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THE HEAVY WEIGHT OF A GOLD BAND sat on the scarred flesh of Clara Shelby's thumb. It had been too big for any of her other fingers. It was not made for her, nor was it even truly hers at all. Her glazed eyes traced the smooth metal, only slightly worn down from its constant use. There were scratches, faint but evident to those who examined it thoroughly (—as she had done as soon as it had been given to her). It was just a plain band of gold, with no extra flourish or intricate details, yet it was quick to become Clara's most prized possession.

John's gold ring was heavy on her hand.

It had been a staple in his wardrobe from when he had turned eighteen and Polly had gifted it to him. He had worn it every day, he'd even taken it to France and pinned it on the inside of his uniform. She remembered being younger and playing with his ringed hand as he'd walked her to school. She remembered irritated him relentlessly about why he always wore it, claiming it wasn't that great of an object.

"It's boring!" Nine-year-old Clara had complained. She wasn't much of an extravagant child but they'd walked past the most luxurious of jewellers in Small Heath— a jewellers which upon reflection wasn't all that fancy but to the little girl it was a place of riches and fortune. "It's boring and plain!"

"So are you," John had deadpanned before he glanced down to look at the scowling girl with a cheeky grin. Clara had begun to attack him, her little but powerful fists pounding into his side as he chuckled. "Calm down, weasel!"

Eighteen-year-old John had paused and playfully scooped the girl up over his shoulder so that she was hanging over his back. Clara remembered slapping her hands against his spine in a desperate attempt to wiggle her way free.

"'s a gift," John had eventually huffed as he carried her, his gait unwavering. "Reminds me of the family, alrigh', that's all." He had sounded embarrassed to admit it as if saying the words aloud would end in teasing.

"You're so weird!"

Clara let a faint smile traipse across her face as she remembered her retort. His words were met with countless jokes and laughter on her half. She understood his words now. The ring was his and reminded her of him, it was all quite simple. The young woman shut her eyes and clenched her jaw tight, her finger still running over the gold of the band.

"Esme..." Clara had whimpered in the loving hold, her startled blue eyes welling with tears. The older woman had pulled away slightly, her thumbs brushing Clara's tears away.

"We can go on the road with the kids," Esme had said almost pleadingly. "You're my sister, maybe not by blood but by soul." The older woman pressed her fingers to Clara's chest. "Come with us,"

Clara had pulled away as her throat tightened. "I can't," she had murmured, completely withdrawing from the warmth of Esme's touch, the warmth that almost overpowered the frost of unrivalled grief that threatened to permeate her heart. "Get them out of here, Es, keep them safe."

Clara had sworn she'd seen Esme's lip tremble at the words. The older woman looked conflicted as she glanced between her dead husband and his little sister. In a swift motion, the younger of the two had been dragged back to her original spot, close to Esme's chest. Clara's breath caught in her throat as a cool metal was slid onto her trembling fingers. She had felt her throat bob as she gazed at the ring, her heart falling to her stomach at the sight. It was a piece of her brother, of her John. Tears had been quick to spring to her eyes once more as she accepted the gift.

"Oh, Esme," Clara's broken voice had whispered, her voice choked with gratitude and sorrow.

Esme had managed to pull together a weak smile through her tears. "He always loved that one," she sniffed. Clara had nodded in agreement through her tears as the gold hung heavy but familiar if it had always belonged there.

The two women had held each other's gaze for a moment, understanding passing between them without the need for words. They were bound by their shared loss, by the love they had both held for the man who had connected them. The pain of separation was palpable, but inevitable. With a heavy sigh, Clara finally broke the silence.

"Esme, I don't know how to thank you for this." She had murmured, glancing at John who remained still on the table. She was pulled back into focus as Esme gave her enclosed hand a gentle squeeze.

"You don't have to thank me, Clara. We're family, and John would have wanted you to have it." She had sniffed sadly, her thumb brushing over Clara's knuckles.

Tears continued to stream down their faces as they embraced once more, clinging to each other for support and solace. Esme's hug was warm and comforting, it was what Clara would like to imagine her mother's hug would feel like.

"I'm going to miss you so much," Clara had spoken up, her voice small and meek as Esme gently brushed a strand of Clara's hair out of her face. Esme's eyes had drowned in a salty sea of tears as she pressed her forehead to Clara's once more.

"Oh, Clara," she had whispered, "I'm going to miss you too." There was a slight pause as the older of the two had peered towards John in sadness. "But you'll always have a place with me, and distance won't change that." Clara had nodded, her heart heavy as the reality set in that the only comfort she knew was leaving her, and she'd let it.

