Lucille

The family meeting the day prior had not been carried out as they usually were. Dawson waited outside of the betting den in the living room. He was supposed to be looking after Michael, who also hadn't been allowed to join, if Polly was to believed. As it'd been drawn to an end, her shouting had started, falling on the deaf ear of the blond, who only rolled his eyes at the exclamation that he was useless. It wasn't his job to babysit the newest Shelby.

But as badly as Lucille thought it had gone over, the meeting gave way to their outing the following day. Early morning, before the summer sun had warmed the bitter air, Lucille piled into the front of the van beside Tommy, letting the rest of the boys cram into the back.

It wasn't glamorous, their transportation nor their destination, but it was more than she'd ever done in France, and it felt like a glimpse of the future, when the legitimate business would be in full run. Polly had also made her promise to keep them in line, in return for her taking their daughter for the day. That would be a harder task to achieve, with John and Arthur walking around like wolves on the prowl. The two were as thick as thieves, and found pleasure in even the most meaningless of instances. That fact was only made more obvious with the laughs that came as the van came clattering to a stop, steam rolling from beneath the bonnet.

"She's heating up, Curly. Take a look."

"Let me out for a piss," John hissed as he pushed past his cousin, scurrying for the bushes.

Lucille wandered around the back, leaning against the ledge where Arthur and Michael now sat, eyes blinking against the sudden flood of harsh, grey sunlight.

"She made loads. Do you want one?"

Micheal unfurled the old cloth to reveal a pile of sandwiches, which he rifled through, before reaching to pull something from beneath his pale coat. He placed the flask down on the bench beside him and unscrewed the lid. Knowing the company they were in, she expected the harsh scent of whiskey to fill her nose, but was instead met with tea.

"What the bloody hell is that?" Arthur exclaimed, an incredulous grin spreading over his features.

"Sandwiches. Ham I think. Shrimp paste too," Micheal said, not recognising the jest in his cousin's voice. "There's tea. We'll have to take turns 'cause there's only one cup."

"Sandwiches." Arthur echoed, bushy eyebrows forced far into his forehead.

"Yeah."

"Polly made bloody sandwiches?"

"What's this? Teddy bear's fucking picnic?" Charlie prodded, shaking his head, the cigarette that hung lazily from his lips moving with it.

Lucille rolled her eyes as she moved to stand beside the boy. From where he sat, Michael towered over her, but he smiled, handing her one of the sandwiches. It matched all that she'd seen of his so far- his sweetness. But Lucille could not help but picture his eagerness from the day prior. Such ardor to be involved with the Shelbys could be worrying, whether seemingly innocent or not.

"Leave the boy alone," she said, in spite of her thoughts, thanking him as she took the food. "Keep this act up and next time he won't want to help."

"At least it's not you making them, Lucy," Arthur barked, and for a moment she didn't understand his joke. She was the best baker, after all, and even the eldest of the Shelby brothers had proclaimed her so.

"All right. We will drink the tea, eat the sandwiches, and then we will drive on. Alright?" Tommy said, before she could ask. He pointed at his uncle, who'd reached to pick a single triangle of bread on his way back into the van. "No crumbs, Charlie."

As Lucille and Tommy made their way back to the front, stolen tea canister in the woman's hands, the voices of his younger brothers could be heard.

"Herd em up, Arthur, you bastard," John shouted, followed by the bark of a laugh.

"Fuck off," Arthur said back, though it was muffled by a full mouth.

It took a while to reach their

"Right, boys. This is a respectable event. No drinking, no weapons," Lucille began, remembering all that Polly had implored her to instruct before she'd left her with Adds slung in her hip. The boys seemed to listen to her- but only faintly. "This should be easy."

"Who made you in charge?" Arthur barked.

He slung an arm of her shoulder, trapping her hair. In one swift movement, she pushed him off again, throwing him a soft glare.

"Someone has to be the redeemer of the image. We're trying to look like we're the ones buying horse, not mucking out after it," she said, letting Tommy take over as they lead them up the stairs.

