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CLARA SHELBY DIDN'T SPEAK AS SHE WAS GENTLY PULLED out of the church. She was stiff beneath the firm grasp on her shoulder. Her heart was racing, beating so hard she thought it would almost escape the confinement of her chest. She was terrified. It was an emotion scarcely felt by the girl yet it shook through her very bones. There were few times when Clara felt utter and genuine fear, and it was an emotion rarely felt around those who knew her, or tried to know her. She kept her body straight and rigid as she was swiftly moved around the back of the church. She could hear the applause for the newlyweds ring out from the devout building, each clap like deafening thunder, each crash and boom signing and sealing each of her misfortunes.

Every vessel in her body had frosted over with each rapid pump of blood that rushed through her body feeling as thick and as dense as lead that poisoned and tore apart the very essence of her being. Her feet were weighed down as if her feet adorned boots of iron, each step harder to complete. It took every bone and muscle within Clara's body to continue being led despite the overwhelming urge to run far, far away beyond the confines of the hand that held firm onto her shoulder.

She came to a slow stop as the hand on her shoulder dropped. The girl's own hand guided her to the grey stone wall of the church, her pulsing heart ceasing to ease. She could feel eyes piercing the veil of panic that was rapidly swelling all around her trembling body. She needed snow right now. She needed to calm down. She was being a fool. She needed the substance to calm every shot nerve in her weak body. Clara pressed her back to the wall, her spine painfully digging into the cracks as she tried to ignore and swallow the growing and unbearable lump in her throat. Her clothes felt tight on her body, her collar digging into the pale flesh of her neck as the pants on her legs grew itchy and unwearable. Despite the bitter wind that penetrated her goose-bumped skin, her body was feverish, with small beads of sweat dotting both her forehead and hairline.

A heavy hand placed itself on her shoulder once again. It was probably meant to be reassuring, Clara knew that, but the smallest part in her mind recognised it to be a threat and she inevitably flinched out of the touch.

"Leave it," She grumbled through gritted teeth that chattered unceremoniously. She didn't raise her eyes from the floor. The hand cautiously retreated while its owner let out an audible defeated sigh. "In fact, just leave...leave me alone."

"You know I can't,"

"I don't know anything about you at all anymore, Thomas,"

Tommy bowed his head ever so slightly, his tongue moving alongside the inside of his mouth at her words. Clara folded her arms over her chest, almost hugging herself protectively as the two stood silently for a few moments, the noise from inside encapsulating the siblings. The girl found her mind spiralling down its very own rabbit hole as she tumbled and tried to retreat into any comfort she could attempt to discover only to come up empty-handed.

"Why are you here?" she suddenly demanded, her eyebrows pinched scornfully as she tried to pull her body and mind together.

"I could ask you the same-"

"Cut the shit," Clara scoffed as she found her footing and stood straighter, "Cut all of it, Thomas, stop being Thomas Shelby bloody OBE and a DCM and a bloody MM and for once in your miserable post-war life start being Tommy, my brother!" She took her brother's silence as a green light to continue. "Now, tell me and be fucking honest for once in your life...how did you find me? Why are you here?!" Tommy took a deep breath in, his cold eyes tracing the rage that seeped through Clara's own eyes.

"Walk with me?" Tommy asked as he turned and began to walk along the path away from the church. He didn't give her time to answer and that alone made the girl follow in anger. Who was he to assume she would agree? Who was he to even show up here?

"I wasn't aware you and that Crawford girl were still friends," Tommy commented as they walked side by side down the dirt road.

"We're not," Clara muttered spitefully as she shoved her hands into her coat pockets. The wind whistled around them as she kept her head down, her boot kicking stones out of her way. "Haven't been for a while." There were a few beats of tense silence, Clara's nerves simmering ever so precariously at the normal conversation.

"...I know..."

"Then why bloody bring it up?!" Clara snapped. She was sick of his silly games. She just wanted answers. Tommy didn't stop to look over at her as she huffed in frustration. "You're such a-"

"No, you're not hearing me," Tommy interrupted, his low voice calm, eerily calm...with almost, almost a touch of care. It made the girl falter, it had been so like how he had used to regard her before the chaos of their lives. This was Tommy. Just Tommy. "I know."

