Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tommy ran his hand with a light movement through his dark hair; he lingered for a while on the other side of the street, staring at the sign that illuminated a little of his surroundings in the soft darkness; soft neon blue and red. A little of a certain shiver already chased him down the spine, this symbol of the hand with an eye in the middle - even if he knew it through his own roots.

He hadn't been sure for a long time whether he should really take this step, whether he really wanted it to come to this - and was so desperate that he went to see a fortune teller his sister had recommended to him; with an uncertain gesture he once again pulled the card out of his pants pocket and compared it with the neon sign in the dark alley. But it matched. "If you get stuck, go see her. My friend went there once, and she was helped," Ada had said, and Tommy had accepted the little card only with a grumble. Actually, he didn't believe in such things, but circumstances had forced him to do so by now. He almost couldn't sleep through the night anymore, and that was starting to cause a deep-seated panic in him.

So, he smoked his cigarette and threw it into one of the puddles on the sidewalk before venturing across the street with a soft exhale, stopping in front of the store. It was a small store, unobtrusively nestled in the gypsy neighborhood, which Tommy only knew of that he had once had relatives here many years ago, before his family had moved up. Still, the sight of this store triggered a strange queasy feeling in his stomach, especially when his hand touched the handle and he pushed it down to open the door. Except for the neon sign and various colorful cloths, nothing had been visible in the window.

Inside, the smell of incense and copal hit his nose so strongly that he had to wrinkle it slightly; the density of that smell was impressively heavy, and he could already feel it making him slightly dizzy. Maybe it was a ploy to force the clients to be more faithful this way, he thought to himself before looking around with careful steps.

The store was crammed with books and weird things Tommy had no idea about; strange misty orbs, skulls, various dried herbs hanging here and there from the ceiling, swaying slightly back and forth; Tommy couldn't read much of the writing on the spines of the books because they were strange languages and characters. He stopped at a particularly gloomy looking book; it was black and looked almost as if it were already several hundred years old. His fingertips carefully ran over it, before a bright voice snapped him out of his fascination.

"What can I do for you?" a young woman with black hair asked; she smiled slightly, watching Tommy as he approached her. His eyes slid around the room again briefly in surprise before he faced her. Her brown eyes seemed warm, but she left him with a strange feeling. He didn't feel at ease.

"My...my sister sent me here. She said there was a woman who could help me," he said quietly; there was no one else in the store, but Tommy still felt strange about those words coming out of his mouth.

The woman with black hair smiled wanly, then nodded gently towards a curtain. It was that typical curtain of strange beads that allowed some visibility, but still veiled the space behind it. "She's already waiting. Go ahead." the woman said with a smile, extending her arm; Tommy nodded to her and with an uncertain movement walked through the rustling curtain, behind which a new room opened up.

Tommy had grown up with these things; his mother had always held the old Gypsy customs in high esteem, even though Tommy had never been like that - he had lost his faith early on, and basically no longer believed in anything he hadn't seen with his own eyes. That's why the step in this direction had been so difficult for him, but he couldn't take it anymore. He had reached a point where it was no longer bearable.

Sitting at a round table in the middle of a stuffed room, with the strong smell of smoke all around her, was an old woman with gray hair, through which there were still single, black strands; her gaze was immediately fixed on him, and Tommy could see directly that she was blind in one eye - for instead of possessing the soft brown as the healthy eye, this eye was light gray and dull.

Tommy's mouth went dry, but he followed the old woman's silent instruction and sat down in the chair that faced her; it was a strange sensation when he sat down, and he exhaled deeply at first. The old woman eyed him; Tommy could not gauge her age.

"You're here because something's bothering you." she said, extending her hand; her fingers dug into her palm briefly, as if she wanted something, and Tommy stared at her in confusion. "Your right hand, my boy," she said, snarling, and Tommy nodded eagerly. He hesitated, but then let his hand slide into hers. It was strangely warm, but the fingers on the outside were cold as the old woman ran her hand curiously over his palm.

"I have dreams, you know." Tommy said wanly; he watched the woman as her eyes ran over his palms, as her fingers did, as if they could read the lines in them like a book.

"Dreams?" she croaked, and Tommy nodded.

"Every night, and they're so...realistic. I've been having these dreams for months now, and I can't figure them out. I can hardly sleep anymore. I want to know what these dreams mean."

The old woman continued as her fingers suddenly stopped at a spot in his palm; it almost tickled a little as her fingertips touched the line.

"You've got gypsy blood in you, my boy," she murmured, and Tommy bit his lip; he was silent for a moment, then nodded.

"Yes, my mother, she was - …she was the one I got it from."

"Uh-huh." the old woman made, and her fingers continued to slide over his palm; the corners of her mouth twisted slightly, then the fingertips stopped again in one particular spot. It was the spot Tommy had always thought was a small scar he'd gotten as a child; a small, light line just above what his sister had always called a lifeline when she'd once practiced palm reading on him. They had been teenagers, back then.

"You are special, ah. Your dreams are a sign, young man. You are a born again.", the old woman said, pointing her fingernail at the line Tommy thought was his scar.

"A scar, I've had it forever..."

"That's not a scar. It's a line that indicates you've lived before, and your dreams show you the way. That's why you can't get rid of them." the old woman explained, and Tommy's hand twitched slightly.

"I'm sorry, a... what? I've had this scar forever, it's part of me like... I don't know."

"Can you remember how you got it?"

Tommy opened his lips softly, but despite his effort to remember, he couldn't think of it. He considered for a moment whether he should lie; then, however, it occurred to him that he was with a fortune-teller, and that it would probably do little good. He was silent for another moment, then the old woman groaned softly.

"This line indicates that you are a reincarnate. You've had it since birth, and it's your dreams that indicate that the time has come."

"What... What time has come? For what?" Tommy snorted, perplexed; and though he didn't really believe in such things, the hairs on the back of his neck bristled slightly. The woman's blind eye seemed to stare at him permanently, and he returned his gaze to both of their hands.

"Your dreams, my young man, are not ordinary dreams. They show you your previous life, and the things you did wrong or failed to do; you have been reborn to complete a task from your previous life that you seem to have failed. The dreams come every day and are especially clear on full moon nights, aren't they?" the old woman explained; her eyes focused on him again, and Tommy, deeply amazed and strangely rigid, nodded mutely.

How did she know this?

"The dreams are too faint in your condition for you to understand them. If you want, I'll get you some clarity. And you can do your task. I don't think you'll find peace in this life otherwise, because your spirit and mind will agonize until that task is done."

Tommy pondered. It was strange what this woman had to say, and it set off a strange tingling in his limbs; it was true. He had been struggling with bouts of violent migraines and depression on and off for several years, but no doctor had been able to help him yet, other than stuffing him full of various pills. But they only shifted the phases, and how many times had Tommy lain awake at night wondering why he of all people had to suffer so? Why it was his skull that was almost blown apart under the pressure inside?

His hand twitched slightly in the gypsy's, then he exhaled deeply. "How can you help me?" he asked softly, and the old woman looked at him. Tommy avoided looking into her blind eye - because it seemed strange to him. As if it could see without really seeing.

 "I have a special tea, with very rare herbs. Drink it every night before you go to sleep, and your dreams will be as clear as a movie. Then you will have to find out what task you have to fulfill."

Tommy exhaled deeply; the woman let go of his hand, and Tommy nodded after a while. His throat was still dry, and he swallowed slightly.

"Yes, help me. Please."

It took a moment for her to get up and come back from another room with a small packet; she placed it in his hands, and Tommy felt it crackle lightly in his fingers. It was dried herbs for sure, and Tommy nodded gratefully.

"Thank you."

"If you have any questions, feel free to come back. Sometimes these dreams may contain images of this time here, but you will recognize them. The tea will help you sleep through the nights. I hope you find your purpose," the old woman said; the smile she put on tentatively, Tommy returned lightly before paying and disappearing from the store with raised eyebrows.

He stared at the small packet of herbs in his hand while lighting a cigarette with one hand when he was back outside; it had started raining by now, and having the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, Tommy flipped the collar of his jacket higher.

He absolutely did not believe in that nonsense the old woman had told there. Born again, such bullshit... such things existed only in movies and books. Still, he wanted to try the herbs, because they might finally be the help he needed when his pills stopped helping and the side effects were so severe that sometimes he didn't want to eat at all, let alone do anything. He put the small packet in his jacket pocket and headed home to his apartment.

He struggled a bit, late in the evening, as he poured the herbs into a cup of warm water; nevertheless, he followed exactly the instructions the old woman had written down, which he almost hadn't been able to read. Tommy watched as the herbs slowly dissolved in the water; the tea smelled really fresh, reminding him for a moment of the smell of freshly mowed lawn in summer, and of a certain fruit he had once eaten.

He had already sat down on a bed and was staring suspiciously at the cup in his hands before sighing softly.

"Well then, let's see... I hope what you're saying is true, old witch." he muttered, making an imaginary toast to himself; the tea tasted harsh and nothing like he'd expected; far too spicy, and when the cup was empty, Tommy set it down with a soft hiss. He felt dizzy, soft all over, and with a sigh he flopped back on his soft bed.

The ceiling of his room began to spin gently, as if he were drunk; he closed his eyes tightly so as not to be distracted by it, and did not notice how, after only a few moments, he sank into a deep sleep.

Chapter Text

1923

Tommy exhaled deeply; his forehead hurt slightly, very lightly only, because he seemed to be pressing it against the sharp edge of a bar; he had closed his eyes slightly when a sudden, warm movement made him falter. It was hands stroking his head, running through his dark hair, making him lift his head again to meet the hand.

It was Polly's hand; she looked tired, weary and kind of sad. Tommy could see it right in her gaze as she eyed him, a soft smile at the usually stern corners of her mouth. For a moment they just looked at each other, then Polly pushed a glass full of whiskey over to him. Tommy took it without a word.

He felt strangely heavy, strangely broken inside. Something throbbed sheer desperation against his chest, made the whiskey taste different, more burning. He didn't remember what had happened for the first moment; until Polly relieved him of that task.

"It will get better, in time. They come and go, the women. You should forget about her as soon as you can," she said with a sigh, taking a sip from her glass. Tommy sat down on a bar stool and ran his hand with a quick movement through his hair before his eyes once again turned to his aunt. There it was again, the reason for his pain: Grace. And that she was who she was, had betrayed him, and then left without another word. Tommy had always had a hard time trusting people or letting them get closer to his real self on a physical and emotional level; Grace he had trusted. Which was probably one of the reasons his heart was beating so bitterly heavy in his chest now. Sickeningly heavy, like a pesky bullet wound that wouldn't close and kept bleeding permanently. There was too much on his mind right now, too much. He would have liked to accompany her, even if she had betrayed him - because his heart was crying out for her. But he had to do this one task first, he had to build something.

"Maybe so. I don't know, Polly.", Tommy murmured into his glass; his thoughts had drifted, buzzing around all sorts of things. About Grace, about London, about his brothers; about what he would want to offer his family, someday, when the deep struggle over all this was over. He didn't feel like fighting for anything anymore that would leave him then - it was certainly one of the reasons he had let Grace go.

"Yes, it is. There are so many good women, Tommy, and you'll meet them sooner or later. Until then - let off steam and forget about them."

"You say that so easily."

"Yes, I say that easily! Love is never forever. Believe me, if there's one thing I know, it's this. The only love that really lasts is family," Polly said; it was quiet in the pub, droning silent and late; Tommy's eyes traveled to the clock on the wall, and he sighed softly.

"I've got to get to bed in a minute, I've got a meeting in the morning," he said quietly; he drank the last of his glass, then slid it across the bar with a soft sound. Polly looked at him with slightly furrowed brows; her gaze lingered on him for a moment, then she grunted softly.

"That baker, isn't it he? That Jew?" she chided, and Tommy put on a soft, if a touch annoyed, grin; he pulled the collar of his jacket higher and pushed his body down from the stool.

"Yeah, that's the one. He's a moonshiner, Polly. And we need him to make war on the Italians. We can't get at London any other way."

"I don't trust Jews. And the way you described him last time, he sounds more like a fiend from the gutter than a fair partner in business."

"That's because honest men never put on a mask. I think he'll do us good. Besides, he claims the same thing about us, just for the hell of it," Tommy added; he didn't know why, but despite the recent rather rotten circumstances, it brought a slight grin to his face. He had kind of liked Alfie's rough manner; sure, it was one thing to get used to, as was his quirky walk, and his dry, brutal sense of humor. But he had good plans and Tommy needed him. He had no room for doubt, not now that Grace had left him.

"Well then... But don't come to me when he suddenly stabs you in the back!" Polly retorted; she stroked his cheek once more briefly before Tommy put on his cap and disappeared into the dark night.

That night he dreamed of Grace; of their union, of that depth they had both shared the first time. And though Tommy tried to suppress the roar in his skull, those images inevitably haunted his mind. Like he could still feel the soft skin under his fingers, like he could still smell her scent in his nose, ever so gently; but it helped him fall asleep, as much as he hated that thought. It helped him to stop hearing those spades digging through the walls, to stop feeling that oppressive sense of dread that choked his lungs in panic at night - to forget for a moment the fear that he would fail. He didn't want to have to dig any more graves, at least not ones with familiar names on them.

He was early, and Alfie was late, when they met at the agreed meeting place the next morning. Alfie had his hat on again today, pulled low on his face; it was almost like Tommy was looking in a mirror. He also loved to wear his hat low, so people couldn't always see his face right away. It was protection that wasn't really one - but it made you feel good.

"I didn't know Gypsies could be punctual," Alfie grunted in amusement, and Tommy shrugged. He looked the older man in the face and nodded slightly when Alfie eyed him the same way.

"What's on the agenda today?" Tommy said. They walked a little further up the canal. It was a quiet day, despite the proximity to the harbor, and it was possible to walk quietly along the waterfront without a lot of people coming towards them; they had picked places like this before. Tommy wasn't sure why: maybe because there was less chance of them both shooting each other. Besides, an ambush was harder to plan that way. At least, that's what Tommy told himself.

"I've been thinking. We should plan a hit on the Italians, at one of the horse races, or whatever you mentioned. I mean, our liquor business is going to be running, but it would be nice to take a step forward for a change, don't you think?" Alfie said; the two looked at each other, and Tommy nodded slightly.

"Requires a bit of planning, huh?"

"A little, nothing we couldn't lift with our heads and the men."

"You're right about that. As long as everything is on a trust basis, it's all a matter of time and planning. Money is not an issue."

"Money won't be needed either. At least not large amounts. But that's your business, not mine. I have a funny feeling about you gypsies, but well... You're better than wops any day."

Tommy returned Alfie's slightly critical look; they stopped and were silent for a moment as a man walked past them; only when he was gone did Alfie jut his chin slightly. The bright green eyes that Tommy had always found strange were fixed directly on him.

"Do you believe in God, Tommy Shelby?"

A deep silence fell between them for a moment, then Tommy snorted in amusement. It was typical of Alfie to ask him such questions - questions no one else would ask him during negotiations. No, this gruff, open manner had fascinated him in a very strange way from the beginning, like an explosion you couldn't take your eyes off, with all its awfulness. Tommy would never forget the soft grin on Alfie's face when he had told him about his brand of biblical crucifixion. Driving a nail into a man's skull as if he were nothing more than a doll - he would never have wanted to meet Alfie in war. It had to be like letting go of a beast, with cruel, oozing teeth.

"What's that got to do with business, Alfie?" he retorted, not a bit surprised when Alfie snapped back less kindly, like a biting dog.

"It was a normal question, mate. Do you believe in God?"

Tommy bit his lower lip in amusement and searched in his coat for his metal box of cigarettes. He lit one and exhaled the fumes towards the brackish canal water. It took him a moment before he caught Alfie's gaze again, looked at him.

"No, I lost my faith a long time ago," he said wanly, and Alfie shook his head.

"Why’s that?" he asked straightforwardly, and Tommy shrugged. Actually, it was none of this stubborn fellow's business what he believed and why, because it wasn't part of the deal; but it amused him. For a long time, no man had amused him as Alfie Solomons did. His eyes fell on the gruff beard, the open lips that seemed to eye him uncomprehendingly, and he laughed softly.

"I lost my faith in the war, I think. That God would allow us all to execute each other in such a cruel way, well... I think that made me doubt."

Alfie grunted softly. "Make you doubt so much that you give up your last hope?"

"What hope, Alfie? God has nothing to do with hope."

Alfie's eyebrows lifted, and he gave Tommy a gentle shove against his upper left arm. Like two boys, Tommy thought, but he couldn't hide his grin.

"God has everything to do with hope, with faith. I'll show you why in some time. Because believe me - wishes and hopes can come true." Alfie grunted darkly, raising his eyebrows again as Tommy still smiled at him.

"Can they? In Judaism, maybe." he said quietly, amused, and Alfie let out an annoyed gasp.

"You'll have a look around, my heathen friend. I'll show you. There is something among us Jews called a golem. You might find it interesting."

"Golem?"

"Yes. It's an ancient creature from the legends and scriptures, and a word for... well, something like a hollow, human-like body. You can write something down, put it in its mouth - and the golem will grant your wish," Alfie said; from the look on his face and the pitch of his deep voice, Tommy knew Alfie really meant it. He could believe what he wanted - but Tommy actually rarely liked to get involved in such matters, especially since he absolutely did not believe in such humbug. But to drag the religion of his new business partner into the mud, or into ridicule - that was not his intention either. Therefore, he only nodded amusedly.

"I'd say, at the next meeting, you show it to me sometime, this golem. He'll definitely help us get this thing done, don't you think?" Tommy replied, and Alfie and he walked a bit further again. Alfie snorted softly; his eyes fastened on Tommy's, who still wore a slightly mischievous grin at the corners of his mouth.

"I'll show you, but you gotta believe in that shit too, you know? So, I guess it'll be up to me."

"As long as it brings profit and success to the business, I believe in your golem."

"Tommy, you're a dick."

"No less than you."

They looked at each other again, and both had to grin a little; enveloped in the steam of a small cutter that was just passing them through the channel. Tommy didn't trust Alfie; he carried a strange feeling in his stomach about this man and had a faint suspicion - and he didn't even know why - that one day he would betray him. Just as Grace had done, just as his former business partners had done, or the police. You never knew who you could trust - ever. But if and when that moment would even come, Tommy didn't care in those moments. They agreed to meet again in London, where Tommy would seek him out again at the distillery.

"And then I'll take you to the synagogue where our new friend is. You'll really learn something on your next visit, little gypsy."

§----§----§

Tommy opened his eyes, yet immediately closed them again as he recognized the soft, morning contours of his modern bedroom; the sun still stung his eyes, and he rolled to the other side to sort out his boiling and strange feelings and come down from what he had just experienced in his dream.

He knew he had dreamed these sequences before, unconsciously; but they had never been so real, never so clear as they were that night. Still his heart was pounding strangely fast, and his breathing was irregular. It was a strange, unsettling sensation that his skin still felt as if Polly had just brushed against his head, or Alfie had just punched him in the upper arm a second ago. Tommy couldn't even begin to describe the feeling that tingled in his stomach like a storm; even his nose burned slightly, as if the smell so foreign from the canal and Alfie's proximity were still there.

But it was only a dream, an extremely realistic dream, brought on by those herbs the gypsy had given him; Tommy rolled back onto his back and opened his eyes. The fact that he was back in the modern age, in his bed, in his present life, now finally tingled pleasantly in his body. For a moment he had felt as if his thoughts were still attached like a tick to those memories or dreams.

It was weird. This woman had kept her word, and the dreams were indeed more realistic than ever; almost as accurate as the hand in front of his eyes that Tommy once ran over his eyes to prove he was really here. But he had not progressed a bit despite this realistic insight.

He knew two people now, Polly and Alfie. What was their role? Was his war against the Italians what his job was? Who were they involved with? Tommy licked his lips and sighed softly. For better or worse, he would have to take this stuff for a few nights to see a clear directive - he knew only one thing: that it would have to happen eventually, because the dreams kept starting in the middle, in a random scene, as if Tommy had merely switched the TV. Like a program that changed, giving one a different insight into something new.

He pushed himself up from the bed and decided to go to his sister; even though he had no idea how to explain what he had seen there - and what this gypsy woman had told him. Even now, Tommy didn't believe what she said; but thought it was merely a dream brought on by strange herbs, or something like a hallucination. Even if he found out who these people were: they must surely have been dead for very many decades.

Ada stared at him with slightly parted lips as he sat on her couch in her cozy apartment half an hour later; her eyes had fixed firmly on her brother, who was still quietly sipping his tea and letting the taste melt on his tongue. God, he had woken up with such a thirst, like his body had actually smoked too much and drunk too much. He took his time; he didn't put down the cup of tea until Ada cleared her throat impatiently.

"What did she say?" she asked, and Tommy raised his eyebrows. He hesitated for a moment; now that he had to explain it to another person, it was a little weird. Like he was crazy. But it was his sister, and she did believe in most of these things, at least.

"She did... it was totally crazy, Ada. The old woman took my hand, and she was... reading things out of it. You know that weird line in my hand that we always thought was a scar?" Tommy muttered. He held out his right palm to his sister, and her fingers ran over it curiously.

"Yes, above the lifeline. You've always had it. What about it?"

"She said it... it's not a scar at all, it's another line indicating that I... Damn, that's so crazy..." Tommy snorted; he closed his hand slightly again, but Ada slid it back open curiously. It tickled slightly as her curious fingers brushed over the line.

"Now, come on, say it! I couldn't sleep half the night thinking about it."

"Okay, all right. She said it's a sign that I'm a reincarnate and I've lived before. And that these dreams that I'm having - you know which ones - that they're sequences from my past life. And that I'm reliving them because I guess I still have a task to do that I didn't get to do back then. She gave me herbs to make a tea to help me see the dreams more clearly. And as long as I don't do that, so chasing after that task, my... inside, my head or mind or whatever would..."

"... No more finding peace? Oh my God, Tommy... this is unbelievable!" Ada breathed excitedly; she had let go of Tommy's hand by now and was staring at her brother with wide eyes. Tommy snorted slightly; he had known Ada would react like this. Ada, who had always believed in ghosts and hauntings and all that stuff and had gotten deep into their roots. Tommy ran his hand over his forehead, slightly annoyed, then put his feet up.

