Archive of Our Own

Plates, they will shift
Houses will shake
Fences will drift
We will awake only to find
Nothing's the same

 

—“Home is a Fire” by Death Cab for Cutie

 

---

It didn’t feel like coming home. 

All she wanted to do was get a cup of tea in their own kitchen and go to sleep in her own bed, but from the second they walked in the door her stomach sank. 

The house was destroyed. The masks and artifacts stripped from the walls, the paint and paper faded where they used to be. Furniture smashed to bits. Scorch marks from magnesium flares and the crunch of salt under her shoes and the scent of lavender water, the scent so strong it gave her a headache. 

There was so much to be done but there was nothing they could do just then, really. 

Holly and Flo stayed long enough to help them clear out their rooms. Lockwood’s bed was a lost cause- Winkman must’ve figured out it was his room and had gone the extra mile to wreck it- and he opted for sleeping on the library couch. George simply shoved the debris off of his, and after Holly insisted that he change the sheets he’d immediately dropped off into exhausted sleep.

Lucy stepped into her attic and the fist clenching around her heart abruptly released its grip. It was untouched. Maybe they’d been distracted by the chaos in Jessica’s room, maybe they’d been chased off before they would get all the way up there. She didn’t know and she didn’t care. Her room was safe. She clumsily undid her boots, trying not to lean into her injured side, and collapsed into her familiar bed, passing out the second her head hit the pillow. 

She wasn’t sure how long she’d slept, but the next time she woke long enough to actually move she shuffled down the stairs to the kitchen, still in her filthy clothes, her whole body screaming in pain. Morning sunlight was beginning to peek through what remained of the curtains, and she froze. Slowly everything began to sink in as she stared at what remained of the kitchen- the smashed table, the broken cabinets, the cracked dishes scattered over the floor. She buried her face in her hands and cried quietly, careful not to wake up the boys. 

DEPRAC came through that morning, brisk and efficient. Somehow Lockwood was up and awake and ready to deal with them. His face was pale and haggard, his eyes ringed with dark circles, but he managed to be alert enough to deal with the agents wandering in and out of their ruins. His voice sounded like his usual self, maybe a bit raspier than usual, but he walked stiffly and Lucy caught him wincing when he thought no one was looking. She tried to help, limping along behind him, until George caught her bracing herself against a wall with her hand pressed against her side and tattled to Lockwood. After that they made her take Lockwood’s couch in the library, and even though she tried to stay awake she found herself dozing off anyway. 

It took a few days before DEPRAC’s heavy bustling presence finally left them alone. Remains of sources and artifacts were cleared, caution tape was pulled up, the house was declared safe. The worst was watching Lockwood watch them carry the remains of Jessica’s bed out of the house. He’d agreed when they asked to take it away, and initially she rejoiced at it- he was accepting it, he was letting go. And then she saw his face as they chopped the four poster ivory bed into manageable pieces and carried it down the stairs. It was a final goodbye and she could see the grief written all over his face, poorly hidden. 

But now they were gone. It was just them, left behind to pick up the pieces. Time to start again. 

Lucy stood in the one safe corner of the kitchen, staring blearily at the kettle. The side of it was badly dented now, but at least it worked, and so did the stove. The rest of the kitchen was still in shambles; they’d been living on takeaways and whatever meals Holly could bring. Even Barnes had stopped by once with dinner that his wife made for them, and Arif sent them breakfast every morning like clockwork. It had worked for the initial days of recovery, but they couldn’t go on like that forever. 

She heard familiar footsteps behind her. “There enough for me too, Luce?” Lockwood asked, his voice thick and raspy with sleep. 

“Enough for everybody, don’t worry,” she said. He rested his chin on her shoulder and yawned. Without thinking she reached back to touch the back of his neck, her fingertips scratching lightly at his soft tousled hair. “They ought to be here soon, I think.”

Lockwood buried his face in the crook of her neck, his arms wrapping around her waist. “Must we really start this today?” he mumbled against her skin. His chest pressed against her back, warming her up. “This is going to be a nightmare.”

Lucy rested her other hand over his, clasped lightly at her stomach. “It’ll be better once the whole house is livable again,” she reminded him gently. “Get things back to being a little more normal.”

“Nothing’s ever going to be normal again,” he said, so quietly she thought she imagined it. She said nothing, her fingertips tracing along the back of his hand and toying with his silver ring. He was right, nothing would feel exactly the way it did before, but she didn’t want to say it out loud. 

She closed her eyes. If they could stay like this, while she didn’t have to look at what remained of their kitchen, she could focus on the warmth of his body against hers and his breath against her cheek and the softness of his hair against her fingers and the steadiness of his hands over her stomach. Everything else could fall apart around them but he was real. She wondered if he felt the same about her. 

“Are you two really getting into this at this time of morning?”

Lucy’s eyes shot open and her hands dropped. Lockwood took a step back, letting go of her. “Getting into what?” Lockwood asked. “We’re just waiting for tea.”

George scrunched up his face. “Do you two really not…never mind,” he said. As was his typical morning custom he was only wearing an oversized tee shirt, and he plunked down in their only unbroken chair and stretched out his legs. Lucy fervently hoped he was wearing boxers. “Is there enough for me, or was this another just-the-two-of-you thing?”

“No, no, there’s enough,” Lucy said. Right on cue the kettle whistled and she switched off the hob. 

Lockwood leaned carefully against a section of still-standing countertop. He was dressed in soft flannel pajamas pants in a slightly faded blackwatch tartan and a light pink dressing gown that once must have been nice but had gone a bit tatty around the cuffs and hem. His pale chest was bare, still heavily marked with yellowing bruises and half healed scrapes. “How much time do we have until everyone else gets here?” he asked. 

“Not sure,” Lucy said. She passed the boys their mugs. “I imagine it’ll be about half an hour or so, so we should probably-“

The back door swung open. “Good morning!” Holly said cheerfully. “You’re already up!” She paused, eyeing their pajamas. “Oh. Somewhat up.”

George raised his mug of tea in a tired salute. “Trying to prepare ourselves for the day,” he said. 

A girl with vibrant red hair tied back with a blue bandana walked into the kitchen, Kipps trailing behind her. “I found this one, Hols, is the Kipps you told me about?” she said. 

“Babysitting Kipps now, are you, Holly?” Lockwood teased. 

Kipps rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut up, Tony, you know I don’t have to be here,” he said. “You look dreadful. Have you gotten any sleep in the past week?”

Lockwood did look awful. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes ringed in deep bruises, and the silvery white streak in his dark hair was more obvious when it was wavy and mussed from tossing and turning. “The couch wasn’t exactly comfortable, I just got my new mattress yesterday,” he said. 

Kipps shifted his weight, clearly looking for something else to rag him about. “Nice dressing gown, by the way. That your mum’s?”

Lockwood glanced down. “Yes, actually,” he said. “Used to wear my dad’s, but it got a bit wrecked.”

Kipps reddened in embarrassment. Holly cleared her throat. “Well, I brought reinforcements,” she said a little too briskly. “This is Julie, she’s an absolute whiz at home improvement projects.”

Julie grinned. “Hiya,” she said. “She might be exaggerating a bit, but I’m not too bad at these sorts of things.” She raised the power drill she held and pressed the button, making it whirr cheerfully. “Don’t worry, we’ll get everything in here fixed up.”

