Peaky Blinders | Imagines and Headcannons | Tommy Shelby | Redghs

Candlelit Sobs | Tommy

Warnings: PTSD, mentions of the war
Word Count: 1004

-----

The snow outside grew heavier and the wind grew colder. As you hurried down Watery Lane, you clutched your coat at the seams, trying to retain as much heat as you could.
You'd been at the Garrison with Polly and Ada, mindlessly gossiping the night away while the rest of the Shelby boys were hard at work.
'We fucking deserve this!' Ada had spoken up, a glass of whiskey raised high in the air and both you and Polly agreed - raising your glasses too before downing them in one.
You often went to the Garrison with the Shelby girls; sometimes to talk business, but more often than not it was just an easy way to pass a long night. However, sometimes you'd find yourself alone, with only a bottle of gin as your friend. You didn't mind, though. It felt nice to sit back and watch the workers stroll in and out of the Shelby pub, stumbling over the step as they left.
Now, you strode the streets of Small Heath, heading home before Tommy wondered where you were and the clock struck an ungodly hour.
Winter nights in Birmingham were bitter. The wind would nip at your ankles and turn your cheeks a rosy crimson, a warning to get home and boil the kettle before you collapse of frostbite in the middle of the street. Luckily, number four was on the southern end of Watery Lane, and the trip from The Garrison to your front door only took a couple of minutes and before you knew it, you were at your door step, fiddling around in your coat pocket for your keys, your fingers slowly numbing at the sudden stop you found yourself at.
Upon entering the house, a sudden blast of heat welcomed you, encasing you in a whirlwind of warmth as you removed your outerwear, hanging it up on the coat-rack beside you.
"Tommy! I'm home!" You called out to your husband, slipping out of your heels and scrunching your toes on the hallway mat, reminding yourself of the cold trapped behind the door and relishing in the idea of getting into bed and snuggling up for the remainder of the night.
"Tommy?" You called again, eliciting no answer from your betrothed the first time and when the second beckon didn't work, you grew concerned. Tommy's keys were sat in the bowl beside yours, a flickering spark crackled away in the fireplace, and a half drunk glass of whiskey sat complacent on the table. Tommy was home, yet nowhere to be found.
"Hm..." You mumbled to yourself, looking around the lounge for anymore signs of your husband, the smell of smoke thick in the air. You quickly peeked into the kitchen, however the lights remained off, the moon's glow gently illuminating the odd counter-top here and there. Still no sign of Tommy.
'He wouldn't go up to bed so early, would he...?' Thoughts of his whereabouts swam through your mind as you softly blew on the fire, stubbing out the last ember of the night. 'He wouldn't leave a glass half empty, either... Or the fire flickering, anything could happen...'
After a moment, you shook your head, an honest attempt to rid your mind of worry and concern for Tommy. 'He probably went down the road, might have had to tell Polly or Arthur something... Yeah...' Although your attempt to calm your nerves worked - for the first couple of seconds, anyway - as you climbed the stairs, you couldn't help but let your mind wonder; scared for your husband's actions being so out of character.
However, when you reached the top of the climb, you noticed a soft light breaking around the door to your bedroom, flooding the small space between the bathroom and guest-room with a dim orange glow. Your mind could relax. 'He'll be getting changed! Must have had a hard day at the races...' You assured yourself - shaking your head at how stupid your thoughts had been - and you rounded the corner, pushing your bedroom door to be greeted with Tommy sat upright, legs hanging off the edge of the bed.
He didn't look like his usual self, though. The candle beside him cast deep shadows across his body, his face almost blacked out with darkness. His hands were clasped tight atop his knees and his shoulders looked as though they were moving up and down on a string - as if a Puppeteer stood above him, intricately guiding his limbs. However, when you moved closer toward him, being careful to not disturb the hunched man, the candle's shadows moved and instead of thin wire strings tied in knots around his wrists, you saw a steady stream of tears running down his cheeks.
"Tommy...?" Your voice broke, tears brewing in your own eyes at the heart-breaking sight in front of you.
"Love.. I-I didn't know you were home, I-"
"Tommy, what happened? Are you okay?" As your heart rate increased, almost to an inhuman speed, you ignored Tommy's feeble explanation and went to sit beside your husband, wrapping one arm around his waist and resting your cheek against his shoulder.
"I'm fine, just another bad dream, that's all" In the past, Tommy had told you about his nightmares about the war: the claustrophobic tunnel he dug with Danny; the shattering blows of bullets against dirt and metal; the stifling heat and smell of the undergrowth. He'd often wake in a cold sweat, shivering and shaking for hours on end afterwards, just as he did now.
You wrapped your other arm around his waist, pulling Tommy in for a hug before he itched over, leaning down and resting his head in your lap.
"You're safe, don't worry, I'm here..." You reassured him, stroking his hair and twirling the raven locks around your finger. Tommy closed his eyes, relaxing into your legs, his erratic shakes subduing gently, and you leant down, placing a soft kiss on his cheekbone - grounding his reality and putting his mind at rest.