You could sense his presence in the room, far before your eyes peeled open to face the late afternoon light. For his scent wafted around you, piercing through the stinging odor of antiseptic that burned at your senses, like a fire might just catch on the trail of the flammable aroma. It broke through the barrier of a cleanliness that smelled richly of lemons and something chemical, as though the salt of his sweat and the dirt on his flesh were tangible in the atmosphere, and you could nearly feel the moment they scathed the once pure environment, smudging his print of life upon the air that you breathed.

The first deep breath to seep into your lungs as consciousness found your being again, was saturated with the familiar tones of heady tobacco and rich sandalwood, melding with the notes of the Earth not far from his flesh.

For Thomas Shelby always seemed to carry with him the scent of the ground, as though the aroma that lined his skin like a layer altogether, was that inexplicable breath before a rain shower appeared. When there was a crispness lingering in the atmosphere, as if the clouds whispered out its intent and you could nearly grasp hold of its words in the palm of your hands.

He smelled of the wind, like the breeze that blew down Watery Lane that early morning, had coiled it's essence into the strands of his raven locks and wove its memory into each and every filament he adorned. He smelled of the smoke and the factory fires and he even smelled like a tinge of Small Heath misery. It was a beguiling scent, full of intoxicating contradictions and yet, to you, it just smelled like comfort.

You'd awakened far too late to enjoy the pale stream of sunlight that had once graced the hospital floors, lashes fluttering tiredly just in time to witness the last fall of a marigold sun, sharp beams piercing through the thin linen shades drawn for the day. They were golden in nature, as their heat danced along the hardwood panels and very base of blankets spread over your legs, and you watched the way the particles in the atmosphere twirled within its thin rays.

The room was not warmed by the falling sun, but it was not frigid to the point that your bones began to shake either. You could feel the goosebumps risen across the flesh of your exposed forearms, but you didn't feel cold. It was temperate and slightly humid, like the remnants of anxiety lingered in the space, making it feel dense and slightly sticky with the trace of sweat and stress. But even so, there was a certain calmness that carried throughout the room, and you knew, without a doubt, where it stemmed from.

Perhaps, the azure embedded within the irises of his chiseled orbs, had always been this formidable. But maybe, as your eyes peered open and fell upon the sight of their scrutiny staring right into your own, as though he'd simply been waiting all this time for your eyes to open and see the world around you, they appeared stronger than they ever had before. Because there was a chance you were never going to see them again.

They'd been the last shade of life you'd seen before blackness had consumed your vision, as though the cerulean blue that washed over you like an incoming tide, had been the hue to gently guide you on your way. A tender current, enveloping your body in waves made of breathtaking blue, promising to wrap you in all the comfort they could possibly provide, as you drifted down the stream, until your pain was no more. You couldn't have selected a better sight, even if God himself had stopped and asked you what it was you might like to have as your last sight on this entire Earth.

Tommy's eyes were a beauty far too potent for this world and surely, too strong for one man. But they were the most mesmerizing sight you'd ever witnessed in this lifetime and to have them be the very last light your eyes would ever see, there was peace within that notion. A beautiful, tranquil peace that washed over you, and you felt contentment spread throughout your being, just as the last drop of consciousness faded from view.

They were the last thing you'd seen and now, they were the first thing to greet you as you awoke again.

They were heavy, a weight residing within the current of his gaze, like bodies tied up and discarded were sinking down to the ocean floor. Pained in a way that made the blue scream out, like it had a voice inside of his orbs, a cry so gutting that only Tommy's mind could hear the extent of its anguish.

For the sheen across his gaze, like an impenetrable sheet of ice, locked out the rest of the world and with it, forced the pain to linger inside of himself as it beat against the ice, never once let free.

The blue was suffocating, for you could see the way it swelled within his unwavering stare, like a storm beginning to brew in the middle of the sea. A deadly shade, eradicating the sight of a blue that had been known to be gentle and kind and unbearably enthralling, replacing it with a sense of azure so very dark, it was as though it had gone and bled the life straight out of the sea. You'd never seen Tommy look at you like this before, with such an anguished blue churning viciously inside of his unwavering gaze.

His elbows rested on the tips of his knees, rocking back and forth in a nearly imperceptible manor, as his hands were locked together so tightly, white began to bleed beneath the flesh of his knuckles.

