Lucy:

I was in the kitchen, nibbling on a donut when Lockwood arrived.

He looked absolutely awful.

His eyes were bloodshot and the skin around them red and swollen. His hair was in disarray, like he had run his hands through it and pulled at it repeatedly.

His shirt was crinkled, his shoes scuffed, his pants dirty and his tie was loose.

I thought that over the years I must have seen him at his best and his worst, but I was apparently wrong about the latter because this was a new low.

It hurt to see him like that, and every instinct in me wanted to rush to his side to comfort, soothe and protect.

I couldn't make myself do it though. I couldn't be the one to cave on this. I needed to hear him make genuine apologies rather than excuses.

When our eyes met, he immediately looked down.

"How is George?" Holly asked gently and put a cup of tea and a plate of toast in front of him.

He sat down across the table from me, slumping in the chair in a way that I hadn't thought him capable of.

"He's - he'll be fine. Quill is with him," he told us quietly.

Holly raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Lockwood nodded. "I trust him," he said as if he hadn't realised that until now.

"That really wasn't what I meant, but trust is good as well, I suppose," she chuckled before going downstairs.

Then it was just Lockwood and me. He still didn't look at me but seemed rather fascinated by a doodle I had made some days previously.

I wondered if maybe I had been too hard on him, but before I knew it, he was out of his chair and in front of me.

I looked up at his red eyes and followed them down as he got on his knees before me as if he were confessing some sort of sin.

"I'm so sorry, Lucy," he whispered.

"Lockwood, it's –"

He held up his hand to cut me off.

"Don't. Please. Just, please hear me out. Don't say anything."

He bit his lips and his eyes caught on the bruise underneath the sleeve of Quill's t-shirt. I was which I was still wearing. I hadn't noticed when I took it, but the shirt had 'Kipps' embroidered in small swirling letters near the collar. He didn't make any sort of scandal out of it. Not even a raised eyebrow and I thought about how far we'd come. Or how far they'd come.

I nodded slowly, prompting him to speak.

"I'm not going to ask for your forgiveness. Hell, I don't want your forgiveness. Not until I feel like I deserve it."

I raised an eyebrow at that. If I wanted to forgive him, he'd better take it and shut up about it. But I didn't know if I was quite ready to forgive him either.

He reached out and gently – so gently that I barely felt it, ran his thumb down the bruise. "I'm not very good at this thing with people. I know that sometimes I come off as being this charming, great people person. I know I'm good at handling clients or the press and things like that, but those are fleeting things. Meaningless." He waved in the air as if they were flies bothering him.

He sat down on the floor and shoved over to lean against the wall.

"When it comes to these things with friendships and that sort of thing – the kind that are supposed to last a lifetime, I've realised that I sort of," he waved around a bit, trying to find the right word, "… suck,"

I cocked my head and bit my lip.

He sighed. "I want to learn. Maybe you –"

"I can't teach you, Lockwood," I cut him off.

He pressed his lips into a thin line. "Why not?"

"I can't teach you because I think I suck just as much as you do."

He gave me a small smile. "Maybe we can learn together then?"

"And how do you suppose we do that?"

He looked down at his lap. "Maybe we need help with that. Or maybe if we talked more?"

I shuffled over and sat next to him. The linoleum was cold, but it felt nice to sit together.

"It's not just talking, Lockwood. I think we've been talking plenty. What I need more from you is for you to listen and take the things we say to heart. Not just me but all of us."

"You're right of course." He sighed and looked away from me. "I know I need to involve you more in the planning too."

I snorted. "You just need to at least inform us of the plans before you put them into effect."

"I'm sorry," he whispered again.

I looked at him and saw that his red eyes were becoming wet.

"I'm so sorry, Lucy. I let you down."

I nodded. "You did."

He winced a bit and a tear escaped down his cheek.

I gave him a small smile. "You did, but you can make it up to me."

"I'll try my best," he assured me in a small voice.

"That's all I ask. Aside of course from asking you to go and take a bloody shower and have a nap. I've seen Wraiths in a better state than you."

I shoved his shoulder and considered the tiny, huffed laugh a large victory. He got up and offered me his hand.

"Thank you, Lucy," he told me with a soft smile. "I don't think I could do this without you."

I snorted. "Don't forget it."

He shook his head. "Trust me, I won't make that mistake again," he promised, inadvertently admitting that he had thought so at some point.

I let him pull me up and put my arms around him in a hug.

"We'll be okay."

He squeezed me tight. "I hope so."

"Now go!" I ordered and pushed him towards the stairs.

He chuckled. "Yes, your majesty."

I threw a piece of donut after him, but he'd already left.

I called 5 second rule to myself and hurried to snatch the piece up and eat it.

