CHAPTER TEN:
SMOTHER

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AS IT SO HAPPENED, no amount of time was enough for Helen. For the first few weeks, she tried her best to go about her days as if nothing had changed. The panic slowly yet surely began to ease into a blunt twinge that she carried in her heart wherever she went, but it wasn't so consuming as it had been when the grenade first struck and imploded.

Polly was right, it seemed. Helen had options. In the early days, the Shelby matriach accompanied her to see a woman who could've... taken care of things, as Polly had put it, but Helen found she couldn't go ahead with it. So she then considered adoption, but the thought of growing a life, no matter how terrifying, only to get attached and have no choice but to say goodbye was as painful as a kick in the guts... over and over, until that door of opportunity closed too. She thought about finding Patrick, and lingered on the idea, but nothing was set in stone.

Christmas would soon come before Helen could make up her mind. Which, don't get her wrong, was not a bad thing, but secrets could only be hidden for so long. She had her dresses taken out, hoping against hope when the local seamstress gave her the oddest look that she hadn't put the pieces together (Ms Scott was Birmingham's biggest gossip and everyone took her word as gospel.)

Then, under Polly's advice, Helen forced herself to drink stout instead of whiskey and stopped indulging in her seemingly never-ending supply of cigarettes (much to Helen's dismay.) Piece-by-piece, brick-by-brick, she created this beautiful but damning web of lies, excuses she would struggle to unspin when God came searching for her to repent.

That time would come far sooner than she planned. God was most definitely not on her side.

Helen wasn't present in Small Heath when Billy Kimber met his bloody end at the end of Tommy's gun. Polly had found her a doctor just outside of Birmingham, a decent enough fellow she referred to as Doctor Vincent Abrams, who promised to keep his mouth shut even if the devil himself was to knock on his door. Helen wasn't so sure if she believed him, but she continued to attend her appointments as her stomach began to expand and three months quickly became four, almost five.

On the day that Billy Kimber died, she returned to the streets of Small Heath with an oblivious smile on her face. Old wives tales be damned, Doctor Abrams had examined her stomach and declared Helen to be carrying a healthy baby boy. The bump is lower, he had explained. In my experience, boys sit lower and girls sit higher.

A boy. A son. The thought made her heart swell to bursting point.

But even through her daze, she was no fool.

When she found her front door unlocked, she knew something was amiss. Without thinking twice, she reached for the pin holding back her hair, holding the blade in front of her as she pushed open the door and stepped into the house. Everything was quiet, the only sound being her unsteady breathing and the loud tap of her heels on the floorboards. She kicked out of her shoes and coat carefully, then crept down the hallway to the closed kitchen door. She was almost certain she'd left it open on the way out that morning. As stressed as she was, her memory was sharp as the blade in her hand.

Inhaling once, she darted around the corner, only to find the room entirely empty. The blade lowered the slightest bit, and then--

"Jesus Christ," Helen exclaimed, her free hand reaching up to rest over her heart. "You do realise there's a lock on the door for a reason."

Tommy said nothing at first. Then, while leaning against the living room door, "I suppose a congratulations is in order."

Fuck.

She had known it was too good to be true. Polly Gray was a whirlwind of a woman, but even she could not stop Tommy Shelby when he wanted something.

"Let me guess," Helen scoffed. It was a hollow sound, like the silence that lingered after a gunshot. Tommy's eyes had dropped to the pin in her hand, but he looked back up when she laughed. "Was it Polly? No, Doctor Abrams."

Helen smiled then, turning her back to disappear into the kitchen. Tommy followed wordlessy and helped himself to the whiskey on the counter, like years hadn't gone by and this was just a regular evening they used to spend together. "Or perhaps it was Grace. I had a feeling she'd figured it out."

When Helen turned around, Tommy's eyes had darkened the slightest bit as Grace's name hung sharply in the air. He reached into his coat pocket for a cigarette, the bitter scent of smoke leaving a sour taste on Helen's tongue. It was childishly satisfying knowing she'd struck a nerve.

"It helps to have people on your payroll," Tommy grunted, his frowning vanishing, replaced by an infuriating smirk.

Doctor Abrams, then. Maybe even Polly or Grace, depending on what he had to offer them.

The devil worked hard but Tommy Shelby would always be one step ahead.

Helen sighed then. "I'm sure it does."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Tommy watched Helen cradle her stomach, his face blank, but his eyes revealed everything he wouldn't admit. They stood on opposite sides of the kitchen, Tommy leaning against the counter and Helen pressed up against the dining table. "And where is the father?" Such an innocent question. It hit Helen right where it hurt the most. Bastard. He knew what he was doing. "Peter, wasn't it?"

