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A/N:
What's up, Kiddos? I'm back again with another Lockwood and Co. one-shot!
I wrote most of this at 3 AM last night and finished it this morning instead of writing my Spanish essays so I hope you guys like it!
Please leave a comment. I'll even accept simple keyboard smashes. Anything to satisfy my craving for validation.
Also, let me know if I should do a third one-shot to finish the series. It is titled Sign of Three after all, but that's mostly just because I wanted to quote Sherlock. Lol.
Enjoy :)
“George, can you get the door?” Lockwood calls out while George is in the kitchen, emptying a mug from the last failed applicant. The counter is starting to fill up with them.
He sighs as he walks over to the front door, opening it to a hopeful-eyed girl. At first, he thinks she’s brought them donuts, but she’s just another applicant. George tries not to look too disappointed. He had been hoping Lockwood was wrong about there being another.
Her name is Lucy, and she’s definitely talented; there’s no doubt about that. What’s more impressive though is that she passes all of the tests, including the toothbrush cup one. George is forced to admit that she’s exactly what they’re looking for.
And by the way she scarfs down her biscuit, he can tell that she’s in desperate need of them too. Now that George has his full attention on her, he can see that the girl looks incredibly tired. No doubt she experienced a long journey to get here, but the question was why.
Many people had lots of different reasons for becoming an agent, and with a talent like Lucy’s she could go to any agency she wanted, but she was here. Until he figures out why, George thinks it’s best to stay suspicious of the girl. Who knows what kind of mischief she could bring into their lives.
As Lucy’s staring him down, biscuit in hand, George gets the impression she doesn’t seem to trust him much either. He can see the contempt there, but that's normal for him when meeting new people.
No, it’s the biscuit in her hands that draws his attention the most. That damn extra biscuit. She shouldn’t have taken a second one, but he can see the way her hand is gripping it tightly like it was her last meal on Earth and he doesn’t want to deprive her of it now. Plus, her hands are shaking. It could be from holding the cursed objects for so long, but George doubts it.
A girl shows up on their doorstep alone with few belongings, no certificates, and the appetite of a boar. He knows what it means. Of course, he does. She wouldn’t be the first child to be flung into the world, rear-end first and without a clue. And if George was seen helping all of them, he and Lockwood would be housing half of London by now.
Still…
George keeps his eyes trained on her shaking hands.
He’s barely aware he’s opened his mouth when he says to Lockwood, “Tell her about the biscuit rule.”
And so begins a new adventure whether George likes it or not.
When Lockwood comes back downstairs after giving Lucy the house tour and dropping her off at her new bedroom, George is back in the kitchen, reading a comic book at the table. Usually, he’d be spending his time researching, but they’ve just come off a case, and he wants to take this time to do something relaxing for a change.
Or maybe this is his one act of rebellion against Lockwood for the interviews. If he really doesn’t think that George and him are working as a solo team anymore, then maybe George shouldn’t bother working at all.
That, of course, is a whole lot of crock. George knows he’ll be back at the archives early tomorrow morning, but he’ll allow himself this gesture of spite until then.
“So, what’d you think,” Lockwood asks anxiously as he sits himself down at the table across from George.
George pretends that he’s only half-listening as he keeps his eyes trained on his comic and says, “Not much to say. She’s only really been here half an hour.”
That much was true, but George knows that he’s being difficult. Really, he’s not trying to be. He just doesn’t want to have to witness Lockwood’s disappointed face when he tells him how he really feels about their newest addition to the team.
It wasn’t Lucy personally that was the problem. It was what she represented — change — and George didn’t want that. He’d been just fine before her, and he was sure he’d be just fine after her too.
“Oh, come off it, George. Be serious.”
“And what was I being before? Rambunctious?”
Lockwood rolls his eyes. He lunges forward, snatching George’s comic from his hand, ignoring George’s cry of indignance as he does so. “You can be so hard to please sometimes, you know that?”
“I’d rather be that than a pushover.”
Lockwood frowns. It was the same frown George had been trying to avoid. “Is that what you think of me? Do you think I’m too nice to people?”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” George sighs. “You just get on with people really easily. Which isn’t a bad thing, of course. I just think you could stand to be a little more cautious is all.”
“Right,” Lockwood says, nodding, though his face is hard to read.
“So,” George starts, trying to break the heavy silence, “Can I have my book back now?”