Someone knocked lightly on the back door. George perked up. “But not until after breakfast,” he said. He opened the door. “Morning, Kath. What did Arif send today?”

Kathleen, a petite girl with wide green eyes framed in round gold glasses, beamed at him over the boxes she carried. “He might have gotten a bit carried away today,” she said. George took the top box off her stack and carried it over to a cleared-off bit of the counter. “There’s sausage rolls in that one, and I think he packed some fruit too. Strawberries and mango, mostly.”

“He doesn’t have to do so much,” Lockwood said, blinking. 

“Oh, you try telling him that,” Kath said. She struggled to hold onto the boxes still in her arms. “You know he’s been awfully worried about you.”

“Here, let me,” Kipps said hastily, taking the boxes from her. 

She smiled up at him. “Oh, thank you,” she said. “We haven’t met yet, I’m Kathleen, I bring the donuts.”

“Quill,'' he said. “Quill Kipps, I…I’m over here a lot.”

Lucy caught the slightly dopey smile on Kipps’s face before he drew himself away and set the delivery boxes down. She exchanged a knowing look with Lockwood; he looked like he was barely hiding a laugh. 

“I think Arif tossed one of everything in there, to be honest, but I know there’s a couple of strawberry glazed for George-“

“With hundreds and thousands?”

“Oh, of course,” she said. She adjusted her glasses. “There’s some whole grain bagels for Holly, some mille feuilles for Lockwood, and for Lucy there’s chocolate glazed.” She grinned. “Also with hundreds and thousands.”

“Thanks, Kath,” Lucy said, peeking into one of the boxes. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t know there’d be more people here,” Kath said. “What do you two like?”

“Anything covered in sugar,” Julie said. She nudged Holly playfully. “This one never lets me keep anything sweet in the house.”

“Oh, this is your roommate?” George said, his mouth full. He choked on a sprinkle. “Oh. Your roommate. ”

This is the girlfriend, Lucy realized with a start. It had taken her an embarrassingly long time to realize what Holly meant when she said other options.

Kathleen turned to Kipps. She didn’t even come up to his shoulder. “What about you, Quill, anything you prefer?” she asked. 

“Oh!” he said, startled, as if this was the first time anyone had ever asked him what he liked and he didn’t know how to answer. “Those, um…those little donut holes with the jam in them?”

Kathleen smiled. “I like those too,” she said. The dopey expression had returned to Kipps’s face. She checked her watch and he looked away quickly. “I’ve got to run, I’ve got a couple more deliveries to get through. But Arif said to call if you need anything!”

“Bye, Kath, send him our thanks,” Lockwood said. He walked her to the door with his mug in hand and closed it behind her. “So it’s Quill now, is it? She’s known you five minutes and she’s on a first name basis already.”

Kipps turned red. “Oh, shut up, Tony,” he said. 

“She’s single, you know,” Lucy said, eyeing Kipps over the rim of her mug. The brilliant tomato tint spread from his cheeks to his ears. 

Holly clapped her hands. “All right! Let’s have some breakfast, and after everyone’s changed we can start working,” she said. 

That was a taller order than expected. Breakfast helped and tea helped more, but getting dressed was still a slow and painful process. The wound on her side was taking forever to heal. It was still sore and sensitive, the edges still raw and bruised under the bandages, and she was counting down the days until she could get her stitches out. Her usual jumpers were too irritating and scratchy, even her softest ones, and she had resorted to borrowing oversized tee shirts from the boys.

She still couldn’t quite recognize herself in the mirror. There was an almost-healed scrape on her cheek and her eyes were still shadowed in light bruises. Her time in the Other Side had left her so tired and drained and she hadn’t fully recovered yet. And the white streak in her hair was more obvious now. That, she guessed, might never go away. 

The others had already gotten started by the time she made it back downstairs. Holly had divided them up- she and Julie started on the kitchen, Kipps in the living room, George in his bedroom. Lockwood had been told to start on the library, but he wasn’t there when she went to find him. 

“Lockwood?” she called. 

“In the foyer, Luce.”

She found him turning in aimless circles, scanning the bare walls and the cluttered floor. “I don’t…I don’t even know where to start,” he said, bewildered. 

“Well, let’s start in the library,” Lucy said, crossing her arms. “Like Holly told us to do.”

Lockwood picked up the umbrella stand that used to hold their spare rapiers. “This needs to go back over here,” he said to himself. 

Lucy watched him wander around. “Lockwood?”

“Hm?”

“Let’s…let’s go work on the library,” she said. 

She thought that would help, getting an assigned task to do instead of wandering, but before long she wondered if it might actually be worse. The shelves had been ransacked, the contents dumped across the floor. They started going through books first, making piles of what was fine and what needed to be taped and glued back together, and bagging up the books shredded beyond repair. 

At first things were fine. But the more damaged books they found the more distracted Lockwood became. She could see it weighing on him, his shoulders slumping. He started to pick idly at his fingernails as he continued to sort through his parents’ massive collection of books, reduced to heaps of torn paper on the floor. 

When he abruptly got up and left the room she was almost glad. Maybe a change of scenery would help. 

Immediately she realized it was worse. 

He kept roaming from room to room, checking on what everyone else was doing. “Oh, that shouldn’t go there,” he would say. “That’s not where it was before.” Sometimes he would just stand and stare, his arms crossed tightly and his mouth tugging down, until someone noticed him. It annoyed Kipps to no end, and Julie and Holly kept assuring him that everything would be fine. Nothing seemed to persuade him. 

Lucy would look up and he would be gone, and when she went looking for him he would be staring at some other broken or missing piece of his home with that horrible blank expression in his eyes. She kept drawing him back, trying to redirect him. 

“Can you help me with this?” she would say, taking his arm lightly, or “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this” as she tucked her hand into his. She knew well enough to know that he needed a task to do, something that could hold his focus for a little while at least. 

The seventh or eighth time she realized he’d wandered off she pushed herself off the floor with a grunt, pressing her hand against her side and limped her way over to the kitchen. Holly had brought over a small battery powered radio and the music blurred with the sound of Julie’s drill as she reassembled a cabinet. 

“What’s wrong, Lucy?” Holly asked. She held a paintbrush on one hand and a streak of paint marked one cheek. “Have you lost Lockwood again?”

“I can’t get him to stop walking away,” Lucy sighed. 

Julie straightened up from her crouched position on the floor, brushing a lock of hair off her forehead with the back of her wrist. “He’s going through it, isn’t he?” she said. “Hols warned me he’d be a bit out of sorts.”

“I think this is a bit more than just being out of sorts,” Lucy said. “I don’t think he was ready to deal with all this change.”

“It is pretty bad,” Holly admitted. “This is his childhood home and it’s all but destroyed.”

Julie stood up, brushing at the knees of her overalls. “Oh, hold on, darling,” she said. She grabbed a tea towel off the cluttered countertop, ran it under the sink, and dabbed at the paint on Holly’s cheek. Holly smiled, closing her eyes and leaning into her gentle touch. “D’you think maybe we should reschedule? Wait to do all of this when everyone’s healed up? I know Holly still isn’t a hundred percent yet and…I know we just met, Lucy, so no offense, but you look awfully peaky, and so does Lockwood.”

