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Lucy
Like with most phenomenon that graces humanity, some people reject it and some people agree to it. The evidence is present, but the belief that it is a reality, something that can actually be true is different.
It's a subject touched upon in science class, romanticised in some books. The fond name for it is a Ring, one of those fine things that signify that someone is in love. Young boys and girls giggle and make fun of each other, trying to see who earned that Ring around their wrist. Women and men both joke of it, poking at each other and talking about it in social events. Some even treat it as some blood jewelry; the more you have, the more you have loved people in your life. It wraps around one's wrist, depending on how much the bearer loves the person they think of. It's as thick as a hair tie, reminiscent to a tattoo. Though you can't get rid of Rings with tattoo ink.
Lucy knows the marks all too well. She sees it on her teachers, on her parents, on her aunts and uncles, on strangers at Tesco. She sees it on the actors on the telly, even though she doesn't quite understand what they're really saying. Their outfits were dazzling, though. Her mum used to tell her the story about how she had met Lucy's father in university, how the Ring burned ever so well and she had realized she was in love. The first time she had regaled the tale to Lucy was when she was only six, when Lucy came asking why everyone had Rings on their wrists except for her classmates.
"Why don't I have any, Mummy? I love you and daddy." Lucy asked quietly, staring at her bare wrists, creamy skin a stark contrast to everyone else in her life that was above the age of 10–which, granted, wasn't many people. Lucy's mum smiled to her, showing her wrists to her young daughter under the lamplight. She had sixteen Rings on her wrist, identical to the other. However, there was one that wrapped around all the way, in-between the other red Rings like some convoluted tattoo. It was of equal comparison to her father, who had twelve. Similarly with one Ring longer than the rest.
"That's true, darling, but that's a different kind of love. Rings are earned, my love and your daddy's love for you is different. The ones who earn your love can be your friends, the real ones, but the longer one, my dear? That's the one that claims your heart." Lucy's mum began pointing out each mark, explaining who each individual was with warmth in her tones. Lucy's mind drifted to something else, however.
"Then what about Jamie's dad? He has two Rings that go all the way on both wrists." Lucy mentioned her classmate, one that she wasn't explicitly close to, but knew of her father, who wore a corporate short-sleeves after picking up his little girl from school. Lucy's mum's lips pressed to a thin line, surprised that her daughter even asked such a question. Lucy stared at her while the older woman rubbed the back of her head, suddenly uncomfortable, but looked to her daughter's curious expression. It was a truth her little girl would have to learn.
"He fell in love again. Maybe with Jamie's mom. I can't say for sure, my dear. Only Jamie's dad would be able to answer you and it's not a question that you should ask. It's impolite." Lucy's mum kissed the top of her young daughter's head, smiling softly. "Don't worry about it. Worry of your own marks, baby. Good night."
"Good night." She mumbled to her mum as the older woman turned off the lamp, leaving Lucy in her own silence. Lucy stared again at her wrists, the leaking moonlight through her half-closed blinds was enough illumination for her to see. Who would occupy her wrists, she wondered. Why did Jamie's dad love two people in the way her mum and dad did? There were so many questions for her little mind, enough for her to close her eyes and fall into a dreamless sleep.
---
Lucy starts to wonder if she was the weird one, the outlier in the concept of love.
It wasn't that she didn't fall in love. It was just that she hadn't found that one specific person that was supposed to give her that longer one, the one that was to prove she had found the person she loved in another level.
She was already twenty-two years old without a long Ring like her mother and father, who both ensured that it would come in time. It wasn't something that would magically happen at first glance, but that also wasn't uncommon. She knew for a fact that she was lucky—it wasn't like she was in her later years and still didn't have that telltale Ring. She was twenty-two. She could last, but the thoughts didn't stop coming.
It was strange to her that all her friends seemed to have found their special "someone," that special individual that gave them the longer-than-usual crimson red Ring. She had chosen her career first rather than her relationships, crafting twelve careful and somewhat long Rings that loved her in return. She never had a Ring for those she had romantically entangled herself with, though it was in equal favor as they never tended to gain one either, so no bad blood on either side.
Maybe she'd have time for a relationship now that she wasn't studying and was working. She could take time, go to the nearby bistro or something, chatting up some bloke that she might find interest in.
The thoughts are shaken from her mind when she makes her way to the New Scotland Yard, officially starting her day as the assistant of...well, someone. She knew practically nothing of her new mentor, but she knew she needed to learn--if her marks on her tests were anything to go off of. Her recall of the layout of the Scotland Yard is easy, making her way to the back where her mentor was meant to be waiting. Probably upset that she was late--which wasn't her fault, the alarm was supposed to go off an hour earlier, not later.
Opening the door to the back office, she found herself staring at the messiest room she had ever been in. It was in an orderly mess, clear that the individual(s?) who inhabited this room most likely knew where everything was, though the newspapers were a touch too much for Lucy's taste. Nevertheless, she practices her best accusation tone that she could muster and says, "Ahem! The true culprit of this crime is...you!"
Her finger points to a man who had emerged from wherever he had hunkered down from and scratches the back of his neck in confusion and slight awkwardness. He wore a lab coat and a red and blue jumper, the combination out of place. His wine coloured hair was in a loose ponytail and a bit of stubble was growing on his chin, though maintained enough that he wasn't incredibly disheveled. If she had no tact, she would have automatically assumed the man rolled out of bed and pulled out the first thing he could find from his closet--which said a whole other thing if a lab coat was a part of that ensemble.
Her wandering eyes go straight for the wrist that was exposed--something she couldn't quite help, it was something she used to do with her friends--which showed absolutely nothing. If that wrist was as fresh as it was when he was born, it would be no surprise that there wouldn't be anything on the other either. By his appearance, he was most likely older than her by a couple years, five at least. No Rings to begin with--he had never fallen in love with anyone, period. No friends that peaked his interest in that way. No love in that position either.
"An unlikely deduction, I must say. Your conviction is striking though when used against the right person." He drops his arm, the lab coat draping over his wrists and looks to her, curious. "I don't believe I know you, who are you?"
"Ah! I'm uh...Lucy Baker. I've been assigned to this office as an assistant?" She snaps from her reverie, deciding that remarking about the lack of markings on his wrists would be most inappropriate, particularly if this man was to be her mentor. His eyes flash recognition, nodding to her.
