Mabel slammed the earpiece back on the hook, her anger crackling in the air. Wilma was nowhere to be found when Mabel got back to her office, so she did some checking. Ever since Wilma had taken over, she had shortened, delayed, or completely cancelled every shipment. Every. Single. One. But the books showed every payment made on time, in full, and Mabel shook with fury. She felt so stupid. Wilma had played her, and she was more than outraged; she was hurt. She couldn't believe someone would steal from her, but it stung even more that Wilma had pretended to be her friend while she did it. In fact, Wilma had sat in this office with her, feet up, sharing her best rum and swapping so many personal details it made her cheeks flame. Mabelknew almost more about Wilma's husband Danny than she did about Alfie, while Wilma knew-

Mabel sat up with a jerk.

"Bloody fuck, what did I do?"

She snatched the phone towards her, clearing the line and trapping her skirt between her fingers, pinching a crease in the fabric while she stood by. When the operator came on the line to ask her for the number she needed, she rattled off Alfie's office line.

"Come on, come on, come on..." she whispered, her eyes closed, waiting.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, there's no answer at that number."

Mabel sighed, then asked for his home number.

"Solomon residence," came the familiar Scottish brogue.

"Rowena, thank goodness, is Alfie there?"

"Ach, no, lassie, he won't be back til late, like usual. Is everything alright?" the older woman asked, concern evident in her voice.

"Oh, yes, yes, of course," Mabel hurried to reassure her, forgetting that Rowena thought she had reason to worry about her. It crossed her mind to tell her the truth, but she owed it to Alfie to explain it to him first. "Can you just have him call me when he gets in? I'm at the bakery now, but I'm heading back to my apartment, he can reach me there."

"Aye, lassie."

"Thank you."

She hung up the earpiece, the steam going out of her. She slumped, head on her desk, and groaned. How did everything get so fucked? Her throat was hot and tight, but gritted her teeth because she could handle this, damn it. Alfie wouldn't sob into his blotter, she wouldn't either.

She sat up, took a cleansing breath, and placed a few more calls to her suppliers. On her way out, she ran into Levi.

"Oh, Levi, do you have a moment?"

"Yeah, boss, what can I do for you?"

"Several things. I've made a list of things I need done. Can you let the guys know to stop the bottling as soon as possible? I've got additional supplies coming in tomorrow, that should help. When you get finished up, I want everyone to take the rest of the day off. You guys deserve a break after all that."

She continued talking, asking him to set the young boys up with a washing station and proper sanitising, and to verify all the batches bottled since supplies had run low, because they would need to-

"Hey, are you listening?"

"Yeah, boss," but he hadn't been. He'd been staring at her in wonder, a small smile tugging on his lip. He accepted the note she held out, promising to spread the word, and held his hand out to shake when she got done. She shook, a sharp, firm grasp, with a smile and a nod, and then she let herself out into the sunshine.

Alfie had been running back and forth to his bookies all bloody day, settling disputes, getting reports, shouting when necessary and gathering the earnings. He barked orders, moved money around, and ok, sure, maybe he was a little more irritable than normal, but on the outside it was a standard day.

On the inside, his head was a fucking mess. Because he'd been over it and over it, but he couldn't see any other way.

He couldn't be with Mabel any more.

He should have done it a long time ago, honestly. But he was a selfish fucking man, and he'd convinced himself that Mabel was a grown woman and able to make her own decision. If she wanted to be around him, all he could do was make her as safe as possible. But if she was going to keep the baby, it was his fucking responsibility to keep both of them as safe as possible. And every angle of this showed keeping himself away from them would keep them safest.

He was no good for her, this wasn't news. He'd known it since he met her. She was a good girl from a respectable family, people who looked like they cared about her. She'd probably never done anything illegal until she came here, and now she carried a gun under her skirts at all times because of him.

Alfie refused to look at the giant gaping hole in his chest, the one that told him he was fucking terrified. He wanted to cower in a corner, because he couldn't be a father, didn't know the first thing about it and would inevitably fuck up a kid. But even if he kept himself away, let Mabel handle raising it, there were still piss pots like Billy Hill in the world. Or the fucking Russians, who apparently thought kidnapping infants was the way to get what you wanted, which in their defence, might have worked. He'd never seen Tommy Shelby look more unglued then when his boy had been taken.

No. Fuck it, he was done with thinking about this. Mabel had to take the child far, far away from him, before he ruined both of their lives. She needed to run. He would do everything he could to make sure she was safe and the kid was provided for, but he couldn't if he was constantly fucking paralysed by fear. He'd done nothing but think about Mabel and their baby all day. Fuck's sake, their baby. The word was daunting.

