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sneakyblinders · 2 years ago

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the drunk lunch

A/N: this one follows directly behind chocolate cake and followed by the greatest honor. i take no credit for the gif, i just imagine this is how he’d look towards the door during the night scene.

warnings: language, sexual themes (we run into a lil kink the mrs and Tommy have) , alluding to smut but no smut, alcohol, smoking, more grace. not canon. a part of my tommy and his darling wife au <3

Grace knew she needed to get close to you to get close to Tommy—to get close to what the company was doing. To get close to the guns. But she was struggling with finding out how to do it.

Every time you were in the Garrison, you were on Tommy’s arm, the two of you inseparable. You worked in the office together, and when Tommy had other business to attend to with his brothers, you stayed behind in the office, managing other projects on the legal side of things that he had asked you to attend to. He made sure you only dealt with the legal side of things, never wanting to endanger you. It often made you angry how he would not tell you of the other side of things, but he insisted he kept you in the dark for your own safety. In the event that people came around asking for information, you would not be able to give them anything, simply because you had no idea.

So one afternoon when you walked into the Garrison alone, Grace saw it as her opportunity.

“Mrs. Shelby!” She called out to you as you walked towards the stairs, where Tommy’s office is. He had asked you to grab a few files and bring them back to the betting shop office.

“Good afternoon, Grace.” You said, eyeing her suspiciously.

“You—you may find this quite odd, but, since I’ve been in town, I haven’t made very many friends,” you threw her a compassionate smile. “And I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go to lunch one day. So we could get to know one another.”

Your jaw clenched, and her demeanor changed. She held a towel nervously in her hands. “I’m busy most days, Grace, but I could potentially find an opening.”

A smile crept on her face slowly. “Oh—okay. Just, let me know when you have time. I know of a new restaurant that just opened down by the docks on the other side of town.”

“I’ll get back to you.” You said, walking up the stairs to Tommy’s office.

That evening when you crawled in bed next to Tommy, you decided to tell him of the barmaids invitation. He was reading his book, nearly finished with it now, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Thomas,” you start, getting into bed beside him. He set his book down in his lap and looked at you softly. “The barmaid asked if I would go to lunch with her sometime.”

He dog-eared the page of his book before setting it down on the nightstand and reaching for a cigarette. “And that’s a bad thing?”

You pondered his question as he lit his cigarette. “No, not necessarily I don’t think.”

“Then what’s the problem, my love?” He asked, exhaling smoke.

You pulled the blankets farther up your body, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Nothing really, I suppose. I just find her odd.”

“You find most people odd, my dear.” He chuckled, taking another drag on his cigarette.

You knew he was right about that. “She said she didn’t have very many friends, and after I thought about it, I realized, I don’t really have very many friends here, either,” you said, leaning back against the headboard. “I have you and your family, and my family, who are miles away now, but I don’t think it’s the same as a friend who you can confide in, don’t you think?”

“What happened to Betty?” Tommy asked.

“She got married and hasn’t talked to me since. Not sure why.” You said, sad at the thought of losing a lifelong friend.

“Hm,” Tommy mused.

“Who is your closest friend?” You asked him, genuinely curious as to what his answer would be.

“Arthur.” He said quickly. “Arthur has always been my closest friend.” Your heart swelled. They did have a special relationship, the two of them. An interesting dynamic, certainly, but a good friendship. A solid brother bond. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing to have friends, Darling, I just want you to choose them for the right reasons, that’s all. We’re a powerful family and people want to get close to us for lots of various reasons, and I don’t want you getting hurt.” He said, taking your hand in his and bringing it to his lips.

“I’ll be okay, Sweetheart.” You assure him, curling into his side.

“Then go out with the barmaid. You can clear your schedule whenever you like. You have good connections with the boss at work,” he smirked, stubbing his cigarette in the ashtray on his nightstand.

“I certainly do,” you smirk. “Did I tell you he bent me over his desk yesterday afternoon?”

“What a lucky bastard,” Tommy smirked down at you, before rolling on top of you and kissing you. You shrieked, a giggle escaping your lips as he tickled your sides. “What a lucky bastard I am,” he said, breathless as he began to kiss your neck, your shoulders, your cheeks, your lips. “Gypsy fucking magic that brought you to me, you know that?” He breathed against your skin as you writhed beneath him.