His attire lacked the weight of his long black coat, even that of his soft tweed jacket was slung on the back of the chair he occupied, leaving him dressed down in his white shirt, with the sleeves rolled furiously high above the bend of his elbows. His tie strewn right alongside his jacket, the sleek fabric of burgundy touched by the light of the setting sun and his waistcoat was down a single button, as if it squeezed his chest a little too tightly in the time that had passed.

Somehow, Tommy still looked remarkably tailored and even as his hair looked disheveled, he was still a breathtaking sight to behold. The man could be visibly falling apart at the seams, but by some godforsaken talent, Tommy could still look as sharp as if he were completely and utterly whole.

The small hospital room fell upon a current of formidable silence, but you knew it was because it felt like Tommy occupied all of the oxygen to ever seep into a space, claiming it as his own and leaving you to wonder if he might just spare you a breath.

There was an inexplicable calm to the atmosphere and yet, the silence was a void that threatened to squeeze the aching bones of your healing chest. Because the magnitude of the quiet that engulfed each and every corner of the small room, seemed to build at its base with the weight of all the words lost in the dense air. As though through this all-consuming silence, there were unspoken words shouting at the top of their lungs, until you could nearly feel the extent of their presence settle upon the base of your shaken bones.

Tommy's eyes stare intently at you, like they might just have the power to burn holes straight into your skin, peppering your body worse than the bullet wound torn through your chest. But in the very same gaze, hidden behind his lashes that ever so calculatedly flutter with slow beats against his softly freckled cheekbones, were the deep waves of azure that threatened to extinguish the blaze. Not out of kindness however, but rather to drown you beneath the weight of his scrutiny instead.

Brushing his knuckles, brandished a sharp white hue due to the immense pressure on his bones, against his full bottom lip, Tommy lets his hands fall back down into his lap, before letting his voice seep into the silent void of the room for the first time since you've awoken.

"You're a fucking fool."

His tone is a level of calm that contradicted the way you could nearly see the steam exuding from his ears, like smoke churning out of a Watery chimney.

For his words fell in a deceptively disarming manner, the way his voice could glide over the rim of his full and pouted lips like the cool rush of a harmless current, all the while, his words cutting through the illusion to reveal the rocky collide of a tidal wave upon the shore.

Tommy spoke in such a low tone, that one might just believe they were safe. That the almost soothingly melodic rumble of his deep Birmingham voice, meant no harm and that his calm was the true nature of his demeanor in that very moment. But you knew Thomas Shelby far too well and beyond the hauntingly collected nature he always seemed to possess, you felt the sharp tear of a blade as his words sunk into your flesh.

Unable to conceal the roll of your eyes at Tommy's apathetic choice of words to greet you with, you let a soft sigh roll through your dry and parted lips. "You're quite welcome, Tommy, for saving your life."

Your sarcastic response meets the thick air in a croak, as the words travel up from your wounded chest and your voice speaks for the first time since that fateful morning. They're nearly lost in the air, as they scratch and break upon the tender presence of a whisper.

But you know your voice was loud enough for Tommy to make out the words, because as soon as they settle into the air and touch upon his sense of sound, the loud screech of his chair scrapes against the flooring. Pushing himself out of his seated position in a haste, as he strides the few steps towards the concealed window, turning his back to face you as he digs in his pocket.

His face is no longer turned to you, but you can see the slight reflection of citrine and the soft swirl of fresh cigarette smoke clouding around his frame, as he ignites a stick with no regard to the stern rule on the matter.

You can't say how long Tommy stands there, fuming as he smokes his cigarette, like the smoke might just travel down into his lungs and eradicate the rage burning a fury through his being, with his attention turned away from the sight of you, like he can barely bring himself to lay his eyes back upon you. But after some time, as the void of formidable silence begins to creep back in, Tommy turns his head to the side. Not enough to witness your expectant gaze, just enough to signal the words he's about to say, he's saying to you.

"You could've gotten yourself killed."

It takes everything to keep the sharp breath of incredulous laughter from filtering through your lips, biting down on the flesh so harshly, that you nearly taste the metallic tinge of blood.

You'd known this man most of your life, you'd known him since he was the sweet little boy on Watery Lane, with the dangerous blue eyes and soft smile that could melt your heart like snow in the spring. You'd known him now too, as the man who returned home from France, leaving that little boy, frail and innocent, somewhere down in the mud, buried alongside bodies he'd seen blown to pieces with his own two eyes.

