𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈.
little trouble, big trouble
❝ YOU'RE HALF OF ME, TOO ❞

BIRMINGHAM,
ENGLAND 1919

♜ ━━━━━ TROUBLE WAS COMING.

Della just didn't know it yet.

She'd not seen Uncle Arthur in an age, and he was strange and secretive when she did. Ada was gone, buried in some rat hole or something, with her baby. Freddie was in prison. Pol was tense and silent which meant she was stewing over something ugly. Finn was still busy gettin' to know useless b—stard and she couldn't begrudge him that. Everyone was calling her own da a selfish b—stard, what right did she have to judge him? And Tommy had been off and about God knew where, leaving her to stew in emotions she had no understanding of.

Del told Tommy she wanted him to do the dad thing, for her. After meeting Arthur Senior — the useless b—stard, she understood why he'd felt he'd not had an example. Still, she just wanted him to be there. To try for her. But after that night in the Garrison, he hadn't tried to speak to her. Or argue with her. He hadn't even tried to explain it to her.

Now, Della didn't know what to think.

The one benefit of everyone being so consumed with 'adult business' was that no one seemed to care what Del got up.

Even if it was a h—ll of a lot of nothin'.

Which was good, she supposed, because she was there when Finn burst into the sitting room, the door slamming shut behind him. Del was laid out on her belly, sighing frequently and flipping through a racing magazine rather dejectedly. Her best friend took one look at her before he dashed across the room, grabbed hold of her hand, and hauled her to her feet.

"You gotta go, there's gonna be trouble, Tommy says." Finn was talking too fast, it was hard to process it all, "He says I'm to look after ya."

"Trouble?" This didn't stir the same sort of excitement as it used to, "What sort of trouble?"

"Only said he's gonna be gone for a while."

Tommy'd been gone before. More than a while — a long time, so longer that Del couldn't even remember him. He'd been gone but he'd come back. She hadn't known him and hadn't known enough to miss him before, but she'd missed him now. Now she knew what and who she was missing.

Her voice was so small, "For how long?"

"Dunno. Just a while."

She stood numbly in the sitting room, simply staring at the wall where their photographs still sat on the mantle. She was only a baby in those photos, from before the war and he'd gone away the first time. She wondered how old she'd be the next time he came home again. As if hearing something she didn't, Finn glanced out the window and his eyes went wide as moons.

"Sh—t! The police are in the lane already!" Del stared at him blankly when he rushed back over to her, "I gotta go warn Tommy, orright?!"

"I'll come..." She murmured dully, "I'll tell him too—,"

"No, you stay outta trouble. Hide!" He was turning her round and pushing her towards the stairs, "Don't want them to find you either, yea?"

"Yea," she was breathless.

"Go, Della! Hide!"

Finn slipped out the back exit just as Del sprinted up the stairs as fast she could. She'd just made it to her bedroom when the coppers broke down the front door. They barged into her home, throwing pictures off walls, overthrowing their furniture. They moved through the house and the shop too, Del could hear them. She dropped to her stomach and crawled under her bed, hand swiping the ground to snag her small box of treasures. She dragged the little wooden thing out and threw open the lid to find what she was looking for.

With the adults all busy, Della'd finally managed to steal herself a razor blade, intent on impressing her gang, not realising she would actually need it to fight.

She gripped the thing in her hand and nodded to herself.

She'd not go quietly, if she went at all.

Then, Del hopped to her feet and boosted up the window, shimmying herself out. She called upon second nature once again. She jumped up to the gutter and pulled herself onto the filthy drainpipe above. On her feet, she got on her tiptoes and climbed onto the roof. She was the best at rooftop running, even better than Finn, but the world was covered in mist tonight. Everything was slick and dangerous. So, she abandoned her shoes and her toes curled at the frigid concrete of the outside pipes and shingles.

Below, coppers were everywhere.

That was all right.

She'd go to the stables, where it was safe, where Charlie and Curly always made space for her. She might not have Tommy, but she'd find someone to look after her. Anyone who'd be willing, really.

