𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏𝒔

Twenty One Pilots

1:19 ─♡────── 4:16

"𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗𝚜, 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠."

The private room at The Garrison was heavy with smoke, whiskey, and the familiar hum of tension that always lingered when the Shelbys gathered. Arthur sat with Maeve tucked comfortably under his arm, her head resting on his shoulder. His free hand swirled the whiskey in his glass. Across from them, John leaned back in his chair, a toothpick rolling between his teeth. His restless energy was palpable.

The silence was broken as Tommy strode in, his coat sweeping the floor. His sharp gaze scanned the room before he approached the table, his movements as precise as ever.

"All right, John," Tommy began, wasting no time. "There's only one..." He trailed off as Arthur raised a glass in silent offering. Tommy shook his head slightly. "Not now."

He returned his focus to John. "Only one man guarding the house. What's troubling you?"

John shifted uncomfortably in his chair, tapping his toothpick against his teeth. "Polly. Mae. You know what it's been like since Martha died."

Maeve stirred slightly, lifting her head from Arthur's shoulder. Her tone was even, with a faint edge of melancholy. "God takes the best first."

John nodded, giving Maeve a fleeting glance before continuing. "The truth is, my kids have been running bloody rings around me. Running barefoot with the dogs until all hours."

Tommy barely blinked. "Pol, give him ten bob for some new shoes. Is that it, John?"

Maeve shifted, straightening her posture slightly. "Tommy, we'd be better to do this without you," she said sharply, her tone clipped but knowing. Her sharp green eyes fixed on John. "Now, what's your point?"

John sighed deeply, leaning forward as if the weight of his thoughts made it harder to speak. "What the kids need is a mother. So that's why I'm getting married."

Polly, seated near the fireplace, arched an eyebrow, leaning back slightly in her chair. "Does this poor girl know you're gonna marry her, or are you just gonna spring it on her all of a sudden?"

John hesitated, fidgeting with his toothpick before replying. "I've already proposed. And she said yes."

Arthur, sensing the tension building, sat up straighter, grinning broadly. "I think there's a shell about to land and go bang."

John cleared his throat, looking away as he muttered, "It's, um, it's Lizzie Stark."

The reaction was immediate. Arthur roared with laughter, his booming voice filling the room. Polly snorted, her cigarette nearly falling from her lips. Tommy's smirk widened into something dangerously close to a grin. Even Maeve couldn't contain herself—her hand pressed to her mouth as she tried and failed to stifle a laugh, her shoulders shaking as she looked at Arthur.

John's face turned an alarming shade of red as the laughter continued. "I won't hear the word," he snapped, his voice rising above the noise. "Understand? Do not use that word."

Arthur leaned forward, his grin widening even more. "What word is that, John?"

John glared at him, his tone clipped. "You know what word."

Arthur leaned back in his chair, still grinning as he raised his glass. "Everybody bloody knows."

"Everybody can go to hell," John muttered, his voice tight with frustration.

Tommy's smirk didn't waver as he spoke, his tone sharp. "Whore? That word? Or prostitute? How about that one?"

John shot up from his chair, slamming his hand onto the table. "All right. I want it known, if anyone calls her a whore again, I will push the barrel of my revolver down their throats and blow the word back down into their hearts."

Maeve tilted her head slightly, her tone dry as she remarked, "Men and their cocks never cease to amaze me."

Polly chuckled, shaking her head as she flicked ash from her cigarette. "John, Lizzie Stark's a strong woman, and I'm sure she provides a fine service for her customers."

"I'm not listening to this," John said through gritted teeth, his voice barely controlled.

Polly ignored him, leaning back in her chair. "Lizzie Stark never did a day's work vertical."

John slammed his hands onto the table again, his frustration boiling over. "She's changed. All right? People change. Like with religion."

Tommy tilted his head slightly, his tone full of mock curiosity. "Oh, Lizzie Stark's got religion, eh?"

"No," John muttered, his gaze darting away. "No, she doesn't have religion. But... she loves me."

Arthur downed the rest of his whiskey, glancing at Maeve with a lopsided grin. "Oh, it's brave, all right."

"Brave," Polly echoed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Going where no man has gone before." She paused for a beat, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "And with Lizzie Stark, John, that's really not what you'll be doing."

Maeve coughed into her hand, trying to stifle another laugh, but it was no use.

John's face flushed redder as he looked around at them, his voice rising slightly. "Just give me some time. Welcome her to the family as someone who's had a hard life. All right? Because I need someone. The kids need someone."

