Archive of Our Own

Hand me your hand, let me look in your eyes
As my last chance to feel human begins to vaporize
Maybe it's the heat in here, maybe it's the pressure
You ought to head for the exits, the sooner the better

I am this great, unstable mass of blood and foam
And no one in her right mind would make my home her home
My heart's an autoclave

When I try to open up to you I get completely lost
Houses swallowed by the earth, windows thick with frost
And I reach deep down within, but the pathways twist and turn
And there's no light anywhere, and nothing left to burn

And I am this great, unstable mass of blood and foam
And no emotion that's worth having could call my heart its home
My heart's an autoclave

--"Autoclave" by the Mountain Goats

He felt like he’d been holding his breath since he and Lucy came back from the Other Side, but as they boarded the train home it seemed like it might be safe to exhale. Their business with Aldbury Castle was done, the iron circle was obliterated, and they could delve deeper into what they had learned about Rotwell from the safety of Portland Row. 

Lockwood sank into a seat by the window, wincing. His whole body ached, his joints cracking as he tried to get comfortable. Everything still hurt from his adventures two days earlier, and sleeping- or, more accurately, trying to sleep- in the rock hard bed at the inn had done him no favors.

You’ll feel better once you’re resting in your own bed, he told himself. 

Lucy followed him into the train compartment and hesitated, trying to decide where to sit. He smiled at her. She was unusually pale, her big hazel eyes cloudy and ringed with bruises nearly as dark as his. “Mind if I sit next to you?” she asked. 

His heart skipped a beat. “Yes, of course, absolutely,” he said. 

She smiled back at him. Some of the cloudiness cleared in her eyes, although that might have been in his imagination, and she sat down next to him. Despite having the whole bench open she sat close enough for their thighs to touch. 

George plunked down opposite them and ran a hand through his dark curls, making them stand up in wild directions.  “God, I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed tonight,” he sighed. 

“You’re telling me,” Kipps groused. He sat on the farthest corner away from them, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m tired of getting crammed in that closet with that fucking skull.”

“You could have shared my bed,” George said. Kipps shot him a withering look. 

Holly sat down between the two boys. “If you two could keep the peace long enough to get home, that would be lovely,” she said. 

Lockwood rested his chin on his hand and gazed out the window as the train began move out of the station. “Please tell me we don’t have anything immediately planned for tonight or tomorrow,” George said. “I’m exhausted.”

“No, nothing at the moment,” Holly said. She pulled her planner out of her bag and flipped a few pages. “I’ll check our messages and see if we have any prospective clients before I head home, I’ll schedule them a few days out. Tonight we can just unpack and get some rest.” She hesitated. “Lucy, I could go with you back to your flat if you’d like, if you’re worried about anyone still lurking about. Or you could always stay a night or two at Portland Row, I’m sure Lockwood and George wouldn’t mind.”

“God, please do, Lucy, I’d worry so much less,” George said. 

She sat up a little, blinking sleepily. “Oh!” she said. “Oh, Lockwood, we forgot to tell them.”

“Tell us what?” Holly said. 

“I asked Lucy if she would possibly consider coming back to Lockwood & Co, and she said yes,” he said. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to move your things out of the attic, George, you’ve lost your extra storage space.”

“I don’t mind a bit,” George said, grinning so broadly his face might split in two. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

“I appreciate it,” Lucy said. 

“We can pack up your flat whenever you want,” Holly said. Her dark eyes were bright, a dimple popping in her cheek as she smiled. “Good to have you back, Lucy.”

Lucy rested her hand lightly on Lockwood’s thigh and squeezed. “Good to be back,” she said. 

His heart did that odd little skip again. He smiled at her and rested his hand over hers; she turned her palm towards his and their fingers tangled together lightly. Everything felt right in the world again. She was back, she was safe. Things would turn out all right. 

The five of them chatted a bit at the train picked up speed, but their conversation petered out as exhaustion started to pull them down. Kipps dozed off almost immediately, his long legs stretched out as far as he could manage and his arms folded across his chest. Holly busied herself with her planner, and George idly scanned through a book, yawning as he turned pages. 

Lockwood briefly considered getting his book out of his bag, but he couldn’t move. Lucy had fallen asleep, her cheek pillowed on his shoulder and her breath soft and warm against his neck. He didn’t dare move and risk waking her up, not when she was clearly this tired. 

The soft weight of her body against his dragged him back into the memory of the Other Side, when her cloak had torn in two and he’d had to cover her with his to keep her safe. It haunted his dreams every time he tried to sleep- her piercing scream, the terror in her wide eyes, the way the ice was already spreading across her neck and temples. There hadn’t been a second to think, he had grabbed her arm- already freezing cold- and yanked her close, hiding her under the safety of his cloak. She had been shaking violently and he hated it, he never wanted her to be frightened or cold or hurting. If there had been time he would have stopped to comfort her, to reassure her that he would keep her safe and he would get her home and everything would be okay. But there hasn’t been time, and all he could do was keep her as close as possible. 

He gazed down at her as she slept on his shoulder. Her lashes were dark against her cheek, her lips rosy and parted in a little pout, and her fingers were soft and lax against his. Some of the tension in his chest eased, even though he still felt as cold and frozen as he had on the Other Side. He had kept her safe, and he would make sure she stayed safe. 

The train ride stretched on for a few hours;  by the time they made it to their station it was midafternoon. George stood up first, making the most horrendous noises as he stretched his arms over his head. “I’m so stiff,” he complained. “Anyone mind if I claim the bathroom when we get home? I would kill for a hot shower.”

Lockwood hadn’t realized until that moment how cold and achy he felt. Their time in the village and his little jaunt to the afterlife was having more of an effect on him than he realized. A hot shower sounded like heaven. “No, by all means,” he said instead, and George grinned at him. 

Lockwood turned to Lucy as the others started to get up and gather their things. “Luce,” he whispered. “We made it back. Wake up.”

She still slept against his shoulder, her hand limp in his. He frowned. She usually slept deeply, but she hadn’t reacted to him at all. “Luce, come on, it’s time to go home,” he said. He squeezed her hand tight. No reaction. “Luce? Lucy?”

The panic rising in his chest must have spilled out into his voice, because Holly set her bag down and immediately sat down on Lucy’s other side. “Lucy, come on, wake up,” she said firmly, giving her shoulder a brisk shake. 

To Lockwood’s relief she roused a bit at that, making a little noise of protest and scrunching her nose before curling up closer to his side. He squeezed her hand hard. “Why won’t she wake up, this isn’t like her,” he said. 

“Well, she’s worn out, we all are,” George said. 

Holly touched the back of her hand to Lucy’s forehead, then pressed her fingers to the side of her neck. “She’s all right, she’s just asleep,” she said. “She’s exhausted. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is an aftereffect of going to the Other Side, we don’t know what kind of effect it would have on her.” She glanced at Lockwood. “I’m sure you’re going to go through something like this too.”

“Hopefully not til we’re back, I can’t carry both of you,” Kipps said. “Someone get my bag, I’ll carry her.”

“I can-“ Lockwood started to say. 

“No offense, Tony, but you look like you’re seconds away from dropping too,” Kipps said. He pulled at Lucy gently until she leaned towards him and her head lolled against his shoulder. Lockwood let go of her hand reluctantly as Kipps slid his arm under her knees and hoisted her up. His heart squeezed in his chest; she was so limp and so quiet. 

Lockwood stayed close as they disembarked and waited for a cab, Lucy’s bag slung over his shoulder. It was a beautiful spring day, but the sun was giving him a headache while doing absolutely nothing to warm him up. Even with his long coat on he felt cold. 

