𝑹𝒆𝒉𝒂𝒃

Amy Winehouse

0:05 ♡─────── 4:01

"𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚐𝚘 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚋, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 '𝙽𝚘, 𝚗𝚘, 𝚗𝚘' ".

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room. Maeve stood by the stove, stirring a pot of stew, her cigarette resting between her lips. Her auburn hair was pinned loosely at the nape of her neck, a few strands framing her face. She looked calm, though the slight furrow of her brow betrayed her focus on the meal. The scent of herbs and rich broth filled the room, mingling with the faint tang of gun oil from the table behind her.

Arthur sat at the dining table, sleeves rolled up and a revolver in pieces before him. His hands moved deftly, wiping down each part with a cloth, the rhythmic scrape and click of metal against wood the only sound other than the fire. Every so often, his gaze flicked to Maeve, watching her as she worked.

"You're staring," Maeve said without turning, her voice dry and matter-of-fact.

Arthur grinned, leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs out. "Maybe I like the view."

Maeve snorted softly, pulling the cigarette from her lips and blowing out a plume of smoke. "Careful, Shelby. You'll burn dinner with all that hot air."

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned forward again, his focus shifting back to the gun. "You're a right laugh, you are."

"Glad I could entertain," Maeve muttered, giving the pot another stir before turning off the stove. She wiped her hands on a cloth, glancing over her shoulder at him. "Dinner's almost ready."

Arthur didn't reply immediately. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He hesitated for a moment, staring at it before smoothing it flat on the table. "Mae."

Her brow furrowed slightly at his tone, but she didn't move. "What now?"

"Come here," he said, motioning for her with his chin.

Maeve sighed, walking over to the table with deliberate slowness. She perched on the edge of the chair next to him, crossing her arms as she looked at the paper. "What's that?"

Arthur slid the paper toward her, his expression more serious than she'd expected. "A contract."

"For what?" Maeve asked, her tone wary as she picked it up and began to read.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, resting his arms on the sides. "For you."

Maeve raised an eyebrow, her green eyes narrowing as she scanned the document. "To do what?"

Arthur straightened, his hands resting on the edge of the table. "To be the Shelby Company's lawyer."

She blinked, caught off guard. "You're joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Arthur replied.

Maeve's gaze flicked to him, then back to the paper. "And Tommy agreed to this?"

Arthur shrugged. "It was his idea."

"That explains it," Maeve muttered, setting the paper down and crossing her arms again. "And why me?"

"Because you're the only one I trust not to fuck it up," Arthur said plainly. "You're smart, Mae. Smarter than anyone else we could bring in. And we need someone we can count on."

Maeve stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "That's a lot of faith, Shelby."

Arthur tilted his head, studying her. "You don't think you can do it?"

"I didn't say that," she replied, her voice calm but firm. "But it's a big responsibility."

"That's why I want you to take it," Arthur said, leaning forward. "You're sharp. You don't take shit from anyone. And you'd be protectin' us."

Maeve glanced at the paper again, her fingers drumming lightly on the table. "And what's Tommy's role in this?"

Noticing the silence Maeve hesitated. "Say or silence?"

Arthur's gaze snapped back to her, her green eyes narrowing. "Silence."

Maeve nodded. "Then I won't ask."

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. "Good."

"You're as bad as Tommy."

"Better than being as bad as you," Arthur shot back.

Maeve stood up and brushed off her skirt. "I'll take the job."

Arthur blinked, surprised. "You will?"

"Yeah," Maeve said, walking back toward the stove. "But only because I don't trust anyone else to keep you lot out of trouble."

Arthur grinned, standing and following her to the stove. He slid his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. "That's my girl."

Maeve rolled her eyes, though she leaned into him slightly. "Don't push your luck, Shelby. Dinner's ready."

Arthur pressed a quick kiss to her temple before stepping back. "Aye, love. Whatever you say."

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The Peaky Blinders stepped out of the car, their boots crunching against the gravel. Arthur and Tommy led the way, their weapons slung low but unmistakably ready. John followed reluctantly, his usual swagger dulled by a gnawing sense of unease. The rest of the men fell in line, their eyes sharp and scanning the horizon.

Arthur passed John a flask without breaking stride. "Out you get, boy. Have a drink."

