𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬; peaky blinders

･ ｡ﾟ°• ♔ •°─── 𝒊𝒗. 𝒉𝒂𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑
𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞
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"I like to call myself wound, but I will answer to knife." —Nicole Homer

Time, to Beatrice, was liquid; it expanded and shaped itself as needed. With her wedding edging ever-closer, and Tommy refusing to speak to her, Trixie found herself wrestling with an unshakable nausea. She sat at her desk in the shop, counting the day's bills, when a slammed door made her jolt. Esme stepped into the room, clicking over to Trixie's desk and bracing herself against it. "I've come to ask you something."

Trixie blinked. "Alright..."

"London. Are you as against it as I am?"

Not this. Trixie let out an exasperated sigh and began pushing the money over in the direction of the lockbox. There were supposed to be men outside that kept anyone from getting in after hours, so either Esme was heated enough to have stormed past them, or they were off drunk at the Garrison. Neither throught brought her much confidence. "Tommy knows what he's doing," Trixie responded simply. She might not have a clue what his intentions were with London, since he seemed so keen on forcing her out of the business, but she trusted that he had goals and plans to achieve them.

"What he's doing is getting himself, and his brothers, killed," Esme hissed. She slammed the palm of her hand against the table, and the bang gave Trixie a jolt. "Everyone mocks me for wanting a life. Everyone mocks me for wanting to raise—chickens, and babies. But I want my kids to grow up happy, so that when they're older they aren't screaming awake from nightmares the way John does."

Trixie flattened her mouth into a line, something bitter twisting her stomach into knots. She'd known that the war haunted John as it haunted Tommy, but she hadn't realized how much. Despite it all, he still seemed to laugh so easily. Trixie took a deep breath. "I know you want what's right for your family. But these plans will put us on the map. Your kids will be untouchable—here, or in London. Think of when they're grown up, Esme. The security they'll have."

"What if they come for you?" Esme asked. "Tommy's always kept you involved. He ordered you to London, didn't he? Tonight? John said you'd be there. He'll get you killed before your wedding."

God willing, Trixie thought, and then felt so rottenly guilty for it that she had to avert Esme's gaze and focus on her hands, fidgeting, in her lap. Luca had woken her up with eggs for breakfast this morning, to thank her for massaging his shoulder and helping with the phantom pains, but she couldn't meet his eyes over the table. "Tommy knows what he's doing," she repeated, but amended, "I'm not sure if he knows how it'll end."

"Why don't you talk to him?" Esme pled.

"It's not like he listens to me," Trixie dismissed.

"If not you, who will he listen to?" Esme asked. "He's heartless. But you're the closest to him, and Polly won't help."

"He can't be stopped," Trixie said, and knew as soon as the words left her that they were true. She cursed them bitterly. "He has his ambitions. Everything else becomes very small in comparison."

"That's not a good enough excuse." Esme pointed at her rounded belly. "I'm raising more children than I can count, right now. How am I supposed to do that if John dies? No income. No protection."

"You're one of us now," Trixie reminded her, though she knew it was little consolation. "We look out for each other."

"Did Tommy not attempt to exile you?" Esme asked, leaning in close.