"Patrick," she corrected, unamused. "He's away on business."

"What a shame."

"I'll be sure to tell him how happy you are for us," she retorted. Sooner or later, everyone would know Patrick wasn't in the picture -- at least, not yet he wasn't. But Helen wanted one thing, just for a second, that was hers and hers alone. "What about Grace? I went to the Garrison early this morning and she was nowhere to be seen. Poor Harry could barely cope."

Through a breath of smoke, Tommy muttered, "Business."

This time, Helen laughed, her head thrown back and everything. She couldn't help it. "Oh, Thomas," she sighed, and a strange kind of smile touched her lips. Not quite sad, but nowhere close to happy. "How easy it has become for us to lie to each other."

Tommy and Nellie would be rolling in their own hand-dug graves.

"You want truth, Helen?" Tommy raised a dark brow. He took a single step forward, and the line blurred. "Tell me something honest."

Before she knew it, the distance between them was gone. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he leaned in closer, smelling like smoke and whiskey, heartache and death. A part of Helen would always yearn to kiss him, to drown in that scent -- the familiarity, the safety, even if the heat of the flames burnt her to bits. She smothered that part as he reached for her jaw, forcing her eyes to meet his.

"If you asked me to marry you again," she murmured, voice no louder than a whisper that had Tommy pausing to listen. His grip loosened, but Helen's skin was on fire even then. "I'd say yes."

In a jerky gesture, he released her jaw and stepped back. He would've looked wounded if he wasn't so numb.

"See, I don't believe you," he said, already turning towards the door. Helen wanted to chase after him. Instead, she curved a hand around her stomach again, feeling the soft swell beneath her dress. It rooted her in place, a slowly growing lifeline she was yet to fully appreciate. "And I don't think you believe yourself either."

But Tommy wasn't finished. He'd always have the last word. Perhaps once it was something of protection, knowing he would be the one to drive the knife in deep. Now, Helen wasn't so sure if he was attacking of defending, or maybe both.

"I suppose a goodbye is in order too."

Helen sneered. Like lightning, her sorrow had become fury. She lashed out at him with trembling fists. "Get out of my house." And when he made no move to listen, "Now!"

The door slammed.

The kitchen went cold, like Tommy had taken the last splintered fragments of her strength along with him. Maybe he was never there to begin with; rather, a figment of her own mind betraying her. Was this what she truly wanted?

Helen didn't sleep that night. Moonlight pooled through her window, casting shadows that danced across the walls, like two long lost lovers meeting when the world went quiet. Helen watched them, and waited, her stomach twisting and turning. Several times, she got up and leaned over the sink in the bathroom, wondering if the nausea would pass. But no sickness came, and the ache remained until the sun rose and Helen stepped out into Watery Lane with a heavy black coat wrapped around her shoulders. In her hands were two large suitcases that seemed to root her in place as she turned to look at Number 6. There was no sign of life, but perhaps it was for the best.

The train was waiting for her at the station, having just pulled in when she purchased her ticket. When Helen closed her eyes, she pictured Tommy standing in one of the doorways, his hair cut short, his eyes vacant and bruised. When she looked again, it was time.

"Ticket, Miss?" A man -- more like boy -- stopped her at the first step.

With a brief flash of ink stamped on paper, he nodded and stepped aside. Helen climbed the steps and disappeared into the first empty carriage, the door sliding shut behind her. Not a minute later, the train shuddered to life, the carriage rocking back and forth as it moved along the tracks.

London loomed ahead, taunting as it was terrifying, but Helen was content with the decision she'd made. Behind her, the demons of Small Heath would always call and mock, but she believed in her heart she'd picked the lesser of two evils.

The smoke and fog couldn't reach her anymore.

Nel cradled her stomach and smiled.

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A/N: And that's the end of act one! A few things before we move on! First, this chapter is based on the song Smother by Daughter. I suggest listening to it; it gives me major Peaky Blinders and Tommy & Nel vibes. Second; anything medical mentioned in the beginning of this chapter is based on the limited information I could find on what pregnancy was like in the 1910s/1920s. While some is definitely inaccurate, I've done my best here.

Third; I've hinted that Helen would be leaving for London sooner or later, and thought this would be a good time to finish this chapter of her life. She is always going to love Tommy in some way, but this is her letting go of him (for now) and thinking of herself for a change. What do you guys think? As always, thank you for reading! Nel will return very soon, but in the mean time, you can check out my new Alfie Solomons fic called Misery Business, starring my newest baby, Ailsa Shelby <3