A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two: Chapter Sixteen

A/N: Sorry for the delay everyone! I'm back and ready to write some more. The updates will still be slow, but hopefully they won't be months a part.

Oh, Christ.

Jesus Christ.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Jesus — dying on a fucking cross — Christ.

Jesus — son of Mary, dying on the fucking cross — Christ.

Jesus — son of Mary, dying on the fucking cross to save us from our sins — Christ.

Christ, what in the bloody hell had she been thinking?

She hadn't been — that's what Tommy'll say. He'll pace back and forth, shaking his head and smoking his stick and he'll say, "If you'd just stopped to think for one bloody second we wouldn't be in this mess, would we Charlotte?"

She'd look away, refusing to answer. And then he'd get angry. He'd reach forward, taking hold of her shoulders, tightening his grip until she was wincing under the pressure. Then making sure she was looking at him, his voice would grow cold and he'd repeat the question, "Would we?"

And then she'd have to say, "No, Tommy." Like a mumping cow.

And if she didn't say it loud enough he'd make her repeat herself and the whole fucking situation would be too much for her to take.

And she'd been doing so well too.

These past six months had been grand. She'd finished the school year with acceptable marks — nothing spectacular, but they'd been passing. She'd been working well with Curly at the yard. And since the summer holiday had begun, Tommy had been giving her ledgers to look over — and when he wasn't looking John would sneak her the books for the shipments coming and going out of the yard late at night — shipments that she wasn't supposed to know of.

She wasn't exactly sure if Tommy was aware that she was working on these undisclosed ledgers, but otherwise he'd been perfectly happy with her performance in the shop.

And now... And now herself was about to be crucified.

Jesus Christ, seated at the right hand of god, please take her now.

It really was no use asking for help from the son of god himself — after all it was her people who'd made the nails used to crucify him — and for that they'd not receive help from the holy ones in any circumstance.

She wasn't likely to survive the next few days anyhow.

Tommy was going to kill her.

He was going to lecture her until she was begging for it, and then he'd kill her.

That'd be only if Polly didn't get her hands on her first.

How many times had Polly warned her about keeping her nose clean and record clear? More times than Charlotte could possibly remember.

"Never spit in front of the copper, always when his back is turned."

"Always say 'yesir', then call him a squealing pig once he's gone."

"Keep your head down till he's passed, then you walk proud like a true Shelby."

Growing up, Polly had been terrified that if Charlotte were to have even the slightest run in with the law, she'd be taken away and given to the church, just like her own children.

"Be like your brothers in any way you wish, but you stay away from that jail or you'll wish the devil to take you when I get my hands on your skinny ass."

And Charlotte listened to her aunt — for the most part. There'd been one instance — she'd been ten or so — when a fight had broken out in the street.

Now, Charlotte getting herself involved in a fight wasn't anything unusual, nor was the sight of any sort of fight taking place on the streets of Small Heath.

But what had been unusual was the copper that had been right across the street from where the fight had broken out, loitering inside Mrs Lovett's bakery.

The copper'd come barreling out of the bakery and by the time all the other children had scattered, he was there in a flash, with her collar on one hand and Liam Olsen's in his other.

She'd never felt so certain that she could read another person's mind as she had in that moment with Liam.

Their scrap had been entirely forgotten, their only concern from that moment on was escaping the grip of that fucking copper.

They'd stared each other in the eye as the copper began to lecture on above their heads, completely unaware that they were paying him no mind. They hadn't needed to even count aloud, but when Charlotte had reached 'three' in her mind, so had Liam, and at the same time they stomped down on that bloody copper's feet as hard as their ten-year-old little legs could allow.

That pig had squealed and howled at them as they ran, curses and threats echoing off the buildings as they made their escape.

As they darted in and out of back alleys and side streets, they didn't stop until they were certain they couldn't take another step without collapsing and dying from lack of oxygen right there in the street.

Once their breath had caught back up to them, they'd spit in their hands and shaken on the promise to never tell a soul about what they'd just done — lest Satan himself take their spirit and Scotland Yard send them to a work house to live out the rest of their days paying for their misdeeds against the crown.

The next day at school some of the kids that had escaped when the copper fist made his appearance had asked her how she'd managed to escape. She'd diligently refuted any claim that she'd been caught in the first place.

"What sorta Shelby gets caught by a copper, eh?" They hadn't believed her at first, but she and Liam had both stuck to their story, "When you hear the shouts and whistles and bells of the bulls, you run. Everybody knows that." Liam had her back as long as she had his.

Putting on her most threatening glare and pulling one of her brother's old razor caps from her pocket, she finally silenced the gossip and rumours, "And if a single one of youse are suggesting that I'm not smart enough to run when the bulls comes out shouting, then I'll cut ya so bad your mother will hate the sight of yours ugly face."

They'd stopped asking questions after that, and since then she'd been saved from getting pinched by any copper for fighting or stealing or loitering, because she'd been smart. She followed the rules. And if she didn't follow the rules she ran. She ran away from the coppers like every other person with brains in Small Heath.

But this time... this time she didn't run away. This time, she just had to run at them. She ran right towards the trouble without a second thought to it.

She couldn't help it, she wasn't thinking. It was pure instinct.

She and Ezra had been enjoying the lazy afternoon, slowly making their way from Watery Lane to the yard, where they fully intended on purloining two horses for the remainder of the day — and well into the evening for that matter — when things simply spiralled out of control.

They'd been nearly the whole way to the yard when they'd heard screams and shouts coming from the next alley over. Not one to mind her own business, Charlotte had rushed around the corner just in time to see some dirty stinkin' lowdown rat in a nice blue uniform take his fucking backhand to a woman holdin' a baby in her hands.

She was hollering about her home, all while another copper just stood and watched as another burly looking man was heaving items out of the flat onto the street.

It didn't take long to get the full story — that some skeezer of a landlord had taken it upon himself to have the woman — a widow from the sound of her shouts — and her children thrown out by the city's friendliest in blue because of some issue with the rent.

Charlotte couldn't make out if the rent was being raised, or the woman just couldn't pay it this month — whatever it was Charlotte hadn't a mind to give the reasoning a single fuck before she was making her way towards the scene.

Ezra, knowing exactly what she'd set her mind to, quickly followed after insisting she leave the situation alone, "Charlie, not today. You don't want to get involved in this today."

Sighing, she knew he was right. And she was going to leave with him — she was, truly. But the sound of another slap and the scream of the woman followed by the absolute hair raising wail from a baby had Charlotte disregarding the wise advice that had been offered. And instead found herself shaking off Ezra's grip as she ran directly towards the sobbing woman and the good-for-nothing copper.

Her mind told her to stop, but it seemed her feet had thoughts of their own.

Before she knew what she was doing, she was running towards the copper, gun holstered beneath her coat, knife safe in her boot, and fists ready at her sides to throw the first punch.

And with every angry step she took, her mind floated away from the current situation to one all too similar from way back before the war.

She couldn't remember how old she'd been when it had happened. She knew Ezra hadn't been part of her life yet, but she wasn't quite sure if her father had still been lingering around, barely attempting to fulfil his role as single parent to his children.

But she had remembered the crying and shouts that had come from down the lane. She'd been alone in the sitting room when the ruckus had started. She knew she shouldn't go outside without Ada or one of the boys or Polly, but she couldn't stop her own curiosity.

Ever so slowly she pulled the front door open, making sure to ease it through the spots where she knew there'd be boisterous creaking.

Once the door was wide open and the sound came clearer she stepped out onto the stoop. She didn't think it was really breaking the rules if she was technically still touching part of the Shelby property.

So she planted her left foot firmly on the step, and hopped out on one leg as far as she could, arms spread wide to keep her balance as she leaned farther into the lane to see what in high heaven was going on down the bloody lane.

The sound of a slap echoed off the buildings and it was as if everyone on Watery Lane had gasped all at once, leaving no sound or oxygen left for anyone else in town.

A few silent seconds passed before one voice called out for everyone to hear, "No! Mama, get up. Please!"

She knew the high pitched shrieking voice anywhere. That was bound to be Alice Martin — her only friend on the lane. Well, the only friend she had, period. Alice liked to pretend to be a bit posh, which didn't suit Charlotte one bit. But they were all each other had. Every other kid on the lane was a baby, acted like a baby, or was already a junior peaky. Not people Charlotte had any interest in associating with at this point in her life.