You knew all there was to know about Thomas Shelby, your best friend since childhood and the love of your life since the day you realized what it was like to have your heart sing the name of another, even if he never heard the melody. You knew him and yet, his lack of gratitude or at the very least, a mere shred of sympathy and empathy, still managed to take you by surprise.

"It was a bullet with your name on it, Tommy, you had the same chance as I did." You knowingly point out, unable to hide the tone of irritation from seeping into the foundation of your words. "Although, I'd have probably wagered more odds on your death than my own."

Tommy turns on his heel at that moment, letting his heavy scrutiny crash over you again and you swear you can feel the heat of the fire rising up around his feet. "If you knew it was meant for me, why the fuck did you step in, ey?"

The air in the room suddenly grows cold, blisteringly so, the way it pricks the surface of your flesh like the tip of a sharp needle and threatens to scratch the bone beneath. And yet, in the very same breath, dense and nearly suffocating as though it's being drained from your very lungs, like a hole resides somewhere inside of your chest without a single hope to conceal the leak, the shock feels like a wildfire ignited in the base of your heart. For it's a seeping warmth, one that riddles your veins with crackling embers that make you feel like you might just combust beneath the sheen of ice that consumes your being.

The shock is prevalent in your expression, eyes widening like saucers of bewilderment and the shade of your irises soften. Because gone is the usual tit-for-tat you found always being thrown into when it came to Thomas Shelby, never one to back down to his domineering way, but rather meeting him at his own game. But in that moment, as his words cut through the void like his fingers plucked the razor blade straight from the rim of his cap, and slashed it until you could nearly feel the impact against the beating muscles of your thundering heart, you realized this was a different emotion entirely.

Surface level shock might've simmered lowly, but something rather exploded inside of Tommy, something deep inside of himself that had rattled him to his very core.

"Tommy?"

Your tone is gentle now, like your voice patters on that of cautious tiptoes, approaching his bewilderingly and rather uncharacteristically raw state with hesitancy. But the way your breathless call of his name falls beneath your breath, it isn't strong enough to stop his infuriated outrage.

"Few inches over, I'd be digging a fucking grave for you, not standing here with you looking at me like I'm the bloody idiot."

His voice was like molten lava running with a fury, all the while, concealed by a layer of stone-cold ash, that made his tone appear chilling. He always had this way, you supposed. Tommy didn't raise his voice often, he didn't feel the need to scream at the top of his lungs or make the power that coursed through his veins known by that of strong words or loud outbursts. He said all he needed to say with the very same conviction, just by the look in his eyes and the cold, calculated move of his low voice.

"Are you really so angry that I saved your life?"

Your voice felt incredibly small as your words tentatively entered the air, like the edge of the letters might just be dipping their toes in the water and testing just how cold and unwelcoming the current might be. But even as your eyes watched Tommy's expression, the tight bunch in his brows and the slight tension chiseled like that of fresh stone in his jawline, the dangerous waters that churned and crashed against the shoreline with all of the fuming reprimand that saturated his tone, slowly began to ease.

For he watched you just as closely as you watched him, and perhaps it was in the way his gaze washed over your own slightly uneasy expression, confused and concerned by his sharp words, that he softened.

Letting his head drop and his gaze slide away from your face, staring absentmindedly down at the cigarette burning freely between his thumb and index finger, a low sigh envelopes the room. A breath exhaled like water dousing the flickering embers, and you could nearly see the steam of the stubbed out fire exude beside that of his next exhale of cigarette smoke. His steps are silent against the floor, moving with swift ease before occupying the very edge of the uncomfortable hospital chair.

Staring down at his cigarette, like rolled up in the tiny white stick, he might just discover every answer, every explanation, every truth, to all of the questions he holds inside of himself. But shaking his head softly, like the search was as futile as he knew it to be, he murmurs low beneath his breath.

"I'm not angry with you."

His tone is calm and almost sheepish, his words concede, and you can't help the way the edges of your lips twitch at the way he almost sounds like the boy he was before he left for France. Humming softly at his claim, you eye him with a look of the past, and let the soft smile curling its way faintly against your lips, coil around your next set of words. "You're a terrible liar, Tommy Shelby."

Maybe it's the harmless tease in your tone, the absence of hurt or resentment of the way he'd greeted you with less than empathetic arms, that makes Tommy feel like he can look at you again.

