Avos'

...𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞...

𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 

"𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞/𝐧𝐨 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐫/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞"-𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐛𝐲 𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲/𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐣𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

"FUCK, I'M SORRY, TOM."

Tommy takes a deep patient breath, his nostrils flaring as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. This is the fourth time during the drive over that Arthur's apologized for calling him into the factory. John sits in the backseat, smirking and snorting every time Arthur apologizes, probably counting them in his head for a game of shots when they get home.

Tommy loves his brother but, Christ, Arthur is a fucking idiot. It turns out that the shipment they received this morning had been absolutely perfect. Every part was accounted for, and every detail was correct...Arthur apparently just forgot how to fucking count. At this rate, Tommy should probably tell Polly to take over the shipments, maybe even fucking Curly, anybody but Arthur.

Regardless, he's his brother, so he keeps his tone calm but with a healthy dose of sarcasm. "It's alright. It was absolutely no trouble leaving our traumatized sister, my woman, and my son to go sort out your shite."

"Thanks," Arthur says behind him, wiping his forehead in relief as he smiles sloppily. "I appreciate it."

Behind them, John rubs his hand down his face as he shakes his head. He places his hands between both seats and leans forward. "So, you and Oksana. It's serious?"

"Very," Tommy says curtly. He loves her, but he doesn't need to discuss it, especially with his dumb arse brothers.

"Good for you," John smiles, patting his shoulder. He furrows his eyebrows and quirks his head to the side. "Thinking about cutting back on the work?"

"Absolutely not," Tommy says smoothly, his lips tilting up as he thinks of the horror on Oksana's face if he told her he wanted to retire. "You lot are staying for dinner. It'll be good for our Grissy to be with family."

"Your Russian making the meal?" Arthur asks carefully, scrunching his nose in distaste. "Finn tells me her cooking is shite."

"It is shite, and you'll eat it all." He hesitates before shrugging. "Besides, Pol's been teaching her. It'll be...edible."

He ignores his brothers' snickering as they pull up to the house. When they walk in, it's eerily quiet. There's no onslaught of women and children rushing to greet them, no childish screams coming from the living room, no smell of slightly burned cooking.

"Seems nobody's home yet. Oksana's probably in the-"

"You!"

Tommy hates to admit that he's startled at the sudden outburst. He whips his head back at the source of the noise and sees Alfie, red in the face and sweating, practically dragging himself down the stairs. Both Arthur and John look taken back. They haven't actually seen Alfie in months, not since his cancer got worse, and it's jarring to anybody.