Lockwood tosses the comic back over the table. George feels his shoulders sag with relief as he picks it back up again and begins to flick through the pages to find where he left off. He half-expects Lockwood to leave then, but he doesn’t.
Instead, Lockwood goes to one of the kitchen drawers, picks out a marker, and returns to sit at the table. He uncaps it and the kitchen soon fills with the steady scratching sound of the marker scuffing against the thinking cloth.
George relaxes in the silence. For a moment, things are back to the way they were — just him and Lockwood, together against the world.
It’s not that Lucy’s presence becomes a nuisance. If anything, she seems to be a better flatmate than Lockwood who has a bad habit of leaving his belongings strewn across the house for George to pick up later. The problem is that Lucy is new, and thus George feels a sudden self-awareness in a space that used to feel safe.
He hates that feeling.
He sends Lucy glares over his tea mug in the mornings to make sure she knows it too. He almost makes a snide comment about the way she takes her tea — with honey — as being gross, but he figures that might be a step too far. A person’s tea was their business, even if George didn’t understand it.
So, George keeps more to himself at home than he had gotten used to in the months leading up to Lucy’s stay at Portland Row. He avoids communal spaces, doing most of the work for cases up in his room, only emerging late at night when he knows all the other residents are sleeping. He still cleans and cooks and does his part around the house, but he doesn’t just sit around like he used to, waiting to be interacted with. George doesn’t know if Lockwood noticed this but sometimes he would sit in the study or the kitchen, not really doing anything, in the hopes that Lockwood would come find him and rope him into a conversation or something to do.
He doesn’t do that as much anymore though, and with everything going on in their lives, George frankly didn’t think Lockwood would notice.
He finds out just how wrong he is when one afternoon, Lockwood bursts into his room unannounced, eyes wide and frantic like they usually get on a case. George, who had been reading at his desk at the time, jumps, hands raising the heavy book he was holding like he was ready to use it as a weapon. When he sees it’s just Lockwood, he drops it back on his desk with a huff.
“Jesus, don’t do that. I thought you were a bloody ghost or something.”
Lockwood raises an eyebrow at that, shutting the door before strolling up to George’s desk. He leans up against it casually, observing George with a smile. “In the middle of the day? Do you know something I don’t, George?”
“Shut up.”
“No, seriously, what would you have done if I was one? Thrown your book at me?”
“Careful. I still could,” George warns, “If you’re going to be a prick like that.”
“I’m only joking, George. Besides, it was a good exercise. I see your reflexes are still sharp as ever, even if your weapon of choice was more academic than harmful.”
“Trust me. It’s heavy enough to do the job.”
Lockwood laughs, punching his arm.
“Ow.”
Lockwood rolls his eyes. “So, what are you doing? Research for the Mr. Madison case?”
George nods. He pulls out some papers from under the clutter and shows them to Lockwood. “Here are the ownership statements for the house in the last fifty years. I already did the usual research — cross-referenced all of the names with the archives’ news database. No gruesome or untimely deaths. At least not any that made the papers. I also called Mr. Madison again last night to get more conclusive notes. The ‘ominous shadow’ that followed him while he was busy fixing himself up a night cap definitely wasn’t as helpful as one would assume. Anyway, based on the second phone call, I’m pretty sure we’re dealing with a lurker. Weak type one at best. Slow to manifest and lacking motivated action. Shouldn't be too much of a problem for Lockwood and his brilliant new assistant.”
George couldn’t resist throwing in the last jab, exaggerated sarcasm seeping into his tone at the mention of Lucy. George’s eyes flicker up to Lockwood’s to gauge his reaction. He has his eyes fixed on the ownership statements, but George is pretty sure the frown is for him.
“Alright. Thanks, George.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
George returns to his desk, pretending to be busy. The truth is he’s finished all the research he needs for the case. So, really, he’s just puttering around his desk, shifting papers around until Lockwood finally decides to leave. He doesn’t. After a moment of silence, George feels a pair of eyes on him.
He looks up. Lockwood is still leaning up against his desk, now with his arms crossed over his chest. He's looking at him like he’s waiting for something to happen.
“Uh,” George says, “Can I help you with something?”
“Are you angry with me?”
George blinks. That’s definitely not what he had been expecting.
“N-No! Why would you think that?”
“You’re avoiding me,” Lockwood states with a frown, “It’s okay if you’re upset with me, George, I can handle a little honesty. In fact, I’d rather prefer it. So out with it. What’d I do?”
