✔️ | 𝐛𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐦 𝐛𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞; peaky blinders

･ ｡ﾟ°• ♔ •°───𝒙𝒙𝒗𝒊. 𝒂 𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒍𝒇𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆

soundtrack: sptfy.com/bbf26

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟔
𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞
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"Every moving thing that lives shall be food for you. And as I gave you the green plants, I give you everything." —Proverbs 19:5

Danny Whizz-bang. Danny Whizz-bang. It was all Trixie could think as she drifted into the church, her shoes still wet from the cemetery's mud. Tommy had god knows how many people chasing their own tails around town, and the guns had been right in front of them all along.

"Someone's been bad."

Trixie started. The Church was dark with early morning, but she had grown used to that voice by now; it was more familiar than she liked. "Inspector," she sang, deciding that she would make an effort to irritate him as much as he did her. "You can come out of hiding now."

Campbell emerged from the confessional, looking far too cheery for the hour. She would give anything for a few more hours of sleep, curved against the warmth of Tommy's chest. Her muscles ached, her hairs stood on end. "Your face is bruised."

"I know," Trixie deadpanned. "Can feel it, you see."

"Come sit," he invited, settling in the first pew and patting the spot at his side. Trixie huffed out a sigh, and pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders, but obeyed. Staring up at the crucifix, Campbell muttered, "You Catholics are so gory, aren't you?"

Trixie hummed noncommittally at the Body of Christ. It was hardly a delicate portrait, but then again—it wasn't meant to be. "Are we going to have a long talk about theology?"

"In a sense," Campbell retorted. "I heard last night that two IRA men were found dead in your husband's pub. Would you know how that happened?"

"It's his brother's pub, technically," she corrected. "But no, I don't know anything."

"I don't believe you, Mrs. Shelby."

"You should," Trixie said, twisting around to face him. One of his mustache hairs had dislodged from his face and was caught in the pinch of his chapped upper lip, but he didn't seem to notice. "I'm just his wife. Making dinner, you see. Keeping a clean house. Praying for sons."

The lie was so old it had grown stale, and neither believed it anymore at this point, but Trixie enjoyed evading his questions. Campbell still needed her. "Did he give you that bruise?" he inquired, lifting a hand and tracing the pad of his thumb over her neck. Trixie stilled. Damn him for insisting on meetings in the church. She couldn't very well hit him under Christ's watchful gaze. "You can lie to protect him, Beatrice; you can spy for him, and kill for him; but it would serve you well to remember that you are just another victim of Tommy Shelby."

Wrenching away from him, Trixie narrowed her eyes. "We both know you don't care about dead IRA men, Inspector. I may not be the only liar here, but at least I'm good at it." Besides, if Tommy had given her the bruise, she'd enjoyed it. But the marks from his hungry mouth were blurred with the ones from Byrne's fists, and Trixie couldn't be sure.

Campbell chuckled, and seized her chin, pressing his fingers hard into her jaw. "Careful," he hissed. "I am not afraid of your godless husband. You have been protected from the men of Birmingham by his ever-present hand, but I am here on behalf of the King. And you are not off-limits to me."