𝘀𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗿, 𝗲𝗽𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗱𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗲:
a ghost from the past.

THE COLD DECEMBER BREEZE hit Margaret's face as her cigarette held loosely on the side of her mouth, she inhaled the smoke and watched it as she blew it away. The streets of Small Heath smelled like mud, cigarettes, booze, and murder. Anywhere you would go, you would see those men with overcoats and hats who secretly hid razors blade.

The Peaky Blinders.

Margaret Kegley was no stranger to the little town in Birmingham nor the gangsters. But, she was also no saint, she was a sinner and a big one. She had killed men, even though most men stated it wasn't a woman's job—but at this point, what was a woman supposed to even do? Have children, stay at home, and hope for their husbands to make it home in one piece? Not what she had in mind.

It was not a coincidence to have Margaret back in Small Heath, she heard the Changretta were hunting the Shelbys down—a good opportunity for her to create an alliance with the Shelbys and kill Luca Changretta.

The woman walked through the pub's doors, The Garrison.  As she passed the doors, whispers buzzed around the whole room wondering what a woman was doing here at such a late hour. Margaret ignored it and walked straight to the bar, she sat down and put the purse on the counter.

"Sorry ma'am but..." the man started but Margaret held a finger up to prevent him from talking. She looked up into his eyes, and it was almost as if the man recognized the familiar features. "You're Kegley's daughter, aren't you?"

Maggie hummed, "Yes and I'll have an Irish whiskey. Thank you."

A man chuckled behind her, "Oi, what is a fucking woman doing here? A whore?" He remarked as she sighed loudly. Margaret turned around meeting a Peaky Blinder, a smirk displayed on her face as she grabbed her gun and pointed it right at his forehead. The whole pub went silent and the man's smirk was wiped off his face.

"And, here I thought Peaky Blinders men were at least decent," Maggie muttered. "Who knows where I could find Thomas Shelby? No one? All right, then," she spoke, chugging her whole glass before storming out.

As Margaret walked outside, she lit up a cigarette and puffed the smoke away. As she smoked, she waited in the dark trying to think of something until she heard someone jogging behind her. She faced the person, seeing a man from the pub. She arched an eyebrow, waiting for him to talk.

"Ma'am, I don't know if it's a good idea to go see Mr. Shelby," he said. "His wife died, and..."

Margaret cut him off, "Just lead me to him."

The two walked through Small Heath's streets, the man kept a distance between the two knowing what she was capable of. He knew if she had to, she would pull the trigger—he could see it all over her face. Men enjoyed pointing their guns at people, feeling the adrenaline consume them but they didn't like to have a gun pointed at them. The irony. Finally, they reached a door with Shelby Company Limited wrote on it, Margaret simply thanked him and knocked hoping Thomas Shelby would be behind these doors. The door opened revealing a tall woman with dark hair, a familiar face. 

After all, maybe she remembered some people.

"Who are you?" Margaret asked as she held the cigarette between her two fingers.

"Margaret Kegley. Is Thomas here?"

"Fuck," the woman exclaimed with a chuckle. "Fucking Maggie, you're back?" She queried and Margaret titled her head, to see her better.

"Lizzie Stark, fuck off! I thought I'd never see you again," Margaret admitted, bringing the woman into a hug. "You work for Thomas?"

Lizzie nodded her head, standing aside so the woman could step in the office, "In you go," she said, locking the door behind them. "Tommy is in his office, just walk through those doors," she told her, pointing at double doors.

Margaret strolled through the office with confidence and, pushed the doors without announcing herself. She was instantly greeted by the smell of smoke and Irish whiskey, something she knew too well.

He turned around, his breath hitched at the sight of a such beautiful woman in his office then he recognized her. Margaret Kegley, a ghost from his past. Their mothers used to spend loads of time together, making the Shelby kids spend most of their time with the Kegleys, but weirdly Margaret and Thomas just couldn't bring themselves to like each other.

Tommy and Maggie would fight regularly, it was just common between them. It was like witnessing an explosion between the two—but at this right moment, Tommy forgot about his hatred towards the woman and invited her to sit down.

"Margaret fucking Kegley," he chuckled more to himself, sliding a glass of alcohol towards the woman. "I presume you're the one who pointed a gun at one of my men?"

Maggie shrugged, "Yes. Yes, that was me," she replied with honesty as she brought the glass to her lips and took a sip. "May I smoke, Mr. Shelby?"

He bowed his head, allowing her. He watched her carefully as she grabbed the box with cigarettes in it, she took one and put it between her red lips and deeply inhaled letting the smoke invade her lungs.

