Work Text:
Here’s a fact about Lucy: she hates cleaning.
Yes, she’ll clean the dishes when it’s her turn. Yes, she’ll put away things that she used. But she didn’t like the nitty-gritty cleaning, the kind where you cleaned to the point you were sweaty, red-faced, and hungry. She’d much rather exert her energy on cases, she thought, rather than cleaning up 35 Portland Row.
She didn’t know how they got roped into this. She had been awoken by Holly at eight in the morning. Eight in the morning! She had been forced down the stairs, palms rubbing at her eyes blearily, her mind still groggy with sleep. She had seen Lockwood and George in similar states of disarray—Lockwood was still in his pyjamas, a pair of sweats and his grey hoodie and George was wearing a pyjama set that was suspiciously stained.
Lockwood had tried—and failed miserably—to protest. Alas, either Holly didn’t care or she didn’t want to deal with him, so here they were. Lucy and Lockwood, cleaning the downstairs. Holly had practically forced George down into the basement to clean, claiming that she didn’t want to be around the Skull. George had eventually agreed, murmuring to himself about doing more experiments with the Skull. Internally, when Lucy had heard that, she groaned—now she was going to have to deal with the Skull’s complaints later. Lockwood’s protests had begun anew after hearing that George’s only task was the basement—(“Why doesn’t he have to clean more?” Lockwood had whined. “Because he has a date with Flo later,” was Holly’s flippant reply.)—and Lucy was inclined to agree with him. How was that fair ?
Holly had made her way up the stairs, ready to clean all of the used bedrooms and the bathroom. Lucy and Lockwood had agreed to take on each room together, hoping that with their combined forces, it’d get cleaned much faster than if they did it separately.
They started in the kitchen; Lockwood sweeping the floor and Lucy wiping down the surfaces—the counters, underneath the Thinking Cloth, the refrigerator. They worked in tandem—two parts of a synchronised machine. At some point, Lockwood disappeared, returning moments later with a bucket filled to the brim with soapy water and a mop. Lucy watched as he dunked the mop unceremoniously into the bucket. The soapy water cascaded down the sides and flooded the floor. Lockwood either didn’t notice (unlikely) or he didn’t care (much more likely). He began the arduous task of mopping while Lucy sat on the counter watching him, her body silhouetted in the morning light.
“Are you gonna help me or do you just like staring at me?” Lockwood’s voice was teasing and it drew Lucy from her thoughts.
“I dunno. That task looks pretty easy to me,” Lucy grinned at him, ignoring the pink blush that was surely settling on her cheeks.
“Fine, then you can mop and I’ll take a rest.” Lockwood leaned against the table. He looked handsome, Lucy decided, wearing casual clothes.
“No, no. I’ll leave you be.” Lucy jumped down from the counter and promptly slipped on a wet spot. She fell backwards and crashed into Lockwood who had flung himself across the room to catch her.
The two landed on the ground with an almighty crash—(“What’s going on up there?” George shouted at the same time Holly called out: “Is everything okay?”)—in a mess of tangled limbs, their faces inches away from each other.
Lucy’s eyes widened when she realised how close he was. She could feel the warmth radiating off of his body and she was drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. He was a magnet, a force that kept pulling her in; he was the sun and Lucy couldn’t help herself gravitating closer to him. Being near him was electrifying, she realised. She loved the way her body thrummed with excitement whenever he was around.
“All right, Luce?” His breath fanned across her face, heating her already flushed face some more.
“Yeah, but I think I’ll have a bruise later.”
He laughed and they untangled themselves. Lockwood got on his feet first before pulling Lucy up. She was grateful for that—she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get up without slipping again. They made quick work of the kitchen after that and proceeded into the hallway. This wasn’t as hard to clean—it was mainly dusting and sweeping and mopping, but luckily (and thankfully) Lucy didn’t slip again.
After that they entered the library. Lockwood got to work putting away all the books that had been left out and Lucy began to dust the surfaces. As she worked, a faint tune began to play. She turned and watched as Lockwood met her eyes, standing next to the gramophone. He gave her a grin—the one he reserved just for her, the soft, sweet, shy type. Lucy felt her own face break out into a grin.
“I haven’t used this in forever,” he commented as he stacked the books laying around the room.
“The record player?” Lucy questioned as she pushed her hair behind her ears, scrubbing furiously at a stain on the couch. She sat back and sighed, maybe some stain remover would work better.
“Yes. My family used to play it when we’d spend time in here. Mum and Dad researching, Jess reading, and me napping or pestering them, whatever mood I was in.” He turned his head and Lucy saw with a jolt that he had a sad look on his face, an air of melancholy surrounding him.
Lucy struggled to not get up and hug him. He rarely shared his past and when he did it was snippets—the time he broke his arm because he fell out of the apple tree in the backyard and how his parents had been so worried, the time he had a nightmare and his mum would sing him a lullaby until he drifted off again, the time his parents took him and Jessica to the theatre. Though, afterwards, he’d always clam up.
“Sometimes,” he said, his voice soft as the warbling on the record crescendoed, “they’d dance after Jess and I went to bed. I’d hear the music and sneak down the stairs to see them.”
“Oh, Lockwood…” Lucy breathed, her heart breaking painfully. “They must have been really in love.”
He gave her a sad smile. “They were.”
Then, just like Lucy predicted, it was like a switch had been flicked. The air of desolation surrounding him seemed to shrink until it was barely perceptible and he had a megawatt smile on his face. Lucy knew better than to push it though, there was a lingering sadness that lurked behind his eyes, so she let it go.
They cleaned for a bit longer before Lockwood spoke again, his voice shattering the comfortable silence that had settled around them. “Do you wanna dance?”
Lucy straightened and glanced at him. “What?”
“Do you wanna dance?” He repeated, his outstretched hand an invitation. Lucy wasn’t going to decline and she got up and took his hand.
Lockwood pulled her to the centre of the room and Lucy found herself chest to chest with him. He took her right hand in his and placed her left hand on his shoulder as his free hand gripped her waist. They slowly swayed and Lucy rested her head on his chest, relaxing to the beat of his heart. If Lockwood was shocked or uncomfortable with this, he didn’t show. She could hear him humming along to the song and she smiled.
“This was my parents’ favourite song,” he mumbled into her hair, his cheek resting on the top of her head.
Lucy smiled again as the song played around them.
Lockwood sang along, softly. “ Fallin’, yes I am fallin’/ And she keeps callin’ me back .”
Lucy couldn’t have asked for a better day. Everything felt perfect. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to bask in the moment. There was nowhere she felt safer and more content than in Lockwood's arms.
Holly and George found them one hour later, fast asleep on the couch. Lockwood was wrapped around Lucy, his thin arm wrapped around her waist and his face buried in her hair. Lucy’s hand was entwined with his and a content smile was plastered on her face.
Holly smiled and George left and then reappeared with a camera.
“They look cute,” Holly murmured quietly.
“They look like they’re married,” George said, quickly snapping a photo. “Though I don’t doubt that they will be in the future.”
“Yeah,” Holly agreed. “Me too.”