AN: This isn't my first time writing but I've become a bit disillusioned with my other works on my other account. It's come with a lot of pressure and baggage I wasn't expecting so was planning on taking a break before I fell in love with Peaky Blinders. Especially as a working class northerner, it's special. I love the women characters in the show and could see my own forming as I binged, so here we are. I won't be writing with apostrophes and shortened words to show their accent because that's my accent too, and the way I speak/write/read naturally.

Also, this isn't a cutsie story. This first chapter might seem so but it picks up from S1 in the next chapter and we're into the heavy stuff. I want Tessa to be a Peaky Blinder, not just the daughter/niece of one, but not for her to be one dimensional bad girl either.I hope I've managed to create a complex, realistic character in not only her, but the rest of the canon cast. I'm aiming for this to be a story of all of them, not just Tessa.

This story also won't just stick to canon. I've added in my own little storylines and changes to keep you guys on your toes. Warnings for language/violence throughout. I thought I could keep to T but some chapters may be M, which I'll put in an AN.

I've probably forgotten to include something but for now, here you go.

It was Arthur who started it.

Those were words often on Tommy Shelby's lips as he grew up. Arthur suffered from a serious case of second-sibling-syndrome. Going from an only child to having a little brother was a curse more than it was a blessing, to begin with. The pecking order had to be established, the boys knew. Pol and their mother didn't share this idea, however, and so they were often on the receiving end of a clipped ear.

It was Arthur who started it.

It was Tommy.

Arthur.

TOMMY!

It doesn't make any difference, I'm finishing it.

And both would walk away rubbing the backs of their heads.

But this time, Tommy was adamant that the whole fuck up was entirely Arthur's fault.

1904, Small Heath, Birmingham.

She was pretty, he admitted, but nothing that took his breath away. If that was even what happened. In his seventeen years, he had taken a couple of women, but none so far that could make him return the next night. Or even stay till they woke up, in fact.

He doubted that would ever happen, if he was honest. The name Thomas Shelby was well-established already. Women were either afraid of him or enamoured with the idea of him. He doubted any of them could truly fit into his life, but they could fit into his bed for a night if they wished. It couldn't be said that he wasn't a gentlemen.

"Go on!"

"Shut up, Arthur," Tommy muttered, taking another swig of his whiskey. "You'll wake John up at home banging on like that."

Arthur sniggered and whacked his back. A drunk Arthur could go one of two ways: solemn and depressed, or rowdy and obnoxiously happy. Tonight was clearly the latter.

"What's wrong with her, eh? Thought you liked brunettes."

"She's fine."

"Then what's wrong?"

"Just not in the mood tonight."

He'd had to cut up a couple of his old schoolmate's fathers earlier in the day. He didn't regret it, but it didn't exactly sit lightly in his stomach.

Arthur grabbed his shoulder and shook it, leaning into him.

"Then get in the mood, Tommy!" he grinned, and leant back. "I mean look at her! She's easy pickings!"

"Let it go."

Tommy held up his hand and his glass was filled again. He took a big gulp as Arthur tsk-ed beside him.

"Did something go wrong with Beth last month? Hmm? Oh, she didn't finish? Wasn't she… satisfied?"

"Arthur - " he couldn't help himself laughing lightly. Beth certainly had been satisfied.

"Losing your touch, little brother?" his brother continued to goad. "Not so much the ladies' man anymore? You've peaked too early, that's it."

"Fine," Tommy smiled grudgingly. "Fine. Let me finish my drink."

"Ey!" Arthur hit his back again. "Thatta boy!"

Tommy shook his head and downed his drink.

"Alright, alright."

A group of men behind them who had been listening, gave a small cheer as Tommy got to his feet, straightened out his shirt, and walked over to the girl's table.

"Excuse me," he said.

The girl looked at him, and he saw her eyes widen at the sight of him.

Then the corners of her mouth perked up, and he knew he had her.

When Tommy crept back into the house later that night, Arthur was sat in front of the fire. He saluted his brother, giggled drunkenly to himself, and took a drink. Tommy ignored him, a soft smile on his face as he made his way up to bed.

The next morning, both men had forgotten about the girl. The Girl, as she would later be called. They never caught her name.