"Right. I believe I gained a memo from Barton about you yesterday for an assistant." He shoves his hands in his pockets, his bare wrists hidden from her view yet again. She places the thought to the back of her head, hoping to get an answer later. "I'm Alfendi Layton, though I'm considered Inspector Layton down here. Don't feel like you have to extend formalities when addressing me, however. I find them all so unappealing,"
"Aye." She smiles to him, taking a shine on the slightly disheveled man easily. He isn't uptight, nor is he rude to her. It would be no doubt that he had at least heard from Commissioner Barton of how low her marks were, no less that it would be a challenge to train someone of such a low caliber. Nevertheless, she takes the opportunity to assess him one more time before saying, "Can I call you Prof? You know, short for professor?"
"Now why would you do such a thing? My father is an actual professor, I'm not sure he'd approve." He smooths a hand over his lab coat, as though he was ridding it of unseen dirt. She shrugs.
"I'm learning from you, aren't I? Not to mention that your lab coat makes me think otherwise." She counters. In her defence, she was still a bit fresh from school, most of her university professors. It wasn't so farfetched to continue calling all her mentors, regardless if she was out of school, something akin to that. Nevertheless, the Prof, as she decidedly calls him, frowns, though his eyes say a whole other emotion.
"Indeed you are. But I haven't quite said if you could be a permanent addition yet, now did I?" The response catches her by surprise, to which he adds, "If you can prove yourself, it may be more likely than you think." She hadn't thought of that. He didn't have to necessarily take her on, but where would she go if he didn't? To work here was her dream. She faltered, gaping at him.
"I..."
"Come on, Lucy. We have a murderer to catch for Sandy Aldwich."
---
She passes his supposed test with flying colours, though she was sure that it wasn't meant to actually test her, moreso to test the waters. See what she was like. See if she was tolerable, if she was worth it. Based on his reintroduction of the messy office that he called the Mystery Room, it was clear he took some shine on her and was willing to teach her by any degree even though the whole Prof thing certainly bothered him.
It becomes easy to get used to, the work for her and the nickname for him. The Prof asks her opinion, to which she responds with alacrity and honesty. She makes mistakes throughout the way, but he corrects her lightly, adjusting her angles and making her realize where her mistakes lay. He doesn't hold her hand through it all, despite already knowing exactly who was the murderer by some ridiculous to-the-decimal number. She wasn't sure she would have enjoyed being in the care of anyone else--he certainly made cases interesting.
The whole Ring thing came to a concern at one point.
Not of his or hers, but of the suspect that had used it as a whole motive--the victim's wife had worried her husband was falling in love with someone else, the gardener that had graced their home. Firing the young woman would be bad, for he had already fallen for the gardener and would probably leave the wife without a second thought. It was a slow burn realization, one that had very severe choices--bloodlust or truth. The truth would leave the woman destitute, colours that would drip away from her because of her undying love for her husband that suddenly wasn't returned. So, with most dramatics, she had taken the knife and slammed it into his heart so he too, would die of heartbreak.
"He had fallen in love with the gardener, gaining another long Ring." Lucy confirms, tapping at the case file in her hand. "I'm surprised she kept at it for so long, y'know? She were so keen to it that someone else killed him in a murderous rage."
"Mm, yes. Love does make people do the wildest things." The Prof murmurs, "But she was sloppy--going through the cat door was smart, but her proclamations of being the only one to love him was irrational and made her more suspicious. Of course, I'd never place a suspect just by their crazed responses, but it certainly was true in this case."
"Aye, but she were in love with him, right? Of course she'd be all bonkers about it when she spoke." She responds lamely, not even sure what she was countering. The Prof let out a low hum, frowning.
"That's not love, Lucy, that's possession." The Prof was looking to her now, "What would have been love is them talking about it, realizing the problem and solving it. If she had loved him in the way she was warping her mind to think, she would have let him go. A Ring is one thing, but people have choices. They can choose to love them, they don't have to adhere to some destiny. Though Rings tend to conveniently be hand in hand when it comes to that."
"And you?" Her words cause a slight shift to his expression, one of uncomfort. Is she pushing too far?
"Me?"
"Ever been in love, Prof? Any Rings on your person?" She knows the answer to it, to all of it, but she hopes for an explanation instead. It's a personal question, one of which that was overstepping bounds that Lucy knew better. Instead of telling her off like any other normal person would, he rolls up his sleeve easily, revealing what she already knew. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The room is silent for a moment, save for the light hustle and bustle of the outdoors of afternoon London. She wonders what she should say, if she should apologize for even asking something so personal. Not everyone viewed their Rings like jewelry, something to show off to others.
"I've had no need to feel that way." His tone betrays something more, despite a clear attempt of being light. She can't quite place it—he's never been so reticent. He stares down at the creamy skin with a hard gaze. "Others have been more clear about their Rings that have blazed onto their skin for me, some refuse to even say anything about it. But it's not for me, I don't think. I've found friends and acquaintances nice, but they don't appear to do much of an affect for my Ring collecting."
"See to it that you're married to your work or summat?" The question is meant to be taken in light, to joke and ease the tension. It doesn't land in the way Lucy expects, with the Prof's gaze hardening further.
"You could say that." He responds.
"Does it bother you?" The question comes out softer than she would like and she internally curses herself, sure that he wouldn't want to be looked down upon merely because he hadn't had anyone in his life 'earn' his love. Some people were just harder to gain affections for, harder to receive affections for as well. If he had noticed her touch of sympathy, he didn't comment on it and instead rolled his sleeve down.
"Like I've said. No need."
She drops the questioning, instead opting to ask if he desires lunch, to which his mood shifts to be much more amicable.
Alfendi
He notes that she has taken the time to learn the smallest of his quirks, even after his whole 'Jekyll-and-Hyde' transformations that exhaust him every time it happens. She kindly calls the 'soft and original' personality "Fendi" with the 'brand-new and abrasive' addition as "Al". It bothers him, but just like with the idea of calling him Prof, she doesn't budge at it, claiming it would be easier. It soon becomes commonplace, but Al bites at the concept of anyone else choosing to call him Prof besides her. The "Al" and "Fendi" parts were just known to her and her alone, to which he was alright with that.
She has taken the liberty to learn what she can about him.
She learned quickly of his favorite tea, his favorite type of pen to write case summaries with, his favorite food, and hell, even his shoe size. She also knows what kind of scissor he would prefer to use when cutting someone's tongue with, what kind of cases that fuel his bloodlust, and what kind of words it would take to calm him down.
