small recap:
1. Clara is staying at John and Esme's home.
2. It is Christmas, 1925.
3. Clara is different, she's a lot more timid than before. During her time away, she went through something that has yet to be disclosed!

☆

☆

JOHN CLOSED THE DOOR BEHIND THEM AS the two siblings entered the lively home. Clara let her shawl hang loosely on her shoulders as she twisted her hands thrice. The warmth of the home was bearable, its luscious heat spreading throughout her trembling form. Her feet tread along the wooden floor seamlessly as she made her way towards a stack of letters placed haphazardly on a cabinet. She yearned for the distraction not wanting to look at her brother as her heart continued to thump rapidly.

"Are you sure you're alright?" John lit a cigarette as he shrugged off his coat. Clara glanced back at him before she hummed in response. Her fingers moved carefully over the stack of letters as she flicked through the post. John leaned against the front door as he watched her mindlessly sift through them. He cleared his throat and began again. "So...did Will call?"

It was Thursday. Will tried to call her every three days to check on her and fill her in on his life.

"Yeah," Clara allowed a small smile to creep across her face at her own words. They'd spoken for just under an hour, it was costing a fortune but John insisted that he didn't mind the charge. She hadn't seen Will in a month, he'd called and even sent letters but she missed her best friend. She missed his company and laughter that seemed to fill all the silences she'd found herself trapped in. He always had a way, even when she'd first come to John's as a shell of herself, he had stayed with her for as long as he could. He'd stayed in her room, he'd talked without needing any response, and he'd tried so hard to break through the unbreakable haze. "He wants to come down."

"That's good," John commented as he nodded with a short breath. Clara's head bowed at the worry that seemed to slip through his voice and actions. The man remained back against the door, giving her the space she quite frankly needed. "Don't like you being cooped up in here alone like a chicken or some'ing."

"I'm fine here, John...I'm not cooped up," She reassured as her fingers paused over a letter addressed to her, an identical one below it addressed to John.

"You haven't seen anyone but us in a month," he countered with a raised eyebrow. Clara looked up at the wall in front of her as she took a breath in, her fingers tapping against the letter in thought. The card moved as she touched it and it was only then did she realise it wasn't a letter in an envelope, it was a piece of card folded over itself.

The young woman picked up the blank card and everything else dimmed around her as she lifted it. Her gloved fingers twirled the card around. She faltered in her movements, her limbs stiffening as her throat tightened. She remained unmoving as the world around her dropped away, all noise lost as she opened the card and read the contents.

John had noticed the shift in Clara's stance and the way she didn't bother to hum half-heartedly at his words like she usually did. He straightened up cautiously as he stubbed out his cigarette. His sharp eyes remained on his sister, noticing the way her body shook a little more than usual, the way a soft intake of breath rattled around the hallway, the way she seemed to be frozen in her place.

He clicked his tongue, letting the sound rattle around the room. Clara didn't move. John's brows furrowed and he decided to take a few steps closer to her, all whilst maintaining a comfortable distance. He repeated the sharp noise and upon seeing Clara flinch at it, he closed the distance between them to stand beside her. He didn't brush past her or even attempt to sling an arm around her as he tilted his head to look at what she clutched.

His eyes widened at the bold, black hand on the card and the cursive writing within it.

Merry Christmas
to you and
your family.

From Luca Changretta
& family.

"Oh, fuck," John swore quietly as he picked up the second black hand that lay across the top of the letters. Clara didn't move as John took the black hand out of her grip. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" In a panic, the man looked towards the direction of the kitchen where he knew Esme resided.

"John..." Clara's voice was soft as she kept her eyes on her shaky hands that had fallen. "That says Changretta... like the Changrettas?!"

John gritted his teeth as he ran a hand through his hair. He turned to Clara and scanned her trembling appearance, he instantly raised his hands for her to see before he pulled her into a hug, her body crashing into his. Clara shut her eyes as her chin met John's shoulder. He held her tighter as she leaned into his comfort. Clara willingly leaning into his touch, (or anyone's touch for that matter), was a rarity, one John had attempted to seek so many times before but had been pushed away. He respected the boundaries she'd established and he respected it but he missed being able to bundle her in his arms silently in reassurance, without having to rely on his words.

Things change.

Clara breathed in, her hands still twitching at her sides. She was stiff in his welcoming embrace and she hated it; she hated not being able to wrap her arms around him like she'd always been able to. John's warm embrace was doing little to quash the rising fumes of anxiety that gnawed at her fingernails and permeated the edges of her fractured soul. She took an unsteady breath in before she pulled away, not being able to stomach the comforting gesture anymore. She knew that John wouldn't pull away from something as precious as this moment, he would relish in it as much as possible no matter the situation at hand.

