"Arthur, what the hell happened?" Florence gasped as she entered the Shelby home, after Ada had just repeatedly banged down her door in search of bandages.

"You should see the other bloke, Floss," Arthur laughed humourlessly, blood covering his face and clothes.

"I'm not sure that I want to," Florence muttered under her breath, handing Ada a roll of bandages that her mother kept handy in the event of seeing injuries, "Has he had anything to drink?"

"Tommy's seeing to it," Polly answered the girl, "He's gone down to the Garrison, he'll be back soon."

"You've got blood dripping in your eye there, Arthur," Florence winced as she inspected the man's face from afar.

"John, wipe the blood out of his eye," Ada ordered her brother with frustration in her voice.

"Since when did you give orders?" John asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"I'm a trained nurse," Ada replied simply, causing Florence to shake her head in disbelief.

"Don't make me laugh, it hurts me face," Arthur scoffed as Polly proceeded to wrap a splint around his thumb.

"I bloody am!" Ada exclaimed, sitting beside Arthur.

"Ada, you went to one first aid class in the church hall, and you got thrown out for giggling," Florence replied, unsure of the girl's skills.

"Flo's more qualified than you, she spent our adolescence patching us boys up, not to mention George Harrington and all those scraps he used to get into," John added in agreement.

"I learnt how to stop someone from choking," Ada retorted as she continued to pace around the kitchen busying herself.

"I'm not bloody choking, am I?" Arthur remarked.

"You will be when I wrap this cloth round your neck," Ada returned bluntly.

The Shelby sibling dynamic had always intrigued Florence, she had often wondered what it would be like to have a sibling. She would've liked a sister perhaps, but she basically had that in her mother already.

"Let me see him," Tommy's voice catches the girl's attention as he wanders into the kitchen, a cigarette balanced between his lips and a bottle of rum in hand, "Alright, have this."

Arthur took the rum from his brother's hand, taking a swig as Tommy submerged a cloth in a bowl of water before wringing it out, "Give me that," He took the bottle from his brother, soaking the cloth in alcohol before pressing the cloth to his brother's wounds.

"You're alright," Tommy muttered calmly.

"He said Mr Churchill sent him to Birmingham," Arthur told his brother, alarming everyone in the room, "National interest, he said. Something about a robbery."

Florence didn't know anything about a robbery, even though she could tell something had been weighing on Tommy's mind since they'd left the restaurant the night before. Then when she woke in the morning he was sat up in bed as usual, a cigarette in his mouth, his eyes as bloodshot as they always were when he'd forfeited sleep.

"He said he wants us to help him," Arthur continued.

"We don't help coppers," John answered.

"He knew all about our war records," Arthur explained, "He said we're patriots, like him, he wants us to be his eyes and ears."

"He doesn't sound a bit like any of you," Florence muttered.

"I said," Arthur winced as Polly tightened the splint on his thumb, "I said we'd have a family meeting and take a vote."

Tommy stood in silence, which told Florence that he wasn't convinced by the idea. Peaky Blinders don't cooperate with the police and they certainly don't work for them.

"Well, why not, hmm?" Arthur continued to probe his brother, "We've no truck with Fenians or communists," Tommy stayed silent, sharing a glance with Florence and Polly, "What's wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with him lately?"

"If I knew, I'd buy the cure from Compton's Chemists," Polly answered, glancing at Tommy knowingly.

"What do you reckon, Florence?" Ada remarked, standing beside John, "You got any ideas how to cure my brother?"

"I'm not the nurse in the room, Ada," Florence replied awkwardly, unable to make eye contact with Tommy for fear of being caught out. She wouldn't mind if people knew about them, at least then they would have no need for secrecy, but Tommy wants it kept the way it is, and who would she be to argue with that?

"Ada, go and see to Finn, will you?" Aunt Polly told the girl firmly, with a glare strong enough to send Ada out of the room without another word.

"Florence, would you be a darling and help me bring the washing in from the line outside?" Polly smiled at the girl, wiping her hands clean from helping Arthur.

"John can help you, Pol," Tommy finally spoke up, not wanting to let the Dawson girl out of his sight.

"I don't want his grubby mits all over my clean sheets," Polly replied firmly, "She won't be long."

Florence followed Polly out the back door wordlessly, glancing at Tommy with a smile before letting the door close softly behind her.

"So, how are you doing?" Polly asked as she began unclipping a bed sheet from the line, "Your mother tells me that the Harrington boys invited you for dinner last night."

"That's right," Florence nodded, reminded of the lie that she had spun to her mother the night before when Tommy had taken her out for dinner.

"I hear that they have a lovely home," Polly replied as Florence helped her in folding the sheet neatly.

"It's pretty fucking soulless, if I'm honest with you," Florence sighed, her opinion based on the few times she had visited the boys at home while Mr and Mrs had been away. As much as she would've loved a childhood as comfortable as George and Elijah's, she couldn't imagine living somewhere that lacked so much heart.

"Sounds like Small Heath in a nutshell," Polly smiled at the girl. "It's remained that way since the war."