He knows for a fact she's been warned, more than once, by everyone in the office that had a mere inkling of who he was and what he could be. But she still stays. If she was being cautious, she was doing an absolute horrid way of doing so, possibly intentionally staying even closer despite the warnings. She either must live for danger or she was an outright fool.
One week, he gets the most nasty bout of the flu that he could ever recall. He had attempted to ignore it, opting to continue his line of work, sickness be damned. It took two looks and Lucy shook her head and pushed him out of the Mystery Room despite his objections Lucy urged him to go home, expressing that the Mystery Room could do a week without him, even though they were in the middle of a case. The throbbing in his head from the sickness and the conversations pulsing through him was enough to force him into the cab and to his small flat without another objection. She had forced him to shed his coat, requesting that he wore something more comfortable like pajamas but chose to not force it onto him. Probably to save both his privacy, among other things.
"Now you stay here Prof, I best nowt be hearing 'bout you coming o'er and making a right mess of yourself. We can't have that." Lucy murmured, bringing the coffee table slightly closer to him for easier access. He rolls his eyes at her worrying, similar to when Florence used to bother him about not taking care of himself properly.
"I'll be fine Lucy, it's just a case of the flu. Nothing Earth-shattering. Now go, you still need to interview Mr. Kidman with or without me." He makes a dismissive motion with his hand, to which she ignores and instead ransacks his kitchen. She comes back with six water bottles, ibuprofen, and some crisps he thought he already ate last week. Lucy places them down on the table, murmuring to herself about how she would have to definitely go shopping with him one day to make sure he didn't starve. It wasn't by choice that he forgotten to go get groceries two days ago, he wanted to say. He wanted to say that she was overreacting and her worried expression was bothering him. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out as she glares at him just as hard as she would have to a criminal.
"Stay there, Prof." She warns, "If you stay put, you won't have to wait to go back to the office." She has a point there. Sighing, he lays on the comfy pillow and closes his eyes in an effort to please her. Lucy stands for roughly half a minute before she seems pleased that he wouldn't move, turning on her heel and leaving the flat without another word.
He feels useless after laying about all day.
The heaviness of his body made it difficult to pace, to even read anything nearby and worthwhile. He watches crap telly in a sheer effort to stimulate his mind, even if it was utter nonsense. He sees that one actor Lucy is enamoured with artificially on the screen and he wonders what she sees in him. After twenty minutes of watching, he deduced that the actor's skills were what drew her in rather than his appearance, which was mediocre at best. He continues watching for hours, none of the storylines of the television shows that he was presented really striking him, but it was better than the roaring silence. The ibuprofen does little to soothe him, but he is grateful for the crisps and water that she had placed close to him so he didn't have to actually get up.
He was about to lose his mind when the door to his flat opens, revealing Lucy with the key she had 'borrowed' from him in his stupor and a bag of food and another bag of items, which upon closer examination, look like case files through the white plastic. They were bundled tightly in the bag, for the rain was already pouring outside and she herself was covered in a bright yellow raincoat. He hadn't even noticed the time shift--was it already quarter to six? She must have called ahead for the food, perhaps getting stuck with the case they were working on and had opted to find something to ease his boredom instead.
"Lucy? What are you doing here?" He asks, coughing through it, reminiscent of Florence when she would sneeze every two words. Lucy shuts the door behind her, smiling sheepishly. She has Indian food in one bag, setting it down on the coffee table. She drops the case files on the floor, near him. "Shouldn't you be at home?"
"Ee well, I saw your fridge earlier and it didn't look like you had owt to eat tonight, so...I brought your favorite." She gestures to the case files in the other bag, grinning to herself, "And I knew you'd be bored, so I brought some cold case file copies for you to solve for fun until you'd become right as rain!"
"You know they're called cold case files for a reason." Al responds dryly, the kindness of Fendi slipping away from him. He appreciates the gesture, but it's unnecessary.
"Right, but maybe you could draw some conclusions. Maybe see something the others didn't?" She shrugs and the Prof sits up carefully, grabbing the bag with the case files and finding another thing wedged in-between two meaty looking ones. He pulls it out, finding himself looking at a well-battered copy of 'Flowers for Algernon' by Daniel Keyes. It's easy to see it was well-loved, the coffee stains and creased pages were evidence enough. It was hardly new. "It's my favorite book." She admits at his confused expression, "I thought you'd might like it. When I'm sick, I tend to read things I liked in the past."
"Must have been a sickly teen then from all the use." Al remarks before Fendi could help it from him, but she doesn't take it negatively. Rather, she takes it in stride and actually laughs. Her warm, affectionate eyes look back to him. She was a strange woman, he concluded.
"Blimey, that's true, I was probably so sick that my parents worried that I wasn't going to be the best for field work if I worked to be a DI." Her eyes gain a hazy quality, reminiscing briefly through some memory. The Prof almost felt that he was interrupting something, a moment in time that he shouldn't be a part of. But Lucy opens her mouth anyway, "I always wanted to be a DI, Prof. Though I wasn't the best in school, so it was something they tried to discourage. I began wondering if I wasn't the brightest cookie out there. Reading this book...well, I wanted to be like Charlie, where all my intelligence could just skyrocket and I could be the best DI out there without much effort, summat like that."
It was the most sincere Lucy had ever been in front of him in regards to her life outside the office. The way she spoke was completely detached, completely off from her normal cheery demeanor. He knew enough of her to know her quirks just as much as the she did of his, but he never had asked about her before the Mystery Room. It hadn't been a topic of conversation, much to his dismay. He imagines a young Lucy Baker, feeling worthless and questioning her value, rereading 'Flowers for Algernon' through dried tears to force herself to remember that intelligence wasn't everything. That she was valuable in her own way, through her emotions and through her strong will, she would get the job she had been dreaming of. The idea was something that he'd never quite pin Lucy to be like regardless of her easily emotionally compromised self, but he supposed that this was just how she was behind closed doors. He feels ashamed to have missed a crucial part of her for the briefest moment, enough for Fendi to reel Al away to prevent a rude and impartial response to drive her away.
"You're still on your way to become that Detective Inspector." Fendi murmurs to her after a beat of silence, "You're learning and your goal to be the best DI you can be...no, is still attainable." He briefly thinks back to the book, remembering a crucial plot point. "I believe it was the case of this novel that Charlie struggle with his relationships because of his intelligence. May I remind you, Lucy, that loving...is important. Just as much as intelligence can be and you have both, in wonderful quantities."