"Keep an eye out for Es," John muttered as he ran his fingers through his slicked-back hair. "'m going to call, Arthur." Clara nodded with tight lips and dragged her shawl tighter around her shoulders to provide any semblance of comfort she could seek out. She kept her eyes trained on her brother as he moved to the parlour. She followed silently, his words to the telephone operator inaudible as her heartbeat thrummed and echoed passed her ears.

"Arthur, have you checked your post?" John glanced at Clara before he spoke lowly into the phone. "I just got served a black hand...I just got delivered a black fucking hand to the house from Luca Changretta."

Clara tuned out the conversation as her thoughts began to flurry. She could feel the growing flare of uncertainty spread across her sternum, shooting down and all across her body. She felt it pervade through the nerves in her hands whilst stinging pain erupted through her flesh as she dug her gloved fingers into the skin of her jagged palm. If Luca Changretta was truly out for vengeance, nobody was safe anymore. She'd read about the uprise of black hands in Italy's more secretive world, and the fact that not one but two were delivered to her home, where everything seemed once so safe, shook her to her core.

"You know what the black hand means among the wops, Arthur?" John's voice broke through the haze of her jaded mind. "It's Mafia shit, the Sicilian fuckin' Mafia...Just check your post, Arthur."

"Did you say Mafia?"

Clara whipped her head around as Esme skulked into the parlour. The young woman's heart was now beating ferociously, the feeling had crashed into her like the fiercest of waves against an unsuspecting shore. She felt the tides draw her back and forth as she blinked slowly to steady herself

"Esme, I need to make a call," John answered as calmly as possible. He ignored the woman's presence whilst he began to dial another number.

"No," Esme snapped while she rushed forward past Clara. She pushed the phone out of John's hand all whilst grabbing the black hand. She childishly moved to the other side of the room as John began to yell after her.

"Give it here!" Her brother snapped, Clara stood in the doorway, her mouth slightly agape as her eyes began to blear at the sound of the yelling.

"Tell me what the fuck it is!" Esme bellowed. The girl couldn't move. She felt rooted to the ground like the tree she sat underneath on the daily. She was stuck as her heart pounded against her chest and as she became increasingly aware of the lack of air in her lungs. She felt the warmth of the room kiss her flesh, scorching her nerves and allowing the flames of panic to flicker and blaze within her soul.

"GIVE IT HERE!"

"WHAT IS IT?!"

John and Esme's loud voices faded into the fog as the young woman stood swaying. The walls had already long caved in on Clara's world, but then, at that moment, she was suddenly overburdened with the feeling of the ever-pressing weight of their collapse. The room was now spinning, once, twice, three times as the shouting continued. She could no longer hear anything but the hum of her panting heart and the buzz of the world around her. The edges of her visions darkened and the room began to fade.

"WHAT IS THIS?"

Clara flinched as a hand slammed down on the table beside her. She looked up from the leather-covered book in front of her to meet the piercing grey eyes that bore into her. The girl remained silent as the older woman above her seethed.

"I ASKED YOU A QUESTION,"

Clara could feel foreign droplets of spit hit her cheeks as she looked up, her eyes wide and unmoving. She felt a rush of fear wiggle its way through her veins as she sat still, hoping her lack of movement would eventually bore the woman in front of her.

"Don't look at me, look at it," the woman hissed, looking down at her hand which was still on the table. Clara didn't respond but her eyes travelled down to the wooden desk where the woman's hand now uncovered a golden pocket watch. Her golden pocket watch. Her eyes flickered with recognition at the sight of her initials carved into the gold.

What an unusual sight, she thought.

It had been the only possession of hers with her initials in writing. Clara's eyes lingered on the pocket watch, the very one she had remembered hiding well beneath the sparse selection of clothes in her dresser. 

"Well?!" The woman demanded, her spiteful tone cutting through the growing turmoil manifesting within Clara. "Answer me, child!"

"It's a pocket watch," Clara spoke quickly, her voice cracked as she spoke quietly. Her eyes remained pointed down as the woman gritted her teeth. The woman's breathing was loud, menacing. It struck fear in everyone around them. The girl felt a sharp sting across her cheek as her head was snapped to the side. A series of gasps rippled throughout the stone-walled room.

"You insolent child!" The woman leaned down and looked the girl in the eye. Clara's hand lingered over the reddening flesh of her cheek that pulsed rapidly from the impact.

