ACT ONE
— can we be strangers again? —

1. SCENE ONE
— i'd rather not shake on it — 

Grace's every sense was on edge. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood to attention. Eyes darted around, glazing past the ancient paintings and aged statues that filled the gallery, instead observing the faces of the people that buzzed around in their flat caps and smart dresses.

It was a stark difference to the Garrison, the pub where she worked. The men here were refined, their snarky, sexist comments laced with false politeness rather than crude casualness. No one seemed to notice her unease, nor would they care if they had.

The cause of it was drawing nearer, and her skin prickled with distaste as if her body could sense him, without yet noticing the man in the crowd. Her eyes moved frantically, her feet itching to move.

But then Grace's gaze landed on a face she thought she'd forgotten long ago, a face she had wanted to never see again. The woman was already moving toward her with a sense of deliberateness that Grace did not like.

"Good afternoon, Grace," the woman said, her voice the same, teasing lilt it always had been.

"Agent Burgess to you, Miss Blythe," Grace said, turning so she did not look at her, eyes instead level with the nearest chipped, Greek bust.

"Is that what the Inspector calls you, is it, Grace?" Her eyes were dark as they lowered on Grace. "Besides, it's agent Blythe now. Campbell has me on his team now also."

Though her blonde hair had been cut shorter and her face had aged, not much about Eveline had changed, Grace noticed with disdain. She was still sharp around every edge, her jaw and cheekbones cutting at harsh angles, a perfect reflection of her inner self, which too was as pointed as a knife.

"Not by choice, I imagine," she hummed, unable to keep the glare from her face.

"Well It's certainly not by choice that I was put as your partner," Eveline snapped.

Grace's eyes widened. The last thing she needed was to have her whole operation ruined by such a petulant girl. There was a reason she avoided Eveline Blythe as if she carried the plague, a reason she wished to forget. But Tommy Shelby was trusting her and she didn't need Eveline messing that all up.

"I don't need a partner," Grace hissed, turning on her heels to stare the woman in the face. "I'm doing fine on my own."

"I'm sure you are." Eveline looked bored. "But someone, somewhere, believes we'd be good as a team. And I'm not sure about you but since I've argued once, I'm not inclined to argue again."

"That seems out of character for you," Grace said.

Eveline glared at her, eyes darkening. "I only argue against things that are wrong," she said harshly, dipping her chin tauntingly. Grace scoffed, knowing it to be untrue. "I like to believe we can put our differences behind us for long enough to get the job done. Then you can go back to hating me."

"I suppose that would seem fair to you," Grace challenged, face going a deep purple.

"Why wouldn't it?"

"I've been working this job for a whole month."

"That's your problem," Eveline swiped, giving her one last hard stare. "Not mine."

1. SCENE TWO
— a man's world —

"Miss Blythe."

A grating voice greeted her as she exited the museum, already riled after her encounter with Grace. Reluctantly, Eveline turned, meeting the Inspector halfway, matching his unimpressed look with a glare.

"Inspector Campbell."

"Good to see you on time for our meeting," he said, eyeing the door behind her, no doubt looking for the blonde she'd just left. Eveline held her tongue.

"Reliable as always," she said, flashing a mockingly winsome smile.

"Fickle as always I see," Campbell quipped, brushing her off with a clearing of his throat as if he was in a rush to leave her. "Now, Miss Blythe. I hope you can settle your dispute with Grace and have kindness toward her. I would hate to see your time with us here in Birmingham hardened more than it already has been."

As with Grace, Eveline had no intentions of correcting the Inspector's misjudged perceptions about her feelings toward the woman. The past was the past, she believed and as good as she'd once been at holding grudges, that time of her life was gone and packed away, never to be spoken of again.

"It is not my distaste for Grace that you have to worry about," she said, not hiding the bite behind her words.

"I have heard all about your history, Miss Blythe," the Inspector snapped. "I know your character, I know your type."

Her expression was incredulous, unbelieving of his bias. "My type?"

"I will not have you ruin this with your hate for Grace nor your lack of respect for orders. As a female operative working aside another female operative, you should count yourself fortunate. I expect this to go smoothly. Do you understand?"

