𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐈𝐈.
a complicated business
❝ SHE'S ONLY A LITTLE GIRL, THOMAS ❞

BIRMINGHAM,
ENGLAND 1919

♜ ━━━━━ EVERYONE WAS BUSY and everyone had places to be.

Polly was all business, besides breakfast and the usual clothing inspection her aunt did every morning. Her father was out before she'd even woken, and no one quite knew where he'd been. Del hadn't the courage to ask. Ada was still sleeping which probably meant she'd been out late with her fella again. The door'd been locked when Della tried it in the middle of night, cold and sleepy and looking for comfort. She figured it was to fend off anyone who might catch her sneaking out the window. It was fair enough.

Arthur was off to the pictures with two female companions of the street—walking nature (this she wasn't supposed to know but she wasn't stupid). John had her small gaggle of wild cousins to wrangle, and Finn was off on the sort of run only allowed for nearly eleven year olds. The boy promised he'd steal her something shiny on the way home to make up for it.

Del hoped it was something sharp; it was certainly needed.

Now that they were all turning six, it'd been proposed that Della's gang needed to start taking things more seriously. And seriously, to be a proper gang, one needed to be armed — at least Georgie said so.

Some were not so convinced as little red—haired Ruthie rolled her eyes, "Ah, pull the other one."

Henry squinted, "You're fooling!"

"I'm not!" George was absolutely appalled at being doubted, "If we're to defend our turf, we're gonna need weapons — glass shards and arrow heads and guns and things."

This was agreeable. The point that there was no one to defend their turf against didn't matter much to the small group of kids. 

"Orright." Del cut in with a pacifying sigh, "And where d'we get weapons, Georgie?"

"You could get some, Della..."

"Me?" Her eyes were big as saucers, little voice pitched higher, "If I ask, Polly'll f—ckin' eat me."

"You're always goin' on 'bout how yours is full of 'em." Henry pointed out, kicking the ground a little, "Can't you just... nick some?"

Della groaned. The straight razors from the caps were always kept purposefully out of reach, and it would take a good amount of pilfering to acquire one. The chances of getting another gun after the... incident were slim to none. Still, there was only so much indignity a self—respecting almost six year old could take. Upholding her Shelby reputation was exhausting.

Del straightened from where she'd been leaning against the wall, "Yea, orright." 

With that, her small gang parted ways and set off in their own directions.

Then, Della laid in wait for her Tommy on Garrison Lane. She was bored and full of breakfast, needing weapons and wearing a new pair of boots. She'd found the shoes waiting for her, exactly her size and shinier than she'd ever seen, right outside her and Finn's bedroom door this morning.

They'd been from her Tommy. She was sure they were. But Tommy'd been out by the time she'd woken, and so she'd been on the prowl for him ever since.

She wanted him to give her a razor blade. She wanted to see what he was up to. She wanted him to tell her a story like Polly said he would. She wanted to hold his hand and not feel shy about it. She wanted to thank him for her new boots. She... She wanted.

Della pounced as soon as she saw him approach.

She tripped, she stumbled, and she nearly ran into him when she called, "Orright, Tommy?"

She couldn't see his eyes from the shade of his cap, only the tip of his cigarette as he smoked. He dipped his head with a quick glance shot in her direction, a brief acknowledgement.

"Orright, Del."

The gravel crunched under their feet as she jogged alongside him, having to quicken her pace to match his long and steady strides. He always had a walk that said he was on a mission; he had important things to attend to and there was nothing else on his mind. Del liked that.

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Business."

"What business?"

"None of yours."

The little girl huffed but continued on unfettered. Tommy would have to try harder than that to rid himself of Del. He'd been giving it a good effort, truth be told, for close to a year now. He seemed determined to distance himself from her. Distance meant safety, for his daughter and for himself. But he had to admire her stubbornness, didn't he? She was a Shelby through and through.

Della just couldn't let Tommy go.

"Well, where youse goin'?"

"To places you've no business being."

"Sure now?" It took everything within her not to tug on his sleeve, "I can come, Tommy?"

"No."

"Ah—,"

"Back home now." Tommy's tone was not harsh, exactly, but it certainly didn't leave room for argument, "Go on."

Del stopped, went silent, and watched him disappear down the street into the Garrison.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

For a lack of better options, Della obeyed. Albeit begrudgingly. It was 'bout lunch time when she wandered in on her uncle Arthur, grunting and groaning, bleeding on a hard—backed chair. The whole kitchen was in disarray. Polly was looking over his twisted hand and Ada (now awake) was boiling water over the open fire. Her eldest uncle looked a sight, covered in blood and bruises and broken skin. Feet frozen and eyes stuck wide, Della's grip tightened on Georgie's football under her arm.