“None taken, none of us have gotten enough time to get much better,” Lucy said. “But I don’t know. It’s impossible to get Lockwood to stay still long enough to rest, and in any case I don’t think he’ll be any better until this place starts feeling like home again.”

Kipps stuck his head in the kitchen. “Anyone got a hammer?” he asked. 

“Ooh, I do!” Julie said, immediately rummaging through her toolkit. 

“What’re you doing here, Lucy, lost Tony again?” Kipps asked. 

“Yeah,” she sighed. Kipps shook his head. 

“I don’t think he’s handling things very well,” Holly said. 

“When does Tony ever handle things well?” Kipps snorted. “He rushes himself headlong into everything without a second thought, comes up with a plan as he goes.”

Julie handed him the hammer. “Maybe it would be better to postpone all this,” she said. “Or have him stay elsewhere until things are cleaned up a bit. Has he got any family nearby or anything, someone to stay with?”

Holly looked at Lucy. “His parents died in a car accident when he was six,” Lucy said. “And his older sister when he was nine. The house is…it’s all he has left of them.”

Julie clicked her tongue in sympathy. “Poor lad, no wonder he looks so awful and he’s bossing everyone around,” she said. “His whole world’s been turned upside down.”

Kipps looked down at the hammer he held, turning it over in his hands. “The deathglow upstairs,” he said. “That used to be upstairs. Was that the sister?”

Lucy nodded. “She was fifteen, Lockwood was the one who found her…her body,” she said quietly. “They were home alone when it happened.”

They were silent for a moment, the staticky music on the cheap little radio the only sound in the kitchen. “We’ll get everything fixed up,” Holly said at last. “It won’t be exactly as it was, but it’ll be better.”

“I’m going to go find him,” Lucy said. “God knows where he’s wandered off to this time.”

“Maybe we can take a break for lunch or something,” Holly said. “We’ve been working hard all morning. Once you find him, bring him here.”

Lucy nodded and headed for the hall. She wasn’t sure where he’d gone this time, but she needed to find him. 

“Lucy, hold on.”

She paused, turning to see Kipps following at her heels. “What?”

“Are you all right?” he said. “You’re walking stiff.”

“Just my side still,” she said. “I’ll be better when I get these damn stitches out.”

“You need to rest, you look like you’re about to drop,” Kipps said. “Did you ever go back to the hospital and get them to check you out?”

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine,” she said. 

“You won’t be if you keep pushing yourself, you and Tony both,” Kipps said. “I’m doing better because I spent two days in hospital, Holly clearly had her girlfriend to take care of her, George spent almost a week in bed-“

“George got beaten within an inch of his life,” Lucy pointed out. 

“You were stabbed, Lucy,” Kipps said, exasperated. “You and Tony went through hell, literally and figuratively, and you’re not going to improve any time soon if you keep up at this rate.”

Lucy sighed heavily. “I’ll try to take it easy, all right?” she said. “Right now I just need to find Lockwood.”

“Go find him, but please…give yourself the chance to heal,” Kipps said. “We’ve had enough stress lately, we don’t need to rush you into A&E either.”

She offered him a half smile and he patted her shoulder lightly before retreating to whatever project he was working on. Never in a million years would she have ever guessed that Quill Kipps would be worried about her well-being. But then again, if she was bad off enough to make Kipps worry, maybe she should pay attention. 

She started up the stairs, her ribs aching with every step, and found George standing on the landing. “Have you seen Lockwood?” she asked. 

He nodded towards Jessica’s room, his lips pressed together in a thin line. The door was closed again, the paint singed from magnesium flares. “He’s in there,” he said. 

“Oh, that’s not good,” she said. It was hard to catch her breath even from those few steps. 

“I thought I saw someone go in there a while ago, didn’t realize it was him until I heard him talking,” George said. “I wasn’t sure if I should go in there but…I don’t think he’d mind seeing you.”

Lucy sort of smiled at him, then turned the doorknob slowly and peeked into the room. 

Jessica’s childhood bedroom was a disaster. The pale blue walls were smudged and battered, the carpet filthy and burned. The bureau had taken a beating too; she could only hope that the contents were intact. The lavender flowers on the sill had long since died, and DEPRAC had removed every artifact from Celia and Donald’s exhaustive collection from the room. She could still see the outline in the carpet where Jessica’s bed had been, could still picture the neon white deathglow that hovered there even though it finally dissipated. And lying on the dirty carpet, curled to fit in the outline left behind of his sister’s bed, was Lockwood. 

Her heart squeezed in her chest. “Lockwood?” she called softly. 

He raised his head to look at her, then pushed himself up quickly. “Luce, hi, I…sorry I keep walking off,” he said, raking his hair out of his eyes. He glanced around the ruined room. “I was just…checking on something.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” she said. She wrapped her arms around herself. Jessica’s room had always felt off, always a little cold and unsettling. Now the iron panels had been removed and the deathglow was gone and she didn’t feel anything except a tinge of bittersweet sadness. 

Lockwood sat on the floor, his legs drawn to his chest and his folded arms resting on his knees like a child. His cheek was smudged in soot. “Sorry I’ve been so stupid today,” he said in a low voice. 

Lucy sat down in front of him, clumsy but careful. “You’re not being stupid,” she said. 

He was quiet for a long moment, gazing at the floor. “I used to come in here sometimes,” he said. “When I…when I missed her the most.”

Lucy reached over and tangled her fingers in his. He didn’t look up, but he closed his hand over hers. “Sometimes I’d lie down on her bed and stare into her deathglow until my eyes burned and wait to see if I could see her, if she’d…she’d finally visit.” She felt a hot tear drip against the back of her hand and she pretended not to notice. “She’s not coming back now, is she? Not if her deathglow’s gone.”

She wasn’t quite sure how to answer him, but there was one thing she knew for certain. The room was silent. There was no echo remaining of a girl calling for her little brother or his petulant response. There was no shattering sound of pottery breaking, no sharp intake of a breath too startled to become a cry, no thump of a body. And no piercing scream at the discovery, no frantic desperate begging, no grief-stricken sobbing. They were in an empty, quiet room, with no sounds but the ordinary noises of a lived-in old house. 

“No, I don’t think so,” Lucy finally said, her voice soft. She squeezed his hand. “But I think…even if she never came back as a Visitor, she was watching over you. She was so bright that even George and I could see her and…and she didn’t fade until you were safe back from the Other Side. She was protecting you as best she could.”

He said nothing, gazing at the floor. His hair fell over his forehead, the silvery white streak stark in the soft light of the room. One cheek was still bruised, and his split lip hadn’t quite healed yet either. “I know things are different now, I know we can’t put everything back exactly the way it was,” she said. “But some things haven’t changed. George is still here, and Holly, and me. We can start over together.”

Lockwood was silent. She desperately hoped she’d said the right thing; she ran her thumb along his slender fingers.

After a long moment he brushed his lips against the back of her hand. “What would I do without you, Luce?”  he said, and when he looked up at her and smiled there was warmth in his brown eyes. 

“I don’t know, but you won’t have to worry about that,” she said. “Do you want to go downstairs? Holly was saying it was almost lunchtime.”

