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Cases were always more frequent during the winter, and this one was no exception. The exhaustion slowly seeping into all Lockwood and Co. They had been dealing with too many ghosts to count, and it seems like almost weekly one of them would deal with a dangerous Wraith or Phantasm. Everyone is exhausted and waiting for the week-long refuge of Christmas break.
Lockwood only let them have one week off in the worst part of the year. His vengeance against the ghosts is on hold for a single week, giving them a chance to celebrate and relax. Well it was less a break and more like a week-long Christmas event. Everyone’s exhaustion was ignored in the face of presents, cookies, and cocoa. When the christmas spirit hit 35 Portland Row, it slammed into it like a hurricane. The unshakably cheerful mood in the house made Christmas Lucy’s favorite holiday at 35 Portland Row.
She came home, collapsing onto the bed after a particularly hard final night. The ghosts were fine to deal with, but the customers, god, what a nightmare. She’d rather pull her own hair out strand by strand than deal with that creepy old man complaining about a Shade. Sighing, she rolls onto her back, trying to muster the strength to get up and clean the dust and cobwebs off. Occupational hazard from crawling around uncleaned attics.
Finally, she manages to get up. Stumbling to the bathroom, wanting the sweet embrace of a warm shower. The ancient water heater took way too much time to get up and running, leaving her standing there waiting for it to warm up. Lucy and George had tried to appeal to Lockwood, getting him to buy a new water heater, but stubborn as always, he’d insisted the money could be better spent on equipment and supplies.
Frankly, Lucy would rather have an ancient rapier than have to stand here in the cold waiting for the shower to warm up. But noooo, equipment was more important. She swore Lockwood must have liked freezing cold showers, but honestly that wouldn’t even approach the top ten strange things about him. Fuck him and his strangeness…
She snaps out of her thoughts slowly spiraling into the gutter and sticks her hand into the shower to test the water, only to find it finally has achieved a good temperature. She sheds the last few layers of her clothes and steps in to let the warm water wash away the grime and stress. The lavender scent of her shampoo comforts her, her mind slipping into oblivion.
Lucy barely remembered getting out of the shower and drying off, or any of the rest of her routine, just collapsing exhausted onto her bed, pulling the covers up and over her head. and letting herself be pulled into unconsciousness.
Lucy wakes up to the smell of chocolate and something else she can’t quite place. Rolling over in bed, she groans, her muscles aching from last night. But the pull of whatever chocolaty thing is cooking downstairs seems to summon her from the warmth of her bed. It does take her another several minutes to get up out of bed, making her way down the creaky stairs while tying her bathrobe around her. The bathrobe was a gift from George last year. Say what you will about George, but he is a god at picking out the perfect gifts.
Peeking around the corner she peers into the kitchen. Lockwood sits at the table, doodling something on the thinking cloth absentmindedly. It looks like some sort of misshapen Christmas tree to her bleary morning eyes, but squinting at it doesn’t help identify it. Lockwood senses her presence, looking up as he takes a sip from his mug, some whipped cream sticking to his top lip.
“Morning, Luce. I made some hot cocoa. George already came by, so help yourself.” Lucy groans appreciatively as she walks over to the stove, Lockwood licking the cream off his lip. “Whipped cream is in the fridge, had to hide it so George didn’t steal it all.” Lucy snorts, firing back.
“More like you hid it from George so there was more for yourself. He doesn’t even take that much, we both know that.”
“I have no clue about what you are talking about.” Lockwood takes another sip haughtily. “Also, have you heard if Holly is making cookies this year?” Lucy pours herself a cup, popping in a slice or two in the toaster before sitting down at the table.
“Ughhh, don’t remind me. I was talking to her yesterday, I know she’s still on the whole health kick thing for herself, so she’s making some vegan oatmeal cookies or something like that.” Lockwood hums noncommittally as Lucy continues to rant. This is not the first nor the last time Lucy has launched into a rant before breakfast. “Holly’s great, I love Holly, but really, would it kill Holly to make some good old-fashioned sugar cookies? Please, Holly… It’s Christmas, the holiday spirit”
She stops groaning only to take a sip of her hot cocoa, allowing Lockwood to interject.
“You know Luce, we can always try to make cookies ourselves. Fun little afternoon activity.” Lucy just stares at him like he’s grown another head.
