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In all her time with Lockwood and Co., Lucy had seen many emotions on her friend and boss. She’d seen happiness, sorrow, annoyance, even frustration. Frustration, but never anger. Not until now.
And she had to admit, it was alarming. It started out civil; She and Lockwood were sitting in a tea shop, one of her favorites. When Lockwood had asked her to go on a walk with him she’d been hesitant. It was a mere three days after her ‘outburst’ at dinner, as the skull claimed he’d overheard George and Holly calling it. She didn’t want to go, but Holly had insisted on it after Lockwood had left the room.
She was starting to regret her decision as she looked away from him and out the window, watching a drop of rain trace its way down the glass. The visit to the shop had started out civil. they had ordered their drinks, earl grey for Lockwood and black tea with milk and sugar for herself.
“Quite the rain…” Lockwood had said awkwardly. He was obviously trying to break the usually companionable silence that had turned awkward. Lucy nodded glumly. She stared into the tea, watching a bit of undissolved sugar circle the cup. She knew why they were here, Lockwood knew why they were here, George and Holly knew why they were here; Hell, even the skull knew why she was here. They were in her favorite teashop, with Lockwood, her friend Lockwood, sitting silently and avoiding conversation.
“You know, Holly told me the mint tea here was to die for. I’ve never actually tried it; maybe next time.” Lucy commented.
“Well it’s open all night, so maybe that’s literal.” Lockwood joked.
Their conversation, if you could call it that, continued in a sporadic fashion. There never really was a topic, and while Lucy tried her best to look anywhere but her soon-to-be former boss, she could feel Lockwood’s gaze boring holes into her forehead.
After nearly twenty minutes of avoiding the real reason they were there, Lockwood cleared his throat. “Lucy, you can’t leave. We need you.” Lucy coughed awkwardly, she hadn’t been prepared for the topic to come up so suddenly. She knew it would eventually but still, she was caught unaware.
“What about what I need?” Lucy asked evenly. “Lockwood, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to stay. I have things I want to do, I-” she faltered, unsure of how to continue. Cut to the chase Carlyle, her brain chided “I’m a danger. A danger to you, and a danger to the others, and I can’t let you get hurt because of me.”
“Bull,” Lockwood responded before she could continue. “Lucy, when have you ever been a danger-”
“The Hope’s House? When I brought Annie Ward's ghost into Portland row or when I threw a rapier to you and you almost fell out the window going after it? What about Little Tom? What about Aickmeres’, and the Wythburn Mill? Lockwood, two of these were in the past month! That’s just the tip of the iceberg and they’ll be more to come if I stay.”
Lockwood seemed to be unaffected by her list. Maybe he was irked that she had interrupted him, but otherwise remained calm.
“I forgot the chains, we both thought her body was the source, it was dark and crowded in that attic. Little Tom, well, it doesn’t help my case but I have to admit that was your fault. Still, with your talent it was bound to happen eventually; I shouldn’t have been so hard on you. I don’t think you’re a vengeful poltergeist, so that crosses Aickermere off the list. And that last one wasn’t even with us - and you know that what happened was your damn supervisor's fault. Is that what you want to go back to? Because that’s what it’ll be like if you leave Lucy. It’ll be back to adults who don’t listen, who boss you around without being able to see a cold maiden a foot from their face.”
Lucy had avoided looking at him until now, when she dared a glance at him. The tips of his ears and his cheeks were an angry red, and his lips were pressed into a thin line.
“Well, technically, I won’t have to answer to a supervisor, I’ll work freelance and be my own boss. Sure, I’ll be collaborating with other teams, but you know…” She trailed off. One hand was now pressing at her collar bones through her sweater, trying to keep the panic from rising.
“What do I know, Luce?” The nickname that usually flooded her cheeks with warmth was cold and sharp as vinegar. “What I know is that you’re the best listener I’ve ever seen. Your talent isn’t dangerous-”
“If my talent isn’t what’s dangerous, then what is? Me?” Lucy interrupted. When she said she was dangerous, she believed it; she hoped Lockwood did too. It would make it easier for everyone to accept her departure if they did, especially herself. Maybe if she left, the image of dead Lockwood would no longer be imprinted on her eyelids. Besides, he wouldn’t believe her if she told him about the fetch; He would brush her off the same way he did with the woman in the wardrobe or with little Tom.
