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Lucy just wanted a bloody box of tea.
But what did she end up with?
A sprained ankle and a large gash on her shoulder, in addition to the tea.
It wasn’t that late at all, just barely 9pm. Lucy had planned on running down to the market a few blocks from home, grabbing some tea, and getting back unscathed.
The Type one haunting the alley on the way back had other plans.
It wasn’t particularly strong or anything, Lucy was just unprepared (like an idiot) and it threw her for a loop. Her ankle got stuck in a large crack in the pavement, and she tore up her shoulder on a sharp rock when she fell.
That, of course, was after she took care of the ghost.
Now her ankle has tripled in size and there's blood all over her favorite jumper. She’s within a couple hundred feet of Portland row, but it takes her almost 15 minutes to get there, limping and using her rapier for support.
Lucy hops up the steps on her good leg, cursing. She feels tears well in her eyes as she opens the door.
This whole experience has been very humbling, and all she wanted to do was clean up and go to bed. The door slams behind her, and Lucy throws the box of tea packets on the floor, as well as her rapier.
“Luce, is that you?” She hears Lockwood call out from the library. Lucy can’t find the energy to respond as she hobbles into the kitchen, and over to the freezer.
Grabbing the first thing to touch her hand, a pack of frozen berries, Lucy groans and uses the last of her energy to slump into a chair. She lifts up her leg, elevating it on another seat, and tenderly applies the cold relief to her ankle.
It’s very obviously sprained, already different shades of blue and purple.
“Lucy?”
Lockwood is standing in the doorway, a confused look on his face. Lucy can only guess that she looks like the walking dead. The boy rushes over immediately, crouching down next to her. He places one hand on her elevated leg, and the other over hers.
“What happened? Are you okay? God, Luce, where did you go?”
Lucy groans. “I went down to McCormals for some tea and ran into a Type one,” she grumbles, purposefully leaving out the fact that her injuries were just from her clumsiness. He doesn't need to know that part.
Lockwood squeezes Lucy's hand once more before letting go to stand up and examine her shoulder. He gives it a once-over before focusing on her ankle, wincing at the sight.
“Ok, let's get you cleaned up,” Lockwood says, offering a hand to help her up. They slowly but surely make their way up to the attic (or Lucy’s room) where Lucy takes a seat on the bed. He doesn't even need to ask where the first aid is, already memorizing its place on top of the dresser.
The two stand silently together, seemingly waiting for something. That’s when it hits them.
Lucy needs to take off her shirt.
Lockwood seemingly panics at the idea. “Um,” he starts, uncomfortable. He sets the white box next to Lucy. “I can go if you feel uncomfortable.”
“No!” she responds, almost too eagerly. Lucy didn’t want to take her shirt off for Lockwood, but she would very much like his help. “No, it-its ok.”
The boy nods, “Alright,” he says fiddling with his fingers. He taps his slippered foot on the floor.
Lucy clears her throat, and works her jumper off her body. Her shoulder doesn't hurt all that much, but she knows it has to be dirty since it occurred on a fall into concrete. Once it’s off, she tosses it aside. Lockwoods eyes follow the garment, obviously trying not to look at the girl in front of him, wearing only a bra.
She reaches for the first aid kit next to her, seemingly knocking Lockwood out of his trance. He runs to her bathroom, grabbing a clean washcloth and running it under the water. Lucy’s knee bounces.
“Ok,” he says once he's back. His face is unusually pink, but Lucy decides not to comment on it. “God, Luce, did you have a rock fight with the thing?”
Lucy doesn't respond.
Lockwood applies the damp cloth to her wound, wiping away the dirt and drying blood. It sinks in that Lucy is sitting in front of him, stomach bare and chest partially exposed. She wraps her arms around her waist.
After a minute, Lockwood sets the now rusty colored rag on her nightstand and reaches for a bandage. Lucy stares at the ground.
Lockwood smiles at her once he's finished. “Looking good as new,” he says smirking. It lasts for mere seconds, before remembering Lucy was shirtless. He goes bright red, and scratches the back of his neck.
Lucy reaches for a shirt she had thrown on her bed earlier, hastily putting it on. They’re silent, once more, before Lockwood looks down at her ankle. It’s somehow bigger, and more bruised.
“Lets elevate this,” he says motioning to her foot. Lucy nods, grabbing a few of her pillows and placing them at the edge of her bed. She shimmies up the bed, resting against the headboard.
Lockwood assists her with her leg, gently putting it atop the pillows. Lucy smiles at him, even though she's uncomfortable and tired and embarrassed.
“Thank you,” she says as he draws his hands from the bed. “Of course, Luce.” he says, stopping to meet her gaze. He turns from her to grab the throw blanket set at the end of the bed.
“I assume you’re going to bed,” Lockwood says as he puts the blanket over her, tucking her in.
Lucy can’t help but smile, heart wearming at the domesticity of the action. “Probably.”
Lockwood looks down at her, seemingly debating something with himself. He takes a step closer, leans over the edge of the bed, and places a kiss on her hairline.
They had always been sort of touchy, especially during tough cases, but he had never done that.
“Goodnight,” he whispers into her hair. It feels nice. Lucy locks eyes with him once he’s pulled away. In that moment, she sort of wants to tell him she loves him.
She settles for “Goodnight”.
Lockwood takes her hand in his again, squeezing it tightly.
It feels like ‘I love you too’.