6 months after Thomas Shelby's 18th birthday.

Tommy was the only one awake in the house. John and Ada had gone to bed hours ago, Arthur was with a girl, their father still hadn't returned from his weekend-long bar crawl, and Aunt Pol had taken their mother out to another doctor. Doctors visits happened more under the cover of darkness, as the sunlight made Mrs Shelby's head pound twofold.

She was fading, Tommy could see. It made his chest constrict when he thought about it. But his mother had always been frail, even before having another two children after Tommy. She should never have had to keep bearing children when she could barely keep herself alive, but their father wasn't known for his kindness and understanding.

A gentle knock on the door broke him from his morbid musings. It was obviously one of the women with that softness. Perhaps they'd forgotten the key.

Tommy got up from the chair and walked to the door just as another knock sounded.

"Alright, I'm here. I'm here," he mumbled, turning the key and opening the door.

Dark brown eyes stared back at him. It took him a second to place the girl stood on his doorstep. It was the curly hair that made it click. He remembered running his hand through it while pressing his lips to hers.

"You," he said.

"Me," she said.

If his memory didn't fail him, she sounded harsher. Not exactly confident, but she certainly wasn't as meek as she had been when she had gingerly unbuttoned his shirt all those months ago.

Not knowing exactly what to do, Tommy stepped back and let her in. She breezed past him and walked into the living room. He raised his eyebrows at her familiarity and followed her.

"Tea?" he asked, deciding to be polite.

"Please."

He turned to the fire, where he had been warming up a brass teapot ready for his mother. The girl was headstrong to walk into the Shelby household with such certainty. Since their meeting, his family's reputation had only snowballed. His name was growing.

What's her damn name?

Once he teemed the tea hot enough, he turned around to pour into the two cups he had set out.

"Strong or…" he looked up, and nearly dropped the pot.

Gently, he placed it on the ground and straightened up to look at the girl.

Who now held a butcher's knife to her throat.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, holding his hands out as a peace gesture. "Put it down."

"What did your brother say when you came back?" she asked, very matter-of-factly for someone with a blade at their windpipe. "Do you remember?"

"What?"

"The night you fucked me. That was your brother with you, wasn't it? Arthur? Yeah, what did he say to you when you snuck off after I'd fallen asleep?"

"Listen, I - "

"No," she snapped. "You're listening. And you're answering. What did he say?"

"I… don't remember."

She snorted lightly, "You don't remember… Okay. Okay. Do you remember what they called me?"

"No."

"I do," she said. "It was six o'clock the next evening. I was stood outside The Garrison. It was Phil Narcross. He walked past me with a gang of men, pointed at me and said 'she's Tommy Shelby's whore'."

Tommy dipped his chin.

"I'm sorry," he said. He really didn't want to have to clean this girl's blood off the carpet before his mother could see it.

"I'm not finished," she spat, adjusting her grip on the knife. It pressed further into her skin as emotion tinted her voice. "He went in, and soon the entire pub knew. My friends turned away from me. And all the men turned towards me. Soon it wasn't 'she's Shelby's whore' they shouted, it was 'how much?'."

A bead of blood dribbled down the pale skin of her neck.

"Put the knife down," Tommy said in his most authoritative voice.

"By order of the Peaky Blinders!?" the woman laughed, tears welling in her eyes. "By order of the Peaky fucking Blinders… I bet you never get called whores."

She had balls, that was for sure.

"My father doesn't like whores," she whispered, and the first tear fell. "You took everything from me, Tommy Shelby. Was that night worth it?"

"Hey, hey," he said, inching forwards as more beads dripped down her neck. "Think about what you're doing, eh? Killing yourself isn't the answer to your problems and even if it was, there are much nicer ways to go than by a knife."

The girl huffed a short, humourless laugh.

"Nothing about my life is nice, Tommy. You made fucking sure of that."

He made as if to say her name, then realised again that he didn't know it. Why had he never asked?

"You don't get to know my name," she said, seeing his predicament.

"Alright then. I don't need your name, all I need is for you to get out of my house. If you want to kill yourself, do it where I don't have to clean it up!"

