𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗.
two years later
❝ SOMEBODY MIGHT HURT HIM ❞

BIRMINGHAM,
ENGLAND 1921

♜ ━━━━━ THE SHELBY HOUSEHOLD WAS FRAUGHT WITH CHANGE.

In past months, most of everyone else had moved out of 6 Watery Lane. Arthur got his own place. Pol went back to the one she'd had before the war. John and Esme already lived a few numbers down, and Ada with her family were impossibly far away. Now it was just eight year old Della living with two men who seemed to want very little to do with her.

The changes kept coming.

Her Tommy was increasingly busy, and with his new business came new clothes, new motorcars, and new rules. She wasn't allowed to burst into the pub under any circumstances. She wasn't allowed to sneak out her window at any time. She most certainly wasn't allowed to follow him round, hanging off the edges of his suit coat and tugging on his sleeves as she used to.

Her uncle John and aunt Esme had managed to have another kid, adding more to her pack of wild cousins.

Ada had gone with her Freddie and Karl to London and hadn't come back. Sure, they'd still see each other on very rare occasions like her birthday or maybe Christmas, but it wasn't the same. Ada was another one of those Della'd had since the beginning of time, since the very start of her memory 'fore she even knew her father himself. Somehow this made it hurt worse.

School was another change in recent years. When she turned seven, she'd officially started her education at the local primary school. While it did cut down her hours for roaming and causing mischief, it wasn't as bad as Finn made it out to be, and he hadn't seen the inside of a school building in an age. What really made her mad, but, was that Del had to attend school while Finn did Peaky business.

Bloody unfair.

Apart from that special occurrence of Black Star Day, Del was still restricted from family meetings of any and all kinds. Apparently, when she reached the age of thirteen as Finn had, only then she'd be allowed to take part. There was nothing worse, Della found, than sitting outside the big green doors, trying to listen in, and being all alone.

Finn taunted her mercilessly for it.

This was another change.

In the past two years, Finn had become an absolute terror to live with.

He'd left their once shared room for a much smaller and much stinkier one down the hall. Eight year old Del thought she'd like all the space, but after two days spent either jumping on the newly vacated bed or conducting the Olympics on Finn's previously banned side, it was just a room that now felt too empty.

With the loss of his baby weight, Finn'd also formed muscles and grown taller, which he used to tower over Del and throw her onto the couch and sit on her whenever she did something he didn't approve of. And seemingly overnight, he didn't seem to approve of anything Del did. He'd nag her worse than Ada and even Pol. His appetite was even more appalling, and he told her so many times to quit annoyin' him, she had no other choice but to consult Aunt Polly.

Pol was sure to have an answer; she always knew everything, anyway.

"Think he's got the Birdie?" Della questioned one morning, poking at her boiled egg with a fork.

"No, Lamb, he's not got the Birdie." Polly chuckled, idly stirring a spoon in her tea, "Our Finn's growing up, and that means he may be difficult to be around. The best way to proceed, now, is to be patient and disturb him as little as possible."

She scrunched her nose in disbelief, "Growing up makes you a pain in the arse so?"

Her aunt hid a grin behind her cup, "Sometimes."

Del frowned, "I'm never growing up; I'm enough of a pain in the arse as it is."

Polly nearly spilled her tea from laughing.

Finn'd also acquired a whole new set of alien values too, and he liked to waltz round number six with an air of superiority like some uppity twit that had Del ready to cut him the second he wasn't lookin'. Several times, he'd gone so far as to tell her what to do.

That b—stard.

On one particularly nasty occasion, tall lanky Finn had turned on her with a snarl, "It's time you stop followin' me round and start actin' like a proper girl, or I swear I'll... I'll belt you meself!"

A comment like that was enough to make anyone burst into fiery indignation and flee into the shop, looking for Tommy or Polly for reinforcement... or perhaps comfort. Instead, she'd run face first into a scratchy grey vest that smelled distinctly of alcohol and she knew instantly it belonged to her uncle Arthur.

He'd not been himself lately, her uncle. In fact, he'd become quite odd. All the same...

"What's all this, eh?" His gravelly voice questioned.

She tried to answer, her throat was too tight and her nose was all stuffed but. She just buried her face back into his stomach so, and she dug her fingers into his suit coat to draw herself closer. It made her furious to be so suddenly dropped by her once closest friend, furious and also heartbroken.

"Orright, orright, no bawling." Arthur patted her head awkwardly, like his niece was the newest pony purchase, "I'll have a guess, will I? Now, let's see, you've slipped rat poison into the dinner, and the guilt's starting to eat you, is it?"