"John, we stay together," he said first, calling to his brother who had begun to stray. "When the horse comes up I will do the bidding. I've already registered my interest with the auctioneer, so he knows to expect my bids."

"Do I get to run my hand over her, Tommy?"

"We have a vet's report, Curly. Keep an eye open when she walks."

"I've got a feeling, Tommy. Something isn't right," Curly muttered, his voice hurried by worry. The panic in his words made Lucille frown.

"It's alright Curly. You're just in an unfamiliar place. We all are," Tommy said.

"I get feelings sometimes."

"Its alright," Tommy tried again, brushing him off as they stepped into the vast, bright room in which they would observe the horses.

"You sure you don't want to listen to Curly?" Lucille asked him, feeling the closeness of his arm against hers- something he often did when his nervousness grew. "You know what you always say."

"It'll be alright," he said, but to her it sounded more as if he was trying to convince himself, rather than anyone else. They shared a glance and moved on.

With his black coat swept out from beneath his arms and hands tucked deep into his pockets, Tommy stood like a king on his balcony, staring down at the parading horses below. The only thing that could break his attention was the woman beside him. He smiled down at her as the group crowded around him. It was a small gesture, barely noticeable to anyone but her. Lucille liked those smiles the most. They felt private, aimed just for her. She felt the brushing of his elbow against her arm, and tucked her own hand in the space he'd left for it.

"Alright, Tommy is is her," Charlie said, pulling him back to look over the railing. It was a beautiful mare, speckled with greys and browns.

"We'll start the bidding at 800 guineas. Do we hear 800 guineas?" The auctioneer called, voice echoing through the wide room. Nods were rounded. "850. Do I hear nine?"

The calling went on. Tommy nodded his head each time, eyes scanning the level faces for anyone who would oppose him in the bid.

"One thousand seven hundred."

"That's it Tom, you have to stop," Charlie said, head lowered beneath his cap. "You don't have it in your belt."

"Yes I do. I'm having the horse."

"She's a sweet beast, Tom. But stop, I tell you, I feel something bad," Curly said, his panic returned.

"Maybe we should listen to Curly. There'll be other horses," Lucille said.

"Two thousand."

Tommy nodded. His head raised slightly, eyes catching those of a woman opposite. She did not not. The damage was done. Lucille dreaded to think what Polly would say.

"Sold to mister..."

"Thomas Shelby," he said his name with strength, the muscles in his arm clenching beneath her hand.

"You beat us to it," a feminine voice said from behind.

Lucille turned, eyes landing on the smiling face of the woman who'd bid against Tommy. She was beautiful, older than her by no more than five years. Her eyes were dimmed with a dark shadow, her lips a neutral beige, and the hat that lay perfectly on her head was obviously expensive. Despite her words, there was no malice to the woman's voice. It was lilting, as if saying a friendly joke.

"I was trying to nab a filly for my stud."

"He was having that horse. Whether it was worth it or not," Lucille said, matching the pleasant smile on her face with ease.

The woman held her hand out and Lucille readily shook it.

"May."

"Lucille," she said, and as the man came to stand close beside her, she rested a hand to his side and nodded his way. "This is Thomas."

"From where?"

"Birmingham."

"Goodness," she said, eyebrows raising.

"No. Not much," Tommy said with his monotone drawl, suggesting nothing but his boredom.

"I breed racehorses and train them. What is it you do?" May fried again with her questions, only to be met with awkwardness.

"I rarely answer questions is what I do."

"Tommy! Lucy! Come on, hurry up! We got to go!"

Arthur's voice rung out from down the hallway. The rest of the group stud huddled by the side door, leaning against the walls with smirks on their faces. Even Michael watched on in delight as John clapped him on the back, shouting lurid words down their way. May only watched on in amusement as she turned back to the two.

"Well before you both go, if you ever decide to put that filly out, I'd be interested in having her," May said, and she hurried to dio a hand into her small purse, pulling out a white card.

"I'm planning to race her."

Tommy's words seemed to surprise her. "Do you have a trainer?" May asked.

