Quill:

We were standing in front of the door to Jessica's room. My hand had been on the doorknob for what felt like hours.

"I can't do this."

Tony put a hand on my back. "Well, at least you're not doing it alone."

I far preferred dealing with other people's ghosts to facing my own.

"I'm right here with you," Tony assured me.

I slowly opened the door, taking it all in.

Boxes were littered around the room, some opened, some closed, some stacked against a wall. Motes of dust were swirling through the sunlight streaming through the window.

My eyes remained fixed on the bed though.

The bed that I had found them in. The bed I had dragged Tony out of, as he screamed and clutched at Jessica's cooling body.

The bed I had spent hours with her in when she was still alive, talking about everything and nothing. Where we had foolishly planned a future that would never happen.

A future that would have been built on lies.

Slowly, I looked around the room, taking it in. The childish wallpaper we had planned on painting over. For all I knew, the ghastly green paint was still somewhere in the basement. The glow-in-the-dark stars we had put up together. Her putting them up at random and me insisting on making the right constellations.

I took another step into the room and ran a hand over one of the dressers, almost tempted to open the drawers to see if my clothes were still there. I recognised an old shirt of mine still hanging over the arm of a wicker chair in the corner.

I had no Talent left, whatsoever but even I could feel the psychic onslaught. A tightness in my chest. Either that or it was simply due to the fact that I was standing in my dead girlfriend's room, and we were about to gut it completely.

I took a shaky breath and counted to ten, trying to compose myself. Tony put a hand on my shoulder, grounding me.

"Let's get to work," I choked out, taking an empty box, and starting to take down the silver wind chimes that had been hung from the ceiling.

Tony began taking the dried twigs of lavender, putting them all in a bag.

The more of the protective charms we removed from the room, the colder it got, but despite the discomfort, I slowly got used to being in there. Every now and again, I felt myself stilling as I got caught up in a memory, and every time, Tony would be there, asking if I was okay. Sometimes I was the one to shake him out of his thoughts.

The others had volunteered to clean out the room, but this was something we needed to do.

It was cathartic in a way.

To take those memories and put them away.

Not forgetting but moving on.

The next challenge was preparing for the completely insane idea Tony had gotten. Using the Death Glow and all the Sources they had to make an entrance to the Other Side as an emergency escape.

God, I hoped we wouldn't need it. I had no desire to see the land of the dead, much less visit it.

We had argued about it for more than two hours.

I, as the voice of reason, had lost.

So, there I was, being directed by Cubbins, who in his still semi-injured state, sat in the wicker chair in the corner, huffing orders at me like some god forsaken pharaoh.

I was glad I had kept up with my training because the iron chains Tony had ordered could have been used to moor a cruise liner.

I wore the goggles as we worked with the Sources Tony's parents had brought back with them. It was honestly fascinating to see the ghosts of different tribespeople. I would never admit that to the gushing Cubbins who sat in the chair, ranting about different types of ghosts from different regions.

"D'you reckon they have Shining Boys there too? Or Cold Maidens? perhaps they have something entirely different. Maybe they have something similar, but they call them something else? Have you read any of the Lockwood's other papers? Is there something in there about other ghost types?"

I gave a shrug. I hadn't been overly obsessed with their research. The most I remembered came from when Jessica and Tony had put on a show when we were younger, and their parents were still alive. They would imitate their parents when they were at a lecture.

The way Aunt Celia would speak animatedly and gesticulate wildly with her arms, going off on crazy tangents and even re-enact some of their discoveries. Uncle Don in contrast would be calm, organised and would gently rein in his wife when she would start imitating their communications with various tribespeople and once when she re-enacted a hostage situation and had almost kicked someone in the audience in the face.

I missed them.

But we would be okay.

Well… If we survived this shit.

Then we would be okay.

…

Lucy:

I thought about what Holly had said, all throughout dinner. She kept glancing at me, and it was getting annoying. I was staring firmly at my mashed potatoes to keep from looking at either her or the two boys we'd been talking about.

Especially Quill, who had no doubt seen my bum on display.

"Good grief, I've seen funerals more cheerful than this."

The skull had a point, unfortunately. We had put the jar in the middle of the table like some sort of morbid centrepiece. Holly had barely protested. Ironically enough, the skull seemed to be the liveliest one of us. Tension was running high, and no one was talking. The only sound was Flo's noisy chewing which had even George beat.