He hoped raising his voice would make her remember her place, who he was, and what exactly she was trying to achieve by being there, but she just stood there, very calmly, as blood trickled onto the collar of her dress.

With deliberate slowness, she walked towards him, stopping just a pace away. Her eyes bore into his with intensity Tommy had never known before, even in his line of business. How could he have ever thought she wasn't anything special the first time he saw her? She was fearless.

She licked her lips, and he heard the light tap of her teeth coming back together. Lips he had tasted. Teeth that had nibbled at his neck.

"You were my first, you know. First and last. You've taken so much from me, Shelby," she almost whispered. Then a smile ghosted back onto her face. "And because I'm so kind, I'm giving you something back."

And she cut.

It happened too quickly for him to stop it.

Blood immediately pooled around her as she fell. Tommy fell with her, holding her neck in a vice-like grip to keep the cut blocked, but it was too deep.

"No," he muttered, pressing harder as blood gushed through his fingers. "No, come on!"

And all the while, she stared. She died staring right into his eyes. A smirk of satisfaction. Then nothing.

Tommy stayed crouched over her, breathing heavily. He blinked, focusing on her eyes and trying to find a source, a spark, anything. Deep brown stared back, but nothing more than that.

"What the fuck is going on here?!" a voice yelled.

Tommy closed his eyes.

"Pol, where's Mum?" he asked.

"Arthur's taken her upstairs. He saw before I did," his aunt said, inching into the room. "Thomas, what the fuck have you done?"

He looked up at her, acutely aware of the blood spatter on his face. She stared back at him with unguarded anger.

"You think I did this?" he whispered. "You think I -"

"Then who did? And who the fuck is she?" the woman demanded.

"She did. I couldn't stop her."

"She looks like she's been garrotted," Pol said, picking up her skirts to avoid the blood and coming closer. "She's only a young'un."

"She's the same age as me."

"That right?" Polly said, raising an eyebrow at her nephew. "And who exactly are you to her to know that?"

"Oh fuck," Arthur said, coming into the room. He grimaced at the body on the floor. "Oh bloody hell, Tommy."

"Shut up, Arthur, that isn't helping," Tommy retorted, pulling himself to his feet. His hands were caked in drying blood.

"I'm not going to ask again," Polly said, her voice a deep, deathly calm. "Who. The fuck. Is she?"

Tommy and Arthur exchanged a look.

"She's his whore," Arthur supplied quickly. Ripping the bandage off, it seemed.

"She's not my whore!" Tommy yelled. "Once! It was once, and she never asked for money."

"What's her name?"

"I don't know, I never asked."

"Oh Jesus Christ, Tommy," Pol said, putting a hand to her mouth. "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing," Tommy spat. "I did nothing. I haven't even seen her since. It's been nearly a year, then she turns up on my doorstep and slits her throat on me."

"Here," Arthur piped up.

Tommy and Pol turned to him. He nodded at the girl's left hand as he stooped and plucked something from between her fingers. He stood, and Tommy ripped the piece of paper from him.

7 Theresa Street

Polly and Arthur read it over his shoulder.

"Her address?" Arthur asked.

"If it is, she's moved since last year."

"Well what are you two waiting for?" Polly said.

"What?"

"This is obviously for you. Didn't she say anything before she cut herself?"

"She said…" Tommy frowned. "She said she was giving me something back."

"Go on then, both of you."

"Why me?" Arthur said. "She's nothing to with me."

"Yes but she has something to do with your brother, and we look out for each other in this family," she said in that classic raging Polly way. "Now get out of here, and send someone to come clear her up on your way."

Clear her up.

Tommy kept repeating to words like a mantra. Clear. The grenade had been thrown. Clear.

"Tommy, this is it," his brother said quietly. He'd been silent the whole walk there.

They came to a stop outside the door.

"I'll go first," Arthur offered.

"No."

Tommy edged around him and pushed the door open. It was completely dark inside. The house was split into three flats, number seven being the ground floor. Very gently, he pushed open the second door into what he presumed to be the living room. Instead, it was an everything room. A mouldy couch, a rusted stove, and a shoddy heater sat around the edge of the room. And in the middle, untouched by the grime around it, was one of his caps.