John took the flask, his hand shaking slightly as he unscrewed the cap. "What? What are you all staring at me for?" His voice cracked slightly, but he covered it with a forced laugh. "What?"

Tommy turned back to him, his tone calm but firm. "Good. Let's go."

They moved forward as a unit, the Lee men visible now, scattered across the field with their shotguns gleaming in the late afternoon sun. The Lee family's reputation preceded them-scrappy, fearless, and more than willing to draw blood when provoked. They stood their ground, weapons in hand, as the Peaky Blinders approached.

John's breath hitched as he surveyed the scene. "Tommy, what are you playing at? We're at bloody shotgun range."

Tommy stopped, turning to face him. His expression was unreadable, as always, but there was a glint of something-determination, perhaps, or cunning. "John, before you go into battle, there's something you're going to need."

John furrowed his brow. "What are you bloody doing, Tommy?"

Tommy stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, measured tone. "Smile, John. It's a wedding."

John blinked, his confusion turning to disbelief. "Whose bloody wedding?"

Tommy smirked faintly. "Now, if we told you, you wouldn't have come. There's a girl in the Lee family who's gone a bit wild and needs marrying off."

John's face twisted in anger, and he spun around to leave, only for the men to grab him by the shoulders and hold him in place. "Ah, fuck!" he shouted, struggling against their grip. "You have no bloody right, Tommy!"

Arthur stepped in, his hands firm on John's arms as he tried to steady him. "Shh, John, boy. Shh."

Tommy's voice cut through the commotion, sharp and commanding. "Listen to me! A girl who needs a husband. A man who needs a wife."

John's jaw clenched, his eyes darting between his brothers. "Tom, I'm not bloody marrying some fucking mushroom picker-"

"Shh," Arthur interjected, his voice low but steady. "Come on, John boy. Listen."

Tommy's tone softened, though the weight of his words didn't. "I've already betrothed you. If you back out now, there's going to be one fucking mighty war breaking out here. One that'll make the Somme look like a fucking tea party. But if you marry her, our family and the Lee family will be united forever. This war will be over."

John stared at him, his chest heaving, his fists clenched. "You can't fucking do this to me!"

"It's up to you, John," Tommy said, his voice cold and final. "War or peace?"

John struggled against the men holding him, but it was clear the fight was leaving him. He let out a bitter laugh, his head dropping forward as he muttered a string of curses under his breath. The ceremony proceeded, the tension in the air as thick as ever.

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Ada was restless, her movements erratic as she muttered to herself. "I should be there," she said, her voice tinged with frustration. "It's my brother's wedding."

Polly arched an eyebrow. "You're in no condition to be anywhere but here."

Maeve, cigarette in hand, exhaled a plume of smoke and added dryly, "Especially not with a baby trying to break out."

Ada glared at them both but didn't respond. She winced, her hands flying to her stomach as another contraction rippled through her. Maeve immediately straightened, stubbing out her cigarette and moving toward her.

"Sit down," Maeve ordered, her tone firm but not unkind. "You'll only make it worse if you keep pacing like that."

Polly stood and crossed the room, her hands steady as she guided Ada to the couch. "Maeve's right. The baby's coming tonight whether you like it or not."

"How do you know?" Ada gritted out through clenched teeth, her face pale and slick with sweat.

Polly shot her a knowing look. "I've delivered more babies than I can count. Trust me, love. This one's impatient."

As the hours dragged on, the contractions became more frequent and intense. Polly took charge, her experience and no-nonsense attitude cutting through the tension. Maeve followed her lead, rolling up her sleeves and preparing the supplies they'd need. Esme flitted between the two women, fetching hot water and clean towels, her hands trembling slightly as she worked.

"Maeve, hold her steady," Polly instructed, her voice calm but commanding.

Maeve knelt beside Ada, her hands gripping Ada's tightly as another contraction hit. "You're doing fine, Ada. Just keep breathing."

"I hate you all," Ada groaned, her voice shaking as tears streamed down her face.

Polly smirked faintly. "You'll hate us more if you don't push."

The room was thick with tension and urgency as Polly coached Ada through the labor. Maeve wiped the sweat from Ada's brow, her voice steady as she whispered words of encouragement. Esme hovered nearby, her wide eyes darting between the women and the door.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the baby's cries filled the room. Maeve exhaled a shaky breath as Polly lifted the tiny, wriggling bundle and wrapped him in a towel.