Deciding that she should make her way down the lane to see if Alice needed her help, Charlotte was surprised to find she was already halfway there.

She hadn't realised she'd left the stoop of number five, leaving the door wide open. But here she was — it was too late to turn back now. And besides, her friend needed her help! Rules be damned.

As she grew closer to the gathering crowd she finally noticed the cacophony of sounds were most just wails from Alice, her mother, and her baby brother. All three crying in a not entirely unpleasant harmony.

She was about to break into the back of the crowd when she felt strong arms latch onto her shoulders. Spinning around, she looked up into the face of an irritated Arthur, "What do you think you're doing out here, eh?"

"Arthur, leggo! It's me mate, Alice." Trying to wiggle free Arthur drew in a heavy breath before bending down to her level. "Isn't there a rule about leaving the flat?"

"Yes."

"And what is it?"

"No going outside without one of you buggers."

Grinning at her smartass reply, Arthur reached to grip her hand, and began pushing through the crowd, "Oi! Go home! Everyone! There's nothing that's any business of youse here."

Filling her chest full with pride over her brother's authority over the crowd, she couldn't help herself as she added, "Yeah! Git, all you!"

"You heard the lady! Get going!"

As the crowd dispersed, Arthur let loose her arm and with a very serious glare told her, "You stay right here, and don't move." She nodded her head fiercely as he continued, "And if I tell you to run, you run home as fast as you possibly can. Understand?"

Nodding once harshly she confirmed, "Understand."

Grinning at her still, Arthur reached up to tap her on the nose, "Understood."

"Huh?"

"That's what you're suppose to say when someone asks you if you understand. You say 'Understood', understand?"

Once again nodding harshly she agreed, "Understood."

"Good girl."

Then turning to face the huddled and scared little family, Arthur's booming voice rose above their crying, "Now what's all this here?"

There wasn't more than two seconds between the time that Arthur asked his question, and Mr Martin spit out his accusation, "That ain't my baby!"

And with the accusation out in the open, Mrs Martin was back to wailing and attempting to speak — even though every syllable that came outta her mouth was absolute gibberish.

Shaking his head, Charlotte watched Arthur walk to the angry man and wailing woman, but even as she strained her ears to hear what was being said, the wailing drowned most things out and she ended up standing there feeling as dumb as a doorknob.

Before too long, Arthur had taken Alice by the arm and pushed her in Charlotte's direction.

Alice finally noticing Charlotte's presence rushed over to her friend as Charlotte gave a small little wave of encouragement. As Alice saddled up next to her, the girl whispered, "I didn't see you. Did you bring your brother to help?"

Shrugging, Charlotte reached down to take her friend's shaking hand, "Something like that."

Standing hand in hand, both girls watched on as Arthur calmed down both Alice's parents. When they were both done yellin' and howlin' Arthur ushered the woman and child into the flat, firmly instructed Mr Martin to wait outside — just like he'd done to Charlotte not ten minutes ago.

It wasn't three seconds after Arthur closed the front door that Charlotte noticed a figure heading their way — straight outta number six.

"Uh-oh, here we go..."

"What's that?" Questioned Alice, but before Charlotte could explain, the brother was upon them.

"What you think you're doing all the way down here, eh?"

Squatting down right in the street as to be eye level with both the girls, the brother raised an eyebrow. A clear indication he wanted more than just a shrug of the shoulders and an "I dunno."

"I heard the fight and I came down to help."

"Like hell you did."

It was then that Alice piped up in her defence, "Honest, Mr Shelby. Charlie came down and brought the older one with her."

Turning his attention back to his sister, Tommy questioned, "Is that so?"

"Yeah, I s'pose."

"Well, where's our Arthur then?"

Pointing behind Tommy, Charlotte informed, "He's inside with Mrs Martin and the baby."

"Am I to assume that's Mr Martin sittin' there like a sack of grain on the stoop?"

This time Tommy turned to Alice as she hesitantly nodded in affirmation.

Straightening himself and dusting off the street dirt from his trousers, the brother informed, "I guess it's time to get you home then."

Then, quick as a rabbit he had her arm in his grip and began pulling her away from Alice, "No! Tommy, stop. I'm helping."

Between her shouts at her brother, a soft crying was heard just behind them. Pausing mid-stride, Tommy turned to see Alice — now sitting on the dirty road crying into her filthy hands.

"See, I told you. I'm helping Alice."

Taking a deep exasperated sigh, Tommy let loose her arm, and pushed her back towards her friend.

"Right, you stay here and–"

"I was staying here — just like Arthur said to — until you started draggin' me away."

"Alright, alright. I'm goin' inside to see what Arthur's getting himself into. When I get out, I expect to see you both right here, am I clear?"

"Yes."

Tommy gave them both a wink before turning on his heel and crossing the lane to Alice's flat. He exchanged some words with Mr Martin, then disappeared inside.

Both girls sat in silence as Tommy left, unsure what to say or do after the ruckus that the adults had caused.

Her Aunt and brother's were always saying that she always caused a ruckus, but never one had she done anything so noteworthy that the entire lane had come outta their homes to watch. So, she thought to herself, which is it then? The children or the adults? She tucked that argument away for a later time when she knew Polly or Tommy would get on her case for one thing or another.

Feeling far too pleased with herself, Charlotte and Alice were both startled when an angry voice shocked them out of their reverie.

Looking up, Charlotte could see that Alice's father was making his way towards them, fists clenched and face red, "So it was you then?" Looking to each other, neither of the girls knew what the man was on about. An action that only seemed to incite him further. His steps never faltered until all too suddenly he was standing before them, another angry accusation thrown their way, "You're the little cunt that got those peaky boys involved in my business."

The fierceness of his words, the red in his face, and the shaking of anger that flowed through him sent chills up Charlotte's spine. And to her right, Alice squeezed her hand as tightly as she could, even though you'd not be able to tell she wasn't entirely made of marble.

"Don't sit there like you don't know what you did! Come 'ere you brat."

Grabbing her by the arm, Mr Martin pulled her to her feet with an iron grip, ripping her hand out of Alice's, and swinging her out into the lane.

Panic coursed through her and she felt like she couldn't breathe or speak.

"Tell me what you thought you were doing, getting involved in other people's business!"

She didn't know what she wanted her to say. She hadn't intentionally gotten involved, neither had she meant to bring her two oldest brothers down upon his family. But here they were. And she wasn't exactly sure how this was all her fault anyways.

When she didn't respond, Charlotte felt a sudden pain flare up the side of her face, it had happened so quickly she didn't even see it coming. She tried to bring her hand up to feel her face, but Mr Martin's grip effectively kept her from moving.

But after a moment, she knew exactly what had happened. The sonuvabitch slapped her. Right across the face too.

That had never happened before, and it shocked her to her core that someone could be so cruel.

There had been the occasional tap on her mouth from Aunt Polly when Charlotte's mouth had gotten away from herself — cursing, or talking back, or the like. But never something like this.

Suddenly the pain struck her again and she could hear Alice wailing behind her.

At the sudden strike, Charlotte felt her mind come back to her as she took in a deep breath and let loose and ungodly screech that had both her brother's rushing back out into the lane, "Toooooommmyyyyyy!"

She knew she'd been calling for her brother, but even she couldn't be certain what the noise was that left her mouth.

"Shut up you filthy little–" Her eyes went wide as she watched him raise his hand once again. Quickly squeezing her eyes shut, she waited for the impact, but before the pain could resonate once more, she felt arms around her waist pulling her back and away from the angry man.

She weren't crying, but she was breathing so heavily you likely thought she had been.

"Come on now, open your eyes, Charlie-girl."

Doing as was asked she was relieved to find herself in Tommy's arms, resting on his hip as his hands ghosted over the part of her cheek that felt as though it had been lit on fire.

"Is this it? He hit you here?"

She nodded in response, shakily answering, "Twice."

Tommy nodded firmly at her response, "And what of your Alice?"

Twisting her head around she looked to find her friend, and was surprised to find Polly clutching the little girl as Arthur wailed on her father.

