Work Text:
Lockwood should have known better than to open his stupid mouth. It had slipped out before he could consider his tone, but still, he should have left it alone.
“You want to be the distraction?”
He knew he had made a mistake the second she made that tiny huff, that exhale through her nose that spelled danger. His instinct was proved right when she raised one eyebrow. Usually he enjoyed having her attention- it was embarrassing, actually, how often he found himself turning to her to see whether she found a joke funny or she had caught the same odd subtext to a client’s words- but this was a different sensation entirely. Her scrutiny was harsh. It was as though every iota of her energy was being directed at him at once, and she was already anticipating what her observations would turn up.
“You don’t think I can do it, do you?”
Shit.
Trying to be diplomatic, “Of course not. I just thought maybe George would-”
Lucy sat back in her chair, arms folded and gaze stormy.
“Have it your way, then. George will do it tonight, and I won’t be the distraction until I prove you wrong.”
“Is that a challenge?”
Her eyes were defiant as she rose to her feet. “Maybe.”
“You know saying that means I’ll be on the lookout for tricks?”
Lucy surprised him by giving a condescending pat to his shoulder, and she bent so her next words were murmured right next to his ear. How was it that she could be as terrifying as she was alluring? Lockwood definitely did not want to examine what that meant for his psyche.
“Doubt that’ll help you much, Lockwood.”
Given that George nearly jumped when she turned the corner at full speed, it was safe to assume she would still be working off some frustration in battle tonight.
Lockwood shucked off his jacket when he came through the door, calling, “George? Lucy?”
There was no answer. In all fairness, George might have retired to the library (or if Lockwood was feeling optimistic, bed) for the night, but Lucy was rarely found outside of the living room or the kitchen at this time.
“Luce?”
A single marble ran across the floor, and he narrowed his eyes. Even though her plan was obvious, he only barely whirled around before she got him.
“Cheap trick,” he declared as he caught sight of her trying to sneak up on him. “Not very original.”
Lockwood could only have described her expression as petulant.
“Piss off.”
“Have you had dinner?”
With a sigh, “No.”
The question he levelled at her was delivered with the edge of a smile. “How long have you been waiting there to catch me?”
“Would you believe me if I said five minutes?”
“No.”
“Not as stupid as you look then.”
Lucy was already striding into the kitchen when his brain caught up to her remark enough to protest.
Over the next few days, he was on high alert for schemes, managing to sidestep all of them. It got to the point where he began to hide behind an increasingly alarmed and irritated George as he entered a room.
Seeing George acting as his shield as they made their way to the table for breakfast, his hands out like a goalie to intercept threats, Lucy rolled her eyes so hard he worried they would get stuck in the back of her head.
“Don’t you think that’s a little excessive?”
“I do,” George piped up. “Please make him stop. It’s like having a tall, reckless barnacle attached to me whenever I change rooms.”
Lockwood protested, “You only want him to stop because you think it’ll be a cinch for you to win.”
She laughed as she spread butter on her toast.
“I promise you, when I win, I won’t need to exploit George’s goodwill to do it. Come on, Lockwood; play fair.”
George gratefully accepted the raspberry jam from her and sat.
“You know I love you, mate, but she’s right.”
“Betrayal,” he cried.
Breakfast was a drawn-out affair, and they managed to avoid the topic of the challenge until they began to clear the table.
“Fine, Luce. No more hiding behind George.”
“That’s more like it. Makes me wonder whether your overconfidence at the start was a mistake?”
Lockwood shot a grin at her. “Nope.”
Five days later, he and Lucy were searching a townhouse by the request of its neighbours, who were tired of being kept up by their brood of cats who seemed oddly sensitive to their ghostly friends’ screams through the walls. In all fairness, the series of jagged scratches left on their walls would be cause concern for most people even without considering the impact on security deposits.
George had begged off with a headache and declared it to be an assignment they were capable of handling without him, though they would undoubtedly miss him. Lucy had pulled him in for an affectionate side hug and reminded him she had moved the paracetamol to a different part of the cabinet, and soon enough, the two of them were creeping through the dark together, examining as much as they could of the place before they had to fight any visitors.
They had managed to rule out the ground floor and basement as potential locations of the sources. Lockwood had vetoed splitting up to cover more ground since the place was said to harbour at least four visitors, and it would be easier to dispatch them as a united force.
“Shit!”
Lucy did a horrifying lurch near the stairs that nearly sent her tumbling (and put Lockwood’s heart in his throat), and in her haste to get away from the edge, she fell against him. She scrambled for support by grabbing the lapels of his coat, one hand fisting in the material of his shirt as he braced her upright.
“Are you alright?”
Lucy lifted her head, eyes wide, and flashed him a rueful smile.
“Fine now. I think I tripped.”
He bit back a laugh. “You think?”
She scrunched up her nose at him, turning an endearing shade of pink.
“Shut up.”
“Happy to.”
Just then, Lockwood remembered how close they were to each other, and with a bit of awkward manoeuvring (her fingertips grazing his ribs, his hand on the small of her back) she found her feet again. Not quite sure what to do with himself in the wake of it, he scrubbed a hand through his hair.
