#lockwd

It's been a few WEEKS since she'd left Portland Row, and yet the pain still seems fresh. It's like a wound in her chest that doesn't want to close. Like she'd been ghost touched, and can slowly, but surely, feel her whole body going numb.

Lucy doesn't remember much from that day anymore, not after she'd stepped out of the house anyway. The next thing she remembers is the worried face of Kipps, his hand on her shoulder, tentatively, as if he's worried she might shatter if he touches her too harshly. She'd ended up sleeping in his guest room that night, and despite his reassurance that she could stay as long as she needed to, she knows it's time to leave. ( ESPECIALLY since that rather awkward moment they had shared a couple of days ago ).

She tries to not be home whenever he is, but something about today is DIFFERENT. Lucy's in the middle of making breakfast, a habit more than a need, really, when he steps into the kitchen, concern written all over his face. And somehow she KNOWS. Knows even before he says a word about how George had contacted him, about how Lucy should come to the hospital NOW.

She'd been worried about this ever since leaving, ever since trying to put some distance between Portland Row and herself, between LOCKWOOD and herself, that he'd go and do something stupid. Get himself hurt. And God, she'll NEVER, ever forgive herself for this.

She barely registers Kipps offer to drive her, but doesn't resist, and then stumbles more than she runs down the hospital corridor. Either nobody cares to stop her, or nobody DARES as she makes her way through, stepping into the room, her heart hammering in her chest at the sight of him in the bed.

There's machines beeping, and the lights are turned down, and suddenly, the whole room becomes blurry. It takes Lucy a moment to realize she's crying again, for the first time in WEEKS, ever since that day, But now it seems like she can't stop, hands shaking as she sinks into the chair next to the bed.

" hi! you must be... well, actually, now that i've got a good look at you, there's a fairly reasonable chance that you mightn't be the new potential tenant at all! you can't be older than my own eldest... " she'll accept that this is far from a discreet concern that she shares. the young man sitting in the diner booth with her can barely be eighteen; not that eighteen year old housemates would be unheard of, but... in this economy? surely not.

" i'm... i'm sorry, you'll have to excuse me. i've been fielding offers from a bunch of applicants all day. why don't we restart this discussion, and this time, i won't be such an assuming eejit of a woman! what's your name, and what brings you to the diner today? "

Lucy ponders the question for a moment, turning her head to look at where Lockwood's sitting on the other end of the sofa. It's been another one of those nights, where they gravitate towards each other, and don't quite want to leave just yet.

"I think...dreams are a way of coping with what happens to us on a daily basis," She eventually says, "but then we also hunt ghosts for a living, so I am not about to say there CAN'T be a deeper meaning. Why?"

Lucy wants to SCREAM. It's happened again, a moment where he'd been just a little too reckless, getting himself in danger, ready to just take the plunge and leave them all behind, and Lucy doesn't know how many more times she can do this. There's always the danger of one of them not making it out alive, but Lockwood has a habit of making himself the target more often than necessary.

She FREEZES in her motions, hand already halfway out, reaching for her bag to go...well, where? Anywhere, she thinks, but doesn't make it that far. The hand is shaking as she forces herself to look at him, even if it's only out of the corner of her eye, because she's not sure she could fully look at him without bursting into tears.

Lockwood tries to sit still while Lucy cares for his injury, in order to make it easier for her. But his body is aching and there's throbbing pain in the wound that makes him want to press a firm hand to it. "Thank you for helping me out with this." He gives her a small smile. Even with company, it was easy to resort to doing things yourself sometimes. At least it was for him as he'd grown up needing to fend for himself. He still had to remind himself to ask for help, but he had gotten better at it.

"There was NO TIME." That's a lousy excuse, and they both know it, but the last thing Lucy wants to admit is that she thinks about Lockwood patching up her wound way back when they'd just met, and how it had made her feel. She's not sure she can handle being this close to him without...well.

"I am fine." She then adds, picking up the wash cloth to wipe the blood away so the damage could be assessed. It's just a cut to her upper arm, but it is bleeding, and she DOES need to do something about it.

It's NICE, actually, to be doing something other than hunting ghosts for once. Lucy is proud of her talent, and she likes the thought of helping people, and maybe even some ghosts who are stuck in this world, but...sometimes she likes being normal, too, at least for the half an hour it takes to build a snowman.

"Any suggestions?" She agrees with a slight smile, placing the carrot in its place to finish off the quite marvellous work they had done. "I'm open to pretty much ANYTHING."

They really shouldn't be AWAKE anymore, given the case they had closed, but it's only a few hours until sunrise anyway, and it's not like they have anything else to do tomorrow other than rest. George is long passed out on the couch, while Lucy and Lockwood sit around the kitchen table still, ice cream in front of them. They really deserve a treat after THIS kind of case.

Her hand is already halfway up to her face as he speaks, before Lockwood beats her to it, and Lucy blinks, before her eyes meet his, and she swallows.