Anna stormed into a Garrison like a wind, capturing every gaze in the pub. Angrily, she vaved them off an assertive sweep of her hand, her eyes fixed on Harry, who was deftly pouring two glasses of gin at the bar. An expression of disapproval etched on his face, he observed her approach.
"Thanks," she barked, downing her drink in a swift motion before taking a seat.
"I'm listening," Harry sighed, leaning against the bar with his elbow and resting his face in his hands, weariness evident in his posture.
Rolling her eyes, she signaled for him to pour another round.
"What's up your ass today, Autumn?" he raised an eyebrow, but obliged, pouring her another drink.
"Tommy," she spat, snatching a glass from his hand and downing it in one swift motion, relishing the burn that trailed down her throat.
"I thought you were living in a happy fairytale. Everyone's talking about you two lovebirds," he chuckled, sipping his drink with an air of nonchalance, oblivious to her mounting frustration.
"Do me a favor, Harry. Shut the fuck up," she snarled, narrowing her eyes and scorching him with her intense gaze.
"Ay, ay. It's serious then" he said, the amusement draining from his expression, replaced by concern.
"Since he returned from the hospital, he's like a changed man. Acting weird, having these... I don't even know what it is, pains? He's drinking more than usual, and he stopped talking about the wedding. It's like we were never engaged. I didn't even get a fucking ring," she poured out, the alcohol already coursing through her veins as she buried her face in her palms.
"Could he be sick?" Harry asked carefully, his voice breaking with concern.
Anna peered at him from between her fingers, "I think so," she admitted, hiding her face once again.
"Holy cow," he muttered under his breath, pouring another round of gin for them. If it was true and Thomas Shelby was sick, everything would change. The war between gangs would ignite, each vying to claim his vacant spot.
"He doesn't talk to me, Harry. He's treating me like I'm stupid," she snapped her neck, straightening in her seat, relieving the tension that weighed her down. She grabbed her third drink in this short period.
"Let him come to you, Autumn. Don't push it. Tommy is..." he paused, searching for the right word, "well, different," he finished with a hint of uncertainty.
Anna sighed, knowing he was right and she shouldn't have pushed him to the corner. But after a months of waiting for him to wake up, praying and hoping she'd see his eyes again, she hoped things would turn out differently.
After a few more glasses of gin, the effects became evident. Her red eyes betrayed her with a blurry vision, and her coordination started failing.
That's when the best idea flew into her head.
She bid her goodbye to Harry, clumsily slipping into her coat, missing a few holes before successfully sliding her hand in. While grabbing her gloves, a memory of Tommy slipping them on invaded her mind. Fueled by anger, she threw them across the pub, storming out with wobbly legs that swung her from side to side as they carried her away.
The walk felt like a few minutes, but it took her an hour and several falls until she reached the familiar house—a place that was supposed to be her home. In her right mind, she would avoid this area at all costs, but now, it seemed like the best idea she ever had.
Uncertain if he was inside, she knocked a few times, not really expecting an answer. The knocks were more for the effect, but to her surprise, the door swung open, revealing Johnny with a confused look on his pale face.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" he screamed, eyebrows raised in disbelief as he observed her standing there—clothes crumpled and dirty, mud covering her fingers, and her face flushed.
"I-I cme herr to talk bout smthing" she slurred out, leaning against the wall for support.
"You're drunk," he sighed, shooting her a judging glare.
"I'm not," she snapped, her conviction crumbling as she buckled and crashed against a wall, her face bearing the impact.
"Fuck" Johnny grunted, grabbing her by an arm and assisting her to stand still. Despite his efforts, she buckled again, gripping his arm for support.
"Come on," he leaned down, scooping her up and carrying her inside, away from potential harm.
Placing her on a sofa, his anger softened into annoyance. With pursed lips and hands over his chest, he watched her struggle to keep her eyes open.
"Let me get you some water" he rolled his eyes, feeling a mix of frustration and lingering care. He headed to the kitchen, choosing her favorite mug. Memories of them drinking and laughing flooded his mind, causing his chest to tighten with yearning. She was not the same person, he reminded himself as he brought her the water.
Watching her devour it, he couldn't help but grapple with conflicting emotions he felt.
"What did you want to talk about?" he asked in a stern, reserved voice, his face blank of any emotion.
"Tommy," she pushed out, attempting to focus her gaze on him, but he seemed both close and distant.
Johnny scoffed, "And why would I want to talk about him?" he asked, emphasizing the word as if discussing the most distasteful thing on earth.
"Yo-you're a dctor" she breathed, her words still slurry and sloppy, but she caught his attention. He wrinkled his forehead in confusion.
"Yes, and why is that important?" he asked, walking closer and observing her flushed face.
"I thnk he's s-s-sick," she fought to pronounce the word 'sick,' intoxication clouding her usually sharp mind.