“We should-”
“Wait,” she whispered.
Lucy leaned up slightly on her toes to wrap her arms around him, and it was like his entire brain blinked out at once. All he was aware of was her chin on his shoulder, her thumb stroking the nape of his neck. He couldn’t breathe for the intimacy of it, and after a long, frozen moment, he hugged her back. His mind spun in overdrive as he tried to work out whether he should say something about this sudden burst of affection. Lockwood couldn’t bear to end it; so he selfishly gave himself as much time as she would allow to memorise the tide of her breath.
As suddenly as it had started, Lucy broke away; and he was sure he was imagining the reluctance on her face.
“Thank you.”
Lockwood had the good sense to pretend she hadn’t dealt him the strongest temptation to kiss someone that he’d ever felt, so he coughed and said, “No problem. Any time.”
She took his hand and pulled him along behind her.
“Come on. We’ve got a lot of rooms to search, and I’m guessing the source will be up another floor, since it’s colder here than the entryway.”
When the skirmish was over, the sources secured and ghosts banished, Lucy and Lockwood were running on a high of adrenaline and victory.
“Dinner?”
Lucy grinned. “Starving.”
They got a cab to an all-hours Indian restaurant and takeaway, which was delightfully empty of customers- there was no one to ask how he and Lucy had come to be smeared with dust and grime, or demand they return home. This time of night, the streets were devoid of people, the only illumination cast on the pavements by streetlights that flickered every so often. When they were almost finished with their food (with the promise of more to bring back to George) she cleared her throat.
“I have to tell you something.”
“You can tell me anything, you know that?”
She nodded, setting down her cutlery. “I won.”
“Come again?”
“The challenge, our little agreement. I’ll be on distraction duty next time.”
Lockwood frowned. “How exactly have you won?”
The smirk she shot him was adorably smug.
“Take your jacket off.”
His hesitation must have showed, because she took a sip of her drink and said again, “Don't believe me? Take it off.”
After a moment’s uncertainty, he slid out of the booth to shuck his jacket off and raked his eyes over it.
“I don’t see any-”
He flipped it around to look at the back and found… colourful stickers splashed across the material. He was too stunned to come up with anything to say, and when his eyes flicked up to her face, Lucy’s expression had smoothed over to calm self-satisfaction.
“How did you manage to… oh. The hug.”
Lucy shrugged. “Pretty simple to engineer.”
He hated the stall of his heart at that statement, hated himself for being disappointed. He should have known better.
“That was all a trick, then?”
“No. Alright, I used that to get one up on you, but I really was grateful that you were there tonight, you know. There’s no one I would trust more to have my back. Don’t tell him, but I suppose there’s George too.”
The disquiet he felt hadn’t entirely dissipated- if he paid attention, he would find its hooks clawing under his ribs- but he had to let it go for now. He had no right to mope when she had no idea what he was thinking. If he ever pushed past his cowardice, his fear of change and impermanence; maybe there was a chance he would tell her.
Lockwood cleared his throat. “Well then, I suppose a reward is in order.”
“Being right feels pretty good, but I’ll entertain what you have in mind.”
“Dinner on me.”
She bit her lip. “About that.”
Looking a little remorseful, Lucy reached into her pocket and pulled out his wallet, setting it on the table.
“There is no way,” he began, but sure enough, the thing was missing from his jacket pocket. “I’ll be damned.”
“Pretty good, wouldn’t you say?”
Lockwood couldn’t believe it, and his jaw hung open for a long time before he straightened up again, an irrepressible smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. She must have nabbed it when he helped to steady her, treating it as insurance in case her sticker gambit hadn’t worked out- they could have easily fallen off and ruined any chance of proving her point.
“It’s a good thing we’re on the same side, Lucy Carlyle. The other side won’t know what hit them, and the rest of the world won’t know who they’re missing out on.”
Lucy laughed it off, none too convincingly. Those eyes would be his downfall, he knew that. Still, it was easier to tell himself that he’d do himself no harm in soaking her in for a few more seconds before they asked for the bill.
They were quiet in the taxi back to Portland Row; a stack of takeaway boxes piled on the seat between them. Lucy was staring out the window while he kept his eyes on her.
George had left a note on the kitchen table: do not wake me up until morning, on pain of death. P.S. it’s your turn to make eggs for breakfast, Lockwood.
They piled the curry into the free spaces in the fridge, rearranging as they went- moving jam jars and milk and the odd vegetable between each other and the countertop and back again until they had a suitably packed, relatively stable place for everything.
“Nice teamwork, I’d say. Good night.”
“Lockwood?”
He turned back, and she wound her arms around him for the second time that night.
“Am I going to find smiley face stickers on my shirt when I take it off later?
Her laugh spilled out like she hadn’t expected it.
“No. No ulterior motive this time. I am going to steal the shower first, though.”
Lockwood shook his head fondly. “In your dreams. You’re not the one with dirt on your face.”
He frowned, focusing his gaze on the crown of her head.
“You do have a cobweb in your hair though.”
Her hand shot up to check and Lockwood chuckled on his way out the door. “Got you.”
“You know I’ll get you back for this!”
“Counting on it. Sleep well, Luce.”