Chapter Text
The beloved car of Lockwood & Co. was in desperate need of a hoovering, and it seemed the agency shared a common thought about it: why not make a day of it?
Holly would have been more than happy to complete the task herself, but the other three wouldn’t hear of it. This would be a team effort, Lockwood had decreed, and it would be a fun one. That last bit explained the jubilant noise swelling from the 1100 that afternoon. George’s sister’s ABBA mixtape had been brought back out for the occasion.
“She sure has good taste in music for an engineer,” Lucy commented, swinging from side to side as ABBA instructed her to feel the beat from the tambourine. George and Holly both tried to pretend not to notice Lockwood being enthralled by the sight of her, but gave up and exchanged a knowing glance of amusement.
A motorcycle revved somewhere not too far away. Within seconds, Quill Kipps arrived on the scene. “Thanks for the invite,” he said sheepishly to no one in particular. He had been invited; after talking to Ned Shaw and confirming that it was indeed his teammate who had vandalised the Morris all that time ago, he had felt bad and offered to help Lockwood & Co. clean the car next time they needed to. They had called him up just yesterday to say he was welcome to come over and join in the fun, if he liked. It still felt weird to say there was a friendship budding between them, but it would be a lie to say that there wasn’t.
“Bagsy being the dryer this time!” Lucy said, grabbing the rag Lockwood was holding and swatting him with it. She found herself suddenly nostalgic for around this time last year, when the two of them and George had washed the car together. They hadn’t done a fantastic job, but it was the experience that counted. Now they got to do it all over again, with two new friends to boot.
Or maybe three new friends? A grey sedan pulled up behind Deborah and out climbed Inspector Barnes. “I brought an extra tyre,” he told Lockwood, who beamed at him, his trademark grin in full evidence.
George, meanwhile, noticed the nostalgia on Lucy’s face and couldn’t help but share it. “I planted tomatoes again this morning,” he murmured to her. He was also planning on paying more attention to the apple trees in the garden outside their kitchen this year, hoping to nurture the fruit more than he had in years prior. Lucy gave him a faint smile and then jumped-- Holly had turned on the hoover behind her, startling her.
Taking that cue, everyone set to work. Holly began to suck up all the sand remaining in the seats from the agency’s beach trip, Kipps shining a torch around so she could see into the darker crevices, while George helped Barnes change the tyre that needed attention and Lockwood sponged down the surface of the car, Lucy following behind him with the dry rag. It would have been very efficient if there weren’t constantly someone in someone else’s way. But instead of being annoyed, they laughed it off, the music erasing any ounce of tension.
“Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight,” everyone sang. Even Barnes joined in with his rich baritone.
They laughed and sang together until the job was done, at which point George excused himself to the kitchen to start cooking dinner. Kipps tried to edge towards his motorbike, but Lockwood glared him down. “No, no. You’re staying for dinner. Both of you,” he said, swivelling his gaze to Barnes.
Dinner turned out to be a few hours later, so they passed the time with a movie. Lucy was amazed that Kipps had never seen Mary Poppins before. She was practically sitting in Lockwood’s lap, a fact that escaped neither Kipps nor Barnes, who seemed profoundly uncomfortable. He exchanged a glance with Holly, who mouthed ”I know!”.
Before long, George ushered everyone into the kitchen to behold a mouth-watering spread of ghormeh sabzi and tahdig, with a large bowl of strawberries near the centre of the table. (He had strategically placed it to cover a crude doodle and an insult to part of Lockwood’s anatomy on the Thinking Cloth.) Everyone tucked in, enjoying the food and engaging each other in lively conversation.
When they had all finished, George whisked himself away to the counter and returned with a plate of noon khamei he had made that morning. “Dessert,” he announced, placing it on the table with a flourish.
They stayed at the table until very late in the evening, and all spirits were high.