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Lucy was dreaming again. She knew it was a dream, because she’d had the same one every night since the Rotwell Incident, since she and Lockwood had gone through the iron circle and come out again. She would wake up and be back in the world of sunlight and trees and the moon and stars. She just had to find a way to wake up!
She was standing on Gunner’s Top, looking up at the black sky like an open mouth above her head. She walked down the slope toward the institute, thinking maybe she could go through the circle and find her way out of the dream. Her feet crunched on the frost covered ground, an eerie silence all around. But then…
Help…
It was no more than a whisper, a sigh across the dark, empty world.
Please…
Lucy whirled around, expecting to be attacked at any moment. There was nothing, except…
Help us…
It was coming from somewhere off to the right, beneath the shadows of the skeleton trees. Lucy walked toward the sound.
There amongst the bone white trunks stood a figure, frozen, sheathed in ice. It was difficult to make out any of its features but still there was a name on the tip of her tongue.
Lucy!
Lucy jumped. There was another figure right behind her, similarly frozen solid. She could make out a round, serious face with dark hair and sad eyes. Paul.
Lucy, please…
Lucy started to cry. She turned back to the other figure, Joy, her mind practically screamed at her. Beyond that she could see two more, Alfie Joe, judging by the small stature of the first, and Abraham. Her old team.
Save us!
The ice started to crack, one of the figures lifted its arm. Another turned its head and looked right at Lucy.
She turned to run but something had her by the arm, squeezing, holding her tight.
“No!” she cried. “Let me go. Let me go!”
* * *
Lucy woke with a gasp, gulping air as though she had just risen from the depths of the ocean. Her face was pressed against the window of a train, green fields passing swiftly across her vision. She peeled her cheek from the glass with a sharp pain like removing a sticking plaster and felt pressure on her arm.
She looked down to see Lockwood’s hand encircling her bicep, then glanced up and nearly gasped again to find Lockwood’s face inches from hers. His dark eyes were tense, worried.
“Luce,” he said in a low, cautious voice, “are you alright?”
“Mmm, bad dream,” Lucy mumbled, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. “Do you have water or…?”
He released her arm and wordlessly handed her a half full cup of tea. She drank from it, the dark, bitter tea washing the sleep and the lingering fear from her tongue.
Holly and George sat across from her and Lockwood, Holly reading a novel, George scribbling in his notebook. They were a team again. They were her team. How had she ever been able to let them go?
Oh and Kipps was also there, stretched across two seats on the other side of the aisle, snoring loudly.
“Thanks,” she said, handing the tea back to Lockwood.
“Drink as much as you want,” he said, making no move to take it back.
Lucy hesitated, then shrugged and downed the rest of the cup. The warmth pooled in her stomach, settling her nerves. She handed the empty cup back to Lockwood, who took it, his fingers brushing against hers. She met his eyes and saw something in them soften. He smiled, a small, relieved smile, the sort he used to give her on mornings after a they’d had a hard case, when the sun broke through the windows of Portland Row and they knew that they had all survived.
For a moment, it seemed he drifted closer to her, his face so close she could feel his breath on her cheeks, warm save for a line on each cheek where tears had left a damp trail.
Had she been crying in her sleep? She hadn’t even noticed. She hoped none of the others had noticed. She turned her face into Lockwood's shoulder, bringing her hand up to scrub at her cheeks surreptitiously with the sleeve of her jumper.
Lockwood’s shoulder was warm, the cloth of his button down shirt surprisingly soft. She was was just thinking it would be nice to stay here for a while when he linked his arm with hers, encouraging her to rest more fully against him.
“We’ve got an hour left before we hit London,” he said softly. “Go back to sleep.”
Lucy didn’t think she would be able to find sleep again, her nerves all raw and jangly from the nightmare, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. She leaned against him, trying to relax, despite the way his proximity was making her heart pound in her chest. She inhaled his scent, soap and tea and salt and earth, and tried to remember if it was the same as it had been four months ago. Had he changed his deodorant?
George’s voice pulled her from her reverie. “So let me get this straight, you didn’t see any iron or silver on the Other Side, but any that you brought over left a trail of smoke behind you. Was there heat? Like did it actually burn?”
“It’s hard to say. It kept us warm, at any rate,” said Lockwood in a low voice from somewhere over Lucy’s head.
“Do you think it was the same reaction that iron has with ectoplasm on this side?”
“Jesus, George. I don’t know, alright? Would you please give it a rest? You’ve been asking these questions for days.”
“It’s important! If you don’t like answering my questions, maybe next time you should take me with you!”
Lockwood huffed out a breath and she heard George return to his scribbling. She cracked her eyes open enough to see his slumped form and frustrated glare. She glanced at Holly and realised that Holly was looking covertly at her, a sly smile on her lips. Lucy quickly closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep.
Despite her earlier misgivings, between the swaying of the train and the warmth radiating off of Lockwood and the comforting way his hand was resting on her knee, she quickly fell back into a doze. She didn’t wake until the train arrived at Waterloo station.
She followed Lockwood off the train to a waiting cab and home once more.