𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖕𝖔𝖗𝖆𝖑 𝖕𝖚𝖓𝖎𝖘𝖍𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 ᵗʰᵒᵐᵃˢ ˢʰᵉˡᵇʸ

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄. DANGEROUS GAMES

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊
sᴇᴀsᴏɴ ᴏɴᴇ, ᴇᴘɪsᴏᴅᴇ ᴛᴡᴏ

       UPON RECOLLECTION, it seemed like anger was an emotion that Meredith had felt a lot of over the past week or so. She was slowly losing her grasp on the stability that she treasured, the stability that she needed in order to survive the life she lived and it was driving her up the walls. A raid. The new copper from Belfast had barely been in town for fourteen days and he had ordered a fucking raid. She was seething. She didn't know whether to be grateful or annoyed that she wasn't there when they trashed her house. But either way, it didn't stop her from wanting to slap him in the face and give him a piece of her mind.

Amidst the mess of smashed glass and tipped over chairs there was one thing that she prayed to whatever God was out there looking over her, was not damaged. A blue, white and red striped ribbon that held a silver medal for gallantry, encased in a glass frame. She breathed out a sigh of relief when she noticed the frame, discarded on her table, intact. It was like whichever copper had stumbled upon it actually had a bit of decency to know the significance of the medal. She walked over to the fireplace, the sound of glass underneath her heels filling the room. She brushed away the debris from the mantlepiece and placed it down in the centre, but not before placing her lips softly against the back of it. With the frame in its rightful place, Meredith turned, her hands on her hips as she assessed the damage. She was itching for a drink and a smoke but she would have to make do with the latter because all the alcohol she owned was either missing or on the floor. Cleaning was not only going to take up a chunk of her time, sweat and seemingly blood but it was also going to cost her a fair few. It was like God had decided that she had been comfortable for way too long.

Meredith sat at her window, legs tucked beneath her, head leaning on the pane of glass as she looked down at the street below her. The idea of an early night that she had dreamed about when she woke up had long gone the moment she stepped into her upturned home. It was hard to ignore the amber glow that leaked through the curtains that hung on her bedroom window along with the enthusiastic chatter that came from the many other people that populated Small Heath. Kids were dancing giddily, happy that they had been given the freedom of a late night. Men stood drinking and smoking, their sweethearts clung to their arm, giggling.

There was something she found beautiful about fires. Danger, beauty and warmth all mixed into one thing. The ability to see someone for who they really were. Be rid of all the distractions, the layers and layers of burdens that everyday life forced upon them. When the fire lit up their features you could see one of three things in their eyes. Doe-eyed happiness that only came with those who had never been touched by any kind of malice, a smile that met their eyes. Like that in children who had yet to see the horrors of the real world. Or eyes wide and alert, vigilant, flickering to and fro in attempts to keep away from any sort of danger, their shoulders tense. Or the last one that came after those two other stages in life. She had only seen it in the eyes of certain people. The look in their eyes that told you that they had been through so many highs and lows. That told you that they had finally reached a point where they just took every blow as it was and never complained. It was the one time that you saw someone that spent every waking second trying to convince people that they were okay, think. Passive, eyes glazed, vulnerable. It was that exact look that she saw in Tommy Shelby's eyes before their eyes met over the flames because only a second later he had switched back to his usual calculating gaze.