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Lucy Carlyle woke up with a start.
She’d shot up, awake, just as the ghost in her dream had been racing towards her, screaming loudly. A half shout died on Lucy’s lips, her hand darted to the nearby rapier, while another fumbled with the light.
Her breathing came in short pants as she managed to hit the light and illuminate the room. Nothing. There was nothing. Just a dream.
She dropped the rapier and took a few steadying breaths. She put her hand on her chest, rubbing her own sternum and counting over and over to five. Calming herself down as she knew how to do.
She was in Portland Row, not alone any more, but calming herself down was a vital skill. Her attic room was familiar and comforting in the aftermath of a nightmare. More so than her old flat ever was. Lucy glanced around, eyes lingering on all the dark corners of the room the bedside lamp couldn’t reach. But it was safe, this room, this place was safe.
She glanced at the time and gave a frustrated sigh.
It was just past four in the morning. They had a rare night off, but it had been necessary. Back to back cases were no fun, and they’d all been exhausted from over a week of them. Tiredness led to mistakes, mistakes could lead to them getting hurt. And yet despite her exhaustion, she was now awake, and after that dream she’d doubted she’d sleep again that night, or morning.
She untangled herself from her sheets and got up from the bed. The hardwood floor of the attic was cold, and she shivered lightly. She grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders as she made her way to the window.
It was dark out still, night gripping tightly, but it was brighter than it would normally be at this time, brighter than it would be with the glow of the street lamps.
It had snowed. It had snowed a lot. It was still snowing.
Lucy smiled a little at this. It didn’t snow in London often, certainly not as much as she’d been used to before she’d come to London. Snow was peaceful, it was calm, it was gentle. A lot of things which their world was not.
She put on some more clothes, deciding that she would make some tea or maybe a hot chocolate, have a biscuit and come back and just watch the snow for a bit. There were worse things to be doing at this early an hour. She knew this, given what they’d been doing just the night before.
It had been a particularly difficult wraith and Lockwood’s recklessness, which had been more than enough.
Lucy stepped carefully down the steps of the attic, unwilling to wake the boys if she could avoid it, but she hadn’t needed to. She got down to the landing and then noticed that there was still a light on in the study.
Faintly, she could hear a radio playing.
It wasn’t uncommon for them to leave lights on, the electricity bill was always high, but it was worth the security that light gave them.
But they didn’t leave radios on.
She approached the study and the door was a little ajar, she peaked in and was a little unsurprised by the sight.
Lockwood was sitting at one of the desks of the study, a few books open, with the radio playing. The curtains were open, and she could tell he was mostly watching the snow, whatever work he’d be doing entirely forgotten. From this angle, he seemed both exhausted and full of life. Wondrously gazing at the snow, his foot tapping lightly to the music.
Were it not the middle of the night, she wouldn’t have thought anything wrong with the sight. But it was late, and Lockwood had the darkest bags under his eyes of anyone she’d ever known, ones which never really faded.
Lucy knew he didn’t sleep well, if at all. Usually his sleep was brought on by sheer exhaustion, and after a few hours he’d be up again. She knew he had nightmares, that his nightmares likely rivalled her own in severity and frequency. They had both seen so much, experienced so much.
Her mother had been terrible, so she couldn’t know the pain of losing loved ones. She could imagine it, though. It had been part of why she’d left.
The door creaked a little and suddenly Lockwood was looking at her. He frowned, glanced at his watch, and then reached to turn the radio off.
“Luce! I’m sorry, was it too loud?” He asked, getting to his feet, a fond and kind expression on his features.
Lucy stepped into the room and shook her head gently, closing the door behind her.
He was still wearing his shirt and dress trousers. Though, the top button of the shirt was undone, and the sleeves rolled up to his biceps. He was wearing dark pink socks. His clothes were creased, they needed ironed. She could almost say that he was dressed casually.
“Nightmare,” She replied, and he gave a knowing nod.
“It’s snowing,”
The statement felt unnecessary when it was clear he knew it but she’d said it before she could stop herself. She stepped further into the room, and moved to the radio, and turned it back on. Lockwood was watching her slowly, and then he turned to the window.
“Yeah, I haven’t seen snow like this in…,” he trailed off, “Honestly, maybe ever. It has snowed, I’ve seen snow, but it never normally lies like this in London,”
She had figured that would be the case, but gave a little smile.