"Why do you think that?" she had his full attention now.
~
That day, Tommy returned home late. He needed some time alone to collect his thoughts over a bottle of whiskey and it did him a good. He felt much calmer, a little bit intoxicated, but still in his senses.
He was expecting Anna to be home already, probably still mad at him, but they'd talk it out, they always did.
As soon as he entered a room and Anna was nowhere to be found, panic settled inside him. Bursting out of the room, he searched through every corner of the house, nearly waking up the rest of the family.
She wasn't there.
A familiar weight settled on his chest, accompanied by a sharp pain, but Tommy refused to surrender to the pain. He pushed through, making his way outside to the poorly lit streets, heading toward the place he left her.
The door of the pub was locked, and it seemed deserted. Tommy needed to make sure; perhaps she was inside with Harry. He knocked violently, repeatedly, until a light flickered on, kindling a glimmer of hope within his heavy chest.
Soon, the door opened, and Harry greeted him with a confused look.
"Where is she?" Tommy barked, peering over Harry's shoulders as if expecting to find her hidden inside.
"Mr. Shelby, she left like 5 hours ago," Harry replied in a trembling voice, fearful of the reaction he might provoke.
"Where did she go?" Tommy leaned closer, his blue eyes piercing Harry's face. Panic built inside Harry, and sweat adorned his forehead as he squirmed under Tommy's intense gaze.
"I-I have no idea" he shuttered.
"Was she drunk?"
"Yes"
Tommy turned on his heel, storming away from the frightened bartender. Determined to find her, he decided to search the streets. A drunk woman outside in Small Heath at night was not very safe, and Tommy was well aware of that. Every step was accompanied by a sharp sting inside his chest, wondering how much more his heart could take.
After searching every street in Small Heath, he returned home, worst-case scenarios flooding his mind. Was she dead? Had someone hurt her? What the fuck was going on?
He settled at a table in the kitchen, his head buzzing with a million possible ways she could be suffering right now. Why did he let her go? This was his fault, and his heart was breaking once again. Whatever he touched seemed destined to die. Even his love was dangerous.
Grabbing a glass from the table, he smashed it against a wall, the loud sound of shattering glass echoing through the silent house.
"What the fuck is going on?" Polly rushed into the kitchen, followed by a sleepy Ada and little Finn.
"Come on, Finney, let's get back to bed." Ada wrapped her arms around the little boy, taking one last look at Tommy sitting at the table with his head buried in his hands. She led him back to his room, leaving this matter to Polly.
"Tommy?" Polly's voice carried concern as she approached, delicately navigating over a broken glass before settling in a chair beside him.
"She's gone, Pol," he mumbled into his palms.
"Where?" she asked, maintaining a calm tone despite the rising tension.
"I have no bloody idea. She could be gone for good, and it's my fault," he confessed through a clenched jaw, casting a weary glance her way. His eyes, wide and red from sleepless nights and worry.
"Calm down To-"
"Don't tell me to calm down" he smashed his hand against a table, a loud bang resonanting in a room.
Polly didn't flinch, she took a breath, pushing down her own concerns, "So what now? Are you going to sit here and feel sorry for yourself?" she spat, "Eh?"
"What am I supposed to do? Eh? Tell me Polly!" he yelled.
"Whatever you did to upset her, she needs time to collect herself. Anna's a strong woman; she'll be alright. Go to bed and wait until tomorrow before doing anything foolish," Polly scolded, brushing off the anger in his eyes.
"She was drunk when she left the Garrison," Tommy whispered with frustration.
"Tommy, trust me. She's fine."
"How do you know?"
"I just know."
Getting up, she swiped a broken glass to the side with her foot and walked away, leaving Tommy alone with his thoughts.
An hour passed, and Tommy remained in the same position, waiting for a door to burst open and Anna to appear. But nothing changed. His eyes were closing, tiredness overwhelming him, but he kept forcing them back open. Sleep eluded him.
A sudden knock on the door surprised him, causing him to jump up instantly. He rubbed his face, wiping off any liquids that decided to trail down his nose as he fought against sleep.
Rushing toward the door, he swung it open dramatically. A man in dirty, cheap-looking clothes stood before him, his grey hair balding. He looked like he was in his late 50s.
"What is it?" Tommy asked, frustration evident in his voice. Deep down, he hoped it would be Anna, but instead, an old man with blue eyes and deep wrinkles greeted him.
"I heard you were looking for your fiance. We... we saw her, Mr. Shelby," the old man replied in a nervous tone, avoiding Tommy's piercing eyes.
"Where?" he barked, his stomach twisting with anticipation. Where was she?
"She went to the new doctor's house, Mr. Sky"
Tommy slammed a door in an old man's face with a force that shook the walls. His insides burning with anger that would soon burn the entire city.
So there she was, running to her ex fiance.