George will never understand why Lockwood always assumes that he is the problem. Any time something goes wrong, Lockwood never fails to blame himself. George might be tempted to call it gallant if it didn’t also make him feel incredibly guilty sometimes, like right now.
“No. Nothing. Stop doing that!” George snaps.
“Stop doing what? What have I done?”
George hates hearing the earnestness in Lockwood’s voice. Suddenly, George has the image of Lockwood as an innocent little babe in his head and he can’t get rid of it. He shakes his head. “You always assume things are your fault. It’s stupid. You shouldn’t do that.”
“What?”
Now, it’s Lockwood’s turn to look surprised. George hadn’t realized until Lockwood decided to drop his arms just how stiff he had been before. It was the stance he took whenever he thought he was about to be criticized, a protective layer over his already thick armor.
Lockwood doesn’t wear much armor around George, not anymore at least. It was kind of unnecessary after they both figured out that the other was just as weird as they were. Not in like a ‘we’re the same person just different fonts' kind of way. It was more like when you saw someone on the metro wearing a bold outfit and it made you feel better about your taste in music. It wasn’t about similitude. It was just someone’s existence making you feel a little better about your own. And wasn’t that the meaning of friendship.
“I’m not avoiding you,” George says finally, mostly because he doesn’t know how to bring up the fact that it’s really the third roommate he has a problem with.
“You’re not?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“God, yes, I’m sure, Lockwood! How many times do you want to hear it?” George shouts, “Whatever mood you’re picking up on it’s got nothing to do with you. There is a third person in this house you know!”
Oh. Maybe it really was that easy to say.
Lockwood is doing his disappointed frown again.
“Stop doing that too,” George mumbles, “Hate that face. It’s like a kicked puppy. Or my mother. Whichever one looks more sad and disapproving.”
“I’m not — what’s wrong with Lucy?”
“What isn’t? She’s insane, Lockwood, and I don’t just mean your run-of-the-mill, you’ve seen some ghosts type of insane. There’s something seriously up with her. I mean, if she wasn’t such a half-decent flatmate, I would have told you to fire her ages ago,” George rants.
“You did tell me to fire her,” Lockwood points out, a small, amused smile on his face, “Her first week here actually.”
George waves him off. “Whatever. Point is, I don’t trust her.”
“Well, I do.”
“Yeah,” George snorts, “Which is exactly why I don’t.”
“But seriously though,” Lockwood says. He leans forward, not enough to actually be in George’s space, but close enough that George begins to get uncomfortable.
He scrunches his nose, pushing Lockwood back a little. “Personal space.”
“Sorry.” Lockwood instantly backs off. “Seriously though. What is your problem with Lucy? You keep saying vague things about her sanity, but what do you actually have against her? Did she say or do something that I don’t know about?”
It comforts George to know that Lockwood is not incapable of doubt. He almost regrets not being able to answer his question in the affirmative.
“Not exactly,” George huffs, “I just don’t — you just seem to have grown attached to her pretty quickly. I’m worried it’s clouding your judgment on cases. I mean, you guys burned a house down! You may have been reckless before, but at least you hadn’t resorted to arson!”
“Okay, one, you promised not to keep bringing that up. How many times do I have to tell you that she had to use that magnesium flare to save my life? And two, what do you expect me to do, George? She’s one of us now. Of course, I’m going to care about her!”
“That doesn’t mean you gamble your own life away every time she’s even a little bit in danger. You take too many risks. You’re gonna get hurt because of her. Or worse-” George stops himself.
“Or worse what?”
“Never mind.” George quickly returns his gaze to his desk, resuming the useless task of shuffling papers around.
Lockwood’s hand presses firmly over the pile. “George.”
“You can’t keep doing that.”
“Oh great. Another thing I’ve done that you don’t like,” Lockwood teases, “You know, for someone who claimed not to be upset with me, you’re doing an awful lot of complaining.”
“I’m not upset or angry or-” George shoves away from his desk, standing to face Lockwood, halfway between exasperation and nervousness. “I worry, you bloody wanker! I know it doesn’t mean much to you, but I do. Constantly. Why do you think I do so much research for cases? Do you really think looking through pages and pages of ownership statements is actually an interest of mine?”
Lockwood doesn’t respond, looking too shocked by George’s sudden outburst.