Lucy stayed asleep even as they got her into the back of the cab. Lockwood got in first and guided her to lean against his shoulder again, wrapping his arm around her. She leaned heavily against him, making a soft sleepy noise as she got comfortable, and he rested his cheek against the top of her head. Her warmth soaked through the icy ache in his bones. 

It was a little bit of a tight fit to get all five of them in there, but they made it work. Lockwood ran his thumb along Lucy’s arm, checking every so often to make sure she was still breathing. This wasn’t like her at all, and the surging worry in his chest felt like it would freeze him. 

The cab pulled up to Portland Row, but his initial relief at being home couldn’t withstand the anxiety he felt. “Try to wake her up again,” George urged, leaning forward and giving Lucy’s knee a little shake. 

“Come on, Luce,” Lockwood said. He brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Come on, wake up. We’re home.”

That, at least, was enough to make some of his tension relax. Home finally included Lucy again. She was back for good, and this time he intended to do everything he could to keep her. He might not survive if he lost her again. 

Lucy nuzzled her forehead against the side of his neck and mumbled something unintelligible. “Oh, for gods sake, I’ll take her,” Kipps said. “Even if you got her awake, I don’t think she could take more than a few steps without collapsing.”

Lockwood gritted his teeth, but he knew he was right. If he could have carried her himself he would, but he was almost too tired to get himself moving, much less carry Lucy safely. 

He helped shift her towards Kipps; he gathered her up and hoisted her dead weight with a soft grunt. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s go,” he said. 

The back of Lockwood’s neck heated up. He knew Kipps didn’t mean anything by it, he tended to call people nicknames and he’d called Lucy and even Holly that before. It didn’t make him any less irritated. 

George clambered out of the cab. “God, I thought I was going to suffocate in there,” he said. “It’s too early in the spring for it to be this damn hot.”

Lockwood frowned. Why do I feel so cold, then? he thought.

He didn’t have time or energy to linger on that, though. Instead he picked up his bag and Lucy’s too and trailed behind the others up to the house. Holly had already unlocked the front door, holding it open so Kipps could carry Lucy inside.

“Take her up to her room,” Holly told him. “I’ll take care of her. George, do you think you could figure out lunch for us after your shower?”
“Definitely,” George said. “Kipps, you want to stay?”

Kipps adjusted his grip on Lucy. Her arm dangled limply, her fingers twitching. “If you don’t mind,” he said. “I think after this past week I’ve earned a free meal.”

He started up the stairs, walking slowly. “You think we ought to take her to A&E to get checked out?” George asked in a low voice.

Holly shook her head. “This isn’t ghostlock or ghost touch. I don’t know what they’d do for her. Maybe if she started showing other symptoms, but…” Her voice trailed off. “Lockwood, you ought to get some rest. Lucy’s getting hit hard by…whatever this is, and doubtless it’s about to hit you too.”

Lockwood rolled his eyes. “I don’t need to be treated like a child, thank you very much,” he said. “I’m fine. I’m going to change, and then I’m going sit with Lucy while I go through my notes.” George and Holly exchanged a look that made him grit his teeth. “Let me know when there’s food, I’m starving.”

He wasn’t, though. He hadn’t been hungry since…last night? He hadn’t eaten breakfast, other than a weak cup of tea, and he had only picked at dinner the night before that. Odd that he still wasn’t hungry. 

He went into his room and tugged off his coat. Immediately his skin erupted in goosebumps. “Why is it so cold in here?” he mumbled under his breath. His shirt was damp with sweat, but he felt freezing. Maybe George would save at least a little hot water and he could take a shower, try to warm himself up a little.

He draped his coat over the back of a chair and paused, swaying a little. The ache in his joints had shifted from a dull throbbing to a piercing jolt that ran through him like an electric current, making him shiver involuntarily. God, everything hurt. That wasn’t anything new, he’d been sore for a while, but this felt different. Worse.

He tried to sit down and missed, his knees buckling as he hit the floor. His balance was shot and he didn’t know why. The room was spinning, his horizon tilting drunkenly. He shook his head in a misguided attempt to clear his thoughts and a red hot poker shot through his temples.

Pull yourself together , he told himself sternly. Get up. Just get up.

He sat on the floor staring at the pattern in the carpet, his eyes going cloudy. He couldn’t figure out what to do next, his thoughts too muddled.

Get your shoes off. You can do that, at least.

He plucked half-heartedly at the laces of his battered trainers. For some reason his fingers wouldn’t obey him, his hands were shaking too much. He tried to scold himself into moving, but his thoughts couldn’t organize themselves into words.

Lockwood sat on his bedroom floor, staring blankly into space, his teeth starting to chatter. 

What’s wrong with me? he thought. It was the only coherent thought he could put together.

Holly tried not to hover as Kipps placed Lucy down on her bed, fully aware that she was failing entirely. “Okay, I can take it from here,” she said. 

Kipps paused, standing at the foot of the bed as Holly started untying Lucy’s boots. “You think she’ll be all right?” he asked. 

I don’t know. I don’t know what we’re up against.

“Yes,” she said firmly, more confident than she felt. 

“You reckon this’ll happen to Tony too?”

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Holly said. She set Lucy’s boots on the floor; she was wearing one plain white sock and one with blue stripes. “Go on, then. Make some tea or take a nap or something.”

Kipps’s mouth tugged down but he obeyed, his steps heavy on the stairs. Holly unzipped Lucy’s jacket and wrestled it off of her. The cut on her arm, left behind from the throwing knife a week ago, was healing nicely but still looked deep pink and raw. 

Lucy shifted a little, her nose scrunching, and then rolled onto her side. She didn’t seem hurt or in distress, and the pink flush in her cheeks was clearly from sleep and not fever. It was reassuring to see some color in her face anyway, she had been looking so pale and pinched. Clearly her time away from them had taken its toll on her too, even though- just like Lockwood- she was sure there was no way she would ever admit it. 

Holly pulled the covers up around her, tucking her in securely. Lucy’s breathing was slow and deep and even, but she made no reaction as she was tucked in. “Keep sleeping if that’s what you need,” she said softly. 

She had rarely ventured into the attic after Lucy left. Her absence was felt keenly, constantly, no matter where she was in the house, but going into the attic without Lucy’s clutter and her posters and her photos and her music playing felt so wrong. Now she was here, sleeping in her own bed, and all seemed right in the world again. Once they cleared out George’s weird experiments and brought her things back from her flat it would be almost like the past few months had never even happened. 

Holly hung up Lucy’s coat and set her boots against the wall, then headed down the stairs. The shower had stopped running, so hopefully George would head down to the kitchen soon. Kipps had made himself scarce, but if he’d made tea she would fix herself a cup. And once she checked on Lockwood maybe she could get a few minutes to call Julie. Signal had been abysmal in Aldbury and she missed her so much. She couldn’t wait to go home to their cozy little flat and sleep beside her in their own bed. 

George’s door was closed but Lockwood’s was open. She knocked lightly anyway. “Don’t be cross, I just want to check on you,” she said. 

He had been in such an odd mood all day, although she supposed she couldn’t blame him. The past few days had been awfully rough. And she hadn’t missed the look of pure panic on his face when he realized he couldn’t wake Lucy. Hopefully he could get some rest, and he and Lucy would both feel better soon. Maybe he was already asleep. 

But when she peeked inside his room her heart sank. He was sitting on the floor, his shoulders hunched and head hanging, his legs splayed out like a dropped doll. 