"She's there, with Pol. Her daddy didn't do nothin' to her." And as Tommy spun around to see the scene for himself, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder. She felt him moving but didn't care to see where.

All too soon, he was trying to set her onto the ground but she simply wrapped her scrawny little legs around his waist and tightened her hold on his neck.

"No, I don't wanna."

"Charlie, leggo. I gotta deal with Arthur."

"I said, no."

It was then that she felt arms coming in from behind, snaking up beneath her own arms wrapped around Tommy's neck, as Tommy worked to unlock her legs from round him.

The damn disentangling worked like a charm too. And before she knew it, she was watching Tommy walk away toward Arthur and Alice's daddy, while Polly draped one arm over each girl, holding them firmly in place.

As Tommy finally pulled Arthur offa the bleeding man, she heard Mr Martin accuse Arthur of being a bloody madman. Arthur went for him again, but Tommy kept him back.

Keeping the distance between Arthur and Mr Martin, Tommy calmly questioned, "Did you strike our sister?"

"She was sticking' her damn nose where it don't–"

"I asked, did you strike our sister."

This time Tommy had taken two menacing steps forward, holding his razor cap in his hands.

Mr Martin tried to back away, but only hit the brick wall of the Watery Lane row housing, "Now, you listen here–"

"You still haven't answered my question, Mr Martin. Did you strike my sister?!"

"That little bitch deserved it." Polly gasped at his words, Arthur struggled to keep himself calm, and to anyone who knew Tommy, the immediate thought would'a been that he might've lost his temper. But to her — and Arthur and Aunt Polly's — astonishment, he calmly asked a second question. "Right, and how many times?"

Mr Martin shrugged, mumbling, "Dunno," under his breath — much to Charlotte's own irritation.

But this time Charlotte wouldn't keep her mouth shut a second longer — she didn't know if Tommy would believe the man's lie or not, so she set to make the story true, "Twice! He whacked me twice!"

Tommy didn't look to her, but she felt Aunt Pol's hand reach up to tug on one of her braids that ran down the back of her head.

Voice still calm, Tommy questioned, "Is she right? Did you hit our Charlotte twice?"

"I did. And she deserved another!"

Tommy took another step forward and Mr Martin puffed his chest out as if readying for a fight.

Once again, without looking towards them, Tommy called to their Aunt, "Pol, take the girls back to the shop, would you? Then go round and fetch Mrs Martin through the back."

And without a word in response Polly had taken hold of both their arms and hurriedly walked them to number six.

Not too soon after they'd been sat in Arthur's office and the door closed, was Mrs Martin was making her way through the back door of number five. Polly ushered the woman up the stairs and set Lovelock to minding the girls as the shop continued on with their closing business.

Charlotte had given her friend the big chair to sit in at the desk, while she took the smaller chair on the other side. One might've thought the gesture was out of kindness or love for her friend — not that it wasn't entirely — but the real reason was that the smaller chair was closer to the window and more easily gave Charlotte a view into the shop and the front door.

The two waited in silence. Charlotte's eyes never leaving the window into the shop, while Alice scribbled little rabbits and cats onto a blank piece of paper.

It had seemed an entire half a day before Tommy walked through the shop door and Charlotte rushed to press her little cheeks against the window. She watched as he pointed at her to stay put, and then made his way through the double doors into the kitchen.

He was gone for several minutes more — although it seemed a full hour — before returning to the girls trapped like bunnies in a cage.

When he opened the door, Charlotte was upon him, questions flowing from her mouth as she tugged on his shirt sleeve.

Ignoring her energy, Tommy first turned to Alice and asked where her mother was. "She's up stairs with the baby and your Auntie."

"Up you go then, I'm sure she'd like to see your pretty face right about now, eh?" Blushing at the complement, Alice hopped down from her chair and scurried up the stairs.

Then, while she wasn't looking, Tommy scooped her up and set her on the big desk, as he took a seat in the chair across from her.

"How's your face feel?"

She shrugged, "It's fine..."

Sighing aloud Tommy shook his head at her, "No lies, Charlotte. You ain't gotta be as tough as Arthur or as stupid as John, aye?"

Mimicking his sigh, she gave in, "Me head hurts."

"Where? Show me."

Taking her finger she pointed to the spot directly between her eyes. "Here. It's like a drum."

"And how's this here?" Tommy reached forward to touch the side of her face, but she flinched backwards, outta his reach.

"That bad, eh?"

Scoffing at him like he'd accused her of being a baby, she argued, "Not so bad–"

"Charlotte, your damn face is bruised like an apple, and you got the outline of a ring just below your eye. Now tell the truth, you know I don't like being lied to.

Letting her shoulders shrug, she once again gave in, "Right, it hurts a lot. Like the time John shut my finger in the back door."

"Alright then, you come with me and we'll see what Polly's got in these cupboards to help with all your aches and pains."

Motioning her off the desk and into the kitchen, she climbed onto a chair while Tommy rummaged around in their pantry for Polly's medicines and herbs.

Finally finding whatever it was he'd been searching for, he returned to Charlotte, gently setting the supplies on the table.

Watching him intently as he unrolled some bandages, poured some gin into a glass, and set the dark bottle of "the stuff" beside everything else she could help it as he thoughts swirled around her.

Picking up a clean rag from under the sink Tommy began to instruct her, "Now, you sit still and let–"

"Where's Arthur?"

Rolling his eyes Tommy answered, "He had some business to finish up. Now if you'd sit still I'll–"

"And whadda 'bout Mr Martin?"

Sighing at her persistence Tommy informed, "Arthur's finishing up the business with Mr Martin. Arthur won't be back to the house tonight."

At this point Tommy's given up on trying to give Charlotte any warning about what he was about to do. He just needed to get the little cut cleaned and bandaged up before the night turned to morning.

"Is that cause he dumped Mr Martin in the cut?"

Tommy's hand stopped midway to Charlotte's face, "Jesus Christ, Charlotte. Where'd you hear something like that?"

Tommy's voice was raised, but not in an angry way. She couldn't tell if it was best to just cut and run or tell the truth. Taking a deep breath, she eyed her brother carefully, eventually deciding that he wasn't angry with her — after all she'd the one with the cuts and bruises on her face — so she might as well belly up, "I heard John say it."

Leaving the medical supplies forgotten beside him, Tommy crossed his arms and gave her a firm look, "You were spying on him?"

"No." He raised an eyebrow. "Maybe." This time he raised both of them damn brows, making her squirm in her seat, "Yes."

Flicking her on the nose he reprimanded her, "Spying is for coppers and King's men. Are you either of those?" She shook her head, "Then I suggest you quit your spying before Polly finds out and sets you to standing in your corner."

"Fine." She nearly grinned as Tommy eyed her for a moment before rolling his eyes. She had no intention of stopping her sneaking around — and they both knew it. Her agreement was nothing but a false promise. But he tried, she supposed. She'd heard Polly say something like that before — while she'd been sneaking and spying. "Damnit, Thomas. You've got to try — at the bare minimum. Bloody try with her." She knew they were talking about her, but she wasn't quite certain what exactly about her they'd been talking about, but whatever it was, sure had Tommy's knickers in a twist, "Come of it, Pol. She's fucking fantastic, and so is everyone else in this place."

Quickly pulling her head outta the clouds she watched carefully as Tommy picked the rag up and dipped it in the gin. Holding her breath as one of his hands held the back of her head still, and the other brought the rag closer, she once again tried to halt his progress, "But did you?" She knew the gin hurt like hell. She's gotten enough scrapes and cuts running around Uncle Charlie's yard to have had the alcohol poured on her shins and hand plenty of time — but she never got used to it.

No such luck. "Did I what?" Before she could respond, the rag had made contact with the cut just below her eye. The little cut below her eye — likely from Mr Martin's ring — had stopped it's bleeding hours ago, but now it felt like someone had ripped the damn wound open again.

"Ow!" The sting had hit her harder than expected, and she rocked back in her seat. She tried to bring her hand up to the now throbbing spot on her face, only to have Tommy slap it away, "Don't touch it. Unless you want me cleaning it again?"

She crossed her arms and glared, not only had he made her face her more than before, but he'd not answered her question. She squared her shoulders and asked again, "Did you dump Mr Martin in the cut?"

