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the water filled my lungs, I screamed so loud
but no one heard a thing
rain came pouring down
when I was drowning, that's when I could finally breathe
and by morning, gone was any trace of you
I think I am finally clean—clean
The explosion somehow surprised Lucy every time.
She was standing with Lockwood in Marissa Fittes’s penthouse again, caught in the middle of a storm. The wind started swirling, ripping the furniture off the floor and flinging it towards them. There was nothing left to do but run, as they desperately tried to punch a hole in the roof to escape. Above them, the sky turned black like a perfect storm.
Marissa’s face was twisted and snarling as she raced towards them. As she gave a final piercing cry, the boom sounded. Glass shattered, and bursts of fire followed, filling the room with smoke.
And then all was quiet.
The next thing Lucy knew, Lockwood was lying beside her on the ground, covered in dust and ashes. His face was pale, his eyes hollow. His chest was drenched in blood like a wine stain.
An unending chasm of sadness opened in her heart. Here it was: the embodiment of her worst fear. After months of back and forth, of trying to avoid the inevitable, it was over.
“No!” Lucy cried, as she scrambled to reach him. Lockwood’s body was already growing cold under her hands. She screamed so loud, but no one heard a thing. “You can’t—I won’t let you—”
“Lucy! Wake up, Luce, please—”
Lucy awoke with a gasp to find Lockwood’s very alive, very concerned face looming over her. She immediately wrapped her arms around him and crushed him down against her.
“Lockwood,” she gasped, struggling to catch her breath. Cold sweat dripped down her back, as her heart continued to pound.
“Shhh,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. “It’s okay, you’re safe. Oh, Lucy—”
In and out, she told herself. These nightmares always made her feel like she was drowning, but Lockwood was here. She could finally breathe.
After a few minutes of this, he must have noticed that she’d calmed slightly because he slowly eased away from her. “Okay, Luce?” he asked softly. Dimly, she registered that he was already dressed for the day in a crisp button up shirt, but his hair was still wet from the shower.
“Getting there.” She tried to summon a weak smile. It wasn’t the first time Lockwood had comforted her after a nightmare, but it was the first time she’d practically attacked him when he tried.
“Take your time.”
“What’re you doing in here?” she asked, finally relinquishing her hold on him so he could sit up fully.
“Ah,” Lockwood said, as he smoothed a hand over her hair. “I heard you scream and ran up here straightaway.”
“Oh.” She chewed on her bottom lip, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “I hope I didn’t wake anyone else up—”
“You’re fine,” he said firmly. “Given George’s earplugs, I don’t think he would hear it if a stampede of horses ran through the house.”
“Okay. Would you—would you mind sitting with me for a bit? Just for a few minutes,” she added hastily.
“Happily. We’re free for the entire day after all.” Lockwood’s smile was warm, as he settled in the bed next to her.
“Right,” she said, her face brightening at the realization. “It’s Saturday.”
“Looking forward to having the day off?”
She curled closer to him. “Yes. It’s still a bit weird that we’re doing this.”
Lockwood nodded in agreement. “It is—but it’s good for us.”
In the weeks since the siege of Portland Row, the collapse of Fittes, and the ensuing fall out, many things had changed, but one of the strangest developments was that Lockwood & Co. took proper days off now. It had been Holly’s idea to temporarily limit their cases, given that they were all still recovering from their assorted injuries and the toll of their visit to the Other Side. However, everyone had agreed that a bit of a break was warranted, and now there were days on their agency calendar clearly marked in red ink, free from cases or appointments with clients.
Even after a few weeks of this new routine, Lucy still found it disconcerting. She hadn’t truly known what it was like to have this much scheduled time off since she had become an agent.
It was especially odd because the agency could easily have been busier than ever. Lockwood & Co. had never been in the papers more, received more inquiries from potential clients, or had more responsibilities as DEPRAC began to untangle all of the damage done by Marissa Fittes. However, their increased profile also provided them with more freedom and options for the future than ever before, and that was worth taking advantage of.
The additional hours of sleep had been very welcome, but Lucy was finding that she wasn’t particularly good at relaxing. Given that it was still quite early by their standards and Lockwood was already dressed and ready for the day, it was likely that he wasn’t finding much success either.
“Did you even have a lie in?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Lockwood gave her a sheepish grin. “I tried. But I woke up early, and then I ended up practicing in the basement. Too much energy.”