Eveline nodded- there had been too many times before in which she'd argued with a man who wouldn't listen. Each time it had been Eveline who would pay the price, no matter if she was right or wrong. "Yes, Inspector Campbell," she said, though it was not without a barring of teeth.

"Good," he said, shuffling to compose himself. "Now I will give your orders to Grace and she will relay them to you. Good meeting, Miss Blythe."

"Pleasure as always, Inspector," she called after him, letting out a heavy breath.

Her flat, laying just within the confines of Small Heath, was little more than a boxy room with a cupboard that held a toilet. Her bath was a metal box, warmed by the fire, and her wardrobe a suitcase that held all the belongings she'd dared to keep over the years.

As she pushed through the front door, slamming it closed behind, the reality of her situation seemed to weigh Eveline down. She sat on the windowsill, fumbling in her purse to pull out a cigarette and match, lighting it with an urgency equal to the need for a lifeline at sea. Inhaling the smoke, Eveline forced her shoulders to unlock from the tension she'd been storing since her meeting with Grace.

It had been four years since she'd last seen the Irish woman. Four years spent trying to forget the tumultuous months in which she'd been present. It all felt as if it was for nothing, now that they would be working together again. But Eveline had to force herself to remember that their parts in their falling out, simply put, had been equal and opposite. While Grace had been the one to initiate the dispute, it had been Eveline who allowed it to grow so strong.

She let the cigarette smoke flood her nose until it surrounded her, making her splutter out a deep cough.

1. SCENE THREE
— a whole lot of liquor —

The Garrison, as Eveline would describe it, was little more than a local pub, filled by the musty smell of smoke and whiskey. The dinginess wasn't helped by the chipped wood of the walls and bar, as well as the old fashioned stained glass that decorated the windows, but as Eveline pushed her way to sit at the bar, she could tell it was well-loved.

Grace's eyes had been on her since the moment she stepped through the door as if she could sense her presence, disturbed by it. But Eveline ignored her, planting herself down on a wobbly stool, asking for a gin from the only other bar staff. As the tall man turned to bring her order, she felt a sharp tug of her arm. Eveline was pulled from her chair, the force of the tug spinning her to face away from the bar and instead to Grace, who stared at her with such anger, that had she been anyone else, Eveline would have been scared.

"What are you doing here?" Grace hissed as she pushed herself against her, dragging her toward a back room behind the bar. It was empty, as dingy as the main area of the pub, and only had one window, which itself was obscured by blurred patterns.

"Campbell said I'd be getting my reports and relayed instructions from you," Eveline said, ripping her arm from Grace's hold with a glare.

"That didn't mean you could come here. I'm working."

"Where else was I supposed to go? I have no clue where you were housed, nor if you could turn up at the police station given your cover," Eveline exclaimed. "This was the best lead I was given."

Grace scoffed. "If you can't find out such a simple thing such as my house number, then maybe you're not fitted for this job."

"Not fitted!" Eveline stepped forward, making Grace press into the wall. "Did you think about the fact it may not be a good idea for me to be seen entering your home, given my past accusations?"

Grace paused, lifting her chin proudly, lips twitching. "You don't care how it would make me look."

"Okay," Eveline snorted, fair face darkening. "Alright." She stepped backwards, crossing her arms. "You may not think this is a good idea, me and you working together. But it doesn't matter. What matters, is that we get the job done, whatever that may be."

"We're going to have to work this out sooner or later," she added, letting her face drop from the harsh scowl. "Alright?"

"Yes," Grace said, voice breathy.

"Alright."

Eveline melted away, stepping backwards until her back was flat against the door, cold against the skin of her wrists. Grace didn't say anything. She probably expected her to leave, but with their history, Eveline couldn't bring herself to come and go so abruptly. There was no glare on Grace's face. Instead, it fell into the neutral expression Eveline remembered well, with her flushed cheeks and pretty eyes.

"Why are you working for him?" Grace finally asked. "You hate him."

"So do you," Eveline reminded her. "But I don't have a choice."

1. SCENE FOUR
— an agents civility —

"Shuffle these cards-"

"Go and play snap with Finn," John shouted, his laugh sounding like a cackle as he shoved into his brother. Arthur scowled.

