Before answering Shay's question, her eyes narrowed again into dangerous slits, directed towards her brother. She wouldn't have expected any less from Samuel, to intrude on her life, and write in a letter of resignation for her to Mr. Harrison. She wasn't a child anymore, and while her blood boiled like the sweltering infernos of the London factories, she managed to rise out of her chair this time, and push it in, the dangerous glint in her eyes receded, and she could not furnish anymore anger towards her brother for the time being. Of course, she would make sure she would find the time to chastise him for trying to conduct her life. It was a mix of gratitude, one that warranted the need to thank him for helping her, even though she quite literally did not need his help, which he knew the same, and the other portion composed of irritation, for his nosy ways of deciding what was best for her.

"For all this trouble, this new flat better be the real Mcoy, Sam. And I mean, the bee's knees. Or else I'm marching back down to Mr. Harrison's and explaining away your wrongdoings." In truth, any new accommodations would certainly be better than her cramped attic room that reeked of whatever dinner Mr. Harrison cooked for himself that evening at the rear compartment of the jewelry shop; mainly cabbage. And it took hard work to make sure her clothes smelled anything but.

"You'll like it just fine. Oh, before I forget... Here, you'll be needing these to get in as well. I have my own set, so if I don't hear a report or see you 'round here before you're trip out to see the Von Goethe's, I'll pay you a visit." Sam fished out a knotted iron key, and she could tell from the make, in comparison to her own room key in the attic, that if the complex landowner furnished keys of this kind, it had to be a room full of swank.

"Be sure to thank Elousie the next time you see her, she's done the part of helping to furnish your place, and the pantry's are all stocked. Room number is on the key tag there." Flicking ash off the end of his cigarette, he raised the tumbler to his lips, giving a tentative sniff before a slow draught followed.

Snatching the key from the worn table top, Sam caught her wrist before she had the chance to depart , "And... One more thing. Check your nightstand when you get there. You can thank me later for that."

His words were ominous, what had he done that she would have to thank him? Vera could only guess at the surprise that awaited her. Though to be fair, if she knew her brother well, she would thank him the next time she saw him again. With her agitation subsided now, her shoulders drooped as an appreciative smile came over her.

"Right... Before it slips my mind, thank you Sam. I'll be sure to thank the others as well when I find the time."

"Get some rest the two of you." Sam nodded as he raised the tumbler again to his lips, eyebrows raised as if to shoo them away. "And Vera...," he set the tumbler down and cleared his throat to speak, "just take the main road down until you hit the Warington Boroughs. Take a right at the crossroads, and go until you hit the park, make another right, and your flat is in that neighborhood."

"C'mon then Shay. Let's see what Sam and the gang mustered up for me, eh?" While she had not removed her coat upon entering, she returned her cloche to her head and made her way for the door.

---

January 28th 7:15pm - 213 Rowanoak Lane

The drive over to the borough was quiet, as Shay needed to focus on driving even more so as the weather continued with its now heavy snowfall. Again, the same luminescent glow descended over the city, and even though the sun had set an hour before, the sky above still clung to the sickly orange sheen.

As the Peugeot rolled to a stop, Vera could hardly believe her eyes. She knew the Warington Boroughs to be a neighborhood of affluence, well more so than that of where the Tawdry and Mr. Harrison's were located. The streets were well lit, proffering no chance for any suspicious figures to linger about without being spotted in the bright orange lamplights. Her flat, was a five story edifice constructed of white stone. The windows that peered out at the world were numerous, and in French design, tall, trimmed in white with an arch. Balconies of the same stone material could be seen after the first floor. As Shay came around to let her out of the vehicle, still abstaining to his gentlemanly ways, they strolled up together to the entrance of the building. There, they could simply walk in, and while this bothered her, for ease of access to anyone seeking her ill-will, she found that her nerves were soothed by the decadence of the apartment. This place was nothing like that of her attic flat, nor that of Shay's. Smooth, polished dark floors bore long rugs, decorated Persian floor runners that ran the length of the hallways in opposite ends. Two gold placards directed them which way to go that held engraved room numbers with arrows pointing the appropriate direction. To the fifth floor, so to the right they went, into a door where several flights of stairs led them to the top landing. While holding a pale light to the decadence of the White Star, Vera had to admit, Tommy, and Sam, outdid themselves this time around, or at least in her mind. Throughout the building, the walls were papered with blue and white stripes, and the occasional potted flower, or hanging portrait. When they reached the fifth level, her legs ached, and sweat beaded just under her hairline. Turning right, Vera held the key in hand, glancing down at the key tag to make certain that she read the number right:

Apartment # 538

Sliding the iron key into the bronze plated lock, Vera gave Shay a nervous grin, "Well, here goes!" With a gentle push, she opened the door to her new home, and gasped. Sam had not lied.

A small living room, that could easily hold her entire room inside its walls contained two couches, a coffee table, three living chairs seated before a window. She disappeared quickly, and discovered that the entire place ran on electricity. There was even a telephone and a gramophone, much to her delight. As she went on exploring every nook and cranny of the flat, opening every drawer and cupboard she came across, her search led to the discovery of two bedrooms, both furnished with beds, one twin, and another of a queen, complete with nightstands and dressers. Even more shocking, there were clothes neatly folded inside the drawers. There was a full bathroom, and the kitchen most of all captured her heart. A table set for two near two French windows allowed for a pleasant look into the park outside. The stove still called for wood, but that was no matter. There, in the pantry, as promised, stocked full of food, and several bottles of whiskey, and even two bottles of wine.

"Oh Shay! It's wonderful! What do you think? They've gone and set me up like a Queen of Sheba, they have! What will I ever do with all of this space? And two bedrooms-" Her words stopped short as she came out of the kitchen to find him

"Would you care to stay with me here tonight?" She asked, a soft smile creeping over her red lips. Part of her wanted to return the hospitality that Shay had so graciously shown her, and part of her didn't want to be alone her first night in her new place.

In Shay Alden’s youth, he loved the snow. The first signs of winter were a joyous occasion, with Christmas and his birthday just around the corner and a veritable wonderland to play in and explore as a child. The thought it would be anything but fun and games was inconceivable, and he could never understand why his parents hated winter.

Years later, as the first winter fell when he fought in the Great War, he soon would discover that winter was a frigid, wet, and miserable existence that claimed lives like a great reaper, descending upon the trenches and taking those too weak to resist its bite. Come his 19th birthday on January 14th, 1917, he prayed for death that never came. By February, he thought he would never feel warm again.

And so, as Shay and Vera left the Tawdy and the winter storms began to coat the streets, Shay was tense and careful in his drive. He did not wish to get in an accident, for starters, and the deceptively harmless-looking snow was a grim reminder of all too much death. His throat was tight; he needed a damn drink. By the time he rolled to a stop and turned off the car, he let out a relieved sigh. It was not an experience he cared to go out into again right away.

As he moved to open the door for Vera, he was stricken by how well-off the neighbourhood was, the affluence seeming to belong more to theater stars and singers than to people of their stature who struggled to make ends meet. It seemed more like a high-end hotel than somewhere people lived, and as he escorted Vera through its pristine and spotless hallways, he felt nervous to touch anything, as if he’d somehow corrupt it all.

