Calloway // Michael Gray x Reader - Peaky Blinders Fanfic

Chapter 13

Calloway

I release a small sigh of contentment as the tap comes at the window.

I nuzzle my face, aware only of how good the sensation feels against my skin. How good every sensation feels against my skin. How calming, how content, I'm feeling, tangled up like this with Michael —

I flinch so suddenly that I feel his body respond beneath me, jolting awake, and I scramble out of his embrace. It's no easy feat — our legs are linked together, our arms completely enveloping one another. I kick and pull and end up rolling completely off the bed. Judging by his own frantic movements, and the thud that follows my own fall, I assume he's done the same.

"What the fuck was that?" He asks.

"You... You crossed the line, Gray!" I say accusatorially, pushing myself up to my feet.

"Me?" He asks, exasperated and bewildered. "You were the one using me as a human pillow all night."

I have to focus very, very hard, not to drop my gaze from his eyes down to his torso. It had felt so comfortable, so warm, so protective...

"I wouldn't do that," I say.

"Don't deny it, Cal. You gave me the same treatment you gave the bloody blanket."

Fuck. Is this what a lifetime of sleeping alone does to a person — forces them to develop weird sleeping habits?

"That's beside the point." I grab my toiletries bag, ready to scarper. "I'll shower first."

***

We still haven't spoken any further as we leave and head downstairs. The silence between us isn't uncomfortable — it's necessary. Things already seem fragile enough.

I've been too distracted by Michael. Now, it's day two of the conference, and I still haven't made any progress tracking down Mosley or his associates. I need to get my head back in the game and remind myself of why I'm really here.

And once again, the speaker seems to have different ideas today.

"Problem solving!" He announces once we've all taken our seats. "One of your greatest assets as a professional. Who can think of an example of a time we might need to problem solve, when handling a client's finances?"

I give up listening entirely. I look through the crowds sitting in the room, searching for Mosley. He's got to be here. The room is full of politicians and their financial advisors — if I've wasted all this time and money and he's not even here...

"Looks like we're working together again," Michael says, as everybody else divides into pairs once more.

"Whoopee," I mutter.

We're handed new forms. I scan the contents, and then decide I've had enough.

"Calloway, sit down."

"This is bloody ridiculous."

His eyes glitter with amusement. "Don't you bloody leave me here to do it alone."

"This is meant to be the best upskilling course in England," I say, reluctantly sitting beside him once more. "And they've got us doing games like children."

"Didn't you hear? It's the new approach to learning. Scientifically proven to be better."

"Of course you would listen to and remember that."

"Come on. It won't be so bad."

I scan the form once more. "Lost at sea," I read out. "We've been shipwrecked and stranded in a lifeboat with a box of matches, and other items we managed to salvage. We need to rank the items in order of importance. What's the bloody point in that? Just take all of them."

Michael rolls his eyes at me. "I vote the shaving mirror first," he says. "Then the bottle of rum. Then—"

But, despite my grievances that the exercise is stupid, I find myself frowning at his rankings. "A shaving mirror and a bottle of rum, instead of the sea chart or emergency rations?"

"Sea chart won't be much use in a life boat," he points out.

"No, who cares about survival, as long as you can still get your clean shave each morning."

"And who cares about survival when you can spend your last moments trying to decipher a damaged sea chart after a shipwreck?"

"It doesn't say damaged," I point out.

"A shipwreck, Calloway. You think a piece of paper survived that unharmed?"

I stare at the list for a moment longer, deciding to simply pretend I didn't hear Michael's logic. "What about a can of petrol, won't we need it for the lifeboat?"

"Lifeboats don't take petrol. How about the radio?" He suggests.

I think for a moment. "Yes. That does seem most important."

"So we can put that as bloody number one?"

"Fine."

We go through and rank the rest of the items, squabbling over what feels like every one, until we've finally got an order we can live with. Neither of us would have picked it as our first choice — but we're also in agreement it probably makes the most logical sense.

The speaker, however, apparently does not agree with logical sense, but pulls answers out of his ass.

"A few teams got this one right!" He beams, writing across the blackboard. "The first item, and most important — the shaving mirror."

I face deliberately forward, unable to glance at Michael as he turns his head to me, eyebrows raised.

"One of your most powerful tools," the speaker continues, "Because you can use it to signal your location by reflecting the sun."

"That's ridiculous," I mutter. "He's just made that up."

Michael smirks. "Told you it was most important. Sorry we can't all be so clever."

"Shut up."

"Second," the speaker continues, "A can of petrol! Also essential to your survival — petrol floats on water, and can be lit by your matches."

"Lifeboat's don't take petrol," I say, mimicking Michael's words.

"I had the right idea with the rum," he argues.

"No, you didn't. You wanted to drink it."

In the end, we completely fail the exercise. My sea chart is thwarted only by the radio in terms of uselessness — apparently we ought to have assumed we'd be out of signal range. By the time the speaker's finished rattling off the order, Michael and I are not the only disgruntled looking pairing in the room — one man looks ready to rip up his page, and then turn his hands onto the speaker.

The speaker appears to notice so, too, with a gulp. "That's enough for the morning," he says quickly. "Let's break for lunch, and we'll get down to some regulatory practices afterward."