phase them though," Imelda sighed.

"Of course not," Polly smiled, attempting to reassure Imelda, aware that while her daughter might not be phased by what the Shelby brothers get up to, Imelda isn't so comfortable with the idea, "Will you both be busy with fittings today? It's good to have a busy house with coppers sniffing about."

"Just a couple, most of my day will be taken up designing a dress for the Harrington wedding," Imelda answered, "Margaret is pulling out all of the stops, no expense spared, she's having fabric imported from Paris."

"That family has more money than sense," Polly scoffed, neither her or Imelda having ever had a good word to say about her. Margaret was almost twenty years older than Imelda and Polly, so when Imelda gave birth to Florence at fourteen years old, she was first in line to gossip.

"But they pay exceptionally well, so who am I to complain?" Imelda grinned, knowing how much business would come as a result of Imelda making Diana Carmichael's wedding dress.

"Well, when the boys come back from the fair, I'll tell them what happened," Polly told the women, glancing at Florence, "Tommy won't be pleased, he'll have plenty of words for Moss."

"I'm sure he will," Imelda nodded, deciding to spare the details of Tommy leaving her daughter's bedroom that morning.

"Would you ladies keep an eye on Finn for me this morning?" Polly asked with a smile, "I'm going down to the church, and he'll only be a little menace if I take him."

"Of course, Pol," Florence nodded, "Send him round."

"Alright ladies, I'll see you both later," Polly smiled at them both before strutting out of the house with the same Polly Gray poise she's always had.

☆ ☆ ☆

The day passed as it always did, slowly and painfully. Florence had worked her hands raw finishing a dress for Mrs Simmons who lived two streets away, while Imelda had been solely focused on finessing her dress designs for the Harrington wedding.

A knock at the back door startled Florence, people rarely knocked if they were using the back door. So she abandoned her stitching, smiling at her mother as she headed for the door, opening it to see Tommy stood on the doorstep, his hat in his hands.

"Are you alright?" He whispered, stepping up onto the next step, cupping her face and staring into her eyes as though they might reveal all, "Small Heath's a state, someone told me there were coppers breaking down doors and asking questions the minute we left."

"Yeah," Florence muttered, "Ma's still pretty shaken up, one of them grabbed her."

"Is she alright?" Tommy asked, panic creeping over him as he feared that they might also have laid a hand on his precious girl, "They didn't touch you did they?"

"No, I'm fine," She assured him, resting her hands on his wrists as he continued to keep hold of her, "I made sure they knew what would happen if they tried anything."

"Good girl," Tommy whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead, "Would you and your mother join us? Tell us what happened?"

"Ma?" Florence called out to her mother as Tommy let go of her face, "The Shelbys want to see us."

"Do they?" Imelda answered with a knowing smirk.

"To talk about this morning with the coppers," Florence continued, glancing over her shoulder to see her mother walking towards her.

"Alright, petal," Imelda sighed, joining her daughter at the door, setting eyes on Tommy, "Twice in one day, Mr Shelby, we'll have to get you a key cut."

"Ma." Florence hissed through gritted teeth.

"This way ladies," Tommy simply answered, leading them both out of the yard and down the alley towards the Shelby family home.

"Floss," John's eyes lit up as the Dawson girl entered the room, followed by her mother, "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"We've come to fill you in on what the coppers got up to while you boys were out of town," Florence answered, "Half the street got ransacked this morning, they said that they were looking for stolen contraband, and they weren't exactly gentle in their approach."

"What do you mean?" John asked as Imelda stood beside her daughter, unbearably quiet.

"Show them Ma," Florence turned to her mother as she rolled up her sleeves, showing the three Shelby men the marks left on her wrists.

"A copper did that?" Arthur exclaims in anger, "What's his name?"

"We didn't get a name," Florence answered calmly as Imelda unrolled her sleeves, covering the marks again.

"We'll speak to Moss, tell him to get his men in line," John assured the women.

"Well, the coppers told everyone Arthur had agreed to it when he was arrested," Polly told the Shelby men as John handed Florence a beer just the same as he and Arthur were drinking, "They said the Peaky Blinders had cleared out to the fair to let them do it."

"I never said nothing to that copper about smashing up bloody houses," Arthur mumbled in frustration.

"Alright, which pubs did they do?" Tommy asked.

"The Guns, the Chain, the Marquis," Polly answered, lighting herself a cigarette, "All the ones that pay you to protect them, the only one they didn't touch was the Garrison."

"To make sure people think we were in on it?" Florence added, realising that the morning's events ran deeper than just searching for stolen goods and communists, the police wanted to create a divide, to remove trust in the Peaky Blinders.

