BAILEY AND BATES

-

Many places in London held memories for Dot - some less pleasant than others.

Laurence's pub possessed some of the more tolerable memories.

It had been her first legitimate workplace, and the first dry roof over her head for years. It was there where she had made her first real friends. It had been the only place since her parents had died and her and Lillian had been shipped off to England that she had felt safe - where she felt as if Lillian was safe. 

And it had been the first place Dorothy had felt as if she was important.

Not to mention that working there had led to her getting her dealership. 

Had she not gotten her job there, she wouldn't have been cornered by Salvatore, and then the news of what she had done to him wouldn't have spread. It wouldn't have reached Sabini, meaning he wouldn't have sent men after her, whom she had practically dismantled; therefore, Alfie may have never heard of her, and he never would have offered his assistance. It had been with his help that Dorothy had finally been able to start her business. 

It was a grim notion, but it was the truth.

She could remember the first time she and Lillian had ever entered Bailey and Bates - not a single soul had cared to glance in the direction of the skinny street urchins, with their dirty clothes and ragged hair. 

But this time, when Dorothy walked in, sporting her exquisite tailored suit, every single head turned her way, and silence swept across the pub.

She completely disregarded the attention from the people around her. Not only was she used to it, but her attention was only on one person in the room.

Laurence Bailey, the man who had brought purpose and hope into her life, was sat behind the bar, utterly engrossed in a newspaper. One of his hand-rolled cigs was balanced on his lip. 

He was so amusingly oblivious that Dorothy's usually stony face broke into a smile. Only when the brawny man noticed that the pub had fallen silent did he rear his head, frowning around at the patrons. The confusion on his face only made Dorothy smile more.

Then, his eyes landed on her, and his eyes widened. "Morning," she called.

For a moment, Laurence just stared at her. Slowly, he took his cigarette out of his mouth. Then, his familiar face split into a grin, and Dorothy realised she recognised every crinkle that formed by his eyes, his mouth. She could have identified him by the back of his head, or by the broadness of his arms, or the slope of his nose. 

"Dot," he said, rising from his seat, stubbing out his cig. He sounded confused at the words coming out of his mouth.

"Laurence," Dorothy replied, striding across the bar towards him. 

Most of the patrons were now pretending to mind their own business as they strained to overhear the exchange between the scariest ex-gangster in Camden Town and the Russian girl who had practically taken over London in just two years.

He folded his arms across his chest as she reached the bar, bracing her arms against the smooth wooden surface. "Thought you were too important now to come to a place like this," he murmured, suppressing his smile. 

Dorothy smirked briefly. "Well, I'm only here because this is the only pub that serves a proper pint," she shot back. "Then I'm going back to my mansion to sit in a giant pile of money." 

"Drinking at nine in the morning? You must be bigger than I thought," Laurence said. 

Dorothy did her best to keep a straight face for as long as she could. But eventually, the sheer seriousness on Laurence's face proved too much, and she let out an odd spluttering sound, the grin breaking back out on her face. 

And when Laurence broke too, she started to laugh properly.

No-one in the bar had ever heard Dorothy Mercer laugh before. Hell, not many people had. It was all they could do to stop themselves from staring. 

"C'mere, slugger," Laurence grinned, rounding the bar, arms open.

"I've missed you, Laurie," Dorothy replied, and stepped into him.

And when his broad arms folded around her, encasing her in his heavy scent, the girl felt herself release a breath she hadn't known she had been holding. She rested her head on the man's solid chest, and let her eyes flicker closed. 

Dorothy hadn't truly had a home since she was young. Sure, she had her lavish mansion outside of town, the house she had bought with her hard-earned money; it was a house she loved, and one she undoubtedly deserved. But it was only a place in which she lived. 

However, being around certain people almost came close to feeling at home. For example, Lillian. Maybe Claude, if she was feeling sentimental (or drunk).

Or Laurence.

Mostly Laurence. 

"What are you doing in this part of town, then?" Laurence said as the hug broke up. Dorothy swallowed a little as she was forced to address the reason she was there.

"Although I do appreciate a good pint, Laurie, I'm not stopping," she said carefully, her face stony. But her voice was brimming with anxiety.

Although Dot's words weren't exactly concerning, Laurence clocked the tone of her voice, and his brow darkened. His eyes flickered around the bar, noticing how many people could be listening in. He placed a large hand on her back, his wedding ring flashing in the light, and hurried her out of the bar, letting her into his office. The moment she was inside, he turned to her, folding his arms.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice still lowered despite the fact they were alone. You never knew who could be listening.

"It's Blake Holland," she said quickly. Laurence's face fell.

