Work Text:
Past-Tense Friends
Lucy had officially passed the eight-month mark of being a freelance agent. It was a date that she usually noticed, no matter how much time had passed, but not today. Today she sits in her small apartment, staring at the four day-old newspaper. Yes, she was completely unaware that exactly eight months ago she had left her friends. But it was those people - Lockwood, George, and even Holly - but especially Lockwood, that she is thinking of, and has been for the past four days.
Lucy had expected Lockwood to try and get her back. Maybe by a simple phone call, a note, or even by begging on her doorstep. A small part of her even wanted that to happen. However, that small part was largely overshadowed by the part of her that wanted to keep him safe. That didn’t stop her from fantasizing, night after night, how she would turn Lockwood down when he tried to get her back, even though it would be so good just to see his face or hear his voice again. But he never did. He never did, and Lucy went on, fighting the Problem on her own. She left him, and now he is dead. Her plan didn’t work. She didn’t keep him safe.
Lucy continues to stare at the newspaper, and her mind begins to wander. She thinks about George and Holly. She thinks about Lockwood’s final moments, what happened, and how she should’ve been there, even though she had promised to stay away.
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Lockwood’s final moments were more or less exactly how he had always expected them to be.
They knew that the case was going to be a tricky one. Having an extremely talented Listener would’ve helped, or just another top-level agent in general. Lockwood knew where they could find a damn good one, one of the best. But he quickly pushed that thought to the back of his mind, just like he did before every single case in the past seven, nearly eight months.
The haunting in question took place in an old factory building. Much like Aickmere’s Department Store, the Luxury Textile Factory had once been a flourishing company, but had grown dingy and less successful over time. Of the few workers the factory was still able to employ, a majority were threatening to quit. The reason for this was the ghost of Sam Knight. Sam Knight had worked in the factory himself nearly 100 years ago. His death had taken place there as the result of a fire.
Accidental factory deaths were not uncommon, but this one was rather gruesome in nature. It turns out that Sam was a bit of a nasty person when he was alive. He was described by his coworkers as rude, wicked, condescending, and just plain mean. So when a machine caught on fire and Sam found himself trapped by the flames, no one stuck around to help him.
Now he had come back as a strong Type Two, haunting the current employees of Luxury Textile with the same nastiness as he had treated others with when he was alive. And this was not the first time that the ghost of Sam Knight had made an appearance, nor the first time that an agency had been called in. Since the start of the Problem, agents had tried and failed to find the Source that kept Sam in the living world multiple times. None of the attempts had proved to be fatal, thank goodness, but each failure only added to the fear of Sam’s next visit. The fact that multiple other agencies hadn’t succeeded in the previous attempts to stop the haunting added to the trickiness of the case, as well as the horrendous circumstances of the death. It was just a tricky case overall.
All of this information was courtesy of George, of course. The quality of George’s work hadn’t changed in Lucy’s absence. Neither had Holly’s. Lockwood was proud of them. He was proud and glad that they were his employees, and more importantly, his friends. You should probably let them know that more often, he told himself.
Lockwood only wished that he could say the same about himself and his work. He hadn’t been able to go on like normal when Lucy left. He had let himself slip as a leader. This was something that Lockwood only barely acknowledged. Partly because it bothered him, and partly because he switched into auto-pilot mode sometime after Lucy’s departure. Nothing mattered except cases. Nothing mattered except meeting with clients, preparing for the case as quickly as possible, and taking care of the Source by any means necessary. Lockwood knew that he was being risky and reckless in a way that no leader ever should, but he was long past the point of being able to change.
The case started like normal that night. A walk through of the building, temperature readings, set up of defenses, all the normal stuff. The three of them - Lockwood, George, and Holly - were standing inside of their circle of chains, senses alert and rapiers ready. Lockwood himself did not feel any unease that was more than normal. George and Holly were perhaps a bit more quiet, but he attributed that to the circumstances of the case. He wasn’t particularly bothered, he just wanted to contain this ghost for good.
Several hours went by without much happening. When other agencies had been on the case, the time that passed before the ghost had appeared varied. The inconsistencies of the case were vaguely interesting. George would have loved to have researched it, if Lockwood had given him time.