The words fell off her tongue like poison intended to kill. Clara was frozen as the woman screamed and yelled. She could no longer decipher what exactly was being said as her eyes glazed. All she could do was blink as the woman towered over her, the room was growing smaller and as two pairs of hands grabbed both of her arms she remained in her frozen horror. She felt herself being forcefully pulled out of the room, her feet dragging along the concrete floor. The grip on her arms was tight, bruising. Their fingernails punctured her skin.

She knew she should scream and kick up a fuss but she couldn't. She couldn't move, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't hear. Clara felt useless as she was pushed into a small, lightless room. Her knees hit the dark ground, scraping as she scrambled to the furthest wall. The darkness grabbed at her limbs and shrouded her in coldness as the door slammed shut, abandoning her in the cold. She could feel the shadowy tendrils grasp at her flesh and needle their way through her nerves and straight to her soul. She felt it come down in waves of burning rain that pelted her, and stung her with all its might.

"Clara..."

The girl whimpered as she drew her legs to her chest, her soft whispering pleads going unnoticed by all the horrors that lurked in her mind and the dark.

"CLARA!"

Clara inhaled sharply and jerked away from the hand that was outstretched in front of her. Her body was wracked with shivers, and the world around her slowly crept back into her vision as she struggled to breathe. John's face appeared through the fog, his eyebrows pinched, his lips downturned. His arms were still up and towards the young woman as of calming a disturbed horse. Her gaze shifted to Esme who stood a mere meter away from John, her anger now rewritten with worry as her once scrunched face had relaxed into regret.

Clara blinked heavily as she took a deep breath in and let it out in an attempt to soothe her erratic heartbeat. Her throat was tight, her palms sweaty as she stepped away from Esme and John, her vision rippling as she tried to fully ground herself.

"'m going on a walk," she mumbled, her voice shaky and almost sounding lost as she glanced behind her. Her face was blank, her emotions burying themselves deep within her soul as she looked away from her brother and Esme. "...yeah, I'm going to go on a walk."

"Clara—" John stepped forward, despite Esme's outstretched arm that signalled for him to stop. Clara had already begun backing away. "Wait a second, Clara!"

The name was almost unfamiliar as it left his mouth. The name itself sent shivers down each of her vertebrae as the horror threatened to overwhelm her once more. It felt wrong. So wrong. She could feel cold and unwanted, phantom fingers digging into the flesh of her arms as she struggled to contain the rising swell of panic.

"I need to go on a walk," Clara spoke more firmly this time, more definite. Her glazed, cloudy eyes locked on John's as he silently pleaded with her to stay. He knew she wouldn't but he would continue to try. There was a moment of tense silence as the two watched Clara. She was waiting for permission, perhaps she didn't even realise she was in that moment, but John could see the hesitance to simply storm off, his Clara would never usually wait, would never ask or be excused, she would just leave.

But now she was faltering.

She had faltered too much within the last few months, John had noticed even if Clara herself couldn't. She seemed hesitant to do anything without reassurance, a complete setback to the strong-minded, confident girl he'd grown up knowing. Her eyes followed John's every movement as he studied her unbalanced stature.

"Take a walk," he nodded eventually, "but don't go beyond the tree. You go there and either stay there for a while or come right back. No going beyond it, not until we have this sorted." His voice was low, perhaps even demanding but his eyes were pleading, he knew he couldn't stop her, the least he could do was ensure she was safe. Clara bit the inside of her cheek as she gave a short nod of acknowledgement and left the room promptly.

John and Esme remained in their stupor, their eyes following the young woman as they waited to hear the closing of the front door.

☆

CLARA RESPECTED JOHN'S WORDS. She had found herself at the tree and had taken no other journey or paths through the fields. She'd gone no further nor did she particularly want to. She felt an overwhelming sense of familiarity amongst the bulging roots of the tree and the tufts of grass. There, she could think, she could breathe, she could live.

Walks in the evening were something Clara treasured, a usual occurrence to clear her mind. Often she went alone but on the rarity, John or Esme joined her and gave her silent company. They didn't have to speak, they'd be there and that was more than enough. Solitude was a privilege but loneliness was a curse. John and Esme ensured that the girl was never wholly lonely despite her need for solitude.

Her knees were pulled close to her chest and her hands remained tucked between them for comfort. She didn't quite know how long she'd been sitting and staring at her surroundings, but she knew she'd have to return home soon. Overhead, the sun cast the most beautiful orange across a sea of sapphire and white. Her eyes were shut as she breathed in the crisp December air, its purity helping to still the bubbling chaos that threatened to overflow within her veins. Her mind was hazy, it always was after remembering that place.

