Until She Wakes

Summary: Grace is hurt after the incident at Billy Kimber's place. Tommy Shelby feels responsible and stays by her side until she is well. Lots of hurt Grace, comforting/guilty/exhausted Tommy, and comforting Arthur and John.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Peaky Blinders. Darn.

Warning: Attempted rape.

A/N: This is my first Peaky Blinders story. Just started watching the show a few weeks ago, and I'm in awe of it. Just—all of it! Wanted to write this two-part fic to play out my desire to see Tommy showing more concern for Grace, as well as for John and Arthur to take care of Tommy. Forgive me if I mess up Birmingham/British slang. Not a part of the world I'm very familiar with.

Chapter 1

At first, Grace only felt pain, and then with the pain came the shock and humiliation as she frantically reached for her purse and the gun inside.

She kept thinking: Is this really happening to me?

Because it didn't seem real. The way her head grazed the corner of the billiards table. The warm trickle that began to cascade down the left side of her face. The way the soft red fabric of her dress mirrored her blood. The rush as Kimber pushed it up, past her knees, exposing the even silkier white slip beneath. The mad shuffle and gasping wheeze of his whiskey-breath as he splayed her left hand out, reaching, reaching for the gun just beyond her grasp.

It's going to happen. This man is going to rape me.

Grace had always heard of the cliché: when life passes before one's eyes in a stressful moment. But for Grace it wasn't her entire life—just one memory of lying in bed while her father tucked her in and sang a song in his sweet tenor voice, an Irish song, a romantic ballad.

When she heard Tommy's call, Grace knew it was over. Jerking back to reality, she shoved the gun in her purse, collecting herself, pushing wisps of blonde hair out of her face, lowering the ruffles of her dress back to the ground, and getting as far away from Billy Kimber as possible.

Shelby's excuse stung at first, another blow against her womanhood, but Grace swallowed her humiliation. She wasn't an operative for nothing. Who was playing whom here? Feelings were reserved for true relationships, not whatever she had with Thomas Shelby. Right?

So Grace forced her lips to stop quivering and looked the servants in the eye as she was hurriedly ushered out. She stalked ahead of Shelby, part of her angry that he had forced her into this position in the first place, embarrassing her to boot, and part of her amazed that he had intervened at all.

Mostly, she was amazed.

A dutiful (if sympathetic) maid pressed a clean cloth into her hands, and Grace used it to stem the bleeding along her temple. She was surprised at how much it blotted the white swathe, but the wound was aching steadily now, a migraine that pulsed with every heartbeat through her forehead. All at once, Grace wished she could be miles away, back in the comfort of her parents' care. Her face burned as she ran through the beautiful house and outside. Already, the sky had begun to darken, clouds looming from the west that bode rain.

Tommy's car was parked where he had last dropped her off, and Grace got in. Shelby was close on her heels, but she didn't acknowledge him when the driver side door clicked open and slammed shut after her.

She held the cloth to her head, forcing her body not to tremble, feeling gooseflesh raise along her arms, her legs, every place where Kimber had touched her, like the kiss of scalding ice on her skin. The engine revved, and Shelby sped away.

Not the get-away you were anticipating, she thought cheerlessly. Grace stole a quick glance at Thomas, grimacing at the jolt of pain that shot through her head with the movement.

"D-didn't think you cared," she said, not able to hold back her emotion and stop the words from tumbling out semi-coherently. In that moment, she wasn't acting, and she wasn't an Agent of the Crown. Grace couldn't deny her feelings for the one man she felt so connected to, the man through work she had become obsessed with, the one man she couldn't figure out.

As always, Tommy's expression was unreadable. His lips pursed together, brilliant blue eyes like flawless gemstones searching far away, past the road they were driving on, beyond the countryside into the future… Or was it the past?

"But then you changed your mind." Grace said. Her breath caught in her chest, sending a thrill of dizziness through her body.

The most dangerous man in Birmingham didn't answer, and she didn't expect him to. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, Grace was aware that the wound in her head was still bleeding, and that wasn't a good sign, but she didn't care. A numbness seeped in that took over from her shins to the tips of her fingers.