Her cheeks blush a deep red and the Prof wonders if he has said too much for her, but she composes herself quickly. If she had gained a Ring by his words alone, she made no indication nor any expression of that slight pain that would come from her wrist. He releases the breath he didn't even know he was holding. Instead, she says to him, "By the way Prof, know that this isn't a loan though. It's my favorite book, don't break it! I expect it back in the same condition once you finish it."
"I won't break it, I promise. Thank you." He responds earnestly, so quietly that he wonders if she even heard it. Nevertheless, she walks back to the front door and smiles to him.
"I'ma head home. The rain isn't going to let up and I'd rather nowt be stuck in it tonight. Goodnight, Prof!" She waves, opening the door and locking it with the key. He briefly wonders if letting her own the key could be a problem, but he doesn't think of it any longer when his stomach rumbles. Placing the well-loved copy down carefully, he tears open into the food she brought her--which was of course, his favorite--and eats well. More so than he had in several days.
He doesn't remember falling asleep, but he does after eating, the crap telly still on about something his mind doesn't even bother to retain.
---
When he wakes up, he feels it.
It's hardly something subtle, they never are.
For a moment, he doesn't understand the roaring pain, feeling it in two different areas, his head and his wrists. It doesn't take a genius to remember he was still sick, but the other area shouldn't have burned in such a way. It's not somewhere you'd think pain would be when you have the bloody influenza. He wrenches his eyes open, glaring down at the skin that was no longer creamy nothingness.
He didn't need to focus to know what was happening.
The Ring around his wrist is bright, blazing into his skin in an orange zeal, striking against his skin. The tattoo-looking mark is no wider than a thin hair tie—at first inspection, one might have thought it was a chafing burn from wearing something that restricted blood flow to his hand. It quickly dies down to crimson red, the Ring wrapping around the entirety of his wrist.
His entire...wrist.
It is of equal to his other wrist, which also burned and shared the same Ring. It didn't take him clarity for him to know what this meant.
The offending marks stare at him back, betraying any notion he had before in regards to the concept of Rings and love. Al is frustrated, annoyed at the concept of relenting with Fendi being curious, knowing that only one person could have created the mark, was perhaps not even her sole intention. Fendi is pugnacious, ready to remark against the idea of ignoring this development but Al knows that the body--more specifically, the Rings--do not lie. They had never affected him when he was skirting a romantic entanglement with Hilda, his body practically ignoring the concept of her falling for him. Hilda had, however, been prey to her emotions.
He seems to have joined in suit.
He had fallen in love with Lucy Baker, through her raw share of honesty and reality that he had seen for the first time. If he wasn't an educated man, he would have easily said that that share of intimacy was the reason he has fallen in love, but he knew better. She had earned his love for a long time now. This was just the tipping point.
The somnolent feeling dissipates within him and he just stares at the offending mark, ignoring the fact that the Indian food was absolutely smelling rotten in his flat from a lack of refrigeration.
Lucy
He returns her copy of Flowers for Algernon without much of a say, coming back to crack cases as though he had never been sick. It astonishes her how much both Al and Fendi were dying to get their hands on a case, with the former even trying to be pleasant so he could wrangle one out of Hilda, Justin, Florence, or even the Commissioner, who all complied easily and gave them hard cases.
His demeanor, however, shifts since that week. It starts off rough, pushing her away and making her feel like she did something wrong, but she knew better than to conclude to that. It was something internal, something he didn't want to regale to her just yet. Then it shifts again, as though he had made up his mind on what he wanted or perhaps, should be doing.
It's subtle at first, with Lucy attributing most of his mannerisms to just spur of the moment occurrences.
She begins to notice it.
He begins to ask her of her personal life, before the Mystery Room. She assumes it has something to do with one of their recent cases, which conveniently is of a victim of a similar background, but it doesn't actually do anything for it.
He begins to jump at the opportunity of protecting her from any of the criminals they face, more specifically of their transgressions when they attempt to seduce her, for lack of better phrase. He stands slightly in front of her, just enough so that she is shielded in the event that the suspect in custody goes absolutely barmy (they have before).
He begins to relinquish the concept that they are in fact, a couple. He doesn't even attempt to even deny the remarks towards them possibly being a couple, even though it isn't true. She stops disagreeing and just nods, which typically stops the seducing attempts from the criminals. Mostly.
He begins to enact in small talk, something that typically he would have vehemently despised because it "bothered him." Particularly due to the fact that most of Lucy's small talk sometimes had very little, if anything, to do with the case.
He begins to call her, 'my dear' or 'darling' or some other endearing phrase that causes the tips of her ears to burn hot. She could have called him something of equal value, but 'the Prof' is intimate enough.
He begins to walk her home, remarking that he always did enjoy strolls and had determined that he needed more fresh air. It unnerves her at first, but he wouldn't budge and she wouldn't be the person to tell him off because she secretly did, indeed, enjoy his company.
He begins to pay more attention to what she needs, even to the point where she gets sick and he begins to be her caretaker just in the same fashion that she had during that week of his nasty flu bout by bringing her food and bringing his own favorite books for her to enjoy.
Not to mention how even Al is being kind to her. In split seconds, he could go from raging against the scum that they faced to being endearing without Fendi's interference. He looks to her warmly, as though she was the only person in the world that could do no wrong, the criminals they see hardly deserving of her presence. Even if she was being annoying, he'd quip at her in a superficial way rather than purely threatening to cut her tongue out.
If she didn't know any better, she would have said that the Prof was just being kind to her and making sure she was settled comfortably, especially with the emergence of Al. But it had to be more than that--more than just gaining friendly affection for her, getting used to her mannerisms like most friends would. She checked her wrists more than normal, eyeing them in case of a random Ring appearing out of thin air from all that he had been doing to her. Her paranoia of gaining one isn't so much in fear that it was of the Prof's, but rather the concept of gaining one entirely. What would come next? If he so much actually had a Ring, which was what she had suspected, then his whole world was turned upside down, she was sure of it.
---
She finds out on sheer accident.
Her intentions were hardly to find out whether or not he had one, for if he really did have a Ring for her, he would have--or perhaps rather, should have--spoken to her about it. That's what normal, regular people would do. The Prof however, was not normal.
