𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈.
soft on rebellion
❝ YOU SCARE THE FAMILY, AND YOU SCARE ME ❞

WARWICKSHIRE,
ENGLAND 1924

♜ ━━━━━ GRACE FIT INTO THE WORLD OF MANSIONS and society like a hand into a glove, but never into the world of Adeline Shelby.

Del would always be more at home in her Tommy's world, what she knew of it. While those people might cut and kill you, they did not trap one with innocent questions to make fun of you; even Finn was not highly critical unless she said something incredibly thick.

These posh ladies seemed to live in horror of any and all men, always disapproving and scolding and shaking their heads. Del liked them but. There was something about them, no matter how much they cussed and drank and gambled and fought; no matter how violent and unpleasant they were, there was something about them that the girl instinctively liked.

It might have been this that had Tommy and Grace concerned.

It might have been this that set Grace on the path of making Del the perfect little lady.

"You're growing up now, Della," her step—mother had informed her one unusually sunny afternoon when she'd rather be anywhere but inside.

Growing up; why did everyone keep saying that?

She felt like the same old Del as she used to be.

The eleven year old frowned from across the massive dining table in the massive dining room of Arrow House.

Most days, Del and Grace were forced to fend for themselves at lunchtimes while Tommy pissed off to take care of business that he refused to speak about. Everyday, so, they sat on opposite sides, the head of the table — her da's seat — stuck between them, as they ate strange foods and Grace forced awkward conversation.

"Your father and I thought that it would be best for you to experience some feminine influence for once."

The blonde woman's voice was light and casual, like they were discussing the weather or... well, that was all they talked about, really. Del stiffened, little hands had clenched tightly round her silver fork and knife as she went on.

"It won't be many years, Della, before you become interested in clothes and boys—,"

The eleven year old could have replied with several answers to this: it wasn't Greta's fault for dying and not providing her with feminine influence, besides both Polly and Ada were girls, it would be many years before Del would be interested in boys, and she would never be particularly interested in clothes...

She kept quiet, broke another glass, and bled a little more.

Del found she liked these women even less when she came into contact with them in her own house, no less. Some afternoons when she would run inside to hunt for a sip of water, Del would find the fancy parlour overrun with rich women, sipping, laughing, and she would be summoned:

"Della?" Grace's voice echoed into the foyer, "Please come say hello to these ladies."

The groan that Del swallowed was physically painful.

When she finally forced herself to appear in the doorway, Grace looked as if she regretted her request. Fair enough, really. As usual, Del was mud—splashed and grass—stained. Most often her dress was torn. She always managed to look disheveled in some way. She didn't bother to fix herself for their sake.

To Grace's credit, there was only a flicker of frustration before she smiled and said, "I thought you'd like to meet Missus Green."

Missus Green was a short, round—faced woman with eyes that nearly cut through her.

Del cocked her head, curls falling over her shoulder, "Who?"

Missus Green frowned and her step—mother swallowed a sigh.

It seemed Grace thought she was strange in the extreme, and Del once heard her tell Tommy that his daughter was 'obstinate'. Del didn't know what that meant, she liked the sound of it but. Obstinate. Maybe she'd be obstinate 'til the day she died.

"Missus Rebecca Green, Della. We've told you about her, haven't we?" Grace tried to remind her to no avail, "From the Birmingham Charity Commission, remember?"

"No."

Grace sighed.

Della certainly did not remember, and she wasn't about to go along with it. Still, the girl forced a smile, stuck out her hand for a half—hearted shake, and then accidentally left mud all over the fancy woman's pristine white gloves. The lady gasped and tsked to herself at the sight. Grace managed to smile in a way that conveyed a gentle apology to said lady and firm disapproval to Del.

Grace seemed to understand the division between proper and improper in a way she did not. Near her, Tommy and Del were at a disadvantage. They didn't grow up in fine houses and with endless supplies of money. He didn't seem to know what people did or didn't do, nor did his daughter. As far as she knew, but, her father never gave a d—mn before. About rules of society and decorum, he was dismissive and most often resentful.

Tommy had become unpredictable but.