“It used to snow like this pretty often where I grew up, it was really fun to play in,” Lucy said, looking between the window and Lockwood.
He was looking at her in the way he always did when she talked about growing up. Like he wanted to know and ask more, but didn’t want her to feel like she had to talk about it.
“Jessica always got really excited when it snowed, even when it was just a little. She would’ve loved this,” Lockwood said, giving her a little too. There wasn’t a lot in what either of them had said, but it felt like a lot to both of them.
“I should make us some hot chocolate,” Lucy said with a small smile. “That’s what you drink when it’s like this,”
“With whipped cream and marshmallows?” Lockwood asked with the faint air of a smile on his face. She knew telling her about Jessica always led to him thinking of her and being more pensive.
“Of course,” Lucy retorted. “I’ll be back soon,”
She turned out of the room and went to the kitchen quietly, it didn’t take her long to make the hot chocolate, and the whole time the snow didn’t stop.
She carefully carried the hot chocolates back to the study, and smiled as she found Lockwood just at the window sill, staring out at it. She wondered if he could see any ghosts out there in the snow.
“Here,” Lucy said as she handed him the cup.
“Thanks Luce,” he said, and he took a sip of the drink, though largely just ended up with cream on his upper lip, like a moustache.
It made Lucy laugh.
He wiped it away with his arm.
“Did I get it all?” he asked, and Lucy, while still smiling, reached up and wiped the little amount away from the corner of his lips.
Lucy caught herself as her fingers touched his skin, until it felt the warmth and roughness of his cheek. She had been so lost in the moment, she hadn’t even considered what she was doing. Her fingers were on his face, and she was standing close to him. His gaze was fixed on her, and she met it.
They stood, both stock still, for a further second before she quickly pulled her hand away and looked away from him. Lockwood remained staring at her, at where she’d just been.
The music on the radio played faintly. Transitioning from one song to another. There was no announcer for the radio, it was too late or perhaps early for one.
“Oh, I love this song,” Lockwood said gently, and it seemed entirely in keeping with him. It was an old song, one that she had never heard, though Lucy didn’t really have time to keep up with current music much less old music.
“It was my parent's favourite song,” he added, and Lucy looked at the radio and then back at Lockwood. He had put the cup of hot chocolate down on the table, and then held out his hand to her.
“Are you inviting me to dance?” Lucy asked, looking at his hand as he then nodded.
“I can’t dance, Lockwood,” she retorted and rolled her eyes at him, even as her hand was already moving to take his.
“I’ll guide you, Luce,” he said, and his voice was so soft and so fond, his gaze so eager, that without a second thought she took his hand.
It was so late, so early. The months had been so hard, and she deserved a break.
She knew he hadn’t slept and that come the next night they’d fighting for their lives but all that slipped away as her hand took his. Right now, they could dance.
His hand was in hers, and she placed her other on his shoulder, his hand went to her waist, and she could feel it. The roughness of his fingers through her clothes. Her body felt a little like a live wire, stemming from where they were touching.
He began guiding their dance, practiced known steps as the song got started. She was sure she stood on his toes, but he gave no indication of it. He spun her under his arm, and she involuntarily let out a little noise, almost a giggle, which had him letting out a little chuckle.
Their dancing got easier the more she got into it. The song changed, but they didn’t stop, it just was a little slower than the one before, and she was brought in close, doing more swaying than dancing. Her hands on his shoulder, his on the small of her back.
She held his gaze, as he held hers.
There was such a fondness in his gaze. A fondness she didn’t think should be for her.
In her heart she knew, she loved this stupid reckless boy, and part of her was sure he loved her too.
They danced and danced.
Outside, it snowed still, creating a calm their world hadn’t known in a long while. The night would hold on a little longer, but she felt safe and loved.
Like, if she closed her eyes, she could imagine a world where they didn’t fight ghosts every other night, that didn't demand so much of them, leaving them with so much grief and trauma.
“If we wake George up, he might kill us,” Lockwood said.
Lucy laughed lightly, nodding in agreement, as Lockwood nodded and laughed too. His hand rubbing her back a little, the music still playing.
“Thanks,” she said, and didn’t look at him.
“Always, Luce,” he replied easily.
And they danced.
In a few hours, the sun rise and the snow would slowly melt away. They’d end up trudging through it, almost falling from the ice. It would be cold and bitter and horrible, but for now, in the warmth of his arms, in the study of their home, the world was just all okay.
The world was at peace, and so was she.