Frowning, he bent to pick it up, and felt the cold blade he'd sewn into the seam.

Behind him, Arthur sighed.

"All this for a fucking hat?" he said, his voice booming around the empty flat.

Tommy sighed too. It seemed so.

They were just turning to leave when they heard it. Quiet at first, then silent. Then a second later, the tiniest of whimpers.

The brothers looked at each other.

"No," Tommy breathed.

He couldn't move. Everything inside him felt fixed together, like a jammed machine.

"Tommy," Arthur said. "Is that…?"

It was coming from the only room branching off from the one they were in.

"I…" Tommy said, but couldn't get anything else out.

"Alright," Arthur said, holding his arm out to his brother to pacify him. "It could just be a pipe or…"

"Arthur."

Tommy watched as his older brother crept towards the door, and painstakingly slowly, opened it. He let go and let it open the full way. His face fell.

"Oh, fuck."

Arthur carried it home. When Polly opened the door, she closed her eyes for half a minute and just stood there, before letting them in. Tommy followed ten seconds later, his eyes fixed somewhere in the middle distance. He only snapped back to reality when he felt Polly's hand on the side of his face.

"Stupid boy," she whispered, and ushered him in.

The body was gone. Only wet flooring remained.

It was asleep in Arthur's arms when Polly took it from him. He thought it might have woken up, but instead it just closed its eyes again and was silent.

Polly clutched it close to her chest and the sight made him turn away. He wanted to vomit. No, he wanted to hit something. He wanted to wake up from this nightmare that had gone on long enough.

"Poor thing's freezing," Polly said to herself. She looked up at the boys. "Don't you two go anywhere. I'll be back."

Their aunt and it disappeared through the door to the stairs, and there was silence.

"Tommy," Arthur said when it had gone on too long. "Are you sure it's yours? She had a reputation - "

"She said I was her first and last," Tommy said, his voice breaking on the first syllable. He didn't care. "She said she was going to give me something of mine."

"She could have been lying."

"What reason does a dead girl have to lie?"

They both fell quiet again as Polly returned. It was now swaddled in one of Ada's old blankets.

"She's a girl," Polly said.

Tommy turned away.

"She's yours?"

He didn't answer.

"Yes, she's his," Arthur replied for him.

Polly nodded and took a deep breath.

"She'll need a name, Thomas."

"No it won't," he said, turning back to her but keeping his gaze firmly on the floor. "Because it'll not be staying here."

"She's your child!"

"That," he said, pointing it. "Is not my child. That was her child. And now it's an orphan. Take it to an orphanage where it belongs."

Saying his piece, Tommy moved Polly out of the way of the door, and disappeared up the stairs.

Polly turned to Arthur, her mouth agape.

"What just happened?"

Arthur sighed, "He's eighteen."

"So was she. In fact, she was younger when she was pregnant with this one. It's always the bloody women who have to deal with your messes, isn't it?"

"Oh yeah, she dealt with it well," Arthur said, motioning to the spot where her body had lain.

"Oi," Polly snapped. "That girl was this baby's mother. I won't have you disrespecting her memory in front of her."

"It's a baby."

Polly's glare was enough to make him give up.

"I don't care what he says," Polly said resolutely. "The girl's a Shelby. And she stays."

They were calling it Theresa, after the place they found it. Tommy thought it was much too regal to name a tiny baby, but kept his mouth shut. He didn't want to be seen as having anything to do with it. It took a couple of weeks but soon the others cottoned on and shortened it to Tess. It suited slightly better, but Tommy didn't linger too much on the thought of it.

"She's only little for her age," Pol was saying to Mrs Shelby, who was holding her granddaughter. "The doctor said she's a couple of months old. Malnourished. Hasn't had the best start."

"Well, she'll get one here."

His mother looked right at him, with intensity that a woman as frail as her shouldn't have been able to muster, but there it was. He glanced away.

"Are you gonna hold her, Thomas?" she asked expectantly.

"No."

"Thomas," Pol snapped.

"No."

He was only sat down with them because his mother was having a good day. Ada and John ceased their playing at his tone.

"Ey, if he doesn't want to hold her, that's the end of it," Arthur said, but Tommy could see that his brother disapproved. "Give her here."

