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Lockwood was very comfy. Floaty, even. His own bed never felt this nice. There was something pinchy at the back of his hand, and an annoying beeping sound in the background, but other than that, life was good. He wanted to stay like this forever.
His eyes slid open, seemingly of their own accord at some point. Oh. Hospital. Why was he in the hospital? Had he gotten hurt? But if he’d gotten hurt, surely he’d be in some kind of pain, right? He felt good.
The first person he saw was George, looking dirty and careworn, but he smiled when he saw Lockwood’s eyes were open.
“Hey,” he said. “He’s awake.”
“Hi, George,” he croaked. “Can I have some water?”
“Yeah, course,” his friend said. Someone was stroking the back of his hand. That felt nice. George held a cup up to his lips, and helped him drink.
“How are you feeling?” Someone asked. It must have been the person stroking the back of his hand. He turned his head and found a girl sitting beside him. She looked tired and dirty too, and as though maybe she’d been crying. He wanted to give her a hug. Maybe he should tell George to hug her instead, since he couldn’t get up, but that struck some sort of a jealous chord deep within him.
“I’m awesome,” he said, grinning at her.
“Oh, good,” she said. She didn’t sound happy to hear it. “So now I can tell you exactly how much of an idiot you’ve been!” She tore her hand out of his. He tried to chase after it, but his arms were so heavy. “I can’t believe you, Lockwood! Do you even know how badly you were hurt?”
“But I feel fine!” he said. He didn’t want her to be angry with him. He wanted her to hold his hand again, and rub her thumb back and forth over it.
“God, I can’t—” she broke off, and then stood, marching to the door. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she said, not looking at him. And then she was gone.
“She seemed angry,” Lockwood said, managing to turn his head back to look at George.
“Yeah, well, she was worried about you, mate. We both were.”
“She’s really pretty.”
“Yeah,” George snorted. “You certainly seem to think so.”
“Do you think she likes me?”
“Yeah, Lockwood,” George sighed. “I think she likes you.”
“Oh, good,” Lockwood was pleased to hear that. He should ask her out, once he was out of this damn bed. “What’s her name?”
He let his eyes fall shut, sinking back down into the pillows. Maybe he’d take a nap. He wonders if the pretty girl would come back to see him again when he woke up.
“Lockwood?” George asked. Lockwood scrunched his nose at him to let him know he was annoyed about being spoken to while he was so clearly trying to nap, but didn’t open his eyes. “Are you making a joke?”
“Why would I joke?” He muttered. “Her hands were really nice, did you see them?”
“Did I see…Lucy’s hands?” George sounded extremely apprehensive.
“Oh, is that her name?” he slurred. “’S a good name.”
And then he tuned George out and went to sleep. Sleep was nice. Why had he even woken up in the first place? He loved sleeping. Why didn’t he do it more often?
He dreamed that the girl had come back. She had crawled right into his bed with him, and lifted his head and shoulders into her lap. He dreamed that he’d gotten himself in the hospital in the first place by doing something brave and heroic for her. Maybe he’d been walking down the street and saw her getting mugged, and jumped in to help. And then maybe she’d held his hand all the way during the ambulance ride, and spent the next however many hours praying that the handsome stranger with the gorgeous face and exquisite rapier skills would wake up so that she could thank him properly for rescuing her.
Kissing would be a very good thank you, he thought. He should let her know that when he woke up. Or a blow job, that would work too. Blowjobs were class.
But then someone was shaking him awake.
It was George. He scowled at his friend.
“Whadd’yawant?” he managed through a yawn.
“Lockwood, who was in the room with us last time you woke up?” George asked urgently.
“Lucy,” he said simply.
“Oh, good,” George said. “Sorry to startle you.” He was speaking to a doctor who was busy flipping through Lockwood’s chart.
“She was pretty,” Lockwood informed the doctor. “Does she work here?”
“Ah, shit,” George groaned. “You see?”
“Mr. Lockwood,” the doctor said. “Can you tell me what Lucy’s last name is?”
Lockwood tried to think about it, but thinking was hard. Everything was foggy. “No.”
“How you two met?”
“No,” Lockwood said again. “Did I rescue her heroick— heroes— heroically?”
“Fuck,” George said with feeling. “Fucking bollocksed up shite!”
“Not to worry, Mr. Karim,” the doctor said. “He’s on a whole lot of opiates right now. We’ll start periodically lowering his dose over the next twenty four hours. I bet he’ll remember her by teatime tonight.”
“I already know her?” Lockwood asked hopefully. “Is she my girlfriend?”
“No,” George said, taking his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose.
“She doesn’t like me?” Lockwood asked. This was awful. This was horrible. He’d found his dream girl and she didn’t even want to be with him? What was wrong with him? Why didn’t she like him?
George squinted at him, put his glasses back on, and then squinted harder. “Lockwood, are you…are you crying?”
“No,” Lockwood sniffled. “Why doesn’t Lucy like me?”
“Oh, mate,” George sat carefully on the side of the bed and patted him on the shoulder. “I think she does like you. You’ve just never gotten it together to tell her how you feel about her?”
“Oh,” Lockwood thought about this for a minute. Not as bad, but still. Apparently he was an idiot. “How long have we known each other?”
“Two years or so,” George said.
Huh. This bore pondering about.
He closed his eyes to think, and George let him alone for a while.
When he opened them again a nurse was pulling his bed up to a seated position. She bent over him, reading something on a machine he was hooked up to and scribbling it down on his chart. He turned his head and—
“Lucy!” he cried, beaming. She was standing in the doorway. “Look,” he said to the nurse. “It’s Lucy!”