The next day you walked to the Garrison around noon and unlocked the door with your set of keys. “Grace?” You called out. Grace came from the back of the pub, a surprised look on her face.

“Mrs. Shelby! I was not expecting you, is everything alright?” She asked.

You stand in the middle of the pub, feeling quite awkward. “I was hoping that I could take you up on your offer for lunch today.”

A smile spread on her face and she nodded. “Of course. I’ll need to be back by five, but I’ve got a lot of the work finished already.”

“Oh,” you wave her off. “Don’t worry about that, I already ensured Harry would be here by four to finish everything up in time to open for the evening.”

“Oh, thank you.” She said, “Let me just grab my coat.”

The two of you walked through town, each of you telling the other the basic facts about themself. Age, education, family.

You sat down at the table in the new restaurant and Grace ordered the both of you whiskey. You began to refuse it, but she put her hand up. “Nonsense, this is going to be a fun afternoon,” she said. You normally didn’t drink, you said Thomas drank enough for the both of you, and that was true. But that day, you drank. A lot.

You were three whiskeys in, and feeling good. You and Grace were at the table in the restaurant still, cackling about something ridiculous when she decided it was a good time as ever to start prying. You were loosened up from the alcohol, and she had thought she had peeled back enough of the getting-to-know-someone layers, making you more comfortable.

“How did you meet Tommy?” she asked as you took another bite of bread.

“Oh, I ran into him in London one day. Literally, ran smack into his chest and he dropped a bottle of whiskey he had just bought. It got all over his suit and my legs. I thought he was going to scream at me but then he just sort of–looked at me.” you say, a far away look in your eyes.

Grace giggled. “He sort of just looked at you?”

“Yes,” you said sighing dreamily, thinking of your husband. “And then he asked me to dinner.”

“Is he good to you?” she asked.

“Oh yes,” you nearly moaned, drinking the rest of your whiskey. “Terribly good to me. He’s ruined me for all other men.” you tell her and she clears her throat uncomfortably at your crudeness.

“What do you do for the company?” she asked.

“I keep the books, help with the numbers. Write letters for Thomas so he doesn’t sound like so much of an ass when doing formal business proposals.” you giggled.

“What exactly does your husband do?” she asked.

You stopped giggling, and miracle of all miracles, despite your rather drunk state, narrowed your eyes. “You’re asking far too many questions about my husband's work.”

Her expression fell. “I’m sorry, just curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Grace Burgess.” you warn, signaling the waiter for the bill.

“Allow me, Mrs. Shelby,” she tells you, but your hand is quicker in reaching for the bill.

“Nonsense,” you quip, and her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean it in that way, Grace,” you try to recover.

“No, it’s quite alright. I appreciate your generosity.” she says as you hand the waiter enough to cover the bill, and a generous tip. “Let me ensure you get back safely.” she says as you stumble standing up, legs feeling a bit wobbly.

“I think I should like to be returned to the betting shop, Thomas won’t be gone yet.” you tell her, and she nods, holding onto your elbow as she guides you through the streets of Small Heath.

You knock on the door of the betting shop, too drunk to remember which damn key opened the side door. “Oh, Thomas!” you say in a sing-song sort of manner.

Polly opens the door, a confused look on her face. “Dear God,” she sighs. “What did you do to her?” she asks Grace in an accusatory tone.

“What did I do? She didn’t have to drink three full glasses of whiskey!” Grace said.

“She offered them, Pol,” you tell her, your words beginning to slur together. “Pol, Pol, where’s Thomas, I need to see him,” you’re slurring your words together, eyes only half open.

“He’s in his office, love. I–I think he may be a little upset at you being so drunk it’s only four in the afternoon.” Polly said as you nearly fell into her arms, brow furrowed, eyes blazing with fury at Grace.

“He’s never upset with me for long, Polly,” you say, a grin spreading on your face. “A wife has ways, you know.”

Polly shook her head in disbelief at you, guiding you inside. Grace followed behind, closing the door gently. “Thomas!” you call again, growing impatient. Shortly thereafter, you hear heavy footsteps upstairs and the familiar creak of the office door opening. “There he is,” you sigh dreamily as he appears at the top of the steps. “My husband.”

