Chapter Text
Lucy turned over again, fighting with her pillow to be more comfortable.
The ghost light outside turned off, and the dark brought forward images of the day. Or rather the night.
Lockwood's shoulder still wasn't fully healed from being shot. She and George had spent hours trying to convince him to follow the doctor's orders to stay off the job until he had full range of motion back. But Lockwood was Lockwood and if he thought he was ready, he’d find a way to sneak off and try to do a job without them if they didn't let him go along.
And George had been so busy trying to get Lockwood to listen that he’d missed some sort of key detail in his research, and they’d ended up in a cluster. A Type Two and two Type Ones.
She could still hear them all at once, echoing around them.
Lockwood managed to get ghost-locked while trying to use his rapier with his wrong hand and George had almost been ghost-touched knocking him out of it. She’d almost watched both of them taken from her at once.
Again.
They hadn't even finished. They couldn't find the source of the Type Two. They'd have to go back to that place.
The look on George's face when he saw Lockwood's sword freeze was burned into her eyes.
She knew hers had to have been similar. But George shouldn't feel fear like that. He'd had his fill with the bone glass. He should never have to be that scared again.
She dragged herself out of bed and down the stairs. If she wasn’t going to be getting any sleep any time soon, she may as well have a cup of tea for her trouble.
She didn’t bother skipping the creaky step, knowing they both had to be knocked out after that disaster of a case. And if they weren’t, they'd hear her, and maybe she wouldn't have to be alone with her thoughts.
She continued down to the kitchen, clicking the kettle on and leaning against the counter, before dropping her head into her hands. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
She could see the shadowy figure of Lockwood's frozen rapier. George’s face.
She could hear the crash of both of them hitting the floor. And the scream of the Type Two.
She tore her eyes open and sat at the head of the table. In Lockwood's seat. Her finger carefully traced a messy left-hand doodle of George doing something to the Skull's jar.
That's when she heard it.
At first, she thought it was an echo of one of the Type Ones. She tried to force her focus onto the scribbled grocery list that shared all of their handwriting. But the noise stayed steady. And then she realized that it wasn’t coming from her Listening. It came from her hearing.
She stood quickly, her chair scraping the floor, and clicked off the kettle. She rushed into the hall, focusing on the sound.
It was a soft but steady whimper, broken once by a distinct sob.
She quickly determined it was coming from the library and rushed forward.
She pushed the door open and found Lockwood slumped in one of the chairs, an open magazine sliding off his lap. His face contorted in what looked like a combination of fear and pain, and tears streamed down his cheeks from his tightly closed eyes.
“Lockwood?” she asked gently. There was no response. She stepped closer and tried again. “Lockwood?”
There was another sob and he folded farther into himself. She realized that he was asleep. She crouched down and carefully rested her hand on his forearm.
“Lockwood!” She gave him a slight shake.
He jolted up in his seat with a start and looked down at her. His face smoothed out, and he pulled into his normal posture. She could see the mask of his composure falling on to his face.
“Lucy?” he sounded no different from if she had walked up behind him while he was still reading. She leveled him with a calculated glare. “What?” he asked in a carefully casual tone.
“Why do I bother?” she asked furiously, all her anger from the night coming to a boil.
“Bother with what?”
“I can't keep you from putting yourself in danger.” She pulled herself up. “I can't protect you from that danger. I should have just left you in here.”
“Lucy.”
She stopped in the door and looked back at him. He still showed no signs of anything having ever been wrong but for the red in his eyes.
“I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
“For tonight. For making you take me. For what hap-” His voice caught in his throat. “For what almost happened to George.”
They both shuddered, that look on George's face floating up in their minds.
“I almost lost you. Both of you.”
“I know.”
She stomped back to the kitchen and all but punched the kettle back on. She slammed around the cabinet, only just putting in the effort to be quiet enough that George wouldn’t wake up.
Two mugs. Two spoons. Two tea bags.
Lockwood trailed in a moment later and came up behind her. He gently took the mugs from her and set them on the table. He pulled the milk from the fridge and put it down with them before returning to her and guiding her to her normal seat.
They sat in heavy silence, Lucy shaking and angrily blinking back tears and Lockwood casting a guilty look at the jumble of notes about the case George had left on the table. They both felt his absence and had to remind themselves that he was just upstairs. That he was okay.
The kettle finished and Lockwood was quickly up and pouring both of their cups. The silence dragged on as Lucy watched the color steep into her tea.
She knew what she wanted to say to him, but she couldn’t. Not like this.
“I can't lose you.”
“I know.”
“Either of you.”
“I know.”
She looked away. A tear rolled down her cheek.
Lockwood reached for her hand, and carefully took it into his own.
They went quiet again, but it’s a softer silence this time. They sat together and drank their tea, never letting go of each other. Both lost in their thoughts but grounded by each other.
Eventually, Lucy stood up. She let go of his hand to take his empty cup and took it to the sink.
“Thank you,” he said.
“What?”
“Thank you for waking me up.”
She softened and walked back to him, pulling him out of the chair and into a tight hug.
“I'm sorry I yelled at you.”
“I deserved it.”
“Not then. Maybe after a bit longer. But not right then.”
He wrapped tighter around her, and they stayed like that for several minutes. Breathing each other in. And then Lucy lead him back upstairs.
He stopped to crack open George's door and see that he was okay. Lucy followed and they both breathed easier seeing him peacefully asleep.
When George’s door was closed again, Lockwood moved towards his own room. Lucy stood stock still, staring after him. As angry as she was before, she didn’t want to be alone again.
He looked back from his doorway, a sad smile on his face. He reached a hand out to her, and she grabbed it gratefully.
They curled together in his bed, lulled to sleep by the comfort of each other's beating hearts.