Last week at dinner, he'd sternly instructed her, "You're s'posed to keep your elbows off the table, Adeline," and it surprised her that he not only knew this but even bloody cared.

What a relief it must have been for her Tommy to have Grace, with her knowledge of etiquette and protocol.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Tommy was dealing with troubles on his own end.

While he made deals with priests and Russians and all other sorts in London, he wanted peace on the homefront, but of course nothing could be easy, could it?

Against his orders, John had cut the eyes of a man named Angel Changretta.

Even though Arthur told him to apologise and Polly told him to compromise, his young brother decided to f—cking cut the son of an Italian gangster. And now he'd an Italian walking round his backyard saying he was going to kill his brother. And now he was going to have to deal with this shite. Arthur thought it was just a joke. Polly wanted them to guarantee peace. But his family didn't understand. No one seemed to f—cking understand.

"If you apologise once, you do it again and again and again." Tommy felt like he was lecturing them, having to instruct them like bloody children, "Like taking bricks out of the wall of your f—cking house. D'you want to bring the house down, Arthur? If you're soft on rebellion, it'll grow."

"Bloody 'soft on rebellion'," Arthur shoved himself up from the table.

"You did the right thing, John." Tommy nodded at their younger brother, "Now, we go on the offensive. We take two of the Changretta pubs, and we take them tonight. That's it."

His word was law, and he needed to say nothing more. He turned round and made for the exit. Of course Polly wasn't about to let him get away with it but.

"Oh! Right." His aunt called after him, hands raised, "For Christ's sake, why?!"

Tommy wheeled round, yelling, "Eh?"

"Why?!" Polly yelled back.

"Why? Because we f—cking can! Because we f—cking can and if we can, we do." The way Pol was looking at him — with such disbelief and irritation, it just made Tommy angrier 'til he was roaring, "And if we lift our heel off their necks now, they'll just come at us!"

Polly scowled at him as Arthur paced round the table, hands tightened into fists.

"Remember these are the b—stards that wanted Danny Whizz—Bang dead." Tommy reminded tightly 'fore his voice dropped low in something close to disgust, "You're getting soft, brother. Soft and weak. Save the Bible for Sundays, eh."

Arthur wouldn't look at him.

"Finn?" Tommy wouldn't stop looking at him, "I need to get to Hockley and then home. It's been a long day..."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The next morning, Adeline ran away.

Tommy had been a moment from snapping for months, ever since he'd come back from America, and Del'd been ready to send him back for a second honeymoon just to stop dodging his moods. He came home late last night, and she hadn't even seen him 'fore she went to bed. That was three days in a row now. Unlike her father, Grace was constantly present with her smiles and instructions and manners. The b—stard was growing in leaps and bounds, and apparently learning to walk deserved a standing f—cking ovation. The world had never looked so bleak on Del's horizon.

So, it was time to run.

It wasn't a spur of the moment decision, mind. She'd put thought into the venture. If Della was ever anything, it was clever.

Three days ago, she'd packed lunches, enough for at least five children. Then, two days before, she'd snuck away from school to number six to nick an old pair of Finn's trousers. It'd be safer for a boy, Del figured, safer for a young lad to traverse the road than an uppity little lady. Then, last night, she'd made a show of some false sickness and formed a lump of sheets beneath her blankets. If they thought she was sleeping off some sickness, they'd not come looking for her.

Barely anybody ever came looking for her, anyway.

She would run away, she would come back but. Before anyone would even notice.

Della really didn't have anywhere to run away to — not permanently, anyway. She had family to spare but none'd hide her well enough away from her father. They'd sell her out, the lot of them. Sell her out the second she arrived on their doorstep because not one wanted to deal with an angry Tommy Shelby.

This was the thing about running away.

You couldn't run away if you had any hopes of returning without retribution. To avoid this, you had to have an excuse for running and you had to have a plan to make sure you got away with it at all. Otherwise, you'd never get to come home because whatever waited for you was surely going to be ten times worse.

So she had a plan, and everything would be set. Besides, Del wouldn't be gone forever; only a few days at most.

Just a few to remind herself what it was to be Adeline Shelby again.