Shay certainly shared in Vera’s excitement when they reached the door that would make or break Vera’s impression of her new home. The door swung open, and Vera’s gasp was certainly an appropriate reaction. Shay let out a low whistle as he followed her inside, carefully removing the dress shoes that were still on his feet and leaving them on a shoe rack to the side of the door. He could scarcely believe his eyes; he knew, but never realized, people’s homes could be this nice. Electric lighting and fixtures.

Vera’s voice came from one of the side rooms Shay had yet to explore, he called back, “Absolutely stunning, I’m afraid of mucking anything up…” he was saying as Vera poked her head around the corner, suddenly asking if he wanted to stay the night. This caught him off guard, especially since he was not expecting to be sharing a roof with Vera again, especially so soon and off assignment. “I… of course!” he said suddenly, acutely self-conscious that he might have come across as too eager. “I mean, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble. If you’d like, I could go out and get some things for dinner… and I imagine there’s some things at your old place you may want, I could always go back and get those for you.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ll have to excuse me; I’m talking ahead of my manners. If you would like me to stay, you need only ask. I seem to have forgotten a housewarming gift.”

She came around the corner into the living room to see Shay standing in awe, looking every which way, as if he was afraid, or not used to such... niceties in a home. Her heart leapt for him, and now, of all times, did she wish greatly to know if Auntie Liza was alive or not, how she would love to take him around the wings of her manor, and through the expansive gardens, even taking to the horses in the stable and riding across the many forested acres that were her property.

"No, you don't have to. At least not tonight, what with the weather like it is, I would be worried sick until you returned. Besides, the hour is late, and the markets are likely to close soon. Although..." She put a balled hand on her fit, and queried, "Do you have any cash left over that Samuel gave us? If so, there is a nice little restaurant I spied on our way up here, just around the corner actually. We could walk there if you fancied going out for an evening for dinner, as I don't care much for cooking tonight. I haven't got the faintest idea what to cook, even though there is plenty of food in the pantry, and in the ice box. There are a spare change of men's pajamas in the guest bedroom, so I think someone anticipated you staying with me, or at least Sam. Point being, unless you need to head back to your place, we could just go get a bite to eat, eh?" As she spoke, a weight was lifted from her heart, gladdened to have Shay staying with her tonight. It would give her some peace of mind at least, and she would certainly sleep easy.

“Well, it wouldn’t do to have you fret over me.” Shay replied with a smile. He reached into his suit pocket and counted the notes that remained. “Two-hundred and sixteen pounds… good lord.” He said, surprised at the amount he’d been carrying on his person all of this time. He operated off of the pretense that money lent wasn’t his, and if he didn’t count it, he didn’t think about it. The suit, shoes, and Vera’s dress all were business expenditures, and he had not given a mind to the remainder since then. He felt he should return what’s left, but tonight… tonight he’d make it a night to remember.

“Let’s just say you noticed that restaurant for a reason. Besides, it would be a bloody shame to muck this pristine abode up so soon.” Shay said, heading back to the door to put his shoes back on. “I’ve nothing pressing I can’t live without for the next while, and truth be told, I am so glad you offered for me to stay with you. I admit I am not fond of driving in this kind of weather. Besides, I like the idea of someone serving our interests for a change.” Shay waited for Vera to return to the door, holding it open for her to exit with an extended hand. “Come, it’ll be good to take a walk in the street light. All this rushing about makes a man want to take it slow and appreciate what he has.” He said warmly, shutting the door behind them and letting Vera lock up. A part of him felt naked without his Webly on his person, but he hadn’t an occasion to need it in weeks. A block or two would hardly make the difference, even if it were night.

The snow crunched lightly underfoot and the snow danced whimsically through the incandescent light that gave the otherwise pitch streets a sense of warmth and illumination. There were a few people walking through the street at this hour, and Shay offered his arm to Vera to walk, both as an affectionate gesture and to keep her from slipping if ice was hiding among the sidewalk.

“To think, when we first met it was raining.” Shay said with a chuckle, watching as the heavy flakes covered his coat with large flecks, giving it a polka dot appearance. Vera was similarly besieged by the winter precipitation, which clung to her coat and dark hair just as stubbornly. It made her look almost playful, and Shay had to admit, he was greatly enjoying himself in a way he thought he forgot how.

Before long, the pair came up to the restaurant at Vera’s guidance, an Italian place called The Spirit of Tuscany. It was a nice enough place, a family-friendly restaurant where the staff still wore dress shirts and bow ties along with well-ironed dress pants, although the shoes were consistent only in their black colour. A man with a shaved sandy blonde head and blue eyes, along with a clean shaven face, greeted them at the door, his name tag said Frank.

“Good evening, Signore and Signora, welcome to The Spirit of Tuscany. A seat for two?” he asked, his infliction friendly and courteous. “Aye, that would be wonderful, lad. Maybe a window seat?” Shay replied.

Leading them off with a pair of hand cloths, Frank lead the pair through the half-full restaurant, its white painted brickwork showing some cracks in the paint, the effect deliberate, and the lamps overhead had white, red, and green stained glass, reminiscent of the Italian Tricolour. The high table they were seated at was stained in black varnish, and the high backed chairs matched, with a crimson seat cushion. After both were seated, the cloths laid on the table before them, they ordered their drinks, Shay a simple whiskey.

After the waiter departed, Shay looked to Vera. “So, how are you doing? Be truthful, you’ve had a hell of a week, and I’m sure it’s strange being in the company of a many you’ve barely spoken with until your brother put us together.” He asked, a look of concern creasing his features. “I know you are thankful for my intervention that night, but I can’t help but wonder if both my tailing you has bothered you, and if those men are still haunting you. I know what it’s like, what you went through. I just want you to know I’m here, Vera. As long as you need me.”

"And fret I would if you had gone," She teased, she was slowly coming to realize that she enjoyed teasing him in a playful manner, certainly not like how she teased Sam over his school-girl crushes when they were just tiny children. No, for Shay, this was almost a flirtatious manner for her, as flirting did not come easily, namely so as she had so dutifully avoided it until now. When he had counted the money, her eyes widened in surprise, was that all?! Tommy anticipated their needs beforehand, and it had come to pay off. Despite his frigid exterior, Vera knew from personal experience that Tommy was a family man, anyone involved in the gang, or held family blood in their veins, were well looked after. In fact, she remembered how Elouise, heavy with her first child, and only one so far, rejoiced at the fact that Tommy had gone to great lengths making certain that his brother's child had everything it could possibly need when it would take its first breath. Perhaps this was an oversight to making sure that Shay had the best of everything on this job, after all, they were cousins. Here, a smile graced her lips as she waited for him to put his shoes on.

"I don't feel we'll use all of it now, so it wouldn't hurt to finish enjoying our evening by ending it with a good meal, hm?"

As she locked the door behind her, Vera took Shay's arm, as her shoes were slick with melted snow, and they made their way out into the chilly night air. Everything the snow touched, it muted the sound, save for the crunching of frozen particles beneath their shoes. Like ethereal wisps, their breaths rose into the air, thin and white, and gave her the impression of miniature ghosts.