 Alarm bells rang shrilly in Holly’s head. “Lockwood?” she ventured. “You all right?” He didn’t acknowledge her and she took a step closer. “Lockwood? What’s wrong?”

He raised his head ar that, his dark hair falling over his eyes. “I can’t get my shoes off,” he said, bewildered. 

Holly crossed the room in a few quick strides and knelt down beside him. “That’s all right, don’t worry about it,” she said. The confusion alarmed her. He was never confused, never sounded so lost. “Are you feeling all right? Is anything hurting?” Leave it to Lockwood to have an injury that he never bothered to mention.

“I’m just cold, I think,” he said, blinking unsteadily.

She leaned over and switched on the lamp on his nightstand. In the light she could see the angry red flush spreading on his pale cheeks and creeping down his neck. Sweat beaded along his hairline. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. 

“Oh my god, you’re burning up,” she said softly. 

“I’m cold,” he protested again, a tremor running up and down his spine.

Holly cupped her hand over his forehead, feeling the heat from his fever soaking into her palm. “George!” she called. “Kipps!”

Lockwood winced. “Why’re you yelling?” he mumbled. 

George tumbled into the room, his damp curls still dripping from his shower. “Holly, what’s-“ He paused. “What’s wrong? What happened to him?”

“He’s running a fever, I need you to help me get him off the floor,” Holly said. 

“Oh, fuck,” George said. He knelt down next to them and studied Lockwood’s face. “You think this is what’s happening to him, instead of Lucy’s coma?”

“She’s just sleeping, it’s not a coma, and I don’t know,” she said, much more sharply than she intended. 

Kipps stuck his head in the room. “Did you call me or…oh, shit,” he said. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Just help me get him off the floor,” Holly said.

She scrambled back as George and Kipps hoisted him up. Lockwood yelped, grabbing onto George’s arm and closing his eyes tight as his knees buckled. “What the hell is wrong with him, he’s been fine all day,” Kipps said.

“No, he hasn’t, he’s been acting off for a while but this is Lockwood we’re talking about,” George said, tightening his hold around his waist. “All he does is pretend he’s fine. Have you not learned that about him yet?” 

Holly brushed off her skirt. “I’ll be right back, get him on his bed and don’t leave him,” she said. 

She grabbed the thermometer from its usual spot in the bathroom medicine cabinet, her mind already running a mile a minute. They could take care of him here, but if his temperature got too high they would need to get him to A&E, especially if he got dehydrated. But then again, if this was some kind of…of psychic thing, the Other Side lingering on him like smoke, then what were they supposed to do? Would they still be able to help him or would they just have to wait it out?

Would they lose him?

She shook her head. She was getting ahead of herself. No reason to go down that mental path. 

When she got back the boys had gotten Lockwood onto his bed and George had managed to get his trainers off for him. Holly slipped past them and cupped Lockwood’s chin in her hand. “Hold this under your tongue for me, please,” she said as she set the thermometer in his mouth. He made a noise of frustration but obeyed.  

“What are we supposed to do with the two of them?” Kipps asked.

“I don’t know,” Holly said absently, too busy scrutinizing Lockwood. His shirt was drenched with sweat, sticking to his slim frame, but he was shivering like he was cold. Fever chills. 

“What if Lucy doesn’t wake up?” Kipps rattled on. “What if Tony keeps getting sicker? What are we supposed to do?”

“Well, we can’t tell a doctor that they went off on a little jaunt to the Other Side now then, can we?” George said.

Holly brushed Lockwood’s damp hair off his forehead, studying his face. His eyes were glazed over. “Can you two stop bickering? You’re not helping anything,” she said. The thermometer beeped and she gritted her teeth as she checked it. 

George caught the shift in her expression. “How bad is he, Hols?” he asked.

“He’s at 38.8,” she said. 

Kipps whistled. “Well, that’s not great,” he said. 

George rolled his eyes. “Oh, gee, Kipps, what an excellent point,” he said. “You’re fantastic in a crisis.”

“Can you not?” Holly said. “Now isn’t the time for this.” She took a deep breath. “I need one of you to get paracetamol and a cold damp flannel. And I need one of you to go check on Lucy, make sure this isn’t hitting her too.”

“I’ll check on Lucy,” George said immediately. 

Holly turned her attention to Lockwood, unbuttoning his white dress shirt briskly. He tried to get out of his sleeves himself, but his arms were shaking too much. “I don’t know what happened,” he said. “I was…I was fine on the train.” 

His skin was on fire and tacky with sweat; the fever flush had spread down his neck and across his collarbone. “You’re going to be all right,” Holly told him. “It’s just a fever. Some sleep and some medicine and you’ll be just fine.”

Her voice sounded far more confident than she felt. She grabbed a clean tee shirt out of his dresser and helped him into it. “Holly, ‘m freezing,” Lockwood mumbled as she guided his arms into the sleeves. “Why’s it cold?”

“Because your fever is so high that it’s giving you chills,” she explained patiently. She helped him out of his trousers, stripping him down to his boxers, and caught him wincing. “Are you in pain?”

He nodded unsteadily. “Feels like…I’ve been running a marathon,” he said. “Everything aches.”

Holly made a gentle sympathetic noise. “That’s to be expected too,” she said. She adjusted the covers, pulling the sheets and blankets over his legs. “Just stay still and rest, okay?”

“That’s a tall order for him, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him stay still for more than a few minutes,” Kipps said. He popped open the top of the paracetamol bottle and tipped a couple of pills into his hand. “Here, Tony.”

Lockwood popped them in his mouth, grimacing as he tried to dry swallow. “Jesus Christ, don’t do that, I brought you water,” Kipps said hastily, handing him the glass. Holly hated the way his hands shook, and he spilled half the water down the front of his shirt, but he was able to swallow the pills without choking. 

“Good, hopefully that’ll help,” Holly said, rescuing the glass before he could drop it. “Now lie down.”

He didn’t move. “I’m sorry,” he said, gazing blankly at the far wall. 

“Sorry for what?”

Lockwood knuckled at his eyes. “Sorry for…for making you help me,” he said. “Sorry I can’t help Lucy.”

Holly sat down on the edge of the bed. “You don’t have anything to apologize for,” she said. “No one is upset with you.”

He dropped his hands to his lap, staring past Holly’s shoulder, his jaw tight. “I’m so stupid,” he said. “I shouldn’t-“

“Hey,” she interrupted. “None of that. Absolutely not. You’re not stupid and you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Not this time,” Kipps mumbled under his breath. Holly whipped around and glared at him over her shoulder; he held up his hands in surrender.

George walked into the room, oblivious to their conversation. “I checked on Lucy, she’s still sleeping like the dead but no fever,” he said. 

Holly turned back to Lockwood. “See? Lucy is fine, and everything is going to turn out all right,” she said. “You just need to get some rest and you’ll feel better soon. Now come on, lie down.”

He obeyed her this time, allowing her to draw the covers up to his shoulders. Fever chills still wracked his frame. She didn’t envy him, she remembered being sick like this once and it had been horrible. But then again, she only had the flu, not a bad reaction after traveling through the afterlife, and her mother had taken care of her until she was well again. Lockwood didn’t have the flu, and as for family-

She put the thought away. We’re his family now, she thought instead. We’ll take care of him.

She tucked him in securely and smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “What do we do now?” George asked. 

“We’ll have to let this work itself out of his system and hope for the best, I suppose,” Holly said.

If someone had told Quill Kipps a year ago that he would not only be hanging around in Anthony Lockwood’s house, but he would be genuinely concerned about his well-being, he would have assumed that something in his life had gone terribly wrong.