Lucy's clumsiness was a problem ever since she was a child. Tripping over her own feet, tripping over air, tripping over cracks on the sidewalk--all of it earned her several good bruises in her time. It even came to a point where one of her friends in university used to jokingly ask, "Are you tripping over the invisible dead bodies of cold cases?"
To her defence, it was hardly her fault this time.
The Prof had conveniently left a box of case files that he had explained that he wanted to analyze in order to compare the case they were on versus an older case from 3 years ago. She, however, did not account for the fact that it was going to be in her direct path--Lucy was used to newspapers almost tripping her, but certainly not a box. To her chagrin, she did indeed trip over while the Prof stood in front of the window, making his assessments. He reaches to catch her by the waist, unfortunately with Lucy spilling a cuppa on his lab coat sleeve, the other cuppa dropped on the desk with a crash. He yelps, the two of them falling against the wall--more specifically, the Prof--and almost knocks off his university degree.
Lucy, realizing that she had once again fallen over, clambers over him, apologizing profusely. The sting of the hot tea brings him out of the awkwardness as she pulls him up and frets over hurting him.
"Eeh by gum, Prof! Are you alright? I had no idea the box was there--"
"I'm alright, Lucy, Just a bit banged up. It's my fault anyway that I had placed it in an unexpecting location." The Prof responds to her, shedding off his coat and jumper without another thought. She had briefly expected to see his bare chest, but he had worn a t-shirt underneath, much to her luck. He was even more lankier than she had originally anticipated, seeing the two outer layers off of his body. His forearm was slightly scaled, but luckily the two layers had at least prevented him from really getting any horrible damage. Her eyes trailed further down during her inspection and found herself, miraculously, staring at the Ring around his wrist.
She does a double take at that, briefly ignoring the words that were coming out of the Prof's mouth. He had a Ring. He loved someone, no less to the entirety of romantic gestures. She racks her brain--from between the time she had first made contact with him versus now had been almost a whole year. Her birthday was coming up in a month and a half, just a few days after she became a Detective Constable.
Someone had gained his affections during the year.
Was it...
She feels partially selfish in drawing that conclusion, but it was the only one she could think of. The Prof had very little, if at all, any reckoning of a social life. The only people he genuinely came in contact with were those that worked with him at the Yard, but even then, he had been working with them for years. He didn't just miraculously gain a mark since then, it would have happened way beforehand.
"Lucy?" He asks and his gaze goes straight to where she was looking. She knows she should stop staring, she should ignore what she saw and go straight to making sure his precious lab coat and sweater dries up properly. He calls her name again and she does the rational thing, grabbing the shedded clothing and placing it over the armchairs so it would dry properly. Without another word, she steps away from the Mystery Room, muttering something about fresh air to her mentor. They don't mention it again when she returns and any time subsequent to it. Perhaps it was better that way--facing the truth was difficult as it was. It was much easier to pretend.
Not to mention she had no Ring to speak of on her own person.
---
The Forbodium Case comes and Lucy is knocked off the park of everything she ever knows from her year with the Prof. Al being the true holder of the Alfendi Layton name, with Fendi being nonexistent until four years ago.
She learns many things that time besides just that bombshell. When she is alone with Hilda, the older woman chooses to regale her thoughts to the Detective Constable without much effort. Rather, it seemed as though Hilda was bursting with need to tell her.
"He wasn't the man I knew after the events here. It was like he was a whole different man." The way she spoke of him, her eyes cast far away in a time long ago. Lucy adjusts her cap, as though she was bracing for impact. "Who you call Al is the real one, in my eyes. Fendi was never one to begin with."
The air around them turns quiet, save for the rustling of trees outside and the light rain. Lucy wonders what it would be like, to have someone she loved wrenched from her care, replaced with someone who admittedly had the same features, but could never be that person once again. Lucy had the liberty of knowing both personalities like the back of her hand--Hilda only knew one, refusing to relent to the concept of him having two. To an extent, Lucy supposes she can't blame her. If the love died, the love died years ago at the coming of Fendi.
"Did you love him?" The question oversteps any boundaries, but it leaves her mouth before she can stop herself, just like when she asked the Prof all those cases ago. The blonde woman moves her bracelets to the side, revealing six thin blood red lines, one of which almost connects into a loop but doesn't. It's confirmation enough. Unrequited love, but it wasn't to the point of a romantic gesture—though it could have been. It could have, most likely, had the events been different. If he had never gone through with Forebodium, never gone through with the idea of going on his own. Maybe he'd finally reciprocate what she felt for him.
"His skin is still as clean as it was, hasn't it? No Rings." Hilda looks away, staring out the nearby window. The cascading light against her features, the curve of her lip, and the sway of her hips when she walks—anyone would fall in love with her, at least admiring her on a superficial level. It was easy. She was beautiful. And little ol' Lucy Baker, with her small lips and strikingly ginger hair was a complete opposite. Hilda dignified grace, Lucy dignified awkwardness.
"Yes." Lucy lies to her, reasoning that it wasn't her place to even say his affections have been claimed by someone else, but she also didn't want to hear what Hilda had to say to it. "I have yet to see if it's marked."
"You should." Hilda responds absentmindedly, "I see the way both of them look at you, the adoration in their tones. How he defends you adamantly without debate. I would be remiss if I hadn't noticed. The whole Scotland Yard, I'm sure, practically noticed it too."
"Ee, well..." she doesn't know what to say. What do you say to someone superior to you in every single way, who had also, conveniently, previously fallen in love with her interest? That same interest, also conveniently, fell for you?
"Well nothing, Lucy. You've given the man his first Ring. I'm sure of it. You should ask him." Hilda's resolve surprises Lucy; she had expected for the older woman to hold resentment against the fact that Lucy had indeed given the Prof his first Ring, rather than herself. Perhaps she was being the better person, relenting to the future by letting go of the past--similarly to what this whole rukus about Forbodium was, in essence.
"If he gets himself out of this, that is. Summat about this case doesn't add up and I still think he's innocent." Lucy crosses her arms, deciding for herself. She didn't know what to think then, but she was sure of it now: "I believe he's innocent."
"And I, as well. I believe you can solve it, Lucy." Hilda sidesteps from Lucy, briskly walking away without a moment's notice.
Alfendi
He finds that the prospect of her maintaining his innocence is striking between Al and Fendi, which he has submitted to also call the two raging personalities. Fendi bellows that he has been nothing but truthful, that he did in fact shoot Makepeace. Al denies without a second thought, pushing the evidence to his soft side and it's Lucy that makes him listen. If he hadn't fallen for her that one week, he was sure that her mere conviction of proving him innocent would have earned her the Ring that was so clear on his wrist.