For you watch the timid flutter of his raven lashes, battering harshly down against the softly freckle dusted flesh of his cheekbones, before his cerulean gaze peers up through the soft sprawl. And for a split second, it feels as if all of what had been building in the void between you, suddenly faded like it didn't leave evidence of it's presence to begin with. Like it wasn't Tommy against you or your defenses protecting you from his chastising tone, but rather, you and him as equals. As you always had been... just you and Tommy.

Where you knew his each and every expression before it endeavored to be seen across the shadowed lines of his face, and where he knew, no matter how much he could doubt it in the moment, that you would always forgive him. Where you knew his heart like you'd seen it with your own two eyes and knew it resided within his chest, with a beat stronger than anyone knew. And where he knew--although could still not explain-- that you cared for him enough to know that he would never intentionally hurt you, no matter the way in which his words could cut like a thousand knives. There was a sure sense of safety in knowing someone the way you knew each other.

"You could've died today and for what?" Tommy's voice lacks the clear-cut apathy it had previously possessed, his words softened and the blade of his tone dull and harmless now. But emotion still saturates his tone, conviction and something strong willed fueling his words, not lost on your ear as you absorb his each and every word. "For me? That's a fucking terrible reason to give up your own life."

Your own brows furrow softly at his words, your stomach knotting at the flippancy in his tone regarding his own demise. "If the roles were reversed and it was my name etched on that bullet, I know you would try to take it for me, just the same as I did for you."

"You can try to deny it Tommy or sit here berating me for being a fucking idiot all you want, but I know you. I know you would've done the same for me."

Tommy's eyes remained stagnant on your own for a short pace, not even a blink separated his gaze, and it was in that deep moment of contemplation, shadowed within the current of his azure eyes like you could very well see the wheels of his mind churning relentlessly, that you could see how something was eating him alive. Something gnawed at his brain, talons ruthlessly picking away at his flesh and nearly beginning to tear apart the interior of his weary being, but what, you couldn't quite decipher.

A deep sigh escapes past the faint part in his full and pouted lips, before he finally tears his sight away from yours and runs a tired hand over his face. Like if the pressure in his fingertips were harsh enough, he might just be able to wipe the exhaustion from his eyes, the stress from his bones and the emotion coursing through his veins from existence.

"What is it that really angers you, Tommy?"

The room is shrouded in an unnerving silence, more so than you ever found Tommy Shelby's silence to be before. Because this silence is dense, as though it has sucked all of the air out of the room, and you are left to live off the measly breath left lingering in the corners of your depleted lungs. It's deafening, this quiet. For there is a ghost amidst its haze, like a voice is whispering out all of the words residing within the void, but you can't make out a single one.

You watch as Tommy places the cigarette between his lips, just as a holding placement as he barely takes a drag, only to wipes his fingertips furiously against the closed lids of his beautiful eyes.

You wonder if he'll answer your inquiry, if he'll be honest with you in this moment and trust you to listen, like you always have before. Your curiosities are amplified as Tommy suddenly swipes his hands away from his face, plucking the near burnt-out stick from between his lips, and slumps himself back into the chair. His gaze steadying on you, and in his loose and slouched position, Tommy looks rather defeated as he stares at you with an unreadable expression behind his eyes.

"The fact that you made me love you."

His words surprise you, feeling as the shock courses through your veins, like it might just combust the beating strings of your heart or cease your ability to breathe all together. Tommy stares at you, a rawness rare to the man, evident along the lines of his tired expression and even darker in the core of his softened gaze.

He looks like he's succumbed to the truth, the feelings he's held inside of himself, never once wanting to accept into his own heart, but the way he looks at you now, you rather see a man who's lost to himself and here he is, conceding and spilling the truth out in a single phrase, a single moment, too tired to lie to himself any longer.

Your lips begin to part as the first fresh prick of tears burn the corners of your eyes, but you don't get a chance to speak the words you didn't have, before Tommy speaks up again.

"You could've been killed."

And it was there, right in those four words, spoken with such blatant angst and emotion startingly vulnerable for one Tommy Shelby to hold, that you finally understand it.

It wasn't the fact that you had taken the bullet that was so rightfully his, or even the fact that it was your blood that had spilled across those cobbles that made him angry. It was the thought that he'd let himself be vulnerable enough to love something in this life. Something that in a split moment, like he'd witnessed today, could have been gone in the blink of an eye. Leaving him with a level of pain that Tommy always believed he'd been immune to. He wasn't angry at you. He was frightened beyond any emotion you'd ever seen come from Thomas Shelby before.