The girl left in the very early hours, when all the maids and even her father still laid their heads to rest. She saddled herself with her pack, crept through the cold halls of Arrow House, passed It's room, and then raced down the long stairwell with footsteps like a dancer. The walk out the foyer was both frightening and thrilling. With every step closer to the door, she grew more paranoid that someone'd found her out, knew what she was up to.

Despite her heart racing and her palms sweating but, no one came.

So, Della slipped into the very back of the milk wagon, ducked amongst its many crates, and then she waited. It was quite cold and very loud back there, with the frigid bottles of milk clinking and clanking against one another. Del didn't mind. It was all part of the adventure.

When the familiar world of Small Heath appeared, Della silently tipped her head to her unwitting getaway driver and legged it into the home of her childhood. She ran. Del just ran as fast and as hard as she could, feet pounding on the gravel drive and then into the foggy streets beyond. Her hair whipped in her face and she found herself grinning.

Her heart sang: home, home, home.

She waited in their lane, huddled in the back alleys and side paths, 'til her gang emerged from their little homes. Then she pounced. The shock she'd given each of them... they nearly died from the fright of it. Del hadn't felt happiness like that, not in a long while, as they all shrieked and laughed and hugged each other close.

How long had it been since she'd seen them?

Days, weeks, months?

It felt like years. It felt like a bloody lifetime.

Della spent all day running along the familiar rooftops with her gang, causing mischief, wreaking havoc. They poured buckets of water from the roofs down onto the drunken head of unsuspecting Mister Swire, who everyone knew was the meanest man on Watery Lane. After throwing rocks at any police cabs passing through, they jumped rope and played football. They hosted wrestling matches 'til they were covered in blood and mud. They went down the canal and swam in the Cut, letting themselves dry on the bank as they ate stolen pears and caramel sweets. They had the f—ckin' time of their lives.

In sweat and dirt, this was where Adeline Shelby belonged.

With bleeding knees and wind—chapped cheeks, this was where she thrived.

When supper finally came round, they decided it was only proper that they dine out. After all, it would be Della's treat. Fancy motorcars and massive mansions and all that. She was practically rolling in the cash, wasn't she? Then, seeing as how they were all getting older now, Del and her gang determined they would seek their evening meal in a pub.

This idea provoked as much excitement as it did trepidation.

It should be the most normal thing in the world, right. But even if most of their fathers went to pubs, and they'd been exposed to alcohol of all kinds since the day they were born, not one of them had ever dared to cross the threshold of a pub, apart from Della herself. Then came the matter of which pub they would dare enter.

"We could go to the Garrison," Henry suggested after a while.

"And I could get kicked out on me arse for it, too," Della sighed.

With the Garrison off—limits and the Marquis burned down by certain family members, her gang decided upon some pub in Nechells which would prove just about as much fun as any other. So, all lined up behind little Adeline Shelby, her gang pushed through the double doors with both hands. Its patrons turned to stare, mouths opening to redirect them to the exit, but then they saw who stood at the front.

Everyone in the pub froze a little.

For a half a moment, Del was surprised. Everyone recognised her. Everyone was scared of her. Which was... odd. This was a pub in the Italian quarter, not under the direct jurisdiction of the Peaky Blinders. Least, she didn't think so...

No matter.

The trick of getting away with whatever the hell you want, was confidence. Acting as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Acting as if any sort of rejection or argument was completely out of the question She wore a look that said any other choice, any other decision that went against her own, was illogical, wasn't ever even a choice at all.

Della ignored the nervous glances of her gang, rolled back her shoulders, and seated herself at a table in the back. When her mates hesitated, she quickly waved them over. This was all part of the dance, after all. A barman seemed about to hurry to serve them, but he was outrun by the landlord of the establishment — a portly little man with a mustache and frightful twitch. He was instantly deferential and produced a bottle which he opened quickly and put in front of Del and her gang.

"On the house... Miss Shelby."

It was a bottle of bloody cordial.

Ever so maturely, Della folded her hands on the table and leaned forward, "We'll take a Mild each, if you please."

The Italian landlord's eyes widened and he floundered for only a moment 'fore he turned away to fill her order. Del nearly collapsed just from the shock of it. She wasn't used to such power. It scared her a little. Georgie's jaw dropped and Ruthie was nearly shaking with excitement while Henry was punching her arm out of glee.