"Incredibly stupid, yeah. Who says it's true? The guy I am in the dreams, Ada - he's so different from me. He's cold, and he already killed some people," he said dully, and Ada snorted in amusement.

"You are blunt and cold, Tommy."

"But not like that! It may be hallucinations, because I have no proof that these people really existed! They may be... temporary after-effects of depression."

Ada bit her lips for a moment; she looked at her brother with half narrowed eyes, as if concentrating sharply. It took a moment of silence for Tommy to reach for his teacup again and take a sip; he almost choked when Ada suddenly clapped her hands and jumped enthusiastically to her feet.

"You and me, library. We'll go find our - or your - ancestors. You had said a long time ago that you remembered a certain sign and a certain name, is that right?" she said excitedly, and Tommy nodded in perplexity.

"There was a wooden sign, it said...something about Shelby Company and...um...The Garrison. But Ada, that wasn't here in London. That was somewhere else."

"Birmingham." she groaned, already searching for her jacket, while Tommy's mouth dropped open just slightly.

"How do you know that, please?"

Ada smiled slightly; she stroked through her shoulder-length hair and pulled Tommy to his feet in one smooth motion. "You talk in your sleep, dear brother. All your life." she said softly, stroking Tommy's cheek briefly.

"You know, I always thought you could never be helped, and it always hurt me so much that even the doctors couldn't do anything. And then this old woman comes and gives you a cup of tea - and you're like a different person," she added; Tommy pulled on his black jacket and took a quick look into Ada's eyes.

"A different person is an exaggeration now."

"Oh yeah? You didn't even complain of a headache today, and your vein on your temple is gone too," she said clearly, taking Tommy by the hand, who was still perplexed, grabbing his own temple. And he almost didn't dare finish that thought, but she was right. It was the first time in months that Tommy had woken up without the blasting pressure in his head, and for the first time he hadn't taken a pill for breakfast.

§----§----§

They had actually driven the two and a half hours to Birmingham in Ada's little car, even when Tommy had protested; but Ada had insisted. They had nothing better planned for that day anyway, and the drive wasn't that long to do a little research in the city's archives. Tommy leaned his head against the passenger door window and stared out the window; it wasn't far to the library, or the city archives, whatever Ada carried around in her brilliant head.

"What was it like?" she asked at one point, when Tommy was completely absorbed in the scenery that was slowly unfolding into large parts of the city; he lifted his head and looked at her.

"What was what like?"

"The dreams. When you drank the tea."

Tommy swallowed softly; he leaned his head back against the window, staring at the passing houses and trees. "Awfully real. As real as you and me in that car, Ada. When I woke up, for a moment I thought I was still on that dock, or in that pub. I can't even describe it properly."

He thought of Alfie. Of those bright eyes that had been so treacherous and alluring at the same time; whether that man mattered? He didn't carry him around in his memories and dreams for nothing, certainly not with the subject Tommy didn't like at all: religion and faith. The features had been so damn real, almost even more real than Ada, who kept glancing over at him briefly. Tommy could see the burning curiosity right in her eyes.

"This is so intense, Tommy. I wish I had a gift like that. Who knows what we'll find out?"

"Who knows if it's even real. It could still just be a hallucination. Weird... gypsy dreams, the old woman was really creepy."

"Hmm, you say that. You're scared of clowns, too."

"Shut up, Ada."

"We're here!"

They pulled into a large parking lot and parked the car. Due to the fact that it was Monday and most people had to work, there wasn't much going on; Tommy was still on sick leave for his latest depressive episode, and Ada was on vacation. The two walked silently to the large, somewhat aging building and stepped through the large doors. The building looked much nicer from the inside, and Tommy glanced up at the high ceilings.

It was Ada who was talking to the woman at the front desk, and also Ada who was pulling him through the confusing corridors of old registers; she had always had the absolute plan with buildings like this and knew her way around better than anyone. She'd studied it once; she loved libraries and old registries, and Tommy knew - if there was anything, Ada would find it. Even if it was just snippets of information he had given her. He didn't even know exactly what year these dreams were set in; he was just sure it had to be close to a hundred years ago, at least.

Together they worked their way through old newspaper clippings, papers, and registries starting in 1910. There was so much that Tommy quickly lost track of it all. Only Ada seemed to be keeping track in a concentrated manner, while Tommy soon put his head down on the table and exhaled deeply.

"Ada, it's no use. I don't even have all the last names, where the hell are we going to find anything anyway?"

"With patience. You have to look for the name Shelby, Shelby Company... or whatever. It takes patience to do that, my dear brother." she said quietly; she had her reading glasses on and was running her finger through various registries and birth records. "Just silly that Gypsies were often not registered, urgh. A terrible time, so messy."

Tommy just snorted. He had a thick, large book in front of him where old newspapers had been kept. They were fragile and one had to handle them carefully so as not to break anything; Tommy was generally unclear about the point of going through all those newspapers. He had arrived by now after the war years. The papers were full of any horse racing, betting shops, how the police worked. What Churchill was ordering. He was almost giving up when suddenly something caught his eye. A small, easily overlooked article.

His throat went dry, and he had to swallow briefly; but his eyes narrowed slightly so that he could read the minimal display correctly. He ran his finger gently over the lines, and then paused on the photo, the black and white photo that stared up at him, faded and dusty.

Local company joins Jewish bakery empire in London.

And there he was. Tommy recognized him immediately - he had barely changed his expression, that rigid, hard face staring back at him from under the dark hat. The thick coat, the beard, it was like an image of his dream, and at first it triggered an incredibly hard feeling in Tommy that he couldn't describe.

It felt as if his mother had told him he was adopted, as if his sister had died, as if it was something that was not tangible at all - and yet clearly in black and white in front of him. A snippet of a time gone by, a snippet about something that had once existed long ago. Tommy's eyes traveled incredulously to the date, and he cringed a little as he read the numbers 1923.

One hundred years, almost, lay between what Tommy carried around in his head every night and what had been recorded here in time. It was like a shock in the limbs, and Tommy felt exactly how his fingers tightened a little stiff and cold. Here he lay. Clear proof that a man named Alfie Solomons had indeed lived and existed. Like in a bad horror movie, like in one of those terribly bad crime movies that Tommy nevertheless always liked to watch when his mood was completely down. It took him a moment and a few moments before he exhaled softly and waved at Ada.

"Ada, come here, please." he murmured, inwardly startled at how dry his voice sounded; Ada put her book aside and came right over, looking at the article Tommy's clammy fingers were still resting on.

"Alfie Solomons... Is that someone you recognized?" she asked quietly; Tommy knew he was nodding, but it didn't feel like it.

"What if I just picked up the name somewhere in history or something in school, and just... put the whole thing together extremely weirdly in my brain? What if I just... if it's all just..." Tommy began, and he felt Ada's fingers squeezing gently on his shoulder.

"Tommy," she began, letting her eyes roam over the article again. "There are sometimes things you just can't explain. I know you never believed in such things - at least not until you were a certain age - but... such things can be possible. There are reports of depth psychology, where people can consciously go into memories from other lives. It's nothing bad, Tommy. But believe me - why would you make something like that up? You can't. And besides, I found the name Thomas Michael Shelby in the World War I registries. So, he existed, too. So - you existed, too. There's just no photo on it, like there is with this cute guy."

Tommy exhaled deeply. He was feeling dizzy. "Don't call him cute guy, he was a real bastard. This is...crazy. I mean, I had this guy in front of me last night like he was really there, Ada! It was so fucking real, I can't... it was like I still had his smell in my nose, damn! There's no such thing."

Ada smiled wanly; her hands had still settled on Tommy's shoulders, and she stroked him reassuringly. The warmth did good, and so did her voice, which came softly to Tommy's ear. "There's so much in this world we don't understand, Tommy. Give it a chance. Maybe just letting the memories go will help, too, if you let them. And honestly - I'm curious myself to see how it turns out. Think of it as an experiment. Besides, now we know where to start."

Tommy snorted lightly.

His eyes traveled again to the ancient image of several men with Alfie Solomons in the middle, passing over the rugged features and staring into the camera, and for a moment it was as if that image was staring directly into his soul. With a soft sigh, his eyes settled on his palm; they skimmed over the lines in his hand, and for a moment he cursed them. Why him? Why did he of all people have to have this strange, unexplainable experience? And how the hell was one supposed to find a purpose for the present life out of all these memories in snippets, when one didn't even know why it was all happening?

They didn't look any further because Tommy was in too bad a mood for that. They were silent on the way home, accompanied only by the muffled sounds of the radio. Tommy closed his eyes for a moment; this newspaper article immediately appeared in his mind's eye, and he had to pull himself together hard not to punch the seat. He was dizzy from thinking, from these intemperate facts, which nevertheless sent a cold shiver down his spine as he once again became aware of what was actually happening here.

Ada offered to sleep at his apartment when she dropped him off at home; but Tommy refused. He promised her he would come over for breakfast the next day, and accidentally slammed the car door way too hard.

He tried to distract himself the rest of the day, but it didn't really work out well. As he sat on the edge of the bed again in the evening, looking into the hot brewed tea with the herbs, he exhaled deeply; almost as if he was getting ready for battle.

A thought flashed through his mind before he put the cup to his lips and took the first sip: that this was all far too real for just dreams.

For how could dreams trigger such feelings?

Chapter Text

1923

"'s’not far now.", Alfie grumbled to him; Tommy had followed him to the end of a foggy street, and by now had managed to light two cigarettes. But he was strangely patient inside, for he was truly interested in what the Jewish baker wanted to show him. It seemed to mean something to him, for Alfie hardly let many of his gruff sentences ring out in the soft evening mist but strove to move on quickly.

"Is there a reason we're visiting the synagogue in the evening?" Tommy asked; he walked serenely beside the older man, putting on a soft smile. He had reached London earlier this morning and had had a lot to do before meeting Alfie.

Alfie grunted in amusement. He looked at Tommy from the side and lifted his chin slightly; he was pointing in the direction of a large building blurred by the mist, which after a few more steps turned out to be an ancient and beautiful synagogue. Tommy threw away his cigarette and his eyes met Alfie's gaze.

"Because there's no audience in the evening, that's why. I'm not too keen on being seen in there with you," Alfie replied, gesturing Tommy to follow him with a nod of his head. Tommy raised his eyebrows slightly in perplexity at first, unable to gauge whether the phrase was now an insult or a joke; but after a snarling exhale in the cool mist, he followed.

The doors were open, as they were in almost every place of worship. They must have been heavy, for though Alfie had a very well-built figure, he groaned slightly as he held the door open for Tommy; Tommy nodded a soft thanks to him, amazed inside at how Alfie Solomons could change when the light of the sun was gone. They stepped into a large room that had the same high ceilings as a Christian church; of course, the synagogue was decked out with very different stories and symbols, and yet was a true work of art to Tommy's eyes. Tommy loved art, and even though he was totally unconcerned with faith and religion, there was still something special about wandering the aisles of this beautiful building with Alfie.

Alfie led him far away from the main room into deeper corridors; it almost looked as if they were going into deep cellar vaults, because the temperature was also getting a little lower. But it didn't bother Tommy; his eyes were far too busy roaming over the many things in this place, and occasionally to Alfie, who was keeping a close eye on him. Something strangely calm rested in Alfie's gaze, and he pushed open an old door after a while in the dark corridors, and it creaked open.

"Here we are," Alfie said quietly, and Tommy walked into the room.

There wasn't much in here. A few benches and carpets, probably for praying; the walls were decorated with old paintings of a religious scene Tommy didn't know and was unfamiliar with. But what immediately caught his eye, because it was simply impossible to miss, was what Alfie had guaranteed he would see as a golem.

It was an intimidating, big old figure made of pure clay, and one could see from little unfinished details that it must have been completely man-made. Tommy's lips opened softly, and he walked with quiet steps towards the statue.

From close up it looked even more impressive. There was something magical, eerie about it, Tommy couldn't help but admit. There was a strange atmosphere in the room, and a smell that must be many ages old; but the clay smelled as if it were still fresh, even though the statue itself must have been several hundred years old. In the middle of the golem's face was a mouth set wide open that seemed to radiate nothing but yawning, black emptiness that sent a soft shiver down Tommy's spine and down the back of his neck. He took a step back and his eyes fell on Alfie, who came to stand beside him.

"This figure is very old and is made entirely of human hands. It is said that in the belly of the golem are ancient wishes, from kings, from rulers, from commoners. All men and women who have had their wishes fulfilled. That's what the Jews believe," Alfie explained quietly; his eyes ran over the figure made of clay while Tommy sat down on a small wall that divided off a strange semicircle in front of the benches. The floor of this wall was not chilly despite the coldness in the room, even if Tommy couldn't really get rid of his strange goosebumps. Perhaps it wasn't the room at all, but the pair of green eyes that were constantly fixed on him and looking at him.

Tommy liked Alfie. He couldn't give any reasons why he did, or why he liked this man in particular, whom he basically didn't know - and whom he basically didn't trust. The trust was based more on the fact that he had no other choice. But as for this strange attraction Tommy felt for him, he couldn't explain it himself.

He had thought of Alfie, once, at night, when he had been alone. It had been strange thoughts, ones Tommy had never had before, certainly not with a man; it had been after this whole thing with Grace, maybe about losing her. Feelings had to stay hidden, especially the ones Tommy had felt that night. He had forbidden himself any further thought of that kind; but here, in this strangely hidden room with this creature in it, Tommy felt quite different. It loosened something in him, and he felt safe despite this mysterious environment. But maybe that was also because Alfie wasn't hurling swear words at him tonight or mocking other people.

No, Alfie was a different person in this synagogue. Tommy suddenly realized that this was a very intimate moment, and that it must be an incredibly secret, fragile side of Alfie that he was guaranteed not to reveal to everyone. He leaned back a little on the wall and exhaled deeply when Alfie's eyes met him again.

"And how does that work now?" Tommy murmured softly; he could feel it, that crackle in the air, that strangely suppressed tension, especially when Alfie's eyes and the corners of his mouth twisted into a broad smile. He felt warm, inside. But he did not break eye contact.

Alfie didn't answer at first; he pulled a small note from his jacket pocket and held it up briefly, then rummaged in his pockets for a pen, which he found; he leaned on a lecture desk near the golem. Tommy watched him as the rough hands held the pen, ran over the paper and wrote down something he couldn't see from here. But it was more than two words. All that could be heard in the room was the booming silence of the basement vault, and the scratching of Alfie's pen on the scrap of paper.

When he had finished, Alfie folded the note twice and stood in front of the statue; Tommy's eyes followed him, and he couldn't help the curious grin that formed softly at the corners of his mouth. Even if he had wanted to.

"Now the magic begins. It's not much, but as long as you believe in it, it can work wonders, Mr. heathen Shelby. You take the note, and you just throw it in, through the golem's mouth," Alfie explained; he made the folded note disappear into the golem's mouth, and it left no sound or made any indication that it had landed in the golem's stomach. Tommy crossed his arms in front of his chest and laughed softly.

"That was it?" he asked, and Alfie shrugged his shoulders in amusement.

"Yes. We Jews are simple people, aren't we? Clay has always been the basis of everything we've built - that's why the golem is clay. When the wish will come true, well - you don't know. But it will be fulfilled. There are many old tales and legends about the golem coming to life and granting some wishes in person, but this one... I've never seen it walk. I dropped a note in it once when I was a kid."

Tommy raised his eyebrows in amusement. "So?"

"Well, what d’you think, Gypsy? Of course, the wish came true, idiot. Otherwise, I don't think I'd be making a fucking fool of myself here in front of you. You gypsies are a funny lot." Alfie grunted; his gaze went to the golem again, but Tommy's eyes remained glued on Alfie. He bit his lower lip softly as his gaze grazed Alfie's body, the clothes, the strong legs.

He exhaled deeply before asking softly, "What did you write on it, now?"

Immediately Alfie's eyes locked on him, and he put on a smile that Tommy couldn't interpret at all. "You'll find out, one day. I'm damn sure you will, Tommy."

Then Alfie took a few steps towards Tommy; heavy, slow steps, and with each one Tommy felt more drawn to him. Alfie stopped in front of him, breathing slightly, and placed his arms to the left and right of Tommy's body. The two of them looked at each other, Tommy's lips opening softly from the suddenly engaging closeness. He had never been this close to Alfie before, and it was amazing to see that face from up close for once. The textures of the beard, the slight wrinkles around the eyes, the brightness of the irises shimmering dully in the eyes. Their eye contact did not break when Alfie spoke softly against Tommy's face:

"The golem keeps secrets too."

Tommy raised his eyebrows slightly, his gaze still fixed on Alfie. His hands clawed into the somewhat dusty clay of the wall, so hard it almost hurt, as his eyes moved from Alfie's eyes to his lips.

It was a moment of perfect silence, broken only by the soft breathing of the two of them and the droning silence of the cellar vault in their necks. Tommy lost himself in those eyes, in that moment, and his breath almost caught in an unprecedented way as Alfie slowly leaned in, coming even closer to him. He could feel his breath so warm against his face now, so clear. His scent misted him, and Tommy remembered abruptly that one night when he had also had a wish - but had never finished it.

Tommy's heart almost stopped when Alfie bridged the last few millimeters between them and gently pressed his lips to Tommy's. Innocent, almost just like the soft exhale he had felt on his face earlier. It was as innocent, warm a kiss as a question that had never been asked; Tommy felt exactly how tense Alfie was when their lips parted again, and their eyes met once more, wordlessly, questioningly.

They were two dangerous men who also knew themselves that this was absolutely forbidden and perhaps a little stupid. Because Tommy had a temper, and so did Alfie; they were both masters at being devious and setting traps for other people, because the fear of being cheated in this business was always the partner on the side. But after that kiss, which Tommy still felt burning on his lips, he forgot those thoughts for the first time.

It was Tommy who broke this tingling tension and silence with a soft whisper. They were still so close, still looking at each other, when Tommy's question forced its way between them. But the tension remained.

"Is he really keeping secrets?"

Alfie exhaled softly, then nodded. The arms around Tommy's body came closer, pressing against Tommy's body with soft pressure. "Yeah."

Tommy's gaze flitted over Alfie's face, over that face so strange and yet so familiar, and his fingertips crept slowly up Alfie's jacket until they tangled very gently in Alfie's collar, held there. Tommy's heart went to his throat, and he had to swallow briefly for a moment before he whispered softly.

"Then I'm sure he'll keep this one too."

His hands pulled Alfie down to him by his collar again, and Tommy kissed Alfie harder and more breathlessly than before. It wasn't a second before they had found their own rhythm in the kisses, in those hot, forbidden kisses that ran over Tommy's skin like a tingle and left him blind to everything else. He felt alive, as if burnt out from the inside, when he felt Alfie's hands firmly around his body, those fingers digging under the layers of his clothes and pressing him tightly against that strong, warm body in front of him.

Tommy's hands had still sunk into Alfie's collar, but with a certain curiosity and greed they ran over Alfie's chest, and he let out a breathless gasp when Alfie's lips broke away from him; but only to sink into Tommy's heated skin on his neck, to provide the skin there with biting kisses that Tommy immediately fell in love with. It was an incredibly intoxicating feeling to be so close to this man, this unbearable tension between them, coupled only with the heavy breathing and the sound of willing kisses, right under the eyes of the ancient creature made of clay. They were moments Tommy could never have imagined, and yet they were happening so real.

Until a distant sound drove them apart; they paused, even with Tommy's fingers still buried in Alfie's shirt, and listened tensely. Another sound appeared, and Alfie exhaled deeply. His hand grasped Tommy's wrist, and he pulled the blue-eyed man to his feet, down from the wall where Tommy had imagined so much more.

"We should go. There are night watchmen, and the risk is too high."

Tommy knew it was right. But his body went on internal strike against this announcement, sending a most disappointed feeling through Tommy's veins, and chastising him with a stern and scowling look.

Tommy Shelby was seldom speechless, and seldom had anything that aroused feelings in him that were not of gain or success; but as they parted in the street, and Tommy stared after Alfie, that nightly figure almost aroused a bitter burning longing in him that could not be satisfied.

And which he knew must forever remain a secret.

§----§----§

It took a moment before Tommy could open his eyes again; they felt heavy, like they were pressurized, and his heart was beating up to his throat. He could feel the little excited vein at his throat, still throbbing as wildly as if he were in that strange, dark cellar, the smell of which he still had as clearly in his nose as he could feel the burning, forbidden kiss. Before opening his eyes, Tommy pressed his face into the fresh scent of his bedclothes and took a deep breath.

These dreams weren't exactly easy. It had been enough for him to know now that these people - including him - had lived several decades ago, that they had breathed the air in this room, argued, lived in it. It was like a film come to life, playing like a 3D cinema - except that it was terribly real to Tommy. What these dreams, these herbs triggered in him, he could not describe, not even to begin with. And he knew exactly: no one would ever understand who had not experienced and witnessed these things themselves, who had touched the same things, carried the same smell in their nose, the same tingling on their skin.

Yet it felt like ghosts in Tommy's head. Like ghosts not at rest, and after that dream it was especially bad. Alfie had seemed so real. Even now Tommy felt the pressure of his lips on his, that scraggly beard, that feeling of the violent heartbeat that had prevailed in that oppressive basement of the synagogue. And it was also one of the reasons why Tommy still had his eyes closed, not daring to lift his head out of the covers: he was afraid he would see those ghosts in his room. Who knew what several cups of that tea would do? Maybe it would drive him crazy or make him see terrible things.

A few silent moments passed, during which Tommy heard only the breathing of his own body; he pushed the duvet away after a while, and stared into his empty, sparsely lit room. It had to be early, or it was an extremely foggy day. With a soft groan, Tommy ran a quick hand over his face before getting up and lifting himself out of bed.

Even as he took a refreshing shower, a crazy idea popped into his head; since he still wasn't entirely sure inside if everything in the archives was true, he might as well check it out another way. Who knew if his brain hadn't just picked these things out of old books or something? And the names could be coincidences. But just to be on the safe side, Tommy could try another strange experiment; it wasn't ten minutes before he called Ada and told her no to their meeting, because he didn't feel well and would rather sleep some more; before taking his front door keys and bag and disappearing from the flat, freshly showered and his head full of images.

