A girl receives a letter.

Caterina
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I had barely emerged from the bathroom at Thomas's office space from washing off the grime from earlier when I spotted him slumped into his chair. A frown etched across his beautiful face.

"Thomas, are you all right?" I called, shaking a hand through my sodden hair.

His eyes met mine. "I am now. Come here." He beckoned, holding out a hand.

I gently placed my hand in his, and settled my knees on either side of him, sitting back on Thomas's lap. A ghost of a smile played upon his lips as he stared back at me, his eyes bright despite the worry lines that creased his face. I pressed a palm against his cheek.

"What's on your mind, hm?" I hummed, leaning in to feel the steady warmth of his breath against my skin.

Thomas ran a light hand up and down my arm, pausing to plant a tender kiss upon my shoulder. I could tell he rather enjoyed the flimsy night gown I had changed into after my evening gown got dirty in the rumble. Still, my eyes found themselves closed as I reveled in the warmth of his mouth on such an ordinary part of me; and yet, I had never considered my shoulder to have that many nerves bundled up in one before he came along.

"You." He murmured against my skin, sending sparks down into the pit of my belly.

I lolled my head forward, letting my hair fall over half my face. "Just me, Thomas?"

He brought his bottom lip between his teeth as he nodded, and swept my hair from my face, revealing a surprisingly tender look in his blue eyes. "Yeah." Was all he managed before his lips were now hotly against mine. Thomas pressed me closer against him, deepening the kiss with only a tilt of his head.

I melted into his advances. So much so, that when a hand snaked its way up under the silk fabric, I didn't even notice until we parted lips long enough so that Thomas could tug the material off in one final swoop. I laughed as my sandy hair flopped over my eyes from the motion, sending a vibration through the both of us. A pair of calloused hands gently rose to part the tangle of blond curls so that I could see again as I blew at the few remaining stragglers of hair.

Thomas dropped his hands from my face and with a faint smile traced his fingers lightly down the line of my jaw, down my neck, and collarbone. I sucked in a breath whenever his eyes flicked up to meet mine as he drew a line down the valley of my exposed breasts, stopping just above my navel. His eyes appeared heavy as they traced the invisible lines that burned into my skin. And for a while, he just sat there, admiring my body with such gently grace that I didn't feel the pressure of his stare. Only love.

"Your skin is breathtaking." Thomas murmured, settling his hands around my waist. "I've never seen anything like it. So tan it's almost golden."

My cheeks burned. There was only one other man who had ever said that to me, and even then, I had always been self-conscious about it. But not now. Not when his voice was so soft and certain.

"Grazie." I translated, my hands already working to remove his waistcoat and shirt.

He leaned forward so that I could tug his attire from the hem up, tossing it aside. His skin was hot to the touch.

And as he had traced me, I him.

My fingers worked their way along his cheekbone, familiarizing itself with the sharpness of it- as if it were art. I traced his jaw next, and then his neck; an area so vulnerable that I doubted he ever let anyone get so close so easily. Just one slip, and he'd be done for.

His hands curled around mine then, as if reading my expression. I met his clear gaze and allowed him to lead my hands down to his chest, just above the heart. I felt its steady beat against my palm, and beside it was the same sun tattoo I had seen at the hospital.

"Why'd you get it?" I asked, moving my hand out from under his to trace the rays that peaked along his right pec.

"I got it after the war." Thomas replied, his eyes growing distant. "I had spent so much time underground that when it was all over, the first thing I saw when I came up was the sun peaking just above the horizon. And I though then that it was the most beautiful thing I ever saw."

His voice was soft towards the end, and I couldn't help but lean into him. My mouth met his in an instant, igniting the same fire in the pit of my stomach as before. All the past, present, and future seemed to waste away as we were the only ones left world, with only each other for the night.

Our joining was slow, as Thomas took his time at making love to me, very unlike the first few nights. I fisted his cropped hair as he whispered sweet nothings into my ear, his hands smoothing up and down the length of my back. My teeth nipped at his earlobe to keep from crying out, but alas, to no avail. Thomas aided in my riding him throughout the night, until our breaths became ragged and our means accomplished.

I settled myself into his lap afterwards, sporting only his dress shirt half buttoned, and my feet propped up upon his desk. My head rested in the crook of his neck. Thomas absentmindedly played with the blunt ends of my hair, ever so often offering me a drag of his smoke. I complied every time.

"So," I exhaled, fiddling with the crinkled hem of his shirt. "Have you decided on a name? For your horse, that is."

Thomas took a drag of his cigarette before replying, "Yeah, I have. You want to hear it?"

I nodded, lifting my chin to look up at him. The corners of his mouth curled slightly.

"Brown Eyed Chicago."

I sat up, eyebrows raised. Thomas merely blinked back at me and I tried not to think about the fact that he was still shirtless. And that I could feel the hard, flat muscles of his stomach through his shirt. I pursed my lips in faux contemplation.

"A certain, brown-eyed, American girl from the same city didn't happen to have any influence on your decision, did she?" I mused.

He shook his head, laughing. "I'd say she did, yeah."

"Then in that case," I added, "You should call June and accept her offer at training her."

Thomas raised his brows at me, testing. I rolled my eyes.

"Fine. Call May and accept. I mean it." And I did. For jealousy was for the untrustworthy, and I trusted Thomas with my life.

He nodded after a while. "All right. Hand me the phone if you will, dearest."

My mouth quirked up in a grin.

As if reading my expression, Thomas lolled his head back on the chair and groaned.

"You're insufferable, you know that?"

I leaned over the desk and picked up the telephone, wedging it between my thighs. I lifted the handset for him to grab, and when he finally did, I flashed him a moony smile.

