Kimber's Daughter - Tommy Shelby x Reader Fan Fic

Tommy pov 4 - night in Dorset

He was back in the tunnels. His heart hammered against the walls of his chest. Silence. Only silence.

And darkness. Only rock. He was stuck. The darkness never ended, never relented, it squeezed all oxygen from his lungs and he was stuck, he'd been stuck for infinite lifetimes, he was stuck, he was—

With a jolt, Tommy woke. There was still a pressure on his chest and he grasped at it, ready to fight it off, ready to—

Kimber. Her voice in the darkness. He released a breath. This must have been another dream. It had been happening more and more lately. She broke up the nightmares about the tunnel. He'd be treated to a few minutes of dreaming about her, like a bright sun casting out all the darkness that had been consuming him.

"Bad dream?" she asked quietly.

Tommy gave a jerky nod. "You could say that."

There was no sense in explaining, because none of this was real. It couldn't be.

There was warmth against his skin as she brought her hands to his face, murmuring something of reassurance as she ran her thumbs across his cheekbones. He sighed into the feeling. It had been so long since someone had taken care of him. If it had been anyone else, he'd have tended up. Rejected. Shouted. Because if he let his control slip just a tiny bit, it would lead to a whole tsunami cascade of shit. He couldn't afford to give even an inch.

But this wasn't real. And she felt so good. She always felt so good in his dreams.

"Ah. Feels nice, that does," he told her.

Too nice. Too real. He blinked. The room slowly came into view, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. And Kimber was really there, leaning over him, holding him. They were still in Dorset.

It should have been enough to push her away. And while he stiffened, not giving in so completely now he'd realised, he didn't break the contact between them as he lit a cigarette and told her there was no use in talking about it. Why would he recount such horror stories? Why would he tarnish something so beautiful, with something so horrific? It would be like dragging the nightmares right into the dreams he had about her.

But refusing to tell her had the opposite affect. Her fingers grew still, and even in the darkness he could see her face drop. He recognised the expression. She was thinking very deeply about something. Something that hurt her.

He wondered if she'd finally realised how fucked up he was. If this had finally been enough for her. But either way, she was hurting. And he couldn't ignore it. He couldn't bear it.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"I don't like watching people suffer."

Of course she didn't. It was something he'd come to learn about her. A strange dichotomy — she could shoot a man without flinching, but show her an injured horse, or a traumatised man, and she suffers right with them.

"Not even bad men?" Tommy asked, pushing to understand her, to understand this.

"You're not a bad man. You could chain me to a table a hundred times over. You still wouldn't be a bad man."

Fuck. This wasn't good. He'd let his feelings for the girl control him, and now this had happened. She thought he was someone decent. Someone who could love her freely and openly, like Arthur or John. Someone who could give all of himself to her. And it made Tommy sick to his fucking stomach that it couldn't be him. He hated the war, hated himself, even more than he already did.

He stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette and tried to explain this to her.

"That doesn't make you bad. Don't you see, Tommy? It's the opposite."