• STRANGER • A Thomas Shelby Fanfic •

(1)

He worries about his wife, as he sits on the porch every morning, come rain or shine, wondering where she was taken off to. And if she'll ever come back.

The maids bring Tommy his breakfast, urging him to eat. Perhaps give the morning paper a read, but he refuses. They suggest for him to respond to the many messages left to his phone, perhaps even open up the piles of letters addressed to him. But still, all Tommy wants to do is sit on his porch, wishing, hoping, imagining his wife coming down his long driveway.

He misses her. Blaming that smile of hers on the fact that he longs for her. He's never felt this way about anyone before, he misses her face. Her voice, softer than silk. Those pale green eyes and brown hair. Her cheekbones, her skin. So soft and warm. Always. Untouched, virgin and smooth.He misses her laugh, her smile. Fuck. Her smile. He would do just about anything to see her smile again.

It's been four weeks since she was apparently taken by a man Tommy did not know. She was accompanied by the trusted Philip, a guard, who failed to do his job. Cecilia Shelby was in a packed market, searching for fish for dinner when four men ambushed the pair. Philip drew his weapon, but it was too late, he was shot twice in the chest. Apparently Cecilia screamed, the folks at the market explained that she put up a fight. No one could assist, while one man grabbed Cecilia, another pointed his weapon at the crowd. Threatening that he'd shoot if anyone made a move. No one could help, and just like that Cecilia, Tommy Shelby's wife was taken. And nothing enrages Tommy more.

Tommy balls his hands up into tight fists. They wanted her for something, this he knows, but Jesus, what is it that they want? Because if this was just about a 'message', she should be back now. And he knows, Tommy knows he might have  already lost his wife. He reckons that if they truly wanted to, they could have already killed her. Right there, in the market. He sighs, putting his hands to his sides, telling himself to breathe. She'd tell him to calm down.

He's done everything in his power though, everything to find the men culpable for doing this to his wife. Searched all of England, confided in all of his mates to search for his Cecilia. He's spent no time sleeping, no time relaxing because all of this time was spent on her. Because he spends his nights listening to her screams, nightmares that keep the man awake. Nightmares of her, begging for Tommy to save her.

A hand falls on his shoulders, bringing him to meet Arthur's tiresome eyes. "Tommy," He gives him a squeeze. "I was lookin' in the house for you."

"Well I was here, Arthur." Tommy mumbles, eyes meeting the courtyard leading into the street. He imagines her walking down the yard, they wouldn't kill her. There is no way.

"Why don't we go inside? I told John to come by as well, thought we would-"

"I've got plans." Tommy adjusts shifts on the chair, taking a long pull of his smoke before exhaling. This is the quiet before the storm, before he gets up and wreaks havoc the streets of Birmingham, in search for her. Tommy maps out his day during these long mornings. His mission, to find her. To find his wife, and bring her home.

Arthur studies his younger brother, Tommy looks visibly mad. He's lost weight, isn't talking much, a hatred in his eyes that is delirious. There is a thing called lines, and someone's crossed it, Arthur sighs of sadness, patting his shoulder. "You know, we'll find her, it's only a matter of time before-"

"She'll show up, dead or alive, and I'll seek my revenge either way. I swear God, I'll rip this whole fucking world apart before I find whoever hurt her." Tommy nods. "Yep. That's what'll happen mate." He licks his lips. "I promise."

The two don't say anything for a moment, Arthur's a bit frazzled by Tommy's attitude. Never seen his brother so...cold.

"It's going to rain soon," Arthur uses that as an excuse to get Tommy to come inside. "Why don't you just come inside?" He steps back.