"While I enjoy the rain, as there is a peaceful air to it, one that makes me want to sit by the fire and read a good book, I much prefer the snow to the rain. At least it doesn't soak into your clothes." Just then, she slipped on a patch of ice, and were it not for Shay, she would have fallen, and perhaps suffered a fractured arm. She breathed a sigh of relief, and glanced at him with gratitude in her eyes. Not before long, they rounded the corner and came to the restaurant she happened to spot on the car ride over.

---

The Spirit of Tuscany, the name of the ristorante certainly conveyed the sense of dining in an authentic restaurant in Tuscany, Italy. Heavy in the air, she could smell from the kitchen in the back, the thick aroma of pungent spices wafting out over the patrons head's like a heavenly cloud of gourmet food. The snowflakes that clung to her pinned hair, had also clung dearly to both of their coats, now glittered like diamonds under the sleepy yellow lamplight. The apples of her cheeks were rosy pink from the chill in the air, giving her the appearance of a Renaissance maiden, or some Ancient Greek sprite or forest nymph. Impressed with the comely atmosphere, her judgement of the place expounded when she met the waiter, Frank, who dressed in a professional manner with his button-down shirt, tie, and shiny black shoes that gleamed like boiling tar. After he sat them at a table near the window as Shay had asked, he took their drink order, and soon departed. Underneath the illuminated glow of the conical red-white-green lamp, Vera leaned forward on her elbows, and waited for the server, Frank, to return with their drinks. While Shay chose a glass of whiskey, Vera opted for a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. She munched enjoyed wine, and while whiskey from the gang was abundant, it often gave her more confidence than she needed.

For the first few minutes inside the restaurant, Vera simply felt satisfied, as her gaze shifted from the curious paintings on the wall, reminiscent of Tuscan vineyards and villas, she turned her attention to Shay when he asked her a peculiar question, she almost didn't hear him right away. So how are you doing?. His question left her feeling vulnerable, there were many answers swirling around inside her mind, any that she could choose to say, and would be a proper fit. But, she liked Shay, and she didn't want to appear dishonest, nor unlike someone wishing to avoid difficult questions; so, she answered honestly.

"It is not you "tailing me" that has me upset. It is my brother. You saw with your own two eyes what he did. Sam wasn't always like that, not until he came back. I feel... that he has no respect for my personal privacy, or any regards to my choices and decisions in life any more. As for those men, I do feel restless, and uneasy. I'm glad that the boys were able to accommodate me for my well-being, but I feel angry. Angry that some vigilante has the notion to stalk me, to monitor my every move in hopes of killing me. What did I do-" She paused in her speech as Frank returned with the whiskey and wine; she muttered a polite "thank you" and waited for him to leave before carrying on.

"What did I do, to deserve this fate?" She sighed, irritation high in her voice, though she kept the volume down in case any prying ears overheard. Turning her gaze to the window next to them, the chill that wafted in from the frigid air, resonated with her disposition towards the Adders.

"I suppose I have been on edge lately, I have had fitful dreams since going to Holloway... Perhaps it is the pipe, or the lack of. It's been almost a week..." She muttered more to herself than to Shay, her eyes downcast with a painful longing. Then, as if her mood changed on a whim, she smiled at him, her eyes wrinkling at the corners.

"Allow me to say this, my life has changed since you came into it, and I am grateful for that!" Then she gestured with a sweep of her hand, "Now this, this is a wonderful place to be, and I am glad you are here with me. You are a delightful companion, and there is something about you, something you have, an air, if you will, that I take a shining to. So despite what has happened before, I am beyond happy that I am here with you. And besides," here she winked playfully at him, as was her way, "no good woman would send any man, if it can be helped, on his way in such troublesome weather. I enjoy the snow, for the cold it brings is refreshing."

"Regardless, I find it rather exciting to be an official member now, though it is emotionally taxing on me to stroll about playing pretend. My headaches when I wake, and it aches when I close my eyes for sleep. It is a strange combination to be certain. And I certainly didn't expect to have a guard. But... What of yourself, Shay? How are you? Are you on edge? Or nervous, perhaps?"

A finger traced the rim of Shay’s glass as he listened to Vera explain her frustrations with Sam, and he felt his throat tighten as she spoke of how her encounter with the Adders had shaken her, how utterly unjust it was… and she was right. She had never lifted a finger to harm another person, outside of killing her would-be rapist long ago, and the Adders targeting her just screamed amoral scum. Target the vulnerable, the ones who wouldn’t likely be ready for a fight. They were cowards, the lot of them. Shay’s fist clenched, knuckles going white as the skin went taunt. He drank from his glass, perhaps a heavier drink than he had intended, the yellow-brown liquid burning enough to make him squint and suppress a cough as it hit the back of his throat.

He knew what it was to watch a man die, and how the immediate departure of life in a violent, unexpected fashion leeched the life from those who were there to witness it. He feared the incident would haunt her the rest of her days, no matter how justified. It was strange how being forced to act to save her life made Shay feel guilty; he spared her from death, but she’d be forced to endure that scene for the rest of her life. That was something that any man or woman who seen death was burdened with; it was how one carried on afterwards that mattered. He knew her withdrawal from the drugs was taking its toll; he didn’t know why she did it, other than she did, and it helped her cope.

The change of tact was sudden, and it almost felt like Vera was fighting to make it a good night, not one that went down a dark road that was hard to come back from. She was fighting, even now, to make things work. Shay smiled in response, following her hand around the restaurant to take in the aesthetics, how it tried so very hard to mimic what it must have been like in Italy, or at least what most people would think when somebody asked them to imagine it. It was a pleasant place, different from what Shay was used to, but it seemed to suit Vera just fine. His heart began to lift as she spoke her praises about him, how much of an impact he’d made on her, and for the better. He felt almost speechless; no one ever really spoke of him in such a glowing way. He felt undeserving of the recognition, the appreciation. He felt his eyes grow heavy in spite of his smile; a conflict of emotions dwelled within his breast as he considered her words.

“I’m not sure what I am, Vera. Truly, it’s unfamiliar territory. Before I met you, or even kept an eye on you from the shadows, I just felt numb, like my life was simply for the duty I felt I was obligated to do. My father abandoned his family, and I had to make amends, even if it cost me. I came home from the war a changed man, the world was just a grey place. I see people who never been in the fight carrying on like the most petty of things was earth-shattering, and they grow frustrated at the veterans for not smiling like they should or shame them for the ghosts that haunt them… I knew I couldn’t stay in Ireland, back home where people know me. I was never really wanted there, being of English blood, and I felt I might do something rash against someone who spoke to me in the wrong way.” He said, his voice terse, an edge creeping to it.

He breathed in a single long draw of air through his lungs and he drank to calm himself. “I always said I came here to look for my family, and there was no other reason… but a big part of me never felt like I was worth a damn outside of the war. I couldn’t work for a normal job, with people who don’t know what it’s like to truly suffer. And if people were going to hate me no matter who I was, then I’ll be the bloody villain in their story.

“Killing’s the one thing I’ve ever been good at, and running with a gang gave me a venue to put my one and only talent to use against people who would just as likely spit on me in the street if not yell some slur. Bastards like the Adders… I’d gun every last one of them down and not lose a night’s sleep because they are the worst humans imaginable. There’s dead British and German lads on either side who should still be alive, and God chose to let men like the monsters who tried to take you in the night flourish while a kid who only weeks before’s biggest concern was getting a good enough grade to pass a test or providing for his family gets a bayonet through the heart because he happened to be in the wrong trench and didn’t have it in him to take another boy’s life.” Shay said, his voice low, strained. It wasn’t like him to evoke such raw and unfiltered emotion.