A confused look crosses his features as he comes down the stairs. “What the fuck–” he mumbled to himself as you threw yourself in his arms.

“Thomas, I missed you,” you tell him. His eyebrows shoot up as he smells the whiskey on you.

“My love, what in hell have you gotten into?” he asks, taking you by the shoulders to look you in the eyes.

“I just went for lunch with Grace,” you tell him innocently, eyes wide. He eyes the barmaid, who is uncomfortably standing in the corner near the door, shifting her weight between her legs.

“I see, my love. Do you think you can go upstairs and lay on the chaise in the office? Wait for me a moment? Hm?” he asks you softly, rubbing your arms.

You give him a cheeky grin, leaning in to whisper in his ear, “Will you fuck me when you come back upstairs?”

He let out a sigh of exasperation. “I’m afraid not my love, but I won’t be long. Go on, please.” he said. You pulled away with him, a pout on your lips.

“Thanks for lunch, Grace. I had a grand time,” you tell her before you wobble up the steps.

“I’ll go make sure she doesn’t break her neck.” Polly said, walking up the steps behind you.

Tommy eyes Grace angrily. “What the hell was she thinking?” he asks her.

“I’m not sure, Mr. Shelby. One minute she was fine, the next she was–several drinks deep.”

He narrowed his eyes. “She never drinks.”

She shifted uncomfortably again, heart beating quickly under his scrutinous gaze. “She did today, Mr. Shelby.”

“Curious that the first time my wife drinks since our wedding day is the first time she goes out with you, isn’t it?”

“I’m just simply trying to make a friend.” Grace told him, tone defensive.

“Well, next time you try and befriend my wife, do not, get her drunk.” he demands, wagging a finger at her. They both heard you wail Tommy’s name from upstairs and she blushed, embarrassed. “Don’t you have to be at the Garrison soon, Miss Burgess?” he asked, exasperated.

“Yes, I will be going now. I’m sorry, Mr. Shelby.” she stammered, walking out of the door. Tommy locked it behind her and watched as she walked down the street towards the Garrison.

He made his way back upstairs, to your shared office, where you were dramatically draped over the chaise, an arm over your eyes, crying. “What the hell, Pol?” he asked as Polly watched you in disbelief.

“This is ridiculous.” Polly said, annoyed. “Absolutely ridiculous, Tommy, how did you marry someone who cannot hold her liquor?”

Tommy shook his head. “She has nothing to drink about, Pol. Not a single thing. So why would she?”

“I’ll leave you to deal with her now.” Polly said. “I’m closing up and going home soon, see you tomorrow,” She turned to leave, but said over her shoulder, “Thomas, she did say Grace offered her all the alcohol. Don’t be too upset with her.” she said, closing the doors on her way out.

He made his way over to where you were laying on the chaise, body bouncing with the most dramatic sobs he’d ever heard in his life. “My love,” he said gently, kneeling down to be eye level with you. “Sweetheart,” he said gently again, tenderly touching your arm.

“What?” you asked, removing your arm from your eyes. “You’re mad at me.” you said matter-of-factly.

“No,” he shook his head. “No, my love I am not mad at you. Not at all, I just don’t understand why you would drink this much when you were out with a complete stranger.” he said. You shuffled to lay on your side, making room for him to sit down next to you.

“She insisted today was a day for fun, wasn’t she drunk, too?” you asked, squinting up at him.

He licked his lips, sighing as he reached for a cigarette. “No, ‘m afraid she wasn’t, darling.” he told you, holding the cigarette between his lips as he lit a match.

You wailed, the tears flowing down your face again. “I just wanted to be friends with her,” you say in between crying.

“My dear, there are plenty of women to be friends with, I assure you.” he told you, lighting his cigarette.

“Tommy,” you say, which catches his attention. You always, religiously, since the beginning of your relationship call him Thomas. He was never sure why, but you always called him Thomas unless you were cross with him, in which you called him Tom, because it was quicker to get out of your mouth when you were shouting. He looks at you, concerned. “Tommy, I think she wants to fuck you.” you tell him and he chuckles.

“She can want to all she wants, my love. I am all yours.” he says, pressing a kiss to your nose. “I have a few things to finish up and then we can go home, yeah?” he says.

“What’ll I do?” you ask, trying to sit up as he stands.

