A/N: Non-canon compliant, because I wrote this ignoring TEG and none of the books really shine a light on how Lockwood's and (especially) Lucy's childhoods affect them presently.
This was supposed to be part of a 5+1 fic I'm working on, but it got too long. Munlyle (yes, the romantic kind) if you squint.

Lucy is seated on the couch, brow furrowed in emotions that would take Holly weeks to untangle and pick apart. It's half past midnight. Lockwood's shut himself up in his room, and George's door is open, which suggests he's with Lockwood and trying to reason with him. Holly herself had been asleep before the pandemonium; she'd crashed in one of the library's armchairs somewhere in the afternoon after working a particularly long case, and had woken around midnight with a blanket tucked around her. She'd contemplated staying over for the night, but dismissed the thought when she remembered that she'd promised her roommate that they'd go out for a coffee run first thing in the morning. Her apartment was a good hour away by taxi, so she decided it was best to leave then and get home by one a.m. than to catch a cab at the crack of dawn.

So she'd stepped out of the library and made her way to the living room. Which was where she'd found Lucy and Lockwood engaged in a full-blown argument.

Holly couldn't very much keep up with the pace of the conversation, being bleary-eyed and addled with sleep, but she could make out a lot of cussing, and yelling about personal space. It was strange, to say the least; Lucy and Lockwood had always shared the tightest bond between all of them (which Holly was not jealous about, that was a different issue) and whenever they argued, it was more or less formal, all facts laid out on the table, with the issue resolved quickly and warmly. This was unexpected.

The commotion had ended with Lockwood saying something flat and monotone that made Lucy's face close up like a touched pudica plant; he'd then left, shoulders drawn in, and George had sighed, giving Holly a you-know-what-to-do look before he followed.

So it seems that the boys have formed a conglomeration, and are busy licking at wounds, but Lucy's still got her elbows braced on her knees, staring at the coffee table like she can burn a hole into it if she concentrates hard enough. Holly realises, with a pang, that everyone has always been concerned about Lockwood's wellbeing because of how carelessly self-destructive he behaves; but when things go bad for Lucy, she retaliates by getting angry or lashing out, which other people interpret as wanting to be left alone.

In truth, both of them are a pain in the neck, united by an unspoken bond forged in the depths of self-deprecation and bad childhoods, and they are both very bad at talking about their feelings. But George is probably already giving Lockwood a piece of his mind, so the least Holly can do is try.

She sits down gently next to Lucy, as though trying not to startle a rabbit. Moments pass in silence before she asks, "So what was that about?"

"It's nothing."

"I wasn't woken up from my extremely comfortable power snooze in an armchair by your bickering to be told 'it's nothing,'" Holly presses, although, strictly speaking, what she's saying isn't very true.

Lucy glares at her, but eventually gives in with a long-suffering sigh. "Really. It's—it's nothing. I got mad at Lockwood for always throwing himself into dangerous situations, and he gave me that whole bloody mess about how it's to solve the case and we must take risks sometimes."

"So," Holly pauses, "so what was with all the yelling?"

"I," Lucy hesitates, "I might have started crying. But," she barrels on before Holly can interrupt, "I was crying because I was angry, not because I was sad, or some crap—but for some reason that just made it worse, and he went on about how he's not a child and he can take care of himself, and that—I'm not his mother—"

Holly waited. After debating with herself for a few seconds, she slowly reached over, took Lucy's hand, and gave it a squeeze. Lucy squeezed back.

"Do you know what he said last?" she said in a low voice. "He said he didn't need my concern and that I was being overbearing. He said I couldn't do anything for him."

Holly took a while to wrap her head around everything, before saying, as soothingly as possible, "Lucy, you know he couldn't've possibly meant that."

"That's utter crap."

"No. Listen," and she took Lucy's other hand as well, causing her to look up into Holly's eyes, "his family's death hit him hard, right?"

"Yeah, and?"

"He says he's always needed time to understand that there are people who care about him."

"Yeah, but—"

"And, he's survived for so long with people who don't really give a shit about his feelings that now that he finally has a team, it's hard to swallow the fact that there are people like you who have his genuine interests at heart—people who care about his wellbeing. Like a family does."

The room goes silent.

"And I think you were crying because you were sad, because I know," she hesitates, because this has to be phrased very carefully, "I know you're never going to be able to fully forget what happened to your friends at the Wythburn Mill. But that was not your fault, and it's never going to take us away from you."

Lucy looks away, blinking hard.

"We're here for you, and you're cared for. It's okay to love as much as you do. And it's okay to be loved as much as you are."

At this, the walls do break, although Lucy tries very hard to build them back up. Holly simply clutches her left hand tight as her right is used to furiously scrub away the tears. Lucy's chest jerks in staccato rises and falls—a product of trying not to cry too loudly—and her face is pink with exertion, but she's not hiding and that's all that matters.

It takes her a short while to piece herself back together, and Holly really does hate how quiet it is, with the only sounds she can hear being the ticking of a clock, their breathing, and Lucy's occasional sniff. Somewhere down the road, Lucy has ended up with her head pillowed on Holly's shoulder, an arm around her back. Holly is not complaining.

"Thanks, Hol," she mumbles, so soft that Holly's ears strain to hear it.

Holly turns her face to smile against Lucy's hair. "Of course," she whispers.

In minutes, Lucy is asleep. Holly decides that there is no way her roommate can't forgive her bailing for a reason like this, so she kicks off her boots and curls up on the couch too.

The air the next morning at the dining table is thick with tension; so thick that one could slice through it with a blunt rapier. Somebody's got to say something, so Holly nudges Lucy's shoulder on her way to the kitchen. When she comes back, Lucy's face is schooled into an expression of careful indifference.

"Lockwood," she begins. "I'm sorry that I can be overbearing sometimes. I'm still getting used to the fact that my friends are not going to die on me any second."

Lockwood has the decency to look surprised and slightly guilty.

"It's going to take me a bit of time to get used to you throwing yourself into danger at any given moment, but I'll try. That doesn't mean I'm not going to call you out whenever you do something especially stupid. But I'll give you your space." She nods, as if giving herself approval for completing a particularly difficult task.

There is a moment in which nobody says anything. Then George steps on Lockwood's foot, hard.

"Ow!" Lockwood complains. "Um. Yes. Luce, I'm sorry too. I didn't mean it when I said you couldn't do anything for me. I lashed out, and it was unfair. I…" he sighs. "I also can't believe that I've got people caring about my general, um, health, or self-destructive tendencies—"

George snorts into his tea.

"—but I think I'm finally getting my head around, well, having a team that's got my back." He looks Lucy straight in the eye. "Especially you, Luce. Thank you for caring."

Lucy smiles, and it's genuine, but small. The atmosphere at the table still feels a little frosty.

"Well," Holly says, standing up, and she is going to hell for this, but, "Lucy, care to join me on a coffee run?"

"Coffee?" George splutters indignantly. "There's a whole bloody pot of tea in front of you."

"I want coffee," Holy insists.

"Sure," Lucy cuts in, and her smile is growing. "Yeah, of course, Hol."

"Can I join too?" Lockwood asks.

Lucy flips him off, but she's really grinning now, and just like that, all the frost in the room melts.

"Great," Holly says. She links arms with Lucy before turning back to the other two. "We'll get you some if we're feeling charitable."

And when Lockwood squawks behind them as they leave the house, laughing, Holly knows that her roommate is so not going to forgive her for this.

A/N: I had to edit the cuss words out to make this T-rated lol
Forgive me for any mistakes I might have made, it's been a while since I've read the books.