// My hands slipped⊠Apologies for this horridness that I would most probably regret come morning. Sleep is ever-so elusive. Have a sleepy Lucy and Lockwood and a sassy George just âcause. //
This has become a habit, Lockwood thinks to himself as the cab driver rounded a corner five minutes away from 35 Portland Row. He is very careful not to move too much less he wakes up the sleeping form snoring lightly on his chest.
The first case they have been on together, Lockwood had been mightily impressed by the amount of energy Lucy seemed to have in her person. One particularly tetchy Visitor who had a flair for theatrics - falling jagged window panes, high-pitched screams, random fires⊠the usual - had sapped what little life he could spare that day, and the rain that had caught them unawares is doing nothing to improve matters. Lockwood remembers the bit of smoke curling up from her shoulder where the fire had nearly caught, the soot across her forehead, the flush on her cheeks when theyâve finally sealed the Source, her hair sticking to her scalp and face like wet seaweed when the rain had started pouring. Heâd known he probably looks the same if not worse, and to be quite frank, heâd been ready to fall unconscious in his feet.
Lucy had stayed awake the entire time, even on the cab ride home.
What he didnât remember is how Lucy hid huge yawns behind an opened - yet upturned - book, how hard sheâd tired to keep her eyes open, how sheâd fought against sleep harder than any ghost theyâve faced.
Lockwood had been too busy snoozing in the cab ride home to remember.
The fourth case of Lockwood and Co had ended quite superbly, if they say so themselves, and Lockwood, George and Lucy were all squashed at the back of the white nightcab on their way home with a couple of their duffel bags at their feet.
Lockwood had his head rested on the back of the chair when he felt a weight thump on his chest. When heâd tilted his head down to look, his cheek was met with head full of hair.
âI wouldnât wake her up if I were you,â George said, eyes closed, head resting on the window. He sat on Lockwoodâs lefthand side. âShe might bite both our heads off.â
âI wasnât about to,â Lockwood replied quietly. He was suddenly very still in his seat, his hands at his sides.
âUh-hmmâŠâ was Georgeâs only reply. Lockwood hadnât even noticed the knowing tone he used.
âLuce,â Lockwood said, moving his shoulder gently about to stir the sleeping girl awake. âWeâre home.â
Lucy, as is customary, would bolt upright in her seat, look around blindly with half-lidded eyes, almost certainly still asleep. She would glance outside the window where 35 Portland Row stood - and Lockwood is certain sheâs not really seeing it there because she looks too asleep to do so - and give Lockwoodâs chest two good taps before saying, âWeâre here.â
âThatâs what I said,â Lockwood would then say pleasantly as he opens the door and lets himself out. He would then open the door for Lucy who would stumble out as if in a trance.
âGeorge, put on the kettle,â she would mumble as she makes her way to the door, Lockwood following closely behind with their bags.
Lockwood would just shake his head with a soft smile on his lips as he opens the door for her and watch her climb the stairs to her room.
She would never remember any of this in the morning, and Lockwood would never mention anything, either.
âThat jumper you have with the gold buttons at the front. You never wear that anymore, do you?â
â⊠No. I suppose I donât anymore.â
A snigger. âI know why he doesnât.â
âOh well it doesnât make for a good pillow, does it?â
A mighty thunderclap had bolted George awake from a near slumber. He sat upright on the couch and looked at the clock. Quarter to two o'clock. What is taking them so long? They should have been here an hour ago based on Lockwoodâs estimate before they left. Where are -
Before George could stand up, the door flung open and in came Lockwood.
âNext time I yell your name from the street,â Lockwood told him, âd'you reckon you can make it there all quick?â
George ignored all this and asked, âWhatâs happened to her? Whyâs she like that?â
âThatâ, apparently, is sleeping in Lockwoodâs arms.
Lockwood shrugged. âShe wouldnât wake.â He started up the stairs. George followed him up.
As Lockwood tucked Lucy into her bed - one pillow behind her back (she sleeps on her side), one pillow for her to wrap her arms around, one pillow on her head and the blanket around this entire formation - he felt Georgeâs eyes on him, and without missing a beat, said, âNot one word.â
âI wasnât planning on saying it out loud.â
He felt the cab come to a stop and all at once, heâd woken up and said, âLuce, weâre -â The words died on his lips.
George looked back at him, already outside the cab and in the process of taking his duffel with him. Holly stood just beside him, one hand poised to collect her own things.
âYou alright, Lockwood?â she asked, a worried frown on her lips. The frown deepened when Lockwood didnât answer her, looking as though he hadnât heard her as he kept looking at his chest.
âI wouldnât bother, if I were you,â George muttered as he hefted the bag and slung it over his shoulder. He started his way to the house. âOld habits die hard, and this one in particular is not going anywhere.â
