𝐸𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛

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𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐸𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛: 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑇𝑜𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝐴𝑙𝑙

Sabrina had been waiting for Tommy Shelby to enter the Garrison ever since her shift at the pub had started early that morning. She had promised her sisters that she would have a word with him, about the caps, though she could bet confidently on the fact that their intentions for her had been rather different, and a lot more personal.

She had been told numerous times that day to calm down, as she scrubbed the bar to the point where the paint had begun to chip off, much to Harry's displeasure. Though it had happened before, she had given in to the fact that her anger seemed to seek out at the most unnecessary of times.

Sabrina had insisted upon closing up and staying as late as possible. There wasn't a day in which Tommy didn't go to the pub, and she wasn't missing him today if all days. Grace had left her shift early and the bar was nearing to a close as Tommy had finally bathed his way in. But as she rounded the bar, prepared to 'sort him out' (as her sisters had called it), she stopped at the sight of his sweaty brow and distressed eyes.

"What's happened?" She asked, as he hurried toward the bar, shaking his head in answer as he caught his breath. She asked again, "Are you expecting trouble?"

"Yeah." He said simply.

He seemed to be checking around the room, walking toward the back doors and looking them up and down. He reached up to some of them pushing the locks shut. Sabrina frowned, watching his distressed figure as he moved around the pub.

"At this hour?" She asked him, as she pulled out a bottle of whiskey and opened the lid.

"Midnight is as good an hour as any." He said, before putting his hand over the glass, stopping her from pouring the liquid as he shook his head.

Her eyes widened as he refused the drink. The seriousness of the situation had only just sunk in as she watched him double check around him.

"Are you in trouble, Tommy?" She asked, and he chuckled slyly.

"I'm always in trouble." He said, before he explained his situation. "When the St Andrew's bell strikes midnight, two IRA men are going to come through that door. When they have what they want, they plan to kill me."

He came to stop next to her, behind the bar where the whiskey glass still stood. He finally said, "I need you to stop that happening."

"Me? I've never touched a bloody gun in my life!" She exclaimed, as she watched him pull out a gun, holding it in front of her.

"Well now it's a good time to learn." He said, as he moved her hand to wrap around the weapon. "Besides, you won't need to shoot."

"The why do I need a gun?" She asked, as she stared at the gleaming black metal that was icy in her grip.

"You're going to be in the back room. I am going to be sitting there. When I make a toast, you're going to come out with that thing raised. You don't shoot, you just point, I'll do the rest." He said.

Tommy pulled his hands up to wrap them around her own, positioning the gun out in front of her steadily. His lips were dangerously close to her ear, as she leaned in feeling his warm breath, comfortingly against her cheek.

"Can you do that for me?" He whispered lowly in her ear. Sabrina nodded.

A bell chimed the hour and she felt him pull away as the cold spilled onto her skin where his touch had left. He pushed her lightly, urging her to move as his hand reached her waist, forcing her to move to the back. "Right, go, go! Be careful."

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