"D'you ever wonder if Cubbins and the Bone-girl are competing at who can be the most disgusting?"

I scoffed. "You're one to speak," I remarked drily, causing the table to go even more silent.

"It's nothing," I assured them. "Just the usual insults."

I was impressed by Flo, actually. She took excellent care of George, bordering on mother-henning him.

And she kept clean. Holly even took her to a thrift shop where they got her new clothes. Of course, Holly had to excuse it as being payment. It was the least we could do to compensate her for intervening in her personal hygiene and for taking care of George.

Whether she believed that or not, I don't know but she had grumblingly accepted and was even wearing the items.

Now Holly was contemplating how to get that foul puffa jacket in an accident, but I felt like we had pushed Flo enough.

The relic-woman herself startled me out of my thoughts with a sudden shriek which I belatedly realised was laughter.

With my heart in my throat, I glanced at George, just in time to catch an expression on his face that could only be described as fond.

He caught me looking and his face melted into its usual impassiveness as he ripped his glasses off and rubbed them with his sweater in slow circles, trying to avoid my eyes.

I tried to keep a smile off my face and took a roll to eat to cover it up.

I made the mistake of looking slightly to my left where Quill's eyes were seemingly waiting for me, staring at me with an intensity that had no business being shared over bangers and mash.

"THIIIIIS IS THE NIIIIIIGHT, IT'S A BEAUUUUTIFUL NIIIIIIIGHT, AND WE CALL IT BEEEELLAAA NOTTEEE –"

I jumped and cursed at the sudden bellowing from the skull and threw a piece of bread crust at the jar.

"You!" I raised an accusing finger against Quill. "You were the one to show him 'Lady and the Tramp'!"

Quill raised his hands defensively with a sheepish smile. "Sorry?"

I rubbed my face tiredly. "Next time, we'll find one of those princess movies for him."

Assuming that there would be a next time of course.

I suddenly lost all my appetite. I tried to take a deep breath to battle the sudden nausea, but the air in the kitchen was thick with the smell of sausage.

I thanked George for the food, put my plate in the sink and made my way out the kitchen door, careful not to trigger any of the traps that had been laid there.

Once in the garden, I took several deep breaths, letting the fresh air fill up my lungs. It felt as if I had been under water for too long. I could still hear the clinking of cutlery against porcelain, and it grated in my ears. I needed to get away.

I walked aimlessly through the tall, wet grass. We should have cut it, I thought idly but what did it matter? We were at war.

Who cares about grass length when death might be imminent?

Me apparently since I couldn't help thinking about it.

I slowly made my way past the flowerless rhododendron, along the flowerbed of wilted lavender towards the apple tree that stood crookedly in the last rays of the setting sun. The red apples were almost glowing and the tree itself looked as if it were on fire.

I took care not to step on any of the fallen apples and kept an eye out for wasps as I carefully selected the reddest and most beautiful apple I could find.

I rubbed it a few times against my shirt before taking a large bite.

The tart burst of flavour from the barely ripe apple was a welcome relief from the heavy taste of sausage and potato.

I was so caught up with savouring the fruit and enjoying the crisp sound it made every time I bit into it that I didn't notice someone approaching until I heard the clearing of a throat right behind me.

I whipped around, scrambling for the rapier I didn't take with me.

Lockwood chuckled. "Don't worry Luce. It's just me."

I bent over, breathing heavily. "God, Lockwood. You nearly scared me to death."

"Hey! If I'm not allowed to joke about my own death, then neither are you," he protested.

I gave him a rueful smile, not appreciating being called out on my hypocrisy.

Lockwood sighed. "What a mess we've found ourselves in eh?"

"Isn't it of our own making though?" I asked with a small snort.

He shook his head slowly. "Someone has to do something. Do you want out?" he asked carefully.

"Not a chance," I assured him. "Never. That bitch is going down."

Lockwood laughed out loud, and it struck me how long ago it was since I'd last heard that sound. It made me smile.

He looked down at me with flushed cheeks and the wide grin he was so famous for, and my breath caught in my throat.

His face slowly fell into more serious folds as we stared at each other. He was still smiling, but it had a sad tint to it.