When Alfie got back to his office, Abe fucked off to somewhere and he threw his hat down on the desk and groaned his way into his chair. It had been a long damn day, and he was fucking done. He looked at the phone in front of him and thought about calling Mabel. He thought about kissing her sweet mouth and tucking his nose into her neck and just breathing while he wrapped his hands around her trim waist. Although not trim for much longer. He had a flash of himself standing behind her, her belly large with their child, wrapping his arms around both of them and holding on tight. Then, as if he'd released a dam, a flood of images came unbidden. Mabel tucked in his bed, holding a bundle of blanket and kissing a smooth, bald head. Mabel organising the baby's room, which used to be his office, he could just move his desk out into the corner of the sitting room. He could see the kid at two years old, a little boy in knee socks or a girl in pigtails, either way hopefully looking a lot more like Mabel than him. The child would hold Mabel's hand while they talked, walking to the market or to temple, smiling and chatting.

Alfie allowed himself to close his eyes, cherishing that one image before shoving it in a brand new box and locking it in the furthest reaches of his mind. Because in none of those images could he picture himself. He could help her, send her money, find the best nanny, whatever she needed. If she wanted this baby, he wanted that for her. But he was poison.

He looked at his hands, too big, too hard, too calloused, squeezing them into fists on his wooden desktop. He couldn't do this, couldn't keep thinking like this, all the fucking time. It was on a loop, spinning over and over through the same-fucking hell, he had to get out of here. He'd tapped the barrel he'd taken from Mabel a lifetime ago, and it was sitting in his cellar sounding pretty fucking good right now. Maybe he'd crawl in and find his way out later. Like, 18 years later.

Alfie dropped Abe off at his flat before heading home. The windows were dark, which meant Rowena was gone for the night, and that suited him just fine. He didn't need her motherly clucking when he was about to get pissed out of his fucking mind as a temporary solution to his problems.

Peaches greeted him at the door, her tail thumping and her face in a happy smile. She was at her full size now, and he was going to have to start taking her with him during the day. She got bored, and she chewed. Besides, Alfie liked her. She was a good dog, and even if she literally wouldn't hurt a fly, the people sitting in the chair across from him didn't need to know that. Of course, if she looked at them the way she was looking at him now, no one would ever be intimidated. Alfie smiled despite himself and ruffled her ears.

"Come on, girl. Let's get a drink, eh? We're gonna have to work on your poker face."

He left the lights off, grabbed a decanter and a generous glass and walked right past the note on the end table.

Three days. It had been three days since she found out Wilma had been stealing from her. Three days since she asked Alfie to call her so she could explain. Three days since she promised herself that she would not run after him, especially if this was his answer to how he would deal with a baby (should that situation ever arise). Her parents were going home today. They had been here for a week and she loved them, and would miss them, and had enjoyed their visit. And even though she would trade large sums of money to talk to Alfie, she was so grateful not to have been alone. She had to get up and put on a happy face and make breakfast and pretend she was fine. She had to traipse all over London showing them sites she took for granted and buildings she'd visited when she first arrived and then hadn't since. If she'd been alone, she would have locked herself in her room and cried, no matter what strong woman bullshit she'd told herself. This was better, and she was thankful to have them here.

But they would be gone in a few hours. Which left her with a bakery that was falling apart, a relationship that was falling apart, and no one to talk to about either thing.

Mabel stood in front of her wardrobe, her parents insisting on making breakfast for their final meal together, and she made a decision. She was tired of living on the back foot, tired of waiting on a fucking man to hand her her fate. She made her own. Mabel pulled a wine coloured dress toward her, because she knew it made her look fantastic, and it toed the line between business and sexy. She didn't normally flirt with that line, but she was going to set up a meeting today, and God help anyone that got in her way.

She used the phone in the hall to set up the meeting for that afternoon and joined her parents around her small kitchen/dining room table. She listened to her mother chatter about the trip and talked to her father about going back to the office, And after exchanging hugs and kisses and promises to write and visit and call, she saw her parents to the train station. Then she bought her own ticket.

"One, to Birmingham, please."

She sat in Tommy Shelby's house, in Tommy Shelby's office, across the desk from Tommy Shelby himself and felt strangely in control. Her wardrobe choice felt right, not because it influenced him, because it clearly didn't. She could have been wearing a burlap sack for all he saw her, and she liked that and didn't like that more than she'd admit. But she was glad of it because it made her feel settled in her own skin, ready, like armour. She stared Tommy down, his ice blue eyes hard and cold.

He pulled a small tin of cigarettes out of his inside pocket and offered one to her. Her, "No, thank you," sounded loud, but steady to her own ears.

"Mr Shelby, I came here to ask you a specific question."

