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If she hadn't been so tired, she would have been ashamed.
She had every reason to be, after all she had failed, failed in the single greatest task bestowed upon her. The only task, really.
In the eyes of God and men.
Being a wife was the pivotal role in her life, after all, she was not a mother.
Nor likely to become one anytime soon.
Because she had failed.
(Y/N) must have done- no, she knew she had failed.
Something somewhere had gone terribly, horribly wrong and every attempt, she started to try to somehow fix it, had come and gone without even the slightest hint of an effect. Or it had made things worse.
When she noticed that Tommy didn't eat much, she had tried first cooking his favourites and then new recipes, even if they were always those with the most expensive ingredients. She had been content with eating something else to balance the cost, if only he'd eat. But still, he either came late and said he didn't want to eat anymore, or he was on time and claimed a lack of hunger. The sandwiches and tea she brought to his office when he missed the meals once more often only resided in his office until she cleared them the next morning or were eaten by the others.
When she noticed Tommy had trouble sleeping, she offered him tea which he never drank, and put lavender under the pillows, which he chucked out, while brushing off any attempt at a soothing touch after his nightmares.
When she noticed Tommy no longer sought out her company the way he used to, she tried. She tried coming to him. She wore the things he used to like seeing on her and did the things that used to work, only to be rebuffed before she got far. She then tried putting in more effort, bought makeup to hide the changes the last four years had made on her, even bought lipstick because that was what the other women said did the trick, only to be met by irritating gazes that made her cheeks burn with shame.
When the sunsets came and went without any trace of him, she waited up, even if her eyes threatened to fall close- only to be met with a gruff remark that it wasn't necessary.
She had spent four years missing him, praying for him, fearing for him and his brothers, and yet she had never felt his absence more prominently than in his presence.
They had, of course, tried to reassure her- the women from work, Polly, John, even Arthur and Ada- had told her to give him time, that she was a good woman and that one day everything would be fine.
Once upon a time she had even believed that.
But every plate of food or cup of tea that had stayed untouched, every attempt at affection which had been shut down, every question he had refused to answer, every gentle touch he had shrugged off, every night she had waited up only to be met by stoic silence- bit by bit they had worn her down.
And somewhere along the way (Y/N) Shelby had become too tired to care.
Ironically that was what Tommy noticed, after all these weeks and months of trying to get his affection, his attention, his anything.
Not that it was enough to prompt much more than lingering looks when she no longer got up in the mornings with him, or didn't bother asking if he too wanted some tea, or when, in the rare instances where they went to bed together, she did so without making conversation, or trying to help him, or hold him, or kiss him goodnight.
Then, when she just silently went about her business, picking up his clothes as well as her own without a word, only to lie down on her side facing the wall- then, she could feel his eyes.
The truth was, that (Y/N) no longer knew where she was headed. It would be foolish to still believe there was a 'they'. But she had been so drained by four years of war, and three months of trying, she didn't even have the energy left to think about the future. If there even was one.
She just went about her day, day by day, hour by hour, going to work, doing her chores, keeping Finn entertained, and going back to sleep in an icy cold bed despite the warmth of the person, who was lying right next to her, and yet worlds away.
The doors of the church squeaked slightly as they were pushed open. By the time it had slammed shut again, without any attempt to stop the force of the impact, she already knew who had entered the otherwise deserted church at this late hour.
She knew the rhythm of his steps the way she knew that of his heartbeat, the way she knew the lines of his palm and the freckles on his cheeks. Well enough to tell them apart from thousands.
But (Y/N) did not turn.
The realization made her heart clench.
She must've forgotten something, some family event, some big night at the betting shop. A cold spread through her, as if a thin layer of ice sought to cover her skin from the inside. It hurt, but it would make the few barked words thrown in her direction more bearable and the sharpness of his tongue less biting.
In the end, she knew she won't get more than a sentence or two- an order, a demand.
But she could only feel his eyes, and hear the distant sound of his breathing as he watched her. Then, to her surprise and confusion, he sat down in the pew right next to her, leaning forward and staring at the gilded altar room.
The old wood creaked as if knowing that the person it now supported saw no value in this building and what it represented.