He wound an arm around her so she could lean against him. This easy affection between the two of them was new as well, but Lucy was adjusting to that much quicker than having time off.
“While we’re talking about today, would you be willing to run an errand with me this morning?” he asked. “I wanted to go pick out some more furniture.”
“Of course,” she said, pleased to be asked.
“Excellent,” he said, beaming at her.
Lockwood left a short time later, satisfied that the worst after effects of her nightmare had dissipated. As Lucy stretched and finally got out of bed, she caught a glimpse of the burnt Skull on her window sill, still silent and cold. Her heart gave an odd pang, and she let her palm rest briefly on the top of the charred bone.
For a moment, nightmares blurred with her memories before she shook herself and went to take a shower. She was ten months older than the girl that had faced the Fetch. Marissa was gone. She refused to give in to that fear again.
The door to their new guest room was thrown open when Lucy came downstairs. She peeked in to find Lockwood sitting on the floor, piles of photographs and other knick knacks spread out around him.
Dust had covered this room for so long that it was still striking to see it clean and tidy. The one remaining vestige of Jessica’s former bedroom was the vase of lavender on the dresser, but today’s bouquet was fresh. Lucy wondered if Lockwood had just gathered it from the back garden. Outside the window, clouds were starting to gather.
She hesitated until he saw her and motioned for her to join him. “Come in, Luce. I’m just going through another box.”
While DEPRAC had cleared out the spirit gate and any other artifacts with psychic charge, they had left Lockwood the crates of his family mementos. Over the past several weeks, Lucy had found him in here during quiet moments, slowly parsing through them all.
Currently, he was holding a small wooden crucifix. “Ah,” he said, turning it over and frowning slightly. “I’m not sure where this is from…”
Lucy pointed to the small engraving on the back. “Is that a date?”
“Good catch, Luce. That’s my parent’s wedding anniversary. It must have been a gift,” Lockwood mused. He looked around at the photos and gave her a rueful smile. “I’ve been sorting the photos roughly chronologically, but I’m not quite sure what to do with them.”
“You could frame a few photos, put the rest in albums,” Lucy ventured. “I could help, if you’d like.”
“Perhaps,” Lockwood said, non-committedly. He carefully set the photographs aside and dusted his hands off. “What do you say to some tea and breakfast, then we can go to the shops?”
She agreed, and they made their way down to the kitchen. George finally roused himself from bed, and the three of them enjoyed a companionable breakfast before she and Lockwood headed out.
Their bodies weren’t the only things in need of recovery time following recent events. While Holly’s cleaning magic and the fresh coats of paint had gone a long way towards making Portland Row livable again, repairing the full extent of the damage from Winkman’s goons was proving to be a project that was going to take many more weeks, if not months, to accomplish. Between clearing out the mess and chaos, painting and repapering the walls, hiring tradespeople, and shopping for new furniture, there were seemingly endless decisions to make and tasks to accomplish.
Now Lucy looked around the shop, occasionally cringing at the price tags. “Isn’t Holly better at this sort of thing?” she asked doubtfully. On the rare occasions her family had purchased furniture, it had always been from charity shops—never anywhere as posh as this.
Lockwood gave a small shrug. “Holly doesn’t live at Portland Row. You do.”
She expected him to head towards the sofas or perhaps the office furniture, but instead he stopped before a display of bedroom furniture with a large ‘sale’ sign.
“What do you think of this one, Luce?” he asked, surveying the wooden bed frame.
“Looks nice,” she said, running her fingers along the footboard. “But didn’t we already get a bed for the guest room?”
“Ah, this is for my room. My bed had seen better days, even before recent events. I’ve been making due, but it’s past time for an upgrade.”
“Oh.” She blinked. “You didn’t say you wanted to shop for your room.”
“I didn’t? Thought I’d mentioned it… Anyway, do you like this one?”
“Does it really matter what I think?”
Lockwood coughed. “I thought that perhaps it would be good if you liked it as well since I’ll probably have it for a long time.”
“What?” she said, still confused. “Why would it— oh.”
Perhaps it was just the ugly florescent light, but Lucy thought Lockwood might be starting to blush. “I’m not assuming anything—”
“No,” she said abruptly. She licked her lips. “It’s, uh, nice to be asked.”
Lockwood’s eyes softened, and his hand stole out and found hers, seeking reassurance. “So you like it?”