“Nothing, you just lay there and rest. Fall asleep if you can. Alright? Just lay there and look pretty, hm?” he says, and in your drunken state, much to his surprise, you listen.

A couple of hours later Tommy was finished with his work and was ready to go home. He picked you up from where you were asleep on the chaise and carried you down to the car. You faded in and out of sleep on the ride home. He carried you in the house and laid you in bed, taking your coat and shoes off carefully before sliding you into bed.

He went back downstairs, where Frances had prepared dinner for the both of you. “Evening, Frances,” he said, entering the kitchen where she was.

“Oh, good evening, Mr. Shelby. I’m just plating up dinner for you.” she said cheerily.

“Frances, is it alright if I eat in here tonight? Mrs. Shelby won’t be joining me, I’m afraid.” he said, motioning towards the small table in the kitchen.

Her expression fell. “Oh, of course, Mr. Shelby. Is she alright?” she asked, handing him the plate.

“She’s uh–a bit drunk.” he admitted, sitting down at the table.

“That uh–certainly is out of character for her, sir.” Frances said, selecting her words carefully.

“I agree, Frances,” he said, taking a bite of his food. “Please, will you join me?” he asked as he noticed she was starting to clean instead of eating her portion of the dinner.

“Are you certain, sir?” she asked.

“Of course. I am intruding in your space, after all.” he said.

She smiled softly, getting a plate of food for herself before sitting down across from him. “You’re not intruding, this is your home after all.” she laughs.

He shrugs his shoulders. “My wife went out with the new barmaid at the Garrison today.”

Frances looked at him strangely. “May I say something, Mr. Shelby?” she asked. Tommy nodded. “I have a very odd feeling about her,” he gave her a look as if to say, do go on. “The night where Mrs. Shelby organized the birthday party for you at the Garrison, she asked me to bring the cake a little earlier so it would be there when the two of you arrived for the evening. And so, of course, I did. But the barmaid kept asking a lot of questions. At first, I thought it may have been to just get to know people a little better, but then she started to pry about you and Mrs. Shelby. Asked if it was a marriage of convenience. I told her absolutely not, that the two of you are absolutely in love with one another, because, well, you are,” she laughed uncomfortably. Tommy’s cheeks flushed, thinking of the things this poor housekeeper had seen and heard in the short ten months he and his bride had been married. “And she seemed rather upset about that. About you two being in love. She said she didn’t believe that being in love lasted long. I told her that no, this love between you and Mrs. Shelby was different, and she got mad and asked me to leave. So I did.”

Tommy sighed. “Frances, why didn’t you tell me of this sooner?”

“I didn’t think it was that important, just silly female things I suppose; jealousy, you know.” she said, throwing him an apologetic look.

“Anything else like that happens, tell me, Frances.” he said, a dangerous tone in his voice.

“Yes, Mr. Shelby.” she says.

They ate the rest of their meal in comfortable silence. “Thank you for dinner, Frances. I will be in my office. Please, leave a plate out for Mrs. Shelby, I think she may be hungry when she wakes. Please don’t wait up for her though, Frances.”

“Thank you, Mr. Shelby. Goodnight.” she says kindly as Tommy disappears into his office for the evening.

At nearly ten o’clock, you still hadn’t awoken and Tommy was sitting in the family room in front of the fire, sipping his whiskey, smoking a cigarette and reading his book. His suspenders hung off his shoulders, the braces hanging down to his thighs, his cufflinks and sleeve garters long discarded, sleeves rolled up to the middle of his forearms and the first few buttons undone on his shirt. He had just removed his shoes when he heard a knock on the front door. He hoped that Scout, your faithful protective canine, hadn’t heard, and much to his dismay, she did. He heard the clack of her nails as she came down the steps, and the low growl deep in her chest as she approached the front door. Her ears were peaked, fur on the back of her neck sticking straight up.

“Scout,” he whispered, taking his gun from the holster on the table next to him and padding over to the front door, trying to walk slowly so as to not slip on the freshly waxed hardwood floors in his socks. Scout’s attention did not waver from the front door for a moment. Tommy peered out of one of the side windows that flanked the double doors on either side and saw the late night visitor. Grace.

“Down, Scout,” he commanded the dog, who sat obediently behind him, still on high alert. He apprehensively opened the door, gun in his hand. “Miss Burgess,” he greeted.