"Exactly, Flo," Polly nodded, "He's smart, this copper."

"That's one word for him," Florence scoffed.

"Go on, drink your beers and get out, you better show people you're still the cocks of the walk," Polly instructed the Shelby brothers.

"Hand out some cash to the landlords of the pubs, pay some veterans to fix the places up," Tommy told his brother's as the other Peaky men dispersed from the room.

"So what about you, Tommy?" Arthur asked.

"I have to go to Charlie's to stable the horse," Tommy told his brother, placing a cigarette between his lips, "She looked footsore in the box."

"You've got a new mare?" Florence glanced at Tommy as he lit his cigarette.

"I won her," Tommy nodded, "You'd like her, I'll take you for a ride on her soon."

"Let them see your faces," Polly instructed Arthur as he strolled out of the room, leaving just Polly, Imelda, Tommy and Florence.

"Well, Floss and I better get back to work," Imelda smiled at her daughter as Florence placed her half finished beer on the table, not having much taste for it compared to usual.

"Flo," Tommy muttered softly as Polly shut the doors separating the room from the betting shop, "You can stay if you want."

"Alright," She nodded with a smile, glancing at her mother, "You'll knock on the wall if you need me?"

"Of course, petal," Imelda smiled before slipping out through the back door.

"So we both know what they were looking for," Polly focused on Tommy, which confused Florence, as she wondered how Tommy would know what the police were looking for, until she promptly reached the realisation that it could only be because Tommy was behind it, "You don't read the papers."

"Racing papers," Tommy answered as Polly took a seat, gesturing for Florence to do the same as Tommy stood before them both.

"So, let me tell you the odds, I reckon it's three to one there'll be a revolution," Polly continued.

"I wouldn't bet on that," Tommy replied.

"That copper's betting on it," Polly told him, "He's not going to let it rest till he gets those guns back."

"Guns?" Florence muttered, immediately frightened by the prospect of what trouble Tommy might have got himself in.

"Tommy's men stole the wrong crate," Polly informed the Dawson girl as Tommy took a seat beside her, "And now he's sitting on a pile of guns and ammunition big enough to equip an army, which he will hang for if they're found in his possession."

"Tommy, you have to get rid of them," Florence whispered in fear, fear of losing Tommy above anything.

"Floss, it's all in hand, I promise," Tommy assured her before looking at Polly who had a slight smirk on her face, "Did he talk to you, Pol?"

"In the church," Polly answered.

"Did he try to find our Ada?" Tommy asked.

"She was sleeping," Polly replied calmly.

"Where was she sleeping, Pol?" Tommy scoffed.

"I thought you didn't care for women's business?" Polly remarked with a smirk, "He knows you're the boss, he wants to meet you, will you talk to him?"

"No," Tommy sighed, "You don't parley when you're on the back foot, we'll strike a blow back first."

"How do you suppose you'll do that?" Florence asked as Tommy stood up, stubbing out his cigarette and picking up his coat and cap.

"Come with me and you'll find out." Tommy smiled, admiring how unphased she was by the revelation of the weapons he had been sitting on, leading to realise how capable she was of being part of the Peaky Blinders.

"Tommy," Florence sighed as she followed him out of the room, grabbing her coat and slipping it onto her body as he led her outside into the darkness of the evening, "What are we doing?"

"We're going to light a little fire," Tommy smirked, taking his hand in hers, not caring for the presence of passersby as they walked down Watery Lane, "We can't have the king watching over us and seeing all the horrible things that his men have been doing to our families and our women."

"By order of the Peaky Blinders?" Florence remarked, squeezing Tommy's hand, internally delighted that he would hold her hand in public.

"Exactly, love," Tommy nodded, "We're burning portraits of the king, to send a message, does your mother have one?"

"Of course not," Florence scoffed, "What use do my mother and I have with a picture of the sodding king?"

"I knew that there was a reason I liked you," Tommy smirked, looking over his shoulder before guiding Florence towards a wall, her back resting against the cool bricks.

"You like me because I don't care for the king?" Florence rolled her eyes as Tommy's hands found their way to her waist.

"Amongst other things," Tommy told her, brushing her hair off of her face.

"Well, enlighten me," Florence grinned, as people passed them by, the darkness protecting them from prying eyes.

"You want me to list the things I like about you?" Tommy tilted his head at the girl, bewildered by the hold that she had on him.

"That is what I said, yes," Florence nodded slowly.

"Alright," Tommy sighed, realising this meant he had to be emotionally open with the girl, "I like the way you care about my family as though they are your own, I like your smile, your laugh, I really fucking like your face and body-"

"That's good enough for me," Florence grinned before kissing Tommy slowly.