Tommy Shelby finally recognises the extent of his mental damage. An Illness that is eating away at his conscious being, devouring every last morsel of sanity in his head.
An illness that finally forces him to seek counsel from a professional.
To fi...
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A/N: For my own reasons, I have decided to have it in this story that Tommy/Lizzy never really happened – therefore Ruby does not exist in this timeline either.
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"It's lovely to meet you, Mr Shelby."
Thomas Shelby found himself looking at a woman. That was one thing he was not expecting.
Not that he was in complete objection to the fact a woman could be a psychologist, it was just he had built the entire foundation of his pre-composed idea of this experience on the image that he would sit down with an elderly gentleman and be told what to do regarding his troublesome mental problems.
She was a woman of average height. Fairly slim built, but not incredibly skinny as she clearly filled out the curvaceous shape of her carnation pink blouse and A-line grey skirt that finished just below the knee. Her small feet were encased in a pair of black stilettos, high enough that it complimented her femininity – but not so that she might fall and break an ankle.
Since she'd stepped into the room, Tommy realised he had not said a thing. It was rare he felt so dumbfounded and rather stupid. He was usually a man with a wit as sharp as his cap razor.
"Dr Grant?" he asked, just to be sure that this wasn't the psychologist's secretary or something to that effect.
The woman smiled, her dark hair set in loose curls that sat over one shoulder as she crossed the space of the office towards the grand oak desk, heels clicking loudly with each step, the unmistakable sound reverberating off the high walls.
"Yes, Mr Shelby," she confirmed, walking around to her side of the desk – her figure momentarily silhouetted against the large window. The sky's ominous rainy grade shade and dull downtrodden sunlight cast into the room, otherwise hugging her figure in a cast of momentary shadow whilst she faced the decanter and went about pouring herself and her client a glass of water.
"You seem surprised, Mr Shelby?" Dr Grant spoke out after a minute, placing the first crystallised glass of water down on Tommy's side of the desk before she poured her own and lowered herself into her highbacked leather chair opposite him.
Shelby looked over at her, there was no point in trying to cover it up with some stupid lie in order to avoid offending the lady.
He cocked his head slightly, his cool icy gaze flitting down to the clear water in the glass just in front of him.
"I won't lie to you. I wasn't expecting you to be a woman." He voiced, his gaze fleeting up to the psychologist who just seemed to be sitting there receptively of his words. "But there we go. I can't be right all the time."
The slight air of crass and dry humour to his tones made the psychologist smile as she slowly started to piece together this infamous man in front of her. All she had known of Tommy Shelby previously was every bloody article plastered in the paper, slandering him for all sorts of reasons. Reasons the woman had never fully understood and didn't care to. She wanted to view her client with fresh eyes – no prejudgement.