"Why did you change your mind, Thomas?" she whispered.

Whether he answered or not, Grace was not aware as she slipped into darkness.

One thought lingered in her mind as it spiraled out: Maybe Mr. Shelby has a heart.

Thomas Shelby grit his teeth and felt his fingernails dig into the steering wheel. Damn fool he was to go back in and interrupt Kimber, but another voice in his head assured him that he had done the right thing. Could his common sense be abandoning him? Did he actually care for this woman?

Her voice seemed far away, but Tommy was too angry at himself and too lost in thought to reply. He should never have put Grace in that position, and he had almost lost her forever.

"I'll take you back to The Garrison," he said, chewing on his lips, thoughts flickering from one possibility to the next. Last scrape averted. Aside from this near catastrophe, the day had gone quite smoothly.

But something remained amiss. Grace did not respond.

"Grace…" he began, glancing at her.

What he saw almost made Thomas Shelby, with notoriously iron nerves, run off the road into the shrubbery.

Grace's head lolled back against the seat, and she was slumped forward. A bloodied handkerchief dangled in her lap, and he saw the tracks of blood as it dripped down the left side of her face, turned away from him, matching the vibrant color of her dress, staining it with gore.

"Grace?"

When she didn't respond, he tossed his cigarette out the window and shook her shoulder roughly.

"Grace!"

His heart skipped beats in twos and triplets as he divided his attention between the road and the unconscious woman beside him. Thomas wasn't a doctor, but he knew she needed care that he couldn't provide, and she needed it quickly.

Gauging the distance as less than five miles, Thomas Shelby stepped on the gas pedal, and, for the first time since he was a child, said a silent and desperate prayer.

Polly Gray was looking over the books at headquarters when he breezed in, like some time-swept knight from an Arthurian legend, carrying a woman in his arms.

"Tommy?" She stood up quickly, blinking back astonishment at the unfamiliar sight. Behind her were curious eyes from Scudboat, Finn, and the other betting boys peeking in through the open double doors. The shop had gone unseasonably quiet.

"Fetch a doctor," Tommy said calmly, as if he had asked Polly for a cup of tea, but when Polly locked eyes with him, she could spy their desperation.

She only wasted ten seconds before her consummate professionalism kicked in.

"All right, you lot!" she howled at the layabouts. "You heard 'im. Dr. Price on the double. And then get back to work!"

The men immediately resumed their various tasks, and Polly caught Finn by the shoulder before he scattered with the rest.

"Cloth and hot water, son. On the double."

Soberly, Finn nodded his head and raced to the washroom.

Polly then turned her attention to the matter at hand. She recognized the girl now—an Irish barmaid at The Garrison. But this girl was dressed in a grand crimson affair—silk spilling down her side, mingling with blood. The way Tommy was carrying her—no—cradling her, showed that he was cognizant of her modesty, thus her pale skin only shone slightly above her ankles.

His aunt gestured to place her on the sofa, which he did more gently than when he was working with one of his horses. Polly closed the double doors on the workmen so they could have some privacy. Tommy tilted Grace's head so Polly could get a better look. She winced when she saw the gash—nearly two inches and ugly along her left temple. Bits of hair and skin had torn off, and the color of red was a flowing constant.

She was about to yell for Finn when the boy scooted up to her, bearing rags and a pail of warm water.

"Good lad. Run along then."

Finn nodded, eyes wide, and scampered away.

Thomas stood beside Polly, unmoving, and though his aunt didn't look at him, she could feel the force of his gaze, seeing through the back of her head to reach the young woman's face. Polly went to work without a pause, knowing the doctor would stitch her up when he arrived, but she washed the blood away, pressing a cloth to her head to quell the bleeding.

"Should I bother asking what happened?" Polly asked.

A pause, then from behind her: "There was an accident."

Polly didn't pry any further, but did she hear a bit of guilt in his tone? Thomas must know she wasn't accusing him—goodness knows their mother raised the Shelby boys better than to strike a woman, but something had happened after the races… Something to do with Billy Kimber…

"Probably just fainted, poor dear," said Polly. "Doc will fix 'er up."

