✔️ | 𝐛𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐦 𝐛𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞; peaky blinders

･ ｡ﾟ°• ♔ •°───𝒙𝒙𝒊𝒊. 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒏

"What are we drinking, boys?" he asked, taking a glass for himself and downing it before anyone could answer.

"Whisky," said John.

"Good choice." He turned to Trixie. "You?"

"Gin," she answered, reaching for another glass, this time with the intention of savoring it. "How was it?"

Tommy nodded. "Good. He'll be there."

"Tommy Shelby, Diplomat," Arthur mocked.

She couldn't help but snort at that, looking up at Tommy to see his reaction. Rather than his usual sour expression, he seemed genuinely amused, eyes brightening with his smile. Trixie swallowed and pulled her eyes away, worried that if she spent too long looking she might not be able to stop.

"Since when does the Garrison have a fuckin' phone, anyway?" John asked, rolling his glass between his palms on the table.

"Grace put it in," Arthur explained. "The barmaid."

Trixie raised an eyebrow. "Grace? Did Harry ask her to put one in?"

Arthur answered with a shrug. "I don't know. Was here before I got here."

It was possible that Harry had asked for the installation of a phone, since more and more Birmingham businesses were carrying them and those who didn't were setting themselves up for failure. But Grace had a compelling interest to get a phone installed, too, and Trixie didn't trust Harry's business sense enough to ignore that fact entirely.

It's probably nothing, she assured herself. Grace couldn't have been listening in on the call, she was busy with their drinks at the time. And Tommy wouldn't be stupid enough to get himself caught like that, either. She let her eyes shut for a moment, taking a breath to calm herself, and then let out a groan as she leaned her head against Tommy's shoulder. "It's been a day," she announced.

"It's been a good day," John echoed.

"It's been a long day," she corrected. "But yeah, good too. Since you got a wife out of it and all."

"Any marriage advice?" John teased. "Since you're such a happy couple."

Straightening, Trixie rested an elbow on the table. "Get to know the family, I guess," she suggested. "Don't make my mistake. They might be a bunch of fucking maniacs, and you'll be stuck drinking with them on an otherwise perfectly fine Friday evening."

Below the table, a foot collided with her shin and Trixie hissed. "Hey!" John snapped, clearly biting back a smile. "You knew us first. Tommy only decided to get over himself a few months ago."

"Fair point they're making, dearest," Trixie told Tommy. "Do you have anything?"

Tommy arched an eyebrow, but paused to consider the question. "Take her dancing. Keep her happy. It's all there is, John. It's all it takes."

"Right," said John. "Trix, you're not much of a dancer."

"He knows," Trixie said. "I've stepped on him enough times to ensure he won't forget it either."

"Scuffed my shoes, too." Tommy cleared his throat. "Everything's a negotiation, John. Remember that. Marriage, business—it's all the same."

"Yeah," John scoffed. "'cept Esme doesn't operate by the same fucking rules. You know she had a gun under her dress? In her bloody garter. At her own wedding."

"And how'd you find out what was under her dress?" Arthur laughed, shoving him affectionately. Even Trixie had to smile at the proud blush that bloomed over John's cheeks. Maybe she hadn't made a terrible mistake with this. Maybe only one life had been ruined, and not three.