"Polly says you used to come here every day to pray for us to come back.", Tommy told the figures at the altar.
By now she was used to being stared at without being talked to and being talked to without her presence being acknowledged.
"I did.", She admitted, seeing no point in denying, even if she hadn't come to pray today. Or yesterday. Or the day before that.
"We are back."
To that, she had nothing to say, which only made him sigh. Then, he reached up and ran a hand through his hair.
"Look,", he began, taking a deep breath and still refusing to look at her. "I know things aren't good between us, not the way they are supposed to be and not the way they were. But I need you to know that it's not because of you."
(Y/N) almost smiled at his words, at his meek attempt to cushion his request. But she had already felt its force.
"It's alright.", She told him. "I have been expecting this."
How could she not?
But it was ironic that he did it here, in the church of all places where they had become man and wife all of five years ago. Half a decade since the day she had felt so close to the pinnacle of happiness, after which had only come a lifetime of misery.
They had stood right there, in the golden glimmer of the candles and the morning sun, and had said their vows.
Until death do us part.
Death had parted them- a thousand times over. All the loud and screaming death he had seen in France, all the quiet and suffocating death that occured here. Somehow they both had died along the way, at least a little bit.
"I'd prefer it if you wouldn't use infidelity.", She asked. "We could use impotence on my part. They might try to make us wait a year with the war in between, but I don't think they won't believe you, especially if I don't try to argue against it."
As much as that reason hurt- and it did hurt- there was still some truth in it. While she had never, even once, wavered in the loyalty to the man sitting right next to her. He could acknowledge that at least, that even if she had failed to become a mother, had failed to be a good enough wife, she had been a loyal one.
"What are you talking about?", Tommy demanded to know.
"Divorce."
She had expected that saying it would hurt, like ripping out her heart with her own bare hands and tearing it to shreds herself, and maybe it would have done once. Now, she felt nothing.
"What?", He snapped. "Why would you think I want a divorce, eh?"
In his anger, or his surprise, he had finally turned to look at her and (Y/N) met his eyes. She was impressed by how unaffected her voice sounded when she spoke.
"Because you don't want me to be your wife anymore, Tommy."
His lips parted slightly as his eyes, his bright summer sky blue eyes burned into her.
Then, he dropped his head and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. A few strands of hair fell into his face but he made no attempt to push them away again. He just sat there, his head low, and his hand shielding his face from her eyes.
Tommy made no sound, but she could sense the turmoil inside him, feel the screaming of emotions, even if she had no idea what they were, as not a muscle betrayed him.
His other hand was braced against the back of the row ahead of them, his knuckles turning white from the pressure he applied to it.
Then, after half an eternity, he took a sharp breath.
"I don't want a fucking divorce, (Y/N).", He hissed through clenched teeth. "I don't, alright?"
Now that did come as a surprise to her.
He ran his hand through his hair, making even more strands of his hair come loose.
Shaking his head, he looked away, somewhere to the empty rows behind her. His eyes shone and his jaw muscles worked.
"I still want you…I still need you to be my wife."
Those are two very different things, she thought. And it wasn't like she hadn't been useful, to him and the family. Undoubtedly Polly would have told him that.
Yes, divorcing her would be very inconvenient indeed.
"Look, I know. Alright? I know.", He continued, his voice trembling. "I want to-"
He broke off and shook his head again, fighting for words.
"I need more time, (Y/N). To get used to…used to this again."
"This?", She asked.
He sighed and forced his eyes shut.
"When you do what we did…what we had to do for four fucking years-,", he began, his voice dangerously low, and quaking with something between sorrow and rage.
"It doesn't just stop because someone somewhere decides it's over. You can't just stop. It's not- it's not that simple."
Shaking his head, he looked away again, and she could see his hand muscles coiling and uncoiling into a fist.
"I want this, you know,", he mumbled, staring at the hand which was still marked by the ring she had put there. "I want…I want us."
His voice broke on the last word and so he took a deep breath to steady it.
"I just need more time."
And I have nothing left to give.
It almost made her sad, and that was the most heartbreaking thing of all.
Almost.