Del ran along a few more rooftops 'til she found her usual alley to drop into. Sludge squished between her cold toes, and she kicked her feet to free herself from the mud before skipping onward. She'd need to hurry. Her stomach was growling and she desperately needed Uncle Charlie to give her a good feed.

In her hunger, Del'd dropped her guard, let her mind give in to distraction.

The girl hadn't seen it coming.

"Why, look who it is..."

A massive hand suddenly hooked round Del's forearm and yanked her nearly off her feet. She yelped and fought to regain her balance, feet desperately grappling for the ground beneath her. She spun on her bare heels and tried to rip free, but the grip was far too strong, nearly bruising. She tried to run anyway, but her one exit out of the alleyway was blocked by the massive hand and its owner, his blue uniform stretched tight across his broad shoulders.

Del sucked in a sharp breath. A copper.

"Oh, no you don't, little Shelby."

The girl winced, freezing. The copper didn't sound like he was from round Birmingham, must've been one of the new coppers from Belfast who'd come over with Inspector Campbell. One of the ones looking for her Tommy. This was bad. Very bad. Del forced a dry swallow. The big shape of the man was looming over her, swallowing up the head of the alley.

"Don't ya know it's much too dark out for little lasses such as yerself to be running around?"

It was past Del's curfew; she had never feared the dark before but. Not 'til now. Not 'til she got a copper keeping her captive in an alleyway. Not 'til Tommy was nowhere to be found. Del fisted her shaking hands into her nightdress, toes curling into the mud as she forced herself to meet his gaze unflinchingly.

"What's wrong?" The copper chuckled, the alcohol on his breath making her stomach churn, "Cat's got your tongue, does it, little Shelby?"

She'd just have to talk her way out of it. She could do that, right. She did for most things.

"That's not—you..." The words were near impossible drag up from her throat, "That ain't me, Mister—,"

His rumbling chuckles could barely be heard over the ringing in her ears, "Good try, little Shelby, but I've seen ya with that gyspy scum of a family. I know yer Thomas' little b—stard." At her sudden glare, his grip tightened painfully, "Now, where is he? Eh?"

Del said nothing, big eyes darting all over his face but lips sealed tightly shut. She didn't know where her da was, and even if she did, she'd not say a word. She wouldn't give the b—stard her Tommy. Not when she just got him back. Not when he relied on her. A Peaky Blinder wouldn't be so weak as to betray him like that. Della'd be like one of those brave heroes in the story books or in the pictures. The copper could interrogate her all he liked, she'd not give him a f—cking thing.

Instead, Del gathered all the spit she could and spewed it onto his face.

He stepped back and swore before he snarled down at her.

"Stubborn brat." The copper grabbed hold of Del's dress and shook her 'til her baby teeth rattled, "Be a good girl and tell me where the f—cker's hiding. Or I'll cut ya up into pieces so small there'll be nothin' left for those wagons you gypsies like to burn."

The girl's face paled and her chest heaved with sudden terror, gaze locked on his shadowy face. Against her will, she felt the bitter betrayal of tears burning in her big eyes. The copper trailed a single dirtied nail along her cheek, catching a tear she hadn't meant to let loose. Del trembled under his clammy touch, trying and failing to squirm away. With a low growl, the man spun her round and slammed her hard against the wall, the bunch of her dress pressed into the soft skin of her throat.

Black crowded into Della's vision as she fought back the panic.

He'd be so sorry. He'd regret it so. She was a f—ckin' Shelby, and she was a Peaky Blinder, too. Or nearly. Her da would make him sorry. He'd use the razor blades hidden in his cap and this copper would be sorry.

The girl gasped for breath, trying so hard to sound brave, to sound like a Shelby, "D—Don't you f—ckin' touch me, you pig..."

"Now, now." The copper tsked, pinching her cheek, "Little lasses like yerself shouldn't use such language. Didn't yer father teach ya any better?" She growled and her eyes burned with angry tears, "Leave ya all alone, does he? Abandons ya and lets ya run wild? Someone ought to civilise ya."

He struck her across the face, so shockingly hard she nearly fell but for his grip on her dress.

"Get off me—!" A little voice screeched.

