Perhaps the rain fell in an incessant melancholy downpour that afternoon, for the sky above knew of the anguish that awaited below. Crying the tears that you could no longer shed, as it felt as though you'd simply cried them all. Drained of the salt of your pain, the moisture of your misery, the sky cried the tears down from the heavens so that you no longer had to.

Dreary was not a strong enough word for the way the world appeared that afternoon, for it was a word used to describe the place you once called home all the way back in Birmingham, nestled on Watery Lane. But this, this perpetual depression that poured out across the land, was an angst infused presence far beyond any sensation you'd ever felt from the universe.

For it was penetrating, with a force that all but threatened to rattle the very foundation of your bones. It sunk beneath the surface of your flesh, as though the droplets falling from the blanket of miserable grey and the atmosphere that stung with the dense breath of sorrow, burned through your skin like acid. It seeped through until it found the bones hidden underneath, nearly shattering them as the extent of the pain, that engulfed the skies as if it were a living and breathing thing, found the crevices of your chest and crawled into the very mechanics of your beating heart. Feeling the way it coiled it's hauntingly cold presence around the strings that kept the muscle, burdened with hurt, pumping warmth through your body that felt anything but.

It was like a shadow enveloped the countryside, overwhelming the landscape once alive with the richness of emerald budded trees and vivid chartreuse grass just coming back to life after the bitter winter. A breath of grey exhaled over the rolling estate that stretched further than the eye could see, all but bleeding the land dry of it's rightful shades and very soul that made Warwickshire in the spring so breathtaking. Leaving behind, a landscape cold and mournful as though it'd been stripped of it's very existence here on this Earth.

Your eyes watched from the tall set of front windows, the heels of your fidgeting but frozen stance digging into the embroidered rug beneath you, surely leaving behind indentations and the evidence of your long standing presence. Observing the solemn race of raindrops down the glass, trailing after each other as though they had hope that they'd surely have a purpose or place to wind up, never realizing that they were merely an expression of pain exhaled from the clouds above them. Streaking paths down the windowpane, until the glass appeared clouded and drenched as though the droplets were tears fallen from your eyes, running red and worn down the flesh of your face.

Only this time, you didn't feel the burn upon your flesh from where the salt slid along the raw trails left behind, instead watching them race down the window as though you were on the outside of your hurting soul looking in.

There had always been something slightly depressing to the pavement and the architecture that surrounded the front of Arrow House, the stone cold and worn with age, but it had never been more apparent then in that moment as your eyes studied the driveway. Perhaps, it had never truly bothered you or maybe you'd simply put up with it all these years, as the interior held a certain warmth in the very beginning, but as you watched the gleam of headlights illuminating the grey pavement, you couldn't help but witness this house for what it truly was now. A sad and utterly lonely building, for it was no longer a home but rather a collection of walls, keeping pain and turmoil locked within a cold void of emptiness.

You couldn't say with certainty just how long you had stood there at the set of windows, gazing out at the rainstorm that engulfed the estate in sobs that made the Earth sodden with it's despair, waiting for that single beam of headlights to appear amidst the abyss of bleak ashen grey. Just counting the minutes and the raindrops that started new trails against the windowpane, waiting for the sound of tires cruising up the drive, the glint of silver from his Bentley coming into view. Maybe it hadn't been as long as it felt, eyes following as the car parked right in front of the entrance, but perhaps, you'd been waiting longer than you even realized. Maybe, you'd been waiting for this day for a long time coming, you just didn't realize it until it dawned that morning with a clarity within your troubled mind and upon your anguished heart.

Pursing your lips together, the tinge of pale peony disappearing beneath the pressure, before blowing out a steady exhale of breath. Feeling the warmth fan back against your cheek, for even as your heavy wool coat draped down your frame, concealing the sapphire silk that swept out at your calves, you felt shivers rushing down your spine as though the breath of winter still hovered above the Earth. Suddenly banishing away the arrival of spring, warm, beautiful and new, replacing it with the familiar sting and tearing bite of it's numbing temperatures and brutal winds.

Your hands were hidden in the depths of your pockets, perhaps warming the flesh of your fingers that felt nearly frozen in place, as though they might just snap with a single bend, but you wondered if perhaps, you simply avoided the sight of your left hand. For it felt weightless and yet, bewilderingly heavy for the first time in a very long time. It was naked in a way it'd never been for the past few years, the base of your fourth finger all but burning beneath the unnerving rush of air, upon a place of flesh once hidden by the sparkling band of a golden wedding ring.