There was ghost fog and a line of spiders so long that it was slightly unnerving, but nothing else. Lockwood was growing impatient. Normally he would talk with George and Holly, usually discussing how to handle the case, but not tonight. Lockwood kept to himself. He felt different tonight. There were several possible reasons for this, but none that he allowed himself to think about. He had discovered that it was usually best not to think. In his case, the answer was to take no time asking questions, just act, even if it meant putting himself in danger.
That’s what he did that night. He put himself in danger, not knowing that it was the last time.
After an eternity of waiting, the three agents of Lockwood and Co finally saw activity from the spirit of Sam Knight. An apparition, who’s features took an alarmingly short amount of time in becoming crystal clear, was moving back and forth between the walls of the room, maneuvering around the machines. Lockwood saw it first, his Sight being the best out of them all. George and Holly noticed his sudden alertness and strained their senses, trying to see what Lockwood’s sharp eyes had seen. He had already stepped away from the protection of the chains. As he did so, he heard Holly say something, then George. George’s voice was filled with a mixture of anxiety and anger.
“I’ll draw it out into the open,” Lockwood called back to them, not even looking, “You two get ready with defenses.”
His mind was clouded, not a single thought registering. He ran after the apparition, the adrenaline rush propelling his body forward. The game of cat and mouse went on for a few minutes, Lockwood slowly losing his patience. All of a sudden he lost sight of the ghost as he went to turn a corner. He was stopped dead in his tracks, in between two machines that looked like they hadn’t been used in years. Standing - or floating, rather - was the ghost of Sam Knight. Lockwood had run right into him.
So, this is how it happens, he thought to himself. He was ghost touched, of course. His chest instantly went cold.
His friends crossed his mind for a brief moment, he even heard George scream his name. Despite the coldness spreading through his body, the pain that had been growing inside of him since his parents’ deaths nine years ago, and his sister’s six years ago, finally started to fade. Because that’s what he had been searching for all along. Everyone thought that he wanted to defeat ghosts to avenge his family. Which was true, but that only worked for a little while. There were so many ghosts. He just wanted the pain to go away, and this was the only way he knew how.
Lockwood had always known that he would die this way. Again, he thought briefly of his friends. All of them at first, but then he thought of Lucy. It’d been eight months since he had seen her. So many times he was tempted to try and get her to come back, but he couldn’t go through with it. He had let her down in some way. He didn’t know how he had come to this conclusion, but it was something that he knew for sure. He had let Lucy down, and his shame was too great to ask her to rejoin the company, or even make contact with her. Not even the great Penelope Fittes could change his mind. He had spent eight months missing her, and he’d miss her forever. But she would be fine, they all would.
Lockwood’s senses had now completely shut down. He could just barely hear one last scream from George, but it soon turned into a different voice. Multiple voices, actually. Three voices that he hadn’t heard in years, all calling his name, beckoning to him. A small smile formed on Lockwood’s lips. His body succumbed to the ghost touch. He was free. He exited the living world easily, as if he had already been half-way there.
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Holly enters 35 Portland Row, thankful that the day is over. She lets out a long sigh of exhaustion as she closes the door. She hasn’t been home in four days, not since the night that it happened. She tells herself that she’s staying for George’s sake, but deep down she knows that it’s her who can’t stand to be alone. He doesn’t say much, but Holly is grateful for his presence. Being around George is the only thing that has kept her sane, and kept her from drowning in guilt.
The funeral was today. Holly barely remembers any of the finer details. All she knows is that she managed to pull herself together well enough, and now she is sitting at the kitchen table with George. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots a week-old, terribly done, sketch of a ghost left by Lockwood. That wretched Thinking Cloth, she thinks, We should just burn the damn thing. She ignores the drawing, and tries to ignore her inner thoughts, which are reminding her that the sketch is now one of the last marks of Anthony Lockwood, so they probably shouldn’t burn the Thinking Cloth. She turns her thoughts instead to what has been bothering her since the funeral.
“George, why didn’t she-”
“I don’t know,” he cuts her off, already knowing what Holly was going to ask.
Holly doesn’t say anything. She was a bit surprised that Lucy didn’t turn up. When she didn’t, the guilt that has been looming ever since she left threatened to crash down on Holly and crush her.