Shaking his head at her, he reached forward to take hold of her chin. Turning her face to the side and into the light, he completely ignored her question, "That cut ain't even bleeding anymore — it's gone dry already." Then releasing her head he moved to pick up the brown bottle and a large spoon, "Let's get some of this in you."

Before he could pour a droplet into the spoon, Charlotte was trying to scramble away. Setting the bottle down, Tommy grabbed her by the shoulders, "Oh no you don't. You're gonna sit right there and take some of this medicine."

"I'm not gonna swallow a drop of that stuff. It tastes like shit."

That earned herself another flick on the nose, "Mind your language." She wanted to tell him that she certainly was minding her language, she had specifically chosen that word to describe that stuff. It does taste like shit, so she mindfully told him so. But she didn't say a thing. She kept her mouth shut and arms crossed.

"Don't give me that look, little lady. You're going to take one spoon of this," He raised the bottle to eye level, "aspirin. And then you're going up to bed. No more questions, no more arguing."

"But why? It tastes–"

Cutting her off before she could whine at him any longer he explained, "It helps with pain and swelling — which is why you're gonna swallow without any more arguments."

"But Tom–" Before she could finish her argument Tommy had reached out without one had to plug her nose as the other hand poured the medicine into her open mouth.

What a sneaky rat! Swallowing the bitter liquid, she shivered in disgust, "That was mean."

"Tough. Take it up with Polly, see what she has to say about it, eh?" Picking her up off the table her set her on the ground, ordering her up to her room to get ready for bed.

Turning and stomping her foot, she tried one last time, "But, Tommy! What about the cut? "

Turning her around and giving her a smack to the rear to get her moving, Tommy responded, "Ask me when you're older, and maybe I'll tell ya."

Stopping on the fifth stair she turned, "That's not fair."

He shrugged, "Neither is life." Then lowering his voice and pointing up the stairs, he demanded, "Now, you get ready for bed."

"But it's so early..."

Taking three angry steps towards her, he ordered, "Now, Charlotte." And before she knew what she was doing, she was scrambling up the steps fast as possible.

That day had been an eye-opener for her. She'd learnt that the worst thing a father could do wasn't up and leaving his children. He could've stayed and hit 'em bruised and bloody — it wasn't until much later in life that she'd learned how her own Da would set her brothers straight when they needed it.

She'd learned that the coppers in the town were useless. Apparently Mrs Martin had shown up at the station multiple times with a black eye and a cut lip, and those lazy pigs didn't do a thing to help the woman — insisting that her domestic life was no concern of theirs.

She's also learnt that a father leaving isn't always a bad thing. Sometimes, it was for the best of the rest of the family for him to be up and gone. She wasn't convinced that this was the case for her own family, but for Alice it seemed to be exactly the case.

And finally, she learnt that it wasn't just father's that up and left — sometimes it were friends too. About a week after Mr Martin's disappearance, Mrs Martin had packed up her house and children and without a word spoken to anyone, she was off. Herself and her children disappearing like a ship in the night.

Tommy had told her that the woman needed to get away from Small Heath. The town was nothing but pain and poor memories for her. He said she'd been off to her family farm back in Wales.

And although it was nice to know that Alice and her brother and her Mother were safe and happy. It wasn't nice to have your only friend up and leave without a single goodbye.

"Sometimes that's how life works," Tommy had told her. "But you just gotta pick yourself up and keep on."

She had, and eventually new mates came along, and Alice Martin had become a thing of the past.

But when she saw that mother and her baby lying on the ground with the coppers standing above her, Charlotte damn near lost her mind in the past. Absolutely refusing to let those coppers get the better of the women, she acted without truly thinking. And thus, she was here.

Stuck in this dungeon because she'd gone and jumped a copper like some sorta junior blinder who ain't even been cut yet.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting in the mouldy cell, but she was certain that it was closer to three hours than to one.

When she'd been brought into the station, she'd promptly had her picture taken no sooner than she was being thrown into this cell.

And every minute that passed she could smell the damp musty mouldy growing on the walls that much clearer.

She wasn't sure if it'd be better to die in this cell, the rotten smell over taking her. Or at the hands of her brother — which was no doubt bound to be painful in more ways than one.

She could only hope that Ezra had gotten away safely and found Tommy — either at the shop or the Garrison, those were her best guesses when she'd shouted at him from the back of the barred wagon.

"Get Tommy! Tell what happened!" She'd been in such a panic at her circumstances that she very clearly hadn't been thinking straight. It might also have been due to the two or three whacks that the copper had landed to head once he'd managed to throw her offa his back, but really it was anybody's guess why she'd told him to find Tommy.

Hell, John or Esme would've been a better choice for salvation. Or Ezra's own parents for that matter. But no, when the time came, her mind whirled, her brains sloshed from side to side, and panic surged through her thoughts and she yelled for Tommy — just like she had all those years ago.

Jesus, she'd likely live to regret that decision.

But now, as the hours weaned on, Charlotte grew ever more concerned that Ezra hadn't gotten away, and that no one would come for her.

She knew it was useless to worry at this point, after all, Moss had seen her when she'd been brought in. An exhausted look on his face and a sigh that could've put all of Small Heath on edge passed his lips as she was taken down to her current location. If Ezra hadn't found anyone in her family by now, Moss was sure to be getting on that.

He sure as fuck wasn't celebrating the good luck of having a Shelby in his station — not like the ones that had brought her in. Her presence in this station would be more of a burden to him than any other singular person that could be brought in the rest of this month — saving, of course, any of her brothers that could manage to be marched through his doors with irons on their wrists.

Nope. Of this she was certain — a Shelby in Moss' care was not preferable in the least.

And here she sat, a human mass in the pits of this dungeon of despair. She'd been sitting in this void long enough to sense that she was the only other creature alive in this place — even the rats steered clear.

The buzz of the electric lighting echoed off the cement walls. The electricity and the lighting humming out two different songs that neither matched the other in tempo or harmony.

The electric buzz was dull and constant. A low tone that could almost be mistaken as a growl. Wouldn't that be something? The growling of the monster held deep in the depths of the Birmingham city jail. A hideous beast held against its will waiting solemnly, anxiously, for the day when sun might grace its skin one last time before the dawn of the ages consumes the beast — gone for good — to be remembered no more.

Or maybe that was just her wishful thinking.

On the other hand, the tinkling hum of the flickering light was almost comforting — almost. The growl of the base electricity never let her forget that she was trapped in this hole, waiting for an actual sentence or a family member to save her from one punishment, only to inflict another.

But the high pitched hum, the pleasant sound of an imaginary firefly tapping on the paper thin glass bulb, it was like a lullaby. The light itself constantly flickered, lashing out a silent beat to match the tapping melody of the glass filament trapped inside it's iridescent prison.

She focused fully on the sounds surrounding her.

The deep, grounded constant buzz. It never stopped to catch its breath. Only ever continued on, steady as a lake. No waves, no pitch, no ebb and flow. Only consistency.

Then there was the entirely silent lighting. The complete lack of sound that emitted from the flickering bulb. A flash, steady, flash-flash, beat that was everything but constant. Sometimes it was a dark nothing for two or three beats, before a flash-flash-flash erupted around her. Or a flash-flash, steady, dark, flash, dark, flash-flash-flash, steady, flash engulfed her senses. It was nearly the beat of jazz. Fast and sudden. Nonsensical, while nevertheless beautiful.

Her favourite was the bright, warm, gentle tapping noise that illuminated from the fragile glass bulb that swung precariously above her head.

Then add in the sudden appearance of the jingling brass keys swaying as a human form stepped left and right, left and right.

With her eyes closed she nearly swayed to the sound, until she realised the newest addition to her symphony — someone was coming.

She waited to see if the jingling footsteps would walk past her door — she knew they wouldn't — but she held her breath in anticipation all the same.

All this noise, simultaneously soft and harsh, subtle and bold — It could've been a symphony for the ages.

Instead it was the sound of her dwindling freedom.

For all the lack of freedom she held in this cell. This moldy, musty, cold, dark, damp room where she could nearly touch both walls simultaneously if she reached out her spread arms far enough, it was infinitely more freedom than what she was bound to experience once her Aunt or Tommy got their hands on her.