A ring you never thought you'd ever take off, much less leave behind on his mahogany dresser, but you felt he deserved to keep hold of it. Maybe you should have wanted to take it with you, but there was something about the glint of that golden band, with the delicate diamond staring back as you'd slid it off your finger for the first and very last time, that you thought Thomas Shelby ought to be the one to keep it.

You hadn't watched him head for the door in rushed steps, trying to avoid becoming completely drenched beneath the ruthless rainfall, but it was with the sharp opening of the door echoing within the foyer, that alerted you to Thomas's presence. You could hear the harsh rush of the downpour, like that of a raging river downstream, but it was quickly cut off as Thomas closed the heavy wooden door. There was an intense bout of silence that followed, as though the single door and the walls that enveloped the house, had the immense power to shut off the entirety of the rest of the world.

For the moment Thomas entered the house and forced the early evening behind him, it felt as though the source of oxygen in the house became scarce. But inhaling the deepest breath you could muster, feeling as your lungs timidly expanded within your chest, you moved from your spot by the window and rounded your way into the threshold where your husband stood.

Adorned in pure luxury woven into the very threads of his three piece suit, Thomas Shelby stood a pillar of sophistication, intimidation and beauty. For he was a man of intoxicating contradictions, he was pure beauty, chiseled stone by the hands of the Gods themselves and yet, his mind was a minefield created by the devil himself.

Thomas was an exudation of power and success, of fortune and control, he was the man that all men looked to and pined for the place of in this world. He was the picture of the perfect man, with his looks that could leave any woman damn well weak in her knees, with his wealth and businesses that most men could only dream of in this life and yet, the picture was two sided. Deceiving and nothing more than a flesh he wore for the rest of the world to see.

For no one got to see the inside of Thomas Shelby in the way that you did, they didn't see the demons that tormented him, as though they slaughtered each and every angel that endeavored to save his troubled and drowning soul. No one saw the way the war still ensued within his head, within his nightmares that rattled him from slumber and kept him dependent on opium and whiskey to numb the pain. Others didn't see the destruction, the unbearable pain that kept him captive. His heart hardened and his soul tarnished from the sights of war, but years of endless flashbacks, guilt and loss all but shattered what was left. The world saw Thomas for who he wanted them to see him as, but you, you'd seen Thomas in the grips of a darkness far beyond this world.

"Where the bloody hell are you going, ey?"

His voice shook you from the density of your thoughts that clouded your mind, forcing you back down to reality with a harsh yank, hurdling you towards the ground. Your throat tightened as you attempted to swallow one last deep breath, as you saw the way Thomas's eyes scanned over the sight of two suitcases packed and pushed against the wall. The ice of his orbs, bold and unforgiving, for even as they hadn't yet managed to fall upon the sight of your tentative presence, you could feel the way they chilled the air you shared with the man himself.

His hands raked through his locks of dark raven, as he swiftly removed his cap, revealing the shaven sides of signature haircut. Shaking the sleek black accessory at his side as rain absorbed into the fabric. You could see the way the rain splattered the shoulders of his black wool coat, as though it were droplets of blood hidden amongst the stitching of ink black material, and the faintest streaks of fallen droplets trailed down the flesh of his jawline. Dribbling down from where the precipitation collected near his temples and ran down the course of his sharp and defined bone structure with ease.

It was damning really, the way in which you could be angry as hell or hurt like your heart might never heal, and you could still be just as tempted and attracted to Thomas as though it were your very first time with him all over again. For you knew the conversation that was to take place in the coming minutes, the events that were to follow and even as your heart ached and the sky just past that door cried down upon the Earth for you, you couldn't control the butterflies that continued to erupt even after all this time. In the pit of your stomach, at the sight of the man who would surely put all the other men you should meet someday, to shame.

Swallowing deeply, as you regarded Thomas and his inquiry that hung in the air like a lingering threat, you spoke up in a voice that felt incredibly small. "Where do you think Tommy?"

"Why do you think I've packed all these bags, huh?"

You approached in a cautious tone, in hopes that perhaps this moment wouldn't need to escalate, that voices wouldn't need to be raised and words wouldn't need to be sharpened in order to splinter the other. For with Thomas, you never quite knew when the time would come in which his outrage would present itself in a shouting outburst. He was a man of calm and composure and complete control, he didn't need to raise his voice to make his points known, he didn't need aggression to intimidate those who sought him out. The way he spoke with such unnerving calm and ease, was frightening in it's own right. Most days, even more so than the rarities in which his voice did reach resounding heights.

Thomas could speak with the most stoic expression etched across his face, as the core of his irises burned beneath the chilling weight of ice that threatened to freeze whomever was in his company, but it was in his tone that was unscathed and unaffected as though he was an impenetrable force, that truly rattled the steady ground in which the other stood upon. For his calm was daunting, his composure imposing and the tone in which he spoke, saturated in patronization, superiority and rather insulting qualities, made Thomas the very last person you ever wanted to be in an altercation with, for you knew you weren't the slightest bit strong enough.

