peaky blinders imagines

your father nearly loved me part two; tommy shelby/arthur shelby

He was home early that day, which you thought was odd, but not odd enough to get up and waddle into the kitchen to find him. You brushed a hand casually over your bump; one month to go and you'd be the mother to a baby that you had no intent of letting Thomas Shelby parent.
Your husband walked into the room then, placing his hand over yours where it rested protectively on the swell of your stomach, leaning down to give you a kiss. He was an absolute angel for marrying you while you were pregnant with another's child; he'd always wanted children, though, and he dismissed your worries about the ethics of it all with a wave of his hand.
"I'd rather father one of his than one of mine, love. He's got the good genes, I reckon."
Arthur Shelby smiled down at you, telling you he'd put the kettle on, and without turning, told you you'd better not get up, as if he somehow knew what you were doing without looking.
He'd asked you to marry him as soon as he heard the whole convoluted story. You had been hesitant. He was a decade older than you, and the scars of war had left a deeper mark on him than on either of his brothers. You barely ever saw him without a drink in his hand, and though he never did it around you, you'd been in the rough, dirty streets of Small Heath long enough to know a Tokyo addict when you saw one.
You said yes.
Because Arthur Shelby meant stability. Regardless of his shortcomings, and you knew he had many, he had never once wavered in his devotion to you. Despite your protests, he'd hired maids so you'd never have to lift a finger while pregnant. He'd lavished you with all the little gifts you could have possibly needed.
It took you a long time to admit to yourself he'd loved you all the years you'd been with Tommy. If you had allowed yourself to think about it, you'd recognize the way he looked at you was the exact same way you'd looked at his younger brother. 
So you married him in a small chapel, Polly your only witness; she never liked that "prudish blonde witch" anyways, and she gifted you a wooden crib, carved with little anchor insignias. It was her grandfather's, a Navy man all his life.
(You cried in Arthur's arms that night as you realized you'd alienated him and yourself from the rest of the Shelby family. He held you for hours and told you repeatedly how little he cared as long as you were safe. Deep down, you knew Tommy would never do that.)
You and him had moved out to the country, in a small townhouse that was nearly three hundred years old, paint peeling and housing a tea set older than your great grandmother.
He tried desperately to keep you from Small Heath. The entire Shelby clan had become like a grenade without a pin. You wanted nothing more than to throw them away from you forever, but some part of you, the one that absentmindedly held your bump and then felt a pang of hopelessness and bewilderment, knew that they'd be the ones to destroy you in the end.
And so it came to pass, February 20th, a month to the day before you were to give birth, you returned to Birmingham. Your regular doctor had decided to take a sabbatical to visit family in Ireland, and Arthur begrudgingly admitted "The only other one I'd bloody let near you is three streets from the Garrison."
Worse yet, you were alone. Arthur had some business to take care up-violent things he refused to tell you about-and so he'd arranged for a low level Blinder to meet you at the clinic. 
Arthur's men were useless, you were always telling him, and now you'd been proven right, because whoever was meant to be with you was fifteen minutes late.
You heard rushed footsteps and rotated a bit to see Tommy Shelby striding down the street to you.
He stopped directly in front of you and grasped your shoulders in his, eyes imploring you not to run away.
"I'm meant to be meeting one of Arthur's men here," you told him icily.
"I told him I'd take care of it. Want to be there for the mother of my child."
You screwed your eyes shut and sighed for a moment, before turning towards the door of the clinic and motioning for him to follow you.
"Grace know you're here?" You inquired in a low voice, as the doctor bustled out of the room to get you pills.
He turned towards you sharply, and you realized you'd forgotten how blue his eyes were.
"...No," he admitted.
"Does she know about me at all?"
He hesitated and opened his mouth as if to speak, instead falling silent and shaking his head.
"Right, then, get the fuck out."
Tommy wheeled toward you with wild eyes, one hand reaching for yours and the other landing lightly upon your bump.
"Please," he groaned. "They're my child too."
"In name only, Tommy Shelby. This girl will be more Arthur's daughter than she would ever be yours."
He looked stricken.
"It's a girl?" in a hoarse whisper, left hand meeting his right atop your stomach.
You nodded, resolute, and motioned to the door.
He crumbled for a split second, forehead resting against you, before standing up and walking out without a word.
(You cried in Arthur's arms again that night. He was furious, resolved to go after Tommy and snap his neck for even coming near you, but you talked him down with a hand cupping his cheek and a reassurance you'd stab him with your heel if he ever tried to communicate with you again. He cracked a smile at that, and it occurred to you then what a fantastic father he'd be, easy grins and gentle touches upon your bump.)