"Why are you here, eh?" He queried with a small smile as he leaned down in his chair.

Maggie crossed her legs and Tommy couldn't help but watch her skin showing a little, and he cleared his throat ignoring the building tension.

Margaret's green eyes looked up at Tommy's blue ones, "I heard The Changrettas are after you."

"And who the fuck told you that?" Thomas asked, a glint of curiosity in his eyes.

Maggie looked for something in her purse, before slamming the letter on the desk, "I presumed. They're after me too."

Tommy grabbed the letter, silently reading it as he ran his hand across his face. He wrapped his hand around the glass and finished it, before sighing loudly. He gave back the paper to the woman, thinking for a minute.

"You can stay here for protection. Small Heath is the best place for you, right now," he told her but she just frowned.

"Tommy. . ." she stopped, waiting for him to say something about the nickname but nothing. ". . . I didn't come here for protection. I came here to kill this fucker, and I thought The Shelby could help the Kegley one last time."

The Shelby and Kegley were ancient history. When the Shelbys men came back from the War, her father helped them build this whole empire while she was away in London with the rest of her family.

"Alright then," he sighed. "You'll stay here with me for tonight."

Maggie scoffed shaking her head furiously, "I'm paying for an hotel room, I will go back there and meet you tomorrow morning," she said but the man stood up, wrapping his hand around her wrist. "Thomas."

"Margaret," he playfully answered. It had been a long time since he said that name, Margaret just seemed to be rare in Small Heath, and no one but her had it. "You come back with me to my mansion. Then we will meet the rest tomorrow morning, alright?" He insisted.

Maggie rolled her eyes, moving her wrist out of his grip, "Alright, then. Off we go," she told him as he grabbed his coat, putting it on. Margaret followed him closely as he walked to his car.

Margaret had to admit, Thomas Shelby had gotten prettier and sexier with the years. He was a full grown man now, the last time she saw him was in 1916 before he went away at War and now they were in 1925. Eight fucking years.

"I'm sorry for the loss of your wife," she suddenly said remembering the small detail, and almost felt shameful to not have say her condolences as soon as she walked in his office. "Heard she was quite the woman."

Tommy found himself smiling as he heard Maggie talk about his deceased wife, "That she was. Thank you."

And, with that Thomas and Margaret were driving back to his house in the country. They may have hated each other, but the tension was clearly present and both of them could feel it but would brush it off. Tommy would clear his throat, and move in his seat whenever it was too complicated to manage it—and Maggie would simply smoke, a bad habit she developed over the years.

—————

Margaret's eyes opened wide as she spotted the mansion, it was immense and seemed to fit perfectly the man next to her.  He parked next to the front doors as she got out of the engine, and followed the Peaky Blinder. As soon as they walked through the door, they were greeted by one of his maids.

By her look, Margaret could tell he hadn't had women around here in a long time. Maggie simply wore a kind smile and greeted the maid, named Frances.

Thomas led them into his study, "So, Changretta is after us and you. Why would he be after you?"

The brunette took off her coat, sitting down on the couch, "Revenge. Luca Changretta wants revenge for the murder of his father."

"Margaret, people here can't reach us," he told her, trying to convince her and himself at the same time. He knew he was wrong, so wrong but she seemed to want revenge more than Luca did.

Once again, she lighted the cigarette and started smoking, "The letter we all received said the opposite, Thomas."

The same maid they saw earlier strolled in the study, clearly agitated as she started discussing Christmas Dinner. She kept asking multiple questions, worrying Maggy who listened closely as Tommy couldn't help but be annoyed by her.

"Frances, I'm going to speak with the Chef myself eh? Go to bed," Tommy spoke as the woman worryingly nodded her head, and left. He grabbed a file, reading it before gazing up at the woman across him."Follow me. Still have that gun of yours?"

Margaret nodded her head, "Yes. Where are we going?"

Tommy held the door for her, "To meet my Chef," he answered.

The two walked in the huge mansion as they entered the kitchen, they were greeted by a few people then Tommy's eyes fell on a new face. The assistant.

"It's all right, don't get up," Thomas said to him.

The Italian looked up, cigarette in his mouth, "Oh, sorry. Sorry, sir," he told him, standing up and put it away.

Tommy was slightly smaller than him, but didn't make him any less scary, "You knew I was Mr. Shelby?" He queried as the man responded with a simple hello, and he wore an amusing smile that confused the woman. "I haven't taken time to introduce myself."

"Antonio," he replied amusingly, eyeing Maggie behind him.