Tommy Shelby might never be here, might never even miss her, at least he'd taught her something but.

The Shelby girl was just pressing the glass of ale to her lips when the door burst open.

"Oh, sh—t," whispered Margo.

Oh sh—t, indeed.

It was Uncle Arthur.

Del dropped and broke the glass. If he hadn't seen her 'fore, he certainly had now. Someone had grassed. She wasn't sure who it was, but someone certainly had. She opened her mouth to say something, anything really, nothing came out but. Her red—faced uncle stood stock still, simply staring at her with arms poised on either side of him. Del swallowed hard.

His slow steps thudded against the floorboards as he slowly stalked closer. The man looked between the faces of five frightened children 'fore he growled, "Each of you little b—stards go home. By the order of the Peaky f—cking Blinders."

Oooh sh—t.

Her gang scrambled to obey, shooting her desperate glances on their way out, looking as terrified as they were concerned. Even breathless, she appreciated that. It was nice to know they loved her, especially since she was about to get f—ckin' murdered. The door slammed shut behind them. Everyone else stared. For a moment, nothing happened.

Then Arthur lurched forward, grabbed Della by the collar, and hauled her out of the pub. She yelped when he fairly tossed her into the motorcar and slammed the door shut behind her. He got round on the other side, shoulders hunched, and started speeding like a maniac down the road. She couldn't have cared less about that but. He could've killed her in a wreck for all she cared.

Sitting in terror, Del cautiously whispered, "Uncle Arthur...?"

"Don't f—ckin' say anything." He growled, knuckles white on the steering wheel, "Don't f—ckin' say a word, little Della."

She obeyed. Not out of fear, mind. Arthur didn't scare her, not anymore. But the thought of who he was inevitably delivering her to, oh yes, that thought scared her very much. In silence, they drove all the way to the big house, and even after they'd parked, neither of them moved. She peeked at her uncle from the corner of her eye, watching him as he watched the gravel drive. It was dark now, and the whole world looked ominous.

Danger was imminent.

Del was beginning to realise that for a smart girl, she was really f—ckin' stupid.

"Did I scare everyone?"

"Yea. F—ckin' scared, we were." His voice was softer now, shoulders loosening to the point of slack, "Looked for you for hours, we did."

Her heart ached with regret. For once, she hadn't meant to cause so much trouble. She really hadn't. She hoped maybe they'd all understand she hadn't meant to scare everyone.

"'M sorry, Uncle Arthur."

"Yea, I know you are, little Della, 'course I do. 'Course." He reached out to squeeze her shoulder, shaking her a little, "Just... stay away from those Italians, orright? We got 'em paying up to us like everybody else, but there can still be trouble 'cause not everyone wants to give apologies to keep the peace, you understand, eh?"

She really didn't, but for his sake, she said, "Orright..."

"Good girl, Della. Now, your old man's inside. Waitin' for ya."

She forced back a sigh, forced back tears, forced back everything.

"Fathers... Bloody hopeless, eh, Della?"

"Yea." She whispered back, "Hopeless."

With a steadying hand on her shoulder, Uncle Arthur delivered Del inside and to Tommy's office. Their shoes clicked softly against the wood floor, sounding every bit like the funeral march it was. The door creaked open painfully loud. Del fisted her hands into the extra material of her trousers as they slowly ventured inside. Her father was turned away from both of them, facing the windows with his back to the door, a single plume of smoke rising above his head.

"Here she is, Tom. Safe and sound." Arthur hesitated a moment, like he was afraid to leave her, "Go easy on her..."

Her uncle shot her one last look, lightly chucking her chin, 'fore he left them to it.

Then, Del turned back to her... well, back to Tommy. She waited. For him to scream at her. For him to hit her. To do something. Anything. But there was nothing. Nothing at all. She hadn't meant to frighten him. Or anger him. Truthfully, she hadn't bothered to wonder what her da would think at all. She didn't even think he'd even notice.

For a long while, Tommy simply punished her with his silence.

As he'd always done.

Finally, Tommy murmured, "I'm upping your protection."

