Work Text:
Somewhere nearby, water dripped steadily onto the floor. It wasn’t surprising that there was a leak somewhere in the catacombs. The sound of liquid hitting the stone floor was the only real source of noise in the chamber they were in; Kipps was unconscious, still with that bloody bag over his head, and George was… not doing all that well, if he was being completely honest.
He shivered, curling in on himself as much as possible. He couldn’t stem the bleeding — not with his hands tied behind his back, at least — so this was the end, wasn’t it? He was going to bleed out alone, in the dark, and there was nothing he could do about it.
And the worst part was that Joplin had escaped with that bloody bone glass.
George closed his eyes and let the tears fall.
His breath seemed to catch in his throat even as he tried to steady it, even as he tried to hold on. “Kipps, wake up,” he croaked. “Please.”
The world almost seemed to tilt as he sat there. It didn’t make sense, really, considering he had his eyes closed, but everything seemed to shift off-centre anyway. If this was how it ended… He was sure he could feel himself teetering closer to the edge, slipping—
“George!” Lucy’s horrified voice reached his ears. “Lockwood, he’s— oh god.”
“No, no, this can’t— this can’t be right. She didn’t need to do that, she didn’t need to hurt him,” Lockwood spluttered as he dropped to his knees next to George. “Georgie? Please stay with us, we’re going to get help.”
George forced his eyes open as he just about managed to rasp out: “I’m sorry. She’s got the mirror— she got—”
“Everything’s fine,” Lockwood promised. “Everything’s going to be fine. She’s with DEPRAC now. I’m sorry we couldn’t get here sooner, just please hold on for me, okay? I can’t do this without you.”
“Just… Just don’t take the dagger out,” he mumbled. “It’s probably the only thing keeping the rest of the blood in.”
Lockwood paled, swaying dangerously as his eyes drifted to the wound. It was a good job he was already kneeling on the ground; the possibility of him passing out wasn’t totally off the table. “You’re going— You’re going to be fine, George.” It was hard to tell if he was trying to convince George or himself at this point.
George’s eyelids fluttered half-closed but he forced them open again, desperate to keep his attention on Lockwood. “Where’s Luce?” he rasped.
“Gone back up to get help. It’s okay, you’re okay,” Lockwood continued to whisper, leaning against the chair as he reached around to get rid of George’s restraints. “Just put your head on my shoulder, so you don’t fall and hurt yourself more when I get you out of this, okay?”
George managed a minute nod before letting his forehead clumsily meet Lockwood’s shoulder. “I didn’t— I didn’t look, Lockwood. In the mirror. I didn’t look.” He swallowed thickly. “I refused, and I kept my eyes closed, and then she… then she—”
The tightness around his wrists disappeared as Lockwood freed him, and George felt himself slump forwards further against him even as he tried to keep himself up. Luckily Lockwood’s quick reflexes caught him and prevented George from forcing the dagger deeper into himself with the movement. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, soothing him. “I’ve got you.”
“I’m sorry,” George sobbed. “I shouldn’t have trusted her. I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry. This is all my fault.”
“None of this is your fault, George,” Lockwood promised. “None of it.”
“I didn’t follow the plan,” he pointed out, breathing stuttering as he winced. “I was— I was outside DEPRAC and I still— I still couldn’t fucking—”
“Shh.” Lockwood’s lips were gentle against George’s temple, and the side of George’s face grew damp with tears that weren’t all his own. “We don’t blame you for this, for any of this. We should’ve noticed that you weren’t okay. George, I should be apologising to you—” His voice cracked, and a shaky exhale followed. “You are so important to me, and if I hadn’t spent these past few days with my head up my fucking arse then I might have been paying more attention to the things that actually matter. Paying more attention to you.”
“You don’t need me, you’ll recover, it’s fine—” George’s voice cut out as he wheezed, the pain darkening the edges of his vision as Lockwood tugged on his coat. “Don’t— Lockwood— Stop—”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Lockwood murmured hoarsely. “But I need to try and stop the bleeding somehow, and both my coat and shirt are too stiff. It has to be something of yours.” He slipped George’s coat away from his shoulders and let it hang against the back of the chair as he eased the flannel from him next. The edge of the shirt had been caught when the knife went in, and Lockwood tore it away so it wouldn’t catch the wound any further before gently moving George from the chair to the floor. “You’re going to be fine, George. Everything’s going to be fine.” He padded the area around the knife with the shirt as much as possible.
“It’s okay, Lockwood,” he whispered. “I know how bad it is. I know the chances of me surviving this are second to none. You can carry on without— without me…”
“Stop saying that!” Lockwood snapped, incapable of holding it in any longer. George flinched at the volume, and he immediately softened apologetically. “I mean it, George. Stop talking like you’re fucking expendable, like losing you wouldn’t absolutely break me.”
“You can…” George trailed off, the darkness closing in on him even more. “You can find a new researcher.”