"I think I'm scared, Es," Clara had been reluctant to admit with a croaky voice. "I don't...I can't..." Esme swiftly pulled back from the embrace, holding Clara's face in her hands.

"I know, my sweet girl, just know that I'll be here whenever you need me and I will welcome you with open arms. Take care of yourself, Clara."

"You too, Es...Until we meet again."

Clara swallowed her nerves, her fingers wrapped around John's gold ring as she slowly pushed open the door to her childhood home. Number six Watery Lane hadn't changed much. It was slightly older looking, the stones and drain pipe mossier with taints of ivy crawling up the sides. The wooden front door still creaked, quite like it always had, as Clara stepped inside.

She felt out of place. Like her skin and body weren't hers, at least not the body and skin of who she was once. She felt like a splatter of red against the purest of whites— so violently there and not at all meant to be.

A rush of sudden fear swiftly swept over her body, its claws embedding themselves into the flesh of her back and tearing into it as if it were the last meal it would devour. The fear encompassed her despite the swell of familiarity that threatened to soothe her. This had been the place where she had died–literally. It was the place where she'd had countless nightmares and sleepless nights, the place she'd suffered and the place she'd once cherished.

Clara glanced down where a pair of old black boots caked in dirt lay untouched, old cobwebs strung between them. The boots had been hers once upon a time, the soles and hard leather long worn in from the days when she would wander freely. She slowly moved past the shoes, her heart thumping out of her chest as she moved into the hall.

She was early, no one was around. She presumed it would be less than a half hour before everyone started to arrive for the family meeting. As of that moment though, the house seemed relatively quiet if not for the memories that roared with every step. The young woman paused as she bypassed the kitchen completely. She did not want to relive the memories she had of being in there, of being so dizzy she couldn't see, so high she couldn't stand. She didn't want to remember her brush with death, but the smallest part of her slightly wished the brush had not been a brush at all.

Clara's fingertips traced up the bannister, the layer of dust slowly building as she climbed the stairs. She presumed only Finn lived in the house now, and maybe Michael if he needed a place to crash. The young woman instinctively avoided the stairs she knew would creak, just as she'd done for so many years.

Upstairs still looked as it had. All doors were shut and faint muddied boot marks stained the wooden flooring, all steps leading to Finn's room at the end of the hall- the room he'd inherited from Arthur after he'd moved out. The young woman crept down the hall, she could feel bile slither its way up her throat as she grew closer to her bedroom. Clara didn't quite know what she was expecting when she'd opened the door, the door that held so much more weight than before. She took a shuddered breath in as she stepped over the threshold and into the place she'd once deemed her personal 'haven'.

The room seemed to be at a standstill from the last time she'd resided in it. A crumpled shirt lay draped over the chair in the corner, a glass of water half drunk sat on the dresser, and her bed remained unmade. Everything was as it had been before. A pair of socks were strewn on the floor, a pile of books took residence on her bedside table— unread, with a thin layer of dust settled atop.

The room seemed to have shrunk, its grand walls and wide flooring now rather doll-like. Once a haven of warmth and comfort, Clara's room had now become a sanctuary of sorrow. She approached her dresser where photographs leaned against her cracked mirror, unframed and strewn as an afterthought. Her fingers brushed over the photographs stopping at the one that had been taken at Thomas and Grace's wedding, where she had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with both, Finn and John.

She allowed her good arm to reach out so that she could trace the contours of John's face in the faded photograph. She wanted to be able to pull him straight from the photo and bridge the gap between memory and reality. Clara felt hot tears threaten to flow freely, each one burning her as she focused on her smiling older brother.

"I wouldn't allow anyone in here,"

Clara jumped in surprise, the arm not in a sling folding upwards into her chest alongside her other arm as she frantically turned towards the source of the interruption. Her body was shaking completely now at the intrusion of her silence and space, she'd thought she'd broken this habit, but perhaps living with John and Esme had simply softened it, not wholly fixed it. Finn, who had moved to walk towards her, faltered in his steps and remained still in the door frame. His eyes narrowed before he looked down with a gulp.

"I wouldn't allow them to change it either," He spoke up again, his voice softer as he finally stepped into the room. His nose shrivelled as he looked around, kicking a few loose floorboards and skirting boards into place. "Maybe I should've dusted or somethin'...what the bloody hell did you do to the floor?"

"Wasn't me," Clara replied softly, "they were looking for my stash of Tokyo after I..." she allowed herself to trail off as Finn's jaw clenched. Before she could speak up again, he was at her side, his arms flinging around her shoulders as Clara stumbled back from the sudden weight of his body colliding with hers.