…

Quill:

I considered myself a rather rational and level-headed person. I generally didn't have too many issues with keeping my temper in check, despite the redhead stereotype.

I found myself being tested now though.

I had only just heard the steps in the corridor, barely looked up to see the newcomer before I wanted to tear open his ribcage, gouge his eyes out and bury him alive. My suggestion to Tony of what to do with this bastard had been incredibly tame, compared to what was really going on in my suddenly violent mind.

I had to keep my wits about me though. This snake still wasn't worth getting arrested over.

"Well, well, well, Quill. Long time, no see," he chuckled.

I took in his cold eyes and cruel smile.

"Rumsford." I gave him a small nod, playing along, for now. I didn't get out of my seat though. He didn't deserve that show of respect.

"I have to say, I had heard that you were an errand boy for Lockwood now, but I hadn't realised you stooped as low as being a nanny to Cubbins of all people."

"Errand boy you say?" I chuckled. "I think I'd still rather be and errand boy or a nanny than a mindless attack dog." I shrugged and pretended to return to my book.

He cleared his throat and leaned against the doorframe. He crossed his boots at the ankle, no doubt thinking he looked casual and relaxed, but his leg was tense, and his foot was trembling.

"I had a chat with your girlfriend yesterday,"

"You don't say," I mumbled, pretending to be deeply engrossed in the pages before me, even though my mind was screaming at me to stab him.

"She's incredibly loyal, you know," he added conversationally.

I only nodded.

"Of course, that won't matter much when all's said and done. I don't need her to be loyal to me to make her mine," he taunted while studying the scrapes on his knuckles.

Ice cold fury ran through my veins, but before James Rumsford could be gutted like a fish by the dagger in my boot, Barnes turned the corner at the end of the corridor.

"Rumsford," he grunted in surprise and barely veiled annoyance. "What're you doing here? You're supposed to direct traffic in Tooting,"

I smirked a bit. "Directing traffic. Awe inspiring work, I'm sure."

Rumsford only sneered at me and then nodded curtly at Barnes before storming off.

"You shouldn't have done that Quill," Barnes grouched.

"I'm sorry, sir but I have to admit that I have a hard time imagining things getting much worse than they already are at the moment."

"There's always a way that things can get worse. I should think that Cubbins' condition would be an example of that."

I sighed heavily. "I don't suppose there's any evidence of who the perpetrators might be, is there?"

"You know there isn't. Nothing concrete at least."

I rubbed my face. "They went after Lucy too, last night. A couple of Tendy agents helped her."

Barnes' thick eyebrows furrowed in worry. "She good?" he grunted.

"As good as she can be, I imagine. Tony is torn up though."

"Good."

My eyes snapped up to meet his.

"Maybe this can knock some sense into that boy. That's about the only silver lining I can think of."

I sighed. "Perhaps."

"And Cubbins?" he nodded towards the door.

I shrugged and opened it, going inside.

It was hard to put the image of Cubbins together with the lump that was lying on the hospital bed. In his state of unconsciousness, someone had taken the liberty to place him with his legs straight and his arms down his side on top of perfectly made sheets. A display of perfect order.

Barnes went up to the bed and poked Cubbins' hand with a pen.

Cubbins made a grunt and wrinkled his swollen nose.

"Cubbins!" Barnes barked, causing the lump to make a small jerk.

Cubbins made a groan, and I pulled the string that was supposed to call a nurse.

Barnes nodded, seemingly satisfied that Cubbins was in fact alive.

"You keep an eye on him. Rumsford is gone for now, but they'll keep trying."

I nodded. "It's probably best to get him out of here."

Barnes nodded once and left.

Cubbins made a strangled sound.

"I'm not holding your hand," I deadpanned.

Cubbins responded with a slight wheeze that sounded a bit like "Piss off," so naturally I stayed.

It was night-time when Tony returned, squinting as he always did in hospitals after dark.

After a short argument, during which Cubbins' mum was called, Tony and I were allowed to take him with us, shuffling several flights of stairs with him whimpering and groaning between us.

Jake, the cab driver was waiting outside and helped us load him into the car, no questions asked.

I made sure to leave an extra generous tip.

Back at Portland Row, I had to wonder though, if it had been a good idea to bring him into such and unsanitary environment as his room was.

Holly was standing outside the door with a spray bottle and a cleaning sponge, with wide eyes, speaking of unmentionable trauma when we arrived so I can only imagine how much worse it might have been before she had been at it.

I found Lucy asleep on the sofa in the living room. I stood, staring at her for longer than was probably considered appropriate, debating with myself if I should wake her up and tell her that we brought Cubbins home.

I knelt down in front of her face, but instead of waking her up, I found myself taking her in.