"Only when you call me dearest, my dear."

Thomas scowled and dialed May's line, ignoring my insufferable laughter all the while in the background.

⚜️

It was early the next morning when I arrived home from a night spent with Thomas- against his wishes, of course.

The house was empty as always when I entered the foyer, and with a frown I flung my coat on the hanger by the door. I shut my eyes for a moment, clearing my head long enough to imagine the house full of my brothers' obnoxious shouting and Theresa's laughter. But when I opened my eyes, there was no one. My bottom lip quivered at the thought.

I quickly wiped away at any wetness beneath my eyes and crossed the room into the kitchen, focusing on my hunger rather than my homesickness. I got to cooking soon after, setting a pot for the pasta and a kettle for the tea. As the water was left to simmer, I decided on changing out of last nights ensemble and into a more practical floral dress and wide brimmed hat, for I headed out back into the garden.

Granted it had been a bit neglected to say the least, since I had spent my last few nights out and about with Thomas. I sighed and knelt down beside the tomato vines, inspecting for any that could be ripe enough for the sauce. My hands decided on a few good ones that were nice and red, just enough for one person- me.

With my hands full of vegetables, I used the bare heel of my foot to push open the back door and cross the threshold. When I passed the living space, however, I heard the water for the pasta bubbling violently in the other room.

I cried out, "For fuck's sake!" And made a dash for the kitchen, hurling the tomatoes into the sink to be washed.

Luckily I was able to lower the temperature in time before the water had the chance to spill all over the place and ruin my tile floors. I loosened a sigh of relief and leaned against the countertop, my head low between my shoulders. When I finally composed myself, however, I decided to pour myself tea with milk from the kettle- when my mail slot opened.

I paused, swallowing my tea and made my way into the foyer to see that a card had been delivered. My heart jumped at the sight of it, and I quickly set my tea onto the tea table that held the telephone and hastily scooped up the letter. Was it from Fran?

My heart dropped.

No, it was from a Mr. Alfred Solomons.

My fingers shook as they ripped apart the envelope and unfolded the paper. I almost wept at the sight of Alfred's messy handwriting, remembering the many times I had scolded him for using Ollie to write his correspondence rather than learning for himself. I rapidly read, and re-read the letter until I convinced myself this wasn't a dream, and that in fact Alfred really did want to see me tomorrow to talk things out. Like 'civilized fucking people', as he put it.

I grinned in spite of myself, but when a sudden wave of nausea hit me like a fist in the stomach- I ceased grinning and promptly doubled over to hurl my tea onto the foyer floor.

⚜️

"Are you sure you're all right?" Thomas asked, placing a warm hand over my knee. I nodded.

"Yes I'm all right, Thomas. I was just overwhelmed, that's all." I assured him, "Anyway. How was your meeting with May this morning?"

Thomas propped an elbow onto the wooden table beside his glass and sighed. I furrowed my brows, I knew that sigh.

"You were right. Mrs. Carleton wants to fuck me, badly."

I rolled my eyes, grinning. "You know Thomas, you can be insufferable at times."

Now it was his turn to grin. Thomas ran his other hand up my exposed back, tracing along my spine. I shivered.

"It seems I am, my dear." He said softly, and leaned in to place a firm kiss against my lips.

I grabbed a hold of the lapels of his coat, pulling him closer despite John and Arthur's cackling. I gave them the finger, instead.

"Did you pick up the pocket watch like I said?" I whispered against his mouth. Thomas groaned. "For your sake, I'll take that as a yes."

Just then, the man of the hour arrived. Everyone cheered Michael's name as he pushed past the private room door in the Garrison, his eyes bright. Thomas and I rose to our feet.

Thomas shook his cousin's hand, grinning, "Happy birthday, Michael."

Behind them, I could see Polly beaming at her boy. I beamed at mine.

As soon as Thomas stepped back, I grabbed a hold of Michael and pulled him into an embrace. His hands dropped to my sides as he attempted to balance himself against our considerable height difference. Was it possible for him to be growing this quickly?

"Happy birthday, Michael." I grinned, pulling back.

In spite of himself, Michael's cheeks burned and he smiled back.

"Eighteen years old." Said Arthur, "You're a man today. Give him a drink, John boy. And after that, we'll go find you a lady of the night."

Polly stiffened. "Arthur!"

I laughed despite the pointed look Arthur gave me, and found Michael looking over at us over the brim of his drink. Playfully I winked in his direction, causing him to sputter back some of the beer. For some unknown reason, I actually enjoyed making Michael blush, it was cute.

Beside me, Thomas cleared his throat. "Michael."

He pulled out a small leather case from his coat pocket and handed it over to his cousin. I clapped my hands together in excitement.

"What's that?" Michael questioned, opening the case.

"So you're never late for work." Said Thomas, pressing a hand to my back. I leaned into his touch.

Michael grinned at the both of us. Behind him, Polly's eyes moistened considerably, and I found myself yearning to look at my son like that one day. I placed a hand over Thomas's middle.

"Welcome to the business, Michael." I smiled.

He turned to his mother, who wrapped her arms firmly around her son. John boy beckoned to hug his cousin as well saying, "Come here, you."

Arthur called out, "All right, let's get him drunk. Whiskey!"  

Thomas raised a hand at him in warning. "No whiskey, he's got work tomorrow. Give him only dark mild."

A slightly disappointed Arthur nodded. Thomas raised his glass.

"A toast... to Michael."

I raised my drink high, grinning. All the while biting my cheek to keep from hurling the contents of my stomach onto the table.

"To Michael." We all cheered.

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[ hell's about to rise for all you Thomas shippers muahaha + another hint ]