Lucy pieces the case beautifully, just like how she had done with all the previous cases they had worked together on. Al is impressed that Justin even relents to her words, Fendi is overall shocked that he was forced to somehow believe that he was guilty. Nevertheless, Justin hauls off, much to Hilda's dismay. It is no fault for her to be dismayed in the first place--the man she had been working with had been responsible for many deaths and the erasure of her former love.
He catches Hilda after questioning Justin outside her office, fumbling with her keys. The mind control book under his arm, he approaches her. He wasn't even sure why--he was sure that he was the last face she wanted to see this Monday, but it's too late. She turns to him, wearing a white and black blouse and skirt ensemble, coupled with a burgundy coat draped over her shoulders. She wears a single bracelet around both wrists, but it doesn't hide the almost complete red line on her skin. He briefly wonders if it was intentional.
"Hilda."
"Al." Her call of the name Lucy had aptly stuck to his original personality is by no intention meant to ignore the fact that she was technically talking to Fendi. She was just so used to the nickname that it slips out of her tongue easily, but he makes no effort to correct her. "I see you spoke with Justin," she motions to the mind control book. He nods to her.
"His methods to...prevent me from speaking the truth were interesting." Fendi bites back anything more, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Really had me fooled."
"Mm, yes." She crosses her arms—the stance she typically takes up when she feels threatened or uncomfortable. It amazes him that he could still read her like a book, even after their last romantic moment was roughly four years ago. "I take it that you'll be celebrating this victory."
"Is it truly a victory?"
"I'd say so. You're not in prison for what you've done and have only come out with a minor setback..." she pauses, "Lucy. Did she come with you?"
"No, she urged that it would be best if it was just me. She was right, I'm sure she wouldn't have enjoyed Justin's words or my own." Lucy had been incredibly adamant that he should be the one to get his answers, that her presence would only make things harder because she knew he needed to extensively question Justin would be to her distaste. So he trekked alone, Fendi reeling at the concept of his friend betraying him while Al bellowed so many insults, he was surprised that he wasn't ejected from the interrogation room.
Justin, for no matter what his lawyer had said to him, divulged in his tale simply, without any resistance. Though, before the Prof had left, Justin called him one last time.
"Al, come back here."
"What do you want?" He had turned on his heel, glaring at the man who had done so much damage in just two nights. Justin pulled up the Prof's sleeve, despite it being awkward since he was handcuffed and what he had expected was there, the Ring that Lucy had seen just a few weeks ago. Justin was the only one so far that had been direct about it, but the Prof could wager that most of Scotland Yard that knew of him probably knew of their development. Why the Commissioner hadn't relinquished Lucy from his care, he didn't quite know.
"I see that she's good for another thing." Justin had released his sleeve, letting it drop unceremoniously. "Never thought you'd get one in your miserable life, but congratulations."
"I take it you're not just congratulating me, Lawson." Al's words drip with venom, taking all in him not to practically lunge with the scissor he had conveniently in his lab coat for 'emergencies' of rough criminals. Justin was a part of that lot now.
Justin had looked so out of place without his trusty toothpick rustling around in his mouth and it's clear he was equally as bothered without it. Justin had licked his lips instead, leaning back against the cold metal chair as much as his handcuffs would allow.
"Do you think she'll have the same Ring around her wrist just because you say so?" Justin smirked and the Prof knows it's intended to provoke him, intended to make those watching them question his mental sanity. It was bad enough that it brought forth warnings, but to actively prove he was somewhat unstable would be a different turn. "I think I'd be interesting. Do you think she would have fallen for Al or Fendi? Smart cookie, your Lucy is. Making up names for your personalities. Entertaining it when it's all for naught."
"And your point is?" The Prof questioned, just about to walk out the door with or without hearing what his former friend had to say. Justin clicked his tongue in distaste.
"You're a fool, Alfendi. A bloody fool. Falling in love like that, no less with your assistant who'll inevitably leave you and you'll be alone." The Prof should have been angry. He should have rushed to Justin and gave him a few good punches--even though the Prof wasn't muscular like him, it would have been satisfying enough to have at least given him several broken bones. Instead, Fendi reeled back their anger, much to Al's dismay. Al, if he had no control, would have probably done more than just several broken bones. And he would have felt no remorse at all.
"I beg to differ. Who's the one handcuffed to the table?" The Prof's eyes flickered to his wrists, which only seemed to have only several Rings. None that actually wrapped all the way, but still, close partnerships flocked Justin's relationships. He wondered if he was one of them. "I'll make it easier for you, Lawson. I'll leave so you won't have to incriminate yourself further."
"Piss off, Al." Justin grumbled and the Prof left without another word.
"I see." Hilda murmurs, her hand covering her mouth. "She knows you well."
"Terrifyingly so, I would say." He frowns, realizing that she didn't make any indication to even unlock her office anymore, lingering in the hallway. "Did you have something else to say?" She snaps from her reverie and smiles, oddly enough.
"No, not at all. Lucy's waiting, isn't she? I'll see you soon, Al." Her voice had a quality of sadness to it, but he chose not to make comment. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked off to see his expectant assistant to tell her what he had found.
Lucy
Time drawls by slowly, though quick enough that Lucy knows that the times are going way too fast for her taste. They solve a few more cases after Forbodium, Al and Fendi's existence being an easy one to bear for the Prof, who no longer seemed to have intense headaches at the switches.
Justin is charged for more than Lucy anticipates and it still shocks her that he had believed he could have gotten away with it, no less such a brutal and stupid attempt. His victims, despite being pure evil as the Prof had mentioned, still were victims. He killed, in cold blood. He had more to do with the Jigsaw Puzzle murders than he had let on, but it still shook Lucy enough to avoid speaking of it.
It is early in the morning when she finds Florence, standing by the Mystery Room, apparently waiting for her.
"Good morning, Florence!" Lucy says cheerily, practically skipping to her friend.
"Morning, Lucy. Achoo!" Florence sniffs, looking to Lucy. "Al told me to tell you that he wasn't feeling so well and probably won't be in."