The world seemed to cave in on top of Clara Shelby at that exact second in time. Her heart collapsed into the void in her stomach, her soul sucked in just after. She knew exactly what he had meant. He wasn't stupid...he knew what he was implying, and Clara knew too. He had seen her with Penny, it seemed to be the only explanation. She faltered in her tracks, the raging swell of panic dragging her deep into the depths of turmoil as she scanned her brother's face, her mouth slightly agape.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Clara whispered dangerously as her mouth shut tight to quench the tremors that trembled through her frame. She tried to rebuild her facade as she turned back around.

"Don't...don't do that," Tommy sighed as he stopped momentarily before continuing to walk on. Clara rubbed the beneath of her nose nervously before she followed after her brother.

"You really think you know everything, don't you?" Clara spoke once more through a scoff, "God forbid that anybody ever has something to keep to themselves." Tommy remained in his solitude as the girl kicked angrily at the stones. "So, how long, huh? How long have you 'known'?"

Her brother's head tilted as if hard in thought, Clara knew that he knew exactly when, he was just pretending to ponder as an extension of his 'courtesy'. She watched as his eyes flickered to her before they returned dead ahead.

"Do you remember May Carlton?" He spoke,

"Yeah, the toff who trained your horse," Clara gritted,

"Do you remember the day you met her in the den?"

"What is this? A bloody investigation?! I swear to..." Clara stopped in her retort, her eyes wide as the day flooded into the front of her mind. "Oh..."

Tommy and she had talked that night. Oh, god...they had talked...He had told her. He'd told her he'd heard her in the Yard that day, but seemingly failed to mention that he also saw and heard that Penny had also been with her. She remembered that night so clearly now. She had been so stupid to even believe they had gotten away with such a reckless endeavour. How hadn't it clicked?

He had known all along.

"And you didn't say anything?" The girl questioned as she bit back the snarls rising in her throat. Her hands found themselves shoved deep into her pockets to hide the way her fingers twitched. Her feet were now glued to the gravel floor.

"No..."

"And why exactly didn't you?"

"Because it's none of my business,"

"Oh great! The one thing you finally let me keep for myself is the one thing I would've preferred to fucking know," Clara deadpanned before she huffed in annoyance, her eyes narrowed and sharp as she glared at her older brother. "Isn't this just so joyful? Whoop-de-fuckin' doo!"

Tommy stopped to look back at his little sister and for once in so long, he saw her. He saw the sunken eyes and fragile stature she now possessed. He saw how her hair lay limply and dull, and how she swayed ever so carefully in her spot, so unnoticeable to most, but Tommy saw it. He finally saw it. He saw the way her eyes were dimmed, reflecting an emptiness of the stillest oceans plunged into the darkness and terror of the night. He had let her slip away. He finally saw Clara as the ghost of her past self; her naivety and unadulterated childlike wonder ceased to exist within the same reality as the Clara in front of him. He saw the way her eyes flitted past his own, angry and tired, the weight of the bags beneath them illuminated the shallowness of her cheeks, her cheekbones protruding and sharp enough to cut.

He saw her for what she now was, not who she once had been.

And Tommy looked away.

He looked at the dull, sunless sky with a shallow breath. He had lost so much. So much. Just like so many had. But this was Clara, his Clara, the girl he had raised long before he had any child of his own, before Charlie, before Grace, before everything. She had been there by his side through his young adult life, just as he had been by hers throughout her childhood. They were known to be attached by the hip; wherever young Tommy went, baby Clara toddled after him, until he eventually picked her up, hiding a knowing smile. He had been the one to get her back to sleep after countless nightmares and restless nights. He had been the one who read to her and helped her read, (a tradition she had then carried on with Finn), he had been the one to talk to the parents of those who crossed the young girl and those who dared even pluck a hair from her precious head.

Clara had been his sister; his responsibility.

Sure, they both had many siblings, all of which played integral roles in their respective lives, but this was different. They were different. It had always been Tommy and Clara or Clara and Tommy in their youth. The two were the same coin, perhaps on different sides and with different patterns but nevertheless, they held the same foundation. They always had been and now Tommy wasn't quite sure if they always would be. Clara was her own person now. She was no longer the little tot who clung to every last word Tommy said— that point he had discovered as soon as he had returned from war, but now it was even more evident. She didn't respect a single thing he said and Tommy couldn't blame her in the slightest.

"I didn't come to argue with you," Tommy smoothly spoke, his calmness sending chills down the girl's spine. His eyes fell back down from the overcast above them to meet Clara's.