She looked at the bed again, really taking it in this time. It had elegant, handsome lines, but also looked sturdy and solid. It was quite fitting for Lockwood now that she considered it. “Yep. It will look nice with your new blue paint.” Holly had suggested Lockwood repaint his bedroom dusty blue because it was a “calming color,” and he had quickly agreed.
His grin lit up his entire face. “Do you think they’ll let us jump on the mattresses to test them out?”
She dragged him over to the row of mattresses. “Only one way to find out.”
After placing an order for a bed, mattress, and armchair to be delivered later that week, Lucy and Lockwood returned home to find that Kipps and Holly had arrived while they were out. Holly was already wiping down the countertops in the kitchen, but Kipps was slumped over the table. His eyes were red and watery, and he was making frequent use of the box of tissues next to him for his repeated sneezes.
Unlike the past few weeks he’d spent recovering from major abdominal surgery, today Kipps’s ailment was far more mundane. Lucy quickly learned more than she’d ever thought necessary about his immune system, as Kipps explained why he couldn’t join them for apple picking, as was the plan for the afternoon.
“I’ve got terrible seasonal allergies. Essentially, I’m allergic to nature, especially in autumn,” Kipps said glumly, waving a hand in the general direction of the garden. “Trees, weeds, pollen, dust, mold… and it’s a good thing you don’t have a dog, I’ll tell you that much… I can’t help today unless you’d like me to spend the entire time sneezing on you.”
She shuddered at that idea. “No thanks.”
“Get some rest, Quill,” Lockwood said easily, before nudging her in the side. “So it’s just going to be me and you then, Luce?”
“Like you mind.” Kipps rolled his eyes, before heading to the library where he built a roaring fire and promptly settled in for a nap, citing his drowsiness from his allergy medication.
Lucy certainly wasn’t going to complain about having a bit more quality time with Lockwood, that was certain.
Leaves crunched under her boots as she followed him to the garden. Quickly, they fell into a comfortable rhythm with him picking the higher apples, while she gathered the lower ones. It was a bit late in the season for this final harvest, but there were still plenty of decent ones left. While a bit overripe, they would work for baking and applesauce.
Lockwood was on the other side of the tree, reaching for apples on a high branch, the angle providing Lucy with a good view of him. His hair was tousled from the wind, forelock flopping over his brow. In deference to the new chill in the air, he had donned a soft charcoal gray jumper over his button down shirt. The jumper looked so cozy, if it hadn’t suited him so well, Lucy would have been tempted to steal it for herself.
Lockwood caught her looking and winked at her as he dropped apples into his bucket. Her cheeks heated slightly. “We’re getting close to the end. I only see a few more,” he commented.
“Just in the nick of time.” She looked up at the rapidly darkening sky. “I think it’s going to rain.”
“Even I can’t reach the ones up there.” Lockwood nodded to a branch laden with fruit about a meter over his head. “Think you could if you climbed on my shoulders?”
Lucy eyed both him and the branch suspiciously. “Let’s try?”
Lockwood bent down, and Lucy clambered onto his shoulders. He wrapped his hands around her thighs to hold her steady.
“Okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine. Can you reach them?”
Lucy stretched her arms out and started filling her arms with apples, belatedly realizing that she had no place to put them. “Wait—what do I do with them now?” she asked, mildly panicked.
Lockwood started laughing, making them both sway. “I’m getting the feeling we didn’t think one through.”
“Well, it would hardly be the first time that’s happened. Don’t drop me!”
“I won’t,” Lockwood said, clutching her a bit tighter. “Try using your jumper?”
Lucy managed to use her jumper as a sling to contain the apples, although it was a rather precarious arrangement. When she was done, Lockwood gingerly knelt down, and she climbed off his shoulders.
“Good teamwork, as always, Luce,” he said, his eyes sparkling.
Lucy squeezed his forearm in thanks and as she moved to turn away, Lockwood’s arm snuck around her waist, pulling her back in towards him. Their lips were just about to meet when—
“Oy! Are you two working or snogging?” George gave them a disapproving look from the doorway, where he stood with an apron tied over his brown and orange flannel shirt.
Lucy scowled at the interruption, but Lockwood took it in stride, calling back, “Don’t see you helping, George!”
“I’m cooking! Stay focused on the task at hand out there. Holly and I need those apples.”
When George was gone, Lucy snuck a quick kiss before darting back to her side of the tree. Lockwood grinned happily at her before returning his attention to apple picking.