"Did you want whiskey as well?" Grace asked, her eyes dazed as she placed the bucket of beer onto the Shelby's table in the private room.

Tommy shook his head. "No. Just beer."

"Why no whiskey, Tommy? Are you expecting trouble?" Arthur asked.

"Jesus Christ, Tommy, what the hell made you let them sing?" John laughed, slamming his drink to the table. "It's like they're strangling cats out there."

From the main part of the Garrison, the sounds of scratchy singing broke through. The people in the pub sang rhymes and old folk songs, all of them loud and out of tune, but out of heart nonetheless. Any other day, Grace would have loved it- she had asked for singing, after all. But she was distracted, her mind not with her as she served in the pub, but elsewhere, and it didn't help that she was dark tired, unable to sleep.

Arthur laughed along. "All right. 20 is the play. Come on," he said. "And what did make you change your mind though, Tommy?"

"Yeah, it is. About time Tommy," John said, eyes lingering on the barmaid as she lifted the last empty bucket and carried it from the room.

"Time for what?"

"Time you took yourself a woman!"

"Just play the bloody hands," Tommy said.

"You stay the way you are, Tommy. Remember what Dad used to say. Fast women and slow horses, will ruin your life!" Arthur said, with John joint in at the end.

Grace listened to their words from the side of the joint window with misplaced energy. She heard them, but it was as if their words slipped right past her, the meaning not able to sink in until much later.

All she could think of was Eveline's return. The way in which they'd parted last time was nothing but dangerous, and Grace worried about what that would mean for their operation in Small Heath. Eveline's conflict with the Inspector surely wouldn't help either.

Grace could do civility. If she was being honest, it wouldn't be hard to get along with Eveline. Once upon a time they'd been close, and being the woman she was, Grace knew how to replicate that. All she had to do was forget about it all: the things that had driven them south, the words Eveline had barked the last time they'd seen each other those years ago.

Grace busied herself with drying the freshly cleaned glasses and stacking them along the back of the bar, a futile attempt at balancing and clearing her thoughts. But then the singing stopped, and Grace was brought to the present again.

"Holy shit. It's Billy Kimber," Harry hissed beside her, his mouth dropped open.

She looked toward the doorway, to where a stunted, seedy man had entered, two henchmen squared behind him. He straightened his too-big jacket, raising a brow obnoxiously as if he knew no one would dare speak first to him.

"Is there any man here named Shelby?"

There was no reply. Kimber nodded his head slightly to the side, lifted his hand. Grace faintly recognised the cold flint of gunmetal, then a second later, a clattering shot rang out as he fired to the ceiling. A chorus of screeches followed as the crowded Garrison ducked.

"I said, is there any man here named Shelby?"

Tommy finally stepped out from the private room, his two brothers following after him. He looked the man up and down once, then motioned to the bar. "Harry, get these men a drink. Everyone else, go home."

Grace hurried to carry over a tray of drinks, her eyes lingering on the gun that the man still held in his hands. She remembered the list of registration numbers the Inspector had given her- it still remained crumpled under a bra strap, too important to keep in a pocket.

"You go home," Tommy said as he sat.

"But Mr Fenton said-"

"I said, you go home," he said, dismissing her with a state.

Grace nodded, placing down the last of the drinks, stepping back.

"I've never approved of women in pubs, but when they look like that..."

She removed herself from the room, lingering by the back door, the men's loud voices only just reaching her. The guns. The registration number. Kimber. Her hands scrambled for the phone.

"Agent Blythe," she said, the use of her agent name, putting the girl on the opposite end of the phone on alert.

"Grac- Agent Burgess. Has something happened?"

"At the Garrison. A man named Billy Kimber had presented himself. He has guns," Grace said, keeping her voice low.

"You think he could be liked to the missing crate?"

"Even if he isn't, he could be trouble," she said.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes. Just put out by their comments."

Grace could hear her breathing on the other side of the phone. It was rhythmic and careful, and she matched it until her own breathing was calm. Eveline's breathing peaked as she went to speak. Grace closed her eyes and hung up the phone.

END OF ACT ONE