Arthur took Tess from their mother and sat back in his chair. Tommy found himself watching as his brother grinned down at her. She held up a little fist and grabbed Arthur's thumb, making a cooing noise that could have been a laugh.

Pol and Mrs Shelby smiled, but Tommy didn't. For someone who didn't care, the sight sure made his chest pang with… jealousy? No. Anger. She shouldn't be in their family. Each second he spent around her, the more he was reminded of his fuck up.

She was crawling now. The doctor put her at 8 months, roughly. Much to Tommy's chagrin, the older she got, the more of a hit she was in the family. John and Ada doted on her, treating her like their most exciting toy. Ada dressed her up constantly, while John liked to lift her just above the floor and make her 'tap dance'. It seemed like whenever he was with his family, Tess was in the middle of the floor, someone playing with her. She was still a very quiet baby - which he was grateful for - but she had a loud laugh that was unfortunately infectious. He had found himself smiling slightly on more than one occasion, before he remembered and placed his stoic mask back on.

The business only kept growing, and growth was a certainty in their future. He couldn't be sidetracked.

The whole family were in the living room, as it was one of Mrs Shelby's good days. Bar their father of course, who was out drinking or cutting someone up.

As usual, John and Ada were playing with Tess. She had grown up significantly since the last time Tommy had really looked at her. She had short but very curly brown hair like her mother, and those dark brown eyes. They were uncomfortable to look at. Sometimes it was like he was staring into the child's mother's dead orbs. The way they fixed on him as she bled out.

On her visits, Pol had said on more than one occasion that she could see Tommy's nose and mouth on her, but he didn't.

John bumped against Tommy's leg as he pulled Tess up to her feet a little less than gently.

"Come on, Tess. You need to start walking so we can go outside," he said, tugging her across the carpet.

"John," Tommy snapped before Pol or his mother could. "Be careful with her."

His brother looked back at him in shock, a look Tommy knew was reiterated by the others in the room. He didn't know where it came from. He certainly hadn't done it consciously.

"Yeah, sorry," John said, and gently let Tess down to sit. "Sorry, Tess."

She smiled back at her uncle. She was smiley around everyone. Everyone but Tommy, that was. He was a stranger to her. The way he wanted it.

Tommy threw back another drink and closed his eyes. The argument he'd had with his mother swam in his head, something that didn't happen very often. It was about her favourite topic of conversation - Tess. The child was walking now and his mother had decided it was time Tommy stepped up. He didn't share her sentiment.

The Garrison was his escape. Even when Tess got older, he would always have this place to himself. The only girls who came in here were whores, and she would never be that. He couldn't care less what she became, but he didn't believe the rest of his family would allow her to go to off-the-rails. She would probably spend her life sewing dresses until she found a man, got married, and moved out of his life for good.

"Business trouble?" Harry asked, topping up his glass.

"Worse," Tommy said, sighing. "Family."

Harry grimaced, "I'll get you a double then."

Two hours later, Tommy made his way back home. He felt he was inebriated enough to deal with whatever his mother wanted to dish out to him. But as he walked in, it wasn't his mother, but Polly sat in a chair, on one of her visits. They were becoming rarer now but she looked well and healthy, so that was no concern of his.

She had her back to him and as he walked in, she hung her head. Tommy frowned. He made his way to her and stood so that she was facing him.

"Pol?"

She avoided his eye, and he saw tears clinging to her lashes.

"Pol, what's happened?"

It was his father, he was sure. He had finally been beaten. He'd choked on his vomit in an alley. Someone had thrown him in the Cut.

Or his mother. She was so weak. And the last thing they had done was fight…

"I'm so sorry, Tommy," she whispered, her voice crackling.

He crouched in front of her.

"Pol. What's happened?"

"It's Tess."

He never thought those words could stir any emotion in him other than anger and bitterness, but there it was. Dread.

"Pol."

His voice was strange.

She looked up at him pitifully.

"She was looking at the drawing of the horse and I thought I'd give your mother a break… so I took Tess to the stable. She loved them, you should have seen her face," she took a stilted breath. "I thought it would be okay if I held her. It was only the little brown one."