Her heart leapt into her throat, hit with both anger and confusion. That wasn't what she expected he'd say first. Not what she expected he'd say at all, really. It distressed her all the same.

"Ah, Da, no..."

"Startin' tomorrow."

It was suicidal to argue, she did anyway but, "It's winter holiday in a month but, I'll finally be able to..."

He growled low, brushing her off, "Some friends to keep you company, then."

Della hadn't meant to stamp her foot, but she had somehow anyway; it was like she didn't even have control of her own body, much less anything else in her life, "I don't want that. I'm entitled to this part of my life—,"

"You f—cking what?" Real venom was in Tommy's voice, terrifying and awing in equal measure, "You're f—cking entitled?"

She squeezed her eyes shut. She'd hadn't meant it like that, trust him to take it that way but.

He was seething, she could practically feel the heat radiating off him, "Come here."

"Ah..." Della was hesitating now, she actually had the gall and good sense to hesitate.

"Come f—cking here!"

"No, you'll kill me."

The strangest feeling crept up in the center of Tommy's chest, and he suddenly felt out of his body, like he'd become someone else, someone whose footsteps used to haunt his dreams and whose hands left scars his childhood knew all too well.

To hear such a thing out of his Del's lips, to see such a face on his Del's face, it should've filled him with terror, and it did, but then it grew and festered and blossomed into fury. She kept a distance between them, and for now, just for now, he let it happen. She'd be safer there, standing away from him, wouldn't she? For now.

"In this house, in my f—ckin' house, while everyone else is asleep in their cosy little beds, I stay awake at night, and I stay worrying 'bout—,"

"You don't worry 'bout me but. Not ever." Del felt almost indignant that he'd lie straight to her face like this, "All you and me and this whole family worry 'bout is you gettin' shot."

"I am worried!" Tommy snapped, his eyes bigger and face paler than she'd ever seen, "But it's nothin' compared to how terrified we all are of you!"

Italians in his backyard. Russians in London. Priests in their parishes. Threats from all sides, and she just didn't f—cking understand. Running away in the dead of night, scaring the living shite out of everyone... the gall of her, the audacity, the bloody nerve.

Del felt a pink in her cheeks, unsteady and uncertain.

"You scare the family, and you scare me." He hissed in a voice she'd not heard in a long, long time, "My getting killed is not the nightmare scenario, Adeline, no. The nightmare is you getting taken."

Della was dizzy, adrenalin driving her out of her skin. Her feet felt made of anvils, drilling her brutally to her spot, her face slack and her hands numb.

He'd a look about him now, Tommy, like he was finally giving into her wishes, finally taking the time to tell her a bedtime story. But it didn't start with 'once upon a time', and it wouldn't have a happy ending.

"You and your little mates sneak off to a pub, and while you've taken to the drink, someone comes from behind and whisks you out the door."

He was mocking her, Della knew, mocking her and her silly childish hopes for a normal childhood, her silly childish hopes for a normal father. 

"You're so scared, you've not noticed the two dead Blinders on the ground, and you're thrown into a motor before you can even scream." Tommy was squinting at her, a lit cig shaking between his fingers, a darkness rising in his eyes, "It's half an hour 'fore someone asks, 'Where's Adeline?' Fifteen minutes later, they call. It's another hour 'fore we've shut down the city. And only then, f—cking then, we're off to the races!"

Del felt a terrible squeezing in her airway, her throat was tightening as if a vice. She was gasping for air, trying to hide how she was suffocating. She was sorry. She was so sorry.

But Tommy was getting louder now, whole body shaking with fury, trembling with rage.

"You're tied to a chair in a shed in another city! And they call me, tell me I've seventy—two hours to get whatever shite they want, and I'm pleadin' so, begging whoever the f—ck I must!" Tommy was truly roaring now, voice shaking her where she stood, "But now we've a new problem!"

Once, when she was much smaller, her auntie Ada'd bought her a book about the wild animals on the African plains. Del remembered how much the lion'd fascinated her, roaring and baring its teeth at the photo lens. It didn't fascinate her now but, no, it terrified her because her father's face was no longer his own, and the lion had taken the place of him.