She sat on the bench, farthest from the door, her breath held in anticipation, as she listened to the cacophony of music swirling around her.

The steps came closer and closer, the jingle of the brass keys louder and louder, and she prayed that the steps would continue on past her door — though just as she knew the king of the Jews didn't lend an ear to her prayers, so did she know that the heavy footsteps were headed straight for her.

All too soon the rather pleasant face of Sergeant Moss looked through the barred window of the heavy metal door, somehow giving her a look that held both a grin and a scowl.

The keys could be heard flipping the heavy bolt of her cell, followed by the loud creak of the swinging of the door on its old hinges.

"Alright Miss Shelby, lets go." She diligently rose from her spot on the hard bench and put her wrists out for him to fasten the irons back in place. "My apologies for the length of your stay down here — your brother and I had some troubles when it came to your paperwork."

Moss fiddled with the lock on the cuffs encompassing her wrists, but at his statement she nearly jerked her wrists out of the copper's grasp.

Trying to stay calm, Charlotte took a deep breath before asking, "My brother?" The question has come out far more concerned and breathy than she intended. But it was done and she looked up to Moss for a response.

She looked up to Moss, but the man didn't respond. In fact, at her question, Charlotte watched as Tommy stepped out from the shadows into a singular beam of light cascading down the hall from a harsh electric lamp.

She must've let her panic overtake her. She hadn't heard two sets of steps. Only the one with the keys. But maybe that was just her desperate hope that Moss had been alone. A hope that lacked reality.

Tommy didn't say a word, but the look on his face sent ice through her veins.

She'd been allowing Moss to lock her wrists and lead her out of the dingy cell, but at the frightening sight of Tommy's glare she dug in her heels and pulled back — away from both Moss and Tommy.

She'd apparently made her decision — dying in this literally rotting cell was the preferable choice over Tommy getting his hands on her — especially when she was locked in irons with no way to fight back.

Tugging her along, Moss tutted at her, "Come now, there's nothing for it." Finally pulling her out of the cell he turned and made his way down the dark hall, "We've all had the displeasure of having our mum or dad pick us up from our first trip to the station, eh?" Moss was walking and talking, taking the lead in front of her and her brother, but she was still frozen in place. All too suddenly a harsh whack to her rear had her jumping to follow close behind Moss as he rambled on, "Nothing to be done about it, I reckon."

Behind her, Tommy was as silent as a church mouse — no wonder she'd only heard one set of steps — he was keeping his footing light and swift.

As they reached the end of the hallway, the trio made their way up the stairs towards the harsh light of electric lamps. As Tommy and Charlotte made their way through the heavy metal door, Moss kindly asked them to step aside while he locked up.

Stepping aside, Charlotte took this moment to try to sooth the tension between herself and her brother, "Tommy, I'm–"

"Shut it. I don't want to hear a noise from you." His eyes slid to the side, barely taking in a glimpse of her while his head stayed straight on. Looking to all the world — inside this station — a tough and fearsome gangster.

Doing as he asked, Charlotte kept her mouth closed as Moss finished with the dungeon door and led them to a desk, "Right then, Mr Shelby, the paperwork?"

Slapping a few sheets of paper down in front of Moss, Tommy informed, "This is what we've got."

Picking up the paper that Charlotte faintly recognised, "This isn't government issued identification."

"It's the official court order of guardianship over Ada and Charlotte Shelby." Pointing to the specific lines on the paper that Moss was still holding he continued, "Right there — Thomas Shelby is hereby granted guardianship of Charlotte Shelby, born the fourth of January 1906. There's more, but that's the important bits, eh?"

Nodding slowly, Moss hesitantly asked, "Does she not have a birth certificate?"

Tommy sighed as he lit a cigarette, "She was born on a long boat, Moss."

Hoping to help she quietly tried to add in, "There's school records if that–"

Without turning to look at her on the chair beside him, Tommy's cold voice interrupted her offering of assistance, "This is your only warning. Keep your fucking mouth shut." He then exhaled a cloud of smoke as he waited for Moss' judgement over the legality of her papers.

Moss, for his part, looked quite surprised at the sudden flash of anger toward her, and tried to hurry up their business, "Right, well, I suppose that'll have to be good enough."

Shuffling through the paperwork on his desk Moss pulled out two forms and pointed Tommy to sign on a few different lines.

"What am I signing, Moss?"

"Right. This first one says that Charlie here has a legal guardian removing her from our custody. The second says she is who she says she is — that's what the government identification is for. And the third one says that she'll not be charged in any formal court for her crimes — her charges have been dismissed as this was a simple disagreement and her first time in the station."

Clearing his throat, Tommy questioned, "And what exactly were the charges?"

Looking over another piece of paper Moss counted off on his fingers, "Disorderly conduct in a public place."

A second finger was raised in the air, "Combatant behaviour whilst carrying a firearm."

A third finger joined the other two, "And, assaulting two officers while in possession of multiple weapons."

Inhaling a puff off his stick Tommy leaned forward into Moss' personal space, "I have it in good authority, Moss, that she wasn't the instigator in this altercation."

"You can understand how the law might find that unlikely, eh Tom?"

"There are witnesses."

"Who?" Moss was suspicious. Honestly it was more than likely Tommy would've paid multiple someone's off to vouch for her innocence.

This time is was Tommy's turn to count on his fingers, "The mother to start–"

"We can't–" Moss attempted to interrupt, but Tommy plain ignored him.

"The youngest Harlow boy." So it was Ezra that caught up to Tommy. Wonder how that conversation had gone for him?

Rushing to get a word in, Moss pointed out Ezra's connection to herself, "A school boy, and a known mate of your girl's here."

Tommy once again ignored the counterpoint and raised a third and fourth finger, "The neighbours and the seamstress across the street."

Leaning back in his chair, Moss pointed out, "And we've got two officers and a landlord that say otherwise."

"At least take their statements for her record."

"Aye, that I can do Mr Shelby. Have your associates come by the station anytime to give their statement and I'll personally see that it's added to the file here."

"See that you do, Moss."

"Can we get these offa her?" Pointing to the cuffs, Tommy rose to his feet dragging Charlotte along, signalling to all parties involved that he was done here. "And get her belongings returned as well?"

Opening his desk drawer, Moss couldn't keep his opinions to himself as he retrieved her belongings. Reaching in for her holster and gun first he quipped, "Not quite proper for a girl her age to be carrying a gun–"

"Not a safe town anymore is it?" Was Tommy sticking up for her? Or was this one of those situations where family was off limits to criticism from outsiders? Probably the latter.

Next the copper pulled out the knife Tommy had given to her, "She needs that revolver and the knife?"

"Yes. She does." His voice was tense, and he wanted to get a move on, "Did she not have a cap and jacket as well?"

Handing over the rest of her belongings Moss gave the Shelby's a nod before ushering them out the door.

Standing on the steps Charlotte looked around for the car. It was dark, and the lamps barely lit the streets, but it seemed to her the vehicle was nowhere to be seen.

Clearly seeing her thoughts written across her face, Tommy took her by the arm as he instructed, "We're walking."

Choosing to follow Tommy's orders exactly as he'd spoken them, she kept her mouth shut, and the walk was mostly silent.

There was the occasional growl and shake of the head on Tommy's part. A few times he'd even scoffed aloud at whatever thought had gone through his head.

He'd gone through no less than five cigarettes along their trip, and she worried that they weren't providing the calming effect they both wished for him.

As their silent walk weigned on, Charlotte couldn't help but question Tommy's right to be angry over this whole situation. How many times had he been arrested? Or Arthur or John? Granted Ada had never found herself in the same situation. But why was her arrest so goddamned earth shattering?

She wasn't blind to what went on in this town anymore — gangs and crooked coppers seemed to be hiding behind every corner. For fuck's sake, she'd been attacked by a crooked copper and subsequently killed him — shouldn't that count for something?

What she thought it should count for, she wasn't entirely sure.

Acknowledgment of her new found grit? A little more trust? Recognition that she was growing up into a proper peaky blinder? A little more slack as she grew into herself? All of the above? Fuck if she knew.

Whatever it was she knew she had no business bringing it up to Tommy unless she knew for certain. He'd told her on numerous occasions that it was a weak gambit to try to leverage something she either didn't have or didn't know for certain.