Del snuffed, taken aback, "Youse... what?"

"Not poison, no, silent and deadly's not your style, is it, little Della? Nah, I know. You've gone and put firecrackers in the exhaust pipe of the motor again, and you're worried they'll know it was you."

"Are you off your face, Uncle Arthur?" Del giggled, wiping rosy cheeks with the backs of her hands.

"Off my face—little sh—t, how dare you?"

Del kept giggling, "I can smell it on your breath, you're drunk as hell."

"The bloody cheek." Arthur grinned down at her, wiping a big scratchy hand at the tears lingering on her face, "Now, none o'this, I'll not allow it... What's eatin' you, eh?"

"It's Finn."

"Ah, so you've killed him finally, have you?"

Smirking only half—heartedly, Del shook her head, "Nah. He's pretending he's f—ckin' old, is what he is. All he really needs is someone to whack him, and I'm not big enough."

Arthur snorted, "Right, and you want me to do him in, do you, little Della?"

"If you please."

Her uncle Arthur laughed and she flinched at the loudness but grinned back at him, anyway.

"Orright, then, Della, next time that little b—stard bothers you, you tell your favourite uncle so he'll sort him for ya."

She'd a smile like butter wouldn't melt, "Oh, so I'll tell Uncle John then?"

"Oi!"

Arthur dove for her, and Della shrieked as he chased her round the relatively empty shop. Barely able to catch her breath, Del made sure to keep at least a chair between her and him, new boots scuffing on the hard wood floor while she danced away. He kept trying to snatch her, big hands clawing the air for a shred of her.

They were hurling fantastic insults back and forth, Arthur and Del, both grinnin' and workin' up a sweat.

"What the f—ck is going on?"

Tommy stood in the doorway with Polly just behind him, the two looking between the uncle and his niece with matching expressions of confusion.

"Nothin'," Della gasped for air, pink—faced and ruffled, "Nothin' at all. Only goin' to battle with my favourite uncle, ain't I, Uncle Arthur?"

"Too right." Arthur was gassing too, limping and holding a stitch on his side. "Now, remember what I told you... and—and don't you cut him without my supervision."

Della grinned as her da and aunt both started yelling. He was a mad one, her uncle Arthur, and she f—cking loved him for this. She gave a salute, a final well—wishing farewell to the man who'd surely dug his own grave. He sent her a wink 'fore she dashed out the door, feeling ten pounds lighter.

Not all of the changes were bad, necessarily. There'd been some good, too.

Her boundaries had been expanded and now she had nearly all of Small Heath open for her roaming. When Finn permitted her to accompany him — though this wasn't often as he was now positively allergic to her presence in public, she was allowed to go even further to places like Digbeth and Saltley.

Even in these places, people seemed to know who she was.

Adeline Shelby's infamy had only grown in recent years.

She was well and truly famous, not for anything she'd personally done, of course. Grown adults parted for her on the pavement. Coppers, even the likes of Sergeant Moss, wished her a good morning. Some kids were restricted by their parents from playing with her, due to her reputation by association. All over Small Heath, she'd walk herself down the streets and the lanes and sometimes hear:

"There goes his daughter."

or

"You stay out of that girl's way."

or

"Up ahead is a Shelby."

For all she knew, Adeline Shelby's reputation had reaped only benefits, and had never put her in any clear danger.

But it would. It would.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

This was not the first funeral Della had attended, and it would certainly not be the last.

Her family and the congregation dressed mostly in black, standing beside a freshly dug grave. The sky was appropriately grey and a light sprinkling of rain gave the air a bitter chill. As a Jewish Rabbi put Freddie Thorne to rest, the Shelby's stood on one side of the pit while various members of the communist party stood on the other.

There was something terribly sad about being buried in the earth. She'd not like to be so trapped in the cold dark dirt. She'd want to be burned, Della, to be free like her ancestors in a vardo with her spirit to pass onto the afterlife without disruption. For death not to be the end but for her spirit to live on, and to let her rest in peace.

The eight year old didn't often find things to be scared about, by death and dirt scared the living shite out of her.

Della watched as Pol bent her head beneath a netted black veil and moved her lips silently.

She'd been to funerals before, Del, loads of them even 'fore she could remember. For her mother, for Auntie Martha, for Danny Whizz—Bang, and for all the other little kids whom she'd known but never made it past age eight.

There was the boy at the end of Watery Lane crushed under a horse, he'd given Del a bite of apple once. Little Jenny Hess fell down and hit her head when they'd played football, and she died on the spot. Georgie's little brother got spots and went quick, and when Margo's older sister finally stopped her coughing, she'd been put into the ground with all the rest of the cold rotting dead bodies.