Finn's hand came down to the top of her head and patted it almost lovingly, Clara would presume, but his clunky, quite uncomfortable weight was out of place. He towered over her, his chin resting on the top of her head, his weight uneven as he tried to avoid touching her injured limb.

"Finn..." Clara wriggled as the unfamiliarity began to gnaw at her. The prolonged comfort was beginning to warp and she didn't want her brother's warm embrace to become tainted by her past.

"I'm comforting you..." Finn mumbled with a sniff, as he let his free arm squeeze her. "...and I know you don't want it but, please."

Clara wasn't sure she'd ever heard her youngest brother pleading for something so familial, something that could be so easily given before but almost unattainable now. The young woman, despite her discomfort, gave in to his hold, allowing her able arm to encircle him. Finn, now grown into twice the man she ever knew, tried to hide his sadness as he sniffed continuously. He needed this and in Clara's mind, he was still the same little boy who sought comfort after anything mildly frightening. 

Finn opened his mouth to speak once more before a rather loud clatter erupted from downstairs causing Clara to jolt away from her brother with wide, terrified eyes. Idle voices and chatter began to creep up through the floorboards as the people below began to gather. He gnawed at his lip as the young woman in front of him seemed to shrivel at the sound.

"We should go down," Finn started awkwardly, his eyes wide and almost yearning for the young woman to unfurl herself and suddenly transform back into the rambunctious girl from before. "The meeting'll start soon, I suppose."

"I'll follow you down," Clara murmured whilst her uninjured hand opened and closed in front of her chest as he eyes focused on the floorboards below her.

Three, Sting, Repent, Silence, June...Nothing.

Clara covered her eyes with her bare palm, her lip quivering as she slowly counted to three in her head, attempting to quash the rising flurry of panic. She let her hand drop down into her coat pocket and pulled out the worn leather gloves that had been stowed there. She carefully slipped her hands into the familiarity allowing the leather to sheath her flesh and John's ring from the open air, the feeling alone providing more solace than her childhood room could.

As she took another breath in, the young woman lifted her head and stepped out of what had once been her sanctuary. Clara found herself hesitating at the top of the creaky staircase that led back downstairs to where the sound of voices had doubled. Each step she found herself taking felt like an eternity, the anticipation not quite numbing, the knot of anxiety that gnawed at her.

She shouldn't have been so nervous– they were her family after all. Her family, the people who were supposed to be her support and solace, now felt like strangers who had cast her aside. And it wasn't the entirety of the family because one was missing, so how on earth was she not to be nervous?

The dimly lit hallway below seemed eerie, with its family photographs staring back at her, their watchful eyes a constant reminder of the unspoken tension that had enveloped the house. Clara's footsteps on the wooden stairs reverberated through the house, a hollow sound that mirrored the emptiness it now harboured. She longed for a sense of belonging, for the warmth and love that had once radiated from the family home.

As Clara descended further, her mind wandered to the brother who brought about her ruination. This would be the first time she would see Thomas Shelby since he'd allowed her to be dragged out of his home. It was his deceit that had initiated her exile from the comfort of her life before and left her a shell of a person. She wondered if he'd be waiting downstairs, or if their reunion would bring closure or simply deepen the rift that had torn their family asunder. Clara could barely breathe the thick air in as she finally reached the bottom step, and the moment of truth loomed large before her.

With a deep breath and a resolve to face her fractured family, Clara Shelby paused just outside the threshold into the dining room, the wall hiding her from the view of the family. She clenched her fist tightly, her jaw locked as she looked up to the ceiling to try to gain the courage to enter the room, to face those she had avoided and been distant with.

Without another thought, the young woman stepped around the corner causing all eyes to flit towards her. Some looked in shock at her whilst others stared in pity, whether it was because of her short hair, injured state, bags beneath her sunken eyes or the fact John was dead, she didn't know. Clara wavered at the entrance, her eyes skimming over everyone's bodies to avoid their eyes until she caught Pol's harsh gaze.

Polly looked the young woman up and down before she turned her head and scoffed lowly. Clara had heard it though. She was meant to. The young woman already regretted stepping foot into the room upon the cold greeting from her aunt– the one woman who had been her mother in all sorts of ways.