"Oh, well isn't that a bloody first!" The girl snapped back, her arms folded. Tommy tilted his head ever so slightly, his solemn face still pointed towards her.

If you had told fifteen-year-old Thomas Shelby, whose mother was alive and whose father still lived at home from time to time, that his very littlest sister seemingly despised his very guts, he would simply collapse onto the red couch of six Watery Lane and question where it all went wrong. But now at his old age of thirty-three, Tommy could list multiple occasions and turns in which had caused their relationship to crumble, and it had all started once he'd returned. He wanted more for her. He wanted her to make something for herself and have a life that was worth living, yet the 'life worth living' seemed to be killing her. He could spot it immediately now.

She was corpselike; a deathly premonition of what might become of her future self, if she even survived until then.

"Clara," he began again, his voice gruff and low as his eyes jumped around their surroundings, where buildings stood tall and desolate. If there were people around, they were purposefully choosing to deter from their path. "We're going to the Garrison. We'll speak there."

Clara wanted to smash her face through a fucking window. How was it possible for one man to be such an incredibly irritating force? How on earth had her brother, Tommy ever truly evolved into the man that stood just a mere few meters away from her? Where had her brother gone?

Reluctantly, the girl found herself following her brother despite every nerve ending in her body urging her to run the opposite way. Clara was tired. She was so tired. Tired of pretending, tired of things never going right for her, tired of men who think they know everything and girls who seemed to never love her, tired of blinking and breathing. The girl was so tired– exhausted even. So tired that normal functions ate away at the morsels of her sane soul that was left and devoured them to give her body some semblance of fuel.

The Garrison was hushed, an odd occurrence to stumble across. Despite the emptiness, Tommy gestured for her to enter the Shelby snug whilst he grabbed a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from the barman, who seemed to already have it prepared for the man. With a pointed look, the barman was quick to disappear into the pub office as Tommy joined Clara in the snug. He shut the door carefully and placed the two glasses and bottles on the table before he sat down on the chair so that he and Clara were face to face with only the table separating them.

Silently, the man outstretched his hands and poured two equal glasses of the strong drink. The liquid in the glass wavered and threatened to spill over as he slid it towards the young girl. His eyes flickered to Clara, who seemed to be picking at the edge of her nails which were bitten down to the stump.

"That's an awful habit," Tommy stated, nodding his head at her bitten and bloody nails as Clara looked up. He spoke so casually, so undeterred. "Thought Pol trained you out of that."

"Being hit with a tea towel every time I got caught didn't teach me forbearance but instead made me sly," Clara remarked, dropping her hands to her lap as she looked away from her brother, malice's icy grip clutched her heat and tongue as she longed to lash out at the man in front of her. It's not like it wouldn't be deserved. She picked up the glass and twirled it haphazardly in her hand. "I suppose I don't do it regularly anymore."

"Only now,"

"Only now."

Clara downed the glass of whiskey as she finished speaking. She ignored the familiar bitter sting, the sting that burned a raging fire down her throat and stomach. The silence between the siblings was almost unmovable as Tommy watched his sister closely.

"Right," she cleared her throat, her hand retreating under the table to fiddle with the other. "Ask your bloody questions."

"Who's to say I have any?" Tommy asked while he picked up his own glass. His eyebrow was raised quite tauntingly, it sent waves of fury pulsing through Clara's mind.

"Don't lie. Not now," The girl gritted, "because I will walk out of here and you will never see me again. And that's not a lie, you know it."

Tommy looked smug, it was a treacherous look, one Clara had once admired but now found herself despising. He shifted and placed down his empty glass before he raised the bottle and silently offered her more whiskey. The girl precariously slid her empty glass towards him, her eyes following his movements.

"Do you love her?" He asked, his hands steady and careful as he poured out another two glasses. His startling blue eyes raised to meet her dull ones. The girl grabbed her glass and promptly tossed it back, letting it attempt to wash down her woes. She swiftly placed it back down.

"I thought I did...at one point I definitely did," Clara chuckled spitefully, shaking her head ever so slightly. "I loved the way I was loved if that makes sense?" Tommy raised an eyebrow as he leaned back in his chair as if telling her to continue. "We were kids. A part of me just wanted to be someone other than a Shelby. She didn't treat me like that, at least not until we ended whatever it was."

"And was she the only time?" Thomas questioned, his eyes flitting around her face for any obvious tell. Clara slumped back in her seat, her head rolling in discomfort.