And now for Ada's Freddie.

Staring down at the dirt pit, Del realised there were a lot of people to miss in the Shelby household.

Ever since Freddie got sick with influenza a few months ago, the girl had been counting just how many people the world was forever missing. Aside from her godfather, there was her grandmother, her uncle John's first wife, Pol's missing son and daughter she'd been told never to ask about, and her own mother, too.

Della didn't know her mother to miss her, and she was fairly certain Finn felt the same. Neither of them had any memories of them at all. Finn did miss the men but, back when they were still gone away in France. He remembered his brothers quite clearly, and when they were young, sometimes in the middle of a game or a story, Finn would sigh at great length and then go off to play by himself away from Watery Lane which was out of her bounds for wanderin' back then.

When he was like that, Del always knew better than to bother him.

A part of her wondered if he was still disappointed with what they'd returned as.

A part of her wondered if she was as well.

She tried not to think about it.

Del was dressed in some itchy black dress that was ordered specially for just such occasions. It felt like a bad omen rather than the display of their new money that it was intended to be. The girl leaned onto the very tips of her toes to peer curiously into the grave as the coffin was lowered. A hand pulled her back into place.

The hand belonged to her father.

The Thomas Shelby.

When the funeral finished, Della was put in charge of the cousins, old and young, from John Junior who was trying to work out the mechanics of a handstand to little Karl who was pinching flowers off graves. Del didn't bother telling either of them off, instead focused on ignoring the generally angry stares they were receiving.

The communists were glaring at them throughout, her da in particular and Del herself by association. He (of course) couldn't give a d—mn. She didn't either, really, but she worried it might have an effect on what Ada decided today. Tommy and Polly were planning on trying to convince her aunt to come home, now that her husband was dead and gone. It didn't look like it was going very well.

So, Del abandoned her cousins, Karl and John Junior and Katie, and travelled to where her family stood in a tight circle amongst the gravestones.

Her da was saying, "—be dangerous to be a Shelby in London for a while—,"

Ada interrupted mid—speech. "Yea. Well, I'm not a Shelby anymore." With a quiet chuckle, her aunt softly realised, "And I'm not a Thorne now, either... I'm free."

Del's shoulders fell. It was raining well and good now, soaking through her coat and gluing her curls to her cheeks. The weather suited the mood, all right.

"I've got t'get Karl home."

Ada wrapped her arms round herself and kissed the side of Della's head in passing. Then she walked to rejoin the communists. Del watched her go and Polly turned after her, hand somewhat extended, but neither of them said anything. After a beat, Tommy sharply exhaled and rested a hand on his daughter's head, the light scratch at her scalp reassuring her more than much else could.

Della mumbled, "She not comin' back so?"

"No. She's not." Polly's voice was tight as she looked back at Tommy, "I told you. Let me do it."

"It's orright." Tommy dismissed, not looking at either of them, "I'll have some men watch her house 'til the danger passes."

Del heard the roar of an incoming engine and a motorbike pulled up sharply among the chauffeurs. All heads turned. A young lad, a Blinder by the looks of it, leaned off the bike and quickly passed on a word to her eldest uncle. Just as quick, Arthur pushed his way to Tommy, and Del watched her father react to his words.

Bad news, then.

Her aunt seemed to think so, too.

Adeline's world may have been fraught with changes, but there was always one thing that would never ever change.

"'Til the danger passes'?" Polly repeated Del's father with a low scoff, "That'll be the bloody day."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Once again, there was a gun to Tommy's head.

He was sat across from two Irish rebels, a man and a woman whose names he knew, families he knew, weaknesses he knew. He'd only just sat down and he'd already made veiled threats to the woman's son. Poor boy. They'd clearly wanted to play games with him; intimidate and belittle him, but now the shoe was on the other foot. They stared at him for a while, seeming completely thrown by his knowledge. Tommy was busy; he really didn't have time for this. But they'd blown up his pub and so he needed to figure out what the actual f—ck they wanted.

The man, Donal, held the revolver to his head, flickering with fury, "There are other ways of carrying out this mission. Please allow me to put a bullet in this scum tinker's head!"

"No..." The woman, Irene, would not look away from the Shelby man, "He researches his enemies, that's why he's been chosen."

Tommy's brows rose in a near laugh, slowly nodding his head at such news.

"I am chosen?" He glanced up at the man, voice low as if confiding, "I'm chosen... Can the chosen one smoke?"

Finally, the gun fell. Tommy impassively reached for his cigarettes in an inside pocket.

"A vacancy has appeared and you're goin' to fill it."

