the blood in our future

Like Snakes in Your Ears

There was a storm warning on the telly, and for a short moment, George asked himself why on earth DEPRAC would plan a high tea taking place in their gardens for late autumn.

Then again, he was sure the storm would be the least of DEPRAC's worries by the end of it.

The blueprints on the kitchen table in front of him hadn't been hard to find. They were of the headquarters. All publicly available, for once. He'd made copies to take home in the archives, and even though George expected some of the information to be wrong, some of it to be falsified or simplified, they still provided a good starting point.

A starting point to plan how exactly they wanted to get in and out of the evidence room unnoticed.

Which, like much of what Lockwood said, turned out to be easier said than done, really.

Put together, the blueprints were massive. For the last half hour or so, he'd worked with colours: Red for every checkpoint, locked door or other interference. Blue for every camera Mary had been able to remember off the top of her head. And green for the paths they could tread.

There wasn't a lot of green.

George felt reminded of his childhood; like he was doing one of those cardboard labyrinths on the back of his cereal packages again.

Or, maybe more fitting, like a rat in a laboratory experiment: Running into blue, running into red, having to retrace his steps until he found green again.

Another green path of his ended in red just as the doorbell rang.

With him being entirely too frustrated, it was a good thing for whoever was on the opposite side of that door that it was Lucy and not him who jumped up to open it.

"Hi, Kipps!" George heard Lucy greet their newest arrival happily, and his head snapped up from the blueprints.

He'd been rather surprised when Lockwood had suggested asking Kipps for help. But, strangely enough (and to his own surprise), he hadn't minded the idea.

It did weird things to you, pulling your unconscious best friends out of a raging fire with someone who was usually your worst enemy.

But his changing feelings for Kipps had already begun before that. Ever since knowing he was losing his Talent, actually. Awfully sad business, that was, and George couldn't help but feel kind of... sorry for the poor guy. He was going through the one thing every agent was scared of.

And then, to add onto that, there had been this whole nearly-using-him-as-human-sacrifice-thing, and, well... even if it had been accidental, he still felt a bit bad about it.

"Lucy," his voice now sounded from the hallway. "Good to see you. You're doing well, I hope?"

"Oh, I'm great, thanks. Still can't remember a single thing though, if that's what you're asking. Might be catching a cold, though, so don't mind my shivering," she said, and George heard the door shut again.

There wasn't a single ounce of romance in that conversation, of course. Then again, there really did not have to be. George heard the door to Lockwood's room open, and he knew exactly what was about to go down.

"Kipps!" Lockwood shouted from up the stairs, followed by the sounds of them groaning under his weight. "Glad you could make it! How are your stitches healing up?"

"Can't complain. I've got to go get them pulled next week, and if all goes well, that should be my last trip to the hospital. Still hurts a bit, though."

"Do you want me to make you a cuppa?" Lucy asked. "Heals the soul, at least. You take yours with a splash of milk, don't you?"

"Just black, actually-" Kipps tried to answer quickly, but was interrupted by Lockwood's voice.