"But we fill our homes with love, that's the difference, Pol," Florence assured her, "Eli and George's parents have never been that way inclined."

"Pol," Florence hadn't even noticed the sound of the back door opening, so she looked up to see Tommy looking down at her from the doorstep, "I'm afraid I need to steal Florence away from you."

"Why am I not surprised," Polly huffed with a soft grin, hiding her delight at the glint of hope that flickered behind Tommy's eyes when he looked at Florence, "For what?"

"Target practice," Tommy answered simply as he strolled down the steps slowly, having spontaneously decided today would be the day he sees what Florence is capable of with a gun in her hand. The looming threat of the police's demands hung around Tommy's neck like a noose, and he was in no mood to let Florence fall casualty to that.

"We're going shooting?" Florence looked at the man with a puzzled expression, "I'm meeting the Harrington boys in a few hours."

"We aren't going far, I'll have you back soon enough," Tommy told the girl, who could tell he wouldn't be taking no for an answer.

He wasn't entirely convinced by the idea of letting Florence loose with a gun, but in the wake of his men stealing the wrong crate, he needed to ensure that those around him were well protected.

"Alright," Florence sighed, "Just let me grab my coat."

Tommy watched as the girl disappeared through the back gate, running up the steps to her house. He looked up to see a grin laced with mischief on Aunt Polly's face as she made her way through the clothes hanging on the line.

"What?" Tommy scoffed, placing a cigarette between his lips and lighting it.

"I've not seen you like this in a while, Thomas," Polly answered her nephew.

"Like what?" Tommy sighed in frustration, always despairing the moments when Polly chose to be illusive with her words.

"Like you've not given up on hope," Polly replied, "I don't know what exactly is going on with you and her-"

"Pol, we're just-"

"Thomas, listen to me," Polly cut him off, "That girl is a diamond in the mire that we call home, she deserves to be treated like one, so if you dare break her heart, you'll feel my boot on your neck, are we clear?"

"Crystal." Tommy nodded, knowing that while he had no intention of settling down with the girl, he couldn't fathom the idea of breaking her heart.

"I'm ready," Florence appeared at the open gate, wearing a long brown coat with fur cuffs, her long hair tucked behind her ears.

"Shall we?" Tommy smiled at the girl, passing his Aunt as he held his arm out for Florence to hold onto.

"So, where exactly do you suppose we fire these guns?" Florence asked as the pair strolled down the alleyway, heading for the street.

"Charlie's letting us use his yard," Tommy told the girl, "No one will disturb us there."

"Sounds like a promise." Florence smirked.

The pair eventually arrived at Charlie Strong's Yard, which as Tommy had promised, was empty except for a few teenagers messing about with scraps they'd found in the yard.

"Oi," Tommy shouted, startling the youngsters as they turned to see the leader of the Peaky Blinders with Florence Dawson on his arm, "Be gone."

Wordlessly, the children scramble, discarding their stuff and dashing for the nearest exit, not daring to argue with the man. To the people of Small Heath, the Peaky Blinders were their people, but they were also figures of intimidation. To be a Peaky Blinder was to have people fear you and your reputation.

"Alright," Tommy clapped his hands together, "I want to see what you can do."

"Well, I'll be needing a gun and something to shoot it at," Florence answered, letting go of Tommy's arm and leaning against one of the upturned disused boats.

"All in good time," Tommy answered, gathering five empty whiskey bottles that he had instructed Charlie to leave for him, assuming they'd make good targets for the Dawson girl.

"Tommy, they're a bit small, I don't know if I'll be able to hit them," Florence sighed as she watched Tommy meticulously place each bottle along the top of the wall.

"It'll be alright," Tommy smiled at the girl as he returned to her side, roughly ten metres from the wall where the bottles stood as he pulled his gun from his shoulder holster, "This is just practice."

"So, what do I need to do?" Florence asked innocently, letting her gaze wander between Tommy and the bottles.

"This is a revolver, you've probably seen them in my house before," Tommy explained, holding the gun out in front of her, "Do you want to hold it?"

"Alright," She nodded, taking the gun from his hands, the weight of it heavy in her hand as she acquainted herself with its cool metal curves.

"We'll aim for the first bottle on the left, don't worry about hitting it, this is just about getting you used to shooting," Tommy told her, "It's loaded, so it's ready."

Florence held the gun in her right hand, pointing it at the glass bottles, her stance weak as she locked her finger around the trigger. She let the first bullet rip through, her arm jolting slightly at the impact, which didn't even graze the edge of any of the bottles.

"Not bad," Tommy smirked, realising that he had his work cut out making a Peaky Blinder out of Florence, "We'll try again."

"What did I do wrong?" Florence sighed, staring down at the gun in her hand as she notice Tommy move to stand behind her.

"First," He muttered, resting his hands on top of Florence's, securing her grip on the gun, "You have to be firm with it, second, you need to stand strong, so your legs should be further apart."

"Not the first time I've heard those words," Florence smirked to herself as Tommy lifted her hands, the gun pointing at the bottles.