"Teach ya manners," another smack, "Show ya how to be a good girl," and another, "Show ya what it's like to have a real father!"

Tommy would come for her.

He'd come. He'd make him stop.

Del kicked and writhed so much, the copper dropped her to the ground so her head collided against the hard concrete with a sickening thud. Her vision swirled. On her knees, she dragged in a breath and listened to her own yelps and his grunts above her. She watched the whirlpool of the sky and his face and the stacks of the BSA factory. She tried to get up, but he dragged her back to rain down more punishment, trying to smack the information from her little body.

She could lie. She could make up a story like she had so many times 'fore. But she wouldn't give the b—stard the satisfaction. She'd keep her silence as long as she could. It didn't last very long.

She didn't mean to, she didn't mean to say anything at all, but the words were broken out of her 'til she was shrieking, "Tommy! Tommy—!"

Tommy would be coming.

He'd be here, any second, any moment now.

Fight back, her mind demanded, but no matter what she tried, she couldn't. Della was only six and skinny as a whittled broom handle. She'd no chance. No chance at all. He'd be so ashamed of her, Tommy would. She was so ashamed of herself. Her muscles had locked up; a high—pitched whine of terror filled her head. Her palm was sweaty, fisted round the razor that she gripped and regripped, reminding she had the blade with her in the first place.

She could take his eyes.

Like Tommy, like John, like Arthur. Like a Peaky Blinder.

Pinned in place, hands shaking, Della gripped the blade tighter, squeezed her eyes shut, and made a vicious slice of the razor.

The copper screamed. He screamed loud.

Del didn't know where she'd cut him — she didn't even know if she'd got his eyes; it didn't matter but. There was blood everywhere. Pouring from his body and onto hers. He dropped her back onto the earth and once more, her head smacked sickly against the pavement.

She didn't let herself feel the pain this time.

The girl fumbled and tripped and forced herself into a sprint. She didn't know where she was going or how she was going to get there; she just had to get away but. As his screams died out behind her, Del's vision grew darker and darker 'til she was clawing at the walls to move anywhere at all. Blood discoloured her lips. It would soon be dried across her teeth. Her head was spinning and her limbs had gone numb.

Del didn't realise she'd fallen 'til she was on the ground.

Red marks like handprints covered her little body. They burned as they grew larger, forming dark patches on her skin while she lay there, in the mud and the grime and the shadows. Her breathing shallowed, and a stray crystal tear streaked down her little face. She could feel herself shivering and twisted against the ground. An arm. A knee. An ankle. A cheek. Cold. She was so cold and so alone, all alone, and she was unable to move.

She wasn't some storybook hero. She wasn't a Peaky Blinder. She didn't even deserve to be a Shelby. And just as the darkness consumed her, Della had one last thought:

Tommy hadn't come for her.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The next morning, Tommy opened the door and entered the house at 6 Watery Lane.

Feeling lighter than he had in years, he breezed through the hallway and into the parlour where Polly stood with John and Esme, giving orders of what and how to clean up the mess. The house was a disaster and no mistake, picture frames off the wall and furniture overturned. Less damage than when the Lee's sacked it, true, but it didn't sit well that it'd happened twice on his watch in a matter of mere weeks.

Tommy sighed a greeting, "Orright?"

"There's trouble with Arthur." Polly shot a pointed glance to the others present in the room, "We'll discuss it later."

Of course there bloody was. Why wouldn't there be trouble with Arthur?

Last night, for the first time since returning from France, Tommy'd finally felt something other than guilt or anger or absolutely nothing. He'd slept deeply in Grace's arms, hazy morning light drifting from her window, and he didn't need the opium or whiskey to chase away the dreams because there were no shovels to be heard. He'd had peace. A promise of help. With all of it.

And of course now there was trouble with bloody Arthur.

On top of his trouble with Adeline.

"Right..." Tommy sighed again, pulling off his cap and tucking it in his suit coat, "And how's Della gotten out of cleaning this mess, eh?"

He wasn't surprised, really. His daughter always managed to talk her way out of messes.

"Della?" Polly slowly straightened, her face twisting into something he didn't care for at all. "Thought she was with you, Thomas."