“I used to go to church, twice a week, I loved God. I felt that he loved me, even if so many people wouldn’t give me a chance. Then I saw what God let happen on this earth he made… the utter insanity of it all. If you love your children, why let them suffer? I feel like every time I pull that trigger, I’m one step closer to Hell and away from redemption.” He said, looking up to meet Vera’s eyes. “But if I had to relieve that night where I saved you, knowing that those lives I took to save yours would damn me for eternity, I wouldn’t hesitate to do the same thing again, as many times as it took until you could be free of those men.”

Shay fell silent, eventually pulling his cigarettes from his pocket and dangling one from his lips, lighting it with a quick flick of a match. Shay’s features softened, and his pitch changed to match. “Honestly, Vera… I’m grateful beyond words that you came into my life, that Sam asked me to take care of you. I sometimes feel like I don’t deserve the fulfilling sensation you give me, the warmth I feel whenever you smile at me. After all I’ve been through and endured, I found something truly beautiful in this world. And for that, I consider myself a damn lucky man who found someone who despite everything, made the journey seem worthwhile.”

Listening to Shay speak, so full of passion, but yet, full of a grim reality, one that made her heart still, she knew. She had witnessed what Sam went through after coming home. Was that why he fought so hard to convey that steely disposition? To make it appear to those around him, that he was indeed, okay? He never spoke about the horrors he experienced, but she knew those memories haunted him, just like that night in the alley haunted her. Every word that Shay uttered, struck a strange chord in her, from the cruel behavior of the citizens that were exempt from the war, to the simple statement of how he would do it all over again, just to save her life. Her mouth went dry, and the warmth left her fingers. Were it not for Shay that night, she would have pulled the trigger without hesitation, but the likelihood of her dying was a greater possibility than were Shay there, lurking above on the rooftop. With a shaking hand, she reached for her wine glass, and swirled the maroon liquid inside. She gave it a tentative sniff, before taking a long sip. Setting the glass aside, Vera propped her chin in the palm of her hand, and smiled at Shay.

“Some say, that it was Fate that brought us together. Others, of the religious aspect, would call it God’s doing. I am happy that I have met you, and what I mean by that is, actually having the time to spend in your company, and not simply serving you a tumbler full of whiskey at the pub. There is something about you Shay, like I have said before... I can't place, and I won't try understanding it, at least not tonight." She gave a contemplative sigh before carrying on, "As for me, I know that our paths crossed for a reason. I never believed in God, or in anything of that sort really. My mother took us to church when we lived with my aunt, but once we moved to the city, we never set foot inside a holy place again. But… I'm sorry to hear about your battle with God, losing faith is something that you never quite get over. You don't need religion to lose faith.” She sat upright, and looked past Shay; Frank had returned with a notepad in hand.

“Perdonami, are we ready to order?”

“Ah...yes. I’ll have the chicken tortellini florentine soup.”

“Eccellente! That is one of the chef’s favorites. And for you, Signore?” Now that Frank’s attention turned to Shay, she hid a smile behind her hand, desperately trying to withhold a chuckle at their obviously non-Italian waiter. She had to give him points however, for the fact that he tried his best to maintain and uphold the visage of the restaurant.

Frank had returned, and after Vera placed her order, it was Shay’s turn.

“Spaghetti and meatballs, I suppose. It’s about as adventurous as I’m feeling at the moment.” Shay said, handing the menu back to Frank. When the waiter moved a few tables past, Shay turned back to the conversation at hand.

“I wish I could say God loved us and looked out for us, I used to believe it… but what God would let men butcher each other by the millions?” Shay replied softly, a frown creasing his lips. “I apologize for being so grim, it wasn’t my intention. It lightens my heart to hear you say those things, you truly are a bright light in this cold winter. I just hope being a member of the Roughers works out in your favour… it was rather unjustly thrust upon-”

His gaze went past Vera suddenly, his eyes narrowing, his shoulders tensing. “Of all places in this fucking city…” he muttered. “The Adders just walked in. If it comes down to it, you’re going to have to flee through the kitchen, out back. The staff can slow ‘em down, and do not go back to your apartment. If they follow you, you’ll never be safe.” He instructed his face a grim, determined mask. “I’ll buy you time.”

In the front door walked Donald Hayes, a tall and powerfully built man with a crooked nose that dominated a face that was coated in about two days’ worth of stubble and a body that was built like an iron worker. His hair was as long as his beard and a large scar dominated the right side of his head. His eyes were dark brown and featureless, like dark, unknowable voids. A dark trench coat and a bowler hat rounded out his ensemble. Along with Donald were men he recognized as Jonathan Locke and Curtis Guthrie. The fourth man wasn’t someone Shay recognized.

The Adders walked into the restaurant, initially oblivious to Shay and Vera’s presence, giving Shay a glimmer of hope that the two of them could escape notice. However, luck didn’t hold and as Donald was beginning to sit down, he glanced up and met eyes with Shay. A cruel grin grew on his face as he stood, followed by the remainder of his men, who noticed where their boss was heading to. Curtis was sent to watch the door, and the unknown man stood to bar the other way, leaving Donald and Johnathan to approach their table.

“Well, well, if it ain’t the Paddy bog-trotter and Sam Addley’s whore of a sister whom I expected to have been on her way a couple weeks ago, yet here you are, riding the cock of a drunken degenerate for your next opium fix.” Donald announced, pulling up a chair and sitting on it backwards at the table. Johnathan stood off to the side, towering over Shay.

“In case it escaped your notice, you’re drawing quite the crowd. You start anything here, Hayes, and you’ll not be able to go anywhere in London without someone recognizing your ugly mug.” Shay shot back.
“In case it escaped yer note-ush, shut your fucking gob, Mick, you think I’m as fucking daft as you?” Donald mocked, crudely imitating a high-pitched Irish accent. “Sure, a lot of people are watching, but think they can keep their eyes on every street? How far do you think you’ll get before my boys pull you off the street and stick a knife in your cunt belly? And the woman, we’ll have a bit of fun with you before cutting your throat. Tell me, girl, you know the names of the men you got killed?” he demanded, staring daggers at Vera.

Shay’s hand tightened, wishing he at least had his knife on him. There wasn’t much he could do with Donald’s goon towering over him.

At the mention of the Adders unwanted arrival, all color drained from Vera’s pale face. With shaking hands, she managed a glance over her shoulder to the kitchen, where Frank had disappeared into. For a minute, she almost breathed a sigh of relief, almost. Shay, himself was rigid, like a coiled spring, or rather a snake poising to strike. A part of her wondered if he developed his grimness from the war, for his instructions were curt, and void of notable emotion.

“Fuck.” She hissed through clenched teeth.

