Jun 27
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Pt 3 Secretary
The afternoon had bled into a bruised purple evening, and the office was once again settling into its nocturnal hush. The gold fern brooch was pinned to your lapel, a small, glittering weight that felt like a brand.
Thomas hadn't emerged from his office since the brothers left. The only sign of life was the occasional scratching of a nib against parchment and the clink of a crystal decanter. You were clearing your desk, preparing to lock the ledger in the safe, when the heavy street door didn't just open—it hit the wall with a violent crack.
The Intruder
A man stumbled in, his breath hitching in wet, ragged gasps. He was dressed in a suit that had once been expensive but was now stained with soot and sweat. This was Silas Vane, a factory owner whose gambling debts had recently seen his deed transferred into the ledger you had just closed.
"Where is he?" Vane roared, his eyes bloodshot and wild. "Where’s the devil who took my livelihood?"
You stood up, your movements calm despite the spike of adrenaline. "Mr. Vane, the office is closed. You’ll need to make an appointment through the proper channels."
"Proper channels?" Vane laughed, a jagged, hysterical sound. He lunged toward your desk, slamming a heavy, grease-stained hand down near your typewriter. "He took my father’s mill on a card game! I have workers to pay! I have a name!"
"You have a debt, Mr. Vane," you said, your voice dropping an octave, steady and cold. "And Mr. Shelby does not appreciate unannounced guests."
The Shadow in the Doorway
Vane didn't listen. He reached out, grabbing your shoulder with a bruising grip, his face inches from yours. "You’re just his little bookkeeper, aren’t you? Tell him to come out, or I’ll start breaking things he actually cares about."
The click of a pistol hammer being cocked back was the only warning.
"Let go of her."
The voice was quiet—frighteningly quiet. Thomas was standing in his doorway, the shadows cutting across his face so only one crystalline blue eye was visible. He held his Webley revolver with a casual, practiced ease, the barrel pointed directly at Vane’s throat.
Vane froze, his hand trembling on your shoulder. "Shelby... you can’t just—"
"I said," Thomas stepped into the light, his expression a mask of murderous indifference, "let go of her. Now."
The Aftermath
Vane recoiled as if burned, stumbling back toward the door. The sight of Thomas Shelby in the flesh, unbothered and armed, was enough to break what little courage the man had left.
"Get out," Thomas commanded. "If I see you on this street again, I won't use the gun. I’ll let my brother Arthur handle the conversation. And he isn't nearly as patient as I am."
Vane scrambled out the door, the sound of his frantic footsteps fading into the Birmingham mist.
Silence rushed back into the room, heavier than before. Thomas lowered the gun but didn't holster it. He looked at you, his chest rising and falling in a slow, controlled rhythm. He walked toward you, his eyes fixed on your shoulder where Vane had grabbed you.
"Are you hurt?" he asked. It wasn't a boss asking a secretary; it was a man asking a woman.
"I'm fine, Mr. Shelby. Just a bit of rumpled wool." You tried to smooth your sleeve, but your hands were finally starting to shake.
Thomas saw the tremor. He reached out, his gloved hand steadying your wrist. He didn't let go. His gaze dropped to the gold brooch on your lapel, then back to your eyes.
"I told you the streets weren't safe," he murmured, his thumb brushing the underside of your pulse point. For a second, the office, the debts, and the war seemed a thousand miles away. "Perhaps you should move your desk into my office. From now on."
He didn't wait for an answer. He gently pulled you toward the inner office, as if the outer room had suddenly become too dangerous for you to occupy alone.
Lisbon: We are not interrogating our neighbors.
Jane: I’m not interrogating. I’m casually observing inconsistencies.
Lisbon: That’s still interrogation.
which 2010s fandom traumatized you the most?
voltron
sherlock
steven universe
hannibal
marvel
my little pony
supernatural
yuri on ice
star wars
game of thrones
undertale
she-ra
Pt.2 Secretary
The morning arrived with the typical Birmingham gloom—a thick, grey mist that smelled of coal smoke and damp stone. You arrived at the office at 7:30 AM, your coat still damp from the walk, but your head was spinning. The memory of his hand brushing yours and the low, gravelly admission that he didn't know what he’d do without you felt like a secret fever. Thomas was already in his office, a small light illuminating through the cracks in the door.
You had just set a fresh pot of tea to brew when the front doors swung open. It wasn't the usual quiet entry.
The Storm Before the Calm
Arthur and John Shelby burst in, their voices echoing off the high ceilings. They were arguing about a shipment of hijacked whiskey, their energy chaotic and jagged—a stark contrast to the heavy, intimate silence you had shared with Thomas only hours before.
"Where is he?" Arthur barked, slamming a fist onto your desk, rattling your pens. "Thomas! We’ve got a problem in Small Heath!"
"Mr. Shelby is in a meeting with himself," you said, your voice steady and cool as you stood up. You didn't flinch. You’d dealt with the Shelby brothers' tempers for two years; you were the only person in the building they couldn't intimidate. "And until he rings his bell, he is not to be disturbed. He was here until nearly one in the morning."
John smirked, leaning against the doorframe. "Listen to her, Arthur. The little general’s protector. She probably knows his mind better than we do."
Before Arthur could snap back, the bell on your desk chimed once. Sharp. Decisive.
The Morning After
"He’ll see you now," you said, though your heart hammered against your ribs.
The brothers piled into the inner office, leaving the door ajar. You went back to your filing, trying to focus, but you could hear the low rumble of Thomas’s voice cutting through his brothers' shouting. He sounded different—crisper, colder, wearing the mask of the Peaky Blinder leader once again.
Twenty minutes later, Arthur and John stormed out, looking chastened but redirected. Silence fell over the office again. You waited for the door to click shut, but it didn't.
"Tea," a voice called out.
You poured a cup, balanced it on a saucer, and walked into his office. Thomas was standing by the window, his back to you, watching the street below. He had changed into a fresh suit—charcoal grey—but the tension in his shoulders was the same.
"Your tea, Mr. Shelby. And the police reports from the Night Watch are on the corner of your desk."
The Unspoken Shift
He didn't turn around immediately. "Did Johnny get you home safe?"
"He did. Thank you."
Thomas finally turned. He looked at the tea, then up at you. The dark circles under his eyes were prominent in the morning light, but his gaze was piercing. He looked like he wanted to say something—perhaps apologize for the moment of vulnerability, or perhaps double down on it.
Instead, he walked over to the desk and picked up a small, velvet box that hadn't been there the night before. He slid it across the mahogany toward you.
"What is this?" you asked, hesitant to touch it.
"A bonus," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, yet he didn't look away. "For the late hours. For the... housing estate ledger."
You opened the box. Inside was a delicate gold brooch in the shape of a fern—intricate, expensive, and far too personal for a standard secretarial "bonus."
"Mr. Shelby, I can't—"
"I don't pay for incompetence, and I don't reward mediocrity," he interrupted, stepping closer until you could smell the peppermint he used to mask the whiskey. "You are neither. Wear it. Or sell it. I don't care. But don't tell me what you can’t do."
He sat down, immediately pulling a fresh stack of papers toward him, effectively dismissing you. But as you reached the door, his voice stopped you one last time.
"And buy yourself a heavier coat. It’s going to be a cold winter."
You walked back to your desk, the gold pin heavy in your hand. He still wouldn't look you in the eye for more than a second, but the "ghost" in the office had officially been haunting him.
Got my brother started watching one of my favorite shows, which is great. The only problem is, I haven't finished it myself so now it's a race to stay ahead of him and he has so much more free time than me