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“Can I ask you something without you being a prat about it?” Kipps asked one morning as they were staunchly ignoring each other over breakfast.
Lockwood looked up from where he was scanning the paper for mentions of the agencies, and Kipps looked so delightfully pinched that Lockwood folded the paper with a grin, giving all of his attention.
“Never mind,” Kipps muttered. “Stupid bloody idea.”
“No! You brought it up. I’ve put away my paper, see? I’m being a good listener,” Lockwood said, lacing his fingers together on the Thinking Cloth.
“George’s active listening articles paying off?” Kipps said with a smirk, and Lockwood straightened.
“I always listen to George.”
“Except when he doesn’t have any trousers.”
“I don’t see how that’s my fault—hey!” Lockwood flicked out his hand to point at Kipps’ chest. “You brought something up. Out with it.”
Kipps sighed, sucking on his bottom lip in a way that made Lockwood wish they weren’t so similar. He wrestled with something in his jacket pocket, and then he set it on the table. A small blue velvet box.
Lockwoods eyes went wide. His mouth fished open before he decided he was going to be a prat about it.
“Finally going to make an honest woman out of her?” Lockwood asked, settling into a suggestive smirk.
If Kipps’ eyes rolled any harder, they would pop out of his head. Then maybe Lucy would leave him with his weird pop-out eyeballs and find someone who wasn’t completely insufferable.
Ah, those were pipe dreams.
Lucy would find some way that it was attractive. She’d gotten this far. Maybe he needed to have George cover the Sunk Cost Fallacy with her again.
“I’m not proposing today,” Kipps stressed. “Or anytime soon. It just… feels good to have it right now.”
“I carried George’s ring in my coat for six months until he asked me first,” Lockwood said.
“Well, I want to be traditional and do the asking. I want to show her—whatever.” Kipps fiddled with the not-so-innocuous box, thumbing over the clasp at the front.
Lockwood wasn’t always good at the reading and interpreting people, but he’d known Lucy Carlyle long enough to hazard a guess at Kipps’ anxiety.
“You want to show her it’s possible,” Lockwood said, leaning forward onto the table to demonstrate that he was engaged. “Neither of you come from the happiest households. You want to show her that she’ll have that with you.”
Kipps blinked.
“Wow, Tony. George’s articles really are paying off,” Kipps said.
Lockwood snatched the box out of his grasp for that comment, opening it with a rakish flick. Kipps scooted forward to strike but stayed his hand, watching Lockwood’s reaction. Lockwood schooled his face. Because he was being a prat about it.
“Hmm. Gold,” Lockwood said, pursing his lips.
“It’s a silver core, you dick.” Kipps’ fingers tapped on the tablecloth.
“Sapphire is an odd choice for engagement,” Lockwood continued. He plucked the ring from its plush nest, slipping it over his pointer finger to assess all sides.
“I would have thought of it anyway, even if you hadn’t—you know she loves that necklace,” Kipps said, not unkindly. He poked less nowadays at the tragedy of Lockwood’s life. Lucy’s influence, of course. Kipps would never have grown emotionally without being led by a person with the dogged dedication of a thousand Roman centurions, and Lockwood remembered Lucy’s emotional diligence. She’d gotten on to him just last week in fact for not noticing Holly’s rough breakup.
Lockwood smirked. “Must eat you up that I got to her first in the special jewelry department. Whose will she like more, I wonder?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Kipps snapped. Clearly he’d been talking himself down about it. Maybe Lucy and George shared articles. “They both mean family.”
Lockwood’s throat swelled just a little, and he didn’t want to get teary-eyed over Quilliam Kipps. It was just that Lucy deserved all the good family in the world, and although Lockwood had doubts about Kipps (as an agent, as a human being, hell he might have been Lockwood’s own personal demon), any fool could see he was absolutely gone for Lucy.
Anyways, it was a gorgeous ring. Gold shining in the late morning sun. The sapphire was inset into the ring, no rough edges to catch on the job, and if it was silver core, it could be the tiniest bit useful in that way. Lockwood swallowed, tucking the ring back into its box, gemside up.
“If I had a brother,” he said lowly, squinting his eyes at Kipps. “I think I’d hate him about as much as I hate you.”
Kipps scoffed and tossed his gaze towards the basement. “I have brothers, and—well, I guess it’s true I like you more than them.”
Lockwood shut the box with a snap. He set it back on the table, and Kipps crossed his arms tightly over his chest. Lockwood drummed his fingers over the edge of his empty breakfast plate, watching Kipps’ eyebrow twitch.
“Uncle Lockwood seems a mouthful,” Lockwood said, and Kipps gaze snapped over.
“Don’t get ahead of anything—”
“I think I could tolerate Uncle Locky,” Lockwood decided. “Definitely not Uncle Woody. No.”
“My kids aren’t going to call you anything but Tony, so get used to that idea,” Kipps said, stabbing out a finger, but Lockwood just grinned.
“Uncle Tony,” Lockwood replied, and Kipps huffed a breath through his nose.
Kipps was saved the full force of Lockwood’s talent for bullheaded annoyance by Lucy hip-checking the kitchen door open. She had shopping bags on her arms. A lot of bags. She was a one trip kind of girl.
It was always amusing for Lockwood to watch Kipps’ lonely brain cells line up single file and promptly clock out for the day when Lucy entered the room. It was as if Lucy flipped on some special magnetism when she appeared, and Kipps’ good judgment turned out to be a scrapyard that shifted and danced towards her. Suffice to say, Kipps forgot about their conversation, and he jolted out of his chair.
“Hey,” Lucy said, a brilliant smile spreading across her face. Well, when she looked at him like that, how was Lockwood supposed to criticize? This would be a lot simpler if she didn’t love Kipps so damn much.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Kipps said, and he dropped a kiss on her lips. He eased his hands under the straps of her bags, and she surrendered her haul to him.
“I saw some nightwatch kids coming out of a training session, showing each other new wards,” Lucy said, and she traced around the table, coming to sit where Kipps just was. She took the last few sips of his still warm tea. “I was thinking we might offer a couple classes. Tell them what it’s really like instead of mindless drills before they’re dropped in it.”
“Nightwatch deaths have ticked up a bit. All it takes is one bad teacher,” Kipps commented while he put the groceries away. Lockwood let him do it. It was George who would get angry anyways when he realized the butter wasn’t in the right place.
“Between you and Lockwood, you should have more than enough rapier experience to boil it down a bit,” Lucy said, and she trailed off at the end of her sentence.
She spotted the blue velvet box on the edge of the table. Her eyes flicked up to Lockwood’s, and he made a choice.
He could have snatched it and proclaimed a secret gift for George which she may or may not have believed. He could have done something to distract her and alert Kipps to his comical error of leaving it out.
This would be more fun though.
“Hard to help out the nightwatch when they won’t change the base protocols,” Kipps griped as he put the milk away.
Lucy brushed her fingers over the supple velvet, picking it up carefully. Her thumb fiddled with the clasp, the rustle of Kipps digging in the bags barely pinging her awareness. She looked so heart-wrenchingly hopeful that Lockwood felt a soft smile tease at his lips.
She opened the box.