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Working at Lockwood & Co was difficult in the beginning. Joining an already established partnership that ran entirely too well for the career they had meant Lucy had to figure out how to form her own bonds with her colleagues without disturbing the ones that were already there. Missions were fine, they all had different skills so they meshed well together that way. Lucy was the Listener, Lockwood the one with the Sight and George the one with the Touch. They would research together, ideas bouncing well and they could easily form a well-organised plan that played to each of their strengths but it went no deeper than that, at least not with Lucy there.
She knows that George and Lockwood spend nights locked up in the library talking about everything and nothing. In the first month, Lucy didn’t mind that she wasn’t involved, really all she was doing was trying to survive