Chapter Text
The next time Lockwood notices something wrong with Lucy is two months later. Her erratic behaviour hadn’t stopped, but Lockwood had grown used to it, assuming Lucy would tell him in her own time. He wasn’t one to push.
Lockwood woke up sore and achy. The previous night had consisted of 3 wraiths and a poltergeist. Just what they needed. And ended with Lockwood half falling down the stairs, George being locked in the broom cupboard and several glasses being smashed inches away from Lucy's head. All in all an eventful night. He glanced over at his clock, 10:47. Five and half hours,not bad. He shrugged, turning over to stare at the ceiling. Whereas before Lockwood cherished these mornings when the house is asleep, George and Lucy knocked out from last night's job, so he didn’t have to hold his carefully manufactured mask in place. He could just lay there, guilt ridden about Jessica, grieving his parents. But slowly, his housemates had nipped and chopped at his facade, so now, Lockwood felt that within the confines of his house, he no longer felt the responsibility to pretend that everything was fine 24/7. The exception, as she was with everything to do with Lockwood, was Lucy. Specifically his feelings for her. So now, in these moments, Lockwood liked to reminisce , alertly waiting for the first signs of life to start appearing around the house.
After he heard George start to stir, Lockwood showered and headed downstairs, putting the kettle on and opening one of his magazines. His housemate came down not too long after, his eyes still covered in sleep “Biscuit George?” Lockwood asked, putting his magazine down and picking up the plate of biscuits he left on the table. George was notoriously a bad morning person before he had his tea, so Lockwood was only granted a murmur in reply, grabbing the biscuit and slumping down in his chair. The kettle whistled, causing Lockwood to get up and start making two cuppas, one for each of them. They sat in harmony, both reading, munching on biscuits (leaving Lucy’s on another plate so the rotation was not disturbed) and having conversations solely on the thinking cloth.
‘Lockwood, STOP breathing so heavily while you read, I can’t hear myself think’
‘I can’t help it! I can’t control my breathing’
‘Then stop breathing altogether’
It wasn’t for a while until the silence broke, however, unexpectedly it wasn’t Lockwood. “What's wrong with Lucy?” George blurted, causing the older boy to look up from an article discussing Rotwell’s upcoming party. George’s brows were furrowed with worry and his lips pinned together causing them to go white. “Look, normally I wouldn’t get involved, especially between the two of you, but its been 2 months…”
It was Lockwood's turn to furrow his brows, “What do you mean?” he couldn’t tell if it was a relief that George had also noticed o if it made the growing pit in his stomach feel worse. On one hand,it was comfort to know that he wasn’t being paranoid and that there was in fact something off about Lucy,however on the other, it would take a drastic change for George to notice (he rarely career enough about other people’s business) and an even bigger change for him to mention it.
“Tell me you haven’t noticed it? She disappears for hours, sometimes all day. When she comes back she looks worse than she does on some of the jobs we’ve been on. And then the tissues of fresh blood in the bathroom at night which are mysteriously gone in the morning.” He paused, taking another biscuit and placing one separate for Lucy. Lockwood felt sick, he had noticed her leaving (he however believed the notes on the thinking cloth), and how rough she had started looking (the bags under her eyes had definitely gotten worse and her skin tone seemed to become a bit uneven) but the blood? He hadn’t even seen it. “Look I don’t know if something has gone on between you two and that's why she can’t stand to be around us, but the blood? I’ve looked for, you know..” Lockwood clenched his jaw and fists, he would’ve noticed if- “There wasn’t any that I could see. Which is good, don't get me wrong, but where is the blood coming from?”
Uncomfortable couldn’t even begin to describe how Anthony was feeling. He was suddenly very hyperaware of his hands and didn't know where to put them, on the table? In his lap? He rubbed his hands along his face instead rubbing his fingers in circles across his temples. “I know George but she won't talk to me. She insists she’s fine. I can’t force her to tell me, no one can force her to do anything.” He paused, sipping the last of his tea, “I’m really worried George, why won't she talk to me?”
“Do you think maybe it has something to do with her past?” George asked, he was now playing with the edges of his book, brushing his fingers along the edges of the pages, refusing to look him in the eye. “I did a bit of research, during Combe Carey-” Lockwood raised his hand stopping George mid sentence
“Don’t. I don't want to know. If Luce wants to tell me, she will tell me in her own time. I would have hated for her to find out about me through the grapevine. I intend to pay her the same respect."He said curtly, “Look, lets focus on tomorrow's case and then after that, our schedules clear for the week. We could go to the peak district? Oh! I know the beach. Yeah! Some nice fresh salt water to lift her mood! It would do all of us some good to take a break. And not some enforced one like after the-” he stopped himself, terribly aware of the guilt George felt about Bickerstaff,
“- the Bickerstaff case.” he said bitterly, guilt hitting his face like a tidal wave. George took a second to recollect himself, “You know what, that doesn’t sound like too bad an idea, I think a holiday is in order. We all need fresh air to clear our minds. Maybe it’ll help you finally get over yourself and ask Luce out.” George grinned while Lockwood almost dropped his magazine, utterly lost for words.