As she bent over to brush a strand of hair from Grace's face, the young woman shifted slightly and moaned.

"There now," Polly said with a deep breath. "That's a good sign."

"Grace?"

Polly turned in surprise at his outburst, and when her eyes found his, they were lost in hope and—could it be?—anguish.

A knock on the door and Scudboat announced the doctor had arrived. Price came striding through, a giant Welshman with a pleasant bedside manner and a robust appetite. Polly had paid for many of his visits with a ham dinner and bottle of gin. She soundlessly ushered Thomas out of the room as the doctor entered.

After the examination, Pol opened the double doors to find Tommy exactly where she had placed him, his back to her, hands clasped tightly together in front of him. The bustle of the workroom had diminished as it approached five o'clock, but it was partially so quiet because the men kept sneaking glances at their boss. They had never seen Mr. Shelby so pensive before.

Polly led Tommy back inside, rubbing his shoulder reassuringly.

"Everything's all right," she assured him. Dr. Price corroborated enthusiastically.

"Right as rain by tomorrow, sir. I found no concussion. The young lady just needs nourishment and rest, and she will be fine. Mind you, she may not wake for several hours.

"Thank you, sir," Thomas said, as stoic as ever, but she heard the relief in his voice. "My aunt will make sure you are well paid for the inconvenience."

"Never an inconvenience to serve the Shelby family," Price said with a tip of his cap. "My pleasure, sir."

Polly showed the doctor out and made sure he would be situated at The Garrison, where he got his pick of the menu. Then she hurried back to headquarters; many of the men were packing up for the day. Arthur and John were out having a drink to celebrate the Kimber deal and would not be back for several hours, Polly imagined. It was rare to have Tommy at home, so to speak, this early in the evening.

She opened the door to the back room a creak or two and spied him with curiosity. He had pulled up a chair and was sitting beside Grace, who was bundled up in a blanket. Polly could just barely notice the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed in and out. The side of her head was stitched and bandaged—Dr. Price had done a good job of it. God willing, the young woman would never even have a scar.

Polly closed the door quietly and turned her attention to Finn, who was hanging off a chair and trying not to look hungry.

"What do you say, my boy? We've got Tommy home for dinner tonight. What shall it be then?"

Finn thought about it a moment and licked his lips. "What would Tommy like?"

An hour later, Polly quietly entered the sick room with a steaming plate of lamb, buttered potatoes, and spinach.

"Some dinner for you," she said softly. If it weren't for the fact that his eyes were open, Polly would have thought he was asleep—he sat so still. An incline of his head was thanks enough. She put the plate by his feet and left.

When she peered through a crack in the door an hour later, he hadn't touched the food.

Arthur Shelby came back to the family residence in good spirits. John was still out with his mates, but Arthur had decided to retire early. Although a man who liked to indulge in a drink (or ten), he was beginning to know his limits as he got older, and they were clearer to define. Midnight was a perfectly respectable time to turn in and not ruin a party. Besides, he might be able to snag some of Polly's cooking, if there were any leftovers. It was John's loss at a scrumptious meal.

He could smell the evidence of Aunt Polly's fine fare when he entered headquarters. His first stop would be the kitchen, and then his bedroom, and a (hopefully) dreamless sleep.

That night, however, Arthur never made it as far as the foyer.

Polly clambered down the stairs as if she had been waiting for him to come back. Immediately, he expected the worst. An emergency. His pulse sky-rocketed.

"Jesus, Pol!" he exclaimed. "What's the matter?"

She shushed him, probably due to Finn sleeping upstairs. "It's Tommy," she whispered.

Arthur felt sick. Kimber's place.

"What 'appened?"

She quickly related everything she knew—which wasn't much—about the situation involving Grace.

"He hasn't moved in six hours," she said, and Arthur saw the concern in the creases around her eyes. If Polly was worried, everyone should be.

Arthur didn't now how to respond at first. Tommy was known to shut himself away, but not like this. Not because of someone.