The two hadn't seen one another in a year, not after the chaos of their reunion, which had ended in screaming and tears for both parties. What Clara had learned upon their reconciliation was that Pol had fallen into an over-reliance on her beliefs, whilst Clara had purposefully lacked in that area, falling into a hatred towards the sort of thing. They had argued, either one believing they were right. They had to be pulled apart and removed by John and Michael, who had since instated an unspoken rule to separate the two until better times.

She wanted to laugh. This was surely not the better times they'd hoped for.

The room that had once been the heart of their family gatherings now felt like a battleground, and Clara couldn't help but wonder if it were too late to chase Esme down and beg her to bundle her into a Vardo to escape.

Finn's eyes urged her to take the seat in front of him, beside Ada who watched with saddened yet loving eyes that caused Clara to shrivel up slightly. Everyone, including herself, was silent as she took a seat in the wooden chair, her gaze focused on the floor. She heard the sharp clink of a glass being placed in front of her, causing her to emit a quick wince whilst Finn poured some whiskey into it. Clara did not dare touch it, her uninjured fingers clenched tightly beneath the dining table.

And then it happened.

Just as Clara had done moments before, Thomas Shelby appeared from around the corner of a wall in the betting den and strode towards the dining room, his thick black coat flapping behind him as his head remained lowered. The young woman turned her body away from the sight. She wasn't yet ready to face him. She wasn't yet ready to look into the eyes of the man behind her suffering. She could sense his presence close in and stop a mere meter away from her. Without looking up, Clara could sense his piercing gaze that lingered on her injured form as he took in the scene ahead of him.

"John is dead," His voice hurt to hear. It sounded just like the Tommy she had admired growing up, yet she knew that this person, this omen of death, wasn't him. He never would be. "Esme's gone on the road with the Lees. She's taken the kids. Michael is badly wounded, they say it's sixty/forty in his favour."

Thomas' eyes dropped to Clara who shifted in her seat. She sunk further into the wood, relishing the harshness of the material as it dug into her clothed skin. His words rang around her head in taunting circles. 'John is dead, John is dead, John is dead', Clara wanted to jump out of her seat and scream whose fault it was, she wanted to punch, kick and yell until everything in the world faded to black.

She remained sitting. She didn't have that kind of courage anymore. In fact, sitting there amongst the foes that had been family, she was starting to feel less and less like herself.

"There's no number, there's no percentages," Polly breathily scoffed, "There's only the hand, the hand beneath him stops him from falling." The young woman clenched her fist tight and despite the leather separating her finger from her flesh, she could feel the bitter bite of her nails.

"Spoke to someone...my son will live," Polly finished as she took another drag of her cigarette rather pointedly.

"Michael and John were shot because we killed someone...Vincenzo Changretta." Thomas continued. She wanted to scoff at the use of we. She had certainly not killed Vincenzo Changretta, she knew that John and Michael hadn't either, Thomas had tortured him before Arthur finished him off.

There was no 'we' in the matter.

Three, Sting, Repent, Silence, June...Nothing. The young woman's jaw tightened, her eyes now wider as she clutched her leg through her skirt for any semblance of stability.

"His son, Luca, has come to take revenge. Men from New York and Sicily are in Birmingham," Thomas explained as he took a deep breath in, his eyes drifting over the family as he sniffed. "These men will not leave our city until the whole family is dead. That's how it works, an eye for an eye, it's called vendetta."

"Yeah, well..." Arthur cleared his throat whilst Linda clutched him tightly with her claws. "The bullet's been written...It says Luca. When the time comes...and it will come...me, as the oldest brother...will put this bullet into his fucking head."

"There's been some bad blood between us," Thomas stated, his hands clasped in front of him. The young woman's body locked up as Polly began to laugh hysterically earning her a soft plead from Arthur to stop. She felt her heart speed up, its thrumming causing her body to vibrate beneath the layers of clothes. She swallowed in attempts to clear her throat which had dried up at the mention of the supposed 'bad blood'.

The nerve of him to speak of blood when his had never spilt. She had to question whose blood he was speaking about; John's? Michael's? Her own? Whichever it was, all she knew was that it wasn't his, at this rate, it never would be. The way he had addressed the supposed 'bad blood' left the young woman with a sour taste in her mouth, who was he to start making amends.

It was a little too late for that.

"Until this business is settled we stay together. We stay here...Small Heath, Bordesley, Hay Mills down to Greet. We know every face, every man is a soldier in this army." Thomas kept his voice low, the sound of it sending a constant stream of fear down her spine. She recognised the tone, he was trying to ease into a bombshell of a plan, one that would be more than likely catastrophic. "These men are professionals and they're good at what they do, so we're gonna need more than we have. We send a message to Aberama Gold."