Thomas hummed and looked down at the potatoes, "What have you done so wrong, eh?" Antonio just gave him a quizzed look. "Sous chef, peeling potatoes?"

The assistant scoffed, "It's an emergency, late notice."

Margaret smirked at the man, even she could have lied better than the Italian standing in front of them. She followed Tommy as he started walking to the other side of the kitchen, but she stopped and turned back to the man.

"Antonio. . ." she started, her voice sweet like honey. ". . . Here is 10 for late notice," she handed him a bill as he took it, bowing his head. Tommy and she noticed one thing: he seemed unfazed by it.

They didn't share a word as they walked to the other room, Tommy carefully closed the door behind him as the Chef eyed both of them. Margaret looked at the hang animals, all cut and blood dripping from their inside.

"You wanted to know if my guests would arrive before or after the King's speech," Tommy spoke as the man's breath hitched, he feared Tom. But again, everyone did. "Eh?" Added the Shelby man wanting an answer.

The middle aged man nodded his head, "Yeah," he said quickly.

"It'll be after," Thomas told as the chef uneasily smiled at him, some sweat drops formed on his forehead as he seemed rather nervous. He grabbed his knives and sharpened them as Thomas started walking around the table, slowly approaching him.

Maggie stepped closer, "How are you?" She asked.

The Chef cleared his throat, releasing a breath, "Just. . . worried about tomorrow," he replied in a thick Italian accent.

"Yeah, I'm worried about Antonio," Tom said, staring right into his eyes. "You've been here two months, and we've not met before, it's my fault. I've been busy. Thomas Shelby," he introduced himself and offered his hand.

"My hand has blood," he said, showing his red hand covered with blood.

Tom smirked, "Oh, mine, too," Maggie watched from behind as the Italian slowly grabbed Tommy's hand and shook it. "Hey, how much do you pay Antonio?" He quizzed bringing him closer to him.

The Chef's eyes widened at the request, "I forgot," he replied.

"Must be a lot," Margaret spoke firmly. "Because I just gave him 10 and non significava una cosa del cazzo per lui," she told the Chef in Italian as both men seemed surprised she could talk it. She walked closer to them, heels clicking on the tiles. "Maybe it isn't you that pays him."

He breathed heavily as Tommy let go of his hand, he took a second to collect himself and looked up at them again, "I've been reading up on you," Thomas said, saying a few restaurants he worked in. "You used to work in a place called San Marcos. . . on. . . on Fleet Street. I used to know the man that owns San Marco. A man called Darby Sabini."

Maggie had heard the name, but never actually met him. It was just rumors, nothing more. The Chef looked up, "I've never met him," he told Thomas, trying to prove himself worthy.

Tommy shook his head, "No. Maybe your, um, assistant. . . Antonio, maybe he's met him," Thomas remarked l and suddenly the Chef tried to walk away, but Tommy pinned him to the wall and started choking him. "Is that what he is? Antonio was sent from New York?" Muttered Tommy as he grunted.

The man shook his head, completely shit scared for his life, "I don't know, please."

"Darby Sabini facilitated. He passed him onto you, told you to bring him into my house, threatened to kill you if you didn't do it," Tommy explained, telling his view of the situation and Maggie just stayed back watching. "Do you want me to dress you like you dressed that fucking stag?"

The Chef softly sobbed, "Please, don't. . ." Which made them understand he knew Tommy's reputation, and what he was capable of.

"You wanted to know when my guests would arrive cause Antonio needed me alone, he's an assassin, the plan is to kill me tomorrow."

And just like that, Thomas Shelby had figured out everything. Even though, the Chef continued to relentlessly say he had no idea Thomas knew. Margaret walked closer to Tommy, her hand grabbed his bicep as she pulled him away from the man allowing him to release his throat.

"Well, bring him here," Maggie said looking at the man.

The Chef inhaled before speaking in Italian, called out for Antonio as Tommy dragged Maggie behind the door. He glanced at the woman, thinking he would meet scary eyes instead they seemed hollow and ready to kill whoever walked through that door.

His hand was on her lower stomach yet he wasn't quite touching her, hell he was far from even laying a finger on the woman. They calmly breathed, both of them waiting for the assassin to come in. Thomas silently took a harpoon in his left hand, while Margaret held her close range gun tightly.

The door opened as they heard him talking Italian, Tommy bowed his head towards Maggie as he hit him with the harpoon. He let out a scream of pain as she noticed it was hooked a little above his heart, Thomas threw the man across the table as his back hit the floor.