He started. “Is it that late already?” he said. He pushed himself off the floor, his hips cracking in protest, and helped her up. Her balance wavered as her side pulsed, and he wrapped his arm around her waist, gentle but firm enough to support her. “Well, I guess we ought to go, then.”

Taking a break was a good idea. She caught the others casting sideways glances at Lockwood, but he seemed to be in a better mood now, even if he wasn’t as easy to laugh as he usually was, and the skin around his nails was red from picking at them. He didn’t eat much still, but he ate more than he had at breakfast. 

Lucy caught George’s eye. Better, she mouthed, and he nodded. 

Flo came by, which didn’t surprise her, and so did Kath, which did. “Hi!” she said, pink cheeked and a little breathless as Holly answered her knock on the kitchen door. “Sorry, I know it’s a little weird for me to stop by when I already came once today, but I told Arif you were all trying to work on cleaning the house, and he wanted me to bring some things over.” She set her parcels down on the table and nervously tangled her fingers together. “And…and I’m done with deliveries for today, if you need any more help.”

“Oh, yes, that would be lovely,” Holly said. She cast a sideways glance at Kipps, who was too busy looking at Kathleen to notice. “We were about to shift some tasks around, I’m sure Kipps could use some help in the library.”

Kipps averted his eyes and shrugged, trying to play it off. “That’s where Lucy and I were working, what are we supposed to do?” Lockwood said, frowning. 

“You ought to get your room figured out,” George said. “You can’t keep living in there with your shit tossed around in piles. Lord knows I’ll sleep better tonight with my room in some semblance of order.”

“Oh, so you’re moving things from one pile to a new pile?” Flo said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Exactly,” George grinned, and she laughed. “Really though, Lockwood, you and Lucy should work on getting your room in shape. You’ll feel better.”

“I feel fine,” Lockwood shrugged. “But I suppose. As long as you don’t mind, Luce.”

“Oh, no, I don’t mind at all,” Lucy said. She grinned at him. “I’d say you can return the favor, but somehow my room is still perfectly fine.” She started to stand up. “I guess you’ll owe me after-“

The edges of her vision blackened. She fumbled to grab onto the back of her chair, suddenly drowning in dizziness. Someone caught her by the arm as she wavered. It sounded like someone was trying to talk to her, but she couldn’t make out the words over the roaring in her ears. 

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, leaning heavily into whoever had grabbed her. 

“You’re not fine, Luce,” she heard Lockwood say, his voice thick and muffled like he was underwater.  She felt him touch the back of his hand to her forehead, then cup her cheek. “When’s the last time you checked your stitches?”

She made a noncommittal noise. The black in her vision was starting to fade, but she wasn’t quite sure if her legs were going to stay steady. “I’m okay, I just stood up a little too fast,” she said. 

“Let me check how you’re doing,” Holly said. “You don’t look well at all, Lucy.”

Lockwood was still cupping her cheek in his hand, his brown eyes worried as he searched her face. “My room’s closest, take her up there,” he said. 

She hadn’t realized she was leaning against Kipps until he adjusted his arm around her waist, bracing her against his side. “I’ve got her,” he said. 

“I don’t need help walking, Kipps,” she retorted, but when she tried to take a step her legs buckled and she clutched at his arm. 

He tightened his arm around her. “Sure about that?” he said. 

She focused on walking, hating how heavily she had to lean on him. Kipps kept his pace slow. “Didn’t you get stabbed in the side too?” she said. “How are you doing so much better than me? That’s not fair.”

“Well, sweetheart, I was sensible and went into hospital for a few days, and then came home to rest in an apartment that hadn’t been ransacked by insane relic men,” Kipps said dryly. “Makes a bit more sense now, doesn’t it?”

She couldn’t catch her breath enough to come up with a reply, so she settled for an irritated eye roll that made him snort. Nevertheless she was grateful when they got to the steps and he slid his arms under her knees, picking her up in a smooth easy motion and carrying her the rest of the short distance. 

He set her down gently on Lockwood’s new bed. It hadn’t been made that morning and the sheets and blankets rumpled from his restless attempts at sleep. “You don’t really need to fuss over me like this, I just need to sit for a little bit,” she protested. 

“Sure, sure,” Kipps said, clearly unconvinced. He patted her shoulder before slipping out of the room. 

Lockwood sat down next to her. “Luce, be honest,” he said. “If me or George had been the one to pass out-“

“Nearly pass out.”

“-nearly pass out, you’d be reading us the riot act and forcing us to stay in bed for the foreseeable future,” Lockwood said. “Correct?”

She sighed heavily. “You can’t make me,” she said, but she was starting to suspect that if they teamed up, they absolutely could. 

Holly set the first aid kit down on the nightstand. “Lie on your other side so I can take a look,” she said. Lucy complied, albeit reluctantly. Holly lifted up the hem of the oversized shirt she’d borrowed from George and gently pried the bandages away. “When’s the last time you changed these?”

“Two days ago, maybe?” she said. Truth be told it was at such an odd angle on her ribs that she couldn’t reach it easily and she kept putting it off. 

“That looks a bit infected,” Holly said. “Stay still, this is going to sting a bit.”

“What do you mean, it’s going to-“ Lucy broke off in midsentence as something cold and wet brushed sharply over her skin like a dozen needles. Lockwood took her hand and she squeezed tight.

“Sorry, I tried to warn you,” Holly said. 

“Think she ought to go to A&E?” Lockwood asked. 

“No,” Lucy said. 

“Not yet,” Holly said. “It doesn’t look too bad at the moment, but we don’t want it to get worse. These ought to be changed and cleaned daily. I can help you with it, Lucy.”

She thought about arguing again, but she could hear the note of worry in her voice and feel Lockwood running his thumb along the back of her hand. “Thanks,” she said instead. 

Lucy stayed still as Holly cleaned her stitches and bandaged her up again. She briefly considered pulling her hand out of Lockwood’s, but he seemed perfectly content to stay as he was. 

George nudged the door open. “I brought tea,” he said. “Lady Grey with enough sugar to put you in a coma. Oh, and look what Julie found.”

She brightened as he held out her favorite blue mug. “I thought it must’ve been broken!” she said. 

“It’s a bit chipped, but it’s useable,” he said. 

Lucy pushed herself up to sit; Lockwood helped her up as Holly arranged a pillow behind her back. “I’ll get up and help once I’ve finished this,” she promised. 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” George said as he handed her the mug. “We’ve gotten a lot done already today, and now that Flo and Kathleen are here to help we certainly don’t need you.”

“Thanks,” she said, scrunching her nose.

George rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean,” he said. 

“Speaking of Kathleen, though,” Lockwood said. “You think she and Kipps know how obvious they are?”

Lucy took a sip of her tea, wrapping her cold hands around the warm ceramic. “They’re so obvious, you can practically see the little cartoon hearts floating around them,” she said. 

“They’d have to be stupid to not realize they like each other,” Lockwood said. 

George and Holly exchanged a look that Lucy didn’t quite understand. “Absolutely stupid,” Holly said, struggling to hide a smile and failing as she closed up the first aid kit. “I’m going to go help Julie in the kitchen. Will you two be all right in here?”

“We’ll be fine,” Lockwood promised. 

“I’ll be in my room if you need anything,” George said. He pointed at Lucy. “You. You stay put.”

“Why does everyone keep repeating that? I’m fine,” Lucy said. 