"Polly," Tommy whispered. "Pol, what happened?"

Pol's face crumpled as she bent over, clutching her chest. Tommy tried to hold her up by her shoulders, but he was shaking too much.

"It bolted," Polly sobbed. "I'm so sorry, Tommy. I'm so sorry."

He felt as if someone was draining the blood from his body. He felt empty yet full of fire - agony. How could that little person evoke such emotion? From someone who didn't care?

"Where is she?" he demanded raggedly. "Polly!"

"In her room," she said. "Thomas, don't go in there!"

But he was already running. He could hear her footsteps behind him as he charged up the stairs.

"Tommy, don't! You don't want to see. You don't want to see her like that!"

Somehow she managed to get around him and stood blocking the door. Her face a mess of streaky makeup and tears.

"Please, don't let this be the last image you have of her."

The burning inside him only intensified as he pushed his aunt aside and barrelled into the room. He staggered to her cot, and stopped.

The girl was laid on her back, her curly hair spread around her face and her shirt curled in one fist. Her eyes were closed as she slept peacefully. Not a mark marred her smooth, pale skin.

"You care for that girl," Pol said from the doorway, all pretence of sadness gone. "You can't tell me otherwise."

Tommy closed his eyes, trying to get his breath back.

"You sadistic - " he snarled, but she cut him off.

"Spend some time with your daughter. You're a man now, and you're her dad. Act like it," Polly said, and closed the door.

Exhausted, Tommy let himself fall to his knees beside the cot. He rested his forehead against the wooden bars and opened his eyes again. Tess kept sleeping. She was dreaming, maybe. Or uncomfortable. Her face was twisted into a frown, the lines on her forehead illuminated by the moonlight coming through the window.

He had thought she was dead. That feeling, he would never forget. He couldn't stand to touch her, but knowing she was safe with his family allowed him not to care. Knowing she was okay, that was all he needed to be able to distance himself. The thought of not coming home to find Ada trying to braid her unruly hair or Arthur making shadow puppets for the three of them, was agonising.

As if approaching a rabid dog, Tommy cautiously slipped his hand between the bars and brushed the back of his knuckle against her cheek. Now he looked, he could see what Polly was saying. She had his nose.

"Hey, Tess," he said, barely above a whisper.

He wanted to say more - knew he should say more - but he couldn't think of anything else. What was there to say?

She sighed and he froze, wondering if she was going to wake up. Instead, she seemed to skip to her next dream. It must have been a nicer one. The frown evened out and there was even a hint of a smile on her lips. Lips that looked like his.

Tommy didn't know when he started smiling, or even when his eyes began to water. He rubbed away the tears and touched her cheek again.

"Sweet dreams, Tess."

For her second birthday, Tess was given a ball. She was given other presents, but it was the ball she fixated on. She was prone to taking it to different people and get them to throw it to her. She rarely caught it but enjoyed running after it the times she didn't. When she did, her face split into an enormous grin and whoever threw it would usually give an exaggerated celebration.

Three months later, Tommy and Arthur were out on business, Pol hadn't visited for a good few months, and Mrs Shelby was in bed. That left eleven year-old John and ten year-old Ada in charge of Tess. They sat in the shop, bouncing the ball for her. It had been fun for them at first but they had soon grown bored. They started throwing it further than they knew Tess could ever reach so she would take longer to run back. In that time, they were playing a strange board game Tommy had bought for them.

They were so wrapped up in trying to decipher the complex instructions that they didn't realise when Tess stopped bringing the ball back. It was half an hour later when John flipped the board in frustration, that they saw the distinct lack of toddler in the shop. The ball sat forgotten in the middle of the room. John looked to the open back doors and blanched.

"Hey!" he yelled, hurrying to one of his brother's men. "Did you see anyone go through those doors?"

The man's eyes rolled to the direction of the door but didn't quite focus on them. He was very obviously drunk.

"Uh, yeah. Think so."

"Who?"

"Tommy, I think. Yeah."

John and Ada relaxed and turned back to the game.

"Tommy must have taken her out," John said.

"Bit weird. Has he ever done that?" Ada asked.

John shrugged, "Wanna play cards?"