Before anyone could respond, the door burst open, and Finn rushed in, his face pale with urgency.

"Tommy," Finn gasped, his words rushed and uneven. "We've been done over."

Arthur immediately sat up, his jovial demeanor vanishing in an instant. "What?"

Everyone in the room stood at once, tension rippling through the air like a live wire. Tommy and John were already heading for the door, their movements quick and purposeful.

Arthur paused as he turned back to Maeve and Polly. "Stay here," he ordered firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

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As soon as the men disappeared through the door, the tension in the room shifted. Maeve straightened, brushing invisible dust off her coat as she headed for the door.

Polly raised an eyebrow from her seat. "And where do you think you're going?"

Maeve didn't stop. "Making sure the golden girl isn't lurking around where she shouldn't be," she muttered, her tone clipped.

Polly didn't press. She lit another cigarette and watched as Maeve slipped out of the room.

The hallway was quiet, save for the faint murmurs of activity elsewhere in the pub. Maeve's sharp green eyes scanned every corner, her steps deliberate as she moved toward the main area. There was no sign of Grace—no flash of blonde hair, no overly polished figure trying to blend into the rough crowd. Satisfied, Maeve returned to the private room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

"Well?" Polly asked, her voice dry.

"No sign of her," Maeve replied, leaning back against the door. "But I've seen enough to know she's too good at showing up where she doesn't belong."

Polly exhaled a plume of smoke, her sharp eyes narrowing. "You're not wrong about her."

Maeve pushed off the door, crossing the room to pour herself a small glass of whiskey. She leaned against the sideboard, the glass poised at her lips. "Saw her with Campbell," she said casually, though her tone betrayed her disdain. "At the opera."

Polly's eyebrows shot up. "At the opera?"

Maeve nodded. "With Campbell, no less. Looked cozy enough to make me sick. He handed her something—could've been a bloody newspaper or a fucking weapon for all I know."

Polly set her cigarette in the ashtray, leaning forward slightly. "Did you tell Tommy?"

Maeve shook her head, taking a slow sip of whiskey. "What's the point? He wouldn't listen. Not when it comes to her."

Polly sighed deeply, rubbing her temple. "I've told him there's something not right about that girl. But you know Tommy. He's not stupid, but he's blind when it suits him."

"You think he's falling for her?" Maeve asked.

Polly gave a humorless laugh. "Doesn't matter what I think. It's what I see. And what I see is him giving her a lot more slack than he'd give anyone else."

Maeve tilted her head. Polly picked up her cigarette again, her sharp gaze meeting Maeve's. "And what about you? You planning to stand by while this blows up in his face?"

Maeve set her glass down, crossing her arms. "I'll let him make his mess. Just don't expect me to help clean it up."

Polly shook her head. "Sometimes I wonder if your'e not really siblings."

Maeve didn't respond. Instead, she moved to the window, staring out at the dark streets of Small Heath. Whatever her thoughts were, she kept them to herself.

Polly's voice broke the silence after a moment. "Keep watching her, Maeve. And if you find out what she's up to, don't wait for Tommy to come around. Tell me."

Maeve turned slightly, her green eyes flashing with something unreadable. "Don't worry, Aunt Pol."

Polly nodded, her gaze lingering on Maeve for a beat longer before she leaned back in her chair.

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The cemetery was quiet, save for the rustling of leaves and the occasional cry of a crow circling overhead. The air was damp, the ground soft beneath Maeve's knees as she knelt in front of Jamie's grave. Her auburn hair fell forward as she traced her brother's name etched in cold stone, her lips moving in a whispered prayer. When she finished, she made the sign of the cross with steady hands, her green eyes heavy with grief.

In the distance, Arthur stood like a statue, his razor-flat cap tilted forward, his sharp blue eyes scanning the area for trouble. The other Peaky Blinders—John, Finn, and a few of their men—stood scattered nearby, their presence a silent warning. They were close to Lee territory, and it didn't pay to let your guard down, even in a cemetery. Finn, barely ten years old but already shadowing his older brothers, fidgeted slightly, his wide eyes darting between the grave markers and Arthur.

"She done yet?" John muttered, his toothpick rolling between his teeth. His hand rested casually on the hilt of the blade tucked into his belt.

Arthur didn't answer, his focus unwavering. Then, like a ripple through the quiet, footsteps echoed from the gravel path leading to the gravesite. Slow, deliberate. Arthur stiffened, his hand sliding into his coat to grip the handle of his gun.