“I don’t know why you keep insisting on that, because you’re not,” George said. He adjusted his glasses. “Lockwood, watch her.”

“I won’t let her out of my sight.” 

Lucy made a face, but to her eternal shock George leaned over and gave her an awkward one armed hug, pressing his cheek briefly against hers before letting go and hurrying out of the room. 

“Oh,” Lucy said, small and surprised. “I really am worrying everyone, aren’t I?”

Lockwood smiled ruefully at her. “We’ve been trying to tell you that, Luce,” he said. He put his hands on his hips and surveyed his ruined room. “Where do you think I ought to start?”

“Clothes first,” she said. “And then books, I think you’ll feel better if you put your books back where they belong.”

She felt incredibly useless and lazy sitting on his bed drinking her tea while Lockwood worked on his room, but somehow now he was able to stay focused, chatting with her as he sorted through the wreckage. To her surprise he made quick progress, setting things back to rights and filling black garbage bags with things that weren’t salvageable. 

The burning pain in her side started to settle as she stayed put, but she felt antsy and restless the longer she sat there, her tea long since finished. “I can probably get up now, I feel better,” she told him. “What can I help with?”

She started to get up, but Lockwood squeezed her shoulder. “Not a chance, Luce,” he said. 

“If I sit here being useless for another second I’m going to scream,” she said. 

He hesitated, clearly thinking, his thumb running idly along her collarbone. “I’ll find something for you to do without you getting up,” he said. “Wait here.”

She leaned back against his pillows and sighed as he darted out of the room. Well, at least it was the longest he’d kept his focus all day without wandering off with that glassy-eyes stare. That was progress. And his room did look much better now. Maybe they could get it almost like it was before. 

She bit back a yawn. If she wasn’t careful she might doze off. His bed was so comfortable and the pillows smelled like him, clean soap and spicy cologne and warm sleep. 

Lockwood nudged the door open with his hip, awkwardly lugging a big box. “I, um…” he said, faltering, as if it had just dawned on him that he’d done something impulsive and maybe he ought to reconsider. She knew that facial expression well. He cleared his throat. “Do you think you could do me a favor and help me sort these out?”

“Of course,” she said. “What is it?”

He set the box down on the bed and she realizes it wasn’t a box, it was a drawer. Ivory wood with a tarnished brass handle. The drawer was stuffed with loose photographs.

“These have all been in Jessica’s room,” he said. “I…I didn’t know what to do with them after she died, so I just…put them all away.” He laughed a little, self conscious. “I haven’t looked at any of them in years, I don’t even know what exactly is in there.”

“I’ll help you,” Lucy promised. Her heart squeezed in her chest. She wanted to tell him she was proud of him, that she knew that was a huge deal for him and she was happy that he trusted her. But she didn’t know how to say it. “Whatever you need me to do, I’ll help.”

He smiled at her, small and a little shy, before ducking his head and turning back to his bookshelves. Lucy shifted her weight a little to sit up more and surveyed the heaped photos. They’d been crammed in the drawer for years; some of them were crumpled up like the corners had been caught and ignored. 

Lockwood busied himself with his bookshelves, as if he was valiantly trying to demonstrate that he was unfazed. Lucy glanced at him from under her lashes, noting the tightness in his shoulders. She picked up the first photo. 

A lot of the pictures were of landscapes and buildings she didn’t recognize. She did her best to sort them into piles, trying to figure out what went together and what didn’t. 

“There might be notes on the back,” Lockwood said, his back still turned to her and a forced note of lightness in his voice. 

Lucy flipped a photo over and found the location and a date written in clear copperplate handwriting, the ink only slightly faded with time. She went back through the photos she’d already sorted, matching them up. “Who liked taking pictures the most, your mum or your dad?” she asked. 

“My dad,” Lockwood said. “He was a bit of a photography nut. Had about half a dozen different cameras and half the time he’d turn his study into a darkroom and develop them himself.” He shelved a couple more books. “I never got into it, but Jessica did.”

She picked up a photo and her heart gave a little guilty leap. It was the picture she’d seen before when she went into the closed off room, the picture of solemn eyed Jessica holding her little brother on her lap. She turned it over and read the label on the back. 

Jessie and Ani, 2011

“Ani?” she said without thinking. 

Lockwood straightened up. “What?”

“It…it says Ani,” she said. 

Lockwood stayed quiet for a moment. “Jessica couldn’t say my name clearly when I was born,” he said. His fingertips idly traced the spine of a hardback book. “She shortened to Ani. Even when she could say Anthony, it just sort of stuck.”

Lucy studied the handwriting. It was different, round and loopy and tilting a bit. “My oldest sister’s named Georgia, I couldn’t say it and called her Jojo instead till I was eight,” she said. “She hated it.”

Lockwood finally turned around. “You’ve never told me your sisters’ names,” he said. 

“Georgia, Caroline, Diana, Jenny, Sarah, Mary,” she recited. “Mum ran out of interesting names halfway through. I didn’t even have a name till I was almost a month old, Jenny named me. Happens when you’re the youngest of seven, I suppose.”

“Well, I like the name Lucy,” Lockwood said. 

She looked up at him and smiled. “And I like Ani,” she said. “It’s sweet.” She held up the photo so he could see the back. “Is this your mum’s handwriting?”

“Yeah,” he said, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “She always tried to write as nicely as my dad did but she could never manage, she said she was too impatient.”

Lucy set down the photo she held and picked up another one . Celia and the baby it said on the back, but no date. “She’s beautiful,” she said. “Is this you or Jessica she’s holding?”

She handed it over to him to scrutinize. “Jessica,” he said. “Mum cut her hair after she was born, she kept it long when she had me.” He sat down next to her on the bed and rummaged around in the drawer. “Aha. See? That’s me.”

Lucy smiled. “You look just like her,” she said. He did, the same thin fair face and big dark eyes and the mischievous little quirk to their lips. 

“Yeah, that’s what everybody always said,” Lockwood said. “Jessica looks like Dad.“

He pulled out another photo, this one of all four of them.  Lockwood couldn’t have been older than three; Jessica looked to be around nine or ten, holding him on her hip and beaming at the camera. Donald and Celia stood behind them, their arms around each other. “Oh, she does look like your dad,” Lucy said. 

Lockwood shifted closer to her to see better, pressing against her uninjured side. “That was my Uncle Jack’s graduation, when he got his doctorate,” he said. 

“Mum’s brother or dad’s?”

“Mum’s,” he said. He picked up another photo from the stack. “Oh. This one’s a bit ruined.”

The glossy paper was rumpled, but not beyond repair. “We can fix it,” Lucy reassured him. “Oh, are you fencing? You’re so little.”

He grinned. “I was five, I think.”

“The rapier’s bigger than you are.”

“Mum had to special order it from Satchell’s, she started teaching me when I was four,” he said. “Jessica too, she just never took to it like I did. She was more of a researcher like Dad.” He sighed heavily, his mouth tugging down. “That’s what I remember. Dad was always calm and sensible and practical, doing all the research, and Mum was always running around coming up with ideas.”

Lucy looked at him and smiled, his cheek close enough to hers to kiss. “Oh, so you like you and George?” she teased. 

He grinned. “Yeah, I suppose,” he said. 