A very strange thick goose bump ran over Tommy's body as he stood in front of the ancient, well-known synagogue in London after several searches; he had entered several synagogues, but this one was the oldest and best known. It was strange to have seen this place in his dreams yesterday, set in such a different environment than today. Now there was chaos here, streets, cars and cyclists everywhere; the synagogue was sandwiched between shops and modern buildings, whereas yesterday in his dreams it had been in a quiet neighborhood. For a moment it robbed him of all the air he could breathe; he tried to stay in reality for fear of falling into a panic attack. It was cruel, in a way, to see this place so cramped in modernity. And knowing somewhere deep inside that this place had once meant a lot to someone from the past.

Tommy finished his cigarette and threw it away; trying to throw away any thoughts of yesterday as he changed sides of the street and walked towards the synagogue. Whether his plan would even work, and whether this thing would even still be there - who knew? It was an experiment. There had been another world war in between. It could become anything, but it would take away Tommy's fears that what he was dreaming had once been so terribly real.

He pushed the doors of the old synagogue open with some force; they were heavy, and Tommy tried to push away the thought of Alfie opening that very door in his dream too. The inside of the synagogue looked different; much was still there, but some things had been restored or modernized so that it almost seemed like a different building. Tommy stared at the ceiling, which was now more richly decorated; his lips opened slightly, and he exhaled deeply.

"Can I help you?"

Tommy was almost startled at the voice, but he had clearly perceived the footsteps; his eyes settled on a smiling man who clearly appeared to be a rabbi; at least Tommy thought so from his clothing. He looked at the man for a few moments, then nodded slightly.

"I um... I have a paper I'm supposed to give at university in religion and... I've chosen the topic of Judaism. I'm looking for some really old artefacts that I could possibly look at? If I am allowed to?" Tommy asked quietly; he was glad he had his bag with him; perhaps he seemed more like a student. The rabbi looked at him, then folded his hands.

"What kind of artefacts do you mean? We have a cellar, there are some old things in it. I can show you to them if you like," he said, and Tommy nodded eagerly. He followed the older man through corridors that were somewhat foreign to him, even if they carried almost the same smell as in his dream. But everything had changed somehow, it seemed more modern, more full of expensive pictures and paintings.

Yet the rabbi led him into the same cellar vaults that Alfie had led him into - Tommy recognized it solely by the ancient, creaky door, which the man held open for him with a smile, and he entered gratefully.

He consciously tried to suppress the fierce goose bumps that spread across his body in a flash as he entered the cellar vault; it was like a crime scene, searching for clues to something that had burrowed into Tommy's mind like a ghost. His gaze ran over the partially dusted and haunted objects. There were more things in this room than there had been then, many more things. Many more figures, some hidden under a blanket, some exposed. But it looked like things this synagogue had not used for a long time.

Tommy's fingers ran over some of the things, then he looked to the rabbi. "Is it all right if I look around a bit?" he asked quietly; the rabbi nodded.

"I'll be right back, I have an appointment anyway. Just please, be careful, some of these things are very old."

Tommy nodded bluntly; he waited a moment for the rabbi to step out of the door before looking around the room.

He didn't see the figurine after the first few glances; it could well be that it was under one of the covered things, meant to be protected from dust in this way. He just had to be careful not to destroy anything or act conspicuously, that was all. He licked his lips lightly before pushing his way between two large statues of unknown symbolism and walking to the covered figures behind them.

It took a while before Tommy noticed a statue at the very end; it was also covered with a large white cloth, but it was so large and massive that the hairs on the back of Tommy's neck stood up slightly. He took a deep breath before squeezing his way to the figure through more aisles of things and finally standing in front of it. He stared at the white cloth, already covered in a light layer of dust; something in his head throbbed uncomfortably, making him feel dizzy and nauseous, but he knew that here he was in front of the thing he was looking for. His hands were slightly sweaty as he carefully grasped the cloth and pulled it down towards the front.

His breath caught as he saw the impressive clay figure of the golem standing in front of him, as real as his body here in this room. For a moment Tommy was transfixed as his eyes ran over the ancient structures, over the details he remembered from his dream; his fingers slid carefully over the clay, and it sent a shiver down his spine. Alfie had shown him this figure, had touched it.

And had thrown something into it.

Tommy bit down hard on his lower lip, his eyes frantically fixed on the golem's mouth and its expressive body of clay; he had never been a thief and had rarely done anything forbidden in his life. But now, standing in front of the very statue he had seen in his dream, his fingers tingled. There were suddenly questions in his mind that he could not answer.

How had the story between Tommy and Alfie ended? Had they been together after that night? Had Tommy ever known in his life what was on the note? On the basis of the fact, however, that homosexuality had not necessarily been tolerated at the time, Tommy ran his fingers through his hair with a slightly strained expression.

If it was really true, he had to find a note in that golem's belly. If it was really true that he had lived back then, then he would find Alfie's note in there, and also find out what it said. He didn't know if it had anything to do with his task - but his inner need to answer his questions burned more than reason.

The golem was made of solid clay; only at the back did Tommy find a small slit, but it had been plastered shut with something. He thought for a moment; then he remembered that he had his pocketknife with him. It wouldn't work against the clay, but it might work against the plaster. It was ancient and already crumbling, and with a little strength Tommy would surely manage to loosen it.

He looked around the room again, but there was no one there and there was nothing but droning silence in the smell that had settled on Tommy's skin like a cloth. After a deep exhale, he ventured. And sure enough, the cast came off easily, revealing a panel on the golem's back.

Tommy's heart went to his throat as he put his hand into that dark hole and groped; he found many, many slips of paper, from hundreds of years ago. He took out a handful, quietly, and began to unfold them. Some were too old, they couldn't fit; but everything that looked like about a hundred years, Tommy took a closer look.

‘Help me to feed my family.’

‘Please make my wife give birth to a healthy son.’

‘Save me.’

‘Protect my loved one from the war.’

Tommy's eyes grew heavy, and so did his heart. He slowed his movements and pressed his head lightly against the clay of the statue. Did he have any right at all to dig into other people's desires here? He, from the modern age, who had nothing but confused and strange dreams? Of a strange tea that a gypsy woman had given him?

Tommy suddenly became aware of what he was doing here and suddenly felt terribly bad; he threw most of the notes back into the belly of the golem when a note on the floor caught his eye. It looked similar to the piece of paper Alfie had thrown into the golem's mouth. For a moment Tommy closed his eyes tightly; he swallowed, ignoring the burning throb in his chest, and picked up that piece of paper.

His skin was on fire, his fingertips burning as he opened the note with a slightly shaky breath; it would be the last one he would open because his guilty conscience had gone too far.

As he unfolded the note and recognized the letters, he emitted a deep, gurgling sound from his throat that almost sounded like a sob; his hands dug around the piece of paper and Tommy closed his eyes tightly.

He suppressed the tears that were welling up slightly and tried to calm himself; he pressed the paper tightly to his chest.

'I wish one day I could tell you all the things I can't tell you now, and that then this time would no longer separate us. A. Solomons’

It was a dream, Tommy thought to himself desperately, just a dream. But then how could it be that he held this very real note in his hand as if it were indestructible proof of a love that had never been allowed? If it was love... But what else had it been, in the dark chambers of that synagogue, buried like a dirty secret and sealed with the wish of a man long dead?

It didn't take Tommy long to hide the traces of what he had done and make them disappear; he only took that note with him because he felt he couldn't breathe without it. It was like running a blind gauntlet when he left the cellar again, finding his way back to his flat as if in a numb stupor. How he had got there, he couldn't remember exactly; in his mind there had only been Alfie, Alfie Solomons, who had thrown that damned note into that golem.

Had he got his wish? Tommy doubted it; the first thing he did when he got home was to pour himself a strong whisky and smoke, sitting on the windowsill by the open window of his living room.

It took him two whiskeys to begin to think straight, and to get a few things straight. One: he needed to keep dreaming to know if Alfie's wish in their life had come true back then, and if he had just gone to that synagogue too soon. Secondly: he absolutely had to talk to the gypsy to clarify what the hell was actually going on here - and whether the dreams would stop if he died in them.

And thirdly: why he still carried the feeling in his bones that he was terribly in love with Alfie Solomons.

Or whether they were just strangely real dreams after all, perhaps not his but someone else's.

Chapter Text

Tommy stared at the store's neon sign; it wasn't raining as hard today as it had been the last time, but a strange chill still shot across his body whenever he stood in front of this store. He had thought long and hard about showing up here again - but he had questions. Questions that Ada or he himself couldn't answer, and besides, he honestly didn't know what to do with all the feelings that had formed so suddenly, and that he hadn't been able to get rid of since the dream. They were always subconscious fragments, but they were clearly there, and Tommy found it far too frightening not to talk about them. Even if the old gypsy wasn't exactly what he thought of as a good conversationalist either.

He tossed his smoked cigarette into one of the puddles on the sidewalk before entering the store with a deep exhale. It was strange, very different from the last time. All of a sudden, the symbols and objects that could be found in the store scared him.

He nodded to the woman who always worked in the front room; she waved him through without asking him any questions, and Tommy quickly found himself in the strangely smoky back room of the old gypsy woman whose blind eye caught him first before he had even brought a soft "hello" past his lips. The old woman nodded at him, and Tommy sat down in the same chair as last time. His heart was beating hard, and it took him a moment to find the right words. Everything was jumbled, already. Reality and dream, his real life.

"I have questions." Tommy said dryly, and the old woman eyed him.

"Have you finished dreaming yet?" she asked harshly, darkly, and Tommy opened his lips slightly. His brows furrowed slightly, and he shook his head.

"Then ask me your questions, my boy. But there's little point in answering them now," she added, and Tommy exhaled deeply. His hands intertwined lightly with each other on the table.

"These dreams, they... well, can it be that I... take certain feelings for other people into reality? I feel like a person has triggered something in me, whereas it's just... dreams. Do you know what I mean? I keep having this strange feeling that I'm missing something."

The old woman nodded knowingly. Her sane eye had Tommy fixed, but the blind eye seemed to be staring at a point behind him. Tommy tried not to let this strange feeling enter his mind too consciously and ignored the eye. But it was staring at the point behind him as if someone were standing there - it was eerie.

"Are they just dreams, are you sure? I think not. I told you that they are memories from another life, and that you are discovering them little by little. Of course, they trigger feelings, because they are your feelings, from back then. They've just been forgotten, in all that time."

It almost made a slight gurgling sound as Tommy swallowed softly against the pressure in his throat. It was, of course, something he had thought about - and knew to be true. But even now he had wanted to hold on to the last straw, to be able to explain everything somehow logically. Without witchcraft, without potions, only with logic. But it was impossible.

"You've found something." the old woman said, and Tommy's eyes turned to the witch, startled. For a moment they stared at each other, at least the healthy eye and him, before Tommy gathered all his courage and nodded softly.

"Yes, I found... a clue, or rather a note from that time. From my dream, it was... in a synagogue."

"Keep it with you always, the note. You'll need it one day, believe me. Keep it close to your body, and only show it to the person who can also understand this note."

Tommy grunted softly. "You want me to keep that note with me all the time? But what if that's not my task? That person from my dream, the one who could understand the note - he's dead. I'm sure it was just a special memory."

The old woman raised her eyebrows. "It's written all over your face, my boy. It wasn't a dream, it's your memory. Your body will take you to the places that were important in your life - and they will reveal a truth you must know before you are to read from it your task. Dream until the end."

"Until the end, that is...?" Tommy murmured softly, and the old woman nodded.

"Until you die, until your death. You'll know when it's the end, because you'll be ripped from your sleep all of a sudden, without warning. Then you'll be able to see what's going on, because after that the dreams will stop."

There was nothing left for Tommy to do but nod mutely, taking in the old woman's words; he looked at his hands. He still had one question.

"The people in these dreams... are they also reincarnated?"

The silence that ensued cut deep into Tommy's skin; it was a tense silence in which only the soft rustle of the curtain to the anteroom could be heard. The old woman stared at him, at least the deep brown eye; the blind one again wandered aimlessly around the room until it again fastened on a point behind him. Tommy was almost tempted to turn around; but even so he knew he would see nothing there.

"Not all, no. Very few. It's a very rare thing, my boy. You are lucky to have this experience, because it is reserved for very few people in this world. It’s there so that you can learn lessons from them and make up for your mistakes. Come back when your dreams are finished."

With these words, the old woman waved Tommy out of the room, and Tommy snorted slightly; he quietly thanked her and paid the other woman before finding himself in the now dim streets of London. For a moment he stopped and thought: what should he do? Should he really go on living through this madness, these memories that were strangely heavy on his heart? Allow these feelings that suddenly developed there for someone he didn't even know? For a man in a dream? It was crazy, just crazy. And yet, Tommy lit a cigarette and took the subway to go see his sister. Because she was still the only one who found this madness at least quite exciting and brought Tommy back to reality at least a little bit. Because even in the subway, leaning against one of the dirty cushions, Tommy couldn't get rid of the feeling that Alfie's closeness could be felt somewhere, as if he were only a few meters away from him.

***

Ada looked at him curiously; her eyes had literally fastened on his body when he had sunk down on her sofa in a not-so-good mood. It was her warm tea that made him feel a little better again, and ultimately made him a little more awake. He needed a few sips before he told her about the last dream. She stared at him in fascination throughout the story and exhaled excitedly when Tommy told her how he had found the real golem, and how he had found the note. She reacted exactly as Tommy had imagined she would; his fingers played with the note he always carried in his jacket pocket. At least for as long as the gypsy thought it was necessary.

"This is unbelievable... Tommy, you have to... I don't know! Put it in a book, or something like that... That's an unbelievable story!"

Tommy snorted softly. "I guess so. But Ada, this is... You know how I feel when I wake up? It's quite a horrible feeling, I can't describe it. Like I'm still there in this dream for quite a while, and I feel so damn fake in my own body. It was so real, I can only keep reiterating it. That note, too, I've never had goosebumps so intense in all my life." She didn't need to know that he'd nearly cried at the finding; though her eyebrows lifted curiously again.

"Who is he, exactly?"

"A baker, or something. I told you that last time, didn't I?"

"No, Tommy. Who is he to you, in your dreams?"

Tommy faltered. His fingers tightened slightly around the note, and he felt the delicate crackle of the paper. Afraid of crumpling it, however, he let it go again, and dodged his gaze to the window. By now it had begun to rain again, and the drops beat patteringly against the pane.

"I don't know, Ada. I can't tell you until I have more dreams." What was Alfie to him? A beautiful kiss, soft touches in a synagogue, the smell that enveloped him at night and that he suddenly began to miss terribly during the day. A stranger who seemed to know his heart; a stranger who radiated danger and longing at the same time.

"Maybe it'll show you to come out sensibly for once in your present life," she murmured with a soft chuckle, while Tommy just rolled his eyes. He ignored the soft red marks on his cheeks as best he could, praying inwardly that they would leave with a sip of tea.

"Ada, don't say that."

"What? Well, we should definitely remember some points so we can manage and see through later. The old woman said only important sequences would be shown, right?"

"Yes, exactly. Only what fits together later. Or what was just important to me at the time." Tommy ignored Ada's fiery and mischievous look at him, and stared at the sheet of paper she began to write on. She was writing Alfie on it. It was a strange feeling to see that name on the piece of paper, at this time; not like the ancient paper he had pulled out of the golem.

"Are you afraid?"

"Of what?"

"Of the next dream."

Tommy grinned slightly; he leaned back in the sofa and stared at the ceiling for a moment before answering quietly, "No."

An outright lie. Because he also knew himself - any of these dreams could be the last. And even if it scared the hell out of him, and he didn't want to walk around with that strange feeling in his stomach anymore: somehow it was also almost like a movie that was playing just for him, every night.

§----§----§

1924

"You seem cold, Tommy."

Grace's voice echoed softly and a little sadly to him, but Tommy didn't even turn in her direction. Even so, he knew why she thought that of him, and why she was beginning to feel that way.

Their sex had changed. What used to be such fiercely mated passion was now nothing more than something Tommy already considered a task; he did fuck her, and he fucked her well - but his own orgasms remained something more for stress relief and pressure release than satisfaction and love per se. Today, too, he had allowed little emotion, hadn't even kissed Grace as he thrusted into her over and over again, physically there, but his head somewhere else entirely. Somewhere, but not in bed with his wife.

Tommy exhaled deeply and stared at the ceiling; he still had his cigarette on, which he'd been smoking for at least five minutes now, and which seemed like an endless stalk of patience. Especially then, when Grace rolled over to him and put her hands lightly on his bare chest, looking at him.

"I just have a lot of work, that's all. It has nothing to do with being cold." he replied wanly; he could feel her fingers digging lightly into his chest, but he just exhaled deeply and finished his cigarette. He didn't look her in the face, hadn't for a while. Somehow, he couldn't. Sure, he had married her and loved her too, but something deep inside prevented him from accepting that fact as well as from committing to that happiness.

"Are you seeing another woman? An affair?" she said softly; her nails ran over his neck, caressed the lower side of his chin, and Tommy rolled his eyes slightly.

"You're crazy, Grace. No, I haven't. Of course not...Now cut the crap."

"It's not bullshit, you know that! You've been weird for weeks, ever since you kept going to that Jew's house...Does he have a brothel in London too? Is that why you visit him so often?"

Tommy didn't answer the question. He pulled his shirt half over and got out of bed, ignoring his jealous wife's further interjections. He took refuge in his office with a half-full bottle of whiskey and another dozen cigarettes; it was especially pleasant here at night, and the moon shone brightly in his window. It was the place where Tommy usually went for peace and quiet when the daily grind got to be too much for him.

His head had been full for a long time, and he knew he couldn't put his finger on why. Emptiness was there, a lot of emptiness, where there should be pride and happiness. On the outside, he had everything he wanted and had ever dreamed of: a house, his successful business, a beautiful wife by his side, a son, the family always at his back despite any arguments. It was almost perfect, so damn perfect. But then why did this perfect life feel so damn empty and numb? Sometimes, when he couldn't sleep at night, Tommy had indulged in a certain fantasy, quite deliberately, only to forget it afterwards; he dreamed of a beach, of a beautiful house, finely walled and not too big, and of a certain smell that always fogged him in.

***

Tommy looked at Alfie; the older man sat almost motionless on the large, elegant leather sofa in his office, and so far hadn't said much except for a brief hello. His fingers played with the tips of his beard, and the booming silence that filled the room was beginning to make Tommy nervous. He took another sip from his glass of whiskey, then nodded slightly in Alfie's direction.

"You haven't touched your whiskey." he said. He could see Alfie's eyes turn to the expensive glass, and he muttered a very soft, "hm, yep, probably forgot," before burying his further words in the sip of alcohol. The silence didn't stop when Alfie set the glass down, and Tommy leaned his head back slightly in his chair.

"What's the matter, Alfie?" he hummed softly, his bright eyes still fixed on the man who still aroused the same feelings in him as when he had met the golem; so much had changed between them since that night - and yet so little.

They argued a lot, sometimes couldn't stay in the same room for days and weeks at a time; and then there were the nights again when they couldn't exist without a millimeter of air between them. It had started with that evening at the synagogue, and dragged on for well over a year since then, without them ever talking about it seriously. What this was, what they should call it, what it was going to be. For Tommy it was practical and nice, but sometimes the double life was just too much for him. There were nights when he couldn't sleep for the lack of Alfie's heavy weight on his back, or his warm arms wrapped around him when they woke up in the morning.

But neither of them had ever opened their mouths. Alfie knew about Grace, Alfie knew everything about Tommy. Just not what was going on in his heart, and what Tommy would never reveal about himself either. Feelings didn't belong in this world, certainly not those of this kind. That was the point, and they both knew it.

But Tommy couldn't help but detect a slight trace of anger in Alfie's features when the older man still didn't answer. He even avoided Tommy's gaze, which made the Peaky Blinder more than angry. Because that wasn't really how Alfie was.

"Alfie, god damn it!" he snorted, setting his glass down violently on the table; and at last, finally, the Jew also graced him with a heavy look.

"What do you want, Tommy? Ain't nothin' goin' on, I'm waitin' for you to say somethin' so I can go."

"You don't want to stay? We have a guest wing, you know that very well. I actually thought you were going to stay. We could..." he swallowed the last part of the sentence, knowing Alfie knew what he was about to say, even if the bright eyes on his face twisted slightly.

Alfie snorted roughly. "Oh yeah, I can't think of anything better than sleeping really nice and secret in your fucking guest wing again, fucking you while your wife is scurrying around. I'd rather crash on a goddamn park bench!" he groaned, and Tommy's eyebrows drew together fiercely.

"It never bothered you before, why is it now, huh?" he replied; he knew he could keep up his outward mask of indifference well, but inside his heart was getting heavy. He hadn't made love to Alfie in a long time, not for several weeks, and slowly he couldn't get over the inner pressure of that desire and longing.

"It's always been like this, only now I don't feel like hiding it from you anymore."

"Hiding it?"

"Yes, damn it. Blind as a fucking mole you are, Tommy. I'm leaving now."

Tommy bit down hard on his lower lip, his eyes fixed on Alfie, who rose slowly from the sofa, groaning; something slightly prickly panicked him, and he got up from his chair. He didn't really want to say the next words, in fact he had wanted to be stubborn and let Alfie go; but he couldn't.

"You're jealous, am I right?"

There it was. No sooner had the sentence penetrated the silence of the room than Alfie turned in his direction and stared at him; his bright eyes fixed firmly in Tommy's face, and he kicked his walking stick harder than necessary.

"What did you little gypsy face just say?" The color of Alfie's voice grew darker, harder, and he took a step towards Tommy, who still had his eyes fixed challengingly on Alfie; he jutted his chin slightly.

"I said you were jealous. Why didn't you say so sooner?" Tommy snarled, and it was only moments, a few seconds, before Alfie came loping around the table and grabbed Tommy roughly by the chin, thumb and forefinger pressed roughly into his skin, forcing Tommy to look at him.