For a moment, Tommy did nothing. Just nothing at all. A very strange feeling arose in his chest. Like his heart was sinking. Or his lungs constricting. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. In a flash of movement, Tommy stumbled back and then sprinted upstairs, two steps at a time. He dashed from room to room, calling her name louder and louder with each space he found empty of her presence.

Nothing. No one. Nowhere.

"F—ck!" Tommy roared, smacking both hands against her open window frame as he rasped for breath.

Little Del out there all alone. While he'd been in bed with a barmaid, while he'd been busy getting himself off, he'd abandoned her. He'd been distant. He'd ignored her. He'd told Finn to look after her and then he'd not spared another thought for her all alone in the house. He'd f—cked off and he'd left his little daughter to fend for herself. Really, how was he any better than his own father? He wasn't. He couldn't be.

"I'm gonna keep her so safe, Greta."

The man shook his head to fight away the memory. His hands clenched into fists before he whirled round and rushed back down the stairs.

"Tommy!" Finn was already halfway up them, gasping and sweating and doe—eyed, "I sent her t' hide. When the coppers came, I sent her..."

Polly turned away, pressing a hand to her lips to muffle her prayers and curses. His little brother looked near tears while Esme and John peered up at him with matching pairs of confused eyes. Tommy growled to himself and thundered down the rest of the stairs, already moving for the exit. He'd find her. He'd hunt her down. He'd hold her and tell her he'd been worried sick and he'd not let her out of his sight again.

The door creaked open.

They'd all been ready to look for her, Tommy with his coat halfway on and Polly, Finn, John, and Esme right behind him when Adeline pushed into the front room. They stopped, her family did, watching when Del slowly closed the door behind her. No one said anything. Who could find the words? Tommy just stood there, staring at the little girl, covered head to toe in blood and bruises, her bottom lip quivering.

She looked surprised to see him there.

Almost as surprised as he was.

Della took one step and then she was crumbling right there in the parlour.

Polly caught her 'fore she could hit the ground, her dress immediately stained with blood as she cradled his daughter close to her chest. Immediately, their aunt set to comforting. Searching her for injuries. Checking for a concussion.

This was one mess she hadn't been able to talk her way out of.

Still caught with his coat half on, Tommy's arms hung uselessly at his sides, eyes locked on his daughter, unable to move, unable to speak. Pathetic excuse of a man, once more his mind accused, Pathetic excuse of a father. His blood was roaring in his ears, drowning out any words he could possibly have to say. He felt spikes of ice shoot up the center of his chest, freezing him form the inside out. The numbness spread 'til he couldn't feel anything below the neck, like his limbs weren't his own. Tommy stiffly lowered himself into a crouch across from them, eyes stuck on her little purple and blue face.

He finally ground out through his teeth, "Who?"

"Tommy, just wait," Pol warned him, a hand rubbing between her shoulder blades comfortingly.

Rage came sudden and strong, burning away the numbness 'til he thought he might combust. In that instant, he was back to roaring again, voice cracking when he demanded, "Who the f—ck was it, Adeline?!"

Del flinched at his tone and Polly snapped at him viciously, "Thomas!"

He ignored her, ordering, "Adeline."

"S'copper, from Belfast," whispered his daughter, face hidden away in Polly's chest, "Lookin' for youse."

He went silent, eyes burning in their sockets.

She hid her face further, insisting, "Didn't tell him nothin', swear I didn't."

"We know, Lamb." Polly hummed, eyeing him over her head, "We know, don't we, Thomas?"

His fault, then. Of course it was. Whose else would it be? Her words weren't much to go off of, but it would be enough. Tommy looked back at John who already was brandishing his gun. His jaw clenched. His eyes gleamed. He was hungry for violence in a way he'd never had before. He couldn't protect her. He couldn't comfort her. So he'd do the only thing he could for her, and that was find revenge.

Tommy sharply stood, pulled on his coat the rest of the way, and then he was gone.

Things became very odd.

