A/N: Hi all, welcome to this story! I don't own anything, except for the idea that has turned into this story. Please let me know what your thoughts are in a review, and like/follow if you enjoy.

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Morgan Stark

Her head was pounding.

It was the first thing that she was actually aware of, trying to regain her orientation and figure out what was going on. The next thing was that it felt like she was lying on the ground.

"Morgan… Morgan are you alright?" it was undoubtedly Piet asking that, she could tell by the way that he was speaking that he was freaking out.

"I'm fine," she slurred, cringing at the sound of her own voice. She definitely didn't sound fine. But then again, she didn't exactly feel that great either. With Piet's encouragement she tried to push herself up and force her eyes open. The sudden light only made her wince again, and she let her body collapse back down as she tried to get her bearings. Pietro's hand was running over her back in soothing circles and she wondered how he was functioning. As her vision started clearing she managed to finally sit herself up, still uncomfortable with how the world was spinning around her. "What happened?"

"An explosion. As far as I'm concerned, we should both be dead, but wherever we are it is not where the explosion happened," he explained with a small shrug, the blue eyes he inherited from his father darting around. Morgan had known him long enough to know that he was anxious.

They needed to get moving. She forced herself up on her feet, allowing Piet to guide her with a hand on the small of her back. The dizziness wasn't going down and she was grateful that he was there, at least if she fell or passed out again there might be a chance he'd be able to catch her. He stopped her at the end of the road, peeking out to what appeared to be a main road. Morgan was almost surprised at how empty it was. What was more surprising was the sheer number of vintage cars on the road.

"I think I might have a concussion," the brunette said, eyes wondering back down to the other side of vintage cars. "I'm pretty sure I'm seeing things. Unless of course there's a vintage car fair we didn't hear about."

"It isn't just that," he said, picking a discarded newspaper off of the ground. Morgan Stark couldn't even remember the last time that she had seen a printed newspaper. It must have been sometime in the mid-2030s. Pietro shoved the paper in her hands, pointing to the date printed at the top.

1919.

A Few Days Later

The positives of an explosion that resulted in a time travel accident was at least they had arrived in a time that was shortly after the end of World War 1. The negatives included the perception that people had of women in this time. The one thing Morgan Stark had a brilliant mind for was technology, but in this world, men seemed to think that she was not capable of doing… anything really. She had been reduced into nothing more than a pretty face instantaneously.

Pietro had a bit more luck. Deciding that his second name probably sounded too communist for the era that they found themselves in, they had taken to calling him Nathaniel, or Nate again. Morgan felt more like they were going deep undercover when she started trying to get herself used to calling her lifelong friend by his first name. Shortly after they had made that decision, and due to the complete lack of any valid ID or immigration documents, Nate had fallen into work as hired muscle for a gang. Morgan had barked out a laugh when he told her they proudly called themselves the 'Peaky Blinders', but at least the clothes that he was wearing looked good and she had to admit that the hats were a decent weapon on top of looking smart.

In the meantime, Morgan, who out of pure stubbornness refused to give up her name to go by something more age appropriate, had managed to shoplift herself a fairly decent wardrobe and had even learnt how to manage her hair into an age appropriate style.

With their cover story that they were cousins who had relocated to England after the war they had managed to find themselves a terrible, but cheap, apartment in Birmingham from a dubious landlord. Morgan somehow managed to keep a tight leash on her temper, giving a naïve and soft smile every time she caught his eyes looking her over. Usually she did it by imagining how satisfying it would be to break his nose. And how he likely wouldn't expect her to even be able to do that.

She still needed to find work for herself though. Which is how, dressed in the finest clothes she had stolen for herself, she found herself walking into a bar head held high at 10am. A man was there, alone, sweeping the floors from what seemed to be broken glass. He didn't seem to have heard her enter, so she cleared her throat to catch his attention.

"We're closed at the moment," he told her without looking up, continuing on with his work.

"I'm not here for a drink, I'm here for the barmaid job," Morgan countered, watching as his head immediately shot up to her. He looked her over, cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

"Are you mad?" he asked, taking another drag off his cigarette.

"No."

"Do you know about this place?" he asked incredulously.

"It was in an advertisement," she responded, feeling her own frustration growing. Here he was advertising for a barmaid and this man thought that she wouldn't even be capable of that? She wished that she could show him exactly what she could do.

"Jobs been filled," he retorted, going back to his sweeping.