"Let's get one thing straight, Thomas," Alfie murmured darkly, licking his lips; the grip on Tommy's chin tightened, certainly leaving marks, imprints in the pale skin. But Tommy countered the stare as hard as he could. He was hot, all of a sudden, totally hot inside. "I've never been jealous, I never was in my life! Because I don't need something like this. It's just that it annoys the hell out of me to see this little person here walking around with you, and you treating me like I'm nothin' more than a fucking chained dog. And at night you want to crawl back into my bed, don't you, Tommy?"

Alfie's fingers squeezed briefly, releasing a soft gasp from Tommy's throat. Tommy tried to loosen his grip with his fingers, but Alfie slapped the fingers away with his other, free hand.

"No, damn it. I'm more than that. And I'm leaving now."

With a shove, Alfie pushed Tommy away and turned around, but Tommy just rubbed his chin with the sleeve of his shirt for a moment before snarling, "Where the hell do you think you're going? Nowhere."

Tell him you need him. Tell him you missed him.

Tommy's thoughts throbbed in his head, but he shook them away as Alfie's eyes locked on him again. The two men looked at each other.

So much time had passed since that night with the golem, so much damn time. They were getting older, the war between the gangs was getting worse, the business was getting worse. Tommy knew full well that at some point he would have to make a decision. But he couldn't, not now, not like this.

He stood around indecisively for a while, then walked up to Alfie. His hands clasped Alfie's shoulders, digging into the fabric of the heavy coat. He felt Alfie's gaze on his face, and there was something else reflected in the color of the eyes under all the anger, something soft, something beautiful that Tommy sometimes got to see when they made love gently, and when Tommy was particularly sensitive.

"Tommy, let's be honest: we should talk sometime soon. Okay? What if your old lady finds out? Then we're screwed, both of us." Alfie's voice had softened again, but was still deep and raspy, the way Tommy loved it. His fingers ran along Alfie's neck, his blue eyes always fixed on the man's face.

"I know. But not now. Stay, please. Just because..." Tommy began, but he swallowed it again; I miss you, he should have said. Just because we have each other, for a few nights, before I have to go back to this prison of everyday life without you. He felt Alfie's hands around the middle of his body, digging into Tommy's waist with a firm pressure, pulling him closer.

"You've gotten thinner, you need to eat more," Alfie growled darkly before his lips joined Tommy's, firm and urgent, so passionate after the weeks of abstinence. A soft, pleasurable sound escaped Tommy's throat, almost like a moan, but too soft for that. He returned the pressure of Alfie's body against his, felt with pleasure the way his lower back pressed against the edge of the table, the way Alfie pushed him onto it. His legs opened willingly for Alfie, pulling the heavier man between them with a jerk.

It was like an easy game for Tommy as he allowed Alfie's tongue entrance into his mouth, returning the hot pressure; they only interrupted the kisses sometimes, just briefly, to catch their breath or to remove a piece of clothing. It was like a gift to Tommy every time he was allowed to undress that heavy body, to dig through the expensive fabric, to have the smell of Alfie's skin in his nose, as close and burning as his desire.

He loved Alfie's hands on his body, as well as his gaze, which was as hungry as his own. It was one thing when women undressed him with their looks, like when he'd seduced them, or the way Grace looked at him - but something completely different when Alfie gave him those looks. Alfie's eyes always seemed to run over his skin as if freshly in love, over the tattoos on his body, over his scars and freckles, and it was a different, complete feeling when it was Alfie's tongue, mouth, and teeth caressing, teasing, biting those places.

It was just something completely different. This thrill that he didn't care if someone could come in; this tension between them, every time anew, no matter when they saw each other. Even when they argued, it was their bodies in union that settled that argument and brought them back together. Like now, when Tommy's breathing rose rapidly, and he had to stifle the heavy moan in his throat, lustful, full of pleasure, as Alfie conquered him on the table.

Tommy's hands found rough, heated grip on Alfie's shoulders, his legs clamped tightly around the man's hips as they shared their union. Tommy loved the feeling of Alfie's cock inside him, the soft in and out that was a little harder today because Alfie was mad at him - but it quickly brought Tommy to his heights, clutching desperately, breathing hard. He could hear Alfie's voice against his neck, rough whispers against heated skin, fingers buried in the flesh of his hips, the hard movements Alfie was using to drive him high.

"I need this," Tommy moaned, "that's why I need you to stay." I need you, Alfie, said in his mind, hidden in a kiss before Alfie's thrusts inside him grew harder, more reckless, leaving Tommy breathless.

"I know. I wouldn't have gone. You know that, kiddo.", Alfie hissed against his skin, and it was only a few more thrusts, easy going, hard, until Tommy lost his rhythm and drowned in the quivering sensation of his own orgasm, helpless. He felt Alfie press his forehead against his, breathless, and come just as few thrusts later; but he stayed connected to Tommy, long, all through his orgasm, and even through the subtle struts of subsequent hypersensitivity.

Rough fingers lifted Tommy's chin as he tried to disengage; Tommy raised the gaze of his eyes, staring into Alfie's slightly flushed face. "You're beautiful, Tommy. I think I tell you that too seldom, you know that?"

It was a soft, warm smile that slipped onto Tommy's lips after that, making him give Alfie a kiss on the lips that lasted a little longer than normal - he tried to pack all the feelings into that kiss, everything he couldn't say, didn't want to say, because he was afraid of being weak under all that weight. Under all that was actually too beautiful to let it be heavy.

And Tommy was already missing him when Alfie's lips broke away from him, and the pressure of his warm body too.

***

"You look like shit."

Tommy laughed softly, lighting a cigarette as he leaned back in the wing chair and looked at his older brother. "Thanks, Arthur. You too."

Arthur just grunted softly. He had a half-empty whiskey bottle standing in front of him, next to an overflowing glass in his hands, which seemed oddly gaunt. Tommy's gaze flitted only briefly over his hands, his emaciated shoulders, which had also been tighter at times. Tighter when Arthur's head had been more in this business and hadn't had to feel the treacherous temptations of his new wife. He was conflicted, one could read it from his face. Probably just as cut in two inside as Tommy felt - except that he could carry that burden more easily than his sensitive brother. It was still the one there, the fine, scarred mark on Arthur's neck when he'd tried to hang himself that time back. To get out.

"No, seriously Tommy. Is everything okay with you and Grace?"

Tommy nodded curtly, pulling harder on his cigarette. "Yeah, of course. It's just a lot going on."

"A lot going on, ah."

The brothers were silent for a moment, each busy with his glass or cigarette in hand. It stood between them, a huge block with the words "Talk already," but Tommy ignored it. He had never been the person to talk openly about his feelings, and certainly not the ones that made his daily life difficult. He needed to eat more to look fresher. It was dangerous when people saw his inner pressure.

"You?"

"Everything's good, everything’s ... just great."

"Hm."

"This Jew who does business with us..." Arthur began, and Tommy rolled his eyes slightly averted. It wasn't the first time Arthur had called him on it. Back then, there had been a huge uproar because Alfie had betrayed him. He had put Arthur in jail, but Tommy had insisted that the two of them make up - for the love of business. Even so, he knew what his brother was trying to say. Why did you forgive him? Yes, why had Tommy done that... He remembered the shards of glass he'd thrown against the wall when he'd confronted Alfie about it. They had cut his hand, deep, and left him bleeding profusely, on top of Alfie's expensive carpet. He'd taken a slap for it, and after that they'd done it on the bloody carpet, bloodied because Tommy had pressed his hand to Alfie's mouth, let him lick it. Like a promise that this cheating would never happen again, between them, and that they would stay together. Alfie had said he only did it that way because he could - but Tommy had known it had been shortly after his marriage to Grace. Alfie had fucked him so hard on the carpet that Tommy had hardly been able to walk the next day.

But Arthur didn't know that. Arthur didn't know anything, he thought Alfie was nothing more than a business partner like the others. Tommy stared at the tiny scar in his palm, and squeezed his hand shut again with a slight exhale.

"What about him?"

"I don't trust him. I don't care if he's repented - he's got a sly face, and he's rude as hell. Believe me, Tommy - please. He'll betray you one day. Again."

Tommy exhaled deeply, then poured himself a glass of the whiskey. It was his sixth glass today. He'd drunk the first one in the morning, when he'd seen Alfie outside with Charlie, playing. The image had hurt him so badly, in a very strange way, that he hadn't been able to bear the sight of it for more than two minutes. He had put the bottle to his mouth like that, out of pure frustration. There were the images again, the beach, the little house. The fresh sea breeze, the sunset.

Tommy closed his eyes slightly. "I trust him. And he's staying."

Arthur snorted and set his empty glass down harder than necessary; he kicked the table lightly.

"You're going to bring the whole family down with your bad business sense! You've already been cheated by him once, and yet he's allowed to stay? You're stupid if you let something like that happen, just stupid! He'll turn us all in!" Arthur said loudly, but when Tommy turned to him with an imperious look in his bright eyes, Arthur remained silent. Tommy slammed his glass down on the table as well and stubbed out his cigarette hard.

"We have no choice, we need him. STOP WITH THIS SHIT NOW!" he shouted, standing up with a furious movement. He didn't turn around as he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

It was moments like these that made Tommy want to press a gun against his head, and just pull the trigger. Just because it was too much, those feelings for Alfie, his family distrusting him - the nasty, sinking feeling in his stomach, the fear that Alfie really would cheat on him again. It had hurt like he'd caught Alfie with another man. But he couldn't break away, not even then. A second chance he had called it in his head, but even so he knew that Arthur might be a tiny bit right in what he had said - that they were heading straight for the abyss.

And he was to blame for not being able to control his feelings for Alfie.

Chapter Text

The world was twisted.

For Tommy, it felt like nothing was in the place it seemed to be; when he woke up in the morning, the skin on his body felt strangely foreign, like a shell that he no longer fit into, and that actually belonged to someone else. His feelings no longer belonged to him. He could hardly describe it - but as he held his hand up to the early morning sun and looked at the fine furrows and veins on it, they seemed more like a film than ever before. And his heart. His heart was the biggest worry of all, because it didn't seem to beat just for him anymore.

Now that he knew what they had been, Tommy found it hard not to feel that sense of missing with every fiber that ran through his skin. It was like attending the funeral of someone who had recently died - and who Tommy missed more than anything. He was having hallucinations. He smelled things that weren't there. Had the taste of drinks on his tongue that he hadn't had and felt terribly lonely. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he no longer recognized the look in his eyes. It was such a strange thing to see himself in ancient mirrors in the past, with all the fancy clothes, the hat, the classy shirts - while here he saw himself only in his white and black T-shirts, in hoodies, in everything that marked that time, and that actually was him. From what he had thought he was.

But who was he when all of a sudden, he didn't feel like himself anymore?

There were several things that he felt could be his task. He had an aunt who had done everything for him, and who had almost perished even in this cruel trade. He had a brother, an older one, who obviously hadn't been able to cope with a lot of things in life mentally, and with whom Tommy had never been able to talk properly; as if he'd been too proud to listen to other people's quiet heartaches, like a stubborn goat, only bent on what he radiated outward.

And then there was Alfie. He took up most of the time in those dreams, triggering unprecedented feelings in Tommy. Even now, as he leaned on the edge of the sink and examined himself critically in the mirror, he could still feel the touches of Alfie's rough hands on his body, delicate, and almost wiped away with cold, modern reality. They sat like imprints on his body, like a map of passion that only he and Alfie could read; and yet, they had never told each other until this moment. Not one of them, proudly turned away so as not to have to look the other in the eye and confess: I love you, actually. Because what else was it?

Tommy ran his hand with a light exhale through his face and opened the small cabinet next to the bathroom mirror where his pills were. He hadn't needed them for days, but by now he felt so shattered and sucked dry inside that he couldn't do without them. His head was throbbing, and his reflection in the mirror clearly told him that the experience had left visible traces. Rings under his eyes, a sunken face because he hardly ate - because his stomach was so full with all the emotions, with what he had experienced. He felt torn apart.

For a moment, he leaned his head against the cool side of the mirror, took a few deep breaths in and out.

Even if he knew what he had to do - how should he begin, and more importantly, where? Because he knew after the conversation with the gypsy that the chance of seeing them again was very slim. Even if it existed - who said that they had landed on this spot of the earth, after the hundred years? And most importantly, would he even recognize these people? Would they recognize him, and the person he had once been?

So slowly he regretted the matter, and a creeping process of deep sorrow crept quietly up his neck. He wrote Ada a few lines, adding to her list Arthur and Polly, and his wife, Grace. That was all he could manage before he spent the day somberly muttering to himself about what the hell he had actually done to himself with that tea.

Because there were feelings for someone who existed only in his memory.

§---§---§

1925

Tommy licked his lips; he tried to keep the strong trembling in his limbs in check, the trembling of his hand, in which the weapon suddenly seemed much heavier than usual. Like a block, permanently pulling him down, deeper into the sand.

Actually, he had wanted to enjoy Margate differently. Not in this way, not with this feeling on his heart that literally suffocated him and forced him to face the person whose eyes and aura he knew better than anyone else: Alfie.

But he could not help it. Betrayal was betrayal, and when Alfie's name had come up and Tommy had realized it, he had gone black. His brother could have been dead. He could have been dead for money, nothing more but dirty money.

Tommy pulled the safety catch of his gun back, and despite the light ocean breeze, the sound echoed between them as if they were alone. But there was still Cyril, sitting faithfully and sweetly next to Alfie, an image that made it even harder in Tommy's heart, despite all the anger and disgusting feeling he carried in his chest, eating him up like a monster.

"What were you thinking? Huh? Was it one of your brilliant plans? How could you?" Tommy hissed, low and venomous, a voice he didn't usually know from himself. It seemed occupied, like something foreign in his body. He had to swallow hard, hard against the heat in his eyes, against the wetness, though he kept his gaze constantly on Alfie. Looking at the man who had betrayed him, ice cold, and who was now staring out at the vast sea as if it would serve him all the answers as if on a platter. And Tommy didn't even know if it was better that he looked away, or if it just made him suffocate even harder.

"Do you remember that one night, Tommy? A few years ago?" Alfie said darkly; his hair was blowing slightly in the wind, he looked disheveled, and the marks on his face had grown stronger.

Tommy had never cared what Alfie looked like, or what cancer was doing to him. Because we have each other, he had always thought as he had watched Alfie sleep at night, just looking at him for hours. Because there was nothing there for him, nothing but the feeling Alfie gave him and had always given him, nothing but the closeness, the body, that addiction to his smell.

In his mind, Tommy had been able to name it, always. It was love. But did love do that? Didn't Alfie feel the same way about him, or what had plunged him into that deep betrayal that had separated them for weeks? And Tommy had screamed, beaten, drunk himself unconscious, hadn't understood until the day he had found out. It had been like the downfall of an entire life. Like the inevitable breaking of something precious he had carried around for so long, like a souvenir from another world. But those words had never crossed his lips, and he would not say them today. Never.

"Stop it!" Tommy hissed. His hand was still shaking badly, but he tried to hold it still as Alfie's eyes turned to him. It was like a stab in the heart, it hurt so damn much. Tommy had never felt anything like it in his life, but he remained rigid, stretching the head of the gun slightly in Alfie's direction. "You know I don't want to do it, but I can't help it. I never thought that you of all people...you of all people, Alfie, would do something like this. I could have been dead."

Alfie put his head back slightly, his eyes still fixed on Tommy. His eyes seemed strangely glassy, as if overdrawn, and Tommy tried to break away from the feeling that he was reading something in them. He didn't want to see it.

"Remember the golem, treacle?" Alfie's words swam to him like a ghost, made Tommy's skin choke in burning goose bumps. His stomach overflowed, lurching dully against the feeling of nausea; but Tommy's hand remained trembling at Alfie, the gun aimed directly in his face.

"Don't do that, Alfie."

Alfie laughed softly. It was a rasping, deep laugh, one that Tommy did not know from him. In the wind of the sea, it sounded almost broken, weak. Uncharacteristic of Alfie, who usually found a swear word for everything, who had a strong expression. But here there was nothing of it. Tommy had to swallow again the thick lump in his throat, hold his sweaty fingers tighter around the gun. It hurt so much...

"You know, Tommy...I made a wish that night, that one night back then. I'm sure you remember it because it was the first night it was just you and me, and no one else. That wish, Tommy..."  Alfie said expressionlessly, his eyes back on the endless sea in front of him as his fingers ran uncertainly through his beard; "...that wish I'll take with me. I wanted you to know that. Because I knew you would come today. You can choose the places of your own death, they say in our religion. That's what I did. Do you know what I wished for from the golem?"

Tommy closed his eyes for a moment, letting those words sink in. There was nothing that could even begin to describe what shot through his body at the sound of Alfie's words; an infinitely heavy feeling that stretched to his fingertips, seeming to pull him further into the soil of sand. He would have loved to have sunk, just away from this situation, away from this place. Would have preferred not to know, not to hear, and to keep Alfie as he had been before he had betrayed him. But time only played tricks on one, and it was no different here. Life was hard, and life was unfair.

He suddenly remembered the fine feeling of Alfie's voice against his ear, during their last sex before the betrayal. It had been so intense, and they had been incredibly close. Tommy had never felt so safe in his life, felt the tender kisses and bites on his body like the awakening of his soul. An orgasm that had been more than just fucking, so much more. They had been connected for so long, he and Alfie, looking at the stars in the sky at night for fun after this. Read star pictures.

He had to fight hard against the tears as his eyes opened and fell again on Alfie, who was staring at him again, with those fucking eyes that Tommy loved above all else. He could have said it, right here, right now, but his lips were faster than his heart, like every time.

"You wished for betrayal, and I got it. Congratulations, I guess your wish came true. I'm screwed!" he croaked bitterly, jerking hard to point the gun again and strongly into Alfie's face.

The corners of Alfie's mouth twisted slightly, and Tommy couldn't tell under the veil of tears whether he was smiling or looking disgusted; everything blurred, in a very strange way. It was almost as if it completely pulled the last, unsteady ground from under his feet.

"Oh Tommy... I won't let you go alone.", Alfie grumbled harshly, and then everything happened very quickly.

Tommy didn't feel the shot he took right through his chest, and only saw in the semi-dark fog how Alfie fell to the ground with a bloody gunshot wound to the head in exactly the same seconds as his body sank into the sand; dying, he still thought to himself in those seconds, wasn't so bad after all.

He didn't know if his heart was already struggling with the last beats, when he had these thoughts that came with a strong rattle; he tasted blood, thick blood, very different from what you carry in your mouth from a fight; it came shooting up his throat so much and so fast that Tommy soon couldn't breathe. He could still feel his fingers clenching in the soft sands of Margate, seeking support, and that he was calling out for Alfie.

But then the world went dark, too, and it almost felt like falling asleep.

Almost.

§----§----§

Tommy gasped hard for air, struggled for breath, and almost fell out of his bed. His body convulsed violently, and he had to claw hard into the sheets to keep himself from losing absolute control of his body, which kept rearing and contracting in an unprecedented pain. His lungs were burning, like fire, and he felt like he was suffocating.

He barely made it to the bathroom, where he threw up violently at first. It almost seemed as if he was spitting out a strange, oddly reddish consistency, coupled with the herbs from the tea; it burned so fiercely that while he was vomiting, tears stood in Tommy's eyes, and he almost choked.

It was a very long time before he dared to breathe normally again, huddled against the wall; his lungs were slow to come back, and the dizziness was also very slow to subside. For a long time, he could do little - except try to breathe, try to take in as much of what was reality and safety as possible.

It will wake you, the witch had said. But it had almost killed him.

And then he became more than violently aware of what had just happened here, and the realization of the loss of that love burned into his mind like a burning, red-hot iron.

They had never told each other. They had both felt the same way, Alfie had wanted so much more, but Tommy and he had been blind, blind in the frenzy and blind in their peculiarity. They had never had the chance to share what they had felt, had buried it in an ancient stone statue, and shot themselves out of existence.

Without ever having fulfilled the promise and wish on that note.

Tommy's hands shook badly as he pulled the crumpled paper from his sweatpants and smoothed it out. He could just barely read it, very barely, before his eyes filled with hot tears.

‘I wish one day I could tell you all the things I can't tell you now, and that then this time would no longer separate us. A. Solomons’

If only he had known, back then, and had listened to Alfie for a minute longer, despite the betrayal. They had been so close to saying it. Alfie had wanted to say it, and Tommy had blown it off. Had fired blindly and out of hatred because he just couldn't bear to be betrayed. With the same blindness with which he had moved through his entire life.

Maybe it would have been different if he had let him speak out. Maybe that wish would have come true back then, if Tommy had not chosen violence, but had listened to his heart. And that had been his mistake.

Stubbornness, arrogance, not looking at what was important.

And letting a love die before it had even really begun.

The note in his hand seemed like a ghost, a hundred years heavy because it had not been fulfilled. It had been Alfie Solomon's wish, back then, a heartfelt wish - the one that had kept Tommy alive now, the one that had brought him back. A hundred years apart, a hundred years slumbering in the belly of the golem, yet never forgotten, only postponed. Tommy's fingers tightened around the paper, and he tried to contain the shuddering fit of weeping a little, to remain logical, even if that fact suddenly seemed like a bad joke to him.

There he sat, broken in his bathroom, in the middle of the night - holding in his hand the promise of the man he had loved, still loved, and who no longer existed.

Tommy's fingers found his cigarettes blindly, and he lit them still beside the toilet, inhaling the heavy smoke that still burned like a devil in his lungs. But he did not cough.

He put the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and looked at his hand; the line above his lifeline was fiery red, and it burned as fiercely as his lungs. It almost felt like a little pulsation in his skin, like a little heart beating.

Tommy stared at the line for a long time, for many cigarettes, before he made a decision.

He didn't even put on a jacket as he disappeared into the night with a loud slam of the door, leaving nothing but an empty apartment full of smoke.

***

It was raining when he reached the store in the middle of the deep darkness of the night; only the streetlamps and the neon sign illuminated the streets as Tommy banged his fist brutally against the door.