"Ah, that's unfortunate. It's a Saturday though, I wouldn't have expected him over." She supposes that he might have wanted to finish drawing the conclusions of their most recent case, but his presence truly wasn't necessary today. Lucy grabs the key to the Mystery Room from her small orange bag, "At least he's nowt clawing his way to try to work again. Heaven forbid he miss a day, he'd told me the last time he got sick. Do you want a cuppa, Florence? I just came for the paperwork and then I'll probably be done."
"Alright, sure." Lucy opens the Mystery Room, flicking on the lights and hanging her bag and shedding her additional coat onto the coat rack. Florence follows, her IV stand following dutifully behind. Florence stood idly for a moment before settling for one of the comfy chairs that stood in front of the overbearing desk. "He also said not to bring him any food or any case files today, but he also said that he knows you well enough that you'll ignore his wish."
"He's quite right about that. I can be very persuasive if I want to be." Lucy giggles, turning on the electric heater for water that the Prof brought in a few months ago, much to Lucy's surprise. He had expressed that it would be easier for her and she wouldn't have to leave the room. "He has a specific time table for food, did you know that?"
"No. A specific--achoo!--timetable?"
"Mm, aye." She responds, preparing the tea on the desk in well-practiced motions. "He's very particular with his food, I'd say. He'll easily settle for a simple sandwich if he doesn't have the time, but if he can have summat from his timetable, he'll prefer that. Where he got that timetable, I couldn't tell ye."
Florence is quiet for a moment, reticent on what she wanted to say in regards to this, but it isn't long before she is direct in her inquiry. She worked in the lab, of course she was all questions and answers rather than the type to ponder.
"You really do love him, don't you?" It's phrased as a question, but it sounds more like a statement. Lucy peers up at Florence, who is staring back at her with a questioning glance. Did she? She knew him so well, but it could be reasoned out as more of a convenience thing rather than an actual affection of that degree.
"By 'eck, Florence, that's quite..." She tries comedy, but it doesn't land, so she opts for honesty at the look Florence gives her. "My wrists say otherwise." She glances down at her covered wrists, knowing what was there. More rings, yes, but they weren't ones that clasped all the way. She could only infer that they were from friendly love that could easily be attributed to people like Florence.
"Forget the Rings, Lucy, you clearly love the man." Florence sniffs, "Exonerate him as you did, the way you are around--achoo--him and how he is around you...you just haven't had the tipping point. Not to mention how much he loves you too. You've changed him, Lucy. Made him better." Lucy hands the cuppa to Florence, who hums in thanks.
"I don't know about that, Florence." Her response goes to all points that Florence brought up. Lucy stirred her tea and moving to sit adjacent from her. "I'm his only Ring, innit? It's hard enough with that pressure of having to reciprocate it."
"Rings are supposed to come naturally, Lucy, not upon coercion." Florence sips her tea, "At random, from events that you don't typically see coming. You've already chosen to love him, haven't you? It's just a matter of time." Lucy bites her lip, tapping at the seat's armrests. She hadn't quite thought of it that way--more specifically, she intentionally chose not to think of it. Florence, seeing Lucy's apprehension, chose to change the subject. It didn't mean that the thought hadn't lingered in Lucy's head, however.
---
Lucy turns the key to his flat like she has done so many times, carefully making sure that she didn't rock the contents of the soup in one of the bags on her person. The other contained even more cold case files, which became the norm when she knew the Prof wasn't well enough to come to the Yard. He had actually managed to solve much more than she had anticipated, which prompted reopening of some of the cases and the Prof being, of course, right in his deductions and reasonings. It was fascinating to watch him piece it together on his own without her input sometimes.
She pushes open the door, a greeting ready on her tongue when she finds herself in front of quite the romantic ensemble. She stops in her tracks, rose petals that contrasted greatly against the wooden flooring leading up a table in the living room. The couches had been pushed to the side, with a brand-new circular table with all of Lucy's favorite foods strewn atop it. The first word that comes to her is romantic, but she pushes it away in favor of looking to the Prof.
The man of the hour that was supposedly sick is leaning against the wall, tossing away the typical ensemble that he so favored with a purple button-up that clung to his frame and black trousers. It's a complete change than what she expects and she tries to figure out what prompted such an occurrence, let alone one so forward in romanticism that she almost feels like she should ask the Prof who he was and what he had done with the man she was with yesterday. Instead, she opts for, "Prof? What is all this?"
"I do sincerely hope you haven't forgotten the date." She racks her brain for a moment, then her eyes flicker with recognition. September 21st. Last year, it was a Friday, a strange day to have placed someone with an assistant, but it happened. She came back that Monday, stunned at the fact that he still wanted her as an assistant and even continued with another case without much of a segue.
"One year since I've been in your care." She confirms and he nods, "Though...why? We could have celebrated it at the Mystery Room."
"Quite right, but I've found it easier to lie about my well-being to entice you over and make my own congratulatory dinner." He murmurs, "Though I do apologize about lying to you through Florence."
"Apology accepted. You could have just asked, you know. I'm pretty sure you don't know how to cook anyway." She jokes to him, to which he cracks a small smile at. She closes the door behind her and places the forgotten case files and food on the kitchen counter.
"Fine, I'll admit that I may have picked up a few items from your favorite restaurants rather than touching the stove." He says as though it's all just semantics and motions for her to come forward. She obliges as he pulls out a seat for her. "Besides, if I had mentioned to you of my intentions, it wouldn't be much of a surprise."
"Oh, aye?" She takes her seat, raising her eyebrow at him. The Prof doesn't indulge her with an answer, instead pulling out a neatly wrapped box from under his seat and handing it to her.
"I get that presents are meant for later, but I'd rather have you know about it now. Surprises never...quite sat well with me." He murmurs to her. She examines the box in his hand from her distance.
"You didn't have to get me anything, Prof, this dinner is wonderful enough."
"Take the damn gift, Baker." Al finally grumbles, shaking it in his hand. She sighs, knowing that there was no way out of it and takes the box without question, unwrapping it and eventually getting to the point where it was just on dark brown box in her hands. She wasn't quite sure what she'd find in here; she was never one to necessarily or explicitly describe what she wanted from gifts.
What she opens it, it's not what she was anticipating and she pulls the item out with great care.
It's a brand new copy of Flowers for Algernon, but it's not the newer paperbacks that they came out with that had different covers. It was a first edition, but pristine, like the Prof had gone back to the first publishings of the novel and took it fresh off the shelf. The white cover was lacked the discoloring of her own copy, Daniel Keyes portrait on the back cover, crisp. It is creased ever so slightly, but only once. She opens the first page carefully, finding Daniel Keyes' signature inside and a small note in the same handwriting, whimsical-looking as she had recalled it being when she saw signed copies around the internet.