Well, in a way it had. Nothing in his life had been working out the way he planned. But still.

He hadn’t planned on sticking around, especially as the sun set and the sky darkened into late evening, but with first Lucy and then Lockwood dropping, he sort of felt obligated to stay. Holly was clearly worried; she had always seemed so calm and collected to him but now she was pacing around downright frazzled. She kept going back and forth from one room to the next, trying to figure out what was going on and what she could do to fix things. There wasn’t much she could do, apparently. Not much any of them could do. George had taken a stack of books up to the attic to research while he sat vigil with Lucy, frantically flipping pages while he looked for something that might help them anticipate what was going to happen next. 

Except, Kipps thought, no one’s ever really traveled to the Other Side outside of this Rotwell business, apparently, and I doubt Karim is going to find much about it in his books.

Any relief at coming to the end of the case and making it back home was long gone. A dark cloud had settled over Portland Row, heavy and smothering, and there was no chance of it lifting until Lockwood and Lucy were back to normal.

Kipps wasn’t sure what to do with himself, but he also didn’t feel like he could leave either. Holly or George might need him or something.

Fancy that, someone needing you for once , a little voice in the back of his head said, and he shoved it away quickly.

Somehow he ended up sitting in Lockwood’s room with him while Holly went down to the library and made a few phone calls, asking a friend of hers for advice. He sat awkwardly in the corner of the room, occasionally flipping a page in the gossip magazine he’d borrowed off his nightstand and trying not to look at him. Being helpful around sick people was not exactly his forte.

And Lockwood was sick. That much was obvious. He barely moved except to shiver when chills struck him, even though he was covered in multiple blankets. Holly had tried to coax him to drink water but he could barely manage it. 

This wasn’t Lockwood. When he pictured him he always pictured him moving, constantly moving, his hand on the hilt of his rapier and a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he spouted off quips. Not lying in his bed, still and silent.

Holly walked back into the room as she retied her ponytail. “Any luck?” he asked.

“Not really,” she said. “I mean, part of the problem is I can’t quite describe the root of the problem, not without raising a million questions, but I have a feeling that no one really has much experience with this kind of thing.”

Kipps turned another page in his magazine. “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he said. “It’ll take more than a little fever to take Tony Lockwood out for good.”

Holly scowled. “You know he doesn’t like being called that.”

“So?”

“So…couldn’t you be at least a little more polite to him? Now that you’re working with us.”

Kipps scowled. “I’m not joining the company or anything,” he said. “This has just been…a brief partnership.”

Holly rolled her eyes. “Why do you take so much pleasure in antagonizing him?” she said. 

“In all fairness, he delights in antagonizing me right back,” he retorted. “And besides, he started it.”

Was he going to mention that their feud began when Lockwood was twelve? Absolutely not, Holly Munro didn’t need to know that. 

Holly leaned over Lockwood, resting the back of her hand against his forehead. “I can’t tell if his fever has gone up, or he’s just warm from being under the blankets,” she said.

Lockwood made a face. “Stop it,” he mumbled, trying to squirm away from her.

“I’m just trying to check your temperature, hold still,” she said.

He rolled over onto his back, the covers tangling around him. “‘m fine,” he said. “Where’s…where’s Lucy?” He struggled to sit up. “Is she-”

“She’s fine, she’s asleep in her own bed,” Holly reassured him. 

“You going to tell him she’s been sleeping the entire day and no one can wake her up, or should I?” Kipps said under his breath.

Holly shot him a glare. Lockwood dragged his hand through his hair. “She’s upstairs?” he said.

“She is, I promise,” Holly said. “She’s…very tired, she’s resting, but George is with her.”

“I want…I want to see her,” Lockwood said, shifting like he was trying to get up, but his balance wavered.

Holly took him by the arm and made him lean back against the pillows. “You can see Lucy once you’re doing better,” she promised. “Stay still and let me take your temperature.”

He sagged back against the pillows. The bruises under his eyes were deep purple, a sharp contrast against the sallowness of his skin. “You swear she’s back?” he said.

“I swear, Kipps will back me up,” Holly said.

She looked at him pointedly. “She is, she said she’s back for good,” Kipps said. He hadn’t known much of the details about Lucy leaving- he’d heard rumors of course, that Lockwood had fallen in love with Holly (clearly not true) or that they’d had a falling out (a distinct possibility). He had known that neither of them had seemed to particularly thriving while they were apart. Although that might have been putting it mildly, now that he thought about it. 

“You think she’s still angry with me?” Lockwood asked, rubbing at his eyes.

“I don’t think she ever was in the first place,” Holly said. She picked up the thermometer from the nightstand. “You can talk with her all about it later, when you’re feeling better. Right now let me take your temperature, and you’re due for more paracetamol anyways.”

Lockwood made a face and slunk down against the pillows, almost turning away from her. “Jessica, stop,” he whined. “I don’t need it.”

Kipps frowned. “What’d he say?” he said.

For some reason it seemed like all the air had gotten sucked out of the room. Holly’s face had gone ashen. “Lockwood, it’s me, it’s Holly,” she said. “Sit up a little for me, please.”

“Jess, just let me sleep,” he complained, rubbing his eyes again. “Just sit with me and let me sleep.”

Kipps set his magazine aside. “Why’s he calling you that?” he said.

Holly ignored him, tugging the covers back. “Come on, Lockwood, don’t go there,” she said, but the calmness in her voice sounded forced and tight. “I’m going to take your temperature and then you’re going to drink some more water.”

“Do you need any help?” Kipps asked.

Holly tucked the thermometer into Lockwood’s mouth and opened the bottle of paracetamol. Lockwood’s face was flushed red, his eyes glassy. Kipps felt his stomach tighten. The confusion was unsettling and he wanted to get out of there.

The thermometer beeped and Holly took it from him. “Damn it,” she said under her breath.

“Higher?”

She nodded. “We need to cool him down quick, if we can’t get it down we’ll have to take him to A&E, and they’re going to have questions,” she said. “Stay with him, make him take these.”

She pressed the bottle in his hand before hurrying out. Lockwood’s head snapped around to follow her. “Jessica?” he said, his voice raspy from sleep. “Jess, wait, come back. Come back!”

He pushed the covers back and tried to shift his legs over the side of the bed, like he was trying to get up to follow her. “Hey, hey, none of that,” Kipps said. He rested his hand on Lockwood’s shoulder and nudged him back down gently, and he hated that it took almost no effort. “She’ll be right back. Here, take these.”

Lockwood made a plaintive whine in the back of his throat. Kipps sighed. “Come on,” he said. Desperate times called for desperate measures. “She wants you to take these. Jessica does, she said so.”

The lie worked. Lockwood took the pills without further fuss, although he could barely swallow the water down. Kipps sat on the bed next to him, watching him stare blankly at the wall.

Who’s Jessica? he wondered. He would guess family, except he had yet to see a single family photo anywhere in Portland Row. His parents were dead, he knew that, but he wasn’t sure-

Then it hit him. The sister. He’d read Lockwood’s file, he’d had a sister. That had to be who Lockwood was mistaking Holly for.

“Well, fuck,” he mumbled under his breath.

Holly hurried back into the room, rolling up her sleeves. “I need you to help me,” Holly said. “We’re going to see if getting in a cool bath will help, but I can’t carry him.”

“Is that why you lot keep me around, just to be a pack mule?” Kipps said, but there was no fire in it. The worry he’d been trying to stave off had crept in, twining through him like wild ivy.