"Bloody hell!" She exclaimed 'fore she could think better of it.

Everyone seemed to jump — which made poor Uncle Arthur wince, and they all turned towards the little girl standing by the entrance with wide eyes.

"John..." Polly looked at her nephew, subtly nodding her head towards Del.

"Orright, little trouble, off you go..."

Making a nod back, John straightened from his spot and took Della's shoulders in his hands, trying to steer her round and back towards the exit. Not seeming to notice, Del peered round his side and pushed his suit coat from blocking her view.

"What's happened to Uncle Arthur?"

"Nothin'." Uncle John cleared his throat, grappling for a good excuse, "He, uh, he fell down."

Del rolled her big eyes, If you believe that, you'd believe anything.

Wearing her best shite—eating grin, the near six year old stayed peeking round John's side, "Fell down on someone's fist, did you, Uncle Arthur?"

"Cheeky little shite..." Arthur groaned as Polly began poking at his fingers.

John laughed, chucking her chin, "Like her dad."

Della shrugged, quite proud of such a response.

Heaving a weary sigh that came from deep within herself, Polly finally nodded her over, "If you're so set on stayin', Adeline Shelby, make yourself useful and come help me hold this."

Dropping the football without a second thought, Del dashed to her aunt and stood on her tiptoes to peer down at her uncle's twisted and broken hand. It was a gruesome sight, make no mistake, it didn't bother Del so much but. She wanted to help fix it, make it right again. Following Pol's instructions, she held a small wooden board to keep Arthur's fingers straight while her aunt slowly began wrapping white cloth round it.

"Good girl, Lamb, hold it steady. Deep breaths, Arthur."

Checking the water in the kettle, Ada called over her shoulder, "John, wipe the blood out of his eye."

John smirked round his toothpick, still leaning in the doorway, "Since when did you give orders?"

"I'm a trained nurse—,"

"Don't make me laugh!" Arthur coughed out a chuckle, still wincing as he did, "It hurts me face."

"I bloody am!" Ada snapped indignantly.

"You went to one first aid class in the church hall and got thrown out for gigglin'."

Della herself giggled and John winked from across the kitchen.

Uncle John was all right. Del liked him a whole lot.

Maybe he'd give her a razor blade if she asked.

With a huff, Ada picked up the kettle and began to pour it into a bowl, "Not before I learned how to stop somebody from choking."

"I'm not bloody choking, am I?"

Ada's eyes narrowed at her eldest brother, "You will be when I wrap this cloth round your neck!"

Just then, Tommy entered with the bottle of rum and all at once, the mood shifted. Del scooted closer to her aunt Polly, still a little put out by being dismissed earlier. Her father didn't seem to notice.

"Let me see him!" He strode through the room with purpose, immediately soaking a cloth in the rum, "Give me that, have this. You're orright."

Del peeked carefully up at Tommy while he methodically squeezed the cloth into a bowl of pink water, his work quick and efficient as he began applying it to the worst of his brother's open wounds. Arthur swiped the bottle and threw back a long sip, the sting of the alcohol hurting his mouth.

He hissed and groaned and grabbed Tommy's wrist, "He said Mister Churchill sent him to Birmingham. National interest, he said. Somethin' about a robbery."

Robbery? Robberies happened all the time in Birmingham. That wasn't anything special. Del watched confusedly as Tommy paused, cigarette still between his lips. Polly turned sharply to glare at her da who stepped back a bit, not at all reacting.

"He said he wants us to help 'im."

John looked absolutely offended at the implication but Della piped up 'fore he could say anything, "We don't help coppers."

They all turned to look at her, small and indignant.

John was pleased, she could tell, and when he smirked, she smirked back. But no one else was giving her a reaction — nothing she could easily read, anyway.

"Orright?" She murmured suddenly, turning a bit pink.

There was a beat of silence where they all turned to Tommy. He still didn't react, his sharp eyes darting between his daughter and brother but. The urge to fidget was far too much to stand now. She bit her lip and then her thumbnail, tapping her foot and wiggling in her dress. Tommy's gaze never strayed.

Pol saved her like she always did, offering her a small smile, "Orright, Lamb."

Del breathed a subtle sigh of relief.

Tommy's lips pursed.

"He knew all about our war records. Said we're patriots. Like him. Wants us to be his eyes and ears. I said..." Arthur suddenly hissed in pain and Della whispered an apology 'fore Polly nodded her to keep going, "I said we'd have a family meeting, take a vote."