"It's a boy," Polly announced, her voice softer than usual as she handed the baby to Ada.

Ada's tears fell freely as she cradled her son, her exhaustion forgotten in the face of this tiny miracle. Maeve watched the scene with a faint smile, her chest tight with a mix of relief and pride.

But the moment was short-lived. The sound of heavy boots thudding against the floorboards shattered the fragile peace. The door burst open, and Freddie Thorne stormed into the room, his face flushed and frantic. He crossed the room in a few long strides, dropping to his knees beside Ada.

"Ada," Freddie said, his voice breaking. "I'm here."

Ada looked up at him, her face breaking into a tired but radiant smile. "Freddie... you made it."

Freddie's hands trembled as he touched the baby's tiny hand. "A boy," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "We have a son."

The reunion was interrupted by the sound of more boots-this time, heavier and more deliberate. The coppers stormed in, their guns drawn, their faces cold and unyielding.

"Freddie Thorne, you're under arrest," one of them barked.

Polly immediately stepped in front of Ada and the baby, her arms outstretched. "You can't come in here! There's a baby just been born!"

Esme joined her, her voice sharp and furious. "Get out! Have you no shame?"

The officers didn't hesitate. One shoved Esme aside, while another grabbed Freddie by the arm. Maeve, who had been standing near the dresser, moved quickly. She reached into a drawer, pulling out a revolver and aiming it at the nearest officer.

"You're not taking him," she said coldly, her voice steady and laced with steel.

The officer hesitated, his eyes narrowing. "Put the gun down, miss."

Before she could act, another officer lunged at her, knocking the gun from her hand and slamming her into the corner of the table. Maeve cried out as pain shot through her side, blood seeping through her dress where the edge had cut into her skin.

"Maeve!" Polly shouted, rushing to her side.

The coppers dragged Freddie out of the room, Ada's screams echoing through the house as she clutched her baby tightly. Polly helped Maeve to her feet, her hands steady despite the chaos.

Esme, her face pale and furious, glared after the officers. "How did they even know he was here?"

Polly's gaze darkened, her voice low and dangerous. "There's only one man who could've told them."

Maeve, her face pale but her eyes blazing, straightened despite the pain. "I'll take care of it," she said firmly. "You stay here."

Polly grabbed her arm. "Maeve-"

"I said I'll take care of it," Maeve snapped, her tone leaving no room for argument. She grabbed her coat and stormed out of the house, her mind already racing as she headed straight for the Garrison.

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The Garrison was alive with noise, Arthur and John's voices rising above the hum of conversation as they sang loudly and off-key. Tommy stood near the bar, whiskey in hand, while Grace wiped down the counter, her movements precise.

Grace glanced up and asked calmly, "You want me to open that champagne now?"

Suddenly, the doors to the Garrison flew open with a loud bang, silencing the room. Maeve stormed in, her face set in fury, her eyes blazing as she marched straight toward Tommy.

"It's a boy," she announced, her voice sharp and cutting through the silence.

Tommy turned to look at her, he smiled but then saw her face and it faltered. Arthur and John immediately noticed the storm brewing and moved quickly to intercept her.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Oi, Mae! Maeve!" Arthur barked, grabbing her arm to hold her back as she lunged toward Tommy.

Maeve's glare didn't waver as she snapped, "But the police came and took his father away! Don't you dare look at me like that!"

Her voice trembled with rage, but her tears refused to fall. Instead, she spat on the floor in front of Tommy, then grabbed his glass of whiskey off the counter and hurled it against the wall. The glass shattered, the amber liquid dripping down the wooden paneling.

"You liar!" she hissed.

Turning on her heel, Maeve headed for the door. Arthur and John tried to stop her again, but she spun around sharply and slapped John across the face with a resounding crack.

Arthur burst out laughing as John stood there stunned, rubbing his cheek. "Whoa, Johnny boy!" Arthur shaked his head, trying to not laugh.

John muttered under his breath, "Fucking hell, Maeve."

Maeve didn't stop to respond. She stormed out of the Garrison, slamming the door behind her. Inside, the room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by Arthur's continued laughter and John's grumbled curses.

Grace, who had been watching the entire scene unfold from behind the bar, froze, her cloth motionless in her hand. Her eyes darted between the men, but no one said anything to her or acknowledged her presence.