He looked like a madman, but he didn't care. He was wearing only a pair of dirty black jeans, the first thing he'd gotten a hold of in his bathroom when those thoughts had come to him that couldn't wait. Not even until dawn - he couldn't wait another minute. He had to know, now, here. He didn't have his jacket on, and his dark blue hoodie was soaked through with the wetness of the rain. He banged on the door again, harder, as a dark shadow appeared behind the glass at the store.

Someone peered through the curtain, then the door opened, and Tommy stared into the old woman's eyes, breathless from running so damn frantically through the streets.

"It's late. Guests after midnight are not a good omen." she croaked, eyes curiously fixed on his breathless form. Tommy ran a hand through his wet hair and propped one arm against the wall of the house, his eyes fixed on the old woman.

"Will I see him again?" he asked hastily, not knowing if she even knew what he meant - but he could see it, in her brown eye, in the blind one lost in the rain behind him. She put on a half-toothless grin, then jutted her chin slightly.

Tommy's heart went to his throat, and he again wiped a little rain from his face.

The old woman eyed him for a while longer, then laughed softly.

"My boy. Everything that is to come will come one day. We can't determine the time or the place where it will happen. But some wishes are stronger than time," she said, and Tommy raised his eyebrows.

This old woman knew more than he thought, he was sure, even before she retreated a little into her apartment.

"Wait! I can't wait, not after... I have to see him again." he breathed out, but the gypsy woman only blinked her blind eye.

"If fate wills it." she said, closing the door in Tommy's face before he could even utter another sentence.

For a moment he stood around unsteadily in the rain, still breathless, staring at the cursed neon sign on the door that showed the all-seeing eye; he stared at it until his eyes went dry and he had to blink. Only then did he kick at the door with a firm motion, cursing softly and walking away with a slight tussle through his hair.

It was too much. What had started out like a fun guessing game had turned into a dangerous roller coaster ride that he wouldn't be able to get out of. Everything was too much for him at that moment - the dream, the fact that it was over, just like that, and that he was left with nothing but a broken heart and the feeling that he couldn't rest until he made this one thing right.

But how was he going to do that? Find out where Alfie was buried and put the note on his headstone? Pray? Ask the witch for a séance to talk to Alfie's spirit?

But he did none of these things for the time being. Dejected and with a burning feeling in his chest, he made his way to the nearest pub, determined to get drunk so hard that he would simply forget the last few weeks.

Chapter Text

"Tough day?"

The older bartender's voice echoed over to Tommy as he sat down at the bar with a slight sigh; Tommy nodded wanly. It wasn't a big bar, a small, cozy, Irish-style one. Tommy had always loved that sort of thing, had always preferred it to clubs and all that wild stuff. He did notice the bartender's glance at his dirty pants and wet hoodie, but the man just smiled as he cleaned a glass.

"What'll it be?" he asked, and Tommy licked his lips lightly. He felt empty and strangely skinless.

"A whiskey, on the rocks, please," he murmured subduedly, nodding at the bartender's reply. It wasn't long before he had the ice-cold drink in his hand, and was taking a large, brisk sip from it.

So here he was. It seemed like years, the dreams he'd had over the past few weeks - and yet like only a blink of an eye, considering the time in which it had all happened. It had changed Tommy in a strange way. He didn't believe in God, or anything else, but the experience had definitely left deep marks - if not huge scars.

Worst of all, it was all real. Tommy had had the note in his jacket or pants pocket for ages, had discovered it with his own hands, had followed the story to its roots. Only to find out in the end, quite dully and miserably, that he had failed miserably. Failed at being human, failed at being a good lover, and also failed simply in the fact of recognizing true love, even if it was standing just a meter away from him, on a beautiful sandy beach. But all that had mattered were guns and violence, and that damn money Tommy was sick of.

He tried to draw parallels to his current life, to compare things, and to understand how he could learn a lesson for his current life. But no matter how hard he thought, none came to mind except the old witch's enigmatic words and Alfie's, and with each more drink he downed, he became more aware that he was going in circles. Getting nowhere with his thoughts. As the gentle dizziness from the alcohol set in, at least his heart stopped hurting a little more, permanently and endlessly. It felt like he had lost the reason for his life. Again. And would now find escape in drowning.

Tommy drank a lot. Between the drinks, he played darts with a round of old men who were also in the pub. In between, he kept getting drinks from the bartender, who had a very blunt sense of humor that Tommy actually liked a lot. And even if the bartender managed to make him snort at least a few times, it still didn't cure the deep-seated pain.

Tommy's head was resting on the bar table sometime shortly after 2, supported only by his elbow and forearm. He was beastly drunk, and only caught the bartender's words in a slight stagger.

"Boy, I'm leaving now. Shift change. If you want anything, I gave your lid to my colleague who's relieving me. You can keep getting drunk all night for all I care, he'll be sure to get you a cab too," he explained, and Tommy grunted into his forearm.

"As long as he doesn't ban my drinks, I don't care. Thanks." he replied in a slightly spongy mumble, and felt a light tap on his shoulder as the bartender apparently left.

Tommy was so giddy that he just sat there silently for a moment, hiccupping into his forearm; at least his hoodie had dried again, even if he basically didn't give a shit either. Whether he got sick or not - who gave a shit?

"All good, mate?" a dark, deep voice said, with a slight hint of amusement in it; Tommy nodded mutely.

"All good." he mumbled muffled into his sleeve, hearing a deep laugh. It was a nice laugh, and it caused a strangely warm feeling in his body. Probably the bartender was a little younger than the previous one, he thought; for the one before had surely been at least 60. If not older, judging by the length of the hair on his moles.

Tommy exhaled deeply, then lifted his dizzy head a little. His drink was empty, and he clutched the glass lightly. "Can I have another whiskey?" he murmured, and a large hand reached for his glass.

"Sure. On the rocks?"

"Yes, please."

There had been a tattoo on his hand, and Tommy faltered; he must be very drunk indeed, for it had almost seemed to him as if he had seen the little crown on the upper thumb joint before. With a slight sigh, Tommy raised his eyes, and immediately froze in his motion. Even his breathing subsided a little, if only for a tiny moment, and he had to blink hard.

It had to be a trick of his eyes, a hallucination, a perceptual disturbance. Something not good. Had the witch mingled in the bar without him seeing, and mixed strange herbs in his drink again? Tommy had to swallow hard and stared at the man who was pouring his drink with his lips slightly parted.

He looked almost exactly like Alfie. It had almost elicited a scream from Tommy, that's how damn similar they were: except that the bartender here lacked of skin cancer, there was none of it, just nice skin, with a few laugh lines around the eyes and corners of his mouth. He had the hair and beard differently, they were both shorter, as one just wore these days; but the features were so startlingly similar that Tommy let out a startled gasp. The bartender's arms were adorned with countless tattoos, skulls, mist, strange creatures that Tommy couldn't even really notice as he moved.

He tried to look like a normal person, but secretly Tommy couldn't take his eyes off him. It was as if the old Alfie had moved forward in time once a hundred years, turning into a fresher self. They had to be about the same age, Tommy thought, and accepted the drink the bartender handed him with slightly furrowed eyebrows. He looked a little skeptical, because Tommy was apparently still eyeing him like a maniac, and he cleared his throat slightly. Tommy shrugged and nodded a slight thanks for the drink.

"Are you sure you're all right? You look like a cab would suit you just fine." the bartender said, bracing his tattooed arms against the bar and looking at Tommy; Tommy, still shocked to the core, swallowed loudly.

"I um... no, that's not... not necessary. Your beard." he said dryly, not realizing what he was actually saying here until a few seconds later; he blinked dully, still staring into that damn familiar, beloved, real face, while the bartender scowled and raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah...that's my beard? Why?" he said, his voice a little perplexed and puzzled - of course. Because Tommy was a stranger who was just talking about his beard as if they were good friends. His fingers slowly clutched the drink, and he tried to put on a smile. Damn, he seemed like a psychopath.

"You got...I um...think I got you mixed up. Sorry."

The bartender grunted in amusement before starting to clean the counter with a rag. "Might be, yeah. Probably a few more guys with beards around here, I'd think, huh? Doesn't matter, mate. Besides, you're pretty full."

"Yeah... I know.", Tommy replied wanly, distracting himself with a sip of whisky. But his eyes wandered again, as if automatically, to the foreign bartender, who just looked so much like Alfie, like a twin in the modern age.

The witch had been right. Only that it would be now, so soon, Tommy would never have thought. Paths cross, the old gypsy had said, and Tommy was almost ashamed that he had never believed her words. Until now. Until this infinitely real proof stood in front of this counter, looking gloriously manly, and robbed Tommy of the last of his wits.

"Women, eh?" the bartender said, winking in amusement, and Tommy nodded dully. His body began to radiate immense heat, inwardly seemingly fighting a battle against itself. The desire to be closer to this foreign yet familiar man ate Tommy up inside, and he downed the drink in one gulp.

"Woah, mate, slow down. It may be that Willy always celebrates when you guys blow your brains out, but I sure don't. I don't wanna have to carry you to the damn cab later."

"No need, can walk on my own," Tommy snarled, putting a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. He raised his eyebrows and looked at the bartender, who smiled slightly mischievously.

"Do you mind? It's raining outside." Tommy said, and the bartender shook his head.

"Whatever. As long as Willy's not here, I'm not a fucking judge."

"Thanks."

Tommy lit it and took a good drag from the cigarette; but his eyes drifted again to the bartender, who was serving other men now, laughing. He was different, somehow. He seemed happier, freer, and somehow far healthier than his Alfie. Could it really be possible that such things happened in life? Here he sat, drunk in a bar, staring at a man who was possibly the key to everything. But how the hell was he going to do it?

His eyes slid over the countless tattoos, the fine writing, and ice-cold goosebumps ran down his spine when he spotted some Hebrew characters. He didn't know what they meant; but it fascinated and frightened him at the same time. It was like a nightmare come true, and yet a beautiful dream at the same time. Maybe he was just dead, run over by a car, and would now be stuck in this pub forever, along with bartender Alfie. Which wasn't a bad way to go - in fact, Tommy thought, it was heaven.

He felt himself falling in love with this actual stranger in those same seconds. He hadn't chosen it, but he felt it all at once in every fiber of his body, in every vein pumping hotly through his body. Almost like the first time with Alfie, back then, so infinitely many decades ago.

As Tommy tried to get up at closing, after four more drinks, his legs sagged away, and he felt the sudden violent dizziness sinking into his body. He had to grab onto the bar and was glad that no one else was around - except for the man who owned the two strong arms that clamped under his upper arm and effortlessly pulled him to his feet.

The bartender laughed softly.

"Fucking hell, you filled up good. Didn't think so, skinny as you are. Come on, I'll get you a cab."

Tommy wanted to say something like thank you or damn, I love you. But all he could manage was a half-deaf nod, wrapped in the incredible smell of this man dragging him out the door like he weighed nothing; Tommy would have loved to throw himself into his arms, never to let him go.

Once they were outside the door, the bartender lightly pressed Tommy's back against the wall, watching for a cab; Tommy grunted softly, then his fingers found the man's tattooed forearm. He felt so warm, so wonderful in the cold out there. Tommy's bright eyes locked on the bartender, who eyed him as well, holding him so he wouldn't fall over.

He had the same eyes as Alfie, and Tommy had to hold back hard not to burst into tears.

"What's your name?" he got out, finally, and had to swallow, swallow away the thick lump in his throat when the man answered.

"Alfred." he said dully and hailed a cab that pulled up beside them on the street. He helped Tommy climb into the back seat and buckled him in. Tommy almost went blind from the smell, he smelled so good, so warm, so much like home.

"Where do you live, mate? I don't know your name, after all."

"Tommy. Mainstreet.", Tommy chortled softly, wishing this moment would last forever. But it didn't last, as Alfred gave the driver the address and then turned back to Tommy, who looked at him with wide eyes.

"Well, Tommy, have a safe trip home. Maybe we'll see each other again, maybe more sober next time, huh?" he said, amused, and tapped Tommy lightly on the shoulder; before Tommy could say anything or move in his direction, he was already closing the door behind him, and the cab drove off.

Tommy turned once more in Alfred's direction, watching again as he disappeared around a block; and immediately, not a second after disappearing, Tommy missed him terribly, almost as if painfully. The feeling in his chest had taken on another dimension of strength, had become ten thousand times heavier than it had been before. He tried desperately to breathe in the smell of Alfred, which still burned on his tongue and which he even thought he could taste; but it had vanished far too quickly, as if from nowhere, as if after waking up from his dreams.

With a soft exhale, Tommy pressed himself deeper into the backseat, suppressing the urge to burst into tears immediately. He stared slightly at the ceiling of the car, blinking away any tears that burned into his eyes, and took another deep breath, even as the cab driver scowled slightly at him in the mirror.

Love could hurt like that. Love could be wonderful and magical, but also at the same moment hold up to one the terrible mirror of reality: for Tommy knew with every hard heartbeat in his chest that Alfred had not recognized him, and that he was simply a stranger to him.

As if their souls had never met.

§---§---§

Tommy couldn't remember how he had gotten to his apartment, or if he had gone straight to bed. He did wake up in his bed with the most terrible headache he had ever had - but everything else was a mystery to him. He was still wearing the clothes that smelled of smoke and pub, and felt the stinging pain of thirst in his dry mouth.

The only thing he remembered had been his dreams. He hadn't drunk the tea, and it was just a blur of images: but he had seen an old, gypsy-style trailer, decorated with flowers and set on fire as if it had been a funeral or ceremony. There had been wailing sounds, and a cold stone wall with strange signs carved into it that had looked an awful lot like Hebrew. Tommy had run his fingers over it in his dream, following each character, and then there had been him. Alfie, and had kissed him deeply, so wonderfully that it had brought tears to Tommy's eyes.

He had awakened before he had realized why; for suddenly his sister's voice sounded in the hallway.

"Tommy? This place looks like a battlefield, and have you been smoking in the apartment? I thought -" she said, falling silent as soon as she stood in the doorway, eyeing him in confusion; Tommy ran with a slight groan through his hair and mewled softly. "Don't ask."

Ada set a bag of fresh buns down on the table and eyed him; she took a step towards him, letting her cool hand slide to his forehead. "You look terrible, and you stink. Go take a shower, then we'll have breakfast. And talk, Tommy."

There was no point in contradicting Ada, so Tommy stood up with a slight groan. He felt like he had been run over, dead, and empty. And he missed this foreign man, in a very strange way. Alfred.

How was he going to explain all this to Ada?

He enjoyed the shower very much. It did him good to let the warm water run over his body, to relax his muscles, and even his headache came out of his head, at least a little. But one thing didn't go away from the warm water: that awful throbbing feeling in his body, that sickening missing. Like he was truly missing a whole part of him that was now walking around somewhere in London as a bartender. Tommy had wondered: how could it be? How could such things happen? He knew, of course, that it was said that everyone had a doppelganger - but so accurately? And most importantly, in his vicinity?

Tommy chewed intently on his lower lip as he put on fresh clothes and joined Ada in the kitchen; she had already set the table, and the smell of fresh coffee reawakened Tommy's spirits inside at least a little. But he also knew the worried look on his sister's face when he sat down at the table, and for a while just stared silently at the delicious things on it.

"Ada..." he said sometime dully; he had no idea how to say it. It was all more than crazy, more than unbelievable, more than surreal. Yet it had happened. The only other thing Tommy had been able to talk himself into believing was that maybe he had been too drunk - and had wanted to see this Alfred like Alfie. And there was only one way to find out, he knew it.

"Tommy, listen - this tea, maybe it was a bad idea of mine after all. You look worse than when you were in your deepest depression, and -"

"Ada, it's true. It's all true. And it was Alfie, damn it. It was always him. We never...had the chance - no, we never told each other. Back then." he brought out, eyes still fixed on the table. But he felt Ada's fingers on his forearm even so, her worried look, the furrow of worry on her brows. Rightly so. He looked like shit.

"Back then? Tommy, what if...this is all just longings you're projecting?"

"You said yourself it could be true, and it is true. Because I saw him."

"Who?" she said, startled, and her fingers pressed harder into his forearm. He grunted softly, and then took a sip of coffee. The warm drink did him good.

"Alfie...except his name is Alfred now, and he has no idea who he used to be. He didn't recognize me, he doesn't know who I am... Only I'm running around like a maniac."

"Alfie? The Alfie you were talking about... what? You've got to be kidding."

Tommy raised his eyebrows and looked his sister in the face; she stared at him uncomprehendingly, and her eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"Really?"

"Yes. He's a bartender. Remember that picture I showed you in the archives when I recognized him?" Tommy said, looking closely at the red marks forming on Ada's cheek. She nodded silently, and Tommy cleared his throat.

"You copied everything, didn't you?" he muttered, running with a slight grin through his freshly washed hair, even though he didn't feel like grinning at all. She nodded silently, fiddling with her cup of coffee.

"Yes, of course. I wrote down everything you told me down for me, every detail, and also copied everything I found. And I want to know about the last dream. It's the last piece of the puzzle."

"No, it's the first piece of a long puzzle. Because I have no idea how to do what my heart knows I'm supposed to do," Tommy replied wanly; he only now realized how hungry he was as he slowly prepared his bun. Ada looked at him, blinking, then exhaled deeply.

"Something did happen besides you seeing him, Tommy. And don't give me a lie now, I could always tell when you weren't being honest."

It took Tommy a moment to get the right words in his head; he knew himself how they would sound, too, so crazy. He fixed his eyes on his ham on a bun, then said quietly:

"I... I fell in love with him, just like that. With the bartender. I couldn't help it, it was just there, like... like back then, Ada. It was just like back then, in front of that damn golem. The gypsy said I should only show the note to the one who really understands it, but... I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because he didn't recognize me. And to just hold out this note to a stranger, that would be...disturbing after all."

Ada snorted. "Of course, he didn't recognize you, you idiot. It's going to be like you, that those memories are buried very deep, deep in the psyche, and have to be awakened first. And there is only one way to find out. You don't fall in love for no reason, without knowing anyone, I mean... You're actually completely incapable of relationships. And then someone pours you a drink and you're smitten? Tss, that's a sign. And I guess it was and is him." she said, taking a bite of her bun. Tommy looked at her, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"What kind of way? You think I'm going to drag him to the gypsy? Are you stupid? I might as well hang myself then."

"No." Ada said with a grin at the corner of her mouth, her eyebrows raised in slight amusement. "I guess it's time for you to finally start dating again then. He doesn't remember? Fair enough, but we - you - do. And maybe, deep down, there are key moments that will reawaken him or his soul. For that, you need to get to know him. If it's really that, Tommy - it will work, eventually. With a lot of patience."

Tommy pondered. He let Ada's words run through his mind and buried his fingers in his white shirt. "What if he's not gay at all?"

Ada rolled her eyes. "Tommy, honestly, so far you've gotten every guy you've wanted too. You've got the finesse for it, or other than that, I've raised you really badly."

"You didn't raise me."

"You bet I did!"

"So that means I'm supposed to approach a foreign man who doesn't recognize me anymore, because we have a hundred years between us... which I only know through a crazy tea from a crazy gypsy... who I'm already terribly in love with when he's just pouring me drinks, who had to carry me into a cab drunk... great first impression, by the way... to possibly find out that he either is it or isn't? ", Tommy summarized, eyes once again on Ada who was looking at him smiling broadly; "you know how that sounds?"

"Yeah, sounds like a lot of free drinks. How about tonight, huh? Besides, I want to compare him with the photo we found. I'm doing this for purely scientific reasons." she chuckled, and Tommy let his head slide down his neck with a soft groan, staring at the white ceiling of his apartment.

It was crazy, just crazy.

"He's really attractive, Ada. I won't get a word out sober." he hummed softly, trying to forget the thought of that smell, of that warmth, of the attractive closeness of Alfred. But he had no choice. And in a way, it was really time to see if these things were really true. A thought just brushed him for a moment; he underneath Alfred, the two strong, tattooed arms around him like a cage, deeply connected, breathless, and everywhere that smell....

Tommy squeezed his eyes tightly shut and exhaled softly. "For fuck’s sake, yes." he grumbled then, hearing Ada's happy clapping of her hands.

"I can't wait to see him. You bet he really looks like that - after all, you were apparently more than drunk."

Tommy snorted softly. "You'll be surprised, dear sister. It's just him."

He finally told Ada everything he knew. He might leave out a few intimate scenes, but in the end, she knew about everything, about every breath, about the thing on the beach, and about the feelings Tommy was carrying inside of him. He knew his sister could empathize with them well - and the gentle streak of goosebumps on her arm didn't escape him either as he finished his story.

And which would hopefully begin again soon, with a new chance.

Chapter Text

"Don't be like that," Ada hissed, amused, while Tommy nervously ran his fingers through his hair. He looked around; the pub was more crowded than last time, probably due to the fact that it was the weekend. As soon as they had entered the door of the pub, Tommy had looked around nervously - and recognized him right away. He was standing behind the bar in a good mood, pouring a group of men some cool drinks, and loaded with jokes that kept the whole group well entertained. His laughter made Tommy feel giddy, and he had averted his gaze even before Ada had grabbed him firmly by the arm.

Now they were sitting farther back in a corner, and Ada was nudging Tommy for the second time to obligingly walk over to the bar to order them something. But Tommy refused. He was far too nervous for that, far too preoccupied in his mind with being able to breathe normally at all. This man was robbing him of everything. His senses, his mind.

Ada, meanwhile, had rummaged in her purse and pulled out the copy of the newspaper article; she bit her lip hard, staring at the paper, then back at Alfred at the bar, and after a while her mouth fell open slightly. "Oh my God... Tommy..."

Tommy grunted softly. His fingers buried themselves in his long-sleeved shirt, and he cautiously directed his gaze to the bar again. "I told you, didn't I? It's not a coincidence. That damn witch was right, she was just right."

Ada compared the photo and Alfred again, then looked back at Tommy. "You go there right now and get us some drinks. And ask him for a coffee as an apology for your behavior. That's what you do."

Tommy snorted. "I can't ask him out, are you crazy?"