Lucy -
I'm glad you enjoyed my book and have found a sense of comfort within the pages, as your Alfendi tells me. This is a small token of my appreciation for your constant support of my story, to perhaps replace the "falling apart" copy that you have in your possession. Continue pursuing your dreams, relish in the delicate balance between your emotions and knowledge--it will take you far.
Daniel Keyes
The note is dated to four weeks after she had first lended him her own beloved copy, back when he was ill. She stares up at the Prof after rereading the simple note and eyes him, briefly ignoring the whole 'your Alfendi' that Daniel had mentioned. Instead, she asks, "How?"
"My father has connections everywhere. It wasn't difficult to request from Professor Keyes' a first edition copy of his most well-known work and a bit of a note." He waives a hand dismissively, as though it was absolutely nothing to have gotten no less a brand new copy of the text along with a signature. "It's a good thing you revealed to me so early in our working partnership that you loved this book--I'm sure if it was any other time, my father would have most likely gone on one of his far reaching mystery missions."
The silence is long and she can tell that the Prof was worrying, battling in himself based on the way he gripped the table. Al was probably arguing with Fendi, perhaps expressing that this gift was too much, to the point where he had officially rendered her unable to speak. She truly did know him well, didn't she?
"I'm nowt dreaming, am I Prof? Nowt making this up?" She asks him and the argument inside him dies at her words. He thinks to her words for a moment before shaking his head.
"No. You're not. This is bonafide reality, my dear." She finds herself uncontrollably trembling at what he mentions, attempting to pinch herself beneath her coat but knew it wouldn't change anything. He was right. This wasn't some dream.
"This is the best gift I've ever received Prof. Florence wasn't kidding when she said you loved me." She says that instead of flittering on what was real and what wasn't. She doesn't know what she should do. Smile? Reluctantly express that her wrists apparently didn't agree with his attraction to her? Walk away? Keep sitting and grit through the fact that even though she had made a choice of loving him, societal standards said otherwise?
"No. She was not. And it's not in past tense, my dear. I do love you. Both of us." When Lucy doesn't say anything, utterly stunned by his admission, he continues on, "I think it took me a long time to determine my feelings even though I gained my Ring the following morning you lent me your copy of that book. That was the tipping point for me. I never had any need to fall in love with anyone because it was fine to keep them at an arm's reach. But...you've changed the game." He combs a hand through his disheveled hair, laughing in a mirthless tone that bothers her greatly. "I shouldn't be feeling this way, no less for my assistant. That's not why you're in my care, but I can't help it. Even after attempting to make it fade away, attempting to continue to construct barriers, I kept finding myself changing my mannerisms for you. Just because...I wanted to be the best man I could be for you, my mind be damned."
Lucy shouldn't be stunned.
She knew what he felt, what she had been getting herself into and how he had gotten that Ring. She was just pretending not to see it, to keep their professional barriers intact as much as he had tried to in the very beginning of that subtle shift. It didn't work. Pretending, as easy as it was, wasn't the truth.
"Do you regret it?" She finds the courage to ask quietly and he looks to her as though she had said the most offensive thing she could have ever said to him. She reels back at the sneer.
"Are you positively dense, Baker? Have you learned nothing of our proximity at the Yard? In this flat?" Al snipes at her, but she knows better than to take offence. It was him being defensive. "I could never regret being at your mercy. That is, do you regret having me?"
Her heart lurches forward and she doesn't realize how high her blood pressure has gotten until she feels it. Her mouth is ready to shoot out clear negatives, telling him that his presence was the blessing she never thought she needed. Instead, she takes his hands, which were still grasping the table like some clamp and holds them tightly. He's sweating, ever so slightly. He must be terrified.
"Blimey, Prof--Alfendi. No. I could never regret being your assistant. I don't care about no bloody Ring." She says, the name somewhat foreign on her lips yet at the same time so familiar, "I love you. I love you so much. That's my choice."
It all comes to a blur. Her words are anything but a lie. She really does love him. She just didn't have the tipping point until now, the final indicator. Before she knows it, the ever obvious burning comes to her skin and the fabric of her coat edges down enough for both of them to see. Even though she knew what she was to find, she looks down at it. A new Ring has appeared, one of which clasped all around her wrist. Her body agrees to her choice, much to her excitement.
"Guess the body agrees too." She says, clearing her throat. "Ee...I've never had this happen to me before." He chuckles at that.
"You're talking to someone who has never had a Ring for twenty-nine years, I think I'm qualified to say that I am much more of a novice than you are, for once." He remarks and before she could help it, she's already standing. Coming closer to him like a magnet attracted to something metal. He stood too, the question of what she was doing was on the tip of his tongue, but she takes the initiative, taking ahold of his cheeks with both hands, bringing him close for a kiss.
The easiest description of the moment is that it's clumsy, awkward, and most certainly a surprise to the Prof that she even dared to push the envelope so soon after receiving her own Ring. It doesn't take him long before he realizes what's going on, his mind going from sluggish to hyperdrive and he opens his mouth to her eagerly, occasionally nipping at her lower lip. His hands hold onto her waist automatically, attempting to bring her even closer, as thought it was possible. He groans lightly in her mouth, the sound buzzing in her ears.
It is short lived however, for Lucy didn't want to push any further. Did she just hear a whine come from his lips at her release? She's sure she didn't imagine it, for the Prof looked absolutely dejected, though his eyes quickly darkened and she's sure Al isn't very happy.
"I'm nowt about to make a mess of your lovely dinner." She says breathlessly to him and he rolls his eyes at that, holding her close enough that their bodies were practically touching.
"Sod the dinner, Baker." He practically growls. That causes her to raise her eyebrows, but she lowers them quickly to prevent expressing much of her surprise.
"Now, Prof, I don't think so." She pulls away, much to his apparent disappointment. "You put all this effort into getting all my favorite foods. I think at least it merits a tasting before it really gets cold." She goes back to her seat and begins to take some food from the pretty plates, ignoring the Prof's seething expression and opting to talk about today's events at the Mystery Room.
It takes about 10 minutes before Al runs out of patience, much to Fendi's dismay and Lucy's amusement.
It's longer than Lucy thought he'd be able to bear, but she doesn't complain.