Chapter Text
Chapter Five: The Devil Made Me Do It
Tommy couldn’t believe the balls on her. His cigarette lay next to the detailed baseboard, with gentle wisps of smoke trailing from the spent ember of rolled tobacco. It went unacknowledged between the two of them, but ire burned in both of their eyes.
Noble Lee’s breathing was audible in the halting tension of the room, making it clear that her anger was very present. “Who the fuck am I?” she asked, leaning forward to crowd into Tommy’s space as he had to her. “Who the fuck are you?” She punctuated with a sharp jab of her finger just below his collarbone. “You who knocked me off a goddamn ladder. Looming about like some goddamn Ebenezer Scrooge, interrogating people with your cranky ass face and your cigarettes.” She realized that her thoughts were swimming and tried to pull focus back to the situation. Thomas Shelby was a notorious and very dangerous gangster, but the pounding in her head was getting worse again and she knew it was due to her blood pressure skyrocketing.
The accusations she threw at him weren’t uncalled for, but Tommy would not take being spoken to or treated with such blatant disrespect in his own home. “I’ll do more than knock you off a ladder if you don’t answer my questions.” He let his words hang in the air, to be sure that Ms. King understood his intentions before he continued.
“Now,” he sat back in his chair, projecting a calm onto his sharp features, satisfied that his threat had been made clear. “Who the fuck are you to come into my home –“
“It’s not your goddamn home!” Noble Lee yelled, shooting to her feet from her perch at the edge of the bed, fury on her face and in her eyes.
Tommy didn’t rise to meet her, it was immediately clear that her sudden move to stand had been a mistake on her part. Her eyes, which were seconds ago focused like the sights of a gun, were pinched, but not closed, and her chest heaved with emotion. He didn’t offer to ease her back on the bed or reach out to steady her. If she had the wherewith to yell at him then she had the ability to help herself, he reasoned selfishly.
The two stare bitingly at each other, Noble Lee daring her opponent to strike back, and Tommy, steeling his resolve so he wouldn't. It was a tense few moments, the will of each clashing harshly, that is until Ms. King's knees began to wobble. Vertigo gripped her again and prevented her from literally standing her ground.
And Tommy relished it. That her defiance was thwarted, not by him, but by her own failing body. His lips twisted into a nasty, smug, little smile. Noble Lee kept standing, feeling sick to her stomach, and wondered if throwing up on his shoes would wipe that smirk right off his face.
Come to find out, it did.
Bile rose out of her stomach, into her throat, and projected straight out of her mouth with such force that it got on not only his shiny black shoes, but the starched hem of his pants. Noble Lee’s body followed the flow on her vomit, down to the floor, though at a much slower pace. Surprisingly, Thomas helped her there, as if responding instinctively.
With a firm grip on her arms, he steadied her as they both crouched on the floor, preventing either of them from sitting in the mess. His long reach enabled him to pulled the waste basket towards them and pressed it firmly into her chest. He even brushed her long hair away so it didn't trail in her own vomit.
Hot tears blazed wet trails down her cheeks unbidden, the ache in her head settling profoundly behind her stinging eyes. She couldn’t look at him. Not when he was helping her. Not when she wanted to continue being so utterly furious with him. Not when he was being kind.
Though perhaps it wasn’t kindness that prompted him to her aid, perhaps he merely wanted to save the rest of his expensive clothes from her. The thought helped to reconcile some of her guilt.
But Noble Lee couldn’t reconcile the heat of his hands. Despite the hot flashes that had taken over her body, Tommy’s hands were somehow, hotter still. The grip he had on her upper arms was firm, strong, and she could feel every one of his long fingers pressing into her skin through the sleeves of her borrowed nightgown.
She stared at the floor between their legs, just over the rim of the trashcan, the little pool of sick mostly obscured. Her stomach turned at the sight, and as if sensing that her continence was souring again, Tommy squeezed her arms just a little harder. “No more of that now, ey?”
His voice was low, placating. Noble Lee hugged the trashcan to her chest, tasting the acidic bile tainting her saliva. “I’m still pissed at you.” Noble Lee mumbled, the heat in her voice having been expelled with the contents of her stomach.
Tommy somehow found humor in her words, “I don’t doubt that you are.” A hint of a laugh laced his words.
“I think I’m okay…” The tentative prognosis was uttered with her head down, into the little trash can. She knew she couldn’t stand back up on her own. In all honesty, Tommy was the only thing holding her up, her knees had locked and she lacked the strength to rise.
He didn’t say anything for several long moments, but Noble Lee still refused to look up, even when her legs and knees trembled with the effort of keeping her from sitting in her own vomit. “Then let’s get you cleaned up then, ey?” His voice was still soft, still low.
She sighed an audible “Okay”.
In a breath, Tommy had lightly tugged the little trash bin from her hands, quickly enough that Noble Lee didn’t topple when he let go of one of her arms. “Slowly now,” He said, rising from his crouch, attempting to guide her along, but Noble Lee only trembled more, her hands clinging to the sleeves of his white dress shirt.
Realizing the issue, Thomas settled back in front of her. “Let’s do this in stages then.” He waited to see if she would agree, and when he finally saw her head bob he continued. “We’ll go to the bed first. Wrap your arms around my neck.” He kept her steady as she worked her arms around his shoulders and linked her hands together at the nape of his neck.
His hands shifted to her waist in preparation to help lift her. “On three,” he instructed.
The two of them said the words together and on three, Tommy stood, taking Noble Lee up with him. The pain on her face was obvious, but Tommy maneuvered her to the bed so she could sit on the edge of it.
Her hands eased gripping themselves, but her arms still lay draped over Tommy’s shoulders. “I’m so tired,” Noble Lee admitted. She was tough, but she wanted nothing more than to cry. Her stomach clenched, the muscles there aching, her legs still trembling, knees tight and in pain. The fall was taking its toll.
Thomas looked down at her, face pinched in pain and sweat dotting her forehead. He knew she was in pain. Knew he had caused it.
Instinctively, his hands shifted, pressing her firmly to his chest and held her tight. It was only a moment later when he felt her fingers twist the linen of his tailored shirt and lean into him. Hot tears dampened the front of his vest, seeping through to his shirt and warming his skin.
Her crying was silent, but she shook in his arms. It was nearly heartbreaking, even for Thomas Shelby.
Here was a woman, a woman he had directly harmed, seeking comfort from him. Disgust roiled around in his chest, just behind the growing patch of her tears. He let her cry for however long she needed, holding her through the entirety.
It took some time before she calmed, her cries turning into soft sniffles, her body no longer trembling. She lay heavy against his chest, immobile and spent. Tommy could feel her exhaustion, could feel it seeping into him too.
In the near quiet of the room, save for their soft breathing, Noble Lee asked, “Why did you push me off that ladder?”
No immediate answer came. Long minutes past, and with exhaustion washing over her, Noble Lee resigned to the notion that he would not answer her most burning question. Eyes drooping, she could wait no more.
And if it hadn’t been for the rumbling of his chest rousing her, Noble Lee would never have heard the words leaving his lips.
“Because you aren’t her.”