Thomas's eyes lifted from the steady gaze upon your bags, the ice freezing your next breath as you felt the abrupt rush of stinging cold invading your expanding lungs and yet, in the very same lost breath, the waves of cerulean that lingered beneath the iced over surface, melted away the extent of the frost coating your flesh. But it came at a cost, for his scrutiny fell upon your body as though the blinding rays of the sun. Beaming bright and harsh, as if you stood right before it's harmful light, all but consuming you in his gaze that managed to burn your flesh and make your blood run cold in the very same look. Thomas would forever have a power you would never be able to understand, his affect on people strong and nearly unshakable.

Thomas's eyes studied you for the shortest span of a moment, one that felt like an overwhelming eternity beneath the formidable scrutiny of his gaze, before you watched his brows arch softly with a shake of his head. "You always were one for a big production."

You couldn't hold back the scoff that crept up from the base of your throat, resounding in the atmosphere in a soft puff of incredulous breath, eyes narrowing slightly as you followed the sight of Thomas beginning to trek past you. He walked past you on the left, never coming close enough that his shoulder might just brush up against the clothed flesh of your arm and yet, he didn't have to. Thomas didn't have to make physical contact for his touch to be felt. It engulfed you, in the strong scent of his cologne, forceful and intoxicating against your senses as it wafted along the breath of smoke that surrounded his every step.

Perhaps you should have expected this reaction, not immediate anger or authoritative tones forcing you against your own choices, but rather the voice of exasperation and disdain. Regarding you and your very words like they had not a single amount of baring to Thomas in the slightest, as though you were so far beneath him that he hadn't the energy to even address them with the slightest shred of earnestness or mere genuine attention.

"This isn't a play Thomas," You retorted in a stern tone, one in which could never amount to the one that saturated his own steady voice but in that moment, it was the strongest you felt your voice might reach that day. You followed after your husband as he hadn't come back to you in the threshold, the sharp click of your heels on the hardwood enveloped the atmosphere as Thomas's footsteps fell silently, pattering towards the drink cart awaiting beside the fireplace. Halting only as you watched him stop and pick up the glass decanter that swirled the burned amber liquor, pouring a steady stream into the glass he'd pulled forward with a single finger. "it isn't even an ultimatum anymore."

"This is me, leaving." The words stung as they fell from your lips, for even as they'd swirled relentlessly in the core of your conscious for longer than they ever should have, feeling them fall from your lips and forced to hear the way they sounded puncturing the air, was an utterly tragic sensation all its own. "For good."

Thomas was still, his stance straightened and strong, shoulders broad and imposing as his casted shadow engulfed the drink cart in front of him. You stood in the doorway, a significant space left standing between your two bodies but despite the distance, you could still manage to make out each and every glimpse of tension and hidden emotion that revealed itself in the Thomas carried himself. They were imperceptible details to most, but to you, having lived with the man for years and having loved him for far longer, you knew his body as though it were merely the back of your own hand.

The way his muscles tensed beneath the fabric of sleek white cotton, as he'd discarded the dense wool of his coat and warm embrace of his black jacket. The hand that gripped tightly to the crystal tumbler of Irish Whiskey, nearly drained of it's drink as though the burn no longer registered to the soul who drank it, highlighted the irritation hidden beneath the surface of composure and grace. For the tendons that ran beneath this flesh, were tense and raised, the veins bulging underneath the warm flesh of the back of his hand, as though you could all but see the anger that began to course through them. The clenching of his jaw, faint and merely a shadow along the chiseled structure of his face and yet, you could see it as his tongue ran over his full bottom lip.

The air was silent in a way that you could feel it's impenetrable void, that unnerving sensation that lingered beneath your skin that nearly made you crave to escape your body all together. You observed as Thomas's head tilted back a slight fraction, as the last of the whiskey he'd poured ran down the glinting crystal and down his throat, swallowing deeply before his eyebrows began to furrow. His hand raised, still holding onto the now empty tumbler, but he pointed it towards you with his index finger out. Tapping his hand ever so slowly as though he were scolding you like a child.

"You'll be back."

Thomas did not even speak with a tone of strong conviction, for the three words fell past his whiskey tainted lips in a breath so sure, so convinced to be the God's honest truth, that the response appeared nearly mechanical. Emotionless and cold, his tone condescending but his voice low as his words trailed along the steady breath of an exasperated exhale.