Like a wet mangy dog begging for scraps, so came Donald Hayes and his cronies. Every fibre in her body burned with deep seated hatred, and she checked subconsciously if she had pocketed her Smith & Wesson revolver; which proved a mere fruitless attempt as her coat hung over the back seat of her chair. His loathsome words made her nauseous, and sent her mind racing for some form of a comeback, either one to dissuade the growing tension, or to trigger it. For once, she wished that Sam were here, and suddenly her mouth went dry with regret. Sam had always protected her, and now with Donald Hayes seated at their table, how she desperately wished he was here to do something. Whoever the cronie that hung over Shay, Vera's outer-extremities were lifeless without the flow of blood to them. Even her heart beat so loud that she could feel the very vibrations coursing through her limbs, throbbing and trembling with each pulse.

Then, a fire ignited in her core. She relaxed, and leaned back in her chair, she looked like the spitting image of a cat toying with its prey before the kill. “I have to say, Mr. Hayes, I can't say that I do. Not that I care. Though, for my own benefit, I should take into account the rest of your gang that still lives. That way, if I ever see your boys hanging around like the slimey blokes they are, I can put a bullet in their head myself. After all, you made a mistake of poking at the wrong Addley, I had nothing to do with that Jepson boy's death. That's all my brother’s doing.”

And like a cat toying with her prey, she moved with purposeful eloquence, raising the wine glass to her lips, her eyes became icy blue slits. When she set her glass down on the table, she licked her lips slowly, and spoke softly, “I've no intention of riding cock, though I suppose a strong Irish one like his,” she nodded towards Shay, “would suit me just fine. Always did have a hankering for men like him. Though I have to say, riding cock for a fix is something I've never had to do, always bought it myself, with no help from anyone else. Now that I think about it, please tell Matthew I said hello, and tell him that I won't be in need of his services anymore. He’s such a nice lad, eh?”

Shay’s mention of drawing attention proved true, as several heads turned in their direction, and a hush fell over the restaurant. Vera’s free hand began to toy with her fork, a potential weapon in case she needed to jam it in Hayes’ eyeball, after all, he was so tantalizingly close, she could smell his thick, musky cologne.

“Now I would play nice for tonight, and make off to your table. The owner is making his way over here.” She said with a lift of her brows, gesturing towards a man dressed in a red-button down shirt, green tie, and black dress pants that made his way with great haste towards their table.

The colour drained from Donald’s face as his jaw clenched, clearly not expecting to be on the receiving end of such back talk from a dainty woman who was staring down a man of his reputation. “You’ve a cheeky mouth, girl, won’t be sayin’ too much when you’re choking on my cock.” He said tersely, gesturing for the unnamed goon to go stop the manager. “Riley, my boy, keep the good man who runs this shithole busy for a moment, would you? I don’t fancy being inter-” he said, turning for a moment to address the younger gang member, likely a new recruit to replace the Adder’s losses.

The momentary distraction was all Shay needed, grabbing his table knife in one hand and his glass in the other, Shay lept up from his seat, driving the knife into Jonathan’s collarbone and smashing the tumbler of whiskey aside Donald’s head as he leapt onto the man, driving hard fists repeatedly into the man’s face. Johnathan reached into his coat, presumably for a gun, prompting Shay thrust upwards with his legs, shoulder checking the man in the gut, winding him.

“Vera, go!” Shay shouted as Donald grabbed him from behind, getting Shay into a choke hold that he attempted to break out of by driving his elbow into the Adder boss’ flank repeatedly.

Meanwhile, the store manager was being pursued back into the kitchen to keep him from getting to the phone, a Lebel revolver now in hand. “Easy, I-ties, this is business. Stay the fuck away from the receiver and we won’t have a problem, yeah?” Riley threatened, waving the gun around authoritatively.

“Vera go!”

Within a split second, she bolted for the rear of The Spirit of Tuscany, and dashed for the kitchen just like Shay had said. She burst through the swinging double doors, just in time to see one of Donald's men harassing the owner with a brandished pistol. "Hey!" He shouted, whirling about just in time to see her come through the doors, but Vera was quick on her feet, and slipped through the bodies of the cooks and wait staff, shoving anyone and anything in her path to the side.

She broke free, bursting through the back door and into the alley way with such energy, she had a difficult time stopping herself from crashing into the opposing brick wall. No one could stop her as she recovered from the near collision, and while her first initial reaction was to run straight home, she ran the opposite direction, running blind into the night.

Awash with fear and concerned that at any moment one of the Adders would catch her, and force her to wait for Donald, she kept her legs pumping like pistons in an engine, and for once, she was thankful for the alcohol in her system, because while her outer-extremities were numb, as was her face, she felt an overwhelming amount of warmth flood her system, though that could be attributed to the fear coursing through her veins. Suddenly her feet shot out from beneath her and her hands outstretched to take the brunt of the fall, she gave a short cry before scrambling to her feet. She had no time to check herself for injuries, so she bolted headlong again, swearing over the fact that she had left her coat behind as the frigid air bit through the silk fabric. Maybe she had been a little cheeky, maybe she had said the wrong thing, but dammit, she wasn't going to let some vile man gloat over her during her dinner with Shay.

How far, and for how long she ran, Vera didn't know. The orange glow of the street lamps became menacing in their black, towering shapes, as they called attention to her, illuminating her very existence, and giving her presence away to the world that watched, if they watched. Snow continued to fall in heavy, wet flakes, snuffing out any noise save for the sound of her breathing. Vera found herself turning off the street and into a darkened park, much like the one near her new flat, but with more trees, here she made for cover. Her chest heaved from the sting of the cold air, and she came to rest against an oak tree, concealed in a veil of black shadows. Immediately, her thoughts went to Shay, and she began to panic. How long would she stay out here? When could she go back to her flat? What of Shay? Was he ok? Was he hurt? Had he escaped like her? Was he searching for her?

An overwhelming amount of fear, and dread filled her heart. Not before long, a cascade of hot tears spilled down her frozen cheeks. Wiping them away with the palms of her hands, Vera forced herself to be silent as she laid a trembling hand over her mouth to quiet her sobs and to hinder the sound of her own breathing. She listened intently for any sign of the Adders. She stood, shivering in the shadow of the oak tree, praying for Shay. Praying that he wasn't hurt, and praying that he would find her in time. She didn't know what to do next, except to hide, and to run if danger found her. Being without her .38 revolver left her feeling vulnerable. She had felt safe in Shay’s presence, that he would protect her from all threats, but this…was unexpected, and she could only blame herself for leaving it behind.

It was a fight for his life.

Shay struggled as Donald kept tightening his grip around his throat while Jonathan tried to pull the knife out of his collarbone, and failing as the pain was too intense. Shay kept pounding into Donald's side, but the man would not release his deadly grip, and Shay found it hard to breathe as he struggled to break free. His fingers traced along the floor, stumbling upon the broken shards of the tumbler that he'd smashed upon Donald's face, and once he found a long enough piece, he grabbed it tightly into his hand, digging into flesh as he drove it back swiftly towards where he thought Donald's face would be. The loud, deafening scream and the sudden slack grip was enough of a sign he made his mark, and he pushed himself away, wheezing as he struggled to breathe under a extremely depressed windpipe; if he wasn't going to bruise from it, he would have been shocked.

Wasting no time, Shay bull charged at Jonathan, and was rewarded with the burning pain of a bullet tearing through his shoulder, making his arm go immediately limp, but he still managed to shove the man aside as he made for the window. A follow upshot whistled by his ear, cracking the window in front of him into spiderweb-like cracks and Shay tossed himself into the window, landing in a pile of broken glass on the hard cobblestone sidewalk on his shot arm.