The two men stared at each other. Tommy said nothing. Arthur took another swig.

"Well, why not? Hmm?" He continued staring, "We've no truck with Fenians or communists."

Polly and Tommy were still silent, but Arthur was studying Del's da, the room full of only his heavy breaths.

"What's wrong with you?" He snapped round to Pol, and Del by proximity, "What the f—ck is wrong with him lately?"

Del flinched and Tommy sucked in a sharp, nearly pained breath through his nose. The girl glanced quickly up at her da, biting on her bottom lip. He was avoiding her eyes and grinding his teeth, still silent and lost in his head. Lost wherever his mind was taking him.

Del just wished he'd take her with him.

Polly peered at Tommy for a long bitter moment, "If I knew, I'd buy the cure from Compton's chemists."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Now years later, when Greta was long dead and Tommy had changed beyond recognition, he walked into the Garrison to find a pretty blonde barmaid singing. All heads turned away. The pianist stopped playing. The patrons buried their faces into their beer. All the men stopped their singing.

The barmaid barely faltered; she hadn't realised what she'd done, what kind of line she'd crossed. And when the song had reached its end, they'd all waited with bated breath to see what the infamous Thomas Shelby would do.

Finally, Harry dared speak up, "We haven't had singin' in here since the war."

Then silence.

"Why d'you think that is, Harry?"

Tommy led his brother to the snug and the door slammed shut behind them.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Even though it'd been close to a year, it did not mean these newcomers to her home didn't frighten Adeline sometimes.

Her uncle Arthur was no less quiet during the night than he was during the day. He'd return home from the Garrison in the middle of the night, completely pissed, stumbling into walls and knocking over lamps, yelling and cursing somethin' shocking.

But that was nothing compared to the nightmares.

Sometimes they'd go for hours, Uncle Arthur's nightmares. And he'd scream.

Tonight, like many nights, Arthur had everybody rushing to his bedroom, Tommy got there first, doing everythin' he could to push the kids back from the doorway.

"Del, Finn, you stay back—," Tommy pointed sternly at them, "Polly, get them to bed."

Their aunt came behind them, her hands resting on each of their shoulders, trying to redirect them from Arthur's bedroom.

"Orright sweethearts." Pol was murmuring, so very firm but still in a voice that said she was just as uncertain as they were, "Thomas is handling it, time for bed."

Finn was always easier for Pol to win over, and he tried to set an example for his niece, deciding to take charge and lead her back to their shared bedroom. Del couldn't seem to move but, her feet hardening onto the floor, like concrete.

Her father was hovering over her uncle's bed now, Arthur writhing and hissing as Tommy tried to shake him back to reality.

"Wake up, man, you're not in France!" His voice was hoarse, whether from sleep or from fear Del couldn't know, "You're back in Small Heath, Arthur! Just f—cking wake up—,"

And then came the fist. Flying, quick, and utterly brutal when Tommy, too caught up in his own exhaustion and nightmares, copped it upon the chin. Del let out a cry, and Polly was back in a flash, gasping while she scooped the girl up and into her arms.

Arthur shot awake the moment his fist made contact, already apologising, like somehow he'd known he did wrong without even needing to detect the details.

"Tommy?" He was sweating, gasping for air, "Ah f—ck, Tom, I'm sorry—,"

"It's orright, Arthur, you were only dreaming." Tommy grumbled from the floorboards, cradling his aching jaw, "You got me a sore one."

A quiet sniffle got their attention, and both men turned to find Del hanging off of Polly with wide teary eyes. The poor thing was near shaking in her aunt's hold, arms wrapped round Pol's neck so tight, she was certain to strangle her. Tommy felt something twist in his gut, and Arthur collapsed back into the bed in shame.

"Go on to bed, Lamb..."

Polly gingerly convinced the girl to let go her neck and then tip—toe into the bedroom, not before she'd glanced back numerous times but.

Once the door was well and truly shut, Arthur was spewing once again, "F—cking hell, I'm sorry, brother—,"

"It's orright—,"

"Didn't mean to scare the little one—,"

"I said it's orright, Arthur!" Tommy snapped, getting frustrated, not knowing why.

Della didn't need to see that.

Tommy hadn't wanted her to see that.

And suddenly he was roaring, "And why the h—ll didn't you take her to bed when I told you to, Polly?!"

"Oi, don't you take that tone with me, Thomas!" Polly would take none of his shite, she never did, "Our Della's a little girl, and you've both scared her. There's screamin' in this house, and she wants to understand it."

