short chapter n idk how i feel abt it but ahh here u go anyways.
enjoy!!!
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Tommy Shelby loved his kids more than he thought was humanly possible.
Since the moment his daughter was born, and he held her swaddled little body to his chest, he swore that she would grow up to be the most protected and well-cared for child in existence.
Then the war happened. The fucking war. Thomas Shelby would curse its happenstance 'til the day he fucking died. He had missed all the important parts; her first steps, her first words, her likes, her interests. When he came back from France, his own daughter looked at him like he was a stranger, clinging to Polly's skirts and hiding behind her legs, peering up at him with steely blue eyes, twin with his own.
Eventually, things changed. Tommy and Florence were more alike than either of them cared to admit. He liked to think that Florence was all her mother; the same caring heart, the same sweet smile. But Tommy saw it, as did Polly. They saw it in the sharpness of her eye, the quickness of her tongue. She was quiet and reserved, her stare calculated.
The older she grew, the more Tommy realized it. This was his blood and flesh, growing up and walking the earth.
When Charlie was first born, Tommy swore he would do better. This time, he would have a child that had a mother, and they would raise him the way Tommy wished he'd raised Florence.
And then—once again—everything went to fucking shit.
Tommy was sat in Florence's bedroom, holding the framed picture of him and her mother between rough, war-torn hands. He tried not to cry. Greta was the mother that Florence deserved to have. And back then, Tommy was a man that deserved to be her father.
Not anymore. Not now.
He didn't return the picture as he heard the front door open and close, Florence's distinct and feather-light steps making their way up the stairs. He heard her pad in the direction of Charlie's room, the door creaking open for a moment before closing. Then the footsteps made their way over to her room, where she knew her father was sitting in wait.
After a moment of hesitation, Florence stepped into her room.
"Hi, daddy," Florence said quietly, eyes zeroing in on the picture he held.
"Hello, angel." Thomas patted the mattress next to him, not looking up at his daughter. "Have a seat, please."
Florence hesitated before making her way forward and taking a seat next to her father, hands folding in her lap. Tommy waited another moment before placing the frame back on the nightstand, his own hands falling in his lap.
"I realize now that I, perhaps, wasn't behaving as nicely as I should have," Tommy began in his gravelly voice, his eyes trained on a spot on the carpet. "But you were right, and I wasn't willing to admit it."
Florence had half a mind to get up and see if there were pigs flying outside her window. There was no way that he himself, Thomas Shelby, was admitting his faults. Instead, she stared at him.
"Maybe I just didn't want to face the fact that my little girl isn't so little anymore," Tommy continued, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "That you are, in fact, grown, and free to date who you please; so long as I approve."
Florence reached out to take her father's hand. "What're you saying, dad?"
Tommy squeezed Florence's hand before releasing it, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "I'm saying that Bonnie Gold isn't the worst boy to be stepping out with." Tommy paused. "I'm saying that I approve."
Florence dropped her chin onto his shoulder, arms going around his middle and squeezing tight. "You approve?"
"I do," Tommy affirmed, using his free hand to reach into his coat and pull out Bonnie's registration form. "You can give that to him tomorrow."
Florence held the paper in her hand. "Thank you, dad," she said sincerely, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. "You've no idea how much this means to me—to us."
Tommy smiled. "There's a fighter in Camden Town named Goliath," he explained, standing to his feet. "Tell Bonnie that tomorrow morning, Alfie Solomons will be visiting Small Heath to arrange a match. Bring him to the distillery."
"Okay, dad," Florence said quietly, though she was practically bursting at the seams with excitement. "Thanks again."
Tommy bent down, taking Florence's face in his hands and peering into her eyes, their colour so alike he might as well have been staring into his own.
"I love you," he whispered in Romani, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before straightening up. "Tomorrow morning, six sharp."
"Got it."
That night, Florence went to bed dreaming of Bonnie's championship, standing ringside with Aberama and cheering him on. She was at peace, content with her happy ending. Bonnie could stay with her while doing what he loved—no sacrifices had to be made.
Meanwhile, Tommy Shelby couldn't find it in himself to close his eyes for very long. Thoughts of his daughter picking up everything she had and leaving him forever plagued him, forcing his eyes open and his hands into fists every time he sought the sweet relief that could only be achieved through sleep. Instead of embracing him, however, it evaded him. His biggest fear was being alone; if his daughter left him to travel the world with a Gypsy boy, he was positive that he would crumble.
Thomas Shelby could not survive without his children.