"Chosen by whom?" He wondered mildly, striking a match and lighting his cig.

His hand did not shake.

"By an informed consensus."

"I have things to do." Tommy looked at Irene and his look was deadly, "So perhaps you could tell the chosen one what he has been chosen for."

Donal glanced at the gun. He wanted to shoot Tommy here and now for his defiance, and make no mistake. Clearly, but, Irene was in charge.

The woman spoke softly, "From now on, Mister Shelby, you shut your f—cking gypsy mouth and listen to your instructions... or my child isn't the only one who'll need to learn to run fast."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When she heard the Garrison had been blown to kingdom come, Della was barely even surprised.

There was always something.

While her Tommy was busy doing who knows what, Del was back at the betting shop. She weaved her way through the frantic atmosphere of Shelby Company Limited. She passed a money box to Scudboat and let Lovelace ruffle her curls with only minimal squirming. Men and women alike were hard at work, talking on telephones and running errands and smoking cigs. Through the smoke and activity, she could see her uncle John in his office through his window. Sat between his typewriter and the chalkboard, he was waiting on the phone for odds.

The Shelby operation had grown larger in recent times.

The bare brick had been painted and the walls finished. There were proper boards for runners and riders and loads of telephones. Last year, business expanded into yet another house; the interior knocked through to make room for more desks, extra storage, and the large signs hanging from the walls with boxes marked 'Rolls Royce', 'Daimler', and 'Austin' stacked beneath.

"Little Miss Shelby?"

Del swiveled to find Mister Jesus calling out to her. With a heavy crate in his arms, the street preacher propped open the side door so his son — Isiah and a long line of other young boys could carry in their own boxes full of some sort of contraband. She hurried to hold the door open so the preacher and the lads could travel in and out of the shop easier.

He nodded gratefully, tossing dreads from his face, "D'we know who did it yet?"

The eight year old could offer only a shrug, "Me da says to say it was gas 'til we know."

Accepting this, the preacher nodded and walked on into the room. Polly arrived at Del's side with a sigh, watching the procession of crates pass into the annexe with a distinctly sour expression.

Her aunt tsked in disapproval, "We're making no bloody money out of this."

Mister Jesus called back, "Tommy says automobiles are the future."

Tommy had said that; he'd said that on repeat for the past year or so. He'd said it so often that everybody had gotten bloody tired of hearin' it. Del waited 'til Finn, the last in line, walked by and then, hard as she could, she punched him in the side. He elbowed her in the gut in return. Their aunt ignored their antics, frowning 'cross the shop with a far off look in her eyes.

"Tommy says a lot of things." Polly clicked her tongue, "Doesn't mean they're true."

Della had nothing to say to that, and apparently neither did Mister Jesus 'fore he and his lads marched out the way they came. Her aunt heaved a sigh, took Del's hand, and led her through the betting shop. Their pace was quick as they cut through Blinders and punters alike, moving into the annexe to store away their most recent earnings.

John saw them goin' and leapt to his feet, catching up to ask, "Polly? Did he say who did it?"

Del sighed.

She wondered how many times they'd be asked this 'fore they actually got an answer.

"He's gone to the Black Lion," was Pol's only response as she locked the safe.

Purse and keys in hand, she pushed through the heavy green doors to move from the shop and into the parlour of number six. The whole world of the Peaky Blinders went silent with the closing of those green doors. Del tugged off her black coat and dropped it onto the side sofa, closing her eyes for a brief moment. She missed the chaos already. Their aunt looked exhausted and her uncle looked put out. This seemed to be the general mood of the Shelby family as of late.

John was making a face, "On his own?"

"Don't youse know, Uncle John?" Della heaved a sigh and moved towards the staircase, "Me da does everything on his own."

She trudged upstairs without another word.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It seemed now more than ever Tommy and Polly were having near constant standoffs.

This time, she was withholding the new safe combination 'til he stopped withholding whatever sh—t was going on in his head. He'd been doing it again, making plans and forming schemes all without her knowledge. He was worrying her. He was worrying everyone. Especially Adeline.

When he finally told her what she wanted to know, Polly held Tommy's gaze for a long terrible moment 'fore she moved to the safe. The man felt just a tinge of relief 'til he realised she still wasn't going to open it. She put one hand on its cold door and then turned over her shoulder to pin him with a sharp discomforting stare.

"D'you know, it was a fine speech you made in there..." She nodded towards the shop where the family meeting had just ended, "About this company believing in equal rights for women."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, busy searching for a cigarette so he could have a distraction from this conversation. Della must've stolen them again. F—ck's sake. At this point he thought she was just doing it to get a rise out of him.