Lockwood made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “You’re not- that’s not how it works.” He ran a hand through his hand and whispered something under his breath. “Listen, Lucy, I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn; there has to be another reason. You’re not dangerous. Everything you’ve mentioned is just part of our damn job!” A few customers turned to look at them. The barista seemed frightened by the noise, as if she was ready to close up shop at any sudden movement. It made one part of Lucy angry, defensive; that part of her wanted to tell the girl that Lucy faced ghosts on a daily basis, that it wasn’t that hard dealing with an angry customer, and it’s not like Lockwood was mad at her. The other part of her was cowering just as the girl was, the part of Lucy that was still a little girl - a little who had been witness to and the object of too much yelling far too soon. The child who would curl up in one of her older sister's beds, hands over ears as they rubbed her back and brushed her hair.
Lucy could feel tears threatening to rise, but she pushed them back. “I need to use the restroom.” She said, her voice rough in a way that must’ve sounded foreign to Lockwood's ears. In fact, it would’ve sounded strange to anyone but herself and her sister Mary. They were the only people she cried in front of.
She pushed her chair away from the table, wincing at the squeal of it scraping against the floor. For a moment, Lockwood looked as if he was going to say something, perhaps apologize for shouting. Lucy watched for a moment, but his face hardened back into a steely line, and she turned towards the restroom in the back of the cafe.
The bathroom was nice. The floors were made of sage green tiles, the lights were warm, and the lavender diffuser sitting on the granite countertop filled the room with its sweet, heavy fragrance. The smell should’ve been comforting, but at this moment, it only reminded her of cases gone wrong. Lucy glanced at herself in the mirror. She leaned forward and tried to rub the tension away from her wide, watery eyes, and slightly drawn eyebrows. She splashed cold water on her face, letting out ragged breaths as she patted her face dry with a rough, brown paper towel. She glanced at the mirror one last time, practicing a smile, then rolled her eyes. “Get it together Carlyle, Jesus Christ.” Then she left the bathroom, retracing her steps back to the table by the window.
Lucy didn’t say anything as she sat back down, instead, she reached for her quickly cooling tea. “We should head back. I need to sign the paperwork.” She said, not being able to come up with anything else or bear the silence. She couldn’t look at him; part of her brain simply wouldn’t let her. It made the bang of Lockwood's fist against the table all the more unexpected.
“Goddammit. No, you’re not fucking leaving!” Lockwood shouted. Lucy looked up sharply. She’d heard Lockwood angry before, but not like this, never like this. No matter how angry he was, he was never violent. She knew this anger came from wanting her to stay, and in other circumstances, she might have been happy for it. But the man seated across from her wasn’t the Lockwood she knew; he was too angry, too loud, too much like a past she wanted to forget. She could feel her lips twitching into a sarcastic smile as she focused her eyes on the wall to the left of his head. When she was young this was what she would do, and it worked. No matter how loud her mother shouted or how long it lasted Lucy would keep on staring at the wall, ignoring every word until she was safely alone. So, with her jaw locked and her eyes still trained on the wall, she let him fume.
“You’re a part of our team. If you think we’re going to let you leave, then you’re an idiot.” The sentiment might’ve been nice if it wasn’t being yelled at her and used to disregard her fears. Why won’t he listen? her voice echoed in the back of her head. She knew why, of course, but the brain was perhaps as mysterious as the Other Side.
“I don’t know why you’re acting like this. You don’t see George trying to quit every time he can’t find anything in the archives! Really, Luce, you’re overreacting. This wasn’t an issue when you burned down the Hope’s house, so why is it now?” Because a ghost didn’t tell me you were going to die that time.
Lockwood paused for a moment as if waiting for her to speak. When she didn’t respond, He kept going, no longer shouting now.
“Why do I even bother - you never listen anyway.” He stood up, putting on his coat as he finished, “Fine, leave. It’s not like there aren’t other listeners in London.”
As he turned to exit, his coat caught on a small nail poking out of the chair. With a loud rip, the coat came loose and he stumbled backward, sunglasses falling out of his pocket. Lockwood looked back only to snatch them off the ground before walking out.
Lucy stared. This was what she had wanted, so why was her brain so desperately screaming at her to go after him?
She stayed where she was, and after a moment, walked to the counter. “For the disturbance,” She said, placing down a five-pound note, and exiting the shop. Once she was outside she exhaled, and let the tears run silently down her face, knowing they’d be disguised by rain.
When she got home she wiped her face and asked Holly if she knew where the resignation papers were. The other girl took her to sign them. Afterwards, Lucy went up to her room, threw the clothes in her room into her suitcase, and stuffed the skull into her backpack. She did not come down when George called for dinner. She only left her room at 3 am, rapier in hand, when she left Portland Row for the last time.