The bellow he let into the night was hellish.

Still, he knew he had to keep moving, and with his one good arm, forced himself to his feet and stumbled away from the restaurant as screams and shouts filled the air behind him. The chaos of the panicked crowds would buy him time, and the Adders wouldn't be able to hang around for long before the police arrived. He cursed the snow, which left foot impressions as he fled, along with the occasional drop of blood. Taking his chance, he slipped into a dark alleyway and found himself running out of steam. Half way down, he slipped, reaching out desperately to grab a trash bin that was in the way to stop himself. He felt his hand slip through, a jarring sensation as he was certain he was more than close enough to grab the rim and he found himself smashing his face off of the ground, and his vision was blocked by the trash bin, his elbow more than half way past the edge.

In too much agony to do more than groan pitifully as his body tried to fight against passing out, his vision growing blurry, he heard running footsteps come up to the alleyway behind him.

"He must have gone this way! Come on, let's kill that Irish bastard and go!" he heard a man yell, he wasn't sure who. He closed his eyes, resigned. He would die here, he was certain of it. He could only hope that it was a quick bullet to the head. God, Vera... I'm sorry. I tried. I fucking tried. he thought, his anguish bursting as he feared the worst and that she didn't get away. He never even stopped to turn to look back to see if she'd escaped, he just ran like a coward to save his own hide. What kind of man was he?

A dead one. The words hit at once with a haunting finality. He'd felt this way in the war, but there was always a chance he'd get lucky and see a new day. Here, sprawled out in an alleyway bleeding out, there was no where to go, nowhere to...

"WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?" A voice boomed, distinctly Donald's. Shay turned over labourously to look up at the man, who couldn't have been more than five feet away. A large ragged chunk of flesh hung from his cheek, and he looked like he'd have no problem tearing a man limb from limb. Fear gripped his heart; Donald would not make it an easy death. He'd make him pay.

"There's blood and fucking flattened snow, and the trail just fucking ends! Where the fuck were you?" Donald exploded at Curtis, inches from his face. The man cowered against the wall.

"I gave chase, I swear, I couldn't have been thirty paces behind him, boss-" Curtis blurted out, bewildered.

Donald's fist smashed into the brickwork beside Curtis' head, tearing the flesh on his knuckles. "You best find him or the girl, or you won't see the goddamn sunrise. Come on, let's go. I ain't in the mood to chat with the constabulary." Donald growled, stepping back through the alley, away from Shay. Moments later, he was alone.

The Irishman didn't have time to wonder how on Earth he wasn't spotted before his eyes grew too heavy to stay open and he slumped down, the snow floating gently down around him.

Shay never came.

An hour or more had passed, she didn't know the exact time, to be certain, and Shay made no sign of coming to her rescue. Overcome with worry, and wondering if something terrible had happened to him, Vera decided to take a chance and break her cover. She needed no further coaxing to go in search of him, for her fingers were red, and stiff with the first stage of frostbite, while her teeth clattered noisily as she struggled to retain any warmth; the effects of the wine had dissipated, and now the full force of the biting wind mixed with wet snow convinced her that she would be better off searching for him that staying put.

Stumbling through the eerie stillness that hung over the park, Vera retraced her steps, trying her best to stick to the shadows in case the Adders were waiting for her to appear. For some reason, this reminded her of the night that Shay had saved her life. But was he still alive? That pressing question repeated itself through her thoughts as it brought her to the corner where the restaurant stood. In the blanket of white that was the snow, shards of the broken window glinted in the street light, they shone like a beacon, and held a foreboding frame of blood splatter. Her stomach turned, someone had been injured in the fray. Turning away from the scene, as several officers had now arrived to gather information, Vera followed the path of blood splatter, keeping her eyes peeled for any signs of Shay, or the Adders. After all, she had no idea who the blood belonged to.

Her eyes were glued to the trail as she walked with her hands shoved in her armpits, a vain attempt to bring feeling back to her hands. Vera came to an abrupt halt, as the crimson droplets came to an end near an alleyway, there trampled in the snow were several shoe prints, evidence that the Adders had pursued Shay this far. Turning slowly to survey the area around her, her eyes noted the lack of tire tracks in the snow-covered street, the Adders hadn't kidnapped Shay in the least. Then, she spotted it. No. Him. Vera sprang upon a set of trash barrels, she had spotted a hand poking between the barrels. Mortified that the Adders had left him for dead, Vera descended on him, confirming that it was Shay as she thrust the barrels aside.

“Shay!” She whispered through a tightening throat, as she knelt in the snow beside him. His face was pale, and as her eyes swept over him, she noted a wretched gunshot wound to the shoulder. Her fingers brushed against his neck , searching for a pulse, to which she found one, but just faintly. Then, she pulled his head into her lap and smoothed his eyebrows tenderly, her hands even caressing his scruffy cheeks.

“Oh god no! This is all my fault! Shay…” Her voice cracked as anguished tears ran down the tip of her nose, dropping onto his shirt in large splashes.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” An agonizing moan escaped as it slowly turned into a cry of failure. Vera remained in her troubled state for several minutes before she shook herself from her misery. She needed to get him somewhere safe. Thinking she could carry him, Vera slipped her hands underneath his armpits and tried to haul him up. He was too heavy, and being dead weight, she wouldn't be able to take him anywhere, not without some help.

There she spotted a man strolling down the sidewalk, with a briefcase in hand, on his way home from a late night at work. He looked like a respectable man, one that you could find in an accounting firm, or lawyer’s office .

“Sir! Sir! Please! I need your help!” She shouted, her voice splitting through the night. Startled, the man stopped, and made sure that she was addressing him before he crossed the street with hesitation.

“Is everything okay miss? What seems to be the problem?” He asked, eyes widening at the sight of blood splatter in the snow, and the blood on her hands.

“You have to help me! My fiancé, he was in a fight at the restaurant up the road, and he chased away the goons that bothered us. They knocked him out! Can you help me carry him back to my flat?” Vera pleaded as a torrent of grieved tears ran down her reddened face. The man couldn't say no. Not to a woman like her.

---

Apartment # 538

Arriving at the flat, Vera instructed the Good Samaritan to kindly lay Shay out on her bed, while she set to work building up a fire in the fireplace. After he finished doing as she asked, she thanked the man by fishing out the money from Shay’s wallet, and handed him 20£, more than enough to keep him quiet in regards to the peculiar incident. With a warm hearth fire blazing, Vera set to attending Shay.

Inside her bedroom, he lay motionless save for shallow breathing. With hands trembling, she rushed with haste to unbutton the buttons that now seemed like an impossible puzzle to solve. Tugging free the tailored shirt, she cast it aside on the floor, and sucked her teeth at the sight of the wound. While it didn't appear a serious wound, she couldn't be certain to how much blood he had already lost.

She knew little of proper wound care, but she knew that the wound needed to be sterilized, so she fetched a bottle of whiskey from the pantry cupboard, and started a pot of water to boil on the wood furnace stove. As the water boiled, Vera collected what clean linen she could, even going as far to remove the loose sheet on the spare bed. With that, and fresh towels, she cut the sheet into long strips, and dropped them in the now boiling water. Once those were deemed sterile, she brought the linen strips, whiskey, and towels to tend to Shay.