"This family no longer has a leader, it has a scared father whose daughter is in a shed in the city with a gun to her head!"

His fists had come down, and everything in the room seemed to rattle.

"Can you f—ckin' understand that?!"

Della flinched back so violently she nearly fell over, eyes wide and tears hanging heavy round their edges.

They stood, just heaving for oxygen, just glaring at one another.

And then, "Tommy?"

They both whipped round, Tommy and Della, like they'd forgotten they weren't the only two in the room, in the house, in the whole bloody world.

It was Grace in the doorway, watching the two of them with low reproachful eyes, "Charles is sleeping..."

Del couldn't believe it.

She was suddenly aware of her blood pounding in her ears, her heart beating thousands of miles an hour. He was coming up now, Tommy, rising to the surface of the underwater fury he'd been drowning in.

It was too late, though, it always was, wasn't it?

"Yea," he murmured gruffly, rubbing a hand down the length of his dark hair and roughly round his mouth.

She kept her head down, Della, watching a thick tear slip from her cheek and land on the tip of a muddy black shoe, "Can I go?"

There was a pause.

Tommy said nothing, only nodded.

Del turned as slowly and carefully as she could, she walked away from Tommy and past Grace, trying and failing to maintain just a shred of her dignity.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Adeline was nauseous.

She stared down at her plate of glazed pork and roasted veg with a rather green expression.

It served her right, Del supposed, she really did deserve to suffer. She shouldn't have snuck into the liquor cabinet, she shouldn't have tried to drown her sorrows. The stuff was appalling anyway. Why would anyone take to the drink willingly? It tasted just like she suspected burnt rubber and gasoline would. Even still, it'd done nothing to eradicate her sadness; if anything, it only made her feel worse.

The lights in the room were swooping, or maybe it was the room that was doin' the swooping. It certainly felt like it was all spinning. Grace had a massive blue sapphire hanging round her neck, looking heavy enough to nearly off—balance her. A gift from Tommy, no doubt. It was casting the most fantastic sparkles out of the corners of Del's vision, and it'd been beautiful if it weren't for the way it was making her eyes water.

The fourth course was coming, her stomach churned.

"Orright Del?"

Della could barely lift her eyes to her father who was more smoking than eating.

There wasn't much use in avoiding Tommy, not when she was forced to join them for every meal, no excuses. So, with one glass already broken, Del was forced to sit through seven courses with an apathetic step—mother and an irritated father. What a f—ckin' mess. Now she was startin' to remember why she drank in the first place.

He was looking at her quite thoughtfully, Tommy, one brow raised and cigarette poised between two fingers.

"Mmhm." Del murmured, forcing her head and lips to move, "Orright."

Grace set down her spoon to make room for the arrival of the next course, "Are you not hungry, Della?"

Del felt the muscles in her back instinctively tense at the sound of her nickname on Grace's lips, but she didn't bother fighting it. She was too sick, too tired. She shook her head only a little, wanting to drop her head in her hands but that meant putting her elbows on the table and that meant facin' her da's wrath. That wouldn't do at all.

Her da was studying her, "Are you sick?"

Del couldn't get her lips to move at all now, and she felt like she was suffocating from the inside out.

"Eh, look at me."

It took a terrible amount of effort to peek through her lashes, squinting in the bright chandelier light, trying not to vomit on the long wooden table that sat between her and him.

"You're white as a sheet. D'you have a fever?"

She shrugged one shoulder, head pounding, feeling heavier and heavier.

He crushed his cigarette in a saucer, nodding his chin to the door, "Go to bed. I'll check in when we see Charlie."

Del shakily got up, took one step, and then collapsed straight into the carpet.

"F—ck—,"

Del groaned when her da appeared out of nowhere to roll her over, one arm tucking under her back to prop her up. Tommy's face was swirly and spinning when she dared open her eyes, mixing in with the liquidity that was now the room. His hand was rough against her cheek and then her forehead when he tried to check her temperature. Del's head lolled back and her skin was clammy and sweating, making her curls stick to her face as if with glue. Still groaning, she gasped for air and her da flinched back at the smell of her breath.

"Ah, for f—ck's sake, Della..."

