𝘀𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝗳𝗶𝘃𝗲:
one step closer, three steps back...

Margaret sat in Thomas' study, contemplating his portrait as she wondered—why? Why did they always go back and forth? It was exhausting. All the lies, the apologies, then the lies again. Trust was a hard thing to give to someone, even harder to earn—but, Thomas Shelby had worked his way up there, despite how much she had felt betrayed during her first weeks back in Small Heath. May Carleton, Jessie Eden, and God knew who. It was probably better for her own sake to not know about the others, she'd probably go crazy. And, after everything they have been through together, she thought they were way past that.

Apparently, she was wrong.

"I could kill you with me own fucking hands, Tom," Margaret muttered at the portrait.

These days, well, again—Margaret only had for company, his portrait. The kids were somewhere with Linda and Billy, Arthur had said to let them come spend a few days, just enough for Maggie to think things through. And for that, she was grateful. Grateful to know that, at least, Arthur still cared enough. Polly and Ada, too. They had called a few times, letting her know that Tom was alright but wouldn't come back for the night. Oh, how could she forget? Johnny Dog had visited quite a few times, but she suspected him to fuck one of their employee.

"Poor Tommy, right? Isn't what everyone was saying when Grace died? Poor Tommy!" She exclaimed with a snort, then shook her head as she clicked her tongue. "Am I going insane, then? Is it like you've said to me before? It is just myself, talking to myself?"

Emptying her glass, she put it down on the small table and sighed loudly, "What the fuck am I doing?" She whispered to herself, running a hand through her hair.

"Ma'am?" A soft scared voice echoed from behind the door, and she recognised Frances. "Ma'am?" She said a little loud this time. "Someone's here to see you."

"Let them in," Maggie shouted, staying still with her eyes fixated on the fireplace who crackled softly. Turning on her heels, she watched as Roman walked in. He was one of the many man that worked for her, a good one. "Hello, Roman."

"Hello, Madam," he greeted her, taking off his cap. "I've come to see you because—"

"Drink?"

He shook his head, "No, thank you," he replied. "I don't drink."

"Interesting," she hummed. "That's good for you, then. What is it?"

"Thomas Shelby, your husband, was seen with Jessie Eden," he spoke quickly. "I haven't seen them meself, but that's what I heard ma'am."

"Alright," she said quietly. "Alright, thank you," she repeated as he gave her a nod and rose on his feet.

Meeting Jessie, interesting. She had heard rumours, of course. She had also heard others ones, especially the one about opium—she asked herself if he would have been honest with her, and besides she would have seen it around the house. But, he had been cold and distant, perhaps he knew about the divorce talks she had with Linda? Or maybe he was seeing someone else?

Margaret laid in bed, her eyes stared up at the ceiling as she waited for her husband to finally walk through the door. Besides, Polly and Ada hadn't called to tell her he wouldn't come back home. So, she waited. After what felt like an eternity, she thought she had heard his voice but she couldn't tell because the mansion was too big—way too big. The doorknob turned lightly and he tried to walk in quietly, but she instantly sat up and looked right at him.

"Having trouble sleeping, eh?"

"No—yes," she replied bitterly. "Where were you?"

He unbuttoned his shirt, sighing heavily, "I had business to take care of in the city, Mag," he answered.

"As usual."

He turned on his heels and looked down at her, "What does it mean?"

She shrugged, "I think you're a fucking liar, Tom. You love them...the lies, don't you?" He was quiet as she continued. "I know you saw Jessie Eden tonight."

He sat on the bed, "It was business," he repeated again, his head falling between his hands. "I swear."

"Right," she responded. "What about the opium, then?"

"What about it, Maggie?" He asked, glancing at her. "What about the fucking opium, eh?"

"Do you take it?"

"Sometimes," he admitted. "When it gets too loud in me head, and I need to think..."

"All the time, then?" Maggie said, a little more emphatically. "You can talk to me, Tom. I'm not only here to play the good wife," she added.

"What's going on in your head when I'm not here?" He queried, moving closer.

"Feels like—it feels like I'm a war with myself. Parts of me want to kill you for being so absent, the other parts want to have you back," she explained softly. "Maybe Grace did it better or—"

Thomas always loved it that she named her Grace and not his 'ex-wife', he genuinely liked to know that she was respectful of his past relationship with the Irish blonde he had fallen madly in love with. But, he hated himself for letting her think that Grace did it better—after all, how could he know? He was busy most of the time, away from the house to even know if she did it better than Grace. He knew she was in a good mother and good to him, that was all that mattered.