"No..." the girl eventually spoke, taking a deep breath in. She looked down at her interlocking hands that shook ever so slightly. "There was another."

"Who?" Tommy asked curiously, his glass held loosely between his fingers.

"You're not privileged to know her name," Clara laughed despite her tone being laced with hostility, her Nadia would forever remain solely hers. She wouldn't allow her family to pry or ruin the girl she loved. "But that doesn't matter anymore, I fucked that one up too. Seems to be a common theme." She let out another coarse laugh, her finger brushing against the underside of her nose as she sniffed halfheartedly.

Another abrupt silence fell over the siblings and Clara didn't quite know where to look. There was a sinking feeling of dread crawling up the pit that had formed in her stomach. She had tried so hard, so long, to keep this from her brother— not the family but her brother, himself. Of course, the concept that her family would know about her illicit endeavours shook her to her very core, but Tommy catching her bold-faced in an act regarding these affairs allowed for the terror of the consequences of her actions to drag her beneath a rapid and ruthless sea of cruelty, a sea that stripped her of her soul and left her a state of disrepair, similar to the River Acheron in Greek mythology, where if one dared even lay a finger in the trepid water all the woes of the world plagued your person and create such an instilled sadness that one would be too miserable to even attempt to escape the dark, laborious waters.

"Why did you wait so long?...to talk about this, I mean." Clara dragged herself out of the river, her voice low. "You've known for so long, yet you let me believe I had successfully hidden something away for myself."

There was another short pause, as Tommy looked towards the ceiling before letting his gaze drift back to Clara.

"I saw your face that day you were laughing at something that she said. You looked happy." Tommy cleared his throat, putting one leg over the other as he got comfortable in his seat. "Contrary to all your beliefs, as your brother, I do pay attention to you and your life. I do care if you're happy or not."

"And yet...you do so much, so much, that completely  contrasts that statement." Clara let out a small, strained laugh. She wished she could believe him, oh god, she would do anything to believe him, but after everything, she couldn't, she wouldn't allow herself to. "You knew things were bad, you were warned and you did nothing. You didn't help me and I needed you. I needed you." 

It pained her to admit, but she had. She had needed her older brother because as John had once put it, he was the Tommy to her Clara, they both needed each other to keep one another in line. If she hadn't been locked into his burning gaze, perhaps her eyes would well up at the prospect of this conversation but looking into the abyss of cerulean, she felt nothing but anger and sadness; misery in its finest form.

"I know," Tommy eventually sighed, "I know." Clara shook her head and stood from her seat in dismay.

"That's not good enough," She muttered, she moved around the bench and towards the door. "It can't be good enough."

Tommy made no move to stop the girl from leaving as his gaze merely followed her frail figure. He had noticed the trembles that wracked through her body and the way her limbs were sluggish and being dragged rather than moving of their own volition. Her clammy hand wrapped around the brass door knob before she faltered. For a minute or two, she stood there, contemplating the words she longed to voice. Still looking at the door, she began to speak.

"Thomas..?"

"Mhm..." the man raised his head as the girl continued to look at the door while speaking. She couldn't find it within herself to turn and face him.

There was a moment of quiet between the two.

"...are you mad that I'm like this?" As the words left her lips, she raised her head to look towards the ceiling, her chin millimetres away from the wood of the door to the snug. Embarrassment burned her cheeks and raged a fire through every particle in her body. She sounded so childlike, so silly. Tommy smiled at the question, it was subtle, one that could barely be noticed, but he smiled. He knew he was.

"No," he answered so simply, the girl's head levelled out as she squeezed her eyes shut.

"...Disappointed?"

Tommy stood up from his chair. He stepped towards the girl slowly and carefully as she held in a breath, too scared to move from her frozen position. She felt a gentle hand place itself carefully on her shoulder. The girl's body loosened, her shoulders dropping as she let air flood into her lungs.

"No...I could never."

"No lies?"

The man straightened at the use of their promise. Their promise which was more sacred to her than any flimsy book or scripture ever would be or any idea or belief or thought. Tommy knew that. His hand squeezed her shoulder warily as he answered.

"No lies."

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HELLO MY BEAUTIFUL READERS! HOW ARE YOU GUYS?!

This book has been gaining some traction lately so this chapter is dedicated to everyone who has been reading/only just started reading this book, you all mean the world to me!

Anyways, don't forget to vote and comment, I adore you all and here's your weekly meme(s)!