“Mr. Shelby,” she said, a little too cheerily for this time of night. “I just wanted to check on your wife. She was a little–worse for wear when I last saw her.” she laughed softly.

“Little late, Grace,” Tommy rasped, Scout growling behind him.

“May I come in?” she asked, rubbing her arms. “It’s a little cold.”

He opened the door a little wider, against his better judgment. “Shouldn’t have come, then.” he let her slide past him, Scout standing immediately and letting out a vicious bark.

“Down, girl.” Tommy commanded, tucking his gun in the waistband of his pants, against his lower back.

“She’s a beautiful dog, Tommy.” Grace said, reaching her hand out for Scout to sniff. Scout apprehensively approached her, sniffing her hand before growling at her again.

“She’s my wife’s dog.” Tommy said, stroking Scouts back, hoping it would tame the low grumbles she was emitting. “I trust a dog's instinct, y’know?” he said, eyeing Grace carefully.

“Yes, they are very trustworthy animals.” she said.

“My wife is upstairs, asleep, hopefully still even after that loud bark,” he said, eyeing Scout, who looked up at him quizzically. “You shouldn’t be here, Miss Burgess.” he said, squaring his shoulders. “How did you know this was our home?”

“Your wife told me where you lived today. She said it was grand, but I didn’t think it would be this grand.” she chuckled nervously, eyeing the crystal chandelier that hung above them in the foyer. They stood awkwardly in the foyer before Grace said, “Well, your wife said you were a gentleman, but I don’t think a gentleman would let a lady wait this long and not even offer her a drink.” she smiled.

Tommy’s expression remained cold. “I’m a gentleman to my wife, and a bastard to all else, Miss Burgess. That is something you should know.”

She approached him apprehensively, carefully calculating her actions. “Don’t you ever wish sometimes, you could be a bastard to your wife, Mr. Shelby?” Tommy froze, as she approached closer. “Don’t you miss that old life you used to live?” she asked. Scout stood up, ears attentive as she heard the bedroom door squeak open. Grace froze in place as Tommys eyes widened in disbelief at the barmaid's words. “Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Shelby.” she continued, reaching out to put a hand on his chest.

“Thomas?” you called out, voice heavy with sleep, rubbing your eyes. Your eyes adjusted to the dim light and you froze when you saw Grace standing in such close proximity to your husband, her hand falling to her side slowly upon seeing you.

“Glad to see you’re awake.” Tommy said gently.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask Grace, who quickly backs away from Tommy.

“I came to check on you.” she said quickly.

“How did you know where we live?” you asked, confused.

“You told me at lunch, silly.” Grace said, giggling nervously.

“I don’t remember that,” you say to yourself quietly.

“I’m sure you don’t remember much, you were quite drunk.” Grace quipped back, moving to approach you. Scout let out a harsh bark that made your ears ring, head already pounding. Scout moved between you and Grace, teeth bared.

“I think it’d be best if you go, Grace.” Tommy said with that tone in his voice that, if the situation weren’t so odd, would have you on your knees in front of him in a matter of minutes.

“I think so too.” Grace said, gaze never leaving you. “Goodnight,” she said as Tommy opened the door for her and slammed it behind her, locking the deadbolt.

“How odd.” you muse aloud as Scout went over to the window, growling the whole way that Grace walked down the driveway.

“Odd indeed, my love.” Tommy says, putting an arm around your shoulders and leading you to the kitchen, where he warmed your food up for you.

You were quiet, mind whirring with questions, assumptions. He brought the warm plate of food over to where you were sitting at the table in the kitchen. “Thank you,” you smile weakly up at him. He sits down across from you, forearms on the table. “You look tired.” you observe.

“I am,” he admits, reaching for a cigarette.

“Why was she standing so close to you?” you ask, eyeing him, every insecurity coming to the surface.

Tommy sighed, not meeting your gaze. “I don’t know. She was–saying something about "don't I wish I could go back to my old life’.” he said lowly, lighting his cigarette.

“And what’d you say to that?” you asked, tone dark.

“I didn’t have the chance to say anything, you came down the stairs.” he said, exhaling smoke.

“So what would you have said if I didn’t?” you asked, raising your voice.