“No! Of course not!” George roars, “But I do it because keeping you safe and making sure you come back each night is important to me. And - And every time you and Lucy rush in too soon like some brainless wonder duo, it makes me want to - want to-”
George searches around, picking up the book that he had brandished earlier when he thought Lockwood had been an intruder.
“It makes me want to hit you with this book.” George holds it aloft with a self-satisfied smile at his threat. Lockwood giggles a bit at that too.
“Right. Sorry.”
“Yeah, you better be,” George says, still smiling. He sets the book back down. “Anyway, I guess I don’t really have a good reason for not trusting Lucy. She’s alright, I guess. I mean, don’t expect me to start making friendship bracelets with her or anything but… yeah.”
Lockwood nods.
“Who knows,” George begins, hoping his tone is casual enough, “Maybe she’ll even be gone soon and I won’t have to worry about her anymore.”
“George!”
“Not like dead-gone! Obviously!” George defends, shoulders rising at the absolutely scandalized look that Lockwood sends him, “I mean like, gone to work for Fittes or another agency or something. We can’t have been her first pick, right?”
Lockwood glares. “She’s staying, George. And you’d better get used to it.”
“Alright, alright,” George says, “I’m serious. I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just — you know how people are. They’re in your life for one moment and then out the next. Like a revolving door or something. I mean, look at it this way. I’m probably not gonna be here forever either. It’s just the way it goes.”
George’s attempts to cheer Lockwood up somehow make everything worse.
“What?” Lockwood says, face dropping as his voice comes out impossibly small, “What is that supposed to mean, not forever, do you - have you received offers from elsewhere? George, why didn’t you tell-”
“What? No.” George screws up his face. “No, as long as I still have my talents, I’m staying with Lockwood and Co. You know there’s no other agency I’d rather work for.”
Lockwood’s face eases at this.
“I”m just saying,” George says carefully, not wanting to set Lockwood off again, “Like years down the line when our talents have faded. You’ll probably be off somewhere exciting, training aspiring agents or supervising. Anywhere to keep you in the thick of things. And I’ll probably still be researching the problem, trying to find a solution to all this. So, it’ll be kind of the same, but it’ll be different too because we’ll be adults. We’ll have separate lives and probably, since we won’t be living under the same roof anymore, we’ll naturally drift apart. And — don’t give me that face; you know it’s true! It’s not something to get upset over, especially not now, I’m just saying… eventually…”
“The revolving door,” Lockwood says sadly.
“Yeah.” George sounds just as bad.
God, he hadn’t meant to make things depressing. It’s just this whole ordeal with Lucy really made him think about things like that. Before, it was just him and Lockwood. Now, George has to face the fact that Lockwood can and does have other friends and important people in his life. And he will have them after George is gone too. And he’ll be fine without George.
And George… he’ll be just fine too. He doesn’t even know why he feels upset about any of this. It’s ridiculous. Just an inevitable truth.
“What happens?” Lockwood finally breaks the silence.
“What do you mean?”
“What happens? How do we drift apart?”
George deeply regrets bringing it up now, mostly because he’s got this sudden, absurd urge to cry. He shrugs, avoiding meeting Lockwood’s gaze.
“Don’t know. Could be anything really. Most likely it will be a bunch of little things. We’ll get busy. One of us will cancel lunch. The next time, it’ll be that I can’t make it to your kid’s birthday party. And you’ll say ‘nah, mate, it’s all good. It’s not really a big thing anyway’, but what you’ll really mean to say is that we haven’t seen each other in almost a year and this party invitation was our last chance. And so years will pass just like that. And I’ll think about calling you up every so often, but I won’t. I won’t pick up the phone because by now it’s been ten years and how do you start that conversation, right? How do you tell someone, a stranger really, that you still remember what it was like to have breakfast with them every morning? You just can’t.”
It all comes out of George in one rushing, long breath. He doesn’t even know where it comes from. And it hurts to say, it hurts so much because deep down George thinks this is what their future will look like. This is how it’ll end for them.
The silence that hangs over George’s room is wretched. George can’t even think about looking at Lockwood now, afraid of what he’ll find. He’s not used to talking about things like this. He doesn’t know the protocol.
“George,” Lockwood finally whispers, his voice a little hoarse in a way that makes George cringe with guilt, “Can I hug you?”
George’s head snaps up.
Lockwood is looking at him with tears in his eyes. George can’t remember the last time he’d seen Lockwood cry, but here he was, standing in front of him with wide, wet eyes.