He pulled the covers back, slid his arms under Lockwood’s knees and shoulders, and hoisted him up. Lockwood yelped in protest but he ignored him. “Jesus, he’s burning up,” Kipps said. He could feel the heat of his fever radiating through his shirt.

Holly followed him into the bathroom. “Just put him in the bathtub, we’ll see if this helps him cool down,” she said. 

Kipps lowered him slowly; Lockwood shifted like he was trying to move out of his own volition, but there was clearly no strength left in him. The water was cool, not ice cold, but Lockwood cried out in frustration as he set him down.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Holly said, squeezing his shoulder as the water started to soak into his clothes. She looked at Kipps. “We won’t leave him here for long, maybe ten or fifteen minutes.” She sighed. “I really hope this helps.”

“Holly,” he said, and she frowned slightly. “Who’s Jessica?”

Holly hesitated. “Lockwood doesn’t like talking about her,” she hedged.

“That’s his sister, right?” he said. “He used to have a sister.”

Her shoulders sagged. “She died when he was nine,” she said. “She took care of him after their parents died, she practically raised him even though she was so young too.” She looked at him, shivering like a half drowned cat in the bathtub, and sighed heavily. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to tell George what’s going on.”

“Oh, come on, please don’t leave me with him,” Kipps called after her. He sat back on his haunches and swore under his breath. “Goddammit.”

He looked over at Lockwood. Water had soaked his shirt and his boxers but his face was still flushed and his hair was damp with sweat. For a second he thought that maybe a flicker of recognition had come back to his eyes, but it was just wishful thinking. 

“Any better yet, Tony?” he asked.

He hadn’t expected an answer, but after a long moment Lockwood rubbed at his eyes. “Where’s Jessica?” he said, his lips slack. “Thought…I thought she was here.”

His heart sank. Definitely no recognition yet. “She, uh…she was just here, she’ll be back,” he lied. He didn’t know what would be worse, lying to him or reminding him that his sister wasn’t coming back. 

Lockwood leaned his head back. Usually he seemed larger than life, all easy charm and practiced charisma, but now all Kipps could see was pure exhaustion draining the life out of a skinny teenager. “Don’t leave,” he said, his eyes half closed.

“Well, I can’t stay here forever,” he said.

He had zero intention of staying forever. Hell, he had no idea how he’d managed to stick around this long, much less babysit Lockwood while he was in a fucking bathtub. But he couldn’t just leave him, at least not right that second.

Lockwood blinked slowly, staring up at the ceiling. “You wouldn’t lie to me,” he said. “Is Lucy still here?”

“Yeah, Tony, she is,” he said. “I swear it.”

“She won’t stick around, though,” Lockwood said. “Everybody leaves me in the end.”

Kipps gave his shoulder a little shake. “Come on, none of that,” he said. “You’re not dying, you know, you’re just a bit under the weather. Stop being so overdramatic.”

Lockwood turned towards him, slow and sluggish. “It’ll be just me again,” he said. He swallowed hard. “All alone in my big empty house.”

Kipps shifted his weight, leaning on the edge of the bathtub. “Oh, come on, that’s not true,” he said. “You’ve got plenty of people filling up the place. You’ve got Karim and his books and his weird experiments, and you’ve got Holly, she’s the only who seems to function like a competent adult. And you’ve got Lucy.”

Lockwood roused a little at that, the water sloshing around him. “She left,” he said. “She left…because of me. I didn’t know. I didn’t know it was because of me. All this time I thought-”

“Hey, hey, I think that’s enough excitement for right now,” Kipps said. “Just…stay still, Lockwood, all right?”

Any remaining energy he had seemed to drain out of him. Lockwood sagged back, his eyes closing and his hair falling over his forehead. He was shivering again but the flush clung stubbornly to his pale face. Kipps ran a hand over his face and blew out a long, frustrated breath. This was not what he had signed up for, not in the slightest.

For years he’d held onto his grudge against Lockwood. In all fairness, though, that fencing tourney had made an outright laughingstock of him, it had soured his reputation for a solid year and a half before the memory started to fade. He’d been sixteen or seventeen, already moving up in the ranks at Fittes, and favored to do well. When he saw that his opponent was a twelve-year-old kid he had figured it would be no contest, and it had been an absolute shock to lose to him- especially when he lost by getting stabbed in the ass.

The grudge was getting harder to hold onto, though. Not now when he’d reluctantly started to actually get to know him. And especially now that he was laid low like this, sick enough for his mind to wander so wildly.

Kipps raked Lockwood’s damp hair out of his eyes, wincing at the heat of his skin. “No one’s gonna leave you, Lockwood,” he said. “Not anymore. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

He froze. He thought it was just the dim bathroom lighting for a moment, but he leaned a little closer and no, it couldn’t be a trick of the light.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed. He tilted Lockwood’s chin, trying to get a better look. “What’s happening to you?”

Holly walked into the bathroom with a clean towel folded over her arm. “How’s he doing?” she asked.

“Look at him,” he demanded. “You see that?”

“See what?” she said, confused. “What’s wrong?”

“His hair. That wasn’t there an hour ago.”

Maybe an hour ago it could have been the light playing tricks on him, but now was unmistakable. There was a pale streak forming in Lockwood’s dark hair, the silver contrast too obvious to deny.

“Oh my god,” Holly said, her eyes wide. 

“Does Lucy have that too?” Kipps asked.

“I don’t know, I didn’t see-”

He was out the door and up the stairs in seconds. George was sitting at the foot of Lucy’s bed, books stacked around him, and Lucy was still sleeping peacefully. “Where’s the fire, Kipps?” George said, irritated. 

Kipps ignored him and leaned over Lucy. She was breathing slow and deep and even, her lashes flickering and her face twisting a little as though she was caught in an unpleasant dream. He ran his hand over her hair gently, fingercombing the tangles, and-

“She has it too,” he said. 

George was up in a second. “Has what?” he demanded.

“That,” Kipps said. “The white streak. Lockwood’s got it. You have anything like that in your books?”

“No, because there’s virtually nothing about the Other Side in my books,” George snapped. “God, I hate this. I don’t know what we’re up against, I don’t know what we’re supposed to do. What if they’re just messed up forever after this?”

Kipps shrugged. “We’ll figure it out,” he said. “Has she been sleeping this whole time?”

George nodded. “And she’s usually a sound sleeper, but this is taking it a bit too far I think,” he said. “I don’t know why they’re not reacting the same either. Doesn’t make any sense.” He looked over at Lucy. “Neither of them have still really told us much about what happened to them out there either. Maybe if we knew more that could tell us something, but…” His voice trailed off. “At least they’re alive. And at least we’ve got Lucy back to stay.”

Kipps nodded. For a while, back in the institute, they’d thought they were both dead. It had felt like a punch in the gut to him, but he’d never be able to erase the memory of the horror on Holly and George’s faces. They had truly thought that Lockwood and Lucy were gone for good.

He patted George awkwardly on the shoulder. “They’ll be all right, I’m sure of it,” he said. “They’re both too stubborn to not be.”

George looked at his hand, then looked up at him. “Are you touching me right now?” he said skeptically.

“Yeah, sorry, that was too much, wasn’t it?”

“...and so with the new discoveries unearthed during the Whetstone case, it can thereby be extrapolated that…” George’s voice trailed off and he looked up from the book. Ordinarily this would be the moment that Lucy would interrupt, rolling her eyes and telling him to either read quietly to himself or find a more interesting book. Except Lucy was still asleep, just like she’d been for hours. Almost a whole day now.

“What would I give for you interrupt me right now?” he said to himself. 