Tommy sighed, the hand that was once massaging his jaw now massaging the headache building behind his eyes. "She's still little, she doesn't need to understand—,"

"She already does."

The room went silent; Arthur still coming down, Tommy grinding his teeth, Polly shakily trying to light a cigarette.

And then, without warning, she snapped, "Are you in, or are you out, Thomas?"

Tommy stood to his feet much like a cat, shoulders tightening, eyes going cold, "Pol..."

"No, I need you to say it now. You can't be in it halfway, you can't do that to the poor thing."

"Pol, there's nothing I can do, orright? I'm her dad so I'll say what's best for her, and it's best to just... keep things as they are."

"Just like a man." Polly hissed through her cigarette smoke, "You wanna make all the rules, Thomas, but you don't wanna be there to enforce them, make sure they stick, make sure she knows they're there for a reason."

"She barely knows who I am, how the f—ck am I supposed to enforce them, eh?"

"She's only a little girl, Thomas."

Tommy stared at her, unable to express to her just how wrong she was. Del wasn't only a little girl. She was more than that. So much more, more trouble, more work, more precious. She was his little girl, and this made all the difference.

Polly didn't flinch under his cold glare, "You keep saying you want her to know you're her dad, then you best act like it. You understand?"

"She'll just get the wrong idea."

"The wrong idea?"

She was angry now, Pol; and when Polly Gray was angry, there was no one in the whole world who was ever left in doubt.

"I can't be what she wants. I can't be what you want either, Pol. Just leave it, eh?"

And leave it, Polly did. She walked out the room and slammed her door shut with a startling bang. And Tommy followed not far behind.

There would be no one in the house who slept well after that.

It wasn't like Tommy to wake screaming. Not often, not much at all. He woke from his nightmares in a silent fervor instead, shot upwards in a sweat and a muted scream. His chest heaved and he shivered through the coolness of the room and the dampness on his skin.

He hadn't slept for long, an hour or so at most. There'd been a nightmare, the shovels against the wall, the feeling of wet cold mud collapsing on top of him, pinning him to the bed, filling up his lungs with dirt instead of oxygen. He could still smell the mud. Could still hear the shovels. The fringe of his hair was damp and pressed to his forehead with sweat, and he rubbed his fingers harshly over his eyes, trying to calm his wild breathing.

Not whiskey, not cigarettes, not even the opium pipe had helped.

He wasn't consciously sure what would, but something deep down inside of him, something instinctual, did instead. Tommy'd stumbled from his bedroom, aimlessly, uselessly. He felt out of his body, unable to feel his fingertips or feet yet, numb to everything but the terror in his chest.

Tommy wasn't sure why he'd ended up in Del and Finn's bedroom. It didn't make sense, none of it did. The shovels were too loud but, and maybe he needed to convince himself it wasn't the enemy on the other side, they hadn't gotten to his daughter, no one'd hurt her while he was gone and away and fighting a war that she didn't even understand.

At first, he thought she was sleeping, looking smaller and younger somehow now. She had such a big personality, such strong opinions, and such a loud voice for someone still so little. Sometimes he forgot she really was only a little girl.

But the closer he stepped to the bed, Tommy realised that Del wasn't asleep at all. No, she was singing a lullaby to herself, trying to soothe herself back to sleep.

"Bye—lo, baby, bye—lo baby bye
Daddy still loves you, Daddy still loves you
Daddy still loves you, though he's gone to war..." 

Tommy not so much as sat down on the edge of her bed as crumbled, his knees giving out, unable to support his weight anymore. Del flinched and turned when she felt his knee bump her back. He watched while she pushed aside messy curls to peer at him through the darkness and the moonlight peering in through the window.

His Della didn't say anything, content to just gaze at him, study him like he was a stranger she was trying to remember. He swayed slightly, lips parting to say something, anything to her, really. He couldn't think of even a single thing at all.

There was a distinct cracking in her voice, like she'd been crying, "Did Uncle Arthur hurt you real bad, Tommy?"

He cleared his throat, choosing to ignore the slip of his name.

"Nah." Tommy tapped his bruising jaw, "Better than it looks, eh?"

Del shifted to better look at him, folding her hands to prop up her chin. His hand twitched to move a curl that fell in her eye, but he forced his hand still.

"That's why you've to listen, Adeline." Tommy's eyes searched her face intently, wanting to make sure she was payin' attention, "Go home when I say. Don't stay out after dark. Stay out of trouble on the street. You've to listen and obey me, else someone could get hurt. Orright?"

"Orright." She murmured softly, but then her head cocked and she asked, "Why'd he hit you but? 'Cause someone didn't obey?"

