#weeo

When he opened the door, his anger wavered but only slightly. Thomas Shelby was getting out of his car—the maid must have seen the car coming up then—and Alfie opened his mouth, profanities slipping out of him all too easily.

“Tommy, you better have, yeah, the best fucking reason imaginable for showing up here, at this fucking hour, at my fucking home.” It was, almost, their home, but right now Alfie was angry, so it was his. Despite the fact that Tommy spent as many hours as he could here, between the sheets with Alfie, looking for something he was not allowed to have publicly.

Tommy stammered up to him, terribly dirty, Alfie could see now, his face streaked with dirt and tears. Heavy ones that were making their way down from his crystal blue eyes that were bloodshot red from his crying. His nose was running, his mouth quivering. All anger inside of Alfie evaporated, and he was filled, immediately with dread.

“She’s dead.” Tommy made it to Alfie, but the moment he walked up to him, his body seemed to fail him. As though it only had enough energy to bring him here, to Alfie, before he could allow himself to fall apart.

Alfie however, caught him, as he always did.

“Come inside.” Alfie murmured, kicking shut the door as he hauled Tommy inside. But the dead weight was too much for him, and they each fell to their knees, Alfie making sure to keep his arms around Tommy’s torso, trying to look into his eyes, but Tommy kept pushing his head against Alfie’s chest instead, as though he was trying to bury himself inside Alfie’s very fucking body.

“She’s dead, she’s fucking dead.” Tommy tore at Alfie’s arms.

“Who is fucking dead?” Alfie gave a great sigh and forced Tommy to look at him, ignoring the way Tommy’s desperate fingers clung to him, hard enough to hurt. He pressed his forehead against Tommy’s trying to ground him in any way that he could. “Tom, speak to me.” he whispered, wiping away his tears. It was futile. So much more fell.

“Polly.” Tommy whimpered, closing his eyes.

Alfie’s heart sank for a woman he did not know, because he knew who she was, and what it meant. Alfie was no idiot—he knew that Polly Gray was one of the most important women (if not the most important woman) in Tommy’s life. She was his right hand in more ways than his brother ever could be, she was smarter than the entirety of the Peaky Blinders. She was everything. A mother. A friend. A comrade. A blinder herself.

This would hurt him, and it would hurt him for a long time. Alfie had never seen Tommy look so defeated, so...broken. He had seen him close to his of course, over their years together, and he had even seen Tommy cry a few times. But never like this. Never in such a way that made Alfie fear for Tommy’s health, for his mind...(but then again, he had been fearing for Tommy’s mind for many months now).

“I’m sorry.” Alfie whispered, pressing Tommy’s head back to his chest, swiping his lips over his hair, rocking him. It was two words he rarely spoke. “I’m sorry.”

Tommy moaned as he cried, mourning in a way he would not be able to do on the day of his funeral, in front of his children, in front of his subordinates. He cried in a way that only Alfie would ever see, because they had built this trust after years and years together, showing sides to one another that they even had not known they had. Vulnerabilities that men like them did not know they could afford. But here, Tommy was safe. And so he cried and cried in the arms of the man he loved, and Alfie held him until his knees were sore.

“All right,” Alfie grunted, hoisting him up. Tommy looked up at him, his blue eyes bright from the tears, but somehow, his expression was apathetic. He looked fucking exhausted. “We can’t make you just fucking spill your snot and your tears on my carpet, right?” he patted Tommy’s face gently. “Stay the night, yeah? We’ll have a bath, and a long fucking sleep because you need it.”

Tommy sighed. “I will never sleep again.” he whispered.

That wasn’t saying much, since Tommy rarely slept as it was. “Well, mate, I need to fucking sleep, don’t I? So you will come to bed with me, yeah, and lay there until the fucking sun comes up. Hm? Relax your body, right, even if you can’t relax your mind.”

Tommy, for a moment, looked like he was about to fight it, but ultimately, he had no fight left in him. So he nodded his head. Alfie nodded once back and was about to step away, but Tommy grabbed both of his hands and brought them up to his lips to kiss them gently, tears falling from his eyes and onto Alfie’s knuckles.

“You must not die.” Tommy whispered, his eyes shut so tightly it looked painful.

Alfie’s heart sank for the second time that night. “Right, Tommy, look at me.” Once Tommy did, Alfie grabbed his face between his hands, making sure his voice was firm, clear, but not unkind. “If you could not fucking kill me, what makes you think anyone or anything else fucking can?” Tommy let out a small whimper—something that tried to be a laugh and failed. Alfie leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. “Come on little dove. Let’s rest.”