George reads her mind again, “It’s not your fault,” he says.
He’s right, Holly tells herself. But George's reassurance does nothing to change Holly's mind. Of course it's her fault. Lucy obviously didn't want to see her at the funeral. The guilt this causes Holly is really tied into what's been plaguing her for eight months. If it wasn't because of her that Lucy left, then why did she? Holly had given up on finding a reason. All she knows now is that she joined Lockwood and Co, Lucy left, and now Lockwood is dead. Nothing changes that. What a shame, Holly thinks, Lockwood and Lucy made a good pair.
“It’s not your fault,” George tells her again.
Holly looks at him through the tears forming in her eyes, “I know,” she lies.
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“Goodnight, George,” Holly tells him.
“Night, Hol,” George replies.
He slowly makes his way up the stairs, each step feeling heavier and heavier. These last few days have been the worst of his entire life. The thing that bugs George the most is that he knows he couldn’t have stopped it. Even if he could go back in time, there was nothing he could change, Lockwood would still be dead. It wasn’t a missing piece of research that killed Lockwood, but George almost wishes that it had been. Because then he would at least know what went wrong. He would at least know where he went wrong. He would know how he could’ve helped his friend.
George just wishes that he could’ve helped Lockwood. George has been wishing for a lot of things these days.
He stands on the landing now. Seeing the closed doors of the Lockwood siblings’ room’s hits him with such force that he has to catch his breath. It’s only just occurring to him that he will probably have to sort through Lockwood’s stuff. Otherwise, there will be yet another room at 35 Portland Row that no one ever entered. George can’t let it turn into that. Another day, he thinks.
Right now he is going to lay down and get some sleep. Yeah, right. George has given up on sleep. This night is the same as the last three. He lies awake for hours until he can hear the early morning sounds of the neighborhood waking up, wondering if this horrible feeling will ever stop. He wishes that he could sink down into the mattress, just keep sinking down, until he is completely covered. Trapped forever, so no one else can tell them how sorry they are, and he won’t have to smile sadly and thank them, when really he is thinking, your ‘sorry’ doesn’t help me. Just tell me what the hell I should do. What is he supposed to do? How does Lockwood and Co go on without Lockwood? The bloody company is named after him, for Christ’s sake, George thinks. Overwhelmed is an understatement for how he is feeling.
I hate Lucy, he suddenly thinks. He immediately takes it back. It’s not true. He just hates that he has to pick up the pieces without her. He wishes that Lucy were here to help him. She’d make the situation easier, somehow. If she were here, then maybe he wouldn’t feel so lonely. Yes, he has Holly, but it’s not the same. Lucy knew him differently. No, she knows me differently, George tells himself. It’s not like she’s gone forever. The thought causes a small pang in his chest. The truth is, he doesn’t know if Lucy will ever be in his life again. Maybe he should be thinking of her in the past-tense. So now he is George Cubbins, the boy with two past-tense friends, and no idea how to move forward.
He rolls over onto his side, exhaling deeply.
“I miss you,” he says outloud.
That’s as simple as he can put it. He misses Lockwood, he misses Lucy, and he wishes that she just would’ve showed up to the damn funeral.
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Three hours later, Lucy is still in the same spot. The hardness of the chair beneath her is growing more uncomfortable, but she doesn’t notice. During those three hours, her mind goes back and forth between being an empty sea of nothing and a raging fire of relenting thoughts. She is filled with emotion, then completely devoid of it. Slowly, the raging fire starts to take control. Her eyes flit back and forth rapidly, trying to take in every detail of the news article.
She had noticed it by chance when walking by a news stand one afternoon after a case the night before, the same night that it had happened. She had been working for a long time, and had only just woken up, so she thought that her eyes may have been playing tricks on her. But no, it was there. A tiny headline in the corner of the front page, and words saying that the full story was inside on page four. There weren’t many details because the newspaper had been published only that morning, but Lucy got the idea. A simple but fatal case of ghost touch, spread quickly and unable to be treated.
She tries to picture the scene again in her mind, as she has been on and off for the last four days. Slowly, the emotional turmoil that has been building inside of her causes her to crack. Lucy stands up suddenly, her chair falling backwards and crashing to the floor. She begins to pace back and forth in between the table and her bed, until finally, she crumples into a ball on the bed. The tears come gradually, but before long she is sobbing into her pillow. It isn’t the first time she has cried since Lockwood’s death, but it is certainly the hardest and longest she has cried.