“I-, i- uhhhh,”
“What you think you're so slick about it? I see the puppy dog eyes and the drool. And don't even get me started on the way you almost trip over your feet every time she ever asks for anything. ‘Hey can someone sharpen my rapier, I haven’t got time’ ‘Oh yes of course Luce, anything else, would you like me to do your chores for you. I can run you a hot bath as well. While I’m at it would you like any more of my family heirlooms? Or perhaps I can buy you something new-” he broke off dramatically, before doing a mock bow, “What you don’t like my impression, I thought the RP accent was pretty good.”
“I- I don’t do puppy dog eyes.” Lockwood could feel his face burning, because George wasn’t far off. In fact he was exactly right on the money. He would do anything for Lucy and more if she just asked. But she never would. Because she’s Lucy Carlyle. George just laughed in reply but quickly stopped when we heard the floorboards start to creak and the boiler turn on. “Not a word George Karim. Or I will…” he paused trying to come up with a threat “...I will do something, just give me a moment to think of it.”
As per their usual routine, Lockwood got up, put the kettle on again and popped some toast in the toaster for Luce, grabbing the butter from the fridge. “SHIT” he heard from upstairs and large and fast clunking thuds that got progressively louder accompanied by a variety of colourful language. She ran into the kitchen, her reddish brown hair still clumped together from being asleep and marks on her face from the pillow. She grinned sloppily, “Oh hi!” before running down to the basement. George and Anthony looked at each other, concern laced over both their faces,
‘What the fuck’ George mouthed, putting his book aside properly, ready for whatever the hell is about to happen. A loud crash and a very exasperated “Fuck” from the basement below them prompted both boys to immediately jump out of their chairs and run downstairs.
Once they had reached the bottom, they were greeted by a rather dishevelled looking Lucy with her hands clenched and pulling at her hair, the contents of her desk splattered over the floor. The only thing left on top of the desk was the skull, who, for once, didn’t have some sort of wacky facial expressions and instead looked concerned. Lockwood instinctively ran towards Lucy, grabbing her forearms and placing them down by her side. “Luce, what's going on?” he asked tentatively, grabbing her hands, but she didn't grab back. She looked at him, staring at his lips,
“Sorry, what did you say?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly. Lockwood examined her face, her eyes were watery, mixed with sleep, her cheeks were flushed red and though he held them loosely, her hands trembled. It took him everything to stabilise his voice, stopping it from quivering, “Lucy are you okay? What’s this about?” After what seemed to be an eternity, but in actual fact was only a few seconds, it seemed a switch flicked in Lucy and her whole being stabilised. She grinned at him again, and then turned to George, who looked just as worried as Lockwood felt.
“Guys don’t worry about me, sorry, it was just an especially bad nightmare. Concerning Skully over there.” she nodded her head towards the desk before detaching herself from Lockwoods grip. “Now I fancy some toast. Extra buttery as a treat. I’ll go pop it in the toaster…” She ran back up the stairs towards the kitchen leaving Lockwood and George to awkwardly stand there, processing what the fuck just happened.
“Don’t worry Luce, I got it covered, there’s some already in the toaster.” Lockwood shouted upstairs, containing the worry in his voice and crouching down to pick up her stuff littered across the floor. The dread Lockwood had been feeling for the past two months worsened, he wanted to slap his past self, for letting all the signs slide. Hell he wanted to slap his morning self for diverting the subject to a beach holiday. “You’re right George, we have to do something…she’s… I think she’s breaking down.” He couldn’t mask the way his voice quivered, barely containing the sob that threatened to escape. This felt all too familiar, and the gnawing feeling that Lucy was about to leave. Voluntarily or involuntarily. It didn’t matter. She would be gone and he would be left alone again. The voice in his head teased.
The next thing he knew, George’s hand lay on his shoulder, “It’ll all be fine Lockwood. She wants us to act normal, so we will. She deserves that. And after the case we will all sit around the table, Lucy will doodle on the thinking cloth, there will be donuts and tea, and we will talk. A genuine heart to heart. Just like you planned.” He smiled at Lockwood, helping to pick him up off the floor. He had to admit, despite George’s dislike of touchy feely behaviours, he always knew how to comfort Lockwood, especially over his fears of abandonment. “Now, Lucy will be waiting for us. Let's go.” When they reached the top of the stairs and entered the kitchen, Lucy was leaning forwards against the counter, her head setted in her arms watching the toaster. It wasn’t until George sat down that Lucy noticed the two were there. She turned around, her eyes boring into the both of them”Oh hi! Is this either of yours toast?” she asked, her accent strong. Lockwood glanced at George who just shrugged and opened up his book. He seemed to be sticking to the ‘act normal’ scenario.
“No, I put it on for you earlier, it's yours.” Just because he hated this situation, he’d be damned if he wasn't going to act his arse off. “I called up a moment ago, telling you it's yours, didn’t you hear?” Something in Lucy’s face twitched, but it was only for a second. Could’ve been the light, he told himself.
“Oh, sorry-” Her ears flushed pink, before turning away and making her toast. Immediately, Lockwood ran towards her grabbing the knife and butter, She looked up, her eyes closely examining every movement in his face, “Leave it Luce, go sit down and enjoy your tea, I’ll take care of it.” She smiled brightly, grabbing her tea on the counter and sitting down at her chair, grabbing the rogue pen on the cloth and starting to doodle.
For the rest of breakfast, it all went according to routine. Everyone acted as if nothing was wrong. Everyone of them was lying to themselves, and each other.