She picked up a stack of photos to sort through; he rested his chin on her shoulder and watched. There were lots of landscapes and unfamiliar buildings, even documentation of some of the artifacts that no longer hung on their walls. But mixed in were photos of the Lockwood family. Donald and Celia on their wedding day, a blue sapphire necklace around her neck. Jessica as a baby and a toddler and a beaming little girl. Images of 35 Portland Row as a cozy family home, cluttered with books and toys. Celia smiling with her hands on her rounding belly, Donald holding Jessica up to take a self portrait in the bathroom mirror. Jessica at age six, holding a scrunchy faced baby wrapped in a green knitted blanket. Seaside holidays and birthdays and Christmases. 

Lucy watched Lockwood study the pictures as if he was seeing them for the first time. He remembered everything though; he explained the stories behind everything as if they’d only happened yesterday. 

He held a photo in both hands, a picture of him sitting on his mother’s lap at the piano, her slender fingers over his on the keys. “I put all of these away after Jessica died,” he said quietly. “After our parents died…after they were murdered, she used to sit with me and go through the photo albums and tell me everything so I wouldn’t forget. I was so little and she was scared I wouldn’t remember them.” His lips tugged up in a crooked smile. “I just couldn’t bear it after I lost her too. I locked everything up in her room.”

Lucy squeezed his thigh. “You should pick some out, I’m sure Holly can get them framed and we can hang them up,” she said. 

“Yeah, maybe,” he said. He set the photo down and slid off the bed. “I ought to get back to work.”

Lucy bit back a sigh as he started cleaning up his room again. She went back to to sorting. Maybe he wasn’t ready to have them hung up, but at the very least they could be put into photo albums. 

As she sorted further, the drawer slowly emptying, she started to unearth pictures without Donald and Celia. Jessica dressed for a ballet recital, little Lockwood holding a fencing tournament ribbon, the young siblings in their uniforms for the first day of school as they clasped hands. They still smiled but their dark eyes were sad and haunted. The notes on the back were written in a different hand now, round cursive in purple ballpoint pen. It was the hallmark of a child who grew up quickly and was determined to carry on her parents’ legacy for the sake of her baby brother. 

Lucy didn’t realize how tired she was until she felt a gentle hand tug a photograph out of her limp fingers and drape a blanket softly over her. “I’m not asleep, I can still help,” she wanted to say, but her eyes couldn’t open and she was already drifting off again. She was asleep enough that she wasn’t sure if she imagined the gentle press of lips against her forehead or not. 

She felt she had just closed her eyes when she someone shake her gently. “Luce? Luce, it’s time for dinner,” a voice called softly. “Are you hungry?”

Lucy cracked one eye open. “How long was I asleep?” she rasped. 

“Not too long,” Lockwood said, but she knew he was lying from the soft nighttime darkness visible through the cracks in the blinds. “Do you want to eat downstairs or stay here? I can keep you company.”

“No, no, I can go downstairs,” she said, yawning as she pulled the blanket off her. She paused. “Your room looks amazing.”

Lockwood smiled. “It’s as good as I can get it, I think,” he said. “It looks the way it used to.”

“It does,” she said softly. 

 He held out his hand and helped her out of bed, bracing her as she winced. “You all right?” he said. 

“You can’t tell Kipps or Holly they were right, but I did need to rest,” she admitted. “But they’ll both be so smug if they knew.”

Lockwood laughed, wrapping his arm around her waist to keep her steady. “Your secret is safe with me,” he said. 

They walked downstairs together, her steps a little slower and stiffer than she would like. “It looks better already,” she said, appraising the cleaned up hallway. 

“Mm-hm,” he said, studiously noncommittal, and she knew he was missing the masks and artifacts that used to decorate the walls. 

They stepped into the kitchen and she caught her breath. “Holy shit,” she said.  “It looks amazing in here.”

It did. The wreckage was gone. The walls were a soft cheerful yellow, the cabinets a clean cream. The broken sideboard had been mended, their dishes reorganized. A new table stood in the middle of the room, flanked by new matching chairs. 

“Do you like it?” Holly said, beaming at her handiwork. “I didn’t know the table was getting delivered today, that was a stroke of luck.”

Lucy gazed at the golden glossy wood. She could still picture their old table with its scrapes and nicks covered with a heavily scribbled Thinking Cloth and the motley assortment of chairs pushed up to it. Her stomach tightened. The change wasn’t unexpected, but it didn’t make it any easier. 

“We’ll get a new Thinking Cloth for it,” Holly promised, as if reading her mind. 

George brushed past them with a stack of new plates. “And tomorrow I can finally cook properly again,” he said. “Tonight, though, pizza will have to do.”

“What happened to the old table?” Lockwood asked. 

“What was left of it is out back,” Holly said. “It couldn’t be repaired, but Julie thinks she can make something with some of the wood.”

“No worries, I can think of something good,” Julie said with a bright smile. 

Lucy glanced at Lockwood from under her lashes. His eyes were downcast, his mouth tugging down in a frown, and her heart gave a little pang. She had seen the old table in a few of his photos, back when it was shiny and new, and she knew he was picturing birthday cakes and family dinners and homework sessions. 

“You look better, Lucy, are you feeling better?” George asked. “You’ve got color in your face again.”

“A bit, yeah,” she said. “I found ways to stay busy though. Did I really look that bad?”

The back kitchen door creaked; Kipps held it open to usher Kathleen inside. Both of them held stacks of pizza boxes. “You looked a few steps away from death’s door, sweetheart,” he said dryly. Lucy made a face at him. 

“We picked up dinner!” Kathleen said cheerfully. Kipps set down his boxes, then took hers from her. “I think we’ve got enough.”

It was more than enough, even for the eight of them. There still weren’t enough chairs; Kipps gave his up for Kathleen to sit, Julie and Holly shared, and Flo sat on the countertop instead. The kitchen truly felt like home for the first time in a long time, with all of them talking over each other and laughing and passing around plates. The light reflected warm and cozy on the freshly painted yellow walls and the radio was turned to a oldies station that played quietly under their conversation.  

Lucy couldn’t help but notice that Lockwood stayed quiet. He contributed a bit here and there, he always turned on the charm as he answered when someone spoke to him directly. But she could hear his words falling flat, and he only picked at his dinner. His thoughts were clearly a million miles away. 

They lingered for a while, finally enjoying a normal dinner together like normal teenagers would, but they started to slowly disperse. Kipps offered to drive Kathleen home, and Flo kissed George on the cheek before heading back to her boat. Julie and Holly helped them wash up and set the kitchen back to rights, and then they went home together too. 

And then it was just the three of them, just like it used to be.

Without saying anything George put the kettle on and they sat around the kitchen table in comfortable, companionable quiet. Lockwood set out their mugs and Lucy made their tea the way they each liked it, without even thinking. 

“It’s nice in here,” George commented. 

Lockwood ran his fingertips along the handle of his mug. “It’s different,” he said. 

“Well, yeah, there’s not debris all over the floor and we have furniture that’s all in one piece,” George said. 

“It’s different,” Lockwood repeated, staring into the depths of his tea. 

“Barnes said he would bring back whatever DEPRAC cleared,” Lucy said. “It’ll be better when we can decorate again.”