The skin around her eyes was still tinged pink from crying and there was a slight frown as if she were dreaming something uncomfortable. I was just about to wake her, if only to remove the frown, when it suddenly dropped to be replaced by a peaceful expression and an almost happy sigh.

I smiled and took a blanket from a nearby armchair to drape over her.

I moved the hair out of her face, tickling her a bit in the process by accident, making her wrinkle her nose slightly.

I heard a throat clearing.

My head snapped up to look at Tony who stood with a mug of tea in his hand, leaning against the doorframe.

To my surprise, he didn't look angry at my tender treatment of Lucy.

Instead, he smiled ruefully and jerked his head towards the kitchen silently asking me to follow.

"How do you feel?" I asked, after standing around for almost a minute, saying nothing.

He sighed and frowned. He took his time coming up with an answer and I was grateful not to be met by the same 'I'm fine' as always.

"I don't know," he ended up with.

I gestured for him to elaborate.

"I'm happy we got George home. That gives me a little peace of mind."

I nodded. "It was a good call. If Rumsford came by once, it was only a matter of time before they tried again."

"About the rest, I feel like shit," he admitted. "I thought I had everything under control."

I patted his back in sympathy.

"I've rarely felt more helpless in my life," he admitted.

I gave him a soft smile. "It can take a while to come to terms with."

He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"More important than my inadequacies is what we're going to do about this. We can't let it stand," he huffed.

I nodded. "Sounds like a team meeting tomorrow morning is in order."

Tony cocked his head. "I thought that maybe I'd just –"

"Just what? Do it on your own? How's that been working out for you lately?" I asked with an eyeroll.

He glowered at me, but there was no real bite there.

"I'm just saying that it might be beneficial to get Holly and Lucy in on this as well. They should have a say." I looked at him pointedly.

He bit his lip and looked down at the table. "They – yeah. Yeah, you're right."

When I came back, early the next day, it was eerily quiet. Lucy wasn't on the sofa anymore. I took a small tour of the house, but everyone seemed to be asleep, and Holly hadn't arrived yet.

I slowly set about cooking breakfast. It was in the midst of flipping the fifth pancake that I realised how much my diet had been slipping. It had started out with a chocolate biscuit here and there and maybe sharing a pizza once a month with Kate, but now? I looked around at the croissants and donuts in the paper bag on the kitchen table. The eggs and bacon on the counter, waiting to be cooked. At the now burning pancake I scrambled to take off the heat.

When the hell did I become such a heretic?

Tony came down, interrupting my internal self-castigation. His eyes still had a slightly pinkish tint but sleep-drunk as he were, with his hair sticking out in odd directions, his pyjamas buttoned wrong, he actually looked more put together than the day before.

Still. He looked adorable. I wondered idly if his old teddy Mr. Wet Wart was still around. (It should be said that Tony was three when he tried to name it Edward.)

"Sit down," I ordered.

He blinked owlishly at me, as if the smell and sound of food cooking hadn't given away that another person was present in his kitchen.

Wordlessly, he sunk into a chair and I put a cup of strong black tea in front of him.

"How's Cubbins?" I asked.

He grunted, but I was at a loss for what it meant. I assumed he was much the same.

I returned to the pancakes. Tony sat silently while I finished them and moved on to eggs and bacon.

"YES!" he suddenly shouted making me jump and drop the spatula on the floor.

"Tony!" I barked at him, but he was gone to the world.

He was furiously scribbling something on the tablecloth, adding things in a separate column to the side as he went along. I shook my head and climbed the stairs.

I only just hesitated a bit next to Jessica's door. One day I would have the courage to go in there again. Today was for the living though and I continued upwards.

I knocked gently on the door, waiting for a response that came in the form of a yelp and a crash. I figured Lucy might have fallen out of her bed.

She opened the door fully. I might have blushed a bit when I saw that she was wearing my shirt and nothing on her legs.

Her hair was plastered to the side of her head and she was squinting at me like a mole out at noon.

"Wha -?"

"Breakfast," I told her, figuring that one-word sentences might be the safest way to communicate in her state of being.

She winced and I saw the skull kicking up a storm in its jar on the windowsill.

"Okay," she croaked. "I'll be – Pants."

She shooed me away.

I chuckled, making my way downstairs where Tony was beaming at his work.

Holly arrived in the middle of breakfast and I noticed that I might not be the only one on the slippery slope towards a nutritional nightmare.

She was loading her plate with eggs, plenty of bacon and pancakes too. I decided not to point it out though. I wasn't a hypocrite.

"How is George?" she asked.

"Haven't checked on him yet. Figured it was better to let him sleep as long as possible," I responded and took a bit of my sinfully delicious chocolate croissant.