"Your uncle Arthur was only dreaming, Del. Happens sometimes. When you've seen bad things, they leak into your dreams."

It was the most Tommy could give her under the circumstances, voice slurred a little, eyes straying to gaze at the wall that separated his room with hers and Finn's. Del was silent, seeming to think hard, processing this new bit of information.

"That why Uncle Arthur hit you? 'Cause the nightmares are so scary?" Tommy nodded only a bit, and Del gnawed on the little nail of her thumb, "Do you have nightmares so?"

Tommy's eyes flashed away from the wall, and he didn't respond for a long while. Trying to ignore the shaking in his hands, he lit a cigarette, breathed in the smoke, relished in the relief of the nicotine. Del wouldn't stop looking at him, those piercing blue eyes stuck on him, analyzing him silently.

He had to stop her looking at him like that, before she discovered something that they'd both much rather stay secret.

"Do you, Della?" Tommy finally offered a question instead, only once the cigarette was half gone.

She hesitated, gnawing on her lip now, playing with her blanket.

"Adeline." His daughter looked up to meet his eyes, and Tommy wasn't sure why he pressed, "Do you?"

"Yea..." Del finally whispered, head lolling back onto her pillow to stare at him dully.

Tommy nodded silently back, stubbing out his cigarette on the empty crumby plate at her bedside. Della's eyes wandered to peer up at the ceiling, playing with the frayed threads of her blanket. They sat in silence, father and daughter, Tommy without his cigarette, Del without her lullaby.

He wasn't sure where the question had come from, not at all, but it came pouring out of him all the same:

"Will you sing us to sleep?"

Della blinked, "Youse want me to?"

Tommy nodded slowly, like he wasn't sure she'd allow it, like he wasn't sure he wanted it.

A small smile carefully worked its way onto his daughter's lips, "Orright."

"Yea?"

"Yea."

He gently tapped her shoulder and she eagerly obliged, if not surprisedly. Del scooted 'cross the bed and towards the wall to give him room to stretch out beside her. He rolled his shoulders back against the headboard, legs crossing one over the other. Del hurriedly snagged the blanket and then tossed it over the both of them, Tommy's hands lightly bumping hers as he worked to straighten it for her.

When her head was tucked into her pillow and her eyes were closed, Del softly began to sing.

"He misses Baby, he misses Baby
He misses Baby, he will be home soon
Bye—lo, baby, bye—lo, baby
Bye—lo, baby, bye—lo baby bye."

Tommy closed his eyes too, gently slipping down further on the small bed, letting his head rest on the pillow beside his daughter's.

He couldn't let himself rest like this. There was so much he had yet to do. He'd have a think. He'd have a think about the guns he stole. About Pol's demand to throw them in the Cut. About the full moon passing. He ought to get rid of them, leave them on the bank of the Cut. He knew he should. He knew Arthur would. They'd say he'd lost his f—cking mind. But he hadn't. Not really. With the army of coppers they sent over, they'd shown their hand. They would have to pay. And they would have to pay him. And then he could give his daughter what she deserved. That was the right thing to do. He'd have a think.

After a moment's debating, Del seemed to curl up closer, her bony knees pressing into his ribs, her chin brushing against his shoulder.

He shouldn't allow it. He shouldn't let her think he could be the sort of father she wanted, the sort she deserved. He'd just disappoint her. Disappoint them both. He should push her away. He should get up, walk out the room, and close the door firmly behind him. Instead, he let an arm drape over her, made sure she was close and safe.

"Daddy was wounded, don't you worry, Baby
Daddy was wounded, but he holds to you
Daddy cries for you, Daddy prays for you
Daddy is crying, but he thinks of you..."

And side—by—side, there would be no nightmares tonight.

━━━━━━ annie speaks ━━━━━━

i'm not crying, you are. they make me so soft, i can't handle it. and polly is amazing; she's the only one who can get away with telling tommy he's being an idiot, lol. also, did anyone catch my itty bitty piece of foreshadowing i sprinkled in? it gets mentioned more during series 2 and the gets super important through series 3 onward. anyone have a guess of what it is??

so this was a bit of a shorter chapter than usual, but i hope it was still okay! we're definitely just laying the foundations for tommy and del at this point, but their growing relationship means everything to me. these little hints at softness between them are far and few between, but they warm my heart. remember these sweet lil times, guys, we're going to need them when the going gets rough, lol. anyway, what were your thoughts for this chapter?! i'm dying to know

fun fact, what del sings at the end is a real lullaby. the more you know!

and finally, up next sunday: del has her first encounter with inspector chester campbell!! big yikes