George opens his mouth. His reflexes tell him to say no. He’s not the touchy-feely type. As a kid, he had been moody and awkward and always pushed his mom away whenever she tried to smother him. She didn’t do that anymore.
It isn’t until this exact moment that George realizes that he resents her a little for no longer trying. It isn’t until now that George realizes, yes, maybe he does want a hug.
He doesn’t respond to Lockwood’s question. Instead, he steps forward and falls against his best friend’s chest, arms curling hesitantly around his torso.
Lockwood tenses with surprise. Then, George feels the weight of his arms circling around him, gripping him tightly. For anyone else, the pressure might have been too much. George feels like Lockwood is trying to squeeze the air out of his lungs. But it also feels really nice, like Lockwood’s strong grip is pulling him together, making him whole again.
George lets out a small sigh into Lockwood’s shoulder before lifting his head slightly to rest his chin on top of it.
“I’m sorry,” He says quietly. He doesn’t know for what. It could be any number of things. He decides to leave it up to Lockwood to interpret.
Lockwood holds him closer. “Me too. I’m sorry for being so reckless and worrying you. And I’m sorry if you felt like you couldn’t talk to me.”
They stay like that for a moment longer until George finally pulls away. His arms drop down to his sides as he takes a step backward to put some distance between them. He fiddles with his fingers, unsure of what to say next. Luckily, Lockwood fills the silence for him.
“You could, you know.”
“Hm?”
“You could call me,” Lockwood murmurs, “In ten years, if you still remember. I want you to call. In fact, I want you to promise me that you will. I don’t care how long it’s been. Even if you leave the agency tomorrow and we never talk again. If you think of me, promise me you’ll call.”
George swallows.
In all likelihood, they’ll probably both forget about this moment long before the ten years are up. George probably won’t remember. Or he will and he’ll think that Lockwood’s forgotten and he still won’t call.
But Lockwood remembers now and he’s looking at George with imploring eyes like he won’t let this rest until he’s heard George agree.
Slowly, George nods. “Okay. Okay, yeah, I will. I promise.”
Just like that, Lockwood is shooting him that familiar, megawatt smile that seems to endear anyone and everyone to him in an instant. George woefully notes that he is no exception. Still, he has pretenses to keep up, so he rolls his eyes and returns to his desk.
“Alright. You’ve had your fun. Now, get out of my office. I have work to do,” George grunts.
In his periphery, he catches Lockwood rolling his eyes, but he’s still smiling. He gives George a short pat on the shoulder before waltzing out of the room, footsteps a little lighter than when he had come in.
George shakes his head. Even in his empty room, he fights to hide his smile.
The days after that appear happier in George’s memories. He’s sure there are terrible nights and grueling cases, but none seem to overshadow the memories of George and Lockwood sitting at the same table, having breakfast every morning.
Lucy is there too. And somehow, George grows to see this as a positive thing. He and Lucy become tentative friends and, eventually, they become even better than that.
Lockwood is still his best mate, of course, but George’s life significantly improves after he becomes friends with Lucy. He doesn’t feel like an outsider anymore. He feels… at home.
And so 35 Portland Row stays his home for many years.
Eventually, though, George moves out. He gets his own place after his talents fade and continues to research the problem academically just like he always said he would. He also becomes a popular consultant for a lot of London's agencies. George finds that he likes bossing around the people who used to be his superiors immensely.
All in all, George’s life is going pretty well. At the very least, he can say that he survived to adulthood which was a little touch-and-go there at times.
George is sitting in his study, nicely furnished and lined with tall shelves, stacked with books — a significant upgrade from his old room back at Portland Row — when his phone rings, breaking the easy silence.
He groans at the break in his concentration as he makes his way over to the phone. He picks it up, answering with a curt, “Hello?”
“Hey, George.”
Lockwood sounds different from when they were kids. His voice is significantly lower and holds a faint, raspy quality after a case gone wrong that resulted in a crushed windpipe among other injuries.
The older they got, the stronger the quality of Lockwood’s voice got as well. He could command whole rooms with ease and soothe even the most broken souls with just a few words — or at least that’s what the London tabloids said about him. He was a living legend, they said. George could barely get through a week without seeing Lockwood’s face plastered somewhere about the city.