“Baking, fun activity, I don’t think I’ve ever heard those two words in the same sentence. And I definitely did not expect to be hearing them from you, Lockwood. You’ve always enjoyed getting dirty anyways.” He shrugs nonchalantly, going with the flow as he usually does.
“Cooking, killing ghosts, what’s the difference? Have you perhaps heard of this invention called an apron? It might surprise you, Lucy. But there’s a cookbook hidden somewhere in here you know. What?” She continues to stare at him, utterly baffled. “Have I grown another head?”
“Maybe with three of them you could actually make sense for once.”
George takes this golden opportunity to enter the room, stealing a piece of Lucy’s toast that had just popped up, now smearing it with butter and jam.
“What about Lockwood’s head?” He takes a large bite out of the toast, Lucy staring at him menacingly for stealing her food.
“Apparently with a third one, I might make some sense. Although, I’m not sure the second one helps anyways.” Lockwood comments, not looking up from his doodle, which seems to have gained some sort of disfigured dog now. George just looks confused for a second, before his eyes slowly widen and he chokes on his bite. Red and coughing, he leaves the room as fast as he can.
“Going to archives later, don’t bother,” he says between coughs, likely trying to avoid seeing either of them for the rest of the day. Lockwood, on the other hand seems entirely nonchalant about the whole thing.
“Anyways Luce, what’da say, join me later?” He flashes one of his patented Lockwood smiles, Lucy groaning.
“Only if you let me eat the dough.”
“Deal.”
The rest of breakfast was a quieter affair, Lucy having to wait for another piece of toast to be made to make up for the one George stole. Lockwood eventually heads down to the basement to train a bit against Joe with his rapier, leaving Lucy to her own thoughts.
Eventually, she makes her way back upstairs to get dressed. Glancing over the sea of black in her wardrobe, she decides to actually grab something other than black. She looks through, sorting the mess of black before finally finding the lovely, fuzzy, lavender and white turtleneck sweater Holly had gotten for her after she had eyed it in a window. It wasn’t exactly the best to wear out on a job, so she hadn’t had many chances to wear it. But now was the perfect time. She just hoped Lockwood enjoyed it too.
The rest of her outfit was still relatively safe and simple, just how she liked it. Skirt, leggings, jacket (the house was somewhat unsurprisingly cold and drafty sometimes) all in the usual agent black. Now fully dressed, she was ready to face the day.
Most of the morning was mostly (unfortunately) going to be work. Despite it being the first day of break, there was still paperwork from last night to finish up and get sorted, schedules to sort and phone calls to still answer. Ghosts don’t stop for Christmas, and neither do the calls.
By mid-morning most of the paper work was done, allowing Lucy to sink back into the chair, a fresh hot cup of tea newly steeped and steaming. Sighing, she glances at the coffee table, seeing if either of the boys had dropped anything interesting to read. She spotted a couple of magazines, the front covers of which she didn’t recognize. Lockwood must have finished his monthly binge of magazines. She picks up the first one in the stack and flips it open to the first page.
About three or four magazines later, she hears Lockwood say something. Lucy just hmm’s, not having heard what he said at all. He seems satisfied, closing the door behind him. She looks up at the sound of the door briefly before going back to the article about the latest escapades of the elite. Holiday parties were in an upswing, and Lucy was just dying to know to know exactly what expensive dresses they were all wearing from what brand. The most riveting of content.
Much, much later in the day, as the sun starts to dip (roughly three in the afternoon) Lockwood re-enters. Nose and cheeks bright red from the cold air outside. His smile is brighter, however, as he beams. Lucy feels blinded and not in the fun way as she looks up.
“Luce! I’m back!” He wiggles his eyebrows exaggeratedly, setting down multiple bags of stuff. “And I have cookie materials now.” He ducks, taking off his scarf and slightly too small winter coat. She groans, leaning her head far back onto the backrest of the chair.
“You’re still hung up on that?”
“Of course I am, and you’re going to help me.” More groaning from Lucy.
“Lockwood, whyyy?” He doesn’t give her a response, just hanging his coat up on the hooks by the door. He picks up half of the bags and starts walking towards his room.