Together, they hurried to quickly gather the remaining apples, and soon enough, large droplets of rain came pouring down on them. They raced back inside, laughing as they lugged the heavy buckets with them.
“Don’t get mud on the floor,” Holly called, as they shucked off their shoes.
Given their general inaptitude in the kitchen, Holly quickly put them both on apple peeling duty. George was fussing with the chicken and stirring the large pot of apples on the stove that were cooking down into applesauce, while Holly was assembling some kind of very healthy salad with greens and nuts and other healthy bits. Kipps had finally roused himself from his nap to help with the baking, and he was busy making some sort of crumbly topping.
Once the food was ready, they all gathered around the table to tuck into their dinner. Holly had brought over fresh flowers for the occasion, and the table looked quite cheery between the bright bouquet and the spread of food. In addition to George’s roast chicken and gravy, there was also Holly’s salad and still warm apple sauce.
“This has been such a lovely day, hasn’t it? I feel so relaxed,” Holly admitted. She unsurprisingly was the perfect picture of autumn in her cable knit jumper and plaid skirt.
“Well, this is the first time in a long time that no one’s trying to kill us,” Kipps said darkly.
George cleaned his glasses on his shirt thoughtfully. “That we know of at least.”
Lucy kicked him in the shin. “Real bit of confidence there, George.”
“With Lockwood, you never quite know what he’s gotten us into.”
Lockwood grinned. “I think we’ve had enough of that for a lifetime. But on that note, there was something I wanted to say.”
He looked around the table at them. “Thank you to all of you for everything that you’ve done both personally and professionally over these past weeks. I couldn’t have asked for better companions, and seeing our home looking so good again…” he trailed off, uncharacteristically hesitating over his words. Lucy found his hand under the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“Well,” Lockwood said, clearing his throat. “I’ve found myself thinking lately that my family would be pleased about the changes we’ve made. They would be happy to see that I’m making the house my own after so long, even if it took it being threatened to make it happen. And you all have been instrumental in that regard, so you deserved to be acknowledged. Thank you—for everything.”
A lump formed in Lucy’s throat at hearing Lockwood talk about his family. He tangled their fingers together, and she gave him a watery smile.
“We can see you two holding hands under the table,” George said, quickly dispelling the gravity of the moment.
Lucy threw her napkin at him. “Oh, shut up.”
Lockwood gave her a small, fond smile, before turning his full gleaming grin on the rest of the group. “Let’s eat, shall we?” he said, starting the rotation of the food.
After they had all helped themselves to multiple servings of dinner, Holly presented the apple crumble, still warm from the oven and laden with cinnamon. She dished out plates and they retreated to the library to enjoy their dessert in front of the still burning fire.
They spent the rest of the evening there, playing games and drinking hot chocolate. At some point, the games were abandoned, and Kipps dug through Lockwood’s liquor cabinet and poured them both a few fingers of the amber liquid from an ancient bottle of Iron Defenses Scotch.
Lucy draped her favorite plaid blanket over her lap as she sat on the floor leaning against Lockwood’s shins from where he sat behind her on the sofa. Her head rested against his knee, as she let the comfort of the moment seep over her. Rain was still pattering on the windows, washing the world clean outside, but inside, golden light adorned the library from the flames glowing in the hearth. The smell of cinnamon still wafted through the air, mingling with the smokey, woodsy scent from the fire.
Soon Lockwood slid down next to her, ceding the sofa to Kipps. She draped the blanket across both their laps as they continued to sip their respective beverages, her side pressed against his. Lockwood offered her his whiskey to try, and she sniffed at it suspiciously before taking a sip and deciding she liked it.
“I guess I’ll have to share with you now,” Lockwood teased.
Lucy snorted. “Or I could steal Quill’s. He really looks like he’s enjoying it.”
Kipps had already begun snoring softly behind them, his half drunk glass of whiskey now abandoned on the floor.
Across from them, George was already half asleep in his armchair, a comic book crumbled in his lap. Holly looked like she was going to join him soon from hers, although she was ever composed and graceful even half asleep.
“It’s been an excellent day, hasn’t it, Luce?” Lockwood said, giving her a lopsided smile. Even in a room full of warmth and love, the sight of him still warmed her like nothing else.
“Yes,” Lucy said, looking around at their friends before she smiled back. While there was darkness in her dreams, there was more than enough light here to chase them away. “It has been a very good day.”