“I would’ve said fuck no.” he told you, expression serious, lips in a tight line, eyes not leaving yours.

You angrily stared at him for a while, breathing irregular, rage building. “Just as much as I am yours, Thomas Shelby, you are mine.” you tell him, jaw clenched.

“You’re absolutely fucking right,” he ground out. You stand up, taking your plate to the sink, mumbling that you weren’t hungry. He stalks over to you, turning you around, your back against the counter, a hand around your throat. “I am all yours,” he says slowly, his face close to yours. “And you are all mine,” he presses his forehead to yours. “For fucking ever.”

“Thomas,” you let out a breathy moan, a pool of heat forming between your legs. He had done this before–and it had both tested your trust in him and solidified the knowledge that he would never do anything to actually hurt you. Every ounce of strength and self-control he had in his body and mind was put to the test, and adrenaline coursed through your veins. You could see the lust in his eyes as he moved closer to you, crushing you further against the counter.

You had done this a few times since you had been married–this game of trust and brute force. You didn’t think you would enjoy it as much as you do. The first time it happened, it was by accident. The second time, you intentionally provoked Tommy, telling him you wanted to see the darker side of him, that you were tired of being treated like porcelain. He warned you it could end badly, but you were so lost in lust, you told him you didn’t care. Afterwards he held you, cleaned you up and whispered loving praises in your ear. You shook for a quarter hour after the second time the two of you played this game, your body wrung out from pleasure, all of your energy gone.

“I will never betray our love, do you understand?” he asks through gritted teeth, pulling you back in this moment. His grip on your throat tightened ever so slightly, just the way you liked. You were thankful Scout was asleep at the front door, not wanting this moment ruined.

“Yes, Thomas,” you moan, and he releases his hold on your throat to hold your face in both of his hands, his lips crashing to yours in a searing kiss. The kiss is teeth and tongue and lips and he’s swallowing your moans as he begins to tear your clothes from your body. His hands move to grip your backside and you throw your legs around his waist and he carries you up to bed for the night.

The next morning, you wake up and Tommy isn’t in bed with you, which is odd. You roll over, groaning at the discomfort you feel in your limbs, assumedly from being tangled up in him all night. When you go to wash, you notice bruises across your skin and smile softly to yourself, thinking of the previous night's activities. You deeply enjoyed all parts of who your husband was, and allowing him to bare the darker parts of himself to you only made you love him all the more. The strength he summoned daily to overcome that darkness filled you with a sense of pride for what a good man he is. What a good man he is to you.

He knocked on the bathroom door and you opened it, wearing only your dressing gown. You were toweling off your face from where you had just washed it. His fingers ghosted over the bruises he left on you, a downcast expression on his face. “I’m sorry, my love.” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t be sorry,” you tell him, shooting him a naughty grin. “I quite enjoyed it.”

“Mm,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around you. “That’s a good thing I suppose.”

You gasped when he pulled away from you, noticing a mark you had left on him, just underneath his collarbone. “Oh, Thomas, I’m sorry!” you giggled as he moved to inspect what you had discovered in the mirror.

A disgruntled sound left his lips. “Well, Mrs. Shelby, guess we’re both marked as one anothers for the foreseeable future, hm?”

“You went to their house?” Inspector Campbell ground out at his meeting with Grace the next day.

“I had no choice.” she replied softly.

“You have every choice!” he exclaimed, surprising himself with how loudly he said it. “If you can’t get close to the wife, and you can’t seduce Thomas, how exactly do you plan to get the information we need, Grace?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “I can do this, Mr. Campbell.” she said.

“I trust you know what you are doing. These are dangerous people.”

“I am aware!” she snapped at him. “I was aware when I was met at his door by a gun and a dog that was eager to tear me from limb to limb.” she said, jaw clenched. “I was close last night, he was vulnerable. And his brother, the one who is really the one in charge of the Garrison, he’s easier to get information out of. More trusting.”

“Then by all means, get as much information out of him as you can, Grace. But you must link all of this to Thomas Shelby.”

“I will!” she insisted, growing frustrated at the man's lack of confidence in her.

“Of course you will.” he said, demeanor softening. “I just don’t want you harmed is all.”

“I was trained for this. Now I’m running late.” she said, turning the corner and disappearing into the streets of Birmingham.

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