Work Text:
Falling into each other’s arms was a blur of movement neither of them really thought about until it had happened, and then they both had the simultaneous realization that this felt good, felt safe , and even though the ghost had been big and scary and out for blood, something about the other being there made it alright. They stayed there, on the floor, shaking just a little, for a few minutes, which after the fight they’d just had felt like lifetimes.
Then, slowly, Lucy managed to unclench her fingers from Lockwood’s sleeve and he from the hem of her jacket, and they sat up together, steadying each other and hearing the gritty scrape beneath them of the old wooden floor scattered with salt and iron.
“Are you all right?” asked Lockwood. Lucy just nodded, not quite trusting her voice yet. Her cheeks were still damp with hysterical tears, and she wiped them away irritably, swiping at her nose as well. Lockwood dug at his pockets for a handkerchief and produced one mostly clean tissue, which he offered to her and she took gratefully. They sat there for another few moments, Lucy’s knees pressing against his thigh and their arms brushing against each other in the almost nonexistent space between them.
Then the sealed source, a few feet away, glowed irritably. Lucy groaned and shifted her weight, preparing to stand, and Lockwood got up too, holding onto her as they both clawed their way to uprightness. That done, Lucy finally stepped out of his arms, sniffling, and pulled her shoulders back. “I’ll get the chains.” she said.
“Right. Sounds good.”
They looked at each other for a long moment, studying the cuts and bruises on each other’s faces, the ectoplasm burns and stains on their coats. It struck them both at once how glad they were to be alive right then, that despite the numerous close calls and the research George was still out doing and so they had gone without, they had made it out alive again.
Lucy hiccuped, then started to cry, and they both stepped back into the other’s embrace. Lockwood’s hold was secure, not quite as frantic as it had been earlier, reeling her back in from what could’ve been a bad fall, but Lucy threw herself into it, fitting her hands against his ribs beneath his coat and feeling his heartbeat against her palms. Her forehead fit nicely into the crook of his neck, and her tears quickly faded. Her necklace, the one he had given her, glimmered faintly at her neck, hovering between them like a star. It was easy to stay there, her breathing slowing as she slid her arms around his back. His fingers tangled in her hair, gentle as anything, and she felt his lips gently kiss her forehead, barely there at all but for his breath ruffling her bangs.
“It’s all right, Luce,” he murmured. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
She hummed. She quite liked the sound of that. However, she couldn’t help giving a slightly sarcastic reply. “How do you know that it’s not me that’s got you?”
His laugh was quiet, but sincere. “Fair point.” He leaned back, looking down at her affectionately. “What do you say we get out of here, get some tea and biscuits with George? He’s bound to be up waiting for us.”
“Yes. Yes, he most definitely will.” Lucy finally roused herself to action, though couldn’t part without one final squeeze, holding him close. Then she’d managed to step away and to set about cleaning up the mess of iron and salt they’d made.
It was high time to head home.