The man was all covered in blood as he cried in pain, Tommy grabbed the harpoon and smashed him against the table, "You're a black hand! You're a black hand!" He repeated holding his gun to the back of his head.

The Italian assassin managed to push Tommy aside as Maggie stepped closer. Antonio fell to the floor grunting in pain, she moved her foot onto his chest as the tip of her heel was right on his heart, "How many came from New York?" No answers. She pressed it a little further as he groaned. "Eh, how many fucking came from New York?"

"Vaffanculo," He articulated as Tommy rapidly looked up the Chef.

He then pointed the gun at the innocent man, "What did he say? Is that a curse or a number, what did he fucking say?"

Margaret noticed how scared the man was and without leaving Antonio's eyes, she reached for Tommy's gun pulling it down, "He said fuck you. Yeah?"

"Vaffanculo." He yelled out loud. 

Maggie lightly smirked and Thomas wondered how long it was going to take her to pull the fucking trigger, "Ci incontreremo all'inferno." She spoke and finally blew his brain out, blood spilled everywhere as Tommy and she were covered in Italian blood.

Tommy walked up to the Chef, still with the gun in his hand, "Black hand means kill or be killed. You go back to London, you tell Darby Sabini he picked the wrong side in this war. Once we've dealt with the Americans, we go for him." He told the man.

Maggie and Tommy were back in his study, faces cleaned up but still with their clothes full of blood.  She lighted up a cigarette as she watched Thomas making a call, wanting one of his men who apparently was in a pub on a Christmas night.

An hour later or so, Johnny Dogs and the two others stood by the body exactly where he was left, "Oh, fuck, Tom. I thought your sporting days were over."

Tommy watched the body, "Yes, so did I, they keep coming back at us." Uttered the man.

Maggie hummed at his statement, "I was the one who killed him." Said the brunette puffing the smoke away.

"Burn him?" Queried Johnny as Tommy and Margaret shook their head, thinking the same thing.

Tommy tapped his cigarette as the ashes fell to the floor, "No. This one's a message."

"Will there still be geese for dinner?" Questioned the man and Maggie couldn't help but chuckle at his request.

Tommy glanced at her, "Only if you can steal it on the way." He replied.

Johnny frowned, looking behind him at the Shelby man, "On the way where?"

Maggie threw her cigarette away as she walked towards Johnny, her green eyes staring at him, "We're going back, sir. Back to Small Heath."

Johnny smiled widely, "Back where you belong." Was the only thing he said before the two walked out of the room.

"Thomas. . ." He stopped then looked down at her clothes.

He cleared his throat, "You should get cleaned up, Margaret." He told her. "Frances!" He called for the maid's name as she hurried down the stairs. "Give her some clothes."

Frances nodded her head not even questioning all the blood, something quite normal in this house apparently. Margaret jogged towards the maid as she followed her upstairs, and Tommy hurried to the Christmas tree grabbing all the gifts to put them in a bag.

Not long after, Margaret walked back into the study completely changed and she felt uneasy wearing his sister's clothes but, luckily he couldn't give a shit about what she was wearing.

"Frances, get me Charles, would you?" He kindly asked as the maid nodded her head, and went to look for Thomas' child. He called someone named Michael, and as he spoke Frances walked in with a little boy. Charles, she presumed.

Frances looked between Tommy and Margaret, "Give him to me, don't worry." Softly smiled Maggie as Frances handed Charles to the woman, Margaret wrapped her arms around Charles holding him as his legs circled her waist. "What's your name, pretty boy?"

"Charles." Replied the boy in a shy manner.

Maggy melted as his eyes looked at her, he had Tommy's, "I'm Maggie." She spoke even though he hadn't asked her.

Tommy ended his call turning towards the talking, his eyes widened at the sight of his son speaking with Margaret.  It maybe meant nothing to the brunette holding him, but it meant everything to the father who was watching.

Charles hadn't been able to talk to other women unless they were his mum, aunt Polly or aunt Ada.  But weirdly Margaret seemed to already win his little heart, which made Thomas quite happy inside and for a moment he forgot he was in danger.

"I hope you don't mind." He said referring to his son in her arms.

Charles turned towards his dad, "Is it Christmas?"

Tommy smiled shaking his head, "Not just yet. But let's go, eh?" Charles nodded his head, rubbing his eyes as if he was telling he was tired.

Now, time to go back where they both belonged. Small Heath.

——————————

AUTHORS NOTE !
shut up bc maggie is already
so mf powerful... AS SHE SHOULD

and and i feel like charles and her
are going to have such a cute relationship
AHH