million dollar man. peaky blinders

ᴅᴏᴜᴢᴇ

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ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴏғᴛᴇɴ ᴛʜᴀɴ ɴᴏᴛ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴅʀɪᴢᴢʟʏ ᴇɴɢʟɪsʜ ᴡᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ᴀ ʙᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴠᴀʟᴇɴᴛɪɴᴇ.

But even as the rain poured and cloud thundered, Valentine paid no piece of mind. In fact, it was rather fitting, a perfect backdrop to her misery as she scurried through Small Heath, a wax coat pulled flimsily over her head. Since her father had sprung marriage upon her as easily as shout of greeting, Valentine had needed to go to one place, and one place only. An earthquake wouldn't even stop her, never mind the rain.

It was always a hopeless question, whether the Shelby's old house on Watery Lane would be occupied or not. Michael and Polly has their own large house that she had only visuales once, but the family were never too far from the heart of their operations. So, as she passed by the Garrison, she hoped to see his family, or at least a sign that she wouldn't find them there as she knocked.

That evening, fortune was on her side. She spotted Michael himself, despite the blurriness of the rain, running along behind Isaiah as they headed toward the pub. She dared to shout out his name, but she didn't need to grab his attention, as Michael's eyes had already landed in her, making his legs slow to a walk as he neared.

The darkness of the night had already spread across the street, obscuring both of their views, and Valentine's clay had soaked through from the lengthy travel, her hair dripping wet. But she still looked dazzling, as clear as if he was looking at her for the first time. He called for Isaiah to go in without him, and he gladly did, escaping from the harsh weather that Valentine and Michael weren't affected by.

"Valentine..." Her name came out only a little louder than a whisper, but Valentine heard it fine. "What's wrong?"

Her eyes were puffy, reddened by crying. Her saddness couldn't be missed and she looked as if she could cry any minute, breaking apart like a china doll.

Valentine sniffed, pleading herself not to cry again, but tears had already found their way to pool at her chin before cascading to the ground in large, heavy splotches, just at the sight of the boy. He took her by the arm, gently leading her in the opposite direction of the pub, making sure to keep her covered by the thin material of his coat.

The house was empty, the front door locked and the coatrack barren in the passageway, lacking the material of its purpose. It felt overwhelmingly big though, as Valentine stepped in before him, walking down to the kitchen. His family home, was where she stood. The essence of his last name. Soon she would have her own, for a name she could still barely remember, and for a name that wasn't his.

Michael re-emerged with a woollen blanket tucked in his arms and he handed it to her timidly, placing the tip of it around her shoulders, that shook from the cold. His own nose felt frosted, undoubtedly red from the cold. He had savoured the warmth of the kettle that heated for tea on the stove, the heat lingering in the tips of his fingers. Valentine felt it too, as they brushed against her neck, making her shiver even more.

She couldn't bare another second of his touch. Not when she knew she would never feel it again. She had never spoken to Michael about the future, it had always felt unreachable and difficult, given their families' situation. But to her, it had always been inevitable, like an obstacle they would eventually over come one day. Whether he though the same or not, she didn't know, but now...

"Tell me what's wrong," he whispered, his warm hands now placed on her knee.

She watched as his fingers tightened in worry, his eyebrows creasing his face, making his eyes smaller and nose crinkled. He looked older, wrinkles of concern now rippling his face. Valentine brushed off his touch, a fresh round of tears, that she couldn't control, now rolling down her frost bitten cheeks. It was like a broken tap that had finally burst its seems, allowing its enormous contents to flood out like an angry waterfall. Because she felt so angry! Her skin had become blotchy and eyes bloodshot, irritated by the constant, distressed rubbing of her hands and the messy black makeup that now rimmed her eyes like glasses.

"I- I'm." Valentine struggled to find words as she choked back sobs, attempting to speak.

How was she meant to reveal such a thing? Had there ever been a story as I writeable as her own? There were no words that could reveal it comfortably- she would have to rip the bandage off clean.

"I'm getting married Michael."

The boy's breath caught in his throat as he forced back a gasp, his hand faltering slightly from where it had been pushed from her knee. Valentine sobbed, taking his spare hand in hers and weaving their fingers together like she always did, feeling his touch in hers.

She was no longer scared of it. She couldn't stop the inevitable, but she also couldn't punish herself because of it. Valentine needed his comfort- she couldn't deny herself that.

"But it's okay." Her voice was panicked and rushed, as if she was scared he would send her out in anger. And she was scared that she would never speak again from grief. "It's okay," she repeated, reassuring the both of them. "We can run away. The two of us. No more hiding."

Michael shook his head sadly. "I won't be forced into a marriage and you could become a fancy business man somewhere, like you wanted to do when you were little," Valentine pressed. "And I can work. I could find a job anywhere we needed. We'd never have to worry again."

"Who is he, Valentine? The man you're arranged to marry." His voice wasn't cold, as such, but it was void of any emotion, as if he were scared to release it all at once.

"His name's Jean Pierre."

She knew herself how ridiculous she was being, but it was Michael who put it into words.

"I can't run away with you, Valentine. Not when you're father is who he is. Not now that I'm working with Thomas."

She swallowed, blinking away the last of her tears. "I wouldn't make it far anyway. My father would find me, take me home and kill you."

Valentine would have to marry Jean Pierre and there was nothing either one of them could do about it.

"Come see me before I leave. Even if it's just a glance from across the dock."

"I will." He encouraged, rubbing her arms in an attempt to sooth her crying.

"You promise?"

"I promise."

And that promise was enough. It was their secret meaning. And Valentine wouldn't be the first to see the three words that they felt. Not until they both saw each other again, without a need for promises.

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