million dollar man. peaky blinders

ᴠɪɴɢᴛ

꧁꧂

ʜᴇʀ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴀs ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴀ ʙɪɢ ᴅʀɪɴᴋᴇʀ.

Valentine watched as Lucas brought his fifth glass up to his lips, knocking back the last dregs of the dark liquid. His eyes were drooped, brown hair tousled atop his head. He'd never been a big drinker. But it seemed that Valentine wasn't the only one who'd changed since Jean Pierre altered their lives.

The pub was supposed to be where she could talk to Lucas about the threats she'd received from Caroline- it was out of the way of her father's reaches and dingy enough that they wouldn't be questioned twice. She'd brought her brother for a drink and he'd taken that opportunity far too readily. Valentine sighed, slumping down on the table with her elbows.

"Want another?" Lucas asked, glancing to her half finished wine glass, smudged with lipstick stains.

She nodded, tipping back the drink and asking for a gin instead. Valentine watched him slump away, nothing like the strong and intimidating brother that she'd left behind those years ago. The door pushed open, knocking Lucas off his pathway as he walked back with the drinks. He mumbled out a curse, sliding into his seat as the drinks clattered to the table.

Lucas grumbled for her to help clean, but Valentine ignored the orders and the spilt drinks. Michael was at the bar. She'd memorised every angle of him far too well to be mistaken. In the shade of his broad shoulders, he looked tanned, his nose sprinkled with new freckles. It was the crisp, navy suit, spotted with what could either be mud or blood, on the edges, that was so different from the short bodies around him, that made Valentine so sure.

To his side, was the familiar face of Isaiah, grinning as he knocked back a drink. To his other side, was a girl, pale in the face, her cheeks plump and tinted with pink. Charlotte, as she'd heard. The girl radiated a sweet innocence that she would no doubt be desperate to lose. Why else would she be drawn to a man like Michael when her parent were so privileged?

At her own table, Lucas still mumbled out slurred curses as he tried to wipe himself with his own jacket. His movements were slow, half the time missing their mark. Valentine rolled her eyes, ripping the cloth from his hands and dabbing it against his shirt. He scowled, but let her do it.

Valentine gazed behind her brother. Michael was faced towards Charlotte, who's well dressed body was turned away from her. A defined and mature face looked at the young girl with a cheeky smirk, a trademark he had learned from his cousins. It made Valentine smile, as it was not the look he had given her when they were together. There was no sparkle in his eye, no genuine smile, a smile that Valentine loved.

"Valentine, are you listening?" Lucas said, his voice squeaky from the drink. He ducked his head so it was in her line of vision, blocking her view of Michael.

"Yes, go on," she said, reluctantly pulling her eyes to rest on his brown ones. But he twisted his body around, looking across the pub, "what were you looking at?"

"Nothing-"

Lucas turned around hastily, a look of disgust evident on his face.

"Those damned Blinders are in the pub!" He exclaimed, bunching up the cloth and throwing it to the table. Valentine tried to hide the look of surprise on her face as she spoke, questioning his movements as Lucas stood, standing next to the table with his eyes now on the group, just as Valentine had been doing moments earlier. Michael and his friends were still clueless to the presence of the Dubois siblings only a few tables down.

"Be quiet Valentine," Lucas hushed, flicking his hands in front of her face rudely, facing the Blinders with a snarl. "I'm doing what father would want me to do."

Valentine shot to her feet and grabbed her brother's arm, forcing it sideways so he would look at her.

"Would father want you to be so reckless?"

Lucas glared down at her, bringing her closer in an attempt to be intimidating. He'd never acted in such a way, never cared so ardently about what their father would want. She'd left. Valentine reminded herself too often that things were bound to be different.

"Father would not want me to sit in the same pub as a Peaky Blinder to begin with. I think recklessness is what I need," he slurred, the drink stuttering his movements as he advanced forward. "You know who that is?"

His head cocked, expecting her to response.

"Tommy Shelby's cousin." His eyes darkened. "I'm not missing this opportunity."

"I don't drink with filthy blinders," Lucas shouted, his french accent suddenly becoming more prominent, as if he was trying to emphasise his loyalties.

A scoff could be heard as Isaiah stood, turning to face her brother with a cunning smile. "And I don't drink with fucking frenchies but I guess we'll both have to do."

His words were enough to set Lucas into a fit of rage. His fist was sent flying to Isaiah's face, knocking his chin with a brute force that pushed him backwards onto the table. There was seemingly nothing that would hinder his cruel intentions. Valentine scuttled forward as Lucas placed another hard punch on Isaiah's jaw. As the second punch was about to be thrown, Michael intercepted his fist, pushing his arm backward and throwing him off balance.

She pushed herself between the small crowd that was forming around the three men and gasped as Michael threw a hard punch at her brothers chin. Isaiah pulled himself to his feet, advancing to Lucas once more. The three boys pushed and punched each other like squabbling children, alcohol deterring their movements.

"Stop!" Valentine screeched.

But her voice was lost to the shouts of the large men that surrounded them. With a cry, she placed herself in front of her brother as Michael's hand swung toward him but halted mere inches from her face. Flinching backwards, her eyes shut tightly, the blur of his skin flashing in her sight. She felt no sharp hit. Her breath was released as her eyes opened, landing on Michael's shocked face. His hand remained limp in the air, frozen in disbelief.

"Valentine." His voice was a gentle whisper that met her ears only.

Lucas gripped her arm, dragging her away from the scene in anger and out of the pub. His voice was a low growl as he turned to speak to her.

"What was that? Do you wish for me to look like a coward?"

"You were outnumbered," she said, dismissing his short temper with a wave of her hand. 

Lucas let out a short huff, pushing past her and striding down the street toward home.

Valentine sighed. Home didn't seem as welcoming a place as it used to. She glanced back to the pub, anticipating the moment Michael would come hurrying out. But he didn't show. And once again, it was her family that hindered her happiness.

꧁꧂