Ada shoved him again, and by the fact that their tablemates were looking slightly over at them, Tommy had no choice but to get up and walk over to the bar, his cheeks flushed and feeling like he was about to faint. Don't panic, he kept telling himself, but it was no use - because as soon as Tommy stood a little awkwardly at the bar, the intense gaze of Alfred's eyes was on him. He looked puzzled at first, then laughed, and bent over the counter with an amused gesture.

"Tommy, isn't it? Wasn't so long ago I dragged you into the cab. Have you been getting well?" he said, his deep voice warm and pleasantly smoky in the atmosphere of the bar, and Tommy's heart went up to his throat. Fuck, he was so fucking in love with this man he didn't even know in theory, only from dreams, only from memories... And yet, he was so real and close in front of him. Like a ghost that had suddenly come to life.

It took Tommy a moment before he remembered his courage, what he had once been before this mishap; he lowered his eyes briefly to the bar, then again to Alfred, who smiled softly at him. "Yeah, I... um, I'm sorry for last time, I kind of... well, it wasn't planned. And thanks again." he brought out, a little quietly, he could tell because Alfred leaned closer to him; the two of them looked at each other, and Tommy felt nauseous. His stomach was stuffed with butterflies, with something that made him feel completely hot and cold at the same time.

"Nah, that's forgotten, mate. What'll it be? You brought company, huh?" Alfred asked; Tommy smiled slightly and nodded towards Ada, who was still sitting excitedly at the table further back.

"Yes, that’s my sister. Gin, if you have? Sweet for her, I'll take..."

"A whiskey?" Alfred winked, and Tommy had to laugh softly.

"No, not today. I'll stick with a beer." he said quietly, watching Alfred prepare the drinks. He grew impossibly warm as he watched the muscles moving strongly in his forearm, running over the tattooed skin, watching every move the much larger man made. It wasn't long before Alfred found his gaze, and Tommy flinched.

There was something in Alfred's gaze that he couldn't immediately explain; the two looked at each other for a moment before Alfred placed the glasses on the counter in front of Tommy. He smiled broadly; something he seemed to do often, Tommy thought to himself as he ran his eyes over the fine lines on his face, curious. Even though his own face burned like fire as he did so.

"That's it. On the house." Alfred said, winking at Tommy again; as he was about to turn away, after another brief eye contact, Tommy cleared his throat.

"Listen, um..." he began, unable to find the right words. He had the folded piece of paper in his back pocket, and felt it crackle slightly as he shifted lightly, making up the words in his head. What did one say, after all this time? How did one say what was actually on one's mind, and what the other person didn't even begin to suspect? How do one put into words what was making Tommy die inside without losing his composure? Tommy licked his lips, feeling the heat on his cheeks, Alfred's gaze on him. The bartender's arms had once again braced themselves in front of Tommy, and Tommy started again.

"Listen, I um... I'd like to make it up to you for my misbehavior the other day, and so... well, do you possibly... well, if you're off, do you feel like a coffee? Just to make up for it, nothing big, it's just...I feel pretty damn bad about it."

Alfred lowered his gaze to the counter in amusement, but Tommy didn't miss the broad grin he wore on his face; Alfred cast his gaze briefly to the ceiling, then his glittering eyes found Tommy's. He bit his lower lip, ever so slightly, and leaned closer to Tommy over the edge of the counter.

"Tommy, that's really damn nice, and I'd love to... But I can't date any customers, that's..."

"It's not like it's a date or anything. Just coffee.", Tommy added, finally daring to put on a real smile. And it worked. It set off more than a thousand sparks in Tommy as he noticed Alfred visibly hesitating, fighting an internal battle with himself; he glanced briefly at the clock high atop the bar, then back at Tommy. Damn, he smelled so fantastic, it was making him dizzy again.

"I'm off at 6," Alfred said, turning back to his counter with a wink as Tommy took his drinks.

"All right."

He tried to keep his gait as normal as possible as he walked back to Ada, who was already waiting for him with an excited glint in her eye; and he pretended not to notice the curious look on his back.

§---§---§

Alfred was talkative, and exceedingly funny, as Tommy soon found out; it almost seemed as if he had gotten a trace of Alfie's dry humor, which, however, had been seasoned with only a little more friendliness. They talked incessantly from the first minute Alfred had been waiting for him outside the door.

Tommy, on the other hand, found it hard not to fall into his dream Tommy Shelby persona made flesh, and had to keep pulling himself together to keep from calling Alfred Alfie; it was a balancing act between things he had dreamed and things that were actually happening. They walked for a long time until they stopped at a beautiful spot in the park by a lake. They both rested their forearms on the railing facing the lake, and Tommy wrinkled his nose slightly as it had gotten a little colder. They both looked at the lake, then Tommy's eyes darted over Alfred's forearms, which were tucked into a dark jacket, much to his chagrin.

"Your tattoos." Tommy said; he clutched the paper cup of his coffee tighter in his hand as Alfred looked at him with a wide grin and raised his eyebrows; "what do they mean? I mean, skulls for sure, but what about these characters?"

His heart already knew, but Alfred seemed amused; he waited a moment as if to create suspense, and only then began to speak. Tommy loved the sound of his voice.

"Well, it's Hebrew." he said casually, and Tommy raised his eyebrows with interest, even though his cursed heart was almost going crazy. It was him, just him.

"Hebrew?"

"Yeah, we... well my family, we're Jewish. It's, well I don't really lean into this religion thing, but my grandma, she's very strict about it. She's got ancient stuff sitting around the house, you know. I take care of her because she has Alzheimer's - that's why she lives with me," Alfred explained, and Tommy's throat got all thick, as if occupied by a fat lump.

"That's wonderful. You rarely find anything like that these days. But it does mean something to you, religion, doesn't it?" Tommy asked, and Alfred grunted softly.

"What do you mean... It's more of a tradition, my family history goes way back. There’s so much cool stuff I could show you at my grandma's house."

"Could? You can."

Alfred laughed in amusement, and Tommy's heart went to his throat as he turned in his direction; the two looked at each other, and then Alfred jutted his chin slightly. "What, I'm supposed to take the clichéd drunk guy from the bar to see my Nana? Pffft, Tommy… please."

Tommy laughed softly. "Oh, come on, I gave you coffee, and only had one beer today. The mystery guy from the bar tells me an exciting story, and you won't even prove it to me? That's weak, Alfred."

Alfie, Alfie, Alfie. Written into his skin, burned into his memory, even as the man across from him looked into the lake with a broad smile.

He exhaled deeply, then his eyes settled back on Tommy. There was something so familiar in them that Tommy felt dizzy.

"You're interesting, Tommy," Alfred said softly, and suddenly there were fingers pulling a strand of hair out of Tommy's face, very lightly, because the wind had carried it there. Tommy grew warm, so warm inside that he felt quite sick.

"Interesting?"

"Yeah. You show up at my bar one day, just like that, and make me not only carry you into a fucking cab, but take you to my grandma's house. I don't really do that, not at all. I'm more... the quiet, withdrawn type."

"The mysterious guy from the bar, just like I said." Tommy added, and before he could help it, a big, warm hand had closed around his free one, pulling him along before Tommy could even let out a giggle.

"But don't run away the minute you see this at home. It looks like something you'd see in a fucking museum, in Nana's room," Alfred said with amusement, and Tommy let himself be pulled with a grin into the old familiar subway line he himself sat in so often, and had often felt Alfie watching him. Maybe it had just been Alfred, his twin from that time; and suddenly this coincidence didn't seem so magical to Tommy, but almost natural.

Like coming home.

***

It was a small, beautiful old house, on the outskirts of town, that Alfred led him into; the door was so old it creaked, and it still had those wonderful yellowish windows that Ada loved so much. The smell in that house, however, made Tommy go mute; it ripped deep, marrow-shaking goosebumps into his skin, because somehow that smell seemed so damn familiar.

Eerily familiar, and ancient.

The hallway was littered with old and new photos, all of the family, it seemed; Alfred hung up his jacket, and took his from Tommy. He hung it on an old coat rack and nodded slightly to Tommy to follow him down the narrow hallway.

Tommy didn't know what to think. His whole body was under immense pressure, under a tension he hadn't felt before with Alfred - maybe he shouldn't have gone. Maybe it was too much, after such a short time, after those violent dreams. He unconsciously pressed closer to Alfred, who led him into one of the back rooms, at whose half-open door he knocked briefly.

"Nana?" he called softly, but no sound came back. Alfred opened the door and grunted with amusement when he was inside. He nodded to Tommy, and Tommy followed him cautiously. His throat felt coated, as if something powerful was gathering in it. Pressure, sadness, that strange feeling of being lost. Even though he was with Alfred.

"I guess she's not there. And that's what I meant. My grandma is... very crazy about our faith, terrible. She must have heirlooms that are two hundred fucking years old," Alfred said, amused, pulling the stiff Tommy closer to a wall where an ancient scroll hung in an old frame that looked like a work of art. Tommy's bright eyes ran over it curiously, even though he couldn't read the many characters. But they sent a strange, thick shiver down his entire spine, all the way to his almost numb toes.

Tommy swallowed audibly, and he felt Alfred's gaze on him, looking at him from the side. It took a moment, then Alfred cleared his throat softly.

"So, this... this is a very, very old scroll that an artist once designed. Grandma saved it through the Second World War, and her mother before that through the First. I think if it wasn't in this damn frame, it would fall apart."

Tommy smiled wanly. "It's a beautiful thing, Alfred. But why did the artist cross out some of the characters?"

Tommy ran his fingers over the cold glass, over individual characters that were so crossed out that one could only half read some of the words; since he couldn't read them, they made no sense to him, but Alfred smiled slightly.

"In Hebrew, you can read letters differently. If you cross out certain letters, though, the others make sense, you know? He did that a lot." Alfred's fingers passed just above Tommy's, and Tommy licked his lips softly; their fingers touched on a line that Tommy had also touched, and he suddenly realized how close they were. Here, in front of this picture, which caused a deep sadness in Tommy.

"The artist wrote a poem about loss."

"Loss?" Tommy croaked softly, and he had to use all his strength not to allow the sudden surge of emotion that formed throughout his body. Goosebumps, hot tears, they were gathering everywhere, and Tommy fixed his gaze on the unfamiliar yet so familiar letters, following Alfred's soft voice close to his body.

"Yeah, loss. But he scratched out the words so you can't read loss. Only sensation."

Tommy's throat swelled, and he swallowed against the hot tears that suddenly gathered in his eyes. He didn't want Alfred to see him like this, in this state that he himself would not be able to explain - without seeming like a madman who had escaped from an asylum.

He blinked the tears away, just away, and turned with a slight movement to one of the display cases. The wood of the old floorboards creaked softly under his feet as he stood against the glass pane, Alfred close to his back. He sensed exactly that Alfred was noticing something, it had to be, because Tommy could see his soft reflection in the glass case, his familiar eyes looking at him with concern.

"Are you all right, Tommy?" he asked quietly, and Tommy nodded mutely. He had no idea, after all, what this room was doing to him, these old objects that all reminded him of Alfie, of their time back then, and he didn't know anymore - which was his life, which was Tommy's? Which was real, which was false? What was just a dream? Was he really standing here with Alfred, in this room, looking at these things?

"I hope this doesn't bore you," Alfred said softly, and Tommy could literally feel his voice, in the hairs of his neck. He closed his eyes for a moment before turning them back to the display case.

There were many old, dusty things in it, and Tommy was suddenly overcome again by that strange shiver that ran through his entire body.

His eyes ran over the old objects, jewelry, documents, things from long forgotten times that represented a family history. "It's beautiful, it touches me. I'm sorry.", Tommy murmured shyly, feeling Alfred place himself next to him, his eyes now more focused on the display case.

"It's all a little crazy considering how damn old these things are. My grandma could never part with them, and she still knows every story from that time. Jews have never had it easy in history, but there were some things that were cool too. She used to tell me these stories as a kid about underground crimes that one of my ancestors was supposed to have practiced."

Tommy's fingers stiffened, and his bright eyes traveled to Alfred's face, who returned that look as well. "Sounds almost like a sly one. Like someone... someone in my family, back in the day, as far as I know."

Alfred smiled in amusement. "You're definitely not innocent, it shows. Where are your roots, then?"

Tommy swallowed, then gently stroked his fingers over the glass. "We're... or used to be - Gypsies. Long story, but also... kind of lepers, like you once were."

"Hunted, huh?"

"Yeah."

And then Tommy's eyes suddenly fell on something that took his breath away. His eyes blinked several times to understand, to comprehend vividly at all, what they saw there; and he swallowed, again, and yet could not breathe, because a sudden invasion of tears obscured his vision.

There lay rings, ancient rings, precious, thick and heavy; and Tommy recognized them at once, for he had often felt those heavy rings on his body. They were Alfie's rings, the ones he had always worn, so many times, even the day they had shot themselves blind on the beach - both at the same time. And something else was there - the glasses, the fine little glasses he had always used for reading, his old Jewish man, oh damn how he missed him....

Tommy didn't feel how his fingers stiffened convulsively on the glass, and how they began to tremble violently. He didn't get what happened after that, either; he woke up, out of a strange haze of dizziness and fear, when Alfred intercepted him in the dark hallway that led to the front door and held him down, pressing his back against the wood-paneled wall.

"Tommy, are you all right? I don't understand..." Alfred said worriedly, and Tommy felt the pressure of his hands, of his arms on him, around his arms, and he didn't want to, didn't want to feel it because it hurt so much. It hurt because Alfred didn't know what they were - because Alfie had left so much behind that caused a feeling in him - sensation, yes, that was it, sensation about the loss of this man who had left a big hole in him. In Tommy Shelby's body, and inevitably in his pulsing mind.

He pushed Alfred away slightly, his eyes still full of tears, and still found himself back against the wall, as if it were a matter of course. As if it were Alfie pushing him against there, because Tommy wanted to run away again. From himself, and from this task that more than overwhelmed him.

"Let me go, I can't -"

"Tommy, what the fuck’s wrong? Did I say something wrong?" Alfred asked, and yet actually managed to make Tommy look at him, lifting his chin slightly; the bright eyes calmed him, but not his chest, which was still rising and falling hard, as if in a cruel beat of pure despair.

"I... I'm sorry, I just... I can't explain it to you," Tommy whimpered, wanting to push himself up against Alfred again, but the tattooed bartender was just stronger than him, much stronger, and mixed in with that fear and that sadness was, all of a sudden, lust. Deep, burning, deeply buried lust, fiercely tugging longing.

Tommy blinked, a tear ran down his cheek, and he opened his lips softly as he felt Alfred's words in front of his face.

"I'm sorry, Tommy. I didn't mean to blow anything up there, or scare you or anything... It was a stupid idea, yeah? I shouldn't have taken you here, I told you I don't do that kind of thing often, fuck, never do that kind of thing..." Alfred said, and Tommy licked his lips lightly, lifting his eyes.

"It's not because of you, Alf... Alfred. I just... Forget it, you wouldn't understand anyway," Tommy explained softly, and Alfred, still pressing his arms against the wall, eased the pressure slightly, but it didn't erase the traces of strange sadness and lust in Tommy. They stared at each other, and Tommy became aware of where he was, and most importantly: in front of whom. All at once. Like a flash of inspiration.

Alfred didn't seem to quite meet Tommy's gaze, for he looked down briefly at their approaching bodies, then back at Tommy, who was still looking at him with slightly parted lips.

"Then explain it to me, Tommy."

Tommy considered. He seemed to feel the note in his pocket suddenly like a heavy weight, like a thing that was just crying out to be let out; the note that meant so much, and that he knew Alfred wouldn't understand here and now. There were only two possibilities left to him, only two small possibilities, either of which could destroy everything again within seconds.

But he could read. He could read Alfred's body language, his reaction, and he saw it in his eyes, in those cursedly familiar eyes that slid up and down his face like a magnet.

Tommy's hand found itself on the back of Alfred's neck, firm and sure, no longer a trace of the trembling that radiated from the rest of his body. He swallowed slightly, and then very softly and slowly pulled Alfred down to him.

Alfred faltered slightly, even as they grew closer. "Tommy, I don't do this kind of thing at the first -" but Tommy didn't let him speak, pulling this man who had been more than turning his head for 24 hours down to him, and kissed him.

It was not a normal, groping, soft kiss. It was a kiss Tommy gave confidently, with warm tongue and warm lips, with a soft gasp between them. It was a kiss that was so familiar to himself, as if he were facing the Alfie Solomons again, as he had a hundred years ago, in their very own world. Tongue and lips joined, entering into a gentle game that left Alfred visibly breathless and stiff as a board.

Tommy's lips parted, and he looked at Alfred, who had begun to breathe more heavily; Alfred's eyes moved from Tommy's lips to his eyes, again and again, and he expelled a soft breath as he whispered, "I knew it, that you.... But Tommy, I can't...I don't do this kind of thing, we barely know each other and I..."

"Then let me go.", Tommy said softly, pushing the perplexed Alfred back from his body; it was his only chance, his only one, to see if the attraction was only one-sided; if he could really still read what was in this body that he had far too rarely interpreted correctly back then; that he had let die before he had realized what Alfie had wanted.

Tommy pushed his way to the door with a thick lump in his throat, his eyes once again filled with tears, and placed his hand carefully on the old handle of the door. He was about to push it down, ever so lightly, when a firm grip grabbed him around the shoulders, turned him around on the spot, and pulled him into a wild, unrestrained kiss, all teeth and tongue, so full of feelings he didn't understand that his knees buckled away - but Alfred held him, held him tightly in his cursed tattooed arms, held him around the waist. Secure and familiar, as Alfie had once been so many years ago, and Tommy exhaled heavily when Alfred's lips parted.

"You're my downfall, Tommy. I should have just left you in the bar," Alfred breathed, and Tommy only meekly suppressed a moan as rough fingers pushed through his shirt, lifting it, kissing him again, so hard, so wonderfully.

"You have no idea..." Tommy murmured, allowing himself to be pushed towards the stairs, up the first few steps they almost stumbled as they kissed again and again, removing each other's clothes, more and more. Tommy went blind with lust, blind with sensation, and found himself strangely drugged under the touch of this man he had last seen when he had shot him.

But maybe that was the key, quite possibly, and if not - then at least Tommy would never forget that night, he was sure, even before he stumbled backwards up more steps, Alfred's hot lips on his body. When Tommy pulled off his T-shirt, he almost froze: the same tight chest as Alfie's, only covered in tattoos, and Tommy loved every one of them immediately. Alfred grinned slightly; he grabbed Tommy around the waist and pushed him further up the stairs, each step a breathless kiss more, so that they almost choked on each other.

Chapter Text

Tommy could barely breathe, but it didn't matter as long as those fingers were on his body, exploring his body, pressing him down on the mattress with the heavy weight of Alfred's body. Breathing was overrated, complete when he could feel those lips on his, the fierce pressure of their bodies against each other. No space between the heated skin, just heat rushing through Tommy's body like blind adrenaline.

His fingers had long since undone the button of Alfred's pants, the zipper to release his bulging erection; he had moaned, ever so slightly, as he had gripped Alfred's cock with slender fingers, so familiar, so warm, so hard against his own erection. Alfred pressed him harder onto the mattress, squeezing their cocks closer together with a breathless, hoarse moan that sounded all too familiar to Tommy.

"You're impossible, Tommy. Look at you, what are you doing to me? Huh?", Alfred breathed hotly against his neck, pressing his erection tighter against Tommy's, with heated movements, light, that nevertheless stole Tommy's mind. Again, and again his eyes fell closed, making him feel the giddiness of pleasure, harder than he had ever felt in his life. He clawed his hands at Alfred's shoulders, kissed him bitingly.

"I want all of you, Alfred. Now don't tell me you don't do that," Tommy moaned softly, his full lips closed lightly around Alfred's lower lip; he cast a fiery glance at the man above him with every spark of fire he felt inside him. Alfred's arms began to shake, and he gave Tommy another hard thrust with his cock.

"I don't want you to think it always goes like this. Because it doesn't," Alfred breathed hoarsely, and Tommy rolled his eyes.

It was a strange feeling as he pushed Alfred off of him, with a slightly amused grin - much more confident than he usually was. He pulled his pants completely off, wasting not a second in finally pulling Alfred's pants off those tight legs as well; his eyes sparkled as he sat down on the slightly perplexed, yet aroused Alfred with a breathless movement. His legs and knees settled slightly beside Alfred's hips, and he had to swallow briefly as he felt Alfred's thrusting, thick shaft between his legs, his own cock sliding gently against the hot flesh.

Alfred's hands immediately found themselves tight around Tommy's hipbones, and Tommy splayed his fingers on Alfred's chest, still rubbing the movements of his hips. He sought the friction, that damn warm, slightly damp friction, and was delighted by the way Alfred's fingers dug more firmly into his skin.

A shiver went through Tommy's veins, and he let out a low, almost whimpering moan. Alfred's mouth opened slightly, and Tommy smiled.

"Then this will be the first time you'll never forget. Routines are made to be broken," Tommy hummed, lifting his own fingers from Alfred's chest; he put them in his mouth, and began to suck on them breathlessly, while Alfred eyed him from below, his hands clamped around his hips like a berserker. He began to move Tommy slightly, with a soft roll of his hips, until Tommy hissed softly.

He pushed Alfred's hands away, and drove his own between his legs. He loved the way Alfred's lips opened, the way a neutral, desirous sound slipped from him, almost like sharp exhalations, as Tommy inserted two fingers into himself. He closed his eyes. The pressure was pleasant, and he loved how he could still feel Alfred's hot cock between his legs. And with each movement more, it was as if more and more of old Tommy Shelby was suddenly forcing himself into his body and soul. The confidence was rising, the certainty about the man beneath him, and Tommy began moving his hips more urgently, taking in one more finger, all under the greedy and hungry eyes of Alfred, whose hands were now sliding more to Tommy's chest, gently circling his nipples.

"Fuck, Tommy..." he groaned, and Tommy opened his eyes. He was so hot, but he continued to ride his own fingers, even as he felt Alfred's hard grip around his body growing. Alfred let out a hiss, but when he tried to push himself up to Tommy, Tommy pressed him firmly back into the mattress with his free hand.

