CAMDEN TOWN

-

Blake Holland leaned back in an armchair by a window in Lillian Mercer's empty townhouse, a crack running up the wall beside him, tipped his head back and let out a guttural groan. 

His knuckles were bleeding, and he believed his hand might be broken. Fantastic. Another injury to add to the rest. 

Three of his men were stood nearby, waiting apprehensively, faces drawn. Russ was at their centre. While they had seen Blake's outburst coming, none of them could predict what he was going to do after. His face was unreadable. It was unnerving. 

He sat for a little while longer, eyes fixed on a spot on the wooden flooring, chest rising and falling rapidly. He should have looked almost comical, sat there with his nose cast as he simmered in anger; but he looked quite the opposite. He looked like he was about to bite someone's head off.

Then, Blake reared his head, and eyed his men with a heavy lidded gaze. They didn't budge.

"Are you sure she is not here?" he said. Each words was deliberately clipped, a grimace creasing his features. 

"Quite sure, boss," said Russell, swallowing as Blake's hard eyes bore into him. He was always surprised at how he behaved when at work compared to in private. "Her wardrobe and bathroom are barren. She has probably left London."

The man drew a sharp breath, his eyes wandering away from his right hand. "Fuck," he cursed under his breath. 

Then, he rose his hands and let them fall onto the armrests in a defeated gesture. "Well, I can see what's happened here."

The men said nothing.

Blake rose a finger in the air, a sardonic look on his weathered face. "My pal Dorothy has taken her darling sister and... scarpered."

"It would seem so, sir," said another one of his men.

"Well. What's to be done about that?" Blake continued.

Then, he stood up. But he moved too quickly, and without warning a stabbing pain tore through his chest. 

His fractured ribs were nowhere near healed, and they hurt like hell.

But, he refused to let the pain slow him down. Even as he was doubled over, he shoved his men's hands and offers of help away and lurched towards the door. 

"I cannot let a deserter retain her dignity," he bellowed back to them. 

"Sir?"

"Fuck," he cursed again, teeth gritted, before replying. "We are going to the press, and we are going to let Camden Town know that Dorothy Mercer is a coward."

No matter how bad the pain got, he didn't stop moving. It was only when he was out of Lillian Mercer's house and in the back of his car that he slowed down. His head rolled back onto the headrest, his eyes flickering closed, and he let out a groan of relief.

Then, his men were the car beside him, pulling off the curb and speeding down the street.

Blake would not let Dorothy win this war. The longer she hid herself away, the more he would tear apart her reputation. 

And when she did return, not only would her city look down upon her, but they would face each other again and settle their conflict. 

Permanently. 

-

EDINBURGH

-

A steam train rattled along it's rails, the lights from inside illuminating the darkened world around it. 

There were hardly any passengers on board - in one carriage alone, there were five people seated at measurable distances from each other. Towards the middle, there were two young women clutching suitcases. In front of them, a middle-aged man reading a newspaper and shaking his head. Behind them, a teenage boy wearing shorts and a flat cap. 

Then, at back of the carriage, there was a man, watching the world pass by him through the window.

The sliding door that separated the carriages was pulled aside, and a conductor strolled into the aisle, fiddling with the ticket equipment. The man glanced to the side to examine her. It was the most he had moved since boarding the train.

She came to a stop beside him. "Tickets, please," she said without looking up.

The man extended a long-fingered hand, his ticket held between them, his icy eyes now fixed on the woman. He held it there whilst she adjusted the pen hanging around her neck and stashed her pad in her front pocket. But, after a few moments, the man had already lost his patience. 

"Hurry up, would you?" he muttered.

The woman suddenly looked up, staring at him with wide eyes. "Come again, sir?"

"I said," he murmured lowly, leaning forward in his seat and brandishing his ticket near her face, "Here's my ticket, ma'am."

Frowning, she took it from him, and bowed her head to check it. "What brings you to Birmingham, then, sir?" she asked half-politely.

"That is none of your business," he replied shortly.

This time, the woman knew she had heard correctly. She let her hand fall to her side, and she gave the man a hard look.

He stared right back, his face set in stone.

After a moment, she stashed his ticket away and held out her hand. "Let me see some identification, please, pal."

"Why?"

"Just to make sure I don't have a reason to boot you off at the next stop."

Smirking lightly, he dug through his coat pocket and presented her with a small military identification card. She took it from him sharply, and scanned it thoroughly. 

"Mr Edward Kirby, hm?"

"Yep." He still hadn't taken his eyes off her.

She continued to look over the card. "You won two Medals of Honour?" she asked, and gave his clothes a once-over. "Why aren't you wearing 'em?"

"Crushed 'em in the factory," he said simply.

An eyebrow twitched up on the woman's face, and she looked at the card once more.

Eventually, she concluded the card was legitimate, and handed it back to him with disdain.

"Have a nice journey, Mr Kirby."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said slowly, offering her a falsely polite smile. 

But the moment the conductor waltzed away to check one of the young women's tickets, the smile slid off his face, and he returned to looking out the window. 

Edinburgh was disappearing behind him. Good bloody riddance.

He had been waiting to be moved for months. He was beginning to go stir-crazy in that tiny branch of the business. He was sure Birmingham would be more exciting. 

But, all in all, he wasn't bothered about the city. He was only really looking forward to seeing what awaited him there. 

God, he had been waiting for this for years.