1-

She liked to look at him. She noticed that they all did, a little, though no one ever said anything. It was rather odd, most times, if a man handsome enough to be considered average on the streets made it into the hospital, it was all the nurses would talk about for weeks. And he was far from the average man on the streets, despite the cuts on his face and split in his lip. He didn't move much, but she watched the way his hair fell, oddly and sharply cut like the rest of him, the flickering of his eyelids, and wondered what went on inside of that head under his dark, dark hair, what was flashing behind his closed eyes. She speculated briefly about what color they were.

"Missy," she said on the second day, while Missy was taking her meticulous time folding his fresh sheets as the two of them stood over him, "who is he?"

Missy scoffed, her brown curls bouncing under her white hat.

"'Oo really don't know 'oo he 'ees?" She tutted, her accent so thick it was a strain for Tessa to understand her. Too many years in America had taken their cultural toll.

"No," she said, looking back down at him. "All my father told me was that I am to ensure his stay is as comfortable as possible. Why? Should I?" If he was the son of some important politician, she would likely have been introduced to him already. But the private hospital wing and general air surrounding his presence meant… something. Meant that he was Someone. She had thought she already knew about most of the Someones in London, especially those her age.

"That's Thomas Shelby, ma'am." Missy's voice had an air torn somewhere between reverence and something like trepidation. She looked like she was afraid to touch him, even though he was completely sedated. Tessa sighed audibly. As nice as he was to look at, she had now been in the hospital for ten hours and counting, managing the endless paperwork her father was now too busy and too important to directly see to himself. And yet this man warranted her father's attention to the extent that he had asked Tessa to keep her eye on him personally.

"Who the fuck is Thomas Shelby?" She grumbled.

It had been a long day, and besides, Missy was unlikely to judge her for swearing. More than anything, though, Tessa rationalized her outburst by reminding herself that they were alone in an entire wing with a single comatose patient, who she glanced back down at out of sheer habit, only to realize after a split second that he was suddenly no longer comatose at all, and was in fact shifting, hands twitching like they wanted to reach for something, head moving side to side groggily. Missy was busy fiddling with something at the end of the bed and did not immediately notice that the man had begun to stir, instead responding to Tessa's rudeness with,

"Oo'd best not let eem catch ya asking that, ma'am. Can't imagine ee'd take kindly to-," but as she was speaking, she looked up from the sheet corner she was folding and at Thomas Shelby's face, and as she looked up, the man's eyes snapped open. Tessa had to firmly resist the impulse to take a step back in surprise. Missy immediately diverted her course of speech.

"Ah, Mr. Shelby, sir, my name ees Missy." She bustled hurriedly over to his side, which was so wrapped in bandages that it looked like he was wearing an oddly cut white shirt. Thomas Shelby was, impossibly and idiotically, trying to sit up, shocking eyes fluttering, but Missy placed a firm hand on his chest, which made him wince. "Oo were involved in an altercation down on Cannon Street, sir, and 'm afraid 'oo were shot twice, sir. Your brotha removed one of the bullets before 'oo got 'ere, but-,"

Tessa felt rather like Missy was unloading a lot of information onto someone who had been shot twice and just woken up from sedation that wasn't supposed to have worn off for another six hours, but Thomas Shelby hardly let the nurse finish a sentence before he spoke in a voice that, even through the haze of drugs, was clearly very accustomed to giving orders, and having those orders adhered to.
"My brother. Ar-Arthur. Where is Arthur," he ground out through closed teeth. His skin was colorless and his impossible eyes looked unfocused.

"The elder Mr. Shelby es safe, sir. I believe 'e ees currently residing at a hotel with the rest of yer family, should be 'ere within the hour."

The man's fists were clenched in the sheets.

"Oo'd best run and tell yer father, ma'am. 'E'll want ta know Mr. Shelby's awake," Missy said, looking at Tessa, which made Thomas Shelby look at her as well, like a rattlesnake looks at someone who is about to tread on it. It was disconcerting that she found his gaze disconcerting, having spent so many years of her life training herself to no longer fear the weighty gazes of men. He looked at her like he could see right through her, through the doors of the room and out into the corridor beyond. Perhaps that was the morphine in his blood. She found herself nodding, agreeing, leaving the room before she had even processed where it was she was supposed to be going just to get away from those eyes, from that stare. The walk to her father's office was a blur. As the founder of the hospital Tessa was hurrying through, as well as many others, and current Chief Medical Officer of England, his list of titles was long and tendency towards pretension grew along with them. But he was her father. He held an office at the Ignatius Hospital as an act of tribute more than anything else, but as luck would have it, he was spending his day reviewing donations, as he had told her. A decision made immediately after the man named Thomas Shelby had been admitted. "As luck would have it" was right. Tessa did not believe for a second that her father was truly interested in appearing in person for a few measly donations and his presence was instead due to whatever business he had with a man admitted to the hospital for two bullet wounds.

When Tessa arrived, her father was standing at his desk, puffing at his pipe, thick grey hair neatly arranged, one hand tucked into the pocket of his expensive, charcoal colored vest. He turned when she entered and smiled jovially at her after he saw who she was. "Tessa, my dear, how are you?"

"Thomas Shelby is awake." She said, ignoring his pleasantries and sitting with her legs crossed in one of the two chairs at the head of his desk. He sat as well, and tapped out his pipe, but did not respond to her.

"Well? Are you going to finally tell me who he is, or am I meant to make this proposition I know nothing about to a man I also know nothing about?" Her father was silent for several seconds. Finally, he spoke, right as she opened her mouth to prompt him again.

"He is… a predator." He was gazing thoughtfully past her, unlit pipe back in his mouth. Tessa had inherited his grey-green eyes, but the hair was a genetic gift from her mother.

She raised her eyebrows. "A predator."

"Yes. Yes. And to him, we are all sheep." Tessa looked at him. He sighed deeply. "My dear, I'm sorry I have to ask this of you, but I require his assistance. Deeply." He looked off into the distance, through the window that showed the bleak, grey landscape of London outside the hospital walls. "Do assure him that he will be well compensated for his efforts."

Tessa sighed, again, and stood, again, feeling like a carrier pigeon. She rather thought her father was using her to convey his vague message instead of meeting with Shelby himself because he thought he was likely to receive a more favorable response if his request was sent by something with breasts.

"Now?" She asked, a little petulantly.

"Now," Her father said, turning away from her again. She didn't see that his hands were shaking. "Time is of the essence."