"You stay there. Until I tell you to," Tommy hummed, throwing his head back. He was prepared enough, and he didn't care if he oozed Alfred, either. He released his fingers from his body, and breathlessly bent over Alfred, who was already seeking more friction with his hard cock. Tommy's fingers circled over his tattooed chest, slowly, agonizingly slowly, and he breathed softly, "Do you have any lube there?"

Tommy couldn't even look that fast, as Alfred rummaged through his drawer with a groan. He found the tube; squeezing a small amount onto his hand, he encased his own cock with it while his free hand slid straight to Tommy's chest. "Fuck Tommy, you're driving me crazy."

"I know," Tommy hummed hoarsely, and expelled air silently, sharply, as Alfred pulled him onto his lap. The hard cock slid pleasantly between his legs, and Tommy deftly grasped the root of it, holding Alfred tightly before settling down on the hard flesh with a soft moan.

For a moment, as he slowly, agonizingly slowly lowered himself, neither made any sounds. It was Alfred who first clawed his hands firmly into Tommy's waist, hard, and let out a deep moan as Tommy settled completely. Tommy licked his lips, meeting Alfred's hot gaze before he began to move with a hoarse whimper.

The first few movements still hurt a bit, but it got better with every thrust and ride. Tommy had the feeling that he was only himself partially master of his body; for it was guaranteed not his skills in riding that made his body slide deep over Alfred's cock again and again. It was the Tommy Shelby, like a demon that had possessed him, riding his Alfie again, hard and greedy, as they had done so often back then.

At one point Tommy could no longer suppress his moans in the hard and merciless riding motions. Alfred's cock touched just the right spot inside him - hitting his favorite spot, his prostate, and after a while making him see stars. The warm glide of the cock inside him was an ordeal, and Tommy clutched tightly at Alfred's chest, his legs tight against his sides, his cock untouched and hard in front of his body.

"Ohh... fuck, yeah... Alfie! Oh my...", Tommy groaned out, completely unaware of what he was saying there; his hands clawed deeper into his chest, running over the many tattoos as Alfred suddenly sat up with a jerk. There were strong arms around his body, all at once, like a cage, as Alfred thrust firmly from below over and over again, his arms holding Tommy tightly around the waist. They pressed their foreheads against each other, breathless and sweating.

"You're so fucking beautiful.", Alfred moaned hoarsely, his right arm tighter around Tommy's waist, pulling him closer to his chest. Their skin touched, rubbing together more with each ride and thrust, and Tommy actively felt his orgasm begin to build in his belly. Friction everywhere, wetness everywhere, their bodies finally one. His hips moved more violently, and he had to swallow hard against all this sensation.

Fuck, he loved this man. He just loved him. Everything about him.

Tommy wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck, letting himself be catapulted harder and harder towards climax. His legs were already shaking, and he was almost passing out from pleasure in this steady, hot rhythm between them, in and out, in and out, and there was a slight, almost stifled moan from Alfred, almost driving him over the top. Almost.

His fingers clawed firmly into Alfred's hair once more, the bed creaking softly beneath them as Tommy moved his hips violently once more. "I missed you...fuck...Alfie!" it escaped him, and there were maybe two, three more thrusts, two, three more movements, and Tommy was transported over the top.

His legs began to tremble violently, and the orgasm spurted hard out of him; he could barely rest, his lungs feeling empty as he pulsed over and over again around Alfred's cock, his muscles contracting hard in time with his orgasm.

Alfred fucked him through his orgasm, through to violent oversensitization, until he too lost the battle against pleasure. Alfred came deep and murmuring, and his arms clung so tightly around Tommy's body that Tommy felt that touch deep to his core; the glorious muscles of his tattooed arms twitched with it, and Tommy wanted most never to let him go. They stayed in that position for a long time, Tommy on top of Alfred, their heads leaning against each other, breathless and sweaty. Tommy didn't even know how long it went on. But his body felt as if he had finally found meaning in this life again, along with this man who, after a while, buried his head in the hollow between his neck and collarbone, kissing Tommy lightly.

At some point they disengaged from each other, but only briefly; Tommy rested his head on Alfred's chest, closing his eyes under the tingling sensation of the fiercely beating heart within. He was himself again, or was he? It was a feeling hardly to be described. As if both Tommys had grown together, in this act of love and unity, after so many years. As if Tommy suddenly had two souls inside him that had silently melted together in the orgasm.

After a while, however, other feelings crept up in Tommy. The throbbing for an answer. Was Alfred so quiet because he knew? Did he remember his body, their connection, now that they had been in bed? Tommy's fingers crept slowly over Alfred's chest, stopping at a writing, and he felt Alfred tilt his head slightly in his direction. He smiled, though wearily.

"How do you know my nickname?" he asked wanly, pressing a warm kiss to Tommy's forehead.

Tommy's fingers clenched slightly on Alfred's chest. He had almost forgotten that! It had just slipped out of his mouth, that name, because it had always burned on his tongue. Alfie, it was as natural as breathing. The name was burned into his soul, into his routines, into his life. Tommy blinked softly, clasped Alfred's neck with a soft movement, returning the gaze even as his heart pounded up to his throat.

"It... was obvious to me that...that Alfred's nickname is Alfie. Sorry, I didn't mean to-" Tommy began, and Alfred grinned.

"It's okay, really! I was just wondering. You're welcome to call me that too, it makes no difference. Funny, isn't it? We haven't known each other two nights, and you made me break all my rules. I'm glad Nana wasn't there," Alfred grumbled in amusement, and Tommy tried to ease the sudden dryness in his throat. He licked his lips lightly.

Alfie. He was allowed to call him Alfie. But he didn't know, nor could he sense, if that was a coincidence, or if Alfred actually remembered him. On the other hand, if he would, he would have said something. Wouldn't he?

"I must seem like a freak to you," Tommy murmured, and Alfred pulled him into a warm kiss that tasted so sweet Tommy had to exhale deeply when Alfred released his lips.

"No. More like a gift," Alfred grinned.

Tommy didn't know what made him falter more slightly; the fact that Alfred told him such a thing, bringing a blush to his cheeks, or the fact that he hadn't kicked him out after all his escapades. Tommy pressed another kiss to his mouth, almost soft, before snuggling back into Alfred's arms. They were silent for quite a while.

Thoughts circled in Tommy's head. He had so many questions he couldn't answer for himself yet - so many things that were there in his head that he just couldn't ask. He had come so far. Had wandered through the dreams, through this agony, through dying. Had found the golem, the message he still carried in his jeans; but he also knew, somewhere deep inside, that Alfred wasn't ready.

"Do you believe in... in reincarnation?" Tommy asked softly at some point; dusk was already slowly descending across the sky, across the windows in Alfred's room, as Tommy pressed closer to him. Alfred didn't move at first; he stretched slightly, and only then could Tommy hear his soft voice.

"What makes you think that now? Did I fuck you into a new life?" he joked, and Tommy rolled his eyes slightly and slapped Alfred's chest lightly with the flat of his hand. He laughed.

"No, it just came to me because I..." because I saw you, because we are one, you and me. For a hundred years. "...Because I saw a movie like that the other day," Tommy murmured softly. He didn't look at Alfred, just stared out the window. The sun decorated the sky in wonderful warm reds, ready for the evening.

"I don't know. I don't think so. There is no such thing, and if there were, we humans wouldn't know it. You can hardly prove something like that scientifically, and no... I think when you die, you're just dead. There is nothing more. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," Alfred replied quietly, and Tommy nodded mutely.

He pushed down all his rising emotions, praying inwardly that they wouldn't show in his voice. It was too much, just too much.

"Although some say I look like a great-great-great ancestor of my family. I don't know where Nana threw that picture. But still, yeah - if there was such a thing, I'd remember it, I'd like to think," Alfred added when Tommy made no reply.

Tommy's heart grew heavy, and he turned his head more firmly into the hollow of Alfred's shoulder. Breathed in the scent, the fresh smell of skin that was still so heatedly warm after sex. And there he stayed tucked in, deep, until he fell asleep next to Alfred.

§---§---§

They saw each other almost every day, whenever everyday life allowed.

Tommy didn't know what it was between them - but it turned out more and more that he seemed to be made for Alfred, that the two of them grew together more and more into a solid bond. They dated often, and soon Tommy was sleeping at Alfred's house every other night. The day he got to meet Nana was a very important day for him and Alfred - and brought home to Tommy once again how tightly life was built. For Nana looked very much like a person from his own past, and when he shook Nana's hand, it was almost as if a very aged Polly Gray was staring at him through heavy lids.

Or Tommy was going slowly mad.

He tried to push away the thought of that witch and the note he still carried with him - they had found each other, and they were happy. So, the thought grew in Tommy that he didn't have to worry anymore, that the task was done. And that he could finally live in peace. Happily.

Until one night changed everything again.

Tommy dreamed. He dreamed of the shot in Alfie's face, of their last day in Margate on the beach, their last breaths, his last breaths, with which he had desperately cried out for Alfie. Had cried out into the darkness until they had both died bleeding in the grains of sand.

And when he woke up, it was worse than the last time: Tommy couldn't breathe, sat up in the bed, panicked and gasping for air, coughing, and took minutes, violently long, half-dying minutes, before he realized he was back in the here and now, and that a warm hand had settled on his shoulder, caressing him.

"Is everything all right? Bad dream?" murmured the still half-sleepy voice of Alfred next to him, and Tommy had to gasp hard.

His lungs were on fire, his head was on fire - but most of all, his heart was on fire. He was shaking violently, as if he could still feel the shot in his chest, as if it had all just passed. The pain bored deep into his body, and a single tear ran down his cheek. It was almost as if an invisible shadow was sitting on his chest, pushing him down into what he had been trying to suppress.

And he knew, more with each breath, that he no longer had a choice.

He had to tell Alfred. Because these dreams would never stop otherwise, never, and continue to torment him forever.

Tommy's heart was beating so hard in his chest that it hurt when, after another cough, he lay down with Alfred, beside him, his eyes fixed on the ceiling above them. Alfred had raised both eyebrows and was looking anxiously at Tommy, his strong arms around him as Tommy swallowed slowly and ran his hands through his sweaty hair.

"Alfred, we need to talk." he groaned, still breathless, still reeling from the gunshot in his dream. The shock was too deep, the fear of what would happen if he did nothing about this fate now. It was burned in. Burned into his skin, Tommy felt it, the fine line vibrating and burning in his hand, and he slowly closed his hand into a soft fist.

"Always happy to," Alfred said, and Tommy could sense that he was tense. No wonder, if Tommy had roused him from sleep like that, in the middle of the night, with sounds like he was about to die an agonizing death of suffocation next to him in bed.

Tommy took a deep breath. His heart gave no rest, and his insides burned. It was a strange feeling, fierce shame mixed with remorse, with what was burning inside him. It was hard, far too hard to put into words, because it was so crazy - and because he knew Alfred didn't believe in such things. But Tommy had to do it. He didn't want to have that dream again, ever.

"Don't think I'm crazy, okay? It's... complicated.", Tommy began, after licking his lips softly and sighing. Alfred smiled softly, his arms still wrapped tightly around Tommy.

"You know I don't think you're crazy. After all, you've been in my bed for weeks," Alfred replied, and Tommy swallowed.

And then he told. He told everything. He started with his nightmares, with the gypsy witch and her tea, and described each of his dreams to him. He talked about Alfie, who had undoubtedly lived, about the paraphernalia in Alfred's house that proved it, about his research with his sister. He talked about the golem, about the kiss they had performed in front of this centuries-old being - he talked about Alfie's promise, and about the note. And he didn't leave out the scene from the beach, either. The last look at each other, their inability to speak, their death together in unspoken love on that beach, and of the recurring nightmare he had since. He explained everything the witch had told him, trying not to make it sound too crazy - even if it was. After all, he knew it himself. But as soon as he said the first words, there was no turning back, and no stopping.

Tommy felt the twitch in Alfred's forearms and felt the very tenseness in his body when he stopped talking. And then came the thing Tommy had always been afraid of: endless, oppressive silence.

Just silence.

Alfred didn't move, Alfred didn't say anything, not even when Tommy slowly turned to look at him. Alfred just stared at the ceiling, for a long time, and released his arms from Tommy's body after a while. It felt cold, like walking away, and Tommy's throat immediately went dry.

"Alfred, please. I'm not making this up, it really happened."

Alfred nodded, very slowly, almost too slowly and strangely ponderously. But he did not look at Tommy.

"Listen, Tommy... I um... I'd like to believe you, I really would. It's just... this whole thing sounds too crazy, you know? Just... crazy. I don't believe in that kind of thing, even though I'd like to for you, but... I can't. Would you have even recognized me if it weren't for those fucking dreams or whatever? Would you have even noticed me?" Alfred said dryly, and tears immediately burned in Tommy's eyes.

Fierce heaviness drove into his limbs, and he looked at Alfred, startled. "Of course I would have spoken to you like that! I was in love with you at once. Don't you remember how I looked at you? That first night?"

"You were drunk."

"Never mind that! Alfred please, I didn't make it up!"

Alfred bit his lip, then shook his head. "It's enough that Nana is already so loopy, but you too? Tommy, I can't believe you. Is that a stupid excuse for something? Do you think it's funny to fuck with me? I knew it, I shouldn't have let you into my life so soon."

Tommy's heart broke. He felt it acutely, the muscle contracting violently, and the hot tears running again from the corners of his eyes. He stared at Alfred for quite a while, during which he got only a brief sideways glance; he could understand the arguments with Nana, but not the rest. It took an agonizingly long moment before Tommy snorted, stood up, and put on his clothes.

"Tommy..."

"No! I didn't choose you because of those dreams, I found you because of them! Why don't you understand?" he hissed, and Alfred rolled his eyes.

"Because it's fucking crazy! Simple!"

Tommy bit his lower lip fiercely, then rummaged furiously in his pants pocket. He found the small piece of paper, and took a step towards Alfred, who was still lying half-naked in bed. He threw the old, well-guarded note on Alfred's chest, so hard that it clapped lightly.

"Here, you wrote this! One hundred years ago! I got it from the synagogue, the big one in London, straight from the golem's mouth. Keep it - as a souvenir of a madman.", Tommy sneered in Alfred's direction, put on his jacket and stormed out of the room.

Alfred stared after Tommy for a long time, heard the front door close downstairs, and only then directed his gaze to the note on his chest. He then carefully unfolded the very damaged and old-looking paper.

‘I wish one day I could tell you all the things I can't tell you now, and that then this time would no longer separate us. A. Solomons’

Alfred opened his mouth, swallowed slightly when he read those words. A strange tingling sensation ran through his body, and he was just about to speak, puzzled and questioning - until he remembered that Tommy had just left.

Though for a moment, reading it, it had felt like he was standing right next to him, a warm reflection of Tommy, without the tears Alfred had caused.

And the worst part of it was still: it was actually his own handwriting on the piece of paper - a piece of paper with words he had never seen before in his life.

Chapter Text

Tommy couldn't stop crying, finding himself in this vortex of helplessness - he just couldn't stop.

It had hit him deeper than he would have thought; and what he had felt before as a missing part of his soul was now more just an endless hole of pain and suffering, something he couldn't fill even with the love and attention of his sister, who was trying to build him up.

He had told her everything.

Ada fixed him sadly as Tommy lit his fourth cigarette in a row, staring impassively at the ceiling of his apartment. For a moment, deep silence spread between the siblings, then Ada cleared her throat softly.

"Tommy honey, listen... this doesn't have to be the end! Who's to say it stops just because he was a little shocked? If he wasn't there, if he didn't see all this stuff with his own eyes, yeah, how is he even supposed to understand? Give him time." she said, but Tommy just snorted, low and aggrieved.

"He looked at me like I'd lost my mind. And he didn't believe me, not even when I threw him that damn note. I should have kept it. It was all that was left of Alfie. That writing, I miss it... I'm sure Alfred destroyed the note," he muttered darkly, exhaling the smoke from the cigarette deeply through his nose.

His heart ached as it rarely had in his life. He had regretted, deeply regretted, telling Alfred. Maybe he should have taken more time, maybe it was simply the punishment for his former life - or he had simply missed his task. But it was clear: he missed Alfie, Alfred, this person, this soul.

He missed everything.

The touches, he missed Alfred's laughter, his warm-heartedness, the way he had looked at Tommy, the way they had fallen asleep together almost every night. Tommy couldn't find sleep since then, just rolled helplessly from A to B at night, counting the minutes, the hours. Without sense, without reason.

He no longer dreamed. He had had some tea left over, and after several glasses of beer, he had decided to take it, in the silly hope that the herbs would give him one of the dreams. But there had been nothing, yawning emptiness in the deep sleep, and it had almost broken Tommy's heart when he had woken up. He would rather have turned back time and been plagued by dreams for an eternity, at least those with Alfie, seeing him rather than being completely without him.

He took out his cell phone. Alfred had written to him, but Tommy hadn't replied to any of the messages, hadn't even read through them. He just couldn't. He knew what it said anyway, too. You're crazy, there's no point, forget all that. Ada looked at him, then sighed deeply.

"Maybe he really just needs time, Jesus Tommy, you're incredibly grumpy when it comes to patience. After all, with all this history, it took you guys 100 years to find each other again, too! And you can't even last two weeks!" she snarked, and Tommy ran a hand through his hair.

"A hundred years and in no time at all I'm ruining everything. I should have waited, Ada." he muttered, staring at the photo he and Alfred had taken together at the lake. They looked happy before Tommy had ruined everything with his fear.

He pushed the phone away from him again, stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray, and turned his face to his sister.

"I can't do this anymore, Ada. I miss Alfie so much, Alfred, just what was... But I can't go after someone who thinks I'm crazy! My Nana is already crazy, not you too, Tommy...! That's what he said! I bet Nana should have just held out that stupid photo she was telling him about..."

"Sometimes big things with deep meaning need a push before they get going," Ada muttered, pouring tea for them both.

"Maybe so. But it's different pain, Ada. My heart is broken, into more than a thousand pieces, and I just can't heal it. The dreams are gone, he's gone, do you know what it feels like, what's left behind?"

"No, Tommy."

"I never want to even begin to fall in love with anyone ever again. I've got an old soul, Ada, and you can't reconnect it. Me and Alfie, that was law. I'll wait until I die again, and hope to be reborn. So, I can't fuck it up again. You can't trust anyone anyway," Tommy grumbled, and Ada rolled her eyes.

"You're impossible, Tommy. You'll get out of your self-pity someday, I can tell you that."

They drank the tea wordlessly, and Tommy pulled his legs closer to his body. He had been strangely cold for days, especially at night. He missed Alfred's warming embrace, the smell, the closeness. He couldn't sleep without that, not even with the gentle sleeping pills from the pharmacy that Ada had brought him.

"Why don't you visit the witch again?" Ada suggested, and Tommy almost spluttered into his tea in amusement.

"The fuck I will. She'll see right through my failure."

"Or she'll give you back your dreams," Ada said casually, and finally, as if out of a trance, Tommy lifted his gaze, staring at his sister with curious eyes. He blinked slightly before taking a hot sip of tea.

It burned slightly in his throat, but Tommy swallowed it anyway because the pain was pleasant. She could be right about that, and Tommy gave her a slight nod.

"That's not such a bad idea."

§---§---§

Alfred nervously folded the note in his pants pocket, his fingers playing around the ancient textures of the paper over and over as he looked at the rabbi with a bite on his lower lip. He nodded slightly as the rabbi began to narrate, wandering with him through the ancient corridors of the synagogue.

"So, it's possible? That this golem grants wishes?" he asked again, and the rabbi let out a coughing laugh.

"My dear boy, golems have been around since the beginning of our religion. You know the history of our people, you know the burdens, the suffering we have all had to bear. Since the beginning of Judaism, these golems have been built, out of simple clay, to fulfill the wishes and desires of the people. It may be that not every little wish comes true - but most do. A lot of suffering, and an even greater belief in healing, that's all the magic," the rabbi explained, and Alfred frowned slightly.

His eyes traveled over the many paintings in the sacred house, stopping at an expensive candlestick.

"Can anyone put in these wishes?" he asked, and the rabbi shrugged.

"Any Jew, of the chosen people. And whether others can, I don't know. I don't know of any case where a non-Jew made a wish. Why do you ask?"

Alfred pondered, again playing with the note in his pocket, then he took a deep breath, ran his free hand down the back of his neck.

"There is a very strange story in my...- in my family, honorable Rabbi. In this story, an ancestor of mine threw a note into the golem, many years ago, it would have to be close to a hundred years. And it's supposed to have been in this synagogue. And I had... I had a dream that this note affected me too, in a weird way, I can't... can't really explain it," Alfred began, and he'd never had so much trouble forming proper sentences without betraying Tommy, or without sounding like an escaped patient from an insane asylum. Fuck, he didn't even believe in that stuff, but Tommy's words and that damn note wouldn't let him go.

"Come with me, son. I'll show you something." the rabbi said warmly, and Alfred followed him into strange old corridors. It took them a while to get to a basement that was all dusty and had ancient figurines standing around. Most of them were covered, but some of them were also staring at him through their centuries-old, hollow eyes. Alfred swallowed, turned his gaze back to the rabbi.

"Just the other day, a young man came to me and told me he was going to give a lecture on these old sagas. Interesting, isn't it? He took a good look at these figures in the cellar, and when I checked, this figure was revealed. He must have found it most interesting, no doubt, huh?" the rabbi said, pointing to a thick, large old clay figure in a corner.

Alfred got strangely thick goose bumps when he cast his eyes on this creature made of clay, and for a moment he had to swallow. Tommy, he was quite sure. It could only have been Tommy, who had been researching in the synagogue, and who had found this very golem. Strange, Alfred thought to himself as he walked slowly towards the statue; it seemed strangely familiar. As if he had seen it somewhere before.

"This golem is one of the oldest. If your family is from this area, they must mean this golem," the rabbi explained, and Alfred nodded silently.

He stood in front of the golem, staring at this ancient figure, and suddenly had a violent urge to touch it. His fingertips gently touched the ancient clay, and he exhaled deeply as he felt the strange warmth emanating from it, even though it was just damned old clay.

Or his imagination was slowly going crazy with him. He'd heard too many stories from Nana, he was almost sure of it.

