Locklyle One Shots

The Thames

(3rd Person POV)

     George sat at the kitchen table, scribbling a note on the Thinking Cloth. Gone to do some research, hope to be back by 10:00.

     Lockwood and Lucy were gone on a case. The case wasn't much: A couple Shades, maybe a Raw-Bones (not likely, though). They'd only left about half an hour ago. No sooner had they left then a new client had called, complaining about a constant knocking in her house and, whenever she would come home, things would be out of their designated place. She seemed quite upset by it all. So George had decided to go ahead and research the lady's house for any possible deaths.

     Grabbing his coat (it was mid November and was pretty chilly out), he then walked out the door and called for a cab. Unfortunately, all the cabs were busy. Apparently, the person who normally took them to the Archives or their clients houses, had caught the cold. Sighing, George decided he'd have to walk to the Archives. Well, I have to admit. I do need the exercise,  he though. 

     After a while of walking, George stopped at a lamp post and leaned against it, wheezing slightly and out of breath. "I'm so out of shape," he panted.

     "You can say that again."

     He spun around. A figure stepped forward out of the shadows in a nearby alley. As it stepped into the light, he recognized a ratty straw hat and puffa jacket. He chuckled. "Hello, Flo. What are you up to tonight?"

     "Oh, I was just coming back from combing the banks. Got a pretty good haul, too, I might add." She shifted, tightening her grip on her burlap sack. Then she just stood there, shifting from foot to foot, averting her eyes.

     George cleared his throat. "Well, I was heading to the Archives. Would you like to join me?"

     "No. I, uh, may or may not have been banned from there."

     "What? How? Nobody gets banned from the Archives!"

     "Well, if you track mud in and muddy up the covers of over a dozen books and run people off because of your stench, higher up people tend to get upset." She chuckled dryly.

     They were silent for a while, awkwardly looking away from each other. Finally, George looked up. "Well, I, ah.... Would you like to get a cup of coffee with me?"

     Flo looked at him, a single blond eyebrow arched perfectly. "No."

     He nodded and looked down. "Okay...."

     "However," she said, smirking slightly, "I would enjoy a nice, hot cup of tea. And maybe some liquorice."

     George smiled and, without thinking, held his hand out. Flo looked at it, shocked. Then she tentatively placed her own hand in his. A flush covered her cheeks, but George pretended not to notice. They then made their way to the nearest coffee (and tea) house.

--Time skip brought to you by street dancin' Flo Bones--

     "Ha, and then he just sat there, dazed, looking at the ghost! And then his eyes crossed and he passed out," George laughed, recalling one of his and Lockwood's first cases together.

     Flo burst out laughing, almost spewing a mouthful of tea at George. She wiped her mouth with a muddy sleeve and leaned back. Then, checking a clock on the wall, she downed the rest of her tea and looked at George. "Well, Cubbins, it's getting late. I'd best get back to my bridge before some hobo tries to stake a claim."

     George stood up, too, and nodded. "Right, of course. Would you mind if I walked with you?" He hesitated, realizing what he had said. "I mean, ah, I... never mind." He flushed.

     Flo chuckled. Then, stepping forward, she snatched his hand in her own. "Come on, Cubbins." She led the two of them out of the coffee house and onto the street. It didn't take them long to get to the old bridge.

     George looked at her 'home'. "Flo, do you like living here?"

     She was quiet for a while. "It's all I have. I've gotten used to it." She shrugged. "Besides, I wouldn't know what to do if I couldn't see the night sky above my head."

     "Yes, but they do make skylights."

     She raised an eyebrow at him. "Right.... Why do you care, anyways, George?"

     Now it was his turn to be silent. Then he took a step forward and took both of her hands in his. "Because Flo... I care about you. Don't ask me to explain my feelings, I don't quite know them, myself. All I know is that you are a witty, brilliant, beautiful girl who deserves way more than this," he gestured at the bridge and river.

     Flo flushed a beautiful, rosy pink. "You... you think I'm beautiful?"

     George felt his face heat up, but he nodded. "Yes. I do."

     "Nobody's told me that in a long, long time...."

     This was probably just some weird, teenage hormones, making him do what he was about to do, but George didn't care. A sudden desire, one he'd never experienced before, urged him forward. Made him pull her to him. Made him plant his lips on hers. Well, maybe that last part was just him.

    Flo made an odd squeaking sound at the contact. But after a moment, she kissed back. This lasted for a long time before, finally, George pulled away. They were both out of breath and they just stood there, foreheads pressed against each other.

     "That was...."

    "Amazing," Flo finished.

    They smiled at each other. "George?"

     "Hm?"

     "I like you."

     He laughed. "Well, I like you, too."

     As Flo led him to her bridge, he couldn't help but think that he would get to 35 Portland Row later than he had expected....

A/N: I know, this is terrible! Oml, I'm so, so, so sorry for this garbage! I was originally going to dedicate this to my very first follower as a thank you, but this is terrible, so I won't. When I write a better one, I will. Anyways, bye my pretties!!!