At his bedside, Vera knelt by his shoulder, dabbing carefully at the wound with a piece of towel soaked in whiskey. There, she cleaned it as best as she could, wiping the excess blood away. Finally, she began the painstaking process of binding his wound with the boiled linen, it had cooled significantly so as not to burn his flesh, but it was sterile nonetheless.

When his wound had been sterilized, and bound, Vera headed into the parlor room where she then called Sam.

“Ugh...hello?” He must have been sleeping, for he sounded groggy, or perhaps drunk.

“Sam… It's me.” Vera said, already she fought back another wave of tears as her voice shook.

“Vera?” He asked, both to clarify, and as a way to ask what was wrong.

“Yes, Sam, I need you to listen to me, and please don't interrupt.” She pressed, shutting her eyes tight as if trying to erase the memories of that night's horrific events. “Shay’s been shot.”

“What?”

“I said-”

“I heard what you said Vera, that's not what I asked. Who shot him? Where are you now? How bad is he?” Sam snapped, she could almost see him now, rigid with anger, maybe even fear.

“Sam, just listen!” Silence came over the line, and she knew she had his full attention now. “We were having dinner at a restaurant down the road from my flat. We wanted to have a good time, and we had just ordered dinner when the Adders walked in through the door. It was the head honcho, Donald Hayes, and some of his goons. They hadn't followed us, but came out for dinner themselves, but he saw us Sam. Donald saw us. He came over to our table, and caused a ruckus, and… and I said some things I shouldn't have.”

“Vera what did you say?”

“I can't repeat them.”

“I need you to tell me everything.”

She retold the story of their encounter with Hayes, and how Shay distracted the men to give her time to escape, even how she found Shay near the trash barrels, and how she enlisted the help of a stranger walking home from work to help carry Shay back to her flat.

“Vera… It’s going to be okay. Don't worry about anything. Call the pub if Shay gets worse and we’ll send someone over to you. I'm going to send for the doctor.” Then, Sam hung up the phone, leaving a shaken Vera alone to handle her coagulating emotions. She paced around in the parlor room, the fanciful furniture no longer held her eye, as her thoughts were with Shay. Knowing Sam, and the Rougher's, she knew that the doctor wouldn't be a medical professional, rather, the doctor would be a mystifying Romani woman, a gypsy as they called her kind. Sam didn't say when he would have her there, and so she took it upon herself to faithfully watch over Shay until someone arrived. Quitting herself from her manic pacing, she disappeared to check in on him.

Lingering in the doorway to her bedroom, she watched Shay, her teeth biting hard into her bottom lip with great anxiety. Finally, after mustering enough courage, she ventured over to the edge of the bed and sat next to him. For what felt like an eternity, as she remained next to him, her eyes flickering between the wound, and then to his face. The pallidity of his skin had faded considerably since first arriving at the flat. Sighing in frustration that she couldn't do more to help him, Vera decided to lie next to him. If he woke, and needed anything, she would be right there beside him. With one hand, Vera held his hand in hers, her eyes studying the gentle rise and fall of his exposed chest. A peculiar thought came over her, one that brought a flush to her cheeks. She found that even though he was wounded, Shay was indeed strikingly handsome; she tried not to stare so adamantly at his exposed chest, but her eyes returned to study his torso over and over. Now she could see how well-muscled he was, the color of his nipples and even the dark hair on his chest that trickled down to the beginning of his pants. She forced the thoughts from her mind, forcing her to stay focused on his breathing. Eventually a grey light filled the room with the coming dawn, and then, did she allow sleep to take her.

At first, the only sensation was an itch across the fingers and palm, then a dull throb in the shoulder. Bit by bit, it seemed that everything began to come into focus as Shay started to come to. Groggy and disoriented, he opened his eyes, and instead of finding himself in the frigid street in his own blood, he found himself in a strange room, illuminated faintly by ambient light.

Am I dead? he wondered, vaguely recalling what had happened, mostly that he was chased and a gunshot, the memory of which made his shoulder burn. He inhaled sharply as the wound suddenly stabbed at him painfully. Reaching tenderly, he was surprised to note that it was bandaged up. If he were dead, and this were Heaven or Hell, his blemishes would be gone.

He slunk back into the pillow, mind racing. What had happened? Tracing his thoughts back, he vaguely recalled the alleyway, falling. Angry voices… the Adders. A window.
Vera.

Shay’s heart sank, and he jolted awake, fearful for what had happened to Vera. He made to move, but his arm screamed at him to lay back, but not before he caught the sight of a dark-haired prone figure beside him. Vera was sleeping soundly beside him, and in his state of relative undress, he felt someone self-conscious, despite the circumstances. He reached out, brushing Vera’s cheek with the back of his hand and smiled when her eyes slowly opened. She was well, she was safe. “If this is heaven, I wasn’t expecting the angels to be so beautiful.” He said, unable to shake the smile from his face.

“If this is heaven, I wasn't expecting the angels to be so beautiful.”

Rousing at the sound of his voice, pale blue eyes flickered opened, to the soft-hued light of early morning poked through the cracks from the curtains over the window. It took her a brief moment to realize why she had awoken in the first place. There, staring back at her with a smile on his lips, was a very much awake, and alive, Shay. She pushed herself up immediately into a seated position as a smile crossed her lips, sheer joy emanated from her being despite her frazzled appearance; the pins that had secured her dark-brown mane of curls in place had come loose, as her curls now stuck out every which way.

“Shay!” She cried.Throwing herself atop him, with her head resting on his chest and her arms draped over him in an embrace, holding fast to him

“I thought you were dead! Oh god! I was so scared, Shay, I didn't think you would come to.” She said. A burning sensation filled her eyes, and before she had the chance to blink away her tears, they ran down in tiny rivulets from the corners of her eyes. Her face turned red as she sat up with great haste, the back of her hands wiping away what she could. As she tried to make herself proper, she noted the drops of tears that had fallen onto his exposed flesh, to which she quickly wiped away with her fingers.

“I'm so sorry, Shay. Here, let me fetch you something to drink! Your shoulder must be in a lot of pain.” She offered as she scrambled from the bed, disappearing into the hallway.

Returning moments later, in her hands she carried a dinner platter laden with a whiskey bottle, a tumbler, a pitcher full of water, and another glass in which to pour the water. As she set the tray down on the nightstand beside Shay, she poured him both a glass of whiskey, and a glass of water. There, she sat close to him on the edge of the bed, and offered up the refreshments to him.

In a fragile voice she spoke, “I called Sam. He said he would send a doctor over to see how bad your injury is. Shay…” She hesitated at the threat of tears, and brought her hand to cover her mouth as a sob escaped.

“Shay, I'm so sorry. This...this was all my fault. If I hadn't been such a fool with my words, this wouldn't have happened to you.” Her head turned so as to conceal the anguish she felt within, but her hands curled into white-knuckles fists that rested on her knees.

Taking the glass of water to ease his parched throat, Shay leaned forward and drank from the glass, thankful for the cool, clear liquid that might as well been gold in his eyes at that point.