It’s my fault, she thinks. Lucy had been so sure of her decision to leave. She thought that it was the right thing to do. How could she have been so wrong? Why did she not see this coming? It’s my fault, she tells herself again, sobbing. Her plan didn’t work. I should’ve stayed, Lucy thinks, I should’ve helped him, and instead I abandoned him. Now, Lucy is a sensible girl. Deep down, she knows that she is being much too hard on herself. But nothing can stop the tidal wave of guilt that is washing over her. She’s drowning.
Glancing up, a green glow catches Lucy’s eye. The Skull has been quiet, for once displaying an act of human sympathy. A thought crosses Lucy’s mind. Sitting up, she calls out to the Skull.
“Skull,” she says. Her voice is sharp but hollow.
“Yes?” His answer is simple and his voice sounds nothing like it normally does.
“Have you seen him?” she asks, “Have you seen him, you know, over there?”
A sound that resembles a sigh escapes through the opening of the jar. “No love I haven’t. I’m sorry.”
Lucy drew a sharp breath. No, of course Lockwood hadn’t stayed around as a ghost. Why would he? Tears pool in her eyes again. It’s not like he would’ve wanted to see me anyway, Lucy thought.
“I’m sorry Lucy, I really am.” His voice sounds heavy, almost like he is sad.
She says nothing. All of a sudden the apartment seems much smaller than before, almost as if the walls are closing in on her. She has to get out. Lucy walks out the door in such a rush that she doesn’t take anything with her, not even her rapier. She doesn’t care. Night has fallen and is filled with dangers, but she doesn’t care.
Tears still stain Lucy’s face as she leaves her apartment and eventually Tooting. Her pace is quick and her mind awhirl. Time both flies and stands still at the same time. At first she has no intentions, she’s just walking. But all of a sudden she is halfway to Portland Row without even realizing it. She doesn’t know why, or what she’ll do when she gets there, she just walks.
It’s a long walk from her apartment to 35 Portland Row. During this time, something inside of Lucy snaps. A sudden, overwhelming feeling comes over her. She hasn’t realized until now just how much she misses them, George and Holly. Her need to be with them is immense. This overwhelming feeling is also mixed with guilt. Lucy sort of knew that the funeral had been today, she just hadn’t really been thinking about it. She couldn’t have brought herself to go anyway. She couldn’t have faced George and Holly, she would’ve felt ashamed. Not only is it her fault that Lockwood is dead, but she left George and Holly too. They probably didn’t have great feelings for Lucy. But now Lucy has to see them. Her mind blocks out any logical thought that might cause her to turn around and go home. Her feet are driven on by that mixture of guilt and need.
There is a dull ache in her legs and chest, but eventually, Lucy reaches Portland Row. Her heart hurts at the sights that are so familiar to her, and how that familiarity is now something of the past. Seeing Arif’s and the surrounding houses gives her a little comfort, like suddenly she is an agent of Lockwood and Co again on her way home from a case. That dreamlike reality is soon crushed as she reaches the path leading to the front door of number 35.
Two thoughts occur to her. Firstly, it’s about midnight, so George is probably asleep and Holly is most likely back at her apartment. Secondly, 35 Portland Row is not the same. This realization hits Lucy like a brick. Lockwood won’t be inside, she thinks. If she were to walk up to the door and knock, Lockwood would not answer. Suddenly Lucy is looking at the house with a very different perception. All of the qualities that she once loved and made her feel safe were no longer there. It makes sense. The biggest reason that Lucy loved the house was gone.
She is rooted in her spot there in front of the house, but in a moment the lack of Lockwood’s presence painfully rips her away. She can’t be here. Despite the desperateness she feels in her heart to be with her friends, the reminder that it won’t be Lockwood on the other side of the door is enough to overpower that feeling.
Just before turning to leave, Lucy feels one last small urge to move forward instead, but she can’t. She starts walking towards her apartment.
The way home is simple and Lucy should have no trouble getting there, but she can’t help feeling so very, very lost.