He’d taken to reading out loud just to have something to break the silence. Sometimes she mumbled in her sleep or moved around, and he would freeze and hold his breath, waiting to see if she was going to wake up. But she never did. So he kept on reading out loud, sitting at the foot of Lucy’s bed while she slept.

Morning sunlight was beginning to peek through the curtains. George yawned, his book slipping a little in his grip. He was so tired, but he’d only been able to doze here and there. Usually he could fall asleep anywhere, at any time, but he kept jolting awake and checking to see if there was any change. 

He almost dozed off again, but he heard footsteps on the stairs and twisted around. “Hi,” Holly said. She seemed a little worse for wear, wisps of hair escaping her ponytail and her eyes red-rimmed. “How is she?”

“No better, no worse,” George said. “How’s Lockwood?”

Holly’s mouth tightened. “Resting,” she said. George raised an eyebrow and her shoulders sagged. “He’s bad off, George. We can’t get his fever down, we can barely get him to drink water. If he doesn’t start improving soon we’ll have to take him to A&E.” 

George ran his hand through his hair. “Fuck,” he said.

“Can you sit with him for a while?” Holly asked. “Kipps has been with him but he could use a break, I think.”

“What about you?” George asked.

She shrugged. “I took a quick nap on the library couch, I’m fine,” she said. “I can stay with Lucy for a bit.” She picked up one of his books. “Any luck?”

“Nothing,” he said glumly. “I can’t find any precedence, not even a vague mention. I’m afraid we’re squarely in uncharted territory right now.”

Holly bent over Lucy and touched her cheek lightly. “No fever,” she said. She frowned, pressing the back of her hand against her forehead and then the side of her neck. “If anything, she’s a little cold. But her pulse is steady.”

“I’m worried about that…that whatever is happening to her hair,” George said. “That can’t be a good sign.”

He almost hadn’t believed Kipps when he came running up the stairs in a panic, bellowing about she has it too , but it was too obvious to ignore now. The white streak stood out in stark contrast to her reddish hair, strewn across her pillow.

“We’ll worry about that later,” Holly said. “Go on and sit with him, please?”

George got up reluctantly and headed down the stairs, his hands in his pockets. He didn’t want to leave Lucy, but at the same time he’d been worrying about Lockwood. Holly kept him updated, but he couldn’t help but wonder if she was downplaying things to spare his feelings, and as he approached Lockwood’s room he could tell he was right.

“...did she leave? Did she leave for good?”

“No, she didn’t. You’re fine.”

“She was just here.”

George paused in the hallway, listening. Kipps sounded exhausted, Lockwood’s voice was raspy and strained. Holly was definitely downplaying this , he thought.

“Wait, Tony- Lockwood, cut it out, just-”

George opened the door and Lockwood crashed into him; he automatically reached to grab him before he crumpled. “What the hell?” he said. 

“I don’t know how he managed to move that fast, he hasn’t moved in hours,” Kipps said.

George tightened his grip on Lockwood’s arms and hauled him back to his bed. “God, he’s still on fire,” he said. 

“We’ve tried everything,” Kipps said. “Paracetamol, cold bath, ice packs. His fever won’t drop.”

“And Lucy still won’t wake up,” George said glumly. He sat on the edge of the bed and eyed Lockwood critically. His eyes were red and glassy and his hair was damp with sweat, curling at the ends. “You look awful, Lockwood.”

Lockwood plucked fretfully at the neckline of his shirt. “When’s she coming back?” he asked. “She was just here, I want her back. I want her to come back.”

“Who, Lucy?” George asked. 

“He’s been asking for Jessica,” Kipps said in a low voice. 

George shook his head. “I’m sorry, I think I misheard you, it sounded like you said-“ He broke off midsentence. “Fuck. He’s really sick, isn’t he?”

“He’s been calling Holly Jessica, I don’t think he recognizes her at all,” Kipps said, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He cleared his throat. “What happened to her?”

George picked up a glass of water off the nightstand. “Drink this, Lockwood, it’ll help,” he said. 

“I know his parents died in a car accident,” Kipps pressed on. “I knew he had a sister but-“

“You know the closed door on the landing?” George interrupted. 

“Yeah?”

“That’s where she died,” George said. “Freak accident. He was nine and he found her body.” He rescued the glass as Lockwood broke into a coughing fit and nearly dropped it. “Hey, watch it, we don’t have enough of these for you to break.”

Lockwood slumped back against his pillows. “What do you mean, she’s dead?” he said, his words slurring. “I just…I just saw her.”

“Nice going, Karim,” Kipps said.

“You’re the one who asked!” George snapped. 

Lockwood’s chest heaved. “She’s dead, isn’t she?” he said. “Jessica is…she’s…oh god-”

George grabbed his arm. “Hey, Lockwood? I need you to take a deep breath, right now,” he said. “Your mind is a mess because your fever is boiling your brain. That’s all. Everything’s fine.”

Lockwood rubbed at his eyes like a tired child. “George,” he said slowly.

“Uh-huh, it’s George. Take a deep breath.”

He kept his tight grip on Lockwood’s arm until he complied, weak and shaky. Lockwood coughed again, which he didn’t like at all, but at least he was able to take a second breath. “Jessica…she isn’t here, is she?” he said, staring past George’s shoulder at the wall.

“She’s not,” George said softly.

Lockwood took another shallow, shaky breath. “I thought…” he started to say. “So…so Lucy’s not here either.”

“No, no, she is,” George said. He scooted closer to him, tightening his hold. “She’s asleep upstairs in her own bed. Remember? She fell asleep on the train ride home, and then you started feeling sick.”

Lockwood’s face twisted in confusion. “I don’t…I don’t remember,” he confessed.

“Don’t worry about it right now,” George said. “Are you hungry? You haven’t eaten anything since Aldbury.” Lockwood shook his head.

“We’ve barely been able to get him to drink water,” Kipps said in a low voice.

“Well, has he gotten any sleep?”

“Not more than ten, twenty minutes at a time.”

George exhaled in frustration and sat back, relinquishing his grip. He’d gotten Lockwood through various illnesses and injuries before, he could do this again, even if it wasn’t as cut-and-dried as a broken arm or another bout of strep. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, clearly whatever you and Holly were doing wasn’t working. We have to try something else.”

“By all means,” Kipps said dryly.

George got up and dug around in Lockwood’s drawers for a clean shirt. “Somewhere in the kitchen there’s electrolyte packets, and there’s a drawer with takeaway menus, get a straw from there,” he said. “That’ll be a lot easier than trusting him with breakable shit.”

“Oh, a good point,” Kipps said. “Should we give him something to make him sleep?”

“No, that’s a bad idea with him, it’ll make things worse, trust me,” George said. “Besides, we don’t know how he’ll react to it right now and we don’t need another comatose person in the house. Just go get him the water, okay?”

He hauled Lockwood to sit up and yanked his shirt off of him. “Ow,” Lockwood complained.

“Don’t fuss, you’ve sweated through this one and you’ll feel better,” George told him. “Can you get that on yourself?”

Lockwood fumbled for it. His hands were shaking. “What’s…what’s wrong with me?” he said.

“I don’t know, but you’ll be fine,” George said firmly. He tugged the hem of the clean shirt down and smoothed down Lockwood’s mussed hair. “God, it’s even more obvious on you than it is on Lucy.”

Lockwood frowned. “What?”

“The streak in your hair,” George explained.

“What streak?”

George gestured at him. “Your hair’s, uh…it’s turned white in one spot,” he said. 

Lockwood’s mouth dropped open. “What? No!” he said. He ran his hand anxiously over his hair. “No, it’s…is it bad?”