“I need to drop off these gifts, but hey, fun team bonding activity, right? Come on, up and at ‘em Luce. Time's ticking. Please?” His voice gains a slight whine to it at the end of the please. She sighs, succumbing to Lockwood’s signature charm, or in this case, his whining.
“You know you can’t actually pull the team bonding activity if it’s just us. But I’ll get up, if only to satiate your massive ego.” She grumbles more as she stands up, her back creaking and popping from her terrible reading posture. “Ow, ow, I’m getting too old for this.” She hobbles to the kitchen, sitting herself on the counter and waits for Lockwood to finish hiding the gifts and bring in the cookie stuff.
It only took a second for him to enter with the bag in hand, still grinning and humming some Christmas tune that sounds vaguely familiar.
“Eggs, butter, sugar, vanilla, flour and baking powder and soda. Everything we need.” He sets it down with a clunk next to her. “But we can’t make anything with you sitting there, no matter how sweet you might taste.” She just rolls her eyes at his unabashed cheesiness, hopping down from the counter.
“So, bakerman, how do we start?” He rummages through his pockets for a second before pulling out a slip of folded paper, yellowed by the years. He unfolds it carefully.
“First step, preheat the oven, and grab a small bowl and mix… flour and baking powder and soda. You grab the bowl and I’ll do the oven? I think I know how to preheat it… we can always call Holly right?”
They did have to call Holly to help them preheat the oven. The bowl was easy enough to find at least.
“Alright, so who knew that preheating an oven was so hard to figure out? Now with that disaster out of the way, let's hope mixing everything goes smoothly, knock on wood.” He reaches out, knocking on the cabinet with a nervous laugh. Lucy grabs one of the measuring cups, hovering over the flour.
“So, do we guess for this or is there a number written down there?”
“I think that’s either a two or a seven, so make your best guess?”
“Two it is.” She carefully measures out the first cup, making sure the top was even with the back of a butterknife. Her mom had taught her one thing at least. She tips it over into the small bowl, knocking it a few times so all the flour falls into the bowl. It forms a little mushroom cloud of white powder, covering her face and the front strands of her hair. She coughs, and tries to spit out the bit that got in her mouth.
“Blech, gross. Note to self, don’t lean over the bowl.” A loud thump makes her turn, as Lockwood catches himself from falling over from laughing so hard.
“I’m sorry, Luce,” he says between tears and gasps for air. Feeling slightly vindictive, she combs her hand through her hair, and then wipes it on the front of his pristine black jumper. He stops laughing and gasps in mock horror at the white mess on his front. He grabs a small handful of flour from the bowl and flings it at Lucy.
“Anthony John Lockwood, you are going to pay for this!” She screeches as he tries to lean away from possible flour launching range. He does not escape the wrath of the angry Lucy, his pants and shirt getting covered in flour.
Unfortunately, fate has it out for Lockwood today, causing him to slip slightly on the flour, sending him right into Lucy. He catches himself on the counter, his face barely inches away from hers. They stay there for a couple of seconds. She could feel the faint heat of his breath and the smell of his soap and cologne, both hearts beating fast.
Neither are sure who closes the distance first, but they soon find themselves connected by a kiss. They can taste the flour from their faces, and Lucy pulls back wiping her lips before grabbing Lockwood’s collar and pulling him back in, her hands moving to the back of his neck, and soon into his hair. She tugs lightly on the curls as she combs lightly through them, pulling his head closer,their noses bumping awkwardly for a moment. Her mind wanders as she drags her fingers through his hair, wondering what conditioner he used to get his hair that soft.
That thread of thought is quickly abandoned as Lockwood slips a hand up her shirt. He places his Jesus Christ that’s freaking cold hand on the small of her back, pulling her body even closer to his. They’re suddenly interrupted by someone clearing their throat.
“Gross. Please, get a room. And clean the kitchen.” George stands in the doorway back from the archive, and accompanied by a disgusted look on his face.
“Sorry George, just enjoying the holiday spirit.”
“Can you...” He waves at the room. “Not here? This is where we eat, you know. And you are both absolutely covered in flour.” His face turns from disgust to resignation. “Never mind, just clean up after yourselves and stay safe, I’m going to my room. I regret coming back early.”
“Merry Christmas, George!” Lockwood shouts after him, Lucy taking the classy route and flipping him off. His footsteps fade into the distance followed by a slamming door as Lockwood pulls her back in.