There was the distinct sound of a chair scraping backwards, "I'll call the doctor, Tommy—,"

"No need, Grace." Her father groused, dragging the girl to unsteady feet, "This one is drunk, not sick."

Del took one look at her father's face and then proceeded to retch some of what existed inside her stomach all over the front of his shoes and the cuffs of his trousers.

"F—ckin' hell."

Grace placed a finger under her nose.

Del wanted to say she was sorry, but she wasn't at all sure what'd happen if she opened her mouth again.

He released a long low breath from his nose, "Let's get you up to bed, eh?"

She sagged into him, face buried halfway into his suit coat. He barely managed to get her up the stairs and into her washroom before she'd retched whatever else remained in her gut into the toilet. Gin and toilet water became a vicious smiling soup down below her, bits of dinner swirlin' round as well. She felt better, she supposed, enough for her to lean against the wall without thinkin' the world was about to spin off its axis.

He was so quiet, Tommy, she'd have nearly suspected he'd have left if she couldn't feel the heat radiating off him like a f—ckin' stove.

"I'll never—," She dragged a rough pink sleeve across her sticky mouth "—ever drink again."

"You f—ckin' will not."

She groaned as she stayed leaned back on the bathroom wall, sweaty skin cooling against the tile.

"Serves you bloody right, eleven bloody years old, the state of you... Showing me up like that, in front of Grace and—,"

"I'm sorry." Della slurred out in a tone that distinctly was not at all sorry, nearly growling through bared wolfish teeth.

"You? You're sorry?" Tommy snapped back with enough menace in his voice to shake her to her core, "I'm sorry I didn't teach you any bloody common sense!"

She flinched away and sealed her eyes closed, sniffing at the burning sensation in her nose and throat.

"What's an eleven year old to get pissed about, eh?"

"Eradicate sadness," she murmured, half—asleep already.

"Seemingly incurable, is it?" He'd meant it as a joke, maybe, mostly a mockery if he was honest.

She simply looked up at him, waiting for him to ask her what she'd been so sad about. He didn't.

She provided an answer anyway, "I'm tired."

Tommy sighed, rubbing his thumb and forefinger into his aching eyes, "Me too... Will we go to bed?"

Della looked at him dubiously, "You'll not whack me?"

"We'll worry about all that, later. For now, bed."

He helped her to her unsteady feet and carefully guided her out the bathroom and to her bed. He didn't tuck her in, instead stood back and let his hands awkwardly hang at his sides as she slipped into bed and pulled the blanket under her chin. It was like he'd forgotten what to do. Or perhaps he'd never really known. Once he saw she was comfortable, he gave her a small nod and turned to the door. He was already halfway out of it when he paused and looked back at her.

Tommy's own words to his family rang in his ears: If you're soft on rebellion, it'll grow.

He tried to block it out.

"Del." There was something complicated happening to his face, a strange twinge of regret and hesitation swirling in his eyes, "I do want you to have freedom, your youth... and have everyday experiences with kids your own age. But don't forget, being part of this family — being a Shelby, it's a privilege... And proper protection and security, though at times it's a pain, is never too high a price to pay, eh?"

Del stared at him for a long moment 'fore she whispered, "You're right. 'M sorry."

"It's orright, my little trouble. You're orright. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Da."

And as he closed the door to her room, Tommy had one last thought:

Bloody soft on rebellion.

━━━━━━ annie speaks ━━━━━━

wowowowowowow! and here's a nice big helping of angst and MAJOR foreshadowing! y'all, i have both loved and hated this chapter but it was so important to the overall theme of part two so it was so necessary. also, grace makes me want to punch myself in the face. writing her with del is so frustrating, i hope i captured her personality okay. 

as for the whole phrase 'soft of rebellion'? i feel like that perfectly sums up tommy and del's relationship; he can be so hard on her for things that involve her safety but anytime she rebels, he just kind of... lets it happen. also, i know tommy is a total crap father but you guys... THIS is the part where things really get back where they should. father-daughter growth? here we come! we just have to get through a little more angst before that happens... i can't wait!

what did you think of this one? thoughts, feelings, theories? 

spoiler alert: next chapter includes a little bit of murder and an italian gentleman named angel... ;)