"Try again, we'll do it together this time," Tommy assured her, running his fingers back and forth over her knuckles, his breath was warm against her cool cheek, "When you're ready, release the trigger."

Florence inhaled slowly, releasing the trigger on the gun as she aimed at the centre bottle, guided by Tommy's grip. The bullet ripped through the bottle as the pair watched it smash to pieces, joy creeping onto both their faces.

"I did it," Florence whispered, glancing up at Tommy.

"Good girl," Tommy grinned, kissing the side of her head, wrapping his arms around her shoulders as the couple swayed gently, admiring Florence's handiwork, "Do you want another go?"

"Tommy, I'm not sure if I'll be able to do it without you," Florence sighed halfheartedly.

"I'll be right here," He assured her, stepping back to the side, leaning against an abandoned crate, hands in his pockets as he observed his girl.

"Did I ever tell you about the spring I spent with the Harrington boys, just before you all went to France?" Florence looked up at Tommy, firmly clasping the revolver in her hands.

"I don't think so," Tommy replied, remembering that spring and how different their lives were.

"Figures," Florence nodded with a smile, "I spent most of that spring with the boys, down in the woods near their Warwickshire estate."

"What does that have to do with this?" Tommy asked, puzzled by the direction of Florence's story.

"The rich like their sport, but not the sports that we enjoy, and they like to taunt animals, not in the way that you nurture and care for them," Florence began to explain, eyeing up the four remaining whiskey bottles, "Elijah told me that animals smell fear."

"I make him right," Tommy nodded, still holding out for an end to the story.

"But when a man suspects fear, he lets down his guard, and he becomes," Florence smirked, wrapping a hand around the revolver and pointing it at the first bottle, pulling the trigger and letting a bullet rip right through it, "Exposed."

"And in that respect, the man presumes that his opposition is weaker than he is," Florence continued to explain, aiming at the next bottle, firing a bullet straight through it.

"When a man makes such a presumption he assumes that he will be victorious, but as we both know," Florence added, preparing to shoot her penultimate bullet, before letting go of the trigger and watching the bullet shatter the bottle, "That is not the case."

"And then the prey," Florence muttered, turning to glance at Tommy, a proud smirk on his as she pointed and fired the final bullet at the last bottle, hitting it smack bang in the middle, the glass shattering, "Becomes the hunter."

"Seems I underestimated you," Tommy grinned as the girl approached him, gun in hand.

"Seems you did," Florence smiled up at him, wrapping her arms around his waist, placing the gun on the crate before removing his flatcap, "Good thing I don't mind when it comes to you."

The two collided in a kiss of lingering lust and passion, as though the rest of the world were finite. Tommy threaded his hands through the girl's hair, smiling against her lips as the pair kissed, not caring for who may stumble upon the exchange.

Tommy pulled back, running his thumb over Florence's bottom lip, "So, which Harrington brother taught you to shoot like that?"

"You'd be surprised," Florence grinned, placing her hands on his shoulders.

"Enlighten me."

"George might have been brutal when it came to killing the opposition in France," Florence recalled the stories that Arthur and John had told her about their days on the front line, "But it's Elijah's precision that rubbed off on me."

"Remind me to never cross Elijah Harrington," Tommy sighed, tucking Florence's hair behind her ear.

"Noted." Florence whispered, slowly kissing Tommy once more.

"I think it's safe to say that you're a Peaky Blinder now," Tommy smirked, glancing down at her with pride, picking his cap up from the crates and placing it on her head.

"You'll be the one to break my mother's heart and tell her I'm on your books now, then?" Florence replied.

"You can still work for your mother, Flo," Tommy told the girl, "You're one of us, you always have been, but I won't be sending you out on the sort of jobs that the boys do."

"Do you mean you don't want me getting my hands dirty or do you mean you're trying to protect me?" She rolled her eyes with a smile, despite Tommy's efforts to shield her from the true nature of what the Peaky Blinders do, she was more than well aware of the true nature of how they get their way.

"Both." Tommy replied.

She often wondered if it should scare her or intimidate her, knowing that those men are capable of such wicked acts of violence. But never has she felt scared, she has only ever felt protected. If it weren't for the Shelby brothers Florence and her mother would have no doubt ended up unprotected and alone.

But everywhere she went, she had a Shelby boy by her side. John was the year above her in school, so he kept an eye out for her in the school yard, using his fists on anyone who had a bad word to say. When Imelda was busy, Arthur would look after Florence, when he was ten and she was a year old he held her hands as she took her first steps, as proud as anyone could be.

And then there was Tommy, intimidating any boys who so much as looked at the girl. If she was out late at a friend's house, Tommy would walk to meet her, ensuring that she wouldn't have to walk home alone in the dark. On their walks home he'd make sure to walk closest to the road, fearing what could happen if she misstepped. He'd listen to her talk about her day, only speaking to ask questions when she stopped talking, missing the sound of her voice.

Being apart while Tommy in France made Florence realise what it was that Tommy meant to her. She knew the type of reputation that he had, and she knew the risks that came with that, and those risks never felt like a threat.

author's note: hope you loved this chapter, i love writing florence, especially when she's putting men in their place...

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