“I don’t want a new researcher, I want you, George. Please stay with me,” he begged, one shaking hand on the flannel and the other on the side of George’s face. “Just keep talking to me, keep looking at me, just stay with me, Georgie. I need you.”
His eyes refused to focus properly as he looked up at Lockwood, the black clouding the edges of his vision creeping in even further until his friend’s face was the only thing he could see. The rest of the catacombs seemed to fall away, isolating them completely. “You can,” George rasped. “And you will. Because you’re Anthony bloody Lockwood.”
The darkness enveloped him fully, and even as Lockwood’s lips shaped around words they fell on deaf ears.
When the time came to fall into the abyss, George went willingly.
***
“Lucy. Luce, he’s awake.” Lockwood’s voice was the first thing he heard when his eyelids started to flutter open. Immediately George winced at the too-bright overhead lights, screwing his eyes closed again. He was finally able to hear the beeping of machines too, which definitely wasn’t helping either.
There was a considerable thud as something hit the light switch from across the room, and George felt the reduction in pressure behind his eyelids. Slowly, he opened his eyes again and let them adjust to the semi-darkness. He couldn’t quite make out the two blurry shapes next to him, but even then he could still guess that they were Lucy and Lockwood. George tried to sit up, but two sets of hands eased him back to the bed as a shooting pain exploded from his side.
“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, already nauseous.
“Don’t move, it’s okay,” Lucy murmured. “They weren’t sure how long it would be before you came out of it. I’ll grab the nurse.”
George allowed himself to take in both of their exhausted expressions now that they were close enough for him to see them. It was enough to reignite the guilt that had previously been pushed aside to make room for more pain. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse as he shook his head weakly. “This is all my fault, I never meant to—”
“George,” Lucy pleaded, trying to interrupt.
“I should never have—”
“George!” Lockwood, this time.
“I’m sorry,” George mumbled, tears leaking out even as he forced his eyes closed.
A hand squeezed his own — Lucy’s, he guessed — before pulling away again. George heard the door open and close as she slipped out to find the doctor, leaving him alone with Lockwood.
“George,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I am so sorry. If I could go back and do things differently, I would. I never thought— I never thought you’d end up here…” Lockwood trailed off, struggling to find adequate words to continue. George opened his eyes slowly to take in Lockwood’s exhausted expression, tiredness running much deeper than just the more recent events.
“You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be,” George offered quietly. “I know how much you hate hospitals.”
Lockwood reached for George’s hand gently, clasping it between both of his own. “It’s past dawn,” he confessed. “The worst of it has passed for tonight at least, but even if it hadn’t… I’m not leaving you, Georgie.”
“I’m—” George opened his mouth but Lockwood cut him off.
“Please don’t apologise any more times,” he murmured. “None of this was your fault. And Luce and I will remind you of that as often as you need to hear it, because it’s true. She took advantage of you, and we were too blind to see it.” Lockwood shook his head, still visibly angry with himself. “I was selfish, George; I took you for granted. And for what? For that stupid bet with Kipps?” he scoffed. “There are more important things.”
George frowned. “What happened with the bet?”
“Ended up splitting the commission with Kipps’ crew anyway,” he admitted softly. “It was a team effort to get rid of the relic men and get the mirror off of Joplin without looking into it. I just wished we’d done it faster, so we could’ve made it down to the catacombs quicker.” Lockwood ducked his head, eyes misting over. “If we’d taken any longer—” He nearly choked on the words, shaking his head so he wouldn’t have to finish the thought. “Sorry, I just…” He trailed off and sat up a little straighter. “Actually, George, I’m
not
sorry for being such a mess,” he announced, catching him off guard. “Because somewhere down the line I managed to convince you that I don’t need you. That I wouldn’t be absolutely fucking
lost
without you by my side.”
“Lockwood…”
“Please.” Lockwood swallowed thickly and squeezed his hand once. “Let me finish?”
All George could do was nod, tears tracking slowly down his face.
“I need you, Georgie. Not just because you’re a phenomenal researcher, but as a friend. You are my best friend, and I cannot apologise enough for being such a shit one in return.” He closed his eyes for a second, steadying himself. “Like I said, I can’t do this without you. Me without you is… Well, it’s a mess,” Lockwood finished hoarsely, gesturing to himself. “I’m a mess. This is how much you mean to me, George. Please don’t ever forget that.”
George squeezed Lockwood’s hand in return, at a complete loss for words. He had no idea how to follow something like that. And to have it come from Lockwood of all people? It nearly caught him more off guard than getting stabbed.
(Was it too soon to be allowed to make that joke yet?)
Eventually, he managed to respond. “‘S not your fault my head wasn’t right for this one,” George told him softly. “And you were there when it mattered.”
“You shouldn’t have been put into that situation in the first place.” Lockwood hung his head. “Really, George. It should never have gotten that far. And that’s not on you, that’s on us.”