Del's vision was splotchy, flashes of black invading her sight with every other breath. It made all things go in slow motion so time was disjointed and distant, moving round Della rather than her with it. With the men gone from the house, there was business to take care of. Finn was trembling and wide—eyed, mumbling all sorts of apologies that had Pol hushing. Esme set off to make a cuppa and care for the kids. In the meantime, Polly scooped the girl into her arms and moved them upstairs.

It'd been a bit since Della needed so much help while bathing. Sure, she'd need the occasional supervision to ensure she'd not drowned or taken to making waves in the water which she'd done more than once.

But this, this was different.

She'd not received this sort of treatment in an age.

With warm hands, Polly stripped the little girl of her bloodied torn clothing and then gently eased her into the copper bathtub. In an instant, the girl was jumping at the sharp change of temperature, suddenly clinging onto Polly like a little monkey, clawing and afraid to be put down.

"It's orright, Lamb." Polly blinked through the water splashing on her face, "Just a bath, just some water, it's orright."

It took a moment, and then another, but Della's death grip eventually loosened just a bit, enough to sink into the fullness of the tub.

"Would you like bubbles, Sweetheart?"

Del very barely shook her head.

"No?" Pol feigned shock, "How's a song, then? I'll sing the lad, if you'd like."

The girl did nothing. She'd shriveled up, Della did, curled into a ball like she did when there was too much noise in the house, when she was overwhelmed by the unfamiliarity of her father and uncles.

There'd be no bubbles nor singin' tonight.

With a small nod, Polly very slowly set to work, knowing Della'd flinch whenever she made any quick movements. Her aunt set aside the usual rough brush that was necessary to scrub the girl of the grime and grit from her days out on the town. Instead, Polly used the softest cloth she could find to gently wipe away any dirt and crusted blood that'd sullied Del's golden skin.

"You are very brave, Lamb."

Polly's smile was wet, and her eyes looked to be swimming, but when she spoke in those low gentle tones, it didn't shake or wane. Del said nothing, legs drawn up to her flat chest, chin resting atop her kneecaps.

It was as if nothing could reach her, shut up in that colourful little mind of hers.

After a while, there was a knock, and when Polly said, the door opened just slightly to reveal Del's very tired—looking da on the other side. There was very little evidence on him; just some spots of blood on his collar and cuffs. It was enough to prove that punishment for f—cking with a Shelby had been carried out.

Their aunt sighed, a bit of sharpness still in her tone, "Come in, Thomas."

Tommy'd eased his way in through the halfway open door, entering the small room like one might a den of hungry lions. He managed to look at his daughter — just, a frown forming thin wrinkles round his mouth when he took in the sight of the small bruised girl in the tub. His hands slipped into his pockets and then out of them again, like they suddenly weren't certain what to do with themselves. There were circles beneath Tommy's big eyes, so dark they were nearly black.

The reassurance that she was more or less in one piece wasn't enough compared to the pure unadulterated rage he'd felt when he'd tracked down the copper who'd done this. It wasn't hard to find him, not really. They had witnesses all over Small Heath. Scouts who heard rumors. Insiders in the police force who reported which coppers had been out late, came back with a cut face, boasted bruised knuckles with no arrest to show for it. Vengeance was sweet, but not as sweet as seeing her now. Home and safe. It was the sort of relief that the man hadn't had since the first time he saw her at all.

Finally, Tommy croaked, "Orright?"

"Don't know." Polly ran a hand down Del's wet hair, "Hasn't said a word, poor thing."

There was a beat of slow pained silence.

Then, "I'll finish in here, Pol."

Polly blinked once, then again, uncertain whether she'd heard right.

For Tommy to volunteer to do anything involving the general day—to—day care of Della was a sure fire sign the world was meeting its end.

"You're certain?"

Tommy nodded once, sharp and stern.

Polly looked nearly ready to cry again, that watery smile back in place 'fore she stood up and away. Kneeling in her place, Tommy rolled up his white shirt sleeves and pushed his hair off his forehead. Clearing his throat, he took the dripping cloth from her hand and set about wiping Della's swollen bruised face. Staring dully at the worn wooden wall, the poor girl didn't even seem to notice the change of caretakers.

Polly stopped by the door, pausing once to glance at them.

"We'll be orright, Pol," Tommy reassured without looking back.