"You are perfect," he cut her off. "Perfect, Mag," he added to make her understand that he didn't think of her differently, or ever tried to compare them both.

The words echoed in Margaret's mind—did he actually mean them? Or was it a kind of cruel joke?

"Tom, why are we like this?" She asked, motioning between the two of them. "Why are we always going back and fourth? This is not—I don't fucking know."

"Married couples have their problems, Maggie," he stated.

"Did you have problems with her? Grace, I mean?"

He nodded, "Always," he admitted.

Margaret went completely silent after his answer, not that she didn't want to talk anymore but if she continued to, they'd fight again and this was not her attention at all. Instead, she laid back in the bed and closed her eyes. Soon, she felt the other side of the bed sinking down and a pair of arms circled her middle. Maggie fell asleep, hoping he'd be here next morning.

...

Birds chirped loudly outside as her eyes fluttered open, she moved her hand to the side of the bed thinking she'd touch the cold sheets but instead her hand touched Tom's chest. Was he still there?

"Fucking hell," she muttered sleepily. "What time is it?"

"Ten," Tommy replied and she jolted awake. "Don't worry. The boys had breakfast with Frances and now the teacher is here," he explained softly.

"Why are you still here?"

He smiled softly, "Thought I'd stay home today," he admitted. "We can spend the day with the kids and go out with the horses," he proposed. "We could go down to the river."

"Alright," Maggie replied. "I'd like that," she added, sitting up and rested her back against the headboard.

"Cigarette?"

"Please," she said as he put the stick between her lips and lighted it for her. "Thanks, Tom," she answered, puffing the smoke away. "How's the business going? I barely go out these days."

"Well," he sighed. "Ada and I met a man, an interesting one. Mosley," he told her. "He has a fucking moustache."

"Oh, that one. Ada said he was a bad man," she muttered. "Is he?"

Thomas exhaled heavily, closing his eyes for a moment as he thought, "He is," was all he answered.

Margaret and him sat in silence, not that they were bothered by it. They barely knew what silence was these days...Margaret was always surrounded with noise because of the kids, the horses outside; while Thomas heard too much noise in his head, and when it got too loud, the blue vial was his only answer.

Most nights he didn't come back because if he let himself fall asleep, he would see her, Grace and he didn't want to. Or, at least parts of himself didn't want to. But when she would appear, she was right there and he could touch her—feel her again. And then coming home to Maggie felt like treason in a way, because she didn't deserve it.

"You like the new horse, Elliot, eh?" Thomas asked as Elliot rested on his hip. "How should we name her?"

Elliot contemplated the horse, "Storm!" He exclaimed.

"Storm, eh?" He asked, puffing the smoke away. "Storm, it is then," he added, ruffling Elliot's hair.

"Mama, can we go to the river?" Asked Charles, squeezing her hand. "Dad said we could."

"Yeah, alright," she replied with a smile, her cigarette hanging loosely at the corner of her mouth as she buttoned Charles' coat.

Margaret always thought that staying at home, being the perfect wife or waiting for her husband to come back home was too much—and she genuinely thought she wouldn't be good at it. But, then she got into this mess, a lovely mess. Charles, Thomas then Elliot and she found herself doing all these things. As soon as she stepped outside, she'd miss the boys and the way they would rant about silly little things they had learned during the day. Late at night, she found herself waiting for her husband to come back alive and well. Sometimes, she wondered if Grace did better than her.

"He loves the river, doesn't he?" Thomas asked as Elliot and Charlie rushed to the river down the estate.

Maggie hummed, puffing the smoke away, "Johnny Dogs usually pick them up and take them there, they love it."

The laughers of her two boys echoed in distance and she smiled fondly at the noise, as she glanced at Thomas who was peacefully smoking next to her. Perhaps this was her side of paradise...she always pictured it to be joyful, not dangerous and many other things—but now that she took a moment to look at them, her little family, she saw it as her heaven. Her paradise.

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AUTHORS NOTE, some sappy maggie and tom??? i hope you liked it, i'm aware it is kind of short but i hope i'll be able to write a longer update next <3

with season 6, i can only hope to finish this book! though, i can't seem to settle on a happy or sad ending? you know...dramatic or not 😩 also i still haven't decided if i'll do an act 3 because of how good season 6 looks!

anyways, thank you for all the love on the previous chapter. it always means a lot and i'm glad you lot are still enjoying it even after my long break! i love you <3