Lucy let out a sound that could best be described as an indignant squeak. "And you couldn't let me sleep as long as possible either?" she complained. She was resting her head on top of her arm on the table. Some of her hair was in her eggs on her plate but I kept my mouth shut about that too. Not because I thought it would be hypocritical of me, more because I wasn't suicidal.

I was about to eat a piece of pancake when a repulsive sewery stench reached my nostril. I wrinkled my nose and sniffed my eggs, worried that I might have missed a bad one, when the explanation came through the kitchen door and curiously quiet tried to go up the stairs.

"Florence!" I called out and she froze in her tracks as if she hadn't expected anyone to notice her as she had stormed past us all in her muddy glory.

"What is it, pretty boy?" she growled.

I smiled a bit. "Off to see George, are you?"

She blushed a bit and bent her head, so her face was almost hidden by her straw hat.

"What if I was?"

"Well, if you were, I would have to insist that you had a shower and a change of clothes."

You could hear a pin drop. Four sets of eyes stared at me, each more incredulous than the next.

"I wouldn't even dare suggest it if it weren't because he was in a bad state. I'm sure you wouldn't want him to get worse. I know you're tough and you can take it, but there are many unhealthy things in the waters of the Thames that wouldn't be good for George at the moment."

She and I had a long stare-off and to my honest surprise, she ended up looking away with a curl of her lips.

"Someone needs to gimme me some clothes or I'll have to go in there in my birthday suit then," she coughed.

The incredulous eyes turned to her before turning back to me.

Lucy scrambled out of her seat and I heard her tripping up the stairs in her haste to find something for Florence to wear.

Ten minutes later, Lucy, Tony, Holly, and I sat around the table in stunned silence, only broken by something that sounded like a whale giving birth. It was Florence singing in the shower of course, but by the look on Tony's face, he would probably have preferred the whale in his bathroom.

Lucy gave me a look. "You called him George," she pointed out with a teasing grin.

I snorted. "No, I didn't."

Tony chuckled. "You did."

"Did not!"

Holly laughed delightedly. "You so did."

When Florence came out, I wouldn't have been able to recognise her if I saw her on the street. Had I not known from experience that it was impossible to enter or exit through the bathroom window, I'd have firmly believed that there had been some form of exchange.

While her blonde, wet hair was still a tangled mess, her red cheeks were clean and clear.

She was tugging at the skirt she had gotten from Lucy and was scratching at the leggings.

"This good?" she asked and crossed her arms in front of her. Arms that were clad in a simple pullover rather than a filthy jacket.

Holly nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely perfect. It's just until you leave, and you can have your clothes back. I put them in the washer."

"If you feel comfortable in the clothes, you can keep them if you want," Lucy blurted. "I mean it, you look really good!"

"S'not some stupid makeover. S'for George," she grunted at the floor. I'm not sure if she was talking to us or herself.

"Then by all means, go ahead, Flo," Tony pointed at the stairs when he recovered.

I did feel a bit bad about forcing her since she clearly wasn't comfortable, but I wasn't kidding. Cubbins had a lot of wounds that wouldn't fare well against the flora and fauna of the Thames.

I let the others trickle upstairs and set about cooking some soup for the patient.

It wasn't long before Lucy came down in a daze. I turned around to ask how Cubbins were when something in her snapped.

She took the nearest chair and threw it with a cry. Tears started streaming down her cheeks. She hadn't seen him until now and I figured it was probably a bit of a shock.

I was about to go to her, but Tony came first, running down the stairs and caught her in a hug from behind just as the first sob moved through her. She deflated a bit before anger again overwhelmed her.

"I'll kill them!" she near screamed, struggling against Tony's hold.

"Don't be silly. You won't kill them, you'd only fluff it up and it's not your style," he said, somewhat calmly.

She ripped herself out of his grasp and pointed a finger in his face. "I killed Steve Rotwell for you. Don't think for even a single second that I'm not willing to do the same for George," she growled.

Tony's face softened. "That was in battle. Revenge is different. Besides, we can do better. Hit them harder. As a team, right? Isn't that what we agreed?"

He put a hand on her shoulder and her face crumbled. She let herself be caught up in his arms again, crying softly against his shirt.

After what looked like an intense internal debate , he lifted her and sat down on a chair, keeping her in his lap and stroking her back.

"I think I might have a plan," he murmured into her hair.

I swallowed hard and turned my back under the pretence of putting the kettle on and finishing the soup. I couldn't make myself look at them.

…

I have a love/hate-relationship with the word 'murmur' I cannot for the life of me say that word without looking like Pingu when he says 'Noot-noot'.

It makes me feel so ridiculous. Seriously, try it.

Sorry for taking a little longer than usual. I'm working on some original stuff for my son that takes time and creative capacity.

What did you think of Lucy and Lockwood's little heart to heart?

Please leave a review and let me know.