“Besides, there’s no way we could make things exactly they were before,” George said. “We’ve just got to make the best of it. And everything’s so much better already. I imagine we can start taking on cases again soon, once we’re all healed up a bit more.”

Lockwood sat up. “Luce, how are you feeling?” he asked. 

“Oh, I’m fine,” she said. 

George checked his watch. “It’s late and this is the most exertion we’ve done all week,” he said. “We should call it a night.”

Lucy pushed herself out of her chair, biting back a wince, and picked up her mug. “I’ll see you two in the morning,” she said. She rested her hand briefly on Lockwood’s shoulder as she passed him and squeezed; he raised his hand to brush his fingers over hers in a fleeting touch. 

She made her way slowly up to her attic. It wasn’t that she dreaded sleep exactly. She just dreaded the dreams. Her accidental nap earlier had been dreamless, for the first time in weeks. 

Maybe that’s why she and Lockwood had started to gravitate towards each other so much. The rest of them had gone to the Other Side too, but they hadn’t changed like they had. She and Lockwood had been there twice now, had nearly died there. The dreams that plagued her plagued him too. They understood each other in a way no one else did. 

But it’s only because of that, she told herself. There’s nothing else that could complicate things.

She took a hot shower, letting the water run over her bruised skin and her sore muscles. Healing had been slow going so far, but she was better than she had been at least. 

Her bandages were still in good shape after her shower, but she decided against blow drying her hair, that would take energy she simply didn’t have. She dressed in her softest pajamas, easy against her sensitive skin, and crawled into bed with her hair still wet. 

Lights of London flickered through her curtains; the ghost light outside her window cast familiar shadows across her floor. From her bed she could see the browned skull perched the window ledge, smaller and less frightening without the silverglass jar and its murky green swirl of ectoplasm. She wasn’t sure if he’d ever speak again, even though deep down she wanted to hear him just one more time. At least she could hold onto what he looked like on the Other Side and hear his voice echoing in her head, even if she would never learn his name. She dozed off gazing at it, wondering idly if she was ready for things to change. 

When she opened her eyes the attic was so dark she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face, and someone was screaming. 

Lucy’s heart was in her throat as she bolted upright, her stitches protesting. She heard the scream again, guttural and terrified, and she was scrambling out of bed before she could stop to think. 

She ran down the stairs, nearly colliding with George on the landing. He rubbed his eyes, his curls wild with sleep and his glasses nowhere to be found. “Lockwood-“ he started to say. 

“Another nightmare,” she said, stumbling past him to fling his bedroom door open. 

Lockwood was sitting up in bed, the stretched-out collar of the tee shirt he’d worn to sleep in pulled to one side on his collarbone. His eyes were open, staring at nothing, and Lucy saw his chest heave as he gasped for breath before another panicked scream burst out of him. 

“Sh, it’s okay,” she soothed. She climbed into his bed, not even noticing the sharp pull in her side, and knelt next to him. “It’s okay, it’s just a bad dream, you’re all right.” Lockwood covered his ears with his hands and doubled over, screaming. “No, no! It’s okay! It’s just me, it’s Lucy.”

George hovered in the doorway, his dark eyes anxious. “Oh god, I should have seen this coming,” he said. “He’s been wound so tight all day.”

Lockwood screamed again, his shoulders sagging and his arms dropping limp at his sides. Lucy wrapped her arms around him and tried to draw him closer to her, but his spine was rigid in panic. “I haven’t heard him like this in a long time,” she said, running her hand anxiously up and down his back. 

“I haven’t either, today must’ve finally been more pressure than he could take,” George said. He sat down on Lockwood’s other side, rubbing his upper arm briskly.  “God, this sucks. Come on, Lockwood wake up.”

“Let me see if I can just calm him down,” Lucy said absently. “I can always get him to calm down.” George shot her a questioning look that she barely registered. 

Lucy kept stroking Lockwood’s back, his muscles tense and twitching under her gentle touch. “You’re safe,” she whispered in his ear. “I’ve got you. I’m right here. Georgie is too. We’ve got you.”

He cried out again, sharp and keening. George kept his hand on his upper arm, squeezing tight to keep him grounded. “This is a bad one,” he said in a low voice, and she nodded slightly. His nightmares were intense but they never lasted this long. 

“‘s burning,” Lockwood mumbled, his chin jerking. 

Her heart thudded against her ribs. “Nothing’s burning,” she said. “Everything’s fine, I swear.”

He thrashed around, his head tossing restlessly. “Home’s burning,” he said, his voice thick and slurred. “‘s on fire, it’s…I have to…I have to…”

“You don’t have to do anything, Lockwood, everything’s fine,” George said,  touching the back of his hand to his forehead. 

Lockwood’s chest heaved, a rough shuddering yelp breaking from his throat, and Lucy stroked his back. “That’s it, you’re all right,” she murmured. “You’re safe, I promise.”

He blinked, a shudder running through his slender frame, and his eyes widened. “Oh god,” he panted. “Oh god, I…Lucy!”

“You’re all right, all right,” she said, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. “It was just a nightmare.” 

His eyes were wild and she wasn’t sure if he was fully awake. “It was on fire,” he said. “Portland Row’s on fire, I was…I was outside, I could see Jessica in the window, she was shouting for me but I couldn’t, I couldn’t-“

“It was just a dream,” George said softly. 

Lockwood whipped around to stare at him in horror. “It wasn’t Jess, it was…it was you, and then it was Lucy, and…Lucy was screaming for me, she was screaming my name and I couldn’t move, I couldn’t get to her, she was dying-“ He drew in a half strangled breath. “I couldn’t get to you.”

Lucy cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “I’m safe,” she said. His eyes were wide and wild. “So is Georgie. We’re here, we’re safe at home with you.”

“It’s okay,” George said, scooting closer and squeezing his thigh. “We’re both okay.  Can you feel me holding onto you? Can you feel Lucy?”

Lockwood nodded, swallowing hard. Lucy stroked her thumbs along his his cheekbones, then pressed her forehead to his. His breathing was still choppier than she liked, hot against her skin. He seemed barely aware of anything but her. 

George kept his hand on his thigh, still squeezing gently. “Think he’s actually woken up?” he asked. 

Lucy shook her head. “Not really,” she whispered. “He’s not all the way back yet.” She relaxed her grip on him and he leaned into her, his head dropping against his shoulders. Lucy shifted to hold him better and yelped at the tug in her stitches. 

“Luce, Jesus, hold on,” George said. “Don’t hurt yourself more.” He took Lockwood by the shoulders and pulled him closer, his back against his chest. “Lie down, I’ve got him for now.”

Lucy eased herself down gingerly until she was lying on her good side, a pillow propped up behind her.  “You okay?” George said, and when she nodded he relaxed his grip on Lockwood, shifting him until he was lying down next to her. Lucy reached for him and the second her fingertips brushed his skin he clutched at her, grabbing her shirt with shaking hands. 

“I didn’t leave you,” she said into his hair. “I didn’t, I’m right here, I’ve been here the whole time.”

His heart beat rabbit fast against hers. Lucy gritted her teeth and willed his panic to subside; she would do it for him if she could. He wasn’t screaming now, or crying either, but he fought for air, his breaths ragged as his eyes drifted closed. 

George laid down on Lockwood’s other side. “I thought you weren’t into touchy feely shit,” Lucy said. 