“Isn’t that nice?” the nurse said absentmindedly.
“She likes me,” he told her in a whisper.
“Does she, now?” the nurse said. “Well isn’t that something?”
“But I’m an idiot,” he murmured.
“How do you figure?” The nurse picked up his wrist and took his pulse.
“George says I’ve known her for two years!” he said. He glanced over to make sure she was out of earshot. “But she’s not my girlfriend!”
“Well,” the nurse said. “Have you tried asking her?”
“No!” he said, and then lowered his voice again. “That’s why I’m an idiot!”
“Oh, I see,” the nurse said. She scribbled something else in his chart. “Well, no time like the present.” And then she left.
“Lucy!” Lockwood said. The pretty girl was still standing in the doorway, glowering at him. “Will you come sit with me?”
She sighed, but came fully into the room. She made for George’s now-empty chair, but he scooted over and patted the space on the bed next to him, shooting her his very best puppy-dog eyes. She sighed again, rolling her eyes, but kicked her boots off and climbed up to sit next to him. She smelled good. She looked like she’d cleaned up since he’d last seen her.
“You’re so pretty,” he said. “Shh, though, it’s a secret.”
She laughed in his face. “You are so high right now, aren’t you?”
“It hurts,” he said, trying to wheedle. “Will you hold my hand?”
She took it. That was a good sign, right? They sat in silence for a bit. He inched down in the bed next to her until he could lay his head on her shoulder. She really did smell good.
“Will you stroke my hand?” he said plaintively. “Like you did before?”
“I’ll do you one better,” she said. She transferred his hand from her right to her left. Or was it her left to her right? It didn’t matter. She shifted him slightly and slipped her now-available arm around him, snaking it up to stroke through his hair.
He gave a wholly undignified moan at that, collapsing all of his weight onto her. She giggled at that. She had the prettiest laugh in the whole world. He wanted her to hold him. He wanted her to kiss him. Wasn’t she supposed to give him a kiss for valiantly saving her from getting mugged?
“I’m still mad at you, you know,” she said. “Even if you don’t remember who I am.”
“You’re Lucy,” he said simply. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”
“Now, see, I think you’re forgetting about Holly, too,” Lucy said. “She’s the prettiest person you’ve ever met, or at least in the time that I’ve known you.”
“I know who Holly is!” he protested. He did, too. She was their assistant. She was very nice. But she wasn’t Lucy. He wrinkled his nose. “She isn’t half as pretty as you are.”
She snorted. “That morphine’s really done a number on you, huh?”
“No!” he protested, twisting around so he could look at her without taking his head off her shoulder. “No, I mean it doesn’t matter if I remember you or not because right now, the most important thing is to tell you how pretty you are.”
Something in her face shuttered at that. “If you say so, Lockwood.” She said wearily.
“Do you think I’m pretty?”
“No,” she said simply. “You’re too pointy, and you have the biggest under eye circles I’ve ever seen.”
“You don’t think I’m pretty?” he could feel himself pouting. Oh well, it was better than crying, which he kind of wanted to do too.
She rolled her eyes at him. “Will it make you feel better if I tell you you’re the prettiest girl in the whole wide world?”
“No,” he said. “Because you’re the prettiest girl in the whole wide world.” He sniffed. “I’ll take second prettiest, though.”
His next move had to be carefully considered, especially given the IV in his hand. He pondered it for a moment. His limbs were so heavy, he couldn’t really move them that well. The best way was probably to just kind of — tip forward. He crashed down into her lap, and she let out a startled yelp of pain.
“Sorry,” he said directly into her thigh, where his mouth was currently squished.
“Lockwood,” she sighed again. She did that a lot. “What are you doing.”
He flailed around until he caught her hand, and then planted it firmly on top of his head again. She caught the hint, or maybe it was just an automatic response, and the pads of her fingers started rubbing over his scalp. He wanted to lay here forever, with Lucy and the morphine and the most comfortable bed he’d ever been in.
There was something important he was supposed to do before he went back to sleep. Something, something…oh, right.
“Will you be my girlfriend?” he asked.
“No, Lockwood,” she said softly. If he could have sat up and stared straight into her eyes he would have.
“Why not?” he moaned, perhaps a tad pathetically.
“Because sober you doesn’t like me like that,” she said gently.
“Sober me’s an idiot,” he said with vigor. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “Just go to sleep, now. I’ll stay.”
“No,” he said petulantly. “Not until you agree to be my girlfriend. I’ll be such a good boyfriend, Lucy, you’ll see.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I’ll bring you flowers and chocolates every day,” he boasted. “And I’ll read to you, if you like, and we can go on dates, and to the cinema, and I’ll eat you out every single night. I’m good at it, I promise.”
She lost it then, and started laughing at him. Her laugh was still the best thing he’d ever heard, but he was trying to present his suit here! It wasn’t funny!
“No, I’m serious!” he said. He was still lying across her lap, and her fingers were still in his hair. He wrapped his arms around her lower thigh. “I could show you right now.”
“No!” she squeaked, bringing her knees tight together, his wrist trapped between them. “That’s fine, thanks. Seriously, go to sleep, Lockwood.”
“No,” he said. “I told you, not until you say you’ll be my girlfriend!”
“Tell you what,” she said. “Ask me again when you’re sober, and we’ll see what I say then.”
“I’m amima— applicable. No, amino— ammendable! I’m ammendable to those terms.”
“Amenable?” she asked.
“Yeah, that,” he said.
“Go to sleep, Lockwood,” she said. He did as he was told. He was just drifting off when he felt her lean over and press a kiss to his cheek. “The answer will be yes,” she whispered. “If you ask.”