“Nah, it’s not, it’s just noticeable,” George reassured him.

“Wha…how noticeable?” Lockwood said, looking up at him in panic. “Have I…have I lost my looks?”

George burst out laughing. Only Anthony Lockwood could be laid low with a crazy fever and use his last bit of remaining energy to worry about his appearance. “You haven’t lost your looks, not that you had much to speak of in the first place,” he teased. “I’m sure you could dye it or something if it bothers you that much.”

Lockwood sank back against his pillows, his lower lip dropping. “What if Lucy doesn’t like it?” he said. 

“I have a feeling she won’t mind,” George said. “She’s got a matching one anyway.”

“You’re sure?” Lockwood said.

George dug around under the pillows. “Uh-huh, confident,” he said. His fingers brushed against the light green knitted blanket that Lockwood kept hidden away; he pulled it out and tossed it to him. “Lie down.”

“Lucy’s upstairs, right?” Lockwood said slowly.

“Yeah, she is,” George said. “Holly’s with her right now, she’s not alone.”

Lockwood’s mouth tugged down into a frown. “When did she come back?” 

“She came back with us on the train, remember?” George said. “Come on, Lockwood, you were doing so well.”

Kipps set a sturdy ceramic mug down on the nightstand, a disposable straw tipping against the edge. “This one already had a chip in it so I figured it would be fine if he ends up dropping it,” he said. “How’s he doing?”

“I don’t know,” George said. “He was doing better a second ago, now he’s forgetting things again.” He cupped his hand over his forehead. “Shit, he’s spiking up again. Lockwood, try drinking this, okay?”

Lockwood made no move to take the mug when George tried to force it into his hands. “I don’t remember the train,” he said hazily. He could see the lucidity fading out of his dark eyes and he hated it. “I remember…I remember it was cold.”

“It was cold where you and Lucy were?” George said. Lockwood nodded. 

“He’s talking about the Other Side,” Kipps guessed.

George waved his hand at him to shut up. “You don’t have to talk about it right now, just drink some of this,” he said, angling the straw to make it easier for Lockwood to drink.

He took a few sips, then shook his head. “I have to go back,” he rasped.

“Go back where? The Other Side?” George said. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Lockwood pressed his hand to his chest as if he couldn’t breathe. “Lucy,” he said. “She…oh god, I lost her. I lost her out there.”

“No, she’s-” Kipps started to say.

“Will you shut it ?” George hissed over his shoulder. “What do you mean, Lockwood? What happened out there?”

Lockwood’s breathing came in raspy wheezes. “Her cloak tore,” he said. “I remember, it…it tore, and she screamed , and…and she was freezing.”

Things were starting to click, but he needed to hear more before he could be sure. “So the protective cloak tore?” George pressed.

“She froze so fast, there was ice all over her, she was so scared , I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t save her,” Lockwood said, his words spilling out too fast.

“But you did, you saved her, what did you do?” George said.

Lockwood shivered; the fever chills were settling back into his body in full force. “I pulled her under my cloak,” he said. “It was the only think I could think of.”

“She nearly died out there?” Kipps said in a hushed voice. George sat back, a plan formulating in the back of his mind. “Holy shit.”

“Did I lose her?” Lockwood begged. He was shaking violently, his teeth chattering. “Oh god, I can’t…I can’t remember if she made it back-”

“Stay with him,” George ordered Kipps, and he bolted out of the room and up the stairs.

Holly whipped her head around as he stumbled into the attic. “What’s wrong? Is it Lockwood?” she demanded. George took Lucy by the shoulders and shook her. “What the hell are you doing?”

“She got exposed,” he said. “On the Other Side, her cloak ripped and she got exposed.”

Holly got up slowly. “Do you know what’s causing this?” she asked.

“She was frozen out there, that’s why she feels so cool still, her body temperature got fucked up,” George said. “Lucy? Lucy, come on, I need you to wake up.”

“But Lockwood-”

“Lockwood wasn’t exposed, so his body temperature also got fucked but differently, he’s trying to regulate after being sort of dead,” George said. “Come on, Lucy! Fuck, I should have gotten Kipps up here so he can carry her.”

“So Lucy’s too cold, and Lockwood’s running too hot, but they’re both trying to balance out after being on the Other Side,” Holly said. “Do I have that right?”

“Basically,” George said. “At least, I think that’s what’s happening. She’s been hibernating and he’s boiling.” He huffed in frustration. “And in any case, he keeps freaking out about where she is, they’ll be better off together.”

Lucy wasn’t waking up and he wanted to scream. He gave her another brisk shake. “Come on, Lucy, Lockwood needs you and I need you to open your fucking eyes ,” he said.

He wasn’t sure if it was the shaking, or the shouting, or maybe just mentioning Lockwood, but Lucy cracked one eye open and made a sleepy confused noise. “Oh, thank god,” he said. “Luce, we need to get you downstairs, okay?”

Her face scrunched up in a tired frown. “Why?” she croaked.

“You and Lockwood are…” He couldn’t get into the full explanation right that second. “...you’re both really sick, and you’ll both feel better if you’re next to each other.”

Lucy pushed herself up, her arms wobbling. “My whole body feels like jelly,” she mumbled.

George helped her up on one side and Holly supported the other. “Just go slow,” Holly said. “You’re okay, we’ve got you.” She looked at George. “She’s so cold, I didn’t even realize.”

“She’ll be better in a little bit, I’m sure,” he said.

Lucy leaned on them heavily. George kept his arm tight around her. Funny, just a few weeks ago he had convinced himself that he hated Lucy, that he would be perfectly fine if he never saw her again. But it taken no time for them to fall back into their old patterns again, for her to fit perfectly into their lives she belonged there, and now all he could think was god, I hope she gets better fast, I hate seeing her like this .

George nudged the door open. “See, Lockwood? She’s okay,” he said. 

Relief flooded Lockwood’s expression. “Luce,” he breathed, breaking off into a harsh cough.

“She’s awake!” Kipps said.

Holly shifted her grip around Lucy’s waist. “Barely.”

“God, you look terrible, Lockwood,” Lucy said. She barely held back a yawn. “What’s wrong?”

“Questions later,” George said. He guided Lucy to the other side of the bed and helped her up. “Lie down next to him, go back to sleep if you need to.”

Lucy crawled into bed next to Lockwood and dropped down beside him, her arm falling across his chest. “Mm, you’re warm,” she mumbled. Lockwood fumbled to grab her hand. “Why’re you shaking? Stop shaking.”

“Is this really the solution to all this?” Kipps said. “Just let them cuddle?”

George shrugged. “We’ll just have to see,” he said. “At any rate, we knew this was going to happen with them eventually.”

“Maybe not in this context,” Holly mused. She pulled the covers over them both, then picked up the green knitted blanket and draped it over Lockwood. “Who wants to stay up with them?”

“I will,” George volunteered. “You two go eat or get some sleep or something. I’ll watch them.”

They didn’t put up a fight. He settled in the chair in the corner of the room and stretched out his legs. Lucy was already asleep again, her breathing deep and even as she nuzzled her cheek against Lockwood’s shoulder. Lockwood wasn’t asleep quite yet but he was calmer now, his fever chills beginning to settle.

They’ll be all right, George thought. For the first time since they got home he was sure that everything would turn out okay, and the tension in his chest ebbed away. 

He was having the strangest dream. 

He was walking through a field covered in snow but he wasn’t cold. Someone was holding his hand. 

Jessica , he realized, his heart squeezing in his chest. 

She looked exactly the same, just like he remembered her, her long dark hair swept back with a pink ribbon that matched her favorite dress. Her eyes were the same, dark like his but almond shaped like their father’s. Nothing had changed. 

