Calloway // Michael Gray x Reader - Peaky Blinders Fanfic

Chapter 48

Michael

He sees the way his mum's mouth tightens. The train rocks, shaking slightly on the track as he approaches them. Still unsure how he feels. Caught between wanting to laugh and roll his eyes at the sight of his mum and Cal looking like a pair of deer in headlights, vs being furious they'd try to lie to him.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" His Mum asks.

"Always been a light sleeper," he says. It's almost amusing that Calloway didn't know he'd wake the moment she left, somehow able to sense as soon as she's not with him.

Polly rolls her eyes. "And so you went to all the trouble to follow us here and board the bloody train?"

"Yes, mum. I'm the one in the wrong here."

His eyes flit to Calloway as she takes a breath. He waits for her to speak, wondering if she'll be cross like his mum is.

But as always, she surprises him.

"You helping us then, or what?" She says.

"No," Polly says sharply. "Michael, you're going to get off at the next station and go back home."

He suppresses his frustration. "And how will Tommy ever take me seriously then, eh?"

"I don't give a fuck what Tommy thinks."

Michael takes the seat with a sigh. "You can't do it without me."

"Really?" Polly asks, her eyes flashing. "And why is that?"

"Because Tommy didn't tell you where the guards will be."

"The... The bloody—"

"Did you really think Tommy wouldn't know you'd try do something like this?" Michael says. "There's a patrol of guards at the gate. Only Tommy and I know their movements."

He leans back in the seat. Watches as his mum squirms with this information. Thank Fuck Tommy has sense, he thinks to himself.

He watches Calloway intently. But she glances at Polly, clearly waiting for her to make the decision. It's unlike her to let anyone else make decisions — and then Michael realises, it's because she respects his mum enough to leave it in her hands. A strong surge of affection for her runs through him. There's no way he's leaving her. Not tonight. Not ever.

"Tommy's going to go mental when he finds out," Polly finally says.

Michael bites back a smile. "Thought you didn't give a fuck what Tommy thinks."

Polly shoots him a reproachful glare, but Michael can see he's won her over. The matter seems to be settled, until Cal speaks again.

"Maybe this is a bad idea," she says quietly. "I don't want Tommy thinking we've betrayed him."

"Alright. Let's all go home then, shall we?" Michael says.

"Fuck that," Polly says. "I spent four quid on these train tickets."

Calloway says, "This can't go on any longer. We're doing it. Tonight."

Two hours later, the train pulls into Euston station. Michael almost expects Tommy to be waiting for them himself on the platform — it's unlike him to let anything pass him by. But he's not there. Only the dark night, the cawing of birds, the chill of air across their skin.

"Right." Michael looks at them expectantly. "Where's the car?"

Polly blinks. "Thought there'd be one waiting here."

Michael stares for a moment. "Yes. On Thursday night. The night we'd bloody planned." His eyebrows raise in exasperation. "You didn't think through how you'd get to his house?"

"We thought there'd be a bloody car, alright?"

"Why the fuck would we bring a car here two nights early?"

"Because we always said—"

"Get in," Cal calls out, hand-cranking the engine of a Model T parked beside the pavement. "It's this or finding three horses, which will be a lot noisier."

"I beg to differ," Michael mutters are the engine splutters to life. He eyes Cal with amazement as they pile into the car, him at the driver's seat. "Where did you learn to hand start a car?" He asks in wonderment.

"My dad taught me," she replies simply.

"You hear that, mum?" He says. "You failed me on some basic life skills. Had to put up with Arthur showing me how to do it."

Polly shoots him a warning look. "Just drive, Michael."

***

They reach the road to Mosley's house. Privately gated. Michael recalls all the information from Tommy's plans. Nothing's changed, he tells himself. Just a different night. Different people, that's all.

This way, he'll impress his cousin once and for all. Finally have a name for himself in the company.

"Michael, you tell us the details of the patrol," Polly says. "Then you wait here with the car."

He clenches his jaw. "Nice try."

"I mean it. We need a getaway driver. Doubt we'll have time to hand-crank the engine in a rush."

"I'm not leaving Calloway," he says simply, shutting the engine off and getting out of the car.

They walk silently up the drive.

"You'll only be a distraction," Calloway murmurs beside him, their fingertips brushing. "I'll have to worry about saving your life again."

He makes a small noise of amusement. "We'll see."

They crouch down low. Michael spots the guards at the gate. Privately hired, carrying shotguns. The house itself is dark. No lights on in any of the rooms. If only the moon was a bit brighter, lending just a bit more visibility...

"There's two here," he breathes quietly. "Two on the eastern side. And two on the south. Only way in is through the gap in the trees, over there, then climbing up the wall."

They move silently through the brush. Michael stays at the rear, gun drawn, on the lookout as they cut through. If anyone approaches, he'll shoot. If anyone so much as tilts their head in suspicion, he'll shoot.

They reach the wall. Michael and Cal give Polly a leg up until she can reach the top, both straining quietly. Then Michael lifts Cal, not taking his hands off her until he's certain his mum has her on the other side.

"Come on," he mutters quietly, extending a hand. "Help me up."

But his mum's face comes into view, set in a thin line of determination. "Back to the car, Michael. We'll be there soon."

His eyebrows raise incredulously. Calloway smiles apologetically.

They fucking double crossed him.

He shakes his head. Furious, and begrudgingly, bearing a measure of respect. Fumes silently as they disappear from view, straining his ears to hear the soft thud of their landing.

He casts his gaze about in hopeless desperation. He could climb a tree, but that would make too much noise. Maybe he'll say fuck it and shoot down the guards — no, there's too many of them, and they'll converge as soon as they hear gunshots.

Before he can decide, a hand clamps over his mouth, and the pistol's knocked from his hand.