One time, George thought about calling Lockwood just to complain about it, but he didn’t. Lockwood probably had bigger things to worry about than the fact that George saw his face on a park bench and wanted to talk about it.
George snaps back to the present, frowning. Even after all these years, he can still tell when Lockwood sounds upset. “What’s wrong?”
There’s a pause on the other line.
“Lockwood-”
“Nevermind. It’s stupid,” Lockwood rushes, “It’s just - nothing. It’s nothing.”
“Lockwood,” George says more firmly, shifting on his feet, “What is it? Did something happen? Is Lucy alright? Or-”
“No, no, she’s fine. We’re fine.” Lockwood hesitates. When he speaks again, his voice is considerably softer. “It’s just you didn’t call.”
“What?” George has absolutely no clue what he is talking about.
“You promised you would. Remember? In ten years, you said you would call. Except, you haven’t. And I know it’s stupid. I know you probably don’t even remember-”
“I remember,” George says instantly. He doesn’t tell Lockwood how many times he’s remembered that day. It’s a lot.
“Oh,” Lockwood lets out a small exhale through the line, “Right, well, I guess I just wanted to call. To tell you that… I miss you at Portland Row. And… And that I was just thinking about you.”
George’s heart feels like it’s beating double-time in his chest. His head feels a little floaty too. Lockwood doesn’t know how much that means to him to hear.
It’s ridiculous. That promise was a lifetime ago. They had no reason to believe that they would even be on speaking terms, let alone in a place where they could just call out of the blue. Yet, it wasn’t about that, not really. It was the fact that Lockwood remembered. That he still cared.
George sniffs, rubbing at his eyes. He doesn’t wear his glasses anymore, preferring contacts. Just another sign of time passing.
“George?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m still here.” George lets out a shaky breath. “God, did you really have to do this now? It’s like-” He checks the clock “-Nine AM on a Saturday. What in the world even made you think to do this?”
Lockwood gives a warm chuckle.
“We found your puffer jacket in your old closet. The one you used to wear all the time. Of course, the little one stole it. Insists on wearing it even inside the house. She says it’s comfy. Really, I just think she likes the fact that it’s her Uncle George’s,” Lockwood explains, and George can hear his fond smile bleeding into his words.
George lets out a choked laugh. “Yeah, probably. Reckon she likes me more than you?”
“Oh, most definitely,” Lockwood responds without hesitation. “Lucy won’t listen to my complaining about it though. Apparently, she doesn’t see the issue with my daughter liking my best mate more than me. Complete rubbish I say. Obviously, I’m the more charming out of the two of us.”
“Did you know you’re on a park bench now?” George says suddenly because he feels like he can say that now.
Lockwood hums curiously.
“Yeah. Saw it in Hyde Park just the other day. Almost sat on your face before I realized. Actually, it’s a little disturbing now that I think about it.”
Lockwood laughs.
George relishes in the sound.
They’re better off than he could have ever hoped for. Sure, they didn’t see each other every day, and they probably weren’t as close as they had been while living under the same roof. But they knew each other better now. There was an easy closeness between them that only came after over a decade of friendship.
It was… really good.
George lets out a sudden snort of laughter. “You really are a bit dramatic though.”
Lockwood makes an affronted noise. “What?”
“Earlier, you were,” George huffs, “You were a bit silly. I mean, saying I haven’t called. We talk all the time. I - I didn’t miss your daughter’s birthday party. We’re still… yeah.”
“I know,” Lockwood says, sobering up, “I know that. But you never called about this. I wasn’t even sure you remembered, but suddenly I did, and I wanted you to know. I wanted you to know that it’s been ten years and I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere, George.”
“I know.” And George swore he wouldn’t let himself cry over this.
“Even if you did skip out on our lunch last week.”
“Irrelevant,” George says, “I told you, it was an important job. I couldn’t turn it down. Besides, you say that like I wasn’t over at your house the day before. Lucy made muffins, remember?”
“Yes, I remember,” Lockwood says, “Speaking of which, not the muffins, the job. You still haven’t told me how it went. Care to share?”
“You got an hour to spare?”
“For you. Always.”
“Fancy Italian?”
“I can be at the pizza shop in ten,” Lockwood says. The two exchange quick goodbyes before hanging up the phone.
George smiles at an empty room, chest light and free from the anxieties of his youth.
Everything’s good. Still good.
He walks over to his desk and grabs the coat hanging off his chair. He has an old friend to meet for lunch.