A small, lingering part of her wanted nothing more than to reach out and dry his tears, to wrap him in an embrace and sooth his words away with gentle touches and softer words, but she had tried that, had tried time and time again, only to be pushed away in more ways than one.
Tommy noticed too, and he nodded solemnly. Running a hand over his face, he gathered himself once more and then stood up.
"C'mon. It's late.", He said.
Slowly, with the aching joints of an old woman, (Y/N) stood and followed him out of the pew. But he just stood there, his back turned to her and the altar, without any attempt of moving.
Then, slowly he turned, his hand outstretched.
"Would you dance with me?"
"What?", (Y/N) asked, not sure if she had heard him properly. She can't have. Not truly. Why would he ask her that now?
But he repeated his request.
"Dance with me."
"Why would I do that?", She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest.
His own arm was still outstretched in the no man's land between them, attempting to bridge a valley of darkness.
"So I know that it's not too late. That there's still a chance."
(Y/N) swallowed hard.
What a coward you are, Thomas Shelby, she thought bitterly.
After all this, after everything he still put it on her, and for what? To ease his conscience? To tell himself he had tried everything?
It was almost laughable, but she no longer remembered what it was like to laugh.
She should have told him no, but somehow the words didn't pass her lips.
Somehow ending something outright seemed infinitely harder than to let something wither and die in the absence of care.
"It wouldn't be appropriate. This is a church, Tommy.", She reminded him.
"I don't care."
"We can't dance in a House of God. It's not proper.", She argued.
Still his hand was outstretched.
"Do you remember what I said to you when we got married?"
"You said a lot of things.", She said.
He nodded slowly, seemingly lost in the memory of times past.
"And I said I don't believe in God. But I told you that I made those vows to you. I meant it then and I still do now."
There was a determination in his voice now, a certainty she hadn't heard all day.
"For better, for worse, eh?"
She scoffed as she glanced up to meet his eyes.
"And this- is this better or worse?"
"Better than France.", He admitted. "Worse than before. But a lot worse than we will be."
He seemed so sure of it, as if saying it out loud made it true.
"Please.", Tommy whispered, nodding towards his hand.
What good will it do?
But then again, he was talking, listening, acknowledging her for the first time in weeks - maybe even months.
Perhaps this was her chance, perhaps it was her last chance to experience a glimmer of what they had once been.
One final chance.
One final dance.
As soon as she slipped her hand into his, he closed his fingers around it and drew her closer. His hand found the back of her shoulder while she leaned into his arms.
They stood so close now that she could feel his breaths in her forehead.
For a while they just stood like that- closer than they had been in years, both equally familiar and foreign with the sensation. And both frightened.
Slowly, he began to move, with soft, small steps in the narrow space of the aisle. Each soft step echoed in the empty church, bouncing off of the tall ceilings.
"I have plans, you know.", He whispered. "For the business. For us. Had four years to think about them."
When she didn't respond, he took it as the incentive to continue.
"I'll make us legal. Then, with the new money, after a year or so, I'll buy us a house. A big one, with lots of rooms and running water. And a fireplace, a proper fireplace in every room."
She allowed her eyes to flutter close, as his heartbeat became the rhythm she could move to.
"There'll be a garden, with fruit trees. And when we have children, we can hang swings from the branches for them. One for each child."
"If.", She said softly.
"Hm?"
"If we have children."
It wasn't for lack of trying in the time before the war, and by logic, she should have gotten pregnant then, ten times over. Martha had gotten pregnant after barely a month. But nearly a year hadn't been enough for them. And the years since wouldn't have done anything to help with their changes.
"We will.", Tommy said, his thumb brushing over her fingers which he held in his hand. "One day, we will."
He seemed so sure, but that wasn't a luxury (Y/N) allowed herself.
She had spent years hoping and had gotten nothing for her efforts but pain. She wasn't foolish enough to start again, to believe him and his big plans, to let his own certainty become her own.
No, she wasn't foolish enough to hope, but perhaps she was foolish enough to doubt- to doubt the knowledge that had built up over the last weeks, that whatever they once had, and might have had, was completely and utterly lost.
Maybe, just maybe, she could allow herself a little doubt. At least for the moment.
End.