It was a cruel consequence of an evil fate, a fate chosen for her, one she had been force-fed by whatever callous high beings controlled her be-alls and end-alls. And whilst she could continue to choose to blame nefarious higher powers, one's she found very hard to believe in, she could choose someone much closer to blame for her ruination. The man behind the beginning of her end, the man behind the beginning of everyone's end really.

Thomas Shelby was carnage in human form.

He was a harbinger of destruction. An omen of demise and torment, ready to afflict damage and woe to anyone that dared to be in the same vicinity. He left no one untouched by his vicious cruelty and the death that usually followed. To know him was to suffer, a suffering so harsh and cold, one could easily mistake it for death. Death would be a privilege being around Thomas Shelby. Perhaps then one could escape his clutches that seemed to never let go. Perhaps then one could finally and truly reach somewhere with peace. Even then you would be scarred with the pain of the past, a past that would haunt you.

To know Thomas Shelby was to subject yourself to the worst of fates.

Clara knew that now. She knew that all too well. Whatever doubts she had about him and his barbarism had all been swept away the minute she'd last seen him, the minute she'd been taken away, the minute she lost herself to life. He was poison in a human form, dead-set on pulverising any semblance of joy.

Clara blinked heavily as the last of the day birds fluttered in the horizon of navy ensnaring the pinking hues of the sky. Their night adieus filling in the crisp air with the sweetest of tunes. She relished their symphonies, their freedom of flight. Her eyes traced the stars that had begun to peek through the curtains of the fading day, awaiting their destined time to shine.

The sudden sound of a clicking tongue caused the girl's eyes to fall back to the ground. Clara took a shallow breath in at the familiar sound, one John had adapted to using in order to gain her attention. She looked over her shoulder, her chin leaning against the clothed skin as John approached her spot. He held two rifles over both shoulders as if they were his most prized trophies about to be displayed. His wary eyes softened as much as possible given the circumstances upon noticing her lingering stare. The young woman tilted her head back towards the fading skyline as a soft sigh escaped her lips.

"Time to go back?" She questioned, the wind carrying her whispered words toward her brother.

"It's getting late," John sniffed, shifting in his position to juggle the weight of the guns. "Tried to give you as much time as possible...the sun's going down."

"It's fine," Clara spoke softly, as she used the tree to pull herself up off of the grassy roots. Her hands smoothed over her crumpled skirt. "It's fine..."

Clara moved slowly and steadily as she lifted her skirt off of the grassy ground and made her way towards her brother who watched with careful eyes. The young woman walked passed John whilst he spun on his heel to join her. The two walked in tandem, their silence comfortably shrouding them as the stars behind them began to shine through the darkness.

"Clara," John stopped her in her tracks as he fumbled with the guns. The young woman watched silently as he struggled to remove a small pistol from the waistband and held it out toward her. "I need to know that you're protected. I need to know that you're not defenceless." John paused he let out a quick breath as he ran his finger over the underside of his nose. "Look...I know it's been a while but for the sake of your safety just take the bloody gun, will ya?"

Clara faltered her eyes lingering on the black metal of the object within John's possession. She felt bile rise in her throat and threaten to spill over. It had been a while since she held a gun, hell, it had been a while since she had seen any gun, apart from the one John used for hunting. Her tremoring fingers wrapped around the metal as she took it from her brother and held it away from her body. The object felt foreign, so unlike the feeling she'd once gained from holding the weapon.

John's eyes remained on the young woman and her timid approach. "Are you good?" His voice was naturally soft, a modified version of what Clara had known her entire life.

"I'm good," Clara gave her brother a tight little smile as she cautiously checked the safety of the gun before she tucked it beneath the layers of her skirt. John was satisfied with this answer, at least he seemed to be, he really had no choice. "Thank you."

John readjusted the guns on his shoulder as he gave his sister a small nod. "I hope you still know how to use one," he joked, Clara wanted to laugh, but she couldn't find the energy within herself to do so, so instead she gave the man a smile, a small one but a sincere one nonetheless.

"I'm sure I'll manage,"

☆

HELLO MY BEAUTIFUL READERS, MISS ME?!

I missed you guys and Clara so much, but now I'm free for the summer and can finally update to my heart's content!

ANYWAYS, we're nearing a certain event, who's excited? (I'm not!)

As always, I love you all and I'll see you soon! (here's your weekly meme!)