“Well it happened. We can’t change that, Lockwood. I don’t want you beating yourself up about this when god knows you already do it about everything else.” George shook his head. “Can we just say we both could’ve done things differently and leave it at that?”
Lockwood kept George’s hand between his as he brought his lips to rest against his own knuckles, almost as if he thought the gesture might transfer through his own skin and onto George that way. “I don’t think this can be an agree to disagree situation for me, mate. Not if it means you go to sleep feeling like you’re the one in the wrong. I let you down, George. Please let me make it up to you.”
Realising this was going nowhere — and not having enough left in him to argue — George murmured: “I forgive you.”
But Lockwood simply shook his head a little, before offering a faint reply. “I’ll earn that.”
Lucy returned with a doctor and George was showered in bright light that he immediately cringed away from. He barely realised Lockwood was slipping his glasses off of his face until they were replaced by a slightly heavier pair. He opened his eyes again more out of curiosity than anything else, but a small smile worked its way onto his face as he found that Lockwood had slipped his own sunglasses on for him. He couldn’t see completely without his own prescription, but it meant that the overhead light wasn’t burning into his retinas quite so harshly.
“Thanks,” he replied softly.
“Of course, George,” Lockwood promised in return.
The doctor assessed George carefully before offering his verdict. “It’s good to see you awake and talking, Mr Karim. Now, as the surgery had to be open we won’t be able to discharge you for at least five days,” he explained. “But we can use that time to set you up well for going home, as well as helping you put the necessary requirements in place now that you no longer have a spleen.”
George froze. “I no longer what—”
Lockwood’s hand flew to the back of his neck nervously. “Did I forget to mention that part?”
“Minimal internal damage to anything else,” Lucy supplied helpfully.
“But I don’t have a spleen,” George processed slowly.
The doctor nodded. “Most of its functions can be taken over by your other organs anyway, but we can explain it all in detail over the next few days. For now, I’m going to up your pain medication a little.”
“Lovely.”
***
“You can stay in my room,” Lockwood told him softly. “The bed’s bigger. And it’s not pushed up against the wall so you won’t roll into it and hurt yourself.”
“Thanks.” George winced as he edged over the threshold into 35 Portland Row. Lucy held the door open for them as Lockwood supported him gently for the short journey from the cab to the door. He paused to get his strength back, leaning against Lockwood weakly. “Not sure how we’ll manage the stairs though.”
“I’ll tell you how, Georgie,” Lucy replied matter-of-factly. “One step at a time.” She appeared at his other side once the door was locked behind them and gently slipped an arm around him. “And with both of us there to help you.”
“Might take a while,” George confessed tiredly.
Lockwood squeezed his shoulder gently. “It’ll take as long as it takes, mate. Five minutes, twenty… We’ll be here either way.” His gaze drifted past George lightly to the floor in front of them, and it took a second for George to realise what he was thinking about.
It wasn’t dusk yet, so the death glow wouldn’t be visible… but as soon as it got dark, George knew the outline of the man who hadn’t been so lucky as to only lose a spleen to Joplin’s dagger would be lying there.
“You alright, Lockwood?” Lucy asked gently, beating George to the question.
He nodded, steadying himself. “I’m fine, Luce. You don’t need to worry.”
Obviously that did nothing to dispense either Lucy or George’s worries, so George stepped in with his own reassurance. “Similar situation, maybe, but different outcome. I’m not Carver, Lockwood. I’m going to be fine.”
To George’s surprise, Lockwood pressed his lips to the crown of his head. “I know. This house has just seen a lot of death, and I feel like I need to be reminded about the living sometimes.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” Lucy promised. “Right. Stairs?”
“Stairs,” George confirmed resolutely. His confidence wavered as he glanced up at Lucy and Lockwood. “One step at a time?”
“One step at a time,” Lockwood confirmed softly. “Welcome home, Georgie. You’re finally back where you belong.”
Despite the pain radiating from the surgery site, George couldn’t deny that he felt better than he had in days just from crossing the threshold back into Portland Row. Even with the pain meds clouding his brain, he felt much clearer-headed than he had in the few days before he got injured.
There was no buzzing, no Bickerstaff, and no feeling of worthlessness. The only weakness George was saddled with this time was purely on the physical side. Overall, he was alive, and he was happy to be.
More than that, he felt safe.
It was a feeling he held onto, revelled in, and stored away for himself for when he needed to be reminded of it next. He knew there’d be a moment like that again, but if he needed to summon the feeling all he had to do was think of this.
Think of Lockwood’s arm around his back, keeping him upright and steady.
Think of Lucy’s hand holding his, guiding him forward.
Think of the two people he cared about most, easing him gently up the stairs as if they had all the time in the world. Maybe they did.
Maybe they could face everything else the way they did this; side by side, one step at a time.