Wait , he thought, realization dawning on him. She hadn’t changed, but he had. He was taller than her now. 

They walked in silence, hand in hand, like she used to when she walked him to and from school. He wanted to say something, to ask her questions, but he couldn’t seem to open his mouth, so he stayed content in quiet. 

Snow was coming down fast and heavy. He could barely see where he was going but Jessica kept walking, steady and sure, so he kept in pace with her. 

In the midst of the snow he could vaguely make out a shape ahead of him. He couldn’t quite tell what it was, though. Jessica kept walking, still silent. 

He squinted, trying to make out the silhouette. It looked almost human, frozen still, ice lingering along the jawline and clumping the long lashes together  the figure was entirely covered in a layer of ice, weighing down her skirt and the shoulders of her jacket and coating her hair. And stranger still, there were feathers lingering around her, their bright colors dulled under the thickly clustered snow. 

It hit him so hard he couldn’t breathe. Lucy. 

He dropped his sister’s hand and ran, snow sloshing into the tops of his shoes and soaking into his clothes, his steps unsteady. “Lucy!” he tried to scream, but no sound came out. He took her by the shoulders but she was frozen rigid under his panicked grip. Her eyes were still open, her beautiful hazel eyes, but they were colorless and frightened. 

“Lucy, Lucy, please,” he begged, his voice soundless and lost to the wind. He cupped her cold face in his hands, searching for signs of life. Nothing. “Lucy, please, please , come back to me, just come back to me.”

But he knew death when he saw it, when he felt it cold and lifelesss and stiff under his hands. It was just like-

He stumbled back, a panicked keening wail breaking from his throat. It was just like-

He turned around and he was too late. Jessica was lying in the snow, just like he’d found her lying on her bed all those years ago, her arms and legs twisted and her face contorted in terror. No snow lingered on her, he could see her clearly, and suddenly he was nine years old again, throwing open the door to his sister’s bedroom and finding her dead. 

Too late. Too late. It’s my fault. If I’d been there, if I’d done something, if Jessica wasn’t alone, if I hadn’t pushed Lucy away-

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe, and the snow was falling faster, soaking into his skin, covering him in ice. His heart was slowing down and he was dying, and good, he deserved it, he deserved to die, and maybe now he could finally sleep, safe next to his parents and his sister where he belonged-

And suddenly he was bolting awake, gasping for breath, staring in wide-eyed panic at the ceiling. 

“‘S okay, just a bad dream,” a voice was saying, sweet and sleepy and blessedly familiar. A warm weight pressed against him, anchoring him in reality, and he closed his eyes tight, trying to get his bearings. “Sh, it’s okay, you’re all right.”

He pressed his mouth together, his chest heaving. “Lucy?” he said, his voice coming out small and strangled and wobbly. 

He opened his eyes and saw Lucy leaning over him. It took him a second to process, but as he stared at her everything seemed to shift back into focus. She was alive. She was breathing. Her hazel eyes were bright; he was close enough to see the little flecks of amber around the iris. 

“Must’ve been an awful dream to shake you up this bad,” she murmured. Her accent sounded thicker than usual; she was still on the edge of sleep.

“You’re okay?” he asked. 

She smiled. “I’m okay,” she said. “I’m just so tired, I think this wore me out more than I thought. I don’t even remember how I ended up here.” She smoothed his hair back from his forehead and paused. “Oh. That’s new. When did that happen?”

The silver streak. He’d forgotten about it. “Do I still look handsome?” he blurted out. 

Lucy burst out laughing, leaning down against his chest. “Is that the first thing you thought of?” she said. “Yes, yes, you’re still very handsome.” 

He wanted to sulk at her laughing at him, but he couldn’t possibly be angry, not when she was alive and smiling and cuddled up next to him. Instead he reached up and ran his fingers through her hair. “You’ve got it too, you know,” he said. 

She wrinkled her nose. “Well, we’re going to match then, I suppose,” she said. She rested her chin on her folded arms, leaning on his chest. He twined the silvery lock of her hair around his fingers. “Lockwood?”

“Hm?” he said absently.

“What were you dreaming about?”

He let her hair fall from his fingers. “I don’t remember,” he lied.

Lucy sighed. “I was having weird dreams too,” she said. “I was in the Other Side and I was freezing to death. I couldn’t move or breathe or anything. It was terrifying.”

“What happened then?” he asked.

“You saved me,” she said. “Every time.” She tilted her head and gazed at him. “You saved me for real, you know. I would have died if you hadn’t gotten me under your cloak.”

“Well, it’s only fair, after how many times you’ve pulled me out of dangerous situations,” he said. He watched the morning sunlight flicker in her eyes. “Luce. Do I…do I always save you in your nightmares?”

“Always,” she said. She tapped her fingertips on his collarbone. “You’re burning up. Do you have a fever?”

“I think I’ve been running one for a while,” he said as she pressed her hand to his forehead. “You’ve been cold, though, so I think we’re balancing each other out.”

Lucy laughed and shifted to lie beside him, snuggling into his side. “I suppose,” she yawned. “I’m still so tired and I don’t know why, I feel like I’ve been sleeping for years.”

“Sleep if you need to,” he said. He bit back a yawn of his own. “I might try to sleep a little more too.”

Usually he couldn’t fall asleep if his life depended on it, but for some reason he felt so tired. Lucy dozed off almost immediately, her cheek nestled against his shoulder, and he closed his eyes.

I always save her, he thought. I will. I’ll always save her. 

The next time he opened his eyes he was alone and his shirt was drenched with sweat. He rubbed his eyes. The sun was starting to go down again; he must have been asleep longer than he thought.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Lucy said as she walked in. She was moving slowly, her body clearly still stiff and sore, but there was healthy color in her face and she was smiling at him. Her hair was damp from a recent shower and she was wearing different pajamas. Holly hovered behind her, one hand extended like she was waiting for her to fall.

“Lockwood, you look so much better,” Holly said. 

“I think I feel better,” he said. “I think my fever broke.”

Holly checked his forehead. “I think so too,” she said. “Good. That’s really good. Are you hungry?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe?”

Lucy crawled into bed beside him. “I’ve been informed that they want us to stay resting for the time being,” she said. 

“And might as well stay together, that makes it easier for us rather than constantly running up and down the stairs,” Holly said. “I’ll go see how George is coming along with dinner and bring some up for both of you. No one is getting up until tomorrow at least.”

“She’s being rather forceful, isn’t she?” Lockwood whispered in Lucy’s ear.

“I think we gave her a bit of a scare so we might need to go along with it,” Lucy whispered back. 

She leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder. His heart gave an unexpected little leap in his chest. For the past four months all he could think about was having her back, about the unforgiving emptiness without her. And now she was here, warm and alive and safe and curled up next to him in his bed.

“If they’re going to make us rest like invalids, you reckon we can convince them to move a television in here?” Lucy said.

“Oh, am I not entertaining enough for you?” he teased.

“Well, up until a few minutes ago you were completely conked out, so no, not particularly entertaining,” she said. “Now that you’re conscious, though, that’s a different story.”

He laughed. “I’ll see what I can do then,” he said.

She snuggled against his side, smoothing the covers out over both of them. He felt wobbly and unsteady- getting out of bed would be a tall order- but he was starting to feel like himself again. And now he had Lucy back. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, breathing in the comforting familiar scent of her shampoo. She reached for his hand and he gave it gladly.

I won’t lose you, he thought as their fingers tangled together. No matter what. I’m not going to lose you again.