The door clicked quietly behind them, and Tommy allowed himself to concentrate in silence. The blood was comin' off rather easily, flaking and seeping into the water until it'd become a very faint hue of red. His hands ghosted over the parts of her face that looked foreign and not her own, purpled and swelling. They'd heal, he was sure, it'd take time but.

Della still hadn't reacted, and it left a cold feeling in the pit of his gut like an ice cube that numbed up his insides and refused to melt.

Shell—shocked. That's what this was. It had to be. He'd seen it enough times, in France, when the truth of what they'd been seeing set in and they realised, all too cruelly, that their reality was nothin' more than a nightmare. It twisted him deep inside, knowing that what the boys called the Flanders Blues somehow still touched the very thing he'd left behind to keep safe.

But then Del flinched when he wiped too close to her bruised eye, her whole body jerking in reaction to the touch. Tommy froze and sat back on his hunches, a dripping hand cradling the back of her head so she'd calm.

"Sorry, Della."

She started shaking then, shivering in the rapidly cooling water of the bath.

Della, all at once, became aware of the dull throbbing across the side of her face, and the sudden cold sting on the open wounds when the air caught. She looked a little tearful all of the sudden, like the sting had brought her back to life. Tommy was suddenly terrified she'd cry, but almost more terrified she wouldn't.

"Will you say something?"

She whispered under her breath, Della did, wiping at her dripping nose with the back of her hand.

"Eh?"

His daughter didn't repeat herself. Instead, she chewed on her bottom lip, little shoulders trembling from the cold and the pain. She was just so fragile, Del, and so clever for such a young girl, how she couldn't've known better than to stand up to some mad b—stard didn't seem possible.

"Why didn't you lie, Della?" Leaning over the edge of the copper tub, Tommy held her chin between his thumb and forefinger, "Eh? Why didn't you just lie to 'im?"

"Weren't gonna give him anythin', wanted to be brave." She sniffled, voice thick with phlegm and with tears, "Wanted to be like you, Tommy."

"Didn't I tell you, eh? Why you should never pretend to be me."

Finally, those blue eyes that looked just too big on a face that small turned to look up at him, "But... you're half of me."

Tommy was taken aback.

It didn't matter if he was a pathetic excuse of a man, a pathetic excuse of a father; she didn't care about that. Del just wanted him, no matter how pathetic, how violent, how distant. He felt he should say something back — anything, really. There had to be words to say, to a little girl who he should've protected, who he had made promises to, who needed somethin' he could never give her. There had to be words. He just didn't have them. Tommy's insides felt as if they'd been scraped raw, and he frowned when his coarse thumb trailed over the bright bruises on her cheekbones.

"Didn't hurt?"

"It did, yea."

Tommy didn't understand. It didn't make sense, to Tommy, how someone so small and fragile could have such a big sense of bravery and justice within her little body. It wasn't possible. It just wasn't. Nobody raised in their family could have such a heart of gold. Wherever she'd learned her morals... it couldn't've — wouldn't've — been from him.

"You're a hard woman, Adeline Shelby."

He was only sorry she had to be. Sorry that he hadn't been there for her sooner, both in the fight and in her life.

Tommy could feel Del's stare boring into him, making that coldness in his chest expand and spread up into his lungs and heart. Sniffing quietly, he busied himself with wringing out the stained cloth so he could easily avoid her ever—piercing stare.

"What happened, so?"

He curtly shook his head, "That's none of your concern, now."

"Did youse cut the copper's eyes?"

Tommy glanced at her so sharply, it might've been her that got cut instead. She was looking up at him, soaked and bruised, her eyes suddenly huge and sparkling. She said it so matter—of—factly in such a small scratchy voice, it sent chills up the ridges of his spine.

"What do you know of cutting, eh?"

Del blinked at him, quite slow and quite sure.

Tommy understood her meaning without her having to say it. The copper had a cut chin they'd found him, cut as if by a razor. She'd done it. His little Adeline, only six and already with blood on her hands. What she was aiming for — his eyes or his throat, Tommy couldn't be sure he wanted to know.

"Did youse kill him?"

