A/N: i'm not going to make this a/n terribly long-winded because i've come to really dislike a/ns (which is hilarious, considering my old stories were chock-full of them) and very few actually read them anyway, but i find this whole fandom amazing and it's really a pity i didn't come to appreciate it more back when i was writing TOP, because maybe then i wouldn't actually have gotten writer's block. smh.

anyway, this is my last l&c fic before i officially retire from the fandom. (you may see a few drabbles or oneshots here and there but that's it) i'm so inconsistent jdskkb.

fic is unbeta-ed, as always, so please excuse any mistakes (i promise the grammar in the actual fic is better than that which is in this note ha) especially considering i wrote this in like september 2017 and never published it lol

thank you for clicking/reading (esp. if you're reading this a/n! i'm so boring)

my about page has more updates. thanks for everything.

Their relationship consists of the small stuff, like light touches ghosting over skin when they think George, Holly and Kipps don't notice; hands brushing when Lucy offers Lockwood a cup of tea, or vice versa; playful punches in the arm when Lockwood cracks a stupid joke; holding hands wherever they walk, even in the kitchen; warm looks shared over the table; even curling up together on that ridiculously large armchair in the library that swallows you up if you sit down on it alone.

(George swears that that's precisely the reason the armchair was built; in his words, "for sappy couples that pretend nobody else notices how moon-eyed they are for each other, when in reality it's hard to dismiss the assumption that they're joint at the hip.")

It also consists of the stuff that isn't as visual, like Lockwood almost telepathically sensing Lucy bolting awake from another childhood nightmare, tiptoeing into her room and holding her until she falls asleep; quiet visits to the graveyard together, where they sit in front of Lockwood's family in silence that speaks volumes, Lucy's arm wrapped around Lockwood's waist for his comfort, the unspoken you're not alone, I'm here, they're proud of you hanging in the air between them; feather-light kisses on the lips just before one of them leaves on an individual case, or before the lights click off as they go to bed, or behind doors when they're reminded of how lucky they are.

On some nights, the reality of what had happened to them, or the ghosts of their pasts, will crash into one of them harder than the rest, and the other will find them sitting on the couch in the living room, and later at night when George treads downstairs on a kitchen run he'll find them both pressed together, asleep in the same position, and he'll just roll his eyes gently and cover them both with a blanket.

In the meantime, George sneaks off to some alleyway to meet up with Flo, and when the team members smirk at him and raise implying eyebrows he just shrugs and blinks, all while hiding a smile behind his hand. Holly continues working her miracles at Portland Row, organising and cooking and keeping them on top of things; but she also loves her flat, and loves her girlfriend (who they'd all once had the pleasure of meeting), who she shares it with. Kipps has his friends, too, but as much as he'd hate to admit, the rest of the team ("brainless idiots", he'd called them) has come to mean as much as family to him.

And that was Lockwood & Co.; dramatic, eccentric and slightly dysfunctional, but filled with love and warmth. And none of them wanted it any different.

Lockwood and Lucy never thought they'd do normal couple things; they'd never thought about being a couple at all. It wasn't like they'd ever been blind to the other's affections, but between Lockwood's ridiculously far-reaching plans to bring Marissa down, and Lucy's worry of Lockwood killing himself as a result of his ultimately self-destructive tendencies, neither of them had much time to act, let alone think about what that might mean. But now Marissa was gone, Lockwood & Co. was independent, and Lockwood had much less of a deathwish, which meant they'd had no choice but to go on a date.

This plan was a result of a very awkward sit-down by George and Holly (once Kipps had heard what they'd planned, he'd bolted), with George cornering Lockwood in the library and Holly attacking Lucy in the kitchen, in an attempt to get them to stop being so… "delicate" had been the inference, although Holly preferred to call it platonic, and George preferred to yell at how infuriating it was to see them walk around so cluelessly, the two people who had the least active romantic lives among all four of them when they'd been in love for maybe two years, for God's sake, Lockwood.

The date wasn't scheduled at any swanky dinner place, since they still had some dignity left, and wanted it to go as casual as possible. Instead, it had been at a carnival, filled with the smell of hot buttered popcorn and roasted peanuts wafting through the air; loud yells of delight; bright lights and colours; balloons and streamers. Lockwood had forced Lucy to ride the ferris wheel with him, despite her great protests ("I told you I'd never do anything concerning heights again, Lockwood, don't you dare") and that just resulted in Lockwood laughing at Lucy's pale yet stern face, arms crossed, sitting as far away from him as she could in the carriage.

But then they'd watched the fireworks together, seated on a step a good distance away, arms linked, sparks dancing through the air, accompanied by loud cracks of noise. If Lockwood had fallen head-over-heels for Lucy all over again as the colours played through her eyes, he didn't say anything. If Lucy had felt a rush of affection and pride for Lockwood, watching one of his genuine, gentle smiles grace his face as he stared at the display, neither did she.

And as they walked back to Portland Row, licking at ice-creams, fingers looped together, laughing high and relieving, drunk on excitement, nothing could ever feel better. Lockwood grinning down at the sapphire hung around Lucy's neck, Lucy sniggering at the redness of Lockwood's nose; the kiss they shared then, ice-creams all but forgotten, now smashed on the pavement, with Lucy's hands on Lockwood's shoulders and Lockwood's hands in Lucy's hair— that was home. And if anyone passed by whispering or giving them weird looks, it didn't matter.

They were home.

One month earlier

Even in the dusk, the gem was glorious, undying and undimmed. It was as if all the light and love it had gathered in the past was shining out on me.

I stood gazing at it for a long time.

Slowly, carefully, I picked up the necklace and hung it around my neck. Then I put on my jacket and ran for the stairs.

God, he could've just said something.

At the insistent sound of my boots on wood, Holly and Quill turned, their attempts to fix the cupboard obviously not very fruitful.
"Oh, now you're leaving too?" Quill cried indignantly. "We're working our arses off here, then Lockwood decides to go bumbling out for a walk, and now y— oh."

Holly acquired a devilish grin on her face, something I didn't quite think possible. "Go," she said, flicking sawdust off her skirt, "before I call George down and tell him you've both abandoned us."

I grinned. "Thanks, Hol."

I was out the door in two seconds, leaving Quill spluttering in my wake.

As it slammed behind me, a figure strolling breezily ahead on the sidewalk turned at the noise.

His coat was spotless and slightly tight.

His dark hair framed a long face with warm eyes and a long nose.

The figure grinned, white teeth flashing in the dimming sun. "Lucy!" he exclaimed in delight. "You made it after-"

Whatever Lockwood was going to say was cut off as I barreled into him, flinging my arms around his neck and kissing him full on the mouth.