"A job from today's paper has already been filled?"

"Believe me, love, I'm doing you a favour," he still wasn't looking at her.

"I thought I was asking you to employ me, not do me a favour," she retorted, forcing herself to maintain a rigid posture and look at him with a straight face. He finally started pulling himself up to take another look at her. Maybe she was getting somewhere with him, she thought to herself.

That was until he spoke again. "Your too nice."

"Too nice?"

"And too pretty," he continued, eyes still gazing over her. "They'd have you up against a wall."

"I can handle myself," she countered, eyes narrowing in a challenge at him. "I have experience, let me work the day without pay and if you're not happy with how I do then you can let me go tonight after my shift is over. You won't lose anything."

He'd sighed, running a hand through his hair. She could tell he was thinking it over. Based off the state that the place was in, she was assuming from last night, it also looked like he did need that help sooner rather than later. "Fine, I'm Harry Fenton," he had reached a hand out for her to shake and she walked forward, making sure to look him in the eyes and give him a firm handshake, a smile crossing her face for the first time since she and Nate had landed themselves in 1919.

"Morgan Stark," she returned.

"Well Morgan, you can leave your bag and hat on the shelf behind the counter so no one tries to take them. Then you can help me get this place into the right state to open our doors."

"No problem."

It was about midday and a decent amount of people were already inside the Garrison. Harry had been pointing out men that were regulars and giving Morgan their names. That was when a man walked in dressed in a suit, the same kind of cap that Nate had been wearing, which was Morgan's first tip off that this man was one of the Peaky Blinders.

From a completely objective standpoint, she found his pale blue eyes absolutely stunning, even if they did seem cold. She gave him a wide, welcoming smile as he slowly walked towards the bar, but Harry had quickly pulled her aside.

"That's Tommy Shelby, Morgan," he whispered into her ear, as if that was supposed to mean something to her. The confusion must've been evident on his face because he quickly glanced back to see where the man was, and lowered his voice as he continued. "He's the leader of the Peaky Blinders, bad news. You stay as far away from him as you can, you understand me? And don't you do anything that might catch his attention. You're too good of a girl to get mixed up with him. Now go clear the floor and ask if anyone wants refills, I'll stay here."

Harry still clearly seemed to think she couldn't handle herself, but the brunette was in fact touched by his concern and nodded at what he had said. She still needed this job and there was no need to go out of her way while she was doing this probationary period, so she quickly walked around the bar to go and do exactly what she was told. Morgan also didn't miss how Harry was nervously looking at this Tommy as another man approached him.

The slamming of the doors and sudden shouts interrupted Morgan's round of checking on the patrons. As her blue eyes flitted up to the man who had made the dramatic appearance, Morgan was pretty sure she could understand exactly what was going on with him. Post-traumatic stress disorder. Though, she was pretty sure it was still called shellshock in this time. And in this time, there was also no real acknowledgement or treatment for it as far as she knew. After all, it was still an issue in the 2030's.

She'd acted before she'd even heard the glass smash putting herself in front of the unknown man. He'd instantly moved to take a swing at her, causing her to instinctively duck under the throw and use his own momentum to throw him over her shoulder into an empty area by the entrance before he could do any more damage. With him still down she planted one knee on his chest and an arm dug into his throat to pin him down, even as he struggled against her.

"It's alright, you're safe. This is the Garrison, you're in Birmingham, no one is going to hurt you," Morgan found the words falling out of her mouth, similarly to how she might have handled one of her teammates if they were out on mission and had woken from a nightmare. The words continued falling out of her mouth on repeat until the man under her stopped struggling against her, and in turn she stopped pressing him down as much as his body started shaking with sobs. Moving off him he had sat up, clinging to her like a child as he sobbed and continued offering soft reassurances to him. She couldn't help but let her eyes wander over to the bar where she now found Harry looking at her in surprise and concern. At least he should now realise that she could in fact handle herself. But she understood the look of concern when her eyes found those of Tommy Shelby's stuck to her figure, looking her over appraisingly.

A shiver ran down her spine.

Normally Morgan Stark prided her ability to read people. It was a necessary skill of have developed as a multi-billionaire, head of a tech company and spy. But Tommy Shelby was unreadable.

Trying to avoid thinking about that she focussed her attention back on the man who was sobbing in her arms. "Why don't we sit down and I'll get you a glass of water, is that ok…?" she drifted off questioningly, realising that she didn't know the man's name.