Gun metal and Daisies (Thomas Shelby)

"I don't want to die."

Don't promise to live forever
Promise to forever live while you're alive.

Thomas had tight hands on the wheel of his car. His knuckles were white, but his face was paler. The gash on his brow bone had dried and he made no attempt to clear it up.

Down the days continue. Wake; work; eat; sleep; dream; wake; think; be.
"Is it possible" Thomas wondered, "to find the great lostness in another's face and know you're meant to be together?"

He drove his car through fields and high-end estates. He drove for hours until he reached his destination.

Epsom. Fucking Epsom. He had his suit on which was now caked in mud and the blood of his now dead executioners. If life was a choice, it sure as hell, isn't a fucking fair one.
The laundry list of all his sins, vast in its numbers, but he was never fearful of them.

But this. What he was about to do. This? He was scared of. For the first time, there was no plan, there was no meeting, nor vote.

——

The stones and mud made his car creek and groan as he journeyed down the country roads. He came to a stop outside the wooden fence and entered through the kissing gate.

He heard no sounds other than a horses gentle footsteps and and the rustling of leaves in the trees.

He swiftly marched up to the door and raised his fist to knock. He paused.

Thomas, in all honesty, hadn't a clue why he was here. That's a lie. He knew why he was here- he didn't know what to do here.

Thomas Shelby just couldn't fucking die. He, for one reason or another, played rock, paper, scissors with Hell every day and seemed to win every round.
He lived like the uphills were mountains and the downhills were cliffs.
He was a stick of TNT lit from both ends. And despite a literal army calling him an inspiration, he remained a conversation piece between people who couldn't understand that sometimes being war-free, had less to do with addiction, and more to do with sanity.

He knocked on the door with fierce blows. He didn't know what to say, what to do. The woman who opened the door smiled a smile that he didn't realise that he had craved for so long. But it was gone in an instant.

The silence was louder than any other sound. It was a fucking tragedy.
"Why... why do you keep coming back here?" Her voice was meek and tears brimmed her eyes- but she didn't look away. She refused to break her stare.

"I don't want to die." Thomas spoke at a louder volume than appreciated. "I don't want to die. I didn't care before, but today I knew I couldn't leave. But I'd rather die than be away from you."

Dorothy stuttered, "what are- what are you on about, Thomas?"

"Please. I need you. I can't fucking do this on my own. I need you. I thought I didn't need anyone, but I need you. I need you, Tilda, Theo, Leah, even little Tammy. I fucking need all of you."

Dorothy had tears streaming down her cheeks as she watched the man in front of her, tear his rib cage open, and display a once thought dead beating heart.

He grabbed onto the skirt of her dress which made her flinch slightly, but Thomas didn't notice. He had his eyes tightly sealed shut, as his knees met the ground.

"I felt the clutches of a scythe today- and all I could do was talk about you. I'm a selfish, selfish man, and I can't let you go. So please, for the love of anything, money, power,- fuck it- God. I need you, I need all of you." Thomas had tears flowing down his face as he leaned his head forwards into the clutches he had on her dress.
He breathed in deeply, and he smelt her scent that brought him so much security- for a moment, everything was okay.

"I can't do that, Thomas." She sniffled slightly. "You can't just turn up and claim you need us."

"I know. I know! And I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I couldn't cope with it... y'know- he was the reason I even told you- you that I-" he couldn't finish his sentence as sobs racked his body.

"I loved him like my kin. He gave me a crutch that I didn't know I needed. Please... I can't lose you..."

Dorothy crouched down, her eyes met his. She was silent as she delved into the pools of cerulean blue. "I forgive you, Thomas."

Thomas sighed, but it came out more like a laboured cry, "so you'll come back then?"

Dorothy shook her head, "you can't ask me that in a way that speaks as if heartbreak is something you can remedy using any of the contents found in a med pack..."

Thomas' hands tightened on her skirt, "no, no. Please. PLEASE. Don't make me go back without you. I'm legal- I'm going legal. No more cutting, no more war. No one in danger... PLEASE."

Dorothy thought hard and long. She remembered old times. Back when things were better and nothing hurt. Where the skies were blue and the day was warm. Where the skies were blue and days were warm.
Where the skies were blue and the days were warm.
Where the skies were blue and the days were warm.
Where the skies were blue and the days were warm...

"Nostalgia, Bubs, is a dirty liar, who always makes things seem better than they actually were"

Sometimes... memories are the worst form of torture.

"And what of Matilda? What of Theo? Tammy, Leah? Mama? What of them, Thomas? I can't leave them behind, and I'd rather take a bullet than throw them back out on the streets."

Thomas' heart leaped, "I am investing into a house. A house in the country, like this one but bigger. Much, MUCH bigger." His hands fumbled as he tried his best to describe the home, "and they can stay there, with us- that is if you'd be willing to stay with me..."
Dorothy stared on, her face impassive.

"I know my word means nothing to you... but I swear on the skin of my back and the blood in my veins, that no harm would come to you, your Ma, nor those kids... it'll be just us. I'd see you everyday, all the time and the world would never get in the way... please."

Dorothy placed a hand on Thomas' cheek and he leaned into it like a dim flame. "...life's put a lot of horrible things in my lap. But you, sir, you're a work of art... maybe you might be the one thing I can't reject..."

"Is that a yes?" Thomas leaned forward.

"You're a selfish man, Bubs... but I don't think I'd have you any other way."

He gave his all, just to hear her say that name again... it was so fucking worth it. But not nearly as meaningful as the moment she pressed her lips against his.

And the surprised sound she made when he leaned in again, Thomas thought, was not too different from a distant star exploding in joyous chorus.

It was fucking horrible. A tragedy suffered within the confines of a love that would never fall into contempt. This love was not something that doctors could cut away- that there's no way for it to metastasis. It does.

It was fucking horrible. It was perfect. It was everything they needed and rejected. It was okay. It was finally okay.
And it was nice.

——

Fuckin hell...

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