Power and Lies

Thirty-Five

"It isn't the mountain ahead that wears you out; it's the grain of sand in your shoe."
-Robert W. Service

Stress was not an unfamiliar feeling to Thomas Shelby. It had been a long standing companion to him, in fact. Doctors rushed about around him, hands lashing out to navigate his wife's body, turning her, prodding her. Her skin was still sickly and pale, her arms hanging limp at her sides. Tommy watched her, his hands wringing together in a moot attempt to ground himself, lest he lose himself entirely to the stress flowing through his body. Time seemed to stand still around him, each yell of a nurse seemed to take forever. He was vaguely aware of someone pushing him near the door, trying to shove his frame out, to close him away from her. He would not be swayed, would not be moved by weaker men than he.

"Get your fucking hands off of me," he hollered to them, each word leaving his mouth agonizingly slow, drifting through the air at a glacial speed. He felt as though his heart was going to explode. "Do not touch me!" His arms lashed out, pushing at shoulders as he made his way to the bed his wife lay on, his hands seeking hers. Her eyes were still shut.

It took three men to carry him out into the hallway, shutting and locking the door behind themselves. The small window on the door had its curtain drawn shut leaving him without any vision on his wife. He had never seen someone ill so quickly, even in France when people were marked with fever. He slid into a chair, and found himself cradling his head in his hands, his fingers wrapped around tendrils of hair he pulled at as he tried to calm his rapid heart rate. He had the maids at the house send word to the others of her turn on the way to the hospital, and he could only hope one of them would be there soon. If not, he was unsure of what he would do. His body began to shake in the same way it would when he would awake from his nightmares, when men had burst through the tunnels in his mind, infecting him with terror. His breathing became erratic, the rhythm off as he tried to pull in air of lungs that did not wish to breathe.

Suddenly he was choking, his fingers pushed into his throat to detect a pulse he was not even sure of anymore. The world was closing in on him, the walls of the hallway seemed to be pushing against his skin, pulling him deeper into an abyss he could not navigate. He could feel his nails digging half crescents into his skin, peeling bits of it away, and still he choked. His eyes bulged as he struggled to make his ribs raise and fall allowing his lungs the space to inflate. He was dying. He was going to die right here in the hallway, in these shitty green walls while his wife lay helplessly on the other side of a locked door.

"Tommy?" Arthur called to his brother, his icy finger reaching out and touching the warm skin of the man who was far away in his thoughts. He had seen this before, in the terrorized men in war, and he looked to John, an agreement running between the two of them. On three they wrapped their arms on either of Tommy's who had begun to lash out, his vacant eyes staring out into the air. "Tommy you're okay. It is okay!" The calm demeanor of his brother had snapped, leaving a maddened mess in its place.

"Tommy, pull it together mate. It's okay, we're here now." John whispered to his brother.

John. Arthur. Breathe. Breathe. The thoughts were erratic, spaced out, but still Tommy latched to them like a saving grace. He turned his focus to his brothers, pushing through the clouds in his mind until he was finally able to speak, his body exhausted.

"They're in there," he managed, the world finally going back to normal. Each breath felt like a weight on his chest as his body began to calm its tremors. Arthur pulled a flask from his pocket and offered it to him. He wasted no time in drinking down its amber liquids and wiping his mouth. He had not lost control like that since he had come home, before he had opium to calm his nerves.

His brothers sat beside him, close enough to grab at him again if he were to slip back into madness, but he did not feel he even had the energy for it. His very skin felt weighted. It did not take long before Polly and Ada both entered the hallway, coats flying behind them as they hastened down the wooden floors.

"What on earth has happened?" Polly rushed out when she saw the brothers. Tommy looked as though he were dying, and the brothers looked as though they had been in a fight before coming.

"She collapsed. They've kicked me out."

Polly was no fool, she knew the locked door was inevitably because of Tommy's own actions, and so when she brought her fist to the window in a hard knock, she had not expected an actual answer. Still, she felt it best to try. And when a small redheaded nurse poked her head out, it had taken her very much by surprise, and for a split second she had to compose herself.

"I am sorry ma'am, this is a private room." The nurse said, her tone calm.

"I do not care if God himself is lying in that bed, you will tell us of her condition if you are to leave us in this hallway all night." She tried her best to keep her fear from being evident. Clearly it worked as the nurse squeaked and pushed her head back in, clasping the door shut once more. Her next knock went unanswered.

Three hours passed as Tommy sat, occasionally drinking from his flask and smoking on cigarettes supplied by his family. People filtered in and out of the room, never pausing to give updates on his wife. Eventually, however, the door cracked open, and the nurse from before exited, followed closely behind by a doctor.

He was small and mousey, and in no way intimidating, and yet, Tommy had never feared a man more in his life. He feared him because if he told him his wife was dead, so was Tommy.

"Mr. Shelby. Er, Thomas Shelby." Tommy lifted a finger to identify himself, as though the doctor had not witnessed him being drug out. "Your wife is fine."

"Do not fucking lie to me. I saw what my wife looked like." He was exhausted, and he had no patience left in him for lies to help him feel better.

"Yes, well, she had developed an infection. Most likely from not resting enough during the last couple weeks. Her blood pressure raised, most likely causing the fainting spell, and the infection spiked her fever, most likely the cause of her sleeping more often. Has she been on bed rest?" Tommy shook his head, wishing he had been home to ensure she stayed in bed. "Well, she has been given some medicine that will help the infection and she will be safe to go home in the morning. She is awake and coherent now, and she has been asking for you. I imagine she gave you quite the scare." Scare was not the proper word, Tommy thought bitterly.

The others nodded, happy to be dismissed now that she was cleared of death, and left Tommy to see his wife. Something he could not wait to do. He shoved through the door quickly, relieved to see Freya sitting up staring at him, her eyes large and alert.

"I am so sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking with emotion.

"Don't. Don't apologize." He pushed his lips against her own, savoring the taste of her once again, happy to have this ability. She was fine. The baby was fine. Everything was okay, and he was whole.

"I did not mean to scare you."

He kissed her again, hoping he would stop her apologies. He did not want to hear them. He only wanted to feel her skin on his, her lips on his own, her fingers wrapped around his. He pushed his way onto the bed, not caring when the springs groaned under the weight and wrapped his arms around his wife. Her skin was aflame, and sticky from sweat, but he had never loved the feeling more. She lay her head on his chest then, pressing her ear to the bones of his chest to listen to the beats of his heart. She felt guilty, the stress that she must've put him through. Not enough words existed to apologize to him.

Soon enough his breathing became shallow, his body having given in to the pull of sleep. He looked exhausted, and she was happy to have him next to her. Her own body felt flighty with fever, the waves of illness coming and going. Once the medicine had been put into her she felt the shift in her energy. It picked up a bit, allowing her bits of clarity through the haze of everything that was happening around her.

It had all been so sudden. She could not even remember the collapse, just pain. She was not even sure she could breathe through it at one point. She swore it was time for the baby, but the doctor had calmly described to her that her kidneys were most likely infected, and that her baby was stubbornly stuck inside of her a while longer. The kicks of her child reassured her all was well, and eventually she was lulled into sleep with her husband, her small family scared, but unharmed.