John beat Ada by a mile, but only because he was cheating and Ada refused to count those in her mind. They had grown bored of cards now and their grounding - for trying to follow Tommy to The Garrison in the middle of the night - meant they had to occupy themselves around the house. Struggling for something to do, they went to the kitchen to help their mother make dinner. She hadn't long been awake and was still weak on her feet.

"Where's Tess?" the woman asked as she slipped her two youngest a piece of chicken.

"Tommy took her out."

She smiled, "Thank God for that. Now if you wanna make yourself useful, come up here and help peel these potatoes."

Ada and John loved helping their mother cook because she always gave them tidbits as they worked. Their mother loved it because she knew it wouldn't be long before they would be out in the world and wouldn't want to help their sick mother make food. She also knew, somewhere deep inside her, that she might not even live to see that day.

With her helpers, she managed to get dinner ready for the boys returning. Arthur slumped straight in his chair and poured himself a whiskey, while Tommy lit up a cigarette and sat beside him. Both had reddened knuckles but their faces were unblemished. They had won this one.

"I hope you weren't fighting around Tess," his mother chided as she put down a plate in front of him.

"Tess? Why would I be fighting in front of Tess?" Tommy asked, frowning.

"Well, when you took her out. Have you put her upstairs?"

"We didn't take Tess out," Arthur said, his frown matching his brother's.

Their mother turned to Ada and John, who suddenly found their shoes very interesting. Tommy slowly rose from his chair.

"Where is she?"

"John? Ada?" their mother prompted.

"She…" Ada started.

"We were playing with her, then we got the game out and… she sort of… went…" John finished for his sister.

"Went. Where?" Tommy demanded in that cold, no nonsense tone of his.

John shifted under his scrutiny.

"We asked one of the guys in the shop if someone went out the back door and he said it was you."

Tommy put his hands over his face.

"It wasn't me."

He growled low in his throat.

"Right, John, get everyone in the shop out looking for her."

"I'll get the guys on the street," Arthur said, almost tripping over himself to get to his feet. "We'll find her, Tommy."

"Which door do you think she went through?" Tommy asked John, ignoring his oldest brother.

"The back ones."

"Fucking hell," he muttered, grabbing his coat off the back of the chair as he set off at a run.

He was torn between running as fast as he could, and slowing to look for her.

"Tess!" he yelled, then cursed himself. She wouldn't come to him if he shouted. While the incident with Polly had shaken him badly, he hadn't been able to try and build a relationship with her just yet.

Hadn't been able to? No. He hadn't been able to stop putting it off.

He settled for a jog, asking people as he went if they had seen her. As more and more said no, a dark thought crept into his mind. What if someone had taken her? He had pissed off half of Birmingham and while knowledge of his daughter wasn't widespread, it wouldn't take much to figure it out. She didn't look a great deal like him, but she looked more like him than Arthur or their father.

It was ten minutes of panic later that he struck luck.

"Oh yeah, I saw a little'un earlier. Heading down to the river."

"The river?" Tommy repeated, nodding. "The river, thank you!"

He threw it over his shoulder as he ran, skidding down the bank to the end of the dock.

"Alright, Tommy?" one of the men on the boats asked.

"Have you seen a little girl? She's two, seen coming down here," he said, trying to clamp down on his panic.

"Nah, I haven't seen one."

"Nah."

"Sorry, Tommy."

He ignored them and cast a look up and down the river. She couldn't swim. How could she? She was so young. He took off his hat and worried it in his hands.

"Where are you, Tess?" he murmured. "Where are you?"

In a fit of frustration, he threw down the cap onto the ground and leant onto his knees. He took as deep a breath as his anxiety would let him, and it was in that moment of silence that he heard it. Just like he had heard her crying that night two years ago, he heard the soft clink of stones beneath an overcrop by the river. Tommy wasted no time getting to it. He knelt and found Tess sat on the concrete, skimming stones off each other.

"Tess," he said, relief flooding him. "What are you doing out here?"

He might have been too harsh, too sharp with his tone, but Tess just stared back at him.

"M'okay, Tommy," she said, almost defiantly.

He sighed, still out of breath, and held out his hand.

"Come on, Tess."