"I know people."

"I know people too."

"Tommy we've got to get this kid back before dark or Polly will have your balls!" Arthur screamed with his rough voice.

"She will have 'em," John echoed as the other boys howled out a laugh. Lucille couldn't find it within herself to be embarrassed.

"We know different people, I would guess," Tommy said, summing up her thoughts.

"My father knows Mick Hancock. He trained three Ascot winners."

"Tommy! We got to get back to the caravans! The chickens are hungry." John shouted, words blurring into chuckles.

"We'll keep you in mind. Nice to meet you May," Lucille said as Tommy pulled her away, an amused glare set on his brothers.

"And you."

All apprehension had left them as they made their way toward the van. They had bought the horse, though with more money that Polly had allowed, and she seemed finer bred than they could have hoped for. The boys joked and laughed as Michael was tossed the keys. He beamed at the sudden involvement. But Curly still worried. He voice his thoughts readily- both on the woman they'd met and the feelings that lingered. He was brushed off, until they reached the ground floor.

The group stretched out across the paddock, avoiding the small desk that sat in the middle as Arthur skidded toward the front, striding backwards, a devilish grin on his face. Her opened his mouth to talk, but the words that rung through the space were not his.

"Thomas Shelby."

Before most could quite realise what had happened, Arthur bounded forward, knocking the outstretched hand of the Italian upwards, sending a gunshot spiralling toward the ceiling with an echoing clang.

"Tommy Shelby. How about fucking Arthur!"

"Lucille get to the side!" Tommy shouted.

He pushed her back into Michael, shielding them only slightly. She could recognise that flash in his eyes- the tortured glint that'd mirrored his time in France, that came with every bang of a gun. Tommy went to move them backwards, further toward the wall. But Lucille's panicked gaze fell not on the reassurance of his face but on the shadowed man that now stalked behind him.

It all felt so familiar. In a flash of the past, echoing her old actions, Lucille's hands dipped into the side of his coat, pulling out the loaded gun. She was pulling the trigger before her actions could even be contemplated. This time, unlike once before, it was not a German soldier that fell. It was an enemy, all the same.

Tommy turned back in a flash, face not faltering as his eyes landed on the dead man at his feet, a gun discarded to the floor at his hands. There was a dip to his throat, and then he was nodding at her, communicating silently, and Lucille pulled Michael further away from the scene.

Arthur let out a howling screech, a sadistic laugh. Lucille had seen men like this before: men sent home from war physically but with battles still lurking in their heads. That shock, the everlasting trauma was as evident in Tommy. But at night, she'd held him through the nightmares. At least his happened at night, when he could control them alone. Arthur's came in the day, with flashes of violence, taking his mind and rotting it.

"Arthur, come back to us," Tommy shouted to his brother as they finally pulled him from the beaten man, his hands and face bloodied. Arthur's eyes were closed, his chest heaving. "Get him to the van."

"He still breathing," he said again as Arthur was eventually pulled away. He pushed Michael back further. "Don't get blood in the kid. Michael, you didn't see a thing. This didn't happen. Alright give me the keys. Michael give me the keys."

"I'm alright to drive," the young boy argued.

Tommy didn't bother to disagree, letting him scurry after his bloodied brothers. He stood for a moment in the back, as the rest of them ran to the van, leaving him behind. His hair was pulled from his paled face, flat against his forehead. As Lucille reached for him, he jerked away, before soothing, letting her place a hand to his cheek.

"Lucille. Lucille. Lucille."

He was whispering, his head leaning down to rest against hers. They were alright.

May and Lucille being friends >>>
I kinda hate chapters that go a lot from the episode script won't lie but I have a Dawson chapter coming up that I'm really excited to write and get out there! I kinda love how casual Tommy and Lucille's relationship has become, it's like she was always meant to be there and just fits in like family <3
Also, I know a lot of you have been disappointed in the lack of smut. The next chapter would have a good opportunity for it but I genuinely don't know if I have it in me to write one or if I'll be comfortable doing it :(((((
Sorry for the long AN lol xox