"There's something I need to tell you Luce. Something I should probably have told you a while ago. I just haven't gotten myself sorted out properly until now."

My stomach did a weird flip. Whether it was nerves from Lockwood's serious face or the sausages threatening to make a return, I didn't quite know.

I nodded to encourage him to go on.

He took a deep breath. "I kissed Holly," he told me carefully, studying my face for some sort of reaction.

"What?" I breathed.

"It was when we went the Black Heart to get the key for the Fittes Mausoleum. We were close to being discovered so I did it for the cover. It seemed like a good idea at the time,"

I blinked at him, not quite knowing how to respond to that.

"Okay?" was the brilliant reply I ended up with.

He snapped his head up to look at me. "It didn't mean anything -" he started.

"That's fine but I'm not upset."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, good. That's good, hopefully, that means..." he trailed off, looking towards the setting sun.

"What?"

"It felt the same," he confessed. "Kissing you and kissing Holly made me feel the same way."

"Okay?"

"You see, I know for a fact that I'm not in love with Holly. But if kissing you felt the same, I figure that maybe that means that I'm not in love with you," he continued slowly with a wince. "I mean I really care about you. I love you, deeply."

I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Urgh. This wasn't how I wanted this to go. I just mean that you are possibly the best thing that ever happened to me. I've had friends over the years, and there's George, but George is... well, George. He was always happy with status quo. And while that is certainly appreciated in many cases, maybe it wasn't what I needed."

He gave me a small rueful smile. "You kept pushing and prodding and making me face all those things that hurt."

"I'm sor –"

"Don't dare apologise. Without you, I would have been just the same as always, painting on a smile for the hell of it and barely trying to stay alive. What you've given me, Lucy – it's indescribable."

He took my hand and squeezed it. "You've given me hope, you've given me ambition beyond just being the best in London at hunting ghosts. You've given me family. Both the weird mix of people we put together in there," he pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards the house, "and you got me Quill back. All that gratitude just fills me up sometimes and if feels so wonderful that it was so easy to mistake if for something romantic. It's not though. It's so much more than that."

"Lockwood," I choked, and he ran a hand down his face.

"I'm sorry, Lucy, I'm so, so sorry. I don't mean to break your heart or –"

"Oh, stop it, you great giraffe," I chuckled wetly. "You're not breaking anything."

Lockwood let out a breath and his smile slowly returned.

"You sure?"

I nodded and wiped the tears away from my cheeks.

"I'm sorry, I've been so selfish, Lucy."

"What do you mean?"

"I've been holding you back. I've hoarded you for all the happiness you've given me and in that way I've kept you from being happy yourself. You and Quill –"

I opened my mouth to say something. What I wanted to say, I didn't know.

"You two – I've gotten between that, and I shouldn't have."

He turned towards me and took both my hands in his. I didn't know what to say, so I stayed silent.

"I was so scared of losing you. When you left after the Aickmere case, I realised how much you mean to me so when you returned, I was so determined to keep you. I was scared of losing you all over again."

"Never. You're never getting rid of me."

He gave me a quick grin before turning serious again. "It wasn't fair of me. But I'm not scared anymore."

I shook my head fondly. "You've always been a bit of an idiot, haven't you?"

He chuckled "But I'm your idiot."

I pulled him in for a hug. "And Quill's"

"And Holly's" he mumbled against my hair.

I nodded. "And George's"

"Even Flo's"

"Don't forget Kate's,"

He stiffened slightly but I didn't comment on it.

We were interrupted by a shrill whistle from the house.

"Sorry to interrupt, but they're here!" Quill shouted.

Lockwood and I smiled at each other and let go, turning down towards the house. Towards battle. Perhaps towards our deaths but with slightly lighter hearts than before.

…

Quill:

I had to give it to Tony. He sure knew how to set a scene. Out in the garden in the light of the beautiful sunset. It made for a perfect background.

I was happy for them, I truly was. If anyone deserved to be happy, it would be them.

I was almost sorry that I had to interrupt them, as they stood there in each other's arms, but I felt guiltily happy that I didn't have to watch any more of their love confession.

Hopefully, when we survived this, I would find a way to manage seeing them together.

If we survived.

…..

I'm sorry for the long wait, but don't worry, I'm planning on seeing this through till the end.

Please, please leave a review and tell me what you think!