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Quill is not much of a risk taker when it comes to staying out after curfew on days when he doesn't have jobs, conscious of no longer being able to notice if danger where to appear. On this dreary friday evening however he had needed to pick up some iron chains and such, so he ended up out later than he had wanted and was hurrying home, slightly anxious after being almost sure he was being followed. After looking over his shoulder for the fifth time in ten minutes he decides that he must be going crazy before slipping into a side alley that is a shortcut to his cozy flat, already planning the cup of hot tea he was going to make and making a mental note to take Luce up on her offer of seeing a specialist on trauma, the younger agent sure that he had some unresolved issues, and honestly this being followed feeling is making him think she’d been right.
Five feet away from the main street and the ghost lamps, someone grabs him by the shoulder, sinking their fingers painfully deep and spinning him around before a fist connects painfully with his face.
‘What the fuck?!’
He can already taste the metallic tinge of blood running down his face, scarcely having time to process the pain before he was thrust into the wall behind him, the back of his head colliding painfully with it making stars dance before his eyes.
‘You have brought disgrace to the fittes name, you pathetic, scrawny son of a bitch’
Ah, Quill thought he saw silver clad fittes uniforms, his departure to join Lockwood & co had not gone as unnoticed as he thought then.
‘ First you kill Ned and Amy and all those other kids, then you team up with the enemy! No wonder Kat and Bobby can’t even look you in the eye, you can’t even supervise properly, damn coward’.
Kipps can’t really retort to that, the usual sarcasm dying on his tongue, words he knew to be true stinging like disinfectant in a cut.
Another pair of hands grabs his shoulder roughly, the stitches still present after his stab wound pulling painfully. He almost thinks he’s safe, that the unknown duo has said all they had when a fist slams into his midsection, effectively knocking all the air out of him. As he gasps, trying desperately to breathe he hears a snapping sound and finds his right ankle feeling like it has lava being poured over it. Rough hands cover his mouth, effectively muffling any screams as tears stream down his cheeks. He can’t really breathe with the hand over his mouth and blood still pouring out of his nose and is starting to pass out from lack of oxygen. The hands are gone, as if disappeared into thin air. Quill shuts his eyes, praying that whatever the fittes agents have planned they get over with quickly, he really wants his damn tea. Instead there are shouts and the sound of shoes soles hitting the pavement as if running away.
‘Kipps, are you alright mate?’
The concern in the voice so caring in contrast to the fittes gang, Quill opens his eyes against his better judgment. He blinks, the hit in the head was probably enough for at least a small concussion as Anthony fucking Lockwood appears in his field of vision.
‘Tony?’
Lockwood smiles a little before going back to his serious expression.
‘Can you stand? Come on, up you get’
Slowly, with Lockwood’s help Quill manages to sit up from his slumped position against the brick wall, nearly hurling at the sight of his ankle, very sure that it’s not supposed to bend that way.
‘oh, yeah that might be a problem, hold on’
Lockwood positions himself over Quill’s ankle, hands gently rolling up his trousers so as to get a better look. Lockwood takes a deep breath, steels himself and snaps the ankle back into place before Quill can comprehend what the hell he’s doing. Quill thinks he passes out from pain.The next thing he knows Lockwood’s worried face is looming above him, concern written all over his features. Quill starts coughing and with Lockwood’s assistance manages to stand, leaning heavily against him as he coughs, blood and tears still covering his face and from the way his side is aching he’s pretty sure that hit broke one of his ribs. He tries to take a step before falling forward with a hiss, right ankle still full of what feels like invisible lava. The only thing that stops him from face planting painfully into the cement ground is Lockwoods tight grip on his coat and shoulder.
’Just let me help you, it’s not like your going to be able to make it home by yourself in this state anyway’
With a defeated sigh Quill allows Lockwood to take most of his weight, which honestly still isn’t very much, and leans against him. The two boys slowly make their way out of the alley, the tall brunette supporting the shorter redhead who was really more stumbling than walking at this point, exhaustion and pain really starting to get to Quill.
35 Portland Row had never looked more inviting if you asked Quill, anything to get the sticky smears of blood and tears of his face, preferably shower as well and most of all a hot mug of tea. Lockwood opens the door before helping Quill inside and locking the door behind him. Lockwood helps him to one of the many bathrooms, disappearing. A moment later he returns with a spare t-shirt and jogging bottoms and a towel for Quill to borrow. Both George and Lucy are gone, Lucy visiting her family up north while George was away doing something with Flo Bones.
Lockwood leaves with the promise of hot tea and toast in the kitchen when he is ready. Quill stands in the shower under the spray of the hot water, unable to close his eyes without picturing the alley, silver clad agents who he once trusted. No. Thinking like that sure as hell won’t help. He can make out the black eye forming on his face in the fogged up mirror when he’s putting on the borrowed clothes, in which he looks quite stupid might he add. The jogger bottoms are fine but the black t-shirt hangs off of him, ending on his mid thigh and somehow making him look even shorter than he already is.
Stumbling out of the bathroom,hair a mess mind you, Quill stands at the edge of the stairs. He grabs the rail, gripping hard enough for his knuckles to turn white and painstakingly slowly limps down the stairs. With five or so steps to spare he lands badly on his bad ankle and falls forward. He has just enough time to think that fate had it bad for him to today and braces himself for the impact of the har floor. He falls hard onto something, or rather someone, that someone being one Anthony Lockwood who helps him carefully onto the floor looking very concerned at the yelp of pain that escapes Quill on impact, his stitches and ribs not taking it very well.
Quill, realizing this becomes very red in the face before he is grabbed by the shoulders for what can only be the fourth? Fifth? time that evening.
‘Its ok to ask for help you know, friends help friends, right?’
Lockwood has a smile playing on his lips, his eyebrows however show the obvious concern for Quill having such a hard time asking for it. He understands it though, the need to be able to handle things himself as the leader. Luce and George have spent many evenings convincing him of the very thing he is telling Kipps.
‘We’re friends?’
The surprise in Quill’s voice is enough to make Lockwoods heart ache, everything they have been through together and Quill’s still not sure of their relationship.
‘Yes you dumbass, we grew out of that stupid grudge ages ago. Come on, you look like you could really use tome tea’
They shuffle into the kitchen, taking comfort in each other and the steaming mugs of tea. None of them being able to sleep after the events of the evening, they end up pressed shoulder to shoulder, Lockwood reading with Quill’s head hesitantly resting on his shoulder, still not sure of the new friendship between them.
When Lucy returns the next morning she gets quite the scare when noticing Quill’s injuries, but happy her boys are finally getting over that stupid damn grudge. She also gets a good laugh when she finds out Quill is in Lockwoods clothes, thinking how she would have reacted if she had been told this would happen just a few months ago. Chances are she would have laughed in her own face. She ends up joining them, the three of them lounging on the sofa while Lockwood reads aloud, drinking tea. She hopes Kipps will come by more often after this, but she is fully prepared to drag him out of his lonely flat if she has to. It feels right to hear his laughter intertwined with theirs, teasing him for just about drowning in the borrowed shirt. Holly comes soon after, taking a picture of the sight in front of her. It hangs in the hallway with other moments of the agency's friendship frozen in time.