Your brows narrowed in bemusement. Thomas was a man who certainly knew the outcome of most things, for he planned and his head worked different than most, wheels constantly turning for he was burdened with an intellect that never allowed him to rest. But you detested the way he spoke as though he knew every single action in which you might take, like he'd wormed his way into your conscious and could tell you what you were to do far before you yourself had decided upon it. "You're so certain?"

Thomas's head bobbed with a nod, like it was utter nonsense to fathom any other outcome, exhausting him when people doubted what he knew. "You need me."

The clink of the crystal glass returning back down upon the cart, echoed in the air as silence forced it's measly sensation to appear more boisterous than it ever had before. Thomas's feet began to turn him around, soon feeling like you were in the warmth of the pure sunlight there in the threshold, only to be torn through and cast over like the density of clouds covering up the sky as his scrutiny discovered you again.

"Everyone fucking needs me."

Maybe a part of yourself would always need Thomas, but you knew in this moment, that what you needed most, was for yourself to be strong. Strong in a way you'd never been before and prayed you'd never have to be again. For you had to be strong for not only yourself, but strong enough for Thomas. Because you knew in your heart that this was a decision he would never make no matter the turmoil that pushed the choice further into reality. You had to be strong because soon, you would no longer have your husband's strength to protect your honest heart. You needed Thomas once, perhaps you would always need him at the end of the day, but right now... what you needed was slowly becoming the very thing that was tearing you apart.

"You're sick Thomas," Your voice broke as though the words hurdled through glass, shattering the firmness in your tone and letting it all fall to broken shards of vulnerability at your feet. "You have been for a bloody while and I tried."

"I tried to heal you, to help you, to do anything in my power for you but you forced me out."

Maybe Thomas simply didn't know who he was anymore or perhaps, it was the simple notion that he was no longer himself and hadn't been since France. But lately, it was different. He wasn't the man he was before he went to war but you'd made peace with it, but this, he was no longer the man you married years later. You knew his demons and his burdens, the grief and the haunting emotion that tortured his brilliant mind, but you'd loved him still. But something shifted, as his asperations became greater and more reckless, he was losing himself faster than you could ever reach out to stop.

"And I--I've to save myself now Tommy," The words bobbed up from the angst flooding your soul but it was the way in which he regarded you, that completely engulfed you in unforgiving and unrelenting waves. "before I drown here on my own."

Perhaps you'd expected for Thomas to say something, rebuttal your remarks and decision to leave, but he remained silent. Stock still where he stood, as though the ice of his orbs ran throughout his very body and froze his feet in place upon the wooden panels. But it was the way his cerulean gaze washed over you, engulfing you in a tide of depths that you felt touch upon the strings of your aching heart, that made you feel the extent of the words he'd surely never say.

"I hope," Your voice cracked beneath the weight of your words, the goodbye that lingered within the atmosphere like it was an impossibility not to breathe in the ache. But you regarded Thomas not with resentful eyes, for you could never truly hate him nor blame him for the way he was, but with a tenderness that you knew you would always hold for the man. You left not because you no longer loved Thomas, but because your love was no longer enough. "wherever it is that you end up Thomas, that you find peace."

It was the hardest decision you'd ever made in your life, walking away. For even as it was the choice clear as day itself, it pained you beyond belief. For you loved the man who was wasting away before your very own eyes, but you knew if he never reached out to take hold of your hand, that your love could not be enough to save him anymore.

And so, you were forced to save yourself.

The rain that fell from the heavens like that angels were crying your tears for you, suddenly ceased. Halting with a sharp end, as you exited the house you'd once made a home with the man you loved. For the sky no longer had to cry down tears upon the Earth's bountiful land, because as you listened to the heavy clasp of the front door shutting behind you, you felt the first trickle of a teardrop gliding down your cheek from the flutter of your lashes.

Thomas Shelby had watched people leave his life before. Whether it be by a bullet or the harsh pull of blatant fear, but he'd never felt such a loss in watching your footsteps descend down those cold cement steps. Turning your back and saying goodbye to Arrow House, saying goodbye to the only life you'd ever known and saying a very last goodbye to him.

A/N: Okay, this one is pure angst.😭

I really fell in love with some of the dialogue of this piece, which was really the inspiration for this one shot, and so I sat down in the mood to write something angsty and that's how this piece came to be.

I will be honest when I say that I definitely second guessed and doubted myself along the way of writing this piece, not only because it feels different to me than some I've written in the past, but because I felt a bit disconnected and unsure of this one and where it was going and what it would end up becoming. It's a bit shorter and more of a specific moment in time, rather than a plot that feels like it evolves from beginning to end. But I know that there is some goodness in this piece, some aspects that certainly make me proud and happy to have crafted, but I would really love to hear what you all thought about this one!❤