"Mm, and I meant it." Tommy shrugged a shoulder at her words, "I've got meself a little woman, haven't I? I want Adeline to have equal rights in this company and in this world."

Polly scoffed a laugh, shaking her head, "You preach that, Thomas, but when it comes to it, you don't listen to a word we say."

Tommy looked away. He knew what she was doing. Pushing him. Pulling him. Trying to drag his thoughts and feelings out of him, wringing any kind of truth out that she could. He wouldn't give it to her. Still, Polly gave it her all.

"Maybe you don't trust us." When he shifted on his feet, his aunt smiled, thinking she had him caught, "She was one woman, Thomas... Well, maybe it's time you forgot about her."

The man kept his face perfectly straight, grousing, "Forgot about who?"

Polly despaired. He'd never let anybody in, no matter how hard they tried. The woman heaved a hopeless sigh and leaned down to finally unlock the safe so he could remove whatever chunk of cash he wished. She seated herself back at her desk, frowning at his turned back, her irritation simmering into something stronger.

Hands raised and voice high, she hissed at him, "Fine, you and the boys, go and get yourselves killed."

Tommy pointedly ignored her. Cash in hand and shoulders rolled back, he yanked open the door with a sharp creak and then left the annexe altogether. His aunt watched him go with a pinched expression, waiting for an explanation, for an excuse, for anything.

But when he still said nothing, she called out, "I'll look after Adeline when you're dead, will I?"

Tommy just kept walking.

Polly slammed the books on the table and dropped her face in her hands.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Tommy was leaving again. Goin' on holiday or something, off to London to expand the business. Del'd barely even been able to ask if she could come along before he'd rejected her, in no uncertain terms. Not for kids, Della. I'll bring you to London later, Della. Worse luck, Della. Bloody b—stard. But even if he was a bloody b—stard, she still didn't want him to leave without her. She knew better than to pester and convince him to stay but. It'd only annoy him, and that was not on at all.

There was just one thing to do so, and that was to do what she did best:

Cause a little trouble.

The thing was, but, she'd tried 'bout everything in the day before he left.

First, she stole his matches off him first thing; he didn't even bloody care. He simply asked for them back and moved along. Then she feigned some life—threatening illness, but when Polly threatened her with a day of bedrest, she quickly retracted. After that, she found a handy nail and punctured the front right tire of the motorcar. After all, if they couldn't drive, then how'd they get to London? But Arthur found out 'fore the tire had even fully deflated and gotten it replaced. He didn't even bother to grass on her.

Loyalty bit her on the arse.

Then, Tommy needed to go to the yard to check on the contraband and the horses, though neither of them had ridden in an age. Of course Della had accompanied him; and there, she set forth the next step of her plan in motion. It started when she, her da, and her uncle stood round the bonfire, watching Curly whispering to a horse 'fore he led it toward the canal.

"Your girl here tells me you're going to London." Charlie took a cigarette from her father with a pointed look, "What's afoot, Tommy?"

Her da almost smiled as he lit his own, "It's a game called 'turning rust into gold'."

Charlie moved a little closer, "So you still have the stomach for games?"

Tommy shrugged, staring into the flames that were even taller than Della herself.

"Business as usual."

Thomas looked up at Charlie without expression. Their uncle took a moment to ponder this. Del watched confusedly as they seemed to have a silent conversation above her head, like they were keeping a secret between them, purposefully trying to keep her out of whatever business was going on in London. F—ckin' insult to injury.

"Business as usual..." Uncle Charlie hummed a bit, "I'm finding sleep hard to come by."

"Take less water with your rum," was Tommy's only remedy.

They stared at each other once again, vague and confusing as anything. Bloody adults.

With a low huff, Della filled the silence, "How's Crazy Horse, Uncle Charlie?"

Crazy Horse was the injured black beast he'd been stabling for some travelling relatives from the country. He'd said she was one of the few women he could stand, even temporarily. Over at the canal side, Curly placed a couple of planks for the horse to walk onto the coal boat.

"All healed up, thanks to Curly. I've got my money and now we've to sneak through the Black Country to get 'er home."

"Ah f—ck, Uncle Charlie, that's some sh—t. The d—mn Black County is f—ckin' dangerous, ain't it? That's what the whore—ladies say." The eight year old spoke as loudly and as quickly as she could, "Bloody hell. That's f—ckin' mad, eh, Da?"

Now, that was extreme even for Del. Of course the girl had sworn like a sailor since the moment she learnt to speak. Everybody knew it. But the Shelby girl was a clever little shite, and she was just careful about using such language when round her adult relatives; it was never clear when or who was going to give her a good whacking for her dirty mouth.