Blinking your lashes that are just beginning to dampen by the faint brush of your tears, you swallow the lump building in the base of your throat, before gently lifting your hand off of the bed.

"Come here." Your left hand that does not have the IV running through, you extend towards Tommy. "Tommy, please."

Tommy eyes you hesitantly. In fact, it rather seems like he might just be contemplating leaving the room all together, but soon he caves and finds himself walking towards your bedside, after discarding his cigarette.

"I'm sorry." You whisper, as you feel Tommy's weight softly sink the mattress, as he teeters on the very edge. But he sits close to you, so close that his heat wraps itself around you like it might protect you from any sense of chill that might come your way, and his hand slips into your own welcoming embrace, without a second of hesitancy behind the motion.

You stare down at your intertwined hands, the way his calloused flesh feels safe and warm against your own pale and soft skin. The juxtaposition of a hand who'd seen the horrors of the world, who'd known what it was like to have so much blood painting his skin, he could nearly forget what his palms looked like to begin with, and that of one who hadn't. Who'd been shielded from the bloodshed, the hardship, the pain, by the very man who'd taken it all on himself.

"I'm sorry I risked my life for you today, Tommy. But I'm even more sorry, that I would do it again in a heartbeat."

Your eyes flickered up then, peering up to find that his gaze was right there waiting for you. "You think you were the only one frightened today, Tom? I saw your death flash right before my eyes and I couldn't let it happen, I just couldn't."

The tears in your eyes and in the base of your throat, nearly ate your words alive, but you croaked them out with each fallen droplet staining its path down your cheek. "Maybe I am an idiot, a bloody fool like you said, but love makes you do fucking reckless things. Because I know, without a doubt, that I would take a thousand bullets for you Tommy, if it means you get to live."

Your words pained Tommy, they tore him apart and threatened to never repair the damage. But still, somehow, they managed to settle into a vacant cavity of his heart, and beat with a sensation he hadn't felt in the longest time. You'd said the words, even if you hadn't realized you had, you'd spoken the words he never knew he would hear fall from your lips. You loved him... you loved him. So much so, that you would surely die for him the very same way he would die for you.

"Foolish girl." He mumbles softly, a hint of mirth in his tone, as his thumb gingerly strokes back and forth against the back of your hand, and his eyes shimmer with the smile his lips can't quite convey.

"Perhaps."

Smiling your own gentle smile, you squeeze his hand tenderly in your weak hold. "I love you Tommy."

The tension in his muscles is palpable, you can feel it beneath your soft hold and yet, it doesn't dissuade you from the truth. Because you know the way he tenses, isn't because the words hit his ear the wrong way or that his heart does not feel the very same, but rather that it frightens him. The way your admission soars through Tommy, like it might just revive the parts of himself dead and forgotten. But you watch the way his lips twitch faintly, his flesh crinkling softly in the corners of his eyes, like he's reminding himself that it's alright now, that it's alright to love something.

Lifting your hand up gingerly, you feel the warmth of his lips brush against your smooth and rather cold skin, "You should get some rest. You took a bullet for someone who loves you today, you ought to get some rest."

Smiling through a new onset of tears, these prompted by the way your heart beats harder for this man than you ever thought possible through all of your life, you whisper breathlessly. Because you worry should Tommy leave, should this moment be broken up and end, that you might never get it back. "Where will you go?"

Tommy's brows knit faintly, the crease of confusion evident, as he lays your hand gingerly back down against the bed. But with a single word, one exhale of breath, Tommy Shelby puts all your anxieties to rest. "Nowhere."

And he didn't. Tommy stayed with you, never once leaving your side.

A/N: Ahh, I am so in love with this piece!❤

I have had this idea for the longest time, I knew I really wanted to do something surrounding a climactic moment that would force Tommy to face his true feelings, but I could never quite plot it out the way I wanted it until now!

I wanted this one to be emotional and raw, but romantic in an organic and realistic sense. I wanted that infuriation from Tommy, as his fear and his concern often comes off as anger or in a cold demeanor. I wanted you to be able to feel everything between them. I am really happy with what I was able to create here, from the dialogue that just flowed from me, to the descriptions and emotional aspects I hoped to make sharp and real. I definitely found myself second guessing and doubtful, but I am happy with this piece and hope that you all enjoyed it!