She let him pull her up onto the path. He dashed down her dress and looked at her arms and knees for injuries. She was completely unharmed. Only his child would manage to walk so far without so much as getting a scratch.

"Tommy!" it was John. He came charging down the path to them. "Tess! You found her!"

"Go back to the house, John. Tell everyone she's alright," Tommy instructed.

Knowing he was still on thin ice, John nodded and ran.

He looked down at Tess, and Tess looked up at him.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" he asked.

She hesitated before shaking her head.

"You're tired?"

She nodded.

"I'm not surprised, walking this far," he said, and paused. "What if I carry you?"

She just stared. He could tell she was trying to work out his intentions. She didn't know what he was going to do to her, and the thought came very close to breaking his heart.

Without thinking, he stooped and picked her up, settling her in his arms the way he had with John and Ada. She seemed as shocked as him, but began to relax as they walked. A thin sheet of rain began to fall from the endless cloud above the city. Tess turned her head up to it and closed her eyes as the drops fell softly onto her eyelids.

Tommy watched her expression with fascination. She was so… human. She was a person, rather than a baby.

"Do you want to go see the horses?" he asked.

She turned her head back from the rain and nodded.

To Tess, they were enormous. Tommy contemplated putting her down but then remembered Polly's trick and kept her up a height. He stopped in front of the little brown horse, and went up to the stall gate.

"Hold your hand out," he said to Tess.

She looked unsure.

"Go on, he won't bite you."

"Dunno," she said in a serious tone that made him grin.

"Go on."

Cautiously, she touched her index finger to the horse's nose. It breathed out a puff of steam in the cold air. She giggled and withdrew.

"Tickled."

"Mm, they do that."

She reached out again and placed her whole hand over its nose. The horse, as well-behaved as Tommy knew, leaned into her touch slightly. She just kept smiling.

"You like horses?" Tommy asked.

She nodded, "Yeah. Like 'em."

"That's good."

"Wanna ride 'em."

"When you're bigger."

"Bigger," she agreed.

"Shall we let him sleep?" Tommy asked.

Tess nodded and pulled her hand back as Tommy walked to the stable door, "Night, night, brown house."

Tommy laughed silently at her mispronunciation of horse. Maybe it was time for a name change for that particular one.

They stopped in the doorway, watching the rain fall. Tess held out her hand and let it fall against her skin.

"You like rain."

"Mm-hmm."

He was getting to know more about his daughter in this hour than he had in her life.

"I'm not good at this, Tess. As you can see."

She turned back to him, her face close to his. She frowned.

"What?"

"At…" he struggled for the words. "Do you know who I am?"

"Tommy," she said confidently.

"Yes but, to you, do you know who I am?"

Her eyes fell from his face and she blinked. She thought, then looked back at him.

"Dad."

He nodded, giving a weak, "Yeah."

"What… what dad do?" she asked.

"What do dads do?" he asked. He gave a brief, bitter smile. "Tess, I have no idea."

She didn't respond.

"Do you know?" he asked.

"…No."

She was his. He had younger siblings, Ada and John, whom he knew he had to look out for. Whom he loved. But this one, Tess, she was his. She wasn't another sibling - she was his daughter. She wasn't Arthur's. Wasn't his parents'. His.

"Do you wanna give it a go?" he asked her.

She cocked her head at him in confusion.

"The dad thing. You want me to give it a go?"

She thought, and nodded.

"Yeah, please."

"Okay then," Tommy said, clearing his throat. "Shall we go home?"

Tommy was already expecting the shocked faces of his family, so ignored them as he walked into the kitchen carrying his daughter. He ignored his mother's smile as she placed a plate of sandwiches in front of them, or when she kissed the back of his head when he sat Tess on his knee.

"Want one, Dad?" Tess asked, holding a sandwich close to his face.

"Thanks, Tess," he said, taking it.

"Took you fucking long enough," Arthur said from across the table.

"Arthur," his mother scolded.

But Tommy laughed. Things didn't seem to matter now.

Tommy Shelby was a fucking dad.

Again, this isn't gonna be a fluffy story. It's Peaky fucking Blinders, guys.

Reviews are lovely. Next chapter on Wednesday.