It just depended on their mood, really.

Del was counting on Tommy being in such a mood.

Their uncle blinked, "I beg your f—ckin' pardon?"

"Ignore her, Charlie." Tommy immediately shrugged it off with a distracted exhale, "She's tryin' us out. Polly says she's been cussing fluently since she was born; our Della's just trying to remind us of that."

Uncle Charlie raised his eyebrows and said nothing. Honestly. Del sighed to herself. Bloody pointless. She had even hoped that, besides the natural attractiveness of such words, if Tommy mistakenly thought she'd picked them up at school that he wouldn't insist she attended.

But nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Her da turned and left the yard.

Del watched him go with a soured expression, "Uncle Charlie?"

"Yea, Della—girl?"

"What's a whore—lady?"

Charlie heaved a sigh, "Oh, bloody hell."

After a semi—awkward explanation about the various titles of women of the street—walking nature from her great uncle, Del went to primary school. Sometime between maths and reading, she came up with the next step in her plan.

It was time to escalate.

A week ago, Del had ventured into her father's room and acquired (stole) a packet of cigarettes and a matchbook. She hadn't yet decided what to do with these things, though she had already started to think of setting Finn on fire. Now, but, she had a much better idea. During the school break, so, when out in the yard, Del determined she'd much rather have a cigarette than lunch.

Like father, like daughter.

Of course she'd coughed and choked just a little, but quickly she'd garnered enough attention that she had nearly every student coming at her for a puff. And Del could be called nothing if not opportunistic. Soon she had an entire scheme going and all the little b—stards were paying her for a cig. And Del was making a fine bit of change, too. This was only an added benefit.

The fire that was caused by one dropped match was totally accidental.

Totally.

True, Della did feel bad on behalf of poor Missus Moody, her second grade teacher. She was a fine lady, that Missus Moody, and the girl didn't mean to give her such a fright. But such was the way of things. Besides, neither Tommy nor Polly would have a go at the teacher for a whacking when it was well—earned.

And well—earned this would be.

Missus Moody had hauled the girl up to her desk and had threatened her with the ruler unless she gave an apology for the firestarting.

Instead, the little arsonist whispered under her breath, "F—ck off."

The kids round her classroom laughed. Del was glad enough to have the support of her fellow eight year olds, that wasn't really the purpose of this exercise but.

Fortunately, Missus Moody did not laugh, "What'd you just say to me, Adeline Shelby?"

Oh, she had her on the ropes now. Everything was going according to plan. Nothing else might've worked on Tommy, but this certainly would. Della was nearly humming with the thrill of it all. It was like she'd taken a snort of that white stuff she caught Finn with once or twice 'fore he chased her from his room and threatened her within an inch of her life. Little eight year old Della was on such a high that she felt practically indestructible.

"I said..." She grinned brilliantly, "F—ck off."

And fortunately, Del didn't have to wait even a moment 'fore the teacher's ruler slapped her right across the palm.

"You won't use language like that in here, Adeline Shelby," she said, it had little effect but.

The foul—mouthed arsonist merely stood there and failed in her attempt to hold off the grin. After all, she could take a whacking with the best of them. She'd caused enough troubles to earn a whole lot anyway.

"Now, back to your seat."

"Yes, Missus Moody."

She sat and she relished in the burn of her palm.

Next to her, Margo dared to whisper, "Mary and Joseph! I can nearly see the numbers of the ruler on your hand. A big red mark with numbers up to twelve!"

"Grand," Del said, because maybe now Tommy would finally stay.

Somehow Polly already knew Della was in trouble 'fore she even got home. She'd to deliver a note regarding her bad behaviour, it wasn't even needed but. Her aunt always had that sense about her; like she always knew when Del was up to mischief.

Pol whacked her 'fore she'd even fully made it in the door, scolding, "Did you learn nothing from when you and Finn stole the gun? Did you not learn what happens when you steal from your own?"

Oh, she'd learned plenty.

That was why she did what she did.

Del suspected Polly knew that, too.

Her aunt took the girl by the arm and dragged her up in front of Tommy like he was a judge or some such shite. Just as she planned it, he happened to be in the old office with two fingers pressed into his temple and his face in a newspaper. He looked in an even worse mood than before. It was terrifying. It was also exactly what Del wanted.

"Thomas, you've got to do something about her." Polly insisted once she'd fairly shoved his daughter into the room, "She's gettin' out of hand. You've let things go on too long."

Del wanted to kiss Polly's shoes with gratitude.