Tommy tapped the cigarette he'd selected against the tin before tucking it in his lips and returning the tin to his jacket. "I'd assumed." He lit the cigarette and inhaled. "Go on, then."

"How much do you know about Wilma Fitzgerald?"

Tommy's eyes were flat, no reaction portrayed, and his small frown measured and calculated.

"I don't know what you mean."

She'd expected nothing less. "Mmm, yes, I'm sure you don't," Mabel said drily. "I mean, of course, that you're using her for information on me, but I wonder how much you know about her."

He took a long drag, delaying his response, and Mabel waited. Alfie played this game too, and it bored her. It didn't make her uncomfortable or put her in her place. It simply took longer for them to say the six words they were going to say so she could move on.

When Tommy reached forward to tap the ash from the end of his cigarette, Mabel moved on without his six words.

"For example, were you aware that she has a husband, and a mother, and a small son to provide for-"

"Does she?" Tommy's emotionless words cut through her speech, and he was unflinching. "Are you sure about that?"

Mabel swallowed her knee jerk reaction to defend her friend and thought about what he'd said. She had talked to Wilma, hours upon hours of talking. They'd bonded, shared stories, commiserated and laughed together. But despite the stories, she'd never met Dan. She'd never seen a picture of him or seen anything he'd drawn or coloured, and she'd never visited the home Wilma shared with her mother. Her lips thinned, and she swallowed her anger at herself, for being stupid and not vetting people she was hiring. But it didn't matter. That's not why she was here, and she would not let Tommy Shelby distract her.

"Actually, I'm not sure about that," she admitted and Tommy's nod was almost imperceptible. "But she must have someone," Mabel continued, "because otherwise how is Billy Hilly using her to get information about you?"

Tommy didn't move except to exhale a cloud of smoke. He licked his lips and tapped out his cigarette, then leaned back in his chair. His hands were folded carefully in front of him. "Alright," he drawled. "I'm listening."

"To what?" Mabel burst out in exasperation. Her voice was loud in the still house, and Tommy looked slightly surprised, but Mabel didn't care anymore. "I'm not selling anything here. I'm not a spy. I don't have a super complex plan to take over your business, and then the country, and then the world." She huffed out a laugh. "I'm busy enough as it is."

Tommy didn't smile back. "Then why are you telling me this?"

"You mean why am I telling you the truth? About Wilma and Billy Hill?" At Tommy's slow blink, she sighed. "Mr Shelby, I was raised to tell the truth. So that's what you get. Here's some more truth for you. I am not your enemy. I just want to run my business."

He took his time adjusting his cuffs. "And Alfie?"

Mabel hardened. Her jaw slid into its stubborn stance, she could feel it happen. "I won't talk about Alfie with you. But know this: you will not get to Alfie through me."

Tommy raised an eyebrow and waited. He had all the time in the world.

Mabel thought about how to explain this in a way that would shut him down now, so she wouldn't be dealing with Peaky Blinders up her arse for the rest of time. "Mr Shelby, do you ride?"

He cocked his head, considering her. "Yes," he conceded.

"I don't. When I was small, I fell off a horse. A pony, really. It didn't throw me, I just fell. I wasn't hurt, not badly, and my parents tried everything to get me back up, but I refused. I haven't ridden since then, and I have no interest in doing so." Mabel laced her fingers together, setting them on her knee. "I don't profess to be anything I'm not, Mr Shelby. If I want something I go after it. But I know my limits and I protect myself. You will not fool me again, I can promise you that. I am the living embodiment of 'once bitten, twice shy.'"

Tommy watched her, sitting ramrod straight in the chair. "No," he murmured. "No, I don't think 'shy' is the word for you."

Mabel wasn't sure what he meant by that, but she'd said her piece, and he'd said his obligatory six words, and now it was time to leave. She nodded her thanks, and rose. Tommy rose as well and didn't seem surprised when she reached out her hand to shake his.

"Thank you for meeting with me, Mr Shelby. If you ever need to know anything about me, just call me."

She did get a small wry smile out of him at that. "And Alfie?" he teased.

She grinned back at him. "If you need anything from Alfie, just call him."

He huffed out a small laugh and walked her out.

Mabel stepped off the train as the sun was setting. She had to shield herself against the glare in order to meet his eyes, but of course she would know him by far less than his silhouette.

"Alfie," she greeted him warily.

"Mabe," he said back, taking her elbow and steering her toward his car, his fingers hard. "How was your meeting?"

Mabel sighed. "Fine, but when we get there, I get to talk for ten minutes and you don't get to interrupt me."

Alfie's mouth was a grim line and he didn't look at her. "Mmph."