It just didn't seem fair that there was an entirely different set of rules for her than there was for them — or even Ada. Yeah, yeah, she knew Tommy and Polly would say, "Life isn't fair," but there had to be times when it bloody well was.

Is that what Ada and Freddie were always preaching about with their "communist propaganda"? Maybe that's all the communism really was — a fair life for everyone. And maybe it was defeatists like Tommy that stood in the way of progress — just for the fuck of it. Jesus, fuck. Did she suddenly have a clear understanding of the communist appeal? She needed to have a talk with Ada as soon as possible.

Lost in her mental back and forth over Tommy's self righteousness, the unjustness of her life, and the clear appeal of a communist government — she barely noticed that Tommy had stopped his angry stomp though Small Heath and was now facing her.

Obviously her absentmindedness had sent him into a tizzy and he clearly couldn't keep his own thoughts and frustrations to himself any longer.

Still keeping her mouth shut and a good amount of distance between them, she waited for Tommy to start in on her when she finally noticed where they were — only a few meters from the gate that led to their garden, or rather the patch of dirt that could be a garden.

Nearly jumping when words finally left her brother's mouth, Charlotte tried to keep her temper in check while his was readying to go off the rails, "Do you understand what you've done?" Taking a step in her direction, he pointed a finger and lowered his voice, "Do you even have a fucking clue?"

Taking the smallest step back, Charlotte tried to keep her attitude in check. She tried to politely say the words, "No, Tommy, I do not," in a calm and even voice. She really did try. But instead she would herself spitting at him, "Obviously not, Tommy. So please, explain why spending a few hours in lockup happens to be so goddamned world wrecking — even though every fucking one of my brothers has participated in the same bloody act — and yet somehow the world continues to spin on its axis!"

His eyes sparked with rage, his nostrils flared as he worked to keep from screaming in the street. His cigarette flicked to the ground and he inhaled so deeply that she counted nearly four seconds before it was over. Then he lunged toward her, faster than she'd thought possible. He reached out, and she flinched expecting a cracking smack across the face. Instead, she felt her jaw pinched beneath his fingers as he yanked her forward into him. Allowing her no personal space of her own.

"You are nothing but a spoiled, smart mouthed, little shit that has nothing better to do with her time than to make life harder for those around her. Those who are doing everything in their power to make your life better!"

She tried to defend herself, but his grip was so strong she couldn't open her mouth to take a breath, let alone argue with him.

"You wanna know what you've done, Charlotte? You wanna know?" He didn't even pause long enough to give her the time to respond — even if his hand still hadn't been clamped onto her face.

"You've got a record now! You're known and available."

She didn't fully understand his meaning, but fortunately for her, he kept on his quiet rant — that was slowly gaining volume.

"Before now, you were just some kid running around Birmingham kicking up trouble here and there. But now... Now you're leverage. Now you're accessible. Now you're one more file in the stack of peaky blinders for those fucking coppers to look over when things go wrong."

He was getting himself worked up and his grip had become bruising on her cheeks. Reaching up, she slapped at his hand as she whimpered for his release. He was going to leave a mark on her face if he kept on this pace, and that was something she knew for a bloody fact he wouldn't want to do to her. Kill her with his own bare hands, sure. But marks on faces was what their father did — and Tommy was nothing if he wasn't the exact opposite.

His eyes moved from hers to his hand and he quickly released her, pausing only slightly to take a quick once over of her face before continuing his lecture as he paced back and forth in front of her. Obviously she was fine and he wasn't about to lose his momentum — he was on a roll with the lecture of a lifetime it seemed, "Now the next time Arthur or I get dragged in there, you wanna know what they're gonna say?"

Too nervous to speak, she shook her head, no.

"They're gonna tell us that we best give them what they're looking for, or they're likely to add another strike to our sister's record. Or maybe they'll give us an ultimatum — we go to prison or you do. Or maybe it's just harassment. Anyway you have it, you think any of us wouldn't choose to rot alone in a cell for the rest of our lives before we give you up or allow you to be used like a pawn?"

Ok, now she was starting to feel a bit guilty. She hadn't really thought about any of that...

"Jesus Christ, You're a child! You can be taken away from us, gone before–"

She shook her head at his instance. There's no way Tommy's let anyone take her. She had faith in him enough that he'd to everything in his power to keep them together, "But you wouldn't let–"

"You think I'd get a choice!? My influence doesn't extend that far, Charlotte. Think about what that would do to Polly? Or Arthur? Just think for once in your fucking life!" He paused for a moment, turning his back to her, and she thought maybe he was done.

Luck was not on her side today, the thought had barely crossed her mind before he was turning back around to continue, "They were trying to take you away tonight! Why do you think you were in there for so long, eh?"

Bringing her hands up to her mouth she nervously chewed on her fingernails, "Thought you were mad–"

"You better fucking believe it. But no, Charlotte, that's not why you were stuck in that station for hours tonight. You were stuck there because unless I provided paperwork proving you're identification, your status as a minor, and proof of your legal guardianship, they were planning on hauling you off to the women's prison in London until a sentencing could be arranged for your crimes." Reaching into his pocket, Tommy fished out another cigarette. As he stuck it in his mouth and worked the match to lighting, she tried to reason with him, "But you didn't let them–"

Speaking from the side of his mouth he started in again, "Because I had the paperwork. Because Moss slowed down the process! You've no fucking clue how close you were to disappearing tonight! No fucking clue!" He was full on shouting now. She'd always thought that calm-angry Tommy was the scariest foe to come up against. But rage-angry Tommy was quickly causing a change of opinion on the matter.

"You'd have been gone. Out of my reach. Nothing a single one of us could do about it." Taking a deep drag before slowly exhaling the smoke towards the sky, Tommy continued, "You thought it'd be unbearable going on the road? Just wait until you're in chains washing the laundry with the other inmates."

Another drag, another exhale, "Jesus Christ, what am I gonna do with you?"

She knew she wasn't meant to answer him, but she couldn't stop herself, "It was only a mistake, I didn't mean–"

Interrupting her, he flicked his ashes to the ground, "You never mean any harm, you never mean this or that. But it doesn't change the fact that there are consequences for your actions — whether they're intentional or not."

Pacing back and forth again, he stopped after only a minute or two, clearly deciding there was nothing more he wanted to say on the subject. Opening up the gated door, he motioned her towards the flat, "Now get the fuck inside."

He wasn't yelling anymore, and she suddenly felt the need to push her luck, "Em, No?" She hadn't meant it to sound like a question, but she hadn't meant it to be demanding either. She was certainly stuck between a boat and its moor.

"Excuse me?" He took a step in her direction, letting loose the garden door. Charlotte winced as the door slammed on its hinges, once, twice, three times.

She tried to stand her ground confidently as she attempted to explain herself, "Can't I just sit on the stairs for a bit? I'm not ready to go inside yet."

"How's that, now?" Rage-angry Tommy had gone, replaced with calm-angry Tommy. She wasn't sure which she preferred anymore.

Taking a calming breath she explained further, "I was inside that cell for hours. I thought the roof was closing in on me. I don't wanna go in yet. Can't I just sit? You'd be able to see me from your office."

Shaking his head Tommy pointed from her to the house, "Get inside." Not waiting for her to react to the order, he turned to open the swinging door once more.

Her frustration was setting her on edge. She'd tried the polite way. She tried to be calm and explain herself — but he never listens."Why can't you just leave me alone for a little bit? Go inside, do whatever the hell you do at night. Figure out your next big plan to make even more money and gain even more power for your precious Peaky Blinders?" Sighing, she ran her fingers through her mussed hair as she added, "Those are the only things you really care about anyway. It's only money and power with you."

"You need to shut your fucking mouth. You don't have a clue what you're talking about." He tossed his nearly finished stick to the ground, stomping out the little flame with the toe of his polished shoe.

That stupid fucking shiny shoe set her teeth on edge. The epitome of what Tommy worked towards — to be a class above what they were born for. What they are. She knew she shouldn't let herself get overwhelmed, she knew she shouldn't give in to her frustration and anger. But deep down that's all she felt any more — frustration and anger and hatred. For Tommy, for her father, for the fucking rapist of a copper, hell even Polly sometimes. And she let those emotions lace every word that came outta her mouth, "Everyone in Small Heath knows it's true. Hell, everyone in Birmingham knows the only thing that Tommy Shelby really cares for is power and cash. Family be damned, unless you need us to further your progress."