He looked tired, her father did. Tired and irritated. It almost made her regret it; the trying to get into trouble. Almost, just not quite. The high hadn't yet worn off and she was still buzzing with anticipation. But then...

"She's behaving." Tommy sighed and peered down at his daughter, "You're behaving. Aren't you, Del?"

She looked at Polly. Polly looked at her.

"Sure," Della lied through her teeth, thinking he'd catch it, thinking he'd have to catch it.

And yet, "Good stuff."

Tommy went to London, anyway.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Polly was having dreams again. She wasn't the only one.

She tried to hide it; she couldn't hide it from Del but. She was dreaming of Anna. Anna, her long lost daughter. Maybe dead. Maybe gone forever. She'd not been well. Not at all. And while Polly dreamt of her daughter, Della dreamt of her father.

They started round her eighth birthday. The part of her that dreamt, it was her gypsy part. So said Polly, anyway. They came without warning and without any predictability. There was no saying when they would come and there was no saying what they would be about. But those dreams, the special ones, they always meant something.

Del just wasn't sure what.

The little girl was lost in a restless sleep, with a water jug and a book on her bedside table. Everything was still but the girl in the bed. Gas light flickered through the soft net curtains of Del's bedroom, an eerie yellow hue. The factories worked all through the night; the boom of their giant steam hammers and the flashes from the steel foundries setting the room in a dangerous light. The thud of industry matched that of her heartbeat as the little girl twitched and mumbled under her breath.

Then Del woke with a start.

Her big eyes shot open and she jerked herself upward, panting for ragged breath. Her skin was prickled and her palms were clammy, fisting onto the edge of her blankets. Wild eyes looked round her empty room with dazed incomprehension for a long time before she slowly came back to herself. Her bedroom, 6 Water Lane, Small Heath, Birmingham, England.

Del's curls bounced as she rapidly shook her head, as if that would force the dreams to the back of it. It was no use. The girl stumbled over her little socked feet and hurried towards the door, out of her room, down the hall, and to the bedroom right beside hers. Her shaking hand was already on the knob when she remembered.

Tommy wasn't here.

Too late. Too late. Too late.

He was back from his holiday in London, yea, she'd not seen much of him but. He was always out and about, at the pub or his office or somewhere he wouldn't tell her. So, in the middle of Small Heath, her father was and she couldn't even warn him.

Too late. Too late. Too late.

Heart pounding, Della slowly backed away from his door, and went looking for the only other occupant of their house. She found Finn in his bedroom, mercifully still awake. Her uncle was stretched out on his bed in a white tank top and his shorts, reading some boxing mag. His door creaked the further she opened it, and he jolted upwards, looking ready to either yell at her or throw somethin' at her. But then she spoke.

"Finn...?"

There must have been something in her expression, in her tone, that softened him towards her. The typical sharpness that he'd been givin' her lately was dulled, and he stared at her with narrowed cautious eyes.

"Yea, Del?"

She swallowed once. Twice.

Fisting her hands to keep them from shaking, she murmured, "I'm scared."

"Scared of what?"

He looked like he might puff up his chest, Finn, just to show that he was brave and strong and so much older than her. It made her want to strangle him. It made her want to cling to him.

"Scared for me da." It took a lot to confess it, "Somebody might hurt him."

Finn looked like he might laugh at her, the b—stard. In fact, said b—stard went so far as to roll his eyes and throw a pillow at her. She dodged and scowled back at him, fists clenching tighter when he shook his head.

"Come off it, Della, has Tommy ever not known what he's doin'?" He looked incredulous, scoffing, "Why in f—ck would ya be scared somebody might hurt him?"

Despite her anger, Del felt herself sink. Finn didn't know 'bout her dreams and even if he did, he wouldn't believe her. Or understand her. Wasn't his fault, even if he was being a little b—stard. She backed away towards the door, hand stretched out to guide her to it, socks slipping across the smooth floor.

"Nevermind." She whispered sharply, "Forget I said it, yea?"

There was just a bit of guilt from her best friend, "Ah, Del—,"

"I said, forget it!" The girl snapped, trying hard not to cry all of the sudden, "Leave me the f—ck alone, Finn."

Del walked to her room and shut herself away, but the dreams would linger and the dreams would come true.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Tommy was walking home.

While his daughter ought to be safe and asleep at home, most of Small Heath was still awake. Streetwomen looking for business. Factory men still working round the lane. The foundry bursting with fire. He cut through the dark streets, cap tugged low to keep the rain from his eyes.

