peaky blinders imagines

on babies with sky-blue eyes

Your husband quoted it to you and everyone around you constantly, to the point of exhaustion, so perhaps it was only appropriate you found out you were to have his first child in midwinter. It was the middle of January, and Small Heath was in the midst of a cold spell, temperatures regularly below freezing and a biting wind coming in from the south not helping matters.
It was Polly who originally encouraged you to see a midwife, after noticing how queasy you became at the scent of relatively bland mashed potatoes. Esme, who had never been one to shy away from relatively squeamish matters, asked you gently when the last time you had menstruated was, and, when you'd confessed it had been at least two months, she told you she'd take you to the midwife herself.
Neither of you had access to a car, and you'd begged her not to tell Tommy for fear he wouldn't be thrilled at the idea of a child, so you walked the mile and a half. You bundled up thoroughly, and Esme let you hold her arm tightly and lean into her against the wind.
"Why didn't you want me to tell Tommy?" she'd asked, speaking loudly so as to be heard above the breeze whipping around the sharp corners of buildings.
"I don't know if he'll be happy about it, honestly."
"I dunno that he's ever been happy about anything in his life, my friend."
"That's the problem!" You'd cried, turning to face her, stopping for a moment until she prodded you to keep walking. "I never know if he's happy about anything because he's incapable of expressing emotion, and Lord knows if I asked him about children he'd just change the subject."
Esme patted your arm and attempted to console you for the rest of the walk, but you wore a slight frown in accompaniment with your grimace against the wind blowing your hair back.
The midwife's office was located in the room adjacent to the back of her home, slightly small but bringing relief from the cold and a welcoming environment. Her name was Elizabeth, and she sat you down on a white cot laying atop a blue frame. You gave her your name, and she smiled amusedly at you.
"I know full well who you are."
"Tommy doesn't know."
"Thomas Shelby doesn't know his wife is pregnant with his heir?"
"Christ," you muttered, and the twinkling in her eye told you she was merely teasing, "he's impossible to talk to. I'll either have to convince him not to shout from the rooftops with joy or keep him from boarding the next train to Paris."
Elizabeth smiled again, this time in sympathy, and gestured for you to hold out your arm so she could draw blood. You winced slightly as she inserted the needle, and Esme laughed a bit, commenting that it didn't feel like much after the fifth child.
"I'll be back in a moment," your midwife said, disappearing into a back room you'd failed to notice upon your first investigation of your office, and you leaned back and raised an eyebrow at Esme.
"You're pregnant," she said frankly. "You don't need her to inspect your blood to know that."
You shook your head.
"I think you're right, but...I can't face telling Tommy until I know for sure."
Esme nodded, and you refrained from commenting on how sick you were already becoming of sympathetic expressions only because you were well aware you'd need her expert wisdom through your pregnancy. You and she sat in silence for another quarter hour, until your midwife re-entered the room. You immediately glanced to her hands, expecting to see some sort of indicator of the results of her tests, but Elizabeth was holding nothing.
She didn't hold you in suspense for long, however, telling you "Congratulations, Mrs. Shelby. You're going to be a mother."
Esme squealed with joy, and you leaned your head back against the wall, covering your eyes with your hands and breathing out deeply, trying to suppress your panic. Esme made her way over to you and guided you to stand up, and through the buzzing in your ears you barely noticed her call a goodbye to your midwife.
The walk back was silent, the static rushing through your head showing no sign of ceasing, but you noted Esme crooking her arm slightly more into yours, supporting your walking that much more.
You walked into Garrison a slight bit past noon, and it was absolutely empty except for John and Finn, who informed you Tommy had taken the rest of the Peaky Boys to London for the next two days to deal with Alfie Solomons, who'd apparently taken upon himself to exert his negative influence over the British economy at the absolute worst time.
Your exclamation of "Really, this weekend?" and Esme's exaggerated eye roll and sigh meant you wouldn't be able to escape to your own home without explaining what was going on.
They were both thrilled, John exclaiming loudly and throwing his arms around you, proclaiming he "didn't think Tommy had it in him!" and Finn meekly giving you a one-armed hug.
Over the course of the next two days, you tried valiantly to keep yourself busy. You returned to your and Tommy's home in the country and completed paperwork he'd long been putting off, fed the horses, and read volumes of paperwork in order to keep your mind off the life growing inside of you. During the rare moments you allowed yourself to think about the child you were going to have, you imagined a little girl, with her father's piercing eyes and your hair, or perhaps a little boy, the spitting image of his father but for his smile, which would be all you.  You didn't yet have a bump, only being a month and change along, but you ran your hand over your stomach so frequently it was beginning to become a habit.
Tommy came home midday Monday, when the sun had about reached its peak in the sky and the cold spell was beginning to break, and Esme had been calling you constantly, telling you to take advantage of the relative warmth and get some fresh air for your child. Your husband was in an unusual good mood when he came home, even granting you a rare smile when he kissed you hello, and some part of you feared he already knew, that John or Esme or Finn had slipped up and robbed you of the opportunity to tell Tommy Shelby he was going to be a father. He noticed your pained staring, however, and the innocent way he asked "Is anything wrong?" reassured you that he did not have a clue you were pregnant.
You shrugged and told him "That's up to you," leading your husband over to one of the chairs in the dining room and leaning on the table in front of him. He clasped his arms behind his bed and arched an eyebrow at you, a silent request for an explanation.
"I won't drag this out long," you began, and his body language became a bit more pronounced, as if he wasn't certain if this was your way of asking for a divorce, "but I went with Esme to the midwife a few days ago, and you're going to be a father."
Tommy's entire persona changes. He sat forward, grasping both your hands and leaning forward, forehead nearly touching the not-yet-swell of your stomach as he made direct eye contact with you, expression unspeakably soft.
"A baby?" He murmured in wonderment, and you thought you saw tears pricking at the edges of his bright blue eyes.
"Yeah, Tom. A baby."
This time, you were certain he let a tear escape, as he stood all the way and pulled you into him, one arm hooking around the back of your neck and the other ghosting softly over your stomach.
"I love you so much," he cried into your shoulder, and you let yourself embrace him in full, wondering privately how you ever doubted Tommy Shelby wanted every part of being a family with you.