While she was barely keeping herself together — forcing back tears and aiming to keep her voice below a shout. Tommy was keeping himself locked firmly into a raging calm tone. It seemed as though every time he kept himself from shouting at her, he made himself speak even lower and quieter, "Everything I've done is to keep you safe and taken care of. For you, and everyone else in this family. This family is the only thing I care about! Everything I've ever done has been for you, and Ada, and the rest of them."

She scoffed at his attempt at martyrdom, "Sure, it's all for us — never for yourself."

"Of course it's for you, you and all the others. But it's my job to take care of you — you are my responsibility."

This time she couldn't keep herself from a raging shout, "Bullshit!"

"Charlotte–"

Ignoring whatever it was he was going to lie about next, she rushed to speak over him, "Don't stand there and prattle on about how I'm your number one priority. Don't act like you want to be my guardian — my substitute father. Don't lie to me with this nonsense about everything you do is for this family! Because it's not. We all know it. It's for you. Tommy Shelby, the most important man this side of civilisation — as far as you're concerned."

"You have no idea what you're talking about. Quit your tantrum, and get inside." He'd had enough. But she was far from done, "I know about France, Tommy."

Staring at her blankly for a few moments, he finally found his voice at the same time he found a new stick to light, "What're you on about? Everybody knows about France." Tossing the match to the ground, his suddenly casual attitude only urged her on.

"I know that you didn't have to go."

Again he stared at her for a few moments, acting as if she were off her rocker, "Of course I had to go. We were at war — every man had to go."

"Not you. You didn't have to go. You chose to." Shaking her head at him, she pointed to herself and what she assumed was London's direction, "You took one look at me and Ada and decided you'd rather face death in the fields of France than stay with us one day longer."

A look crossed over her brother's face. Slight panic, mild anger, a hint of fear, and an overwhelming look of exhaustion mixed equally with frustration. And she knew that he knew exactly what she was on about.

Lazily flicking his ashes to the ground, he tried to ignore the exact issue she was getting at, "Charlotte, listen to me. I had to go to France, all of us did."

"You're a bloody liar."

He raised a finger in her direction, a warning motion. She was having none of it, "Sure, all the others had to go — Arthur, Freddie, John, Danny and Scud, and all the others. That part's true. They were legally required by the King's law. But you — Thomas Shelby — were exempt."

"And how's that, eh?" She could tell he was testing her. He wasn't going to give an inch if he didn't think she had anything on him. It was the same tactic she'd seen him use in business — and with coppers. Make the other person show their hand first, then Tommy would decide if he were going to play the game at all. But she had no problem laying all her cards down. She had him pinned, "The 3-A Hardship Deferment." His face grew slightly pale. She could've shouted for joy if she weren't so bloody deep in it.

Quoting the law that she had looked up all those years ago, she dully cited it for Tommy, "No person of military age shall be required to report for drafted service should induction result in hardship to persons that would depend upon them for support."

Taking a deep breath, she continued, "Single parents or guardians with a child are not eligible for enlistment nor draft. Hardship Deferments are available by application for those who meet these exemption requirements."

He tossed the barely smoked stick to the ground, his eyes never leaving her. For once giving her his full and undivided attention, "Charlie, it's more complicated than all that." His voice was no longer angry — raging, calm, or otherwise.

She wasn't interested in listening to his excuses, "You know it was Mrs Harlow that let it slip. You should've seen her face when she realised that I hadn't known you weren't required to go. You would've thought she'd mistakenly shot my horse."

"Charlie–" It wasn't 'Charlotte' anymore, eh? He was really trying this time. Fuck that.

"We were having a nice dinner. Her mother was in for a visit from London. And Mrs Harlow had been so concentrated with tending to her mother that she let it slip without thinking." Altering her voice slightly she pitched her tone higher to give the impression of Mrs Harlow, "She'd been simply surprised that you chose to go to France. After all, she said, the government couldn't force you to go — you were the sole guardian of two minors. And how could someone choose to up and leave two little girls behind?"

Giving Tommy her angriest glare she added, "That'd be myself and Ada — in case you'd forgotten."

"I am well aware of who is under my guardianship, Charlotte." Back to 'Charlotte' now? Ah, well. Couldn't expect him to act like her big brother for too long — he was Tommy Shelby after all, King of the peaky fucking blinders.

"Mr Harlow could see that I had no clue what she was talking about, and tried to get her to stop. But by that time I'd heard enough. I wanted to know more, but they wouldn't tell me anything. So I convinced Pol to walk me to the library for the next three days. The law also states–"

"I'm well aware of the law, Charlotte."

Nodding at him she felt the need to let him know just how she felt about his knowledge of the law, "Oh good, so you aren't stupid. You just didn't care."

Sighing at her, Tommy opened his mouth to speak, but when no words came, he shook his head. Running both hands through his hair he cleared his throat, and suddenly words appeared, "You're right — I wasn't enlisted. I volunteered. I volunteered to keep my brothers safe. And look, we all came back!" He was speaking to her as if she were a child. Slow and clear, steady and firm. Hopeful that she'd just give in to his excuse and end this standoff altogether.

He'd run outta luck, she wasn't interested in his bullshit excuses, "But you might not have! You didn't know! You didn't know what was gonna happen! And you chose to leave us! You chose to abandon me!"

"You weren't abandoned — you had Polly, and Ada. You three would've been fine without us."

"You don't know that. The fact is you chose to leave when you didn't–"

Interrupting her, Tommy's voice grew exasperated, "I had to, Charlie! I had to! I couldn't have stayed behind! It's not who I am. It's not who this family needed me to be. You wouldn't have wanted a brother who'd not–"

This time it was her turn to interrupt him, "I wanted a living brother! I wanted someone who was there for me. But instead I've got you — some sort of shell of the person you were before. You're angrier, meaner, harder. You're not you. I want my brothers back. I want the ones I had before France! I want a normal life with a normal family. A mother that didn't die, a father that doesn't hate his own children, and brothers that don't scream in their sleep for the horrors that they've seen in another life."

She took a deep breath before adding, "First Mama left, then Da, then you–"

"I came back–"

She let her head fall backwards in frustration as she looked to the skies for help. She took a breath before attempting to explain one last time, "No, Tommy, you didn't come back. You're barely a brother. You're an empty vessel, full of anger and gin and sulphur. My brother never came back from France. What I got is some sort of demonic shell of a man who only cares about murder and money."

Taking in every word she said he finally let his shoulders sag as he pointed to the house, "I'm not having this argument out here for all the neighbours to hear. We need to take this inside."

Oh, he wanted to do this part again? "No."

"It's been a long day, Charlie. Just go inside." He wasn't pleading, but he also wasn't demanding. But she still wasn't interested in being stuck alone in the house with him, "It has been a long day, but I'm not ready to go inside."

Rolling his head, Tommy dropped all pretence of the understanding brother, and reverted back to ordering her around, "Charlotte Shelby get inside before I drag you in — this isn't a negotiation."

Shaking her head, she spat back, "Nothing with you ever is."

Goddamnit, would you please just get inside?"

"Look, Tommy. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I swear it. But can't I just have some air for a bit? I'm not going anywhere — I promise I'll stay in the garden." She just wanted a little bit of time in the night air to clear the damp mould from her lungs. Just a little time on her own before she gets locked up again — this time forever.

"Jesus Christ, Charlotte, you don't get it — I don't have a bloody ounce of trust in you at the moment. Your promises mean nothing to me. I trusted you to follow the rules, and you went and got yourself arrested."

She was gutted. She felt her insides turn to mush. Her chest grew tight and her heart began to beat out an erratic rhythm. She felt as though she were falling apart, but she couldn't let him see her weakness, "The rules that I didn't get a say in?" The words came out firm, if not a bit shaky.

"Your fourteen fucking years old, you don't get a say in the rules, Charlotte." He was speaking to her as if she were a toddler again. As if she didn't know or fully understand how things worked in their lives. "I make the law, and you fucking follow it."