Head down, Tommy turned into his garage and stalked towards the motor parked in shadows. The man was just about to grab for the door when he found a gun pointed in his face. Tommy's hands immediately raised and he flinched back when a figure leapt at him. Suddenly the alleys spilled out men in long dark coats. Tommy reached for his gun but already there were a dozen hands on him. It was as if the night had come alive round him.

The beating began.

His attackers were brutal, fast and professional. They pulled and pushed him between them, punching and battering, and no matter how hard he was fightin' back, it made no bit of difference. His cap and coat were torn from his body and the beating became frantic. He'd hit the pavement 'fore he knew what happened, and then there was nothing he could do. Boots broke his ribs and fists beat his kidneys, men coming at him from all sides. If he wasn't already half blinded from unconsciousness, the blood and swelling would've done it for him.

Then it stopped.

It all just stopped.

Tommy laid twisted on the pavement, but no more blows came. The men got him under the arms and they hauled him upright because he couldn't support his head as it fell forward. Then, a hand dug into his hair and then yanked his face upward.

"Tommy Shelby."

In the gas light, a blurry face leaned close.

"I missed you at my club." A man hissed in his ear, "I was at the races."

Tommy struggled to keep his eyes open, spewing blood 'fore he finally managed to catch a glimpse of the man beside him. He grunted through his pain, struggling to speak.

"Sabini."

The Italian gangster looked very nearly appalled.

"Don't say my name." Sabini scolded incredulously before turning to one of the men surrounding them, "Franco? Take my name out of his mouth."

Before he could even react, one man had surged forward to grab his face and squeeze his cheeks. Tommy's arms splayed helplessly, trying and failing to stop them, when the men holding him squeezed his throat and nose to force his mouth open. Then, Franco forced a stiletto blade into Tommy's mouth.

Almost immediately, he was choking on blood.

"While you're in there, do a bit of digging for gold." Sabini instructed smoothly, ignoring the Shelby man's cries of agony, "Pay for the petrol."

In his mouth, Franco had found his gold tooth, and with some difficulty, he managed to tear it loose with the tip of his knife. Tommy gagged and coughed, pain causing tremors to course through his body.

"See how much I know about you?" Sabini held the bloody tooth in front of Tommy's face, shaking it before his eyes, "I even know what's in your f—cking mouth!"

Franco surged forward once again, colliding his head with Tommy's so hard, the men holding him nearly dropped him.

"Look at me." The Italian dug a hand in his hair and Tommy was forced upward, gasping, "Look at me! You take up with the Jews. Yeah, you think that's what London's all about. You can just come down, pick a side. You f—cking clown! Now your life is over." Tommy was half choking, almost unconscious, but still Sabini forced him to listen, growling, "My face is the last thing you'll ever see on earth."

Immediately, her little face came to mind — a soft sort of rebellion, Tommy's aching body fighting back in what little it could. Those sharp Shelby features. That arched brow. A pair of big blue eyes. Hers would be the last face he'd ever want to see; not Sabini's, not his brothers', not even... Grace's. No. Tommy's eyes shot wide open, cold heart wrenching painfully in his chest. His daughter had no place in this. He couldn't let himself picture her. He couldn't let himself even think of her. Don't. He demanded of himself. Get Adeline the f—ck out of your head.

"Your mistake." The Italian was still in his face, pointing a finger at his chest, "You remember that when you get to hell."

Sabini stepped back and let Tommy's head fall.

"Finish him off."

Franco raised a gun.

The trigger was cocked.

All there was left to do was die.

Then, a gun shot. But not the shot Tommy expected. A bullet tore through Franco's wrist, shattering bones and ripping through skin, and the pistol fell from his hand. The sound of screams filled the rainy night when all hell broke loose. As whistles blew and coppers emerged from the shadows, the Italians immediately scattered. Forgotten, Tommy was left to simply fall with nothing but the cold earth to catch him.

Limp and bleeding, the man was just conscious enough to hear the strange thunk—thunk sound of a cane approaching.

Then, a man he'd hoped to never see again stood right over him.

"I suppose," said Major Chester Campbell, "We should see if the b—stard's still alive."

━━━━━━ annie speaks ━━━━━━

whew! chapter one of series 2 done, and it felt like SO MUCH.  i'm sorry if it seemed really chaotic? there was a lot to cover and i wanted to make sure it all got in there. hopefully it was all okay? sidenote: i love it when tommy calls del his "little woman", it's my new fav nickname.

anyway, new series, new problems! hooray! tommy is busy with making a name for the shelby's, and del is doing everything she can to get his attention. that REALLY remains a trend through this whole season so that's something to look forward to. we really see a lot of del's growing pains in this chapter and it was low key really fun for me to write.

so, what were your thoughts? theories? feelings? tell me everything!