“I didn’t mean to worry you, Vera. I tried to save you from those men, to buy you time. It wasn't your fault, they came looking for a fight." he said soothingly. His eyes moistened as he broke eye contact, suddenly recollecting. "I didn’t even look to see if you were safe.” Shay lamented, eyes downcast in his shame. “I am sorry for making you worry, how terrified and lonely you must have been when you escaped. I just couldn’t bear to think of what those men would have done if they laid hands on you. I killed to keep you safe once, I was willing to do so again if it killed me.” He said, wincing as his arm spiked in pain as if to accentuate the sentiment.

Setting the glass down, Shay reached out to hold Vera’s cheek, the skin soft and smooth to his rough, callused hand and invitingly warm. With a thumb, he wiped away a tear, the upturn of a smile trying its best to reassure her. “I might have been, if not for you. You came for me. I’m here because you came back. I was so concerned about protecting you; I never imagined how much I’d need you to protect me. I owe you my life, Vera. I will never forget that.”

The soft caress that was his hand brushing against her cheek, and the way his thumb wiped away her falling tears caused her to purse her lips. She gazed back at Shay, her eyes searching his, hoping that she could find the words to say. But the fact of the matter was, she couldn't find anything to say. Instead, she slipped her arms around him, and rested her head gingerly on his shoulder, careful not to disturb the wounded one. She remained there for a moment, holding him against her body, then, she lifted her head, and with one hand cupped his chin. The pad of her thumb rubbed the space between his chin and bottom lip, her eyes flickered up to gaze at him, and then…

She kissed him right on the lips.

A bit over an hour later…

A rapping came at the door, followed by Sam’s voice calling through the hardwood portal. “Vera, it’s me. Open up.”

When Vera opened the door, Sam, along with Emory and Silas, came in, followed by a strange middle aged woman in a long dress of multicoloured fabric. Silas looked red in the face, like he’d run a half mile to answer a summons. For a situation like this, Sam likely called up whoever was readily available and made their way over. Shay was on the couch, legs stretched across the fabric without a shirt, his bandages still slightly crimson from the wound. Vera had steeped them both cups of earl grey tea, which was still too hot to drink and sat seaming on the end table, moved beside Shay so he didn’t have to try and reach behind himself to reach it.

“Evening, lads. Sorry to be a bother.” He said, unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Jesus, Shay. You’re lucky to be alive.” Sam said, kicking off his boots and rushing over. Silas and Emory lingered by the door, pulling guns from their coats. Interestingly, Emory had a post-war Luger in his possession, a prized handgun that he claimed fit his hand like no other. Unlike Shay and Sam, who had less than ideal memories of the Jerries and their weapons of war, Emory had no qualms about German small arms, preferring the sleek 9mm over the larger and bulkier service revolvers the two veterans favoured. Sam knelt before Shay, lighting his cigarette for him. “I brought a doctor for you. She’s… unconventional, but she’ll do a damn fine job. Vera? A word, please.” He said, not unkindly. Given what his sister had endured, and the unfortunate circumstances of the night, he was more concerned about her than angry.

Meanwhile, Shay regarded the “doctor” with some degree of skepticism. “Begging my pardon, lass, but you don’t look like a doctor.” He stated, blinking through the wafting smoke.

When she had finished her shower, Vera set to stoking the fireplace, and went about exploring the flat, and trying to make Shay as comfortable as possible in the meantime. Her thoughts were elsewhere, replaying the scene of the bedroom events over and over again in her head, and one dark thought loomed over her like a massive storm cloud. Shay...he had finished inside of her… Her mind found it hard to think of anything else asides from the fact that there might be arise a pregnancy from this situation.

Just as she set a piping hot tea pot full of earl-grey down on the coffee table, there was a quick rapt at her door. She shot Shay a hesitant glance before rushing over to peer through the peep hole. With a relieved sigh, she opened the door and in stepped Sam, Emory, a red-faced Silas, and the doctor. The doctor, or rather, an eccentrically clad woman who sported an array of vibrant patterns, from gingham to calicoes, plaid and even floral designs, were easy to spy. She had long black hair, with a streak of grey on the right side of her temple, and large, piercing black eyes. Her nose was hooked, like that of a hawk, or a vulture, and in one nostril there twinkled in the mid-morning light, a gold ring. Around her neck hung the ominous Black Madonna, and as she sidled into the room, her mouth turning into a pertinent frown, Vera’s eyes never left her.

When Sam broke her attention by calling to her, he also drew the attention of the woman again, and this time she made a quiet remark in a language that Vera didn't understand. She frowned immediately, concerned that the woman had said something offensive.

“Wait, Sam. What did she say?” Vera demanded, looking to Em and Silas as they glanced about her new flat, revolvers drawn.

Silas, who had caught the words of the woman grew red around the ears. “Ah...She says she knows you?”

Vera’s eyes leapt from Silas to the woman, “How do you know me?” The tone in her voice denoted that of irritation. Not at the woman, but rather at Sam for taking so long to get to Shay.

Silas did his best to translate, and how he knew what language she spoke baffled her. The woman shrugged her shoulders and pointed at Vera, still speaking in her native tongue, and turned to Silas before sauntering over to Shay.

“I'm sorry, she won't tell me.” He only offered a sympathetic smile for her before turning to Shay, and translating what he said to her. The woman set about unwrapping his bandages, and clucked her tongue as she went, speaking to Silas on occasion.

“Ah, sorry about this mate. This here’s my Aunt Ingrid, she comes from the old country. It may seem strange, but she's dealt with worse than bullet-holes, don't worry about a thing, eh? She’ll have you sitting pretty in a split. The good news is, she says the bullet went clear through.” Silas spoke, he was a nervous fellow, and shifted uncomfortably, probably feeling the same as Shay did when he first stepped into the flat, didn't want to muck up the place.

“Vera. A word. Now.” Sam repeated, and hooked his thumb into the kitchen. There, she followed him into the brightly lit room and leaned against a counter.

“What do you want, Sam? I’ve not had much sleep, so my nerves are stressed.” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"It's, ah, a pleasure." Shay managed awkwardly, feeling utterly out of place in a fancy flat with a bullet wound and some rather exotic-garbed woman that looked like he imagined a Gypsy looking like uttering nonsense in a strange tongue that Silas somehow spoke, and claimed to be related to this woman. The news the wound wasn't serious was a welcome one, but still, this highly unconventional woman plucking away to expose the wound had him tense up somewhat, uncertainty creeping down his spine.

Sam fidgeted with a pack of smokes, fumbling with the lid before suddenly deciding against it, setting the carton down on the kitchen counter with more force than he strictly meant to. He was visibly shaken. "I get that. What, I'm not supposed to worry about my own sister and friend nearly getting killed?" Sam snapped tersely, before immediately looking regretful. "This is just, too much too soon. I picked here because it was a quiet, safe neighbourhood, and you have yet another run-in with the Adders... What do I need to do to keep you safe from them? How do I keep you from ending up in the fucking morgue? You said you provoked goddamn Donald Hayes, do you understand how dangerous that man is, what he does to people?" Sam demanded, his voice raising, the strain evident.

Breathing deeply, his eyes pools of fear and grief, he whispered, "We only have each other, Vera. You're all I have left. I don't want you to leave me."