“Yeah, well, I feel like this merits an exception,” George said, grunting as he pulled the tangled covers back over them. “I haven’t seen him this bad off in ages.”

He draped an arm over Lockwood’s waist, stretching far enough for his hand to brush Lucy’s side. Lockwood sighed audibly, soft and shaking, and Lucy pressed her warm cheek against his cool one. 

The three of them stayed like that for a while, listening to Lockwood’s off-kilter breathing and feeling the tremors in his long limbs. His eyes had drifted closed and the ghost lamp glow filtering through the blinds made his face all contrasts, his lashes dark against his pale skin and the white streak stark in his dark hair. 

At some point George dozed off; she heard his sawmill snores for a brief second before he roused and shook his head a little. By now Lockwood had settled into sleep, his breathing soft and deep and easy as he nuzzled into her neck, his head next to hers on the pillow. George withdrew his arm slowly and she felt the bed shift as he crawled out. She missed the warm pressure of his arm but he adjusted the covers over them carefully, tucking them back in before he slipped out of the room. 

I should go back to bed too, he’s fine now , she thought, but when she thought about getting up she could hear his brokenhearted screaming again, echoing in her mind, and her arms tightened around him instead. 

Just a little longer. I’ll sneak out long before he wakes up. 

The next time she opened her eyes, morning sunlight had brightened the room,  her body felt less tense and sore than she’d felt in ages, and Lockwood was sleepily gazing at her from under his lashes. 

A jolt ran down Lucy’s spine. She’d fallen asleep. She’d fallen asleep, and she hadn’t snuck out of his bed, and now he was awake and staring at her. 

Her mouth went dry. “You’re…you’re not seeing this,” she stammered, unable to move. 

He smiled at her. “Feels like I am, Luce,” he said. 

“No, no, you’re still dreaming,” she said. “You’re having a weird dream, and when you wake up you’ll forget everything about it.”

Lockwood, still smiling, snuggled deeper under the covers they shared. “I hate to burst your bubble, Luce, but I’ve been awake for a while,” he said. 

Lucy sat up, throwing the covers back, and immediately regretted it. Pain blossomed in her injured side and she pressed her shaking hand over her stitches, her vision blurry. 

The bed shifted as Lockwood sat up,, catching her against his shoulder. “Luce, Lucy, you’re okay,” he said. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, deep breaths.”

She grabbed onto his arm to brace herself, struggling.  “Sat up too fast,” she managed to say. 

He eased her back down and now they were even closer than they were before, their bodies pressed together and their heads on the same pillow. Lockwood searched her face anxiously. “I thought you were going to pass out,” he said. 

“I did too for a second,” she confessed. The room was still spinning a little, but the warmth of Lockwood’s body against hers kept her steady. He brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead. 

“So,” he said. “You slept here last night.”

There was no accusation in his voice, just mild curiosity. Lucy flushed pink. “It was only because…I wasn’t planning on it…”

“I had a nightmare,” he said quietly. “I don’t usually remember them in the morning, I just wake up with a killer headache and assume. But I remember you were here, and George.”

“You were screaming, we couldn’t just leave you in here alone,” she said, almost defensive. “But I…I was going to leave before you woke up. I didn’t mean to fall asleep in here.”

He stroked her hair back from her face. Morning sunshine caught the warm amber flecks in his brown eyes; his lashes were nearly long enough to cast shadows. “So,” he said thoughtfully. “All those other times…I wasn’t dreaming.”

Lucy’s eyes shot wide. She was speechless for a moment. “You…I mean…I didn’t think you…” she stammered. She swallowed hard. “You knew?”

“Mm…not exactly,” he said. “Not till now. But I’d wake up with these fleeting memories of you sometimes, and I’d just assume that…that I’d dreamed you up or something.”

Her heart gave a sudden wild leap. “Not a dream,” she said. “It was me. I couldn’t just…you needed me. I wanted to be there with you.”

His hand drifted from her hair to cup her cheek. A shiver ran down her spine despite the warmth of his body against hers and the coziness of the blankets over them. “What would I do without you, Lucy Carlyle?” he whispered. 

She tilted her face towards him. “I don’t know, but you don’t need to find out,” she said. 

He ran her thumb along the curve of her cheek. “Lucy, I love-“

Someone knocked on the door, light and cheerful. “I thought I heard you!” Holly said as she peeked inside. “Lockwood, I- oh!”

She paused, her eyes flicking from Lockwood to Lucy and back. Lockwood sat up quickly, but she pushed herself up at a more careful pace. “Morning, Holly,” Lockwood said, his voice calm and collected but his cheeks turning pink. “I didn’t know you were getting here this early.”

“Oh, well, Julie has some projects she wanted to get a head start on,” Holly said. The older girl was grinning broadly, as if she couldn’t contain her glee at finding them cuddled in bed together. “I wanted to know if you were awake and wanted tea or coffee, I’m making both. Kathleen ought to be here soon with donuts.”

George stuck his head around Holly’s shoulder. “Oh, no, she’s here, and guess what? She brought raspberry jelly donuts specifically for Kipps. Can you believe that?” he said. Holly nudged him. “What?” She nodded towards them and Lucy wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear forever at the smug smirk that spread across George’s face. “Well, hello, you two.”

“You know what, Holly? I think I’d like coffee first,” Lockwood said. His hand sought Lucy’s and squeezed as his slender fingers tangled with hers.  “A little cream but no sugar, please.“

“Done,” Holly said. “What about you, Lucy?”

Her thumb rubbed absently against one of his fencing calluses. “Just tea, please,” she said. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Holly said. “You two…take your time, all right? No rush.”

She slipped out of the room. George was still grinning broadly at them. “So,” he began, waggling his eyebrows. “You two-“

Holly’s hand reached back into the room, grabbed him by the collar of his flannel and yanked him back. He yelped in protest and Lockwood and Lucy burst out laughing. 

“Well, I wasn’t expecting any of that,” Lockwood said. 

“What are we going to do?” Lucy said. She leaned closer to him, her stomach flip flopping. Is this going to change things? Are you in love with me? Where do we go from here? 

“I don’t know,” he said. “We’d probably ought to get up and get dressed if everyone is already here.”

Her heart sank. She’d been hoping he would say something like I love you or we ought to date or you should kiss me. “That’s probably a good idea,” she said. “Bad enough Holly and George spotted us, I’ve got no desire for Kipps to catch us too. Or Flo, she’ll tease us mercilessly.”

She started to ease herself up, but Lockwood still held her hand. “Wait,” he said. “Wait, just…just stay with me. A little longer. Just the two of us.”

She sat back, her pulse jumping. They settled into each other naturally, her head resting on the plane of his shoulder and his arm curving around her, their bodies slotting together like puzzle pieces. His heart beat quick and steady; the neckline of his shirt drooped over his collarbone so she could press her cheek against his warm skin. His thumb traced circles against her upper arm. They stayed like that in comfortable quiet, cuddling into each other, and when the conversations downstairs grew loud enough to be distracting they reluctantly drew apart. They didn’t say anything, but before she slipped from his bed she felt him kiss the top of her head, soft and gentle. All she could do was smile shyly at him, neither of them could get any words out, and she left his room with her heart beating so fast she was sure he could still hear it.