When she had spoken to Alfie, Dorothy had remained almost completely professional, aside from joking about threatening his life. While the Jew was a steady trustee, a colleague (he would often refer to himself as her boss just to irritate her, but as justified as it was, he always ended up taking it back - usually at the end of Dot's fist), and one of her dearest friends, she didn't have the most personal relationship with him. Alfie wasn't exactly emotional, whether he was with an acquaintance or a family member; he was more the type to solve problems in whatever form, or to laugh with over rum.

But Dorothy would have called Laurence her guardian angel, and her closest friend, regardless of the fact that she didn't see him as much as she used to.

So, with him, she could show how terrified she was.

"He's going to kill Lillian," she said, swallowing hard.

A vein popped in Laurence's neck. "Fucking what?" he hissed, striding forward. His hands clasped the girl's shoulders, and he lowered his face to hers. "What happened?"

"We've been threatening each other for months," she said, as quickly and quietly as she could. "He brought me to his office and told me to back off so his business could do better, and when I said no he threatened my life then her's. I beat him down, and he told me I'd regret it. He's going to kill her, Laurence." She was breathing fast now, her pale face flushing.

Laurence didn't hestiate. "No, he's not."

"I can't say whether he will or not," Dot returned laboriously, trying to stop panting. "All I do know is how I can stop it from happening. I'm going to Birmingham, Laurence."

"Birmingham?" His voice was full of confusion. "Why are you going there?"

Reaching into her pocket, Dorothy drew out the letter she had received with unsteady hands, and showed him. He took it in a large hand, and when he bowed his head to read it, a few strands of long wavy hair pulled loose from its band.

Once he had read the cryptic message, he looked back down at her. "Who the fuck...?"

"I don't know," she said, a little calmer. "It could be anyone. I've acquired a handful of enemies over the years. Anyhow, I was handed that letter soon after I beat up Holland. I've never been there, so I would have no enemies waiting for me there. It's far enough away from here, and him. It seemed right. I'll take some men in case it's some psycho."

Laurence peered down at her. After a moment, he said, "That's all well and good, Dot, but... it's such a shithole."

Dot managed to laugh. "Really?"

"Yeah," he replied, chuckling. "Claudia used to live there when she was still a student. She hated every minute of it. In fact; her old house is being rented out." 

Suddenly his face lifted. "It's empty right now. You stay there, with Lil. That'll save you from staying in some dingy hotel."

She smiled, laying a hand on his arm. "You're a lifesaver."

His hand covered hers, squeezing it gently as he smiled back down at her.

Then, Dot's face fell. "Laurence, I'm scared. I'm scared as a sixteen year old who just got knocked up without a rubber."

Laurence chuckled slightly at her odd metaphor, but his other hand went to her face.

"Nothing will happen to her," he assured her. "When are you leaving?"

"In under an hour, on the train," she replied. "Laurie - I don't know if I'll be gone for a few weeks, a few months, a year - "

"Oh, a year is too long. You have to be back here as soon as you can to run that bastard into the ground."

"Good point."

Laurence's face creased as he smiled. "Stay away as long as you need. But, make sure you do come back. I'd miss you. And Holland will think he's won."

Despite herself, Dot smirked. "And we can't have that."

With a slight snort, Laurence patted her cheek lightly, and stepped away, heading behind his desk. 

"Claudia will want to see you," he said, furrowing his brow as he crouched, pulled a desk drawer open, and began digging through it. 

"Is she here?" Dot asked, stuffing her hands into her pockets, watching him. 

"She will be, in a bit," he replied.

He straightened up, holding up what he had been looking for triumphantly. It was a small silver key, adorned with a wooden tag.

"And little Nick?" she continued.

For a moment, Laurence was silent. The key in his hand remained in the air.

Then, he swallowed, and nodded. When he spoke, his voice was a little raspy. "Yeah. Nick's with his ma."

"Will he remember his godmother?" she asked, still watching him with warm eyes.

"He couldn't forget you, Dot."

For another few moments, there was silence. 

Dorothy could tell just from looking at him that he didn't know what to say. He didn't know whether to speak, to laugh, or to cry. 

Laurence Bailey had been a kingpin in London for many years before he had fallen in love. His life and the lives of others had been put on the line every day. He had had to make decisions that haunted him when he was alone. 

He had killed people, both innocent and guilty, men and women. The images of their bodies stuck with him every day.

But nothing had had Laurence Bailey more conflicted that being a father.

And yet, no matter what his concerns were for his little boy, he had never loved anyone or anything so much in his life. 

And Dorothy had never been prouder of anyone in hers.

As the man regained his voice, he strode towards Dorothy stiffly, holding out the key to her. "For the house. The address is on the tag."

Still eyeing him carefully, she extended her hand and took the key. But instead of putting it in her pocket, she slipped her hand into his, and gently pulled him to her. She laughed a little at the baffled look on his face before balancing on her tiptoes and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

When she drew away, her hand remained in his. She looked up at his wonderful, familiar face, and squeezed his rough, loving hands. 

"I knew you could do it, Laurie."