It froze Tommy, cloth in hand, unable to move even at all at the sound of Del's flat little voice. It threw him; he hadn't expected her to ask such a question. It made a man nearly want to throw himself from the rooftop. Tommy closed his eyes and drew in a long shaky breath through his nose.

Then, "Up you come. Come on."

In one swift motion, Tommy pulled Del out from the chilled water and set her on her feet, wrapping a towel round her shivering body. He helped her pull on a too big nightgown that must've once been Ada's and then watched as she tugged on a pair of thick wool socks that looked suspiciously like Finn's.

"Will we go t'sleep?"

As if she couldn't be bothered, Della merely shrugged, though her eyelids hanging low told another story entirely. Always such a cheeky little shite. Tommy took her small hand, guided her to his room, and with a quiet "In you get", tucked her safely beneath the blankets of the narrow cot by the wall. The blankets smelled of smoke and her da, and she buried herself within their warmth.

There was a shout from somewhere downstairs, likely from the shop opening for the morning, the men coming in to make their early bets. A loud bang and scuffle followed, and Del flinched, half her face hidden beneath his blankets. Tommy sat onto the cot beside her, settling a heavy hand on her head.

"It's just noise, Del. Just the music hall band turning up, eh?" Tommy's voice was a low murmur, "Trombones and tubas, that's all. It's just noise, yea?"

Just noise... Yea, Del liked that a lot.

His hand didn't leave her head, and after an awkward moment of lingering, slowly he began to scratch at her scalp. It was a strange sort of thing, not stroking her hair, really, but comforting her in his own sort of way. Her eyelids hung heavy and her lashes fluttered, but she forced them back open, refusing to sleep 'til she'd gotten her answers.

She croaked, "Is the copper dead, Tommy?"

He sharply exhaled, "D'you want a story, Della?"

A story? F—ck's sake. He'd never told her a story, not once in her whole bloody life. His evasion was painfully obvious. Her Tommy had successfully dodged each and every one of her questions like an expert, which by this point he likely was. She'd have no choice but to give in.

"Orright. A scary story."

"No. You've too much scary for one day."

"Wasn't scared, Tommy. Not really." He wasn't convinced, it didn't matter but. She had something else on her mind so when he opened his mouth to tell some sort of shite fairytale, she asked, "Where were youse?"

Tommy looked down at her, expression tensed and unreadable once more. She'd expected him. She'd needed him. And he hadn't come to save her. Del didn't have to say it, though; he already knew. He'd done nothing but imagine that moment she'd cried out for him over and over since he realised she was missing. Tommy sighed and leaned back so his head thunked into the headboard, hazy blue eyes on the wall opposite.

"Not where I should've been, eh?"

Della peered up at him with wide eyes before she sank further in his bed and rested her head against his thigh. The early morning light peering in through the window made the tears in her eyes shine. But then, just like when she was a baby, her lashes fluttered and she smiled up at him. As always, she'd take what little he would give her, poor Del, she'd never know she deserved any better.

Tommy couldn't bear to see that. He looked back at the wall where the picks and shovels dug, and he scratched at her wet mess of curls 'til her lids grew too heavy to ask anything more. He wasn't playing fair. Del sleepily sighed as she drifted away.

Once he was sure she was off and asleep, Tommy allowed himself the luxury of looking back down at her face — those features that came mostly from him: cold blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, long lashes, and a pale scattering of freckles. He brushed aside her dark hair and murmured:

"You're half of me, too."

━━━━━━ annie speaks ━━━━━━

me: don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.
also me: *cries anyway*

this whole chapter literally ripped my heart out. i've noticed in retrospect of my plot that there's always just this running theme of tommy doing everything he can to protect del who always expects him to save her but he never really can. yikes. also, it seems like del has a bit of her father's devilment, don't you think? ...interesting. very interesting... *wink, wink*

fun fact: i actually intended to make this whole thing a part of last chapter, but there was just so much that needed to be said and needed to happen that i had to dedicate a whole chapter to this mess. i was so nervous about it, i hope it seemed okay? please tell me your thoughts?

all this to say, we have one more chapter and then we're at the end of series 1!! can you believe it?