Through the mist, Karim Al-Sharid appeared, flanked by Abbas and several of his men. They were impeccably dressed, their long coats billowing slightly in the breeze. Abbas, as always, kept a wary eye on their surroundings, his expression neutral but his posture taut. Karim walked with the air of a man who owned the ground he stepped on, his polished shoes clicking against the stones.

Arthur's jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the gun tighter. "What the fuck are they doin' here?" he muttered, mostly to himself.

Karim stopped a few paces away, his dark eyes sweeping over the group before landing on Arthur. His face was calm, even pleasant, but there was an undercurrent of smugness in his smile.

"Arthur Shelby," Karim greeted smoothly. "What a coincidence."

Arthur stepped forward, blocking Karim's view of Maeve, who remained unaware of the men behind her. "The fuck it is," Arthur snapped, his voice low and dangerous. "What are you doin' here?"

Karim gestured vaguely toward the graves. "Paying my respects, of course."

Arthur's laugh was sharp and humorless. "Bullshit. You don't know the lad buried here. What's the game, eh? You followin' us now?"

Karim tilted his head, his smile never wavering. "No game, Arthur. Just a man honoring the dead. Surely even you can understand that."

Behind him, John stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on Finn's shoulder as the boy craned his neck to see what was happening. The other Peaky Blinders shifted subtly, their hands inching toward hidden weapons. Tension thickened in the air, heavy and electric.

Arthur took another step forward, his broad shoulders squaring as he loomed over Karim. "You think you can stroll in here with your shiny fuckin' shoes and your lads in suits and not answer to me?" His voice dropped to a low growl, the threat unmistakable. "This is Shelby ground. You don't move here without my say-so."

Abbas stiffened slightly, his hand brushing the inside of his coat, but Karim raised a hand, stopping him. "Relax, Abbas," Karim said softly, his gaze still locked on Arthur. "We're not here for trouble."

Arthur's eyes flicked briefly to Abbas, then back to Karim. "You already brought trouble, mate. Bringin' your lot into a place like this, on a day like this. That's trouble."

At the grave, Maeve finally stood, brushing the dirt from her knees. She turned, her gaze falling on the men for the first time. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the scene, instantly clocking the tension in Arthur's posture, the way John and the others stood ready.

"What the fuck is this?" she asked, her voice sharp as she stepped toward them.

Arthur didn't look at her. "Stay back, Mae," he said, his voice clipped.

Karim's gaze shifted to Maeve, his smile returning. "Miss Harding," he said smoothly. "I didn't mean to intrude on such a personal moment."

Maeve ignored him, her focus on Arthur. "What's going on?"

"Don't worry about it," Arthur snapped, his eyes never leaving Karim. "I've got it handled."

Karim took a step closer, his polished demeanor unshaken. "I admire your loyalty, Arthur. Truly. But perhaps your energy would be better spent building alliances rather than burning bridges."

Arthur's laugh was sharp and cutting. "You think this is about alliances? You're standin' here because you think you've got the balls to face me, but you're wrong." He stepped even closer, his face inches from Karim's now. "You don't fuckin' belong here, Al-Sharid. And I'm not the man to make you feel welcome."

Karim's smile faltered slightly, the cracks in his composure beginning to show. "You're a blunt man, Arthur. I'll give you that."

"And you're a smug bastard who talks too much," Arthur shot back. "Now get the fuck outta here before I make you regret ever steppin' foot in Small Heath."

Abbas stepped forward, his hand hovering near his weapon. "You're making a mistake, Shelby."

Arthur's hand shot out faster than anyone expected, grabbing Abbas by the lapel and yanking him close. "You think I'm scared of you lot?" he hissed, his blue eyes blazing. "I've got boys in the shadows who'd gut you before you could pull that trigger."

As if on cue, several Peaky Blinders stepped out from the gravestones nearby, their caps low and their hands ready on their weapons. John grinned around his toothpick, his blade glinting in the low light. Even Finn stood taller, his eyes wide but resolute.

Karim raised a hand again, signaling Abbas to back down. "That won't be necessary," Karim said, his voice calm but tight. He looked at Arthur, his smile returning, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I see your reputation is well-earned."

Arthur shoved Abbas back roughly, turning his glare back to Karim. "Damn right it is."

Karim adjusted his coat, smoothing the fabric as if nothing had happened. "You've made your point, Arthur. We'll leave."

Arthur didn't move, his gaze like steel as he watched Karim and his men retreat. Only when they were out of sight did he exhale, turning to Maeve. "Let's go."

Maeve didn't argue. She shot one last look at the gravestone before following him.