2. digging your fingers into fresh dirt

by woahpip

Summary:

They were okay now, Lockwood and Kipps. Kipps helped out. They were cordial. Lockwood realized Kipps was knowledgeable and did truly care about him and his business. Kipps learned who Lockwood was beyond all the bluster.

It didn’t mean they didn’t fight.

They were okay now, Lockwood and Kipps. Kipps helped out. They were cordial. Lockwood realized Kipps was knowledgeable and did truly care about him and his business. Kipps learned who Lockwood was beyond all the bluster.

It didn’t mean they didn’t fight. Kipps wished there was an easy way to make up, but he doubted Lockwood would accept a dozen roses from him. Lockwood respected coming clean, even if he kept secrets from his partners until they needed to be out.

Kipps prided himself on being on Lockwood’s level. Learning his tics. So tomorrow, he’d come over early before they have to be at the client’s, ask for his time alone, and apologize.

Today, he should be sleeping. Last night was hard on them, and Kipps is happy that Holly managed to convince Lockwood they needed a day’s break. But the adrenaline running through Kipps won’t let him sleep; he’s going to replay tonight over and over again in his head, daydream about all that could’ve went wrong, all they could’ve lost…

He never headed back to his flat.

He went to Arrif’s instead to buy a small bag of potting soil and a lavender plant. Every store has lavender for sale now, and this one was small with only one stalk. But it would do.

Kipps knew a bouquet wouldn't work. But the ones out by the front of 35 Portland Row were long since dead. He headed back and noticed no movements in the rooms, no lights or shaking curtains, no one storming out the front door to verbally thrash him. He hoped they were all asleep, as soundly as you can in their profession. Like he should be.

He dips into the dirt like it’s water, lets it lap up over his fingertips, knuckles, wrists. He’s dug many graves, most to find something dead inside, sometimes to bury dead of his own. Now, he dug for shame; to bury it in front of Lockwood’s home in hope it blooms to something better, something that can protect instead of hurt.

The dirt was soft, slightly damp, lodging easily underneath Kipp’s fingernails, marking him temporarily. He wondered what else in the house was undone, what else Lockwood was waiting to fix between having enough funds and finding enough time to sit down and do it. He wasn’t one to ask for help, not even from those closest to him.

Kipps could do it. Kipps understood hard work, understood taking care of your things, to make sure they stayed with you.

He wanted to take care of Lockwood. 

Kipps patted the last scoop of soil as rain started to pitter patter against the sidewalk. Perfect timing to water what he’d done. The lavender stalk stood short but ready to grow. And until then, even a small stalk could distract a ghost.

He walked home in the rain, all the dirt washing from his hands except the pesky bits under his nails. The only proof left that his hands planted the lavender.

That he cared so strongly for Anthony Lockwood he couldn’t leave him that night without a plant to keep the spirits at bay.

 

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of sensory prompts