Chapter Text
A blood-curdling scream behind him broke the silence of the grey, flat world.
Lucy.
He would not remember whipping around, the panicked seconds as he ran—one, two, three long strides—and wrapped her frosted body in his cloak. She was freezing, he was too late—
Lockwood sat up in bed with a start. His heart pounded as if he really had been running across the wasteland of the Other Side. He took a deep breath. He’d had this dream nearly every night in the weeks since their return from Aldbury Castle. She was okay, Lockwood reminded himself. Lucy was alive.
Still, it didn’t hurt to check.
Quietly, he got out of bed, glancing at the clock on his bedside. It was 4am. This was becoming a habit, since Lucy came home, checking to make sure she was still there, still alive, still breathing. Checking to make sure she really had come home, that the one good thing that came out of that iron circle hadn’t been a dream.
Without even bothering to put a shirt on, he carefully climbed the stairs up to the attic. He only meant to pop his head up, just enough to see her form softly lit by the ghost lamp in the street. But tonight there was a green cast in the room, pale Other Light emanating from the skull in the jar on the windowsill. The face turned to him, an expression that was a mixture of disgust, annoyance, and something else he couldn’t quite place. The mouth was moving, Lockwood could feel the psychic energy of the skull talking.
“You know I can’t actually hear you,” he hissed. He was at the top of the stairs now. He hadn’t meant to come all the way up. A moan from the bed snapped him back into focus. Lucy’s body was turned towards him, huddled in a tight fitful ball, her brow flicked with sweat. Then her eyes flew open. A small scream escaped her mouth.
“It’s me, it’s me,” he rushed over, instinctively taking her hand. “You were just having a nightmare Luce.”
“Lockwood?”
A beat. “Yeah.”
“Did I wake you?”
Lockwood opened his mouth to speak but felt the skull speaking from the sill.
“Oh, come off it,” Lucy got up with surprising agility, considering she had just woken up. Swiftly, she crossed the room to the window and twisted the lever in the jar, throwing one of the many sweaters on the floor over it for good measure. The green light disappeared and revealed the blue signaling that dawn would break soon. Lucy turned to him expectantly.
“I—I had a nightmare too,” he offered. He couldn’t quite bring himself to say, I needed to make sure you were alive. Thankfully, Lucy’s face softened. She nodded.
“I’ve been dreaming about it too.”
Of course she knew. They looked out at the lightening sky in the window. It was so quiet at this hour, so peaceful. A few birds were starting their morning hymns. The grey light was different on this side, warm. He hadn’t known that grey could still have life until it had been completely sucked out.
Time stilled, and Lockwood became hyper-aware of his breathing. He tried to lengthen his exhales, as if slowing the cadence would make this moment next to her last longer. Their hands were next to each other on the sill, not quite touching. The space between them hummed pleasantly, agonizingly. He stole a glance at her. Lucy was beautiful in the gloaming, her face softer than when they were working and more open than when they were with others. He knew she wanted him to open up more, but she was hard to read too. During the day and on cases he could nearly see her gears turning, sifting through all of the stimuli her ears picked up, shutting out anything unnecessary. She protected herself. Now, it seemed, her mind was quieter. Her gaze caught his.
“I suppose we should get a few more hours of sleep,” she whispered.
“Oh, of course,” he said a little too loudly. He felt the spell break and he began to move back toward the stairs.
“Lockwood—“
He turned. “Yes, Lucy?”
She didn’t meet his gaze. She almost seemed shy. “Would you—could you? Do you think you could maybe stay with me for a bit?”
Lockwood swallowed and forced himself to nod. “Of course, Luce.”
She crawled under the sheets and he walked around the piles of clothes to sit at the foot of the bed. All of a sudden, he didn’t know what to do with his hands. His hands, which were usually so sure, so decisive, sat awkwardly in his lap. He stared down at his long fingers, his father’s ring.
“Well come on then,” her voice was still soft but firm. He looked at her again and this time she was staring right at him. She shifted to the side and looked down at the empty space she had left.
Obediently, he swung his legs onto the bed, scooting next to her. He was nervous, he realized. This proximity wasn’t new, but this felt different somehow, in his childhood bed. It was barely a full bed and their bodies touched without effort, his right shoulder, his right leg, making contact with her left. Without thinking, his hand found hers. She gave him a little squeeze. He relaxed. She was alive. She was home.
“I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours,” she smiled.
He couldn’t help but smile back. Closing his eyes, he said, “It always ends the same way. I hear you falling behind me, the cloak tearing. I hear you screaming. I somehow get to you in a blink of an eye, but I’m always too late.”
He paused. Memory of the event itself and memory of the dream bled. “Your scream, Luce, it was piercing. And you were so cold. And there was this feeling of—you had just agreed to come back, yeah? I was so happy. And then you were gone and everything felt, I don’t know, like I might as well just stay there.” He opened his eyes and turned to her, their foreheads nearly touching. “And then I wake up.” Lucy brought her free hand to his cheek and he felt himself melt into her warmth.
“But that’s not what happened, Lockwood. You got to me in time. You made it to me and the cold melted away. You saved me. I’m alive. I’m here. I’m never leaving again.”
He shuddered, pressing his forehead into hers.
“Promise me.”
She nodded. “I’ll stay with you.”
“You and me.”
“Always.”
Lockwood wanted to stay right there in that moment forever, pull her mouth to his, and stave off the day. Fuck Fittes, fuck the Problem and these fucking nightmares. With that thought, he remembered himself, why he was in his childhood bed with Lucy in the first place. Making himself pull away he cradled her skull in his hands, looking at her face carefully. “I believe it’s your turn to tell me yours,” he murmured.
Lucy grimaced, and Lockwood immediately regretted opening his mouth. “You don’t actually have to share,” he rushed.
“No, it’s fine,” Lucy gave him a half smile. “That was the deal.”
She took a deep breath. “I always dream about the Other Side, everything, all the way through. How horrible it all was, how it felt like we were going to be there forever. How we couldn’t find the chain. Sometimes we find it, sometimes we’re just stuck there. But tonight we found it, and the dream kept going. We were back in the Institute. Rotwell had you pinned and I—I couldn’t get to you in time. Lockwood, he killed you.“
Maybe it was a trick of light, but her eyes shone with tears threatening to spill. “No, Luce, you got to me in time” he reassured her, his other hand meeting hers at his cheek. He brought her hand to his lips and softly kissed her palm. “You got to me in time.”
His sweet Lucy. Her face was wet, and he gently wiped the drops with his thumb. Pulling her close, he brought her head to his chest. It felt right, the weight of her against him. He stroked her hair, and was surprised at how soft it was. He matched his breath to hers, allowing their bodies to rise and fall in tandem. He closed his eyes.
“I can feel your heartbeat,” Lucy whispered.
But he was already asleep.