"No. No, Tom," Johnny Doggs immediately interjected in a panic. "I'll get you fifty Lee boys. Good men, Tom."

She could hardly breathe anymore. Her worry, grief, memories and a familiar sickness began to swirl in her stomach and spread. She kept her head down, her chin pressing to her chest as she tried to soothe her heavy breathing. She refused to have one of her 'moments', not here in front of everyone. It was as if a kaleidoscope had shattered, her senses fractured into a thousand fragmented pieces whilst the world spun like a singing carousel, a dizzying fair ride without an exit. Her thoughts were the chaotic orchestra music that rattled around the ride, where each instrument played discordantly, jarring chords that resonated in her mind, leaving her helpless to the pull of it all.

Time, like an hourglass with a broken neck, spilt its sand without a semblance of regard for her fragile state. Each moment felt like an eternity, elongating the shadows of her anxiety into the grotesque depths of the distorted reality within her mind.

Three, Sting, Repent, Silence, June...Nothing.

Remember, her horrid brain urged herself, remember it all. You can't think that it's over just yet.

"...Which means that here today in this room," Tommy's voice was an echo in the cavern of her mind, "...we have to agree to end this war between us. Take a vote."

"Peace," She heard Arthur's deep voice rise amongst the swell of turmoil.

"I was never a part of this, but...peace." Ada's voice rang around the confines of her mind.

"Peace."

"Peace."

The words of others floated around almost hauntingly as the young woman squeezed her eyes tighter.

"Peace,"

No...no. Not her Finn. Not her little brother. He had no reason to be a part of this. He was only a boy. No, this was all wrong.

"Shut up, Finn," Arthur's voice resounded again, Clara was grateful for it.

"Why can't I say peace?" Finn's voice was quiet, familiar almost comforting. It soothed the slightest bit of alarm within the young woman.

"Arthur, let him have his say," Whatever morsel of comfort she'd gripped, it had been ripped from her grasp at the sound of Thomas' voice, which broke through the fog of her thoughts. "Finn? Sit at the table."

She could vaguely feel Finn moving to take the empty seat beside her before he was dragged forward, incoherent words spilling from Arthur's mouth.

"My son's not here to speak..." Pol's voice was the one that hurt the most. It had been the one to sing her to sleep, to tell her stories and to raise her during her childhood. It had once been a source of tranquillity– safety, but now...now it hurt, it hurt everywhere at all once. "So I'll speak on behalf of us both...truce."

"Clara,"

It seemed familiar but she shouldn't have been there. She felt like an intruder, sneaking around and eavesdropping on a conversation she shouldn't have been. Her good hand still tremored beneath the table, as she felt the weight of the world shift on her shoulders.

"Clara,"

That was her.

That was her name.

It felt so wrong to hear.

Clara snapped out of her thoughts as Finn's hand suddenly gripped her arm. She flinched away at the touch as her frazzled eyes snapped up to meet his careful ones. A wave of heated embarrassment fell over the young woman as her eyes slowly drifted over everyone in attendance who looked at her expectedly. Her eyes skimmed over every member of her family, one by one before she took a slow breath in and raised her head completely to lock eyes with Thomas Shelby.

The air grew weightier in the room. Two long years of silence and betrayal hung between the siblings like an unbridgeable chasm, and the weight of their shared history bore down upon their gaze.

Clara's piercing blue eyes, which had once been filled with the innocence of sibling trust, now glimmered with a mixture of sorrow and defiance. They were windows to her soul, revealing the pain that Thomas's actions had inflicted upon her heart. Her lashes, like delicate curtains, momentarily veiled the storm of emotions brewing within, but her unwavering gaze spoke volumes.

Thomas, standing on the other side of the room, met Clara's stare with a solemn face. The striking family resemblance that had always connected them was painfully evident, although now, his eyes were less fractured than hers.

Clara stood to her feet cautiously, her bottom lip quivering in anger. Her good arm fell to her side as a twinge of pain shot through her other. Her eyes remained steady on Thomas, who watched her like a threat. The young woman approached the man, her head raising to maintain eye contact as she stopped so that her shoulder was touching his.

"War..." She whispered, her cold eyes mirroring Thomas'.

"I choose war."

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(Unedited)
HELLO MY GORGEOUS READERS, I'VE MISSED YOU ALL SO MUCH!

I know it's been like two months since I've updated so I apologise, my life got very busy very quickly and it was so hard to try to balance everything without one thing taking the short stick.

I've missed writing for Clara so much, so I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Anyways, I love you all, and see you soon <3