"He feels warm." Alfred murmured, and the rabbi laughed softly.

"He lives, in the faith of so many people and of our people. They say that whoever feels its warmth has once put a wish into it that has come true."

Alfred faltered, and it almost felt as if his heart would stop; with wide, incredulous eyes, he turned to the rabbi, staring wide-eyed at the man.

"What did you just say?" he asked, amazed at how hoarse his voice could become. The rabbi laughed warmly again, then nodded over to the golem.

"You heard me all right. Some things in this world are hard to explain, but they are true, as unreal as they sound. It may well be that you were the one from your family who had a wish many decades ago. Our people live on, in us, with us, for millennia."

Alfred exhaled deeply, then his eyes, widened in shock, focused again on the golem. He could still feel the warmth under his fingers, that strange, oppressive warmth. For a moment he was too perplexed to even think, to feel anything at all.

He couldn't remember anything that should have been - yet here were two people telling him about something that sounded unbelievable, and he knew that these people were guaranteed not to know each other privately. Could it really be that these things were true?

He had always believed, yes. He had been raised to believe that, and had always loved the stories Nana had told him as a child. But this story that was happening right now before his own eyes was almost like a horror movie. Like something that simply could not be grasped vividly.

And Alfred knew, knew very well in those moments, that it had been Tommy who had fished that cursed note out of the Golem, and brought their story to life. But why him, of all people, of Gypsy descent? Why had Tommy uncovered these dreams, this story, but not Alfred, when he was just as much a part of it? Why couldn't he remember anything?

His fingers slowly eased away from the golem, and he swallowed, almost missing the pleasant warmth that seemed to draw him in like sweet honey. He looked at the golem one last time, then his hands clasped the note in his pocket again. It felt as warm as the golem, and Alfred turned to the rabbi.

"Thank you very much, honorable rabbi."

"You're welcome, son. Our faith thrives on these stories, and I am always delighted to hear new ones. Have courage, trust in your faith, and believe in the impossible."

Alfred snorted softly, then shook the rabbi's hand in farewell.

When he was outside again, he rested his hands on his knees and took a deep breath. Evening was already falling over the city, and Alfred turned his gaze to the starry sky.

Fuck, he missed Tommy like hell. He was starting to feel like an idiot for just judging without really listening to him. Maybe it had been fear, or something else - he didn't know. He only knew that he missed Tommy immensely, and that life was suddenly strangely empty without him. Like a picture, but without any colors. Most of all, Alfred missed the deep blue of Tommy's eyes.

He had already fallen for Tommy when they had first looked into each other's eyes. It had been magic, even though Tommy had been drunk - but that cursedly handsome face, those beautiful eyes locked on him, had immediately captivated Alfred. He had never met such a beautiful person before, and in his job as a bartender he saw a lot, had seen a lot. But never something as wonderful and precious as Tommy.

Alfred ran his fingers through his hair, then pulled the note out of his pocket and read it through again, as he had for days for the hundredth time. He already knew the words by heart, and yet every time he read them again, the sheer goosebumps ran over him when he saw the handwriting on that note.

Damn, he hated it, but the story was just too violent. Even he couldn't trust anything else after talking to the rabbi, and was beginning to doubt his own sanity.

A tea from a gypsy, that's what Tommy had said, hadn't he?

Alfred chewed on his lower lip, folded the note carefully again, and stared down the darkening streets, where the streetlights were slowly turning on, turning everything into a yellowish, wonderfully warm glow.

If he did the math right, he now had one more chance to find his memory, which surely existed somewhere: that damn tea Tommy had already drunk. But how was he going to find the witch?

He thought it was humbug, and he didn't believe in such nonsense, and besides, he was fucking afraid of witches. Even as a child he had been afraid of his Nana's dolls, the ones with the big noses and warts on their faces that had stared down at him. Was he really going to seek out this witch, the gypsy, just for Tommy, just so he could ask for something that sounded fucking crazy?

But his heart told him otherwise.

Tommy was fucking worth it, if only because Alfred felt so bad. He thought of Tommy's eyes, of his warmth, of the small, slender body that had always pressed against him at night and slept soundly. He thought of their nights full of lust, of their first time, of his laughter, of his warmth. Of the fine tears in his eyes when Alfred had shown him all those things in Nana's room then. To their first kiss. And damn it, he had to do it.

Even if it was just like a Halloween performance for him. But Tommy believed in it, Nana believed in it, and the rabbi had also told him that such a thing was possible. So, he had almost no other option than to search in the dim evening light for the streets that resembled a witchy gypsy neighborhood.

But Alfred didn't know what he should have googled to find something like that either.

§---§---§

It was late, damn late, when Alfred finally found the store. By now it was raining cats and dogs, and his hair and beard were dripping from the cool water. He had tucked the note deep in his pants pocket and stared in awe at the strange store on this little street.

Awe, because he was fucking terrified.

The glowing neon sign with the eye on it sent a sheer shiver down his spine, and for a moment he had considered just leaving, because this whole show here seemed way too weird. But he thought of Tommy, and it was also the thought of Tommy that made him knock on the glass door.

They were still open, he knew. He could feel it strangely deep in his bones, and was also almost relieved when the door opened, and a dark-haired woman nodded gently.

"Can I help you?" she asked, and Alfred nodded dully. He entered the store, goosebumps thick on his body as he felt, breathed in, saw all the strange sounds, things and smells. It was like entering another world, so damn far away from the world he was actually from.

"I um... I'm not actually a...- not a gypsy, I have... no idea how this works. But someone I care about very much was here and got... got something like this to remember with," Alfred tried to explain as neutrally as possible, and the woman's face brightened.

"Wait a moment." she said, and disappeared behind a curtain of comically rustling beads, which Alfred just scowled at. He couldn't shake the goosebumps on his body, especially not when he saw all the strange things at the front of the counter. Strange plants, something that looked like a chopped off, wizened human hand. It was probably just a root, Alfred thought, as the woman stepped out from behind the curtain again and gave him a friendly nod.

"Come." she said, and Alfred frowned.

He went into the adjoining room, where a very old woman was sitting at a table; the woman who had ushered him in was long gone when Alfred turned to her, looking for help.

Only with a gulp did he dare to look at the old woman, who was undoubtedly a witch; she had one blind eye and stared at Alfred as joyfully as if she recognized him from somewhere.

Her blind eye twitched joyfully as Alfred sat down across from her with a sinking stomach, and looked at her the same way, only with deep suspicion in his veins.

"I know who you are, and I know why you're here, too, Alfie Solomons," the old woman croaked, and a shock ran through Alfred's limbs. He stared at the woman for a moment, then remembered that yeah, she must know Tommy; he felt a little more at ease in his stomach, even if that strangely anxious feeling still lingered.

"I'm here because of Tommy, and what he told me. I can't remember, but somehow... I don't know. I can't do without him, and at least I want to try to understand," he said harshly, trying hard not to stare constantly at the blind eye that was permanently eyeing him and moving violently in the old woman's head. It was strange because the healthy eye was completely still.

Alfred would get nightmares from this, he was sure.

The old witch grinned broadly, then put her hands on the table. "You used to be blind, my friend, but now you can see again. You always see with your heart, but never with your eyes. Oh, I recognize you. You were in a deep sleep for a hundred years, but your heart remembers. I can see it."

She smiled even wider, and the blind eye rolled over his face again in curiosity. Alfred swallowed, and finally found the courage to take the note out of his pocket.

Chapter Text

Tommy stared at the calm water that moved only when a light breeze blew across the surface, dipping the water into slight ripples that quickly disappeared. He let his elbow rest on the railing in front of the lake, and continued to gaze into the calm depths of the water.

This was where they had met for the first time, and had seen each other consciously for the first time without anything around them. Tommy remembered it clearly, every second of that moment; the way Alfred had looked at him, the way Tommy had asked him about his tattoos, how warm, inner heat had risen inside him. He'd been so damn excited, almost like the first time he'd ever seen Alfred. His Alfie, in this modern age. And now it was all over.

Tommy sighed deeply, then propped his chin on his forearm. It wasn't really cold, just a little, cold enough that Tommy pulled his jacket sleeves a little more over his wrists. He knew himself that he had to stop feeling sorry for himself. For good. But it was just too real, this pain that had really only been created out of dreams and memories, so damn real.

As if Tommy's old life hadn't existed at all, before this whole story. As if there had never been anything there, blurred traces in the sand, because nothing and nobody fit there anymore - because it had never been his real life. But only his rebirth into this world in which his heart could not find its way without Alfie.

He was lost.

He hadn’t even made his way to the witch, he simply couldn’t, his body wouldn’t even carry him this far. Although he longed for his dreams, for something, for a small piece that he could hold on to.

"I knew you were here." a deep voice suddenly said from behind him, and Tommy turned with a quiet gasp of shock. His eyes found the source of the familiar voice immediately, and his eyes swept almost as if in shock over the more than familiar face, over the body that stood next to him and pressed his forearms against the railing as well: Alfred.

He looked different. It went through Tommy's bones like a lightning bolt, like a hot wave of curiosity; he had a longer beard, a little, quite long for the few days they hadn't seen each other now. It left deep goose bumps on Tommy's skin, and he stared at Alfred with slightly parted lips. He couldn't get a word out at first, just stared at him, who had a slightly warm grin on his face, and raised an eyebrow curiously.

"Why are you here...? And your beard, it's..." Tommy began, his voice all hushed with emotion, his heart hammering against his ribcage. It was exciting, strangely familiar, like coming home, having Alfred finally standing next to him again, and Alfred grunted in amusement.

"I thought you might like the beard better that way," Alfred said softly, shrugging his shoulders, his eyes briefly on the water.

Tommy didn't know what to feel, what to think, what to say. He only knew that he was paralyzed by this apparition, by everything that just happened here. As if his heart had called Alfred at the right time, or maybe Ada had been right? He swallowed deeply, and propping his elbows away from the railing, turned in Alfred's direction, though he was still transfixed when Alfred's eyes found his.

"Listen, Tommy.", Alfred began, and Tommy's heart almost stopped, as a little trauma from the last time Alfred had started those words like that. He exhaled deeply, then looked at Alfred firmly, with a firm inner resolve not to start crying now. No way.

"I know I was rough with you when you told me that story," Alfred continued, looking at Tommy with his warm gaze. Tommy's heart went up to his throat. "I'm just not the type for those stories, you know? I loved Nana's stories as a kid, but what you were telling me, that was... intense for me. I've always been an active believer, but that story really scared the shit out of me, I'll be frank."

Tommy licked his lips, then nodded softly. "Me too."

"I know. I wasn't together when I answered you; I mean, you looked so dead in your dream when you woke up, I thought you were dying. And I couldn't believe those things. That story. But... when you threw that note at me, I really threw a fit at first. Because the writing, the fucking writing on the note, s' mine, Tommy. And I asked myself: how does this damned writing get on this old piece of paper? I couldn't figure it out. I thought you were fucking with me. And then I went to Nana's, you remember all those things in her room," Alfred told him, and Tommy nodded bluntly.

Of course he did, with tears, because it had just been him, Alfie, all over that room. Like a real imprint.

"Well, and then I talked to Nana. What she thought of a golem, and she finally showed me that damn picture, the one of Alfie, right. I almost shit my pants, fuck that guy looked like me! And that scared the shit out of me, Tommy. So, I went to our rabbi too, in the synagogue. And also had a conversation with him about that. And he confirmed it too. I saw this golem, and it was warm, Tommy."

"Warm?" Tommy breathed out, his fingers unconsciously pressed tightly into Alfred's forearm, so tightly he clung to his lips and listened to him, his heart beating more with each beat. Alfred had listened to him, back then. He really had.

"Yes. I almost puked with excitement when the rabbi said that someone who feels the warmth of the golem has thrown a wish into it before, and then the wish probably came true," Alfred said, and his eyes fixed firmly on Tommy, who brought his hand lightly to his mouth.

He felt sick, sick with excitement, and a heated, unstoppable wave of dizziness ran through all his veins, bones, skin and hair. He couldn't even begin to describe this strange, dizzy feeling, with any words in any language in this world. He only felt how his eyes slowly filled with tears and he nodded softly to Alfred.

"And that was hard. I've never felt anything like that before, and I knew right away that it was you who started this whole... thing rolling, huh. Smart as you are, and dumb as I am. But that wasn't all. I believed it, fuck I really did. But I couldn't remember. So, I did something that was never really an option for me, because I'm scared shitless of witches..." Alfred explained, and Tommy inhaled sharply.

"You didn't go to the witch, did you?" he whispered, and Alfred laughed. Beautiful, melodic, warm, and it burned deep into Tommy's heart.

"Yes, I was. She recognized me, somehow, I can't explain it to you. But then, when I showed her the note, she said she couldn't help me with the tea. It could be that the memory of that time was simply erased, she said I had slept for a long time, or my soul, I didn't quite understand that. So I don't know what was between us then," Alfred said softly, and his arms went firmly around Tommy's body, pulling him into a tight hug.

Tommy swallowed, looked up at Alfred, and he nodded, though he didn't even know how it worked anymore, he was so spellbound. He just stared at Alfred, then murmured softly, "It's okay. You don't have to remember it, but the fact that you did all that, for me, that means more than anything. We weren't exactly easy, you and I, back then."

Alfred snorted, then brushed a strand of hair from Tommy's forehead that had settled over his eyebrows in the wind. The touch burned like fire.

"What I'm really saying is this, Tommy," Alfred began again, and Tommy's heart burned, pounded, stuttered against his chest; "...it’s that I really don't remember, and I'm sorry for that. I'd like to. But you believe it, and others believe it too. And so, no matter what it was - it's okay with me. Because I don't want to lose you. And I know it's important to you. And if it's important to you, then it means at least as much to me."

Tommy opened his lips, his eyes burning, his throat on fire, and he couldn't find the words to describe what was going on inside him right now. His body felt heavy and so light at the same time, and he couldn't quite grasp those words.

Alfie, he thought. Oh, Alfie. Your wish has come true. Finally.

He blinked away some tears, then murmured softly against his own hoarseness, "So you mean... we are, we can -...?"

Alfred smiled, then nodded. "If my ancestors made a promise..." he fiddled with something between their bodies, and pressed a piece of paper into Tommy's hand, the piece of paper, the ancient one with Alfie's writing on it, and Tommy blinked numbly; "...then I will keep it."

Tommy didn't know where to put all the feelings that were suddenly pouring into his body, that were everywhere, suffocating him, and he wanted to choke on them because this was everything, everything he had ever needed in his life. He let out a choked sob, his fingers found Alfred's neck, and he pulled the bigger man down into a breathless, warm kiss.

He didn't know how long they stood there, kissing, just forgetting the world around them; drowning in what they were, what they had always been, and what now burned so clearly between them like a damn fire. Tommy felt his eyes produce a few hot, thick tears that ran slowly down his cheeks, ran onto Alfred's thumb, which had rested gingerly against his cheek; Alfred twitched slightly, then lifted Tommy's chin gently with two fingers.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, and Tommy wiped away his tears, smiling broadly, unable to take his eyes off Alfred.

"Because I'm happy, damn it. My sister was right. I've been a jerk, I'm so sorry, Alfred," he muttered, and Alfred snorted.

"I'm sorry. After all, I was the denier. I'm just scared shitless of witches, and damn it, Tommy - that woman was really creepy. She'll haunt my nightmares forever, and that eye."

Tommy laughed. "Oh, that eye is really creepy, I know that one. Thanks, Alfred."

"For what?"

"For everything."

They both smiled, and Tommy found himself back in Alfred's warm arms only seconds later, deep in a kiss.

His heart cried out, but not in pain. No, there was no more pain this time, there was only coming home, being there, being free. Finally, after such an infinitely long time. His fingers curled up on Alfred's chest, right over the heart, and he knew, just knew with all his inner being, that it was Alfie's heart too, beating there so fiercely in that familiar chest.

As if they had never been apart. As if one of the two had only awakened from a very long coma.

§----§----§

Tommy's dreams never came back again. He never again had even a dream about the shooting in Margate, about the bloody bullet wound in Alfie's face, about his own long-gone life - never again saw strange, blurred structures, and smelled strange things, no more whiskey, no more smoke. No, there was just him, he and Alfred, united together in this new world.

As if it had never been any other way.

At least that's what he thought, did he?

Chapter Text

§--- 1 year later ---§

Tommy couldn't hold back his smile or his tears, neither of them, because the two went hand in hand; his hands clasped Alfred's face, happier than ever, and it made his heart nearly explode to see a little tear or two on Alfred's face, too, glistening like diamonds in the sun.

"Yes, I do."

Words that filled Tommy's heart more than anything, that gave him life like an endless roller coaster, only he was flying, just flying, on the highest clouds.

From now on they were truly one, forever joined, and the two of them came closer, kissing amidst the tumult that erupted around them with a loud roar.

"Mazel Tov!"

The crowd roared, shouted, cheered this phrase, over and over again, and Tommy heard the auspicious shattering of a glass that Alfred was breaking according to tradition. Shards bring happiness, and Tommy wished with all his heart that this happiness would last another hundred years.

He could not describe the feelings that raged inside him throughout the wedding. It was the most beautiful wedding he had ever been to - perhaps because it was his own. Maybe because it carried the Shelby name only as an epithet, joined and fused with the Solomons name, forever linked. Maybe it was the happy faces around him, his new family, Nana with tears in her eyes, his sister crying. All of them.

Because there was just light in life. And even if dark days were coming; Tommy would get through them for sure, with Alfred by his side.

Tommy threw Alfred a deep, warm smile, and his husband returned it; he kissed Tommy's hand, the hand with the heavy ring on it, a relic of old times, an inheritance from Nana's treasure chest; it was a ring Alfie had worn back then. And never had Tommy's finger felt more comfortable, more complete, than with that weight on it.

An eternal bond.

The celebration went on deep into the night, the happiest night of Tommy's life.

When Alfred and he fell into bed together at night, exhausted from all the happy events, they both fell into a deep sleep, their hands joined together.

And without knowing it, without realizing it, they both had the same dream that night, at the same time, in the same sleep.

§----§----§

Tommy didn't even recognize the area at first, holding his hand protectively over his eyes to shield the warm sun; it was strangely white, the sun, high as it was in the sky, somehow bathing everything in a very strange shimmering light. Tommy inhaled deeply, sucking in the smell of sea air, warm, endlessly familiar sea air. The sound of the sea, he could hear it quite clearly, and he startled slightly; but when his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he finally dared to look around.

A warm pair of eyes stared at him, a broad smile hidden in the deep, tousled beard, and Tommy's breath caught. He stared at this man holding out his large hand, dozens of heavy rings on it. Tommy grasped that hand breathlessly, and Alfie, in all his old Jewish glory, laughed darkly. His hair was tousled, as Tommy had always loved it, and he pulled Tommy close to his body.

"Alfie, what...where are we?" Tommy asked perplexed, and Alfie grunted.

"Margate, you must know, Tommy, right?" Alfie murmured, rough and wonderfully deep as he knew it, and Tommy groaned out a surprised exhale, hands digging into Alfie's beard as if he couldn't believe who he was looking at. Tommy's eyes ran over Alfie's face, over the little scales, they were there, everything was there, just him and Alfie, here, on the beach. Tommy's lips opened.

"Are we... dead?" Tommy asked breathlessly, fingers still buried in Alfie's beard, deep, though he could feel it, feel it so much between his fingers. It was so real.

"I think so - and no at the same time, don't know how you gypsies do it. But feels pretty real, huh?" Alfie said, amused, and Tommy blinked away a few tears.

"But we're alive, somehow." Tommy stammered, as if he knew it, that which was still ahead of them, or behind them, or wherever they were. There was no cold here, nor heat, only pleasant warmth, so light.

"We are always alive, Tommy. Our souls. And you finally managed to turn off your damn head for once, and see with your heart. Took you a long time, right, a fucking hundred years. Shelby, Shelby.", Alfie murmured darkly, pulling Tommy even closer to him.

Tommy took a deep breath. "Is this real?" he asked quietly, fingers still buried in Alfie's beard, and Alfie laughed.

"As real as you want it to be, treacle."

They looked at each other, Tommy's heart beating up to his throat, and he swallowed before Alfie's face approached him. Tommy hesitated only briefly, though he sensed, felt very clearly, that it was right. That it was finally right.

No sooner had their lips touched than Tommy thought he heard sounds around him, cheering, clapping, love, he felt so much love. It was maybe all the deceased relatives, with them, here, because they had finally found each other, finally. Because they had finally been able to confess their love, because they were finally one again. And because the heavy burden of dying suddenly fell away from them.

And it did. It was like the sun becoming brighter, glistening bright light that slid into this kiss, enveloping them warmly.

And absorbed them. In what, he did not know.

But it felt good because Alfie was there, and because Alfie wouldn't let him go.

And with Alfie, every unknown was also something known.

§----§----§

Tommy knew, deep in his heart, that this had been his final, last dream. He had had tears in his eyes when he had woken up - and had had a feeling in his chest, a strange, light feeling, as if a heavy block of worry had fallen away from him. And he was almost sure that it was the weight of past life that had now fallen from them with their marriage.

He could never see the world with normal eyes again after this, not after this dream. It was different, so much more precious than anything he had ever seen or felt, and he never spent another day without a deep-seated gratitude in his heart. For Alfie, for Alfred, for everything he had been privileged to experience.

And he thanked Alfie every day for wishing it back then.

The day after the dream, Tommy went to the synagogue.

He deliberately went into the basement, the ancient basement, and with gratitude pulled the old white sheet off the golem that still stood in the corner, made of its simple clay, so ancient, yet so beautiful in Tommy's eyes.

He smiled as he folded the little note in his hand, very deliberately, with each crease in the fresh paper.

"And so, it shall remain, I wish it, a bond for eternity, beyond death. Tommy Solomons-Shelby."

His fingertips tingled as he tossed the little note into the golem's mouth, and a strange warmth flooded him; he could not hear the note as it landed in the golem's belly, and closed his eyes, his hand lingering long on the golem, in deep gratitude.

There were a few tears on Tommy's cheek as he murmured softly, "Thank you. With all my heart."