Bending over, she rested her hands on her knees. She needed to breathe out her frustration. She needed to keep herself from falling into a hysteria. She also needed to stop looking at her brother, if only for a few seconds. She needed him to stop, "Can't you just stop for once?" She needed him to stop acting like their father. She needed a brother. Sitting in that cell all day scared her. There were moments that she was actually terrified — whether she chose to admit it at the time or not. She'd been locked in a cell without any protection, with a station full of coppers just above her head. Any one of them could've gotten it in their heads to come down to pay her a visit. She'd been all alone with an army of men who hated her and her family just above her head.

If Tommy responded, she didn't hear him. She kept breathing deeply as she stared at the dirt beneath her feet. She just wanted him to be normal, she just wanted her big brother, "Couldn't you try to be my brother?" She should've stopped there, but instead she brought herself upright as her mouth continued on, "You're not Aunt Pol and you're sure as fuck not my father."

She hoped her words would have an effect on Tommy. Turns out they did, just not the effect she wanted. As she spoke of Polly and their father, Tommy's eyes went wide in anger. She shouldn't have mentioned the old man. She knew it was bound to set him off on the best of days, and this day was not one of those days.

The look on his face scared her, and before she knew what was happening her arm was in his grasp and he was dragging her towards the house. Then the panic that she was keeping on low rushed to the surface and she started struggling. No, not struggling — flipping the fuck out.

Reaching up with her free arm, she put all her weight behind the slap that echoed across Tommy's face. That managed to stun him into halting his movement — but she still needed to get free of his grip. The strength of her panic raged through her and all too suddenly her boot was connecting with the side of his knee. A growl of pain left his lips and she took her chance to rip her arm out of his grasp. Then, just for good measure, she lunged forward, effectively pushing him into the wooden fence surrounding their properties, "Don't fucking touch me!"

As he stumbled back she realised she was only making him angrier, but she'd crossed the line and there was no turning back now. She was fighting for her independence. She was fighting for her freedom.

Both siblings were breathing heavily, anger coursing through them. Finally Tommy squared his shoulders, planted his feet. Bringing himself to his full height, he allowed his anger to take control as he pointed to the space in front of him and growled, "Come here, now."

She shook her head at him.

"I'm not kidding, Charlotte. Come here."

"I'm not kidding either, Thomas. No."

She could see the rage in him boil over. He took a step in her direction. She took a step backwards — away from him. He took another forward, she took another backwards. Trying to keep the same amount of distance between them, Charlotte and Tommy continued on in this dance until Charlotte felt the rough wood of the alley fence opposite Watery Lane against her back."

"You've got one more chance–"

Interrupting him, she made her intentions viciously clear. "Fuck you."

Clenching his jaw he muttered, "I'm not playing this game anymore." Before marching menacing toward her.

Panicking as his clear intentions to take hold of her again, she allowed instinct to overtake all logical thought, and before she knew what she was doing, she had her gun raised — pointed directly at her brother.

She was not only successful in stopping his advances, but also in enraging him further. Whenever they got into these fights she always thought to herself, 'I've never seen him this angry before.' But now it was really true. She'd never seen him like this before.

His jaw was clenched, his body rigged, and he was rapidly clenching and unclenching his fists. It felt like they'd been standing there for ten minutes by the time Tommy's voice filled the air.

When it did, she shivered. It was already a cold winter night, the fire was dying down, but his voice made her feel as if she were standing in the middle of a frozen field without her clothes.

"Give me the gun."

Instead, she cocked the hammer. No thoughts, only fear driven instincts.

His cool voice was gone, "Give me the fucking gun!"

He didn't move towards her, but instead held out his hand for the weapon in question. His whole body shook as he waited for her to follow his order, making her more scared than she'd felt in months.

She didn't know what to do now. She hadn't planned on pulling her gun. She hadn't planned on things going this far. She had no plan whatsoever. Tommy always said this was her biggest weakness — not thinking things through — and now she was proving him correct, once again.

Taking a step toward him, gun still raised and cocked, she demanded, "Step back." Wordlessly — and to her surprise — he did as she demanded.

Their dance had reversed. This time for every forward step she took, he took one backwards. Taking four steps forward she allowed him to believe that she was going to hand him her gun.

Once they were both within the fenced barrier that surrounded their garden, Charlotte moved to rest her hand on the gated door. Muttering a quick "I'm sorry," she spun on her heel, moving as quickly as possible to make her way outside the garden before slamming the door into place and rushing down the alleyway.

She knew she was in trouble. She knew this whole day had been one big mistake after another. But she also knew that now was the time to run as quickly as humanly possible.

"Charlotte!" She could hear Tommy yelling at her from behind. She'd already made it half way down the alley when she heard him yelling her name again. Spinning to face him in one quick moment of regret she flinched when she saw him running after her and the gun in her hand went off.

As the dirt and gravel from the ground billowed up and away from the place where the bullet found its home, she heard Tommy shout, "Shit!"

Shit was right. She'd forgotten to release the hammer on the gun. She'd been running away with a loaded and primed weapon. And she'd shot at him.

Holy fuck!

He was going to strangle her.

He was going to take her gun and shoot her with it.

He was going to pick her in her room until she starved to death.

Bloody hell, what was she doing? She need to run.

Snapping out of her reverie she turned on her heel and began running once again. She pushed herself to run faster than she's ever run before. She needed to get away before the dust cleared and Tommy was able to see where she was going.

Running through the dark streets of Birmingham, one fist clenched the other gripping a gun, she had no idea where she was going. Running aimlessly she figured that if she didn't know where she was going, there'd be no way Tommy would be able to figure it out either.

Darting left and right, taking a sharp turn here, running across a bridge there, she'd felt like she'd been running for an hour when she finally stopped. Looking around and taking in her location she saw that she'd run down to the canals across from the train station.

Taking a seat on the ground she leaned her back against the cold brick wall and tried to figure out what to do next.

She couldn't go to the yard — that would be the first place Tommy would look. And she didn't necessarily trust her uncle to not give her up after hearing what she'd done.

The Harlow home was out of the question. Ezra's mom would never lie for her to her brother. She wasn't sweet on any of the Shelby boys, but she believed that lies ate up your soul.

She could go out and find the Lee caravan, generally speaking they weren't fond of Tommy either. But if Esme or John found out, she'd be marched home at gunpoint. Fitting, that.

Looking across the canal to the lone train sitting on the tracks, she got an idea.

A while back John and Arthur had started tossing her a few shillings for checking their maths before they passed the books off to Tommy.

She'd gotten in the habit of stashing her payments in a secret pocket in the inside lining for her jacket, safe and sound of any pickpockets — or coppers. There ought to be a few guineas in there, more than enough for a train ride.

Or was possible — although unlikely Tommy would think to look for her at the train station. But at this point she didn't really have any other options. Unless she wanted to spend the next few nights freezing in the old barn out past Uncle Charlie's yard, this was it for her.

Making her way down the streets of London from King's Cross Station, Charlotte tried to remember where it was she was headed. She'd been there a few times now, but always in a car.

She knew it was on Northington, and she knew it wasn't far from the station. Last time she'd been she remembered being able to hear the screeches of the brakes and the whistles from the trains.

Stopping on a street corner, a newsboy was taking shelter from the rain as he tried to hawk his papers, "Mate, you know where Northington Street is?"

Her luck was clearly turning around as the kid gave her directions, and she was on her way. Just a few minutes later and she was raising her fist to knock on the door she believed to be the one she'd been in search of.

As she gave a few polite knocks, and waited. She could hear some sort of ruckus on the other side of the door, but nobody came to greet her. After waiting another moment and still getting no response, she knocked again — a little louder than before. This time she could hear stomping and grumblings gaining on the front door.

Before she'd gotten the chance to step back from the door, the damn thing was flying open, the wind and rain whipping around her. She flinched as her cap flew off her head as the head of the house bluntly asked, "What do you want?"

Reaching down to grab her cap out of a puddle, her long hair tumbled down around her face, obstructing her vision. Pushing the offending whisps out of her way she took hold of the now sopping cap, straightened herself and jokingly questioned, "Orright then?"

Edit: Got too excited to post this chapter and had to fix some formatting and grammatical issues!