"I'll see what's botherin' him," Arthur grumbled, mostly miffed that Tommy's usual moodiness was between him and some delicious grub.

He found Thomas right where Polly said he'd be—sitting hunched over in front of the injured girl. A beauty she was too. Long blonde hair fell down her face and spilled over the sofa. Her hands, hanging delicately off slender wrists. Arthur entered the room soundlessly, knowing that if Tommy wasn't asleep, he'd sensed Arthur already.

He stepped closer, checking that Thomas was indeed awake and gazing at the sleeping woman. He seemed lost in thought, a common look for Thomas Shelby.

"What happened?" Arthur said plainly. Best get to the crux of the problem. Faster that way. And Arthur was a man without pretense.

"Kimber attacked her," Tommy said, his voice husky from disuse. "He tried to…"

"Christ," Arthur croaked. "What a bastard."

Tommy just sat there, not acknowledging his brother.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Well, Polly says that she'll be fine. The doctor was optimistic."

Silence.

Arthur looked down and saw the plate of uneaten food, now cold. It was Tommy's favorite dish, a meal Polly only ever made on his younger brother's birthday. It was just like Thomas to avoid food when he was tense about something or other. Arthur's stomach growled on cue.

"Mind if I eat this?"

Thomas said nothing, continuing to stare at Grace.

Arthur bent down and began shoveling the food down his throat. Though cold, it was still delectable.

"Pol's worried about you."

Arthur finished off the spinach.

"How's about we go to the Garrison—join John. Have a drink with 'im?"

Arthur devoured the potatoes.

"Maybe call it a night? Lord knows I'm tired after the job we pulled today."

Arthur finished the plate and set it down with a clang. Tommy's silence was bordering on disrespect, and Arthur's impatience made him angry.

He spun Tommy around in his seat so they were facing each other. He was about to berate his younger brother, but that's when he saw Thomas's face, and the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.

And it shocked him.

"It was…my fault, Arthur. My fault."

Brilliant blue spheres, like snatches from the ocean, shone brightly in the dull light of the back room. Tommy's eyes were wide and full of so much sorrow that Arthur almost looked away with shame. It was so strange to see his brother, usually so cool and detached, all of a sudden so vulnerable. It made Arthur downright uncomfortable.

"Easy, mate," said Arthur, putting a hand on Tommy's arm. "It's not your fault. Kimber was the one—"

"I gave her to him. And she had to obey me because…" Tommy took a shaky breath. "Because we had a deal. And…"

Tommy's eyes looked upwards, searching for strength, and his face contorted in a wild struggle to contain his emotions. Arthur watching in fascination until he thought he couldn't bare it anymore, and then Tommy just stopped. His eyes faded—serene once again, his mouth a thin line, his face pale, but devoid of emotion.

"Tommy?"

"Go away," his younger brother said.

"Tom—" Arthur began, but his brother stopped him mid-sentence, flashing to his feet and pinning Arthur back against the wall.

Arthur's breath caught in his throat when he saw the fire alight in Tommy's eyes. He had seen those embers burn many times before—flames of ire and danger.

"Leave me be, Arthur." His voice was little more than a rumble of distant thunder, but the undercurrent of electricity made the hair on the back of Arthur's neck stand up. Perhaps this is what men felt like before Thomas Shelby killed them.

Arthur had always known his younger sibling to be more intelligent than he was, but when it came to stubbornness, both of them could have been champions. The key difference was that Thomas had all the patience in the world to see his wishes carried out, whereas Arthur's fuse was shorter than a lynx's tail.

In that moment, pressed into the wall, Tommy quietly waited for his brother to relent. Arthur nodded his head eventually and untangled himself grudgingly, placing his cap back on his head since it had shifted in the scuffle.

He left Thomas hovering over the sleeping woman, like a wraith. Arthur muttered under his breath, "Must be some bird," before shuffling upstairs to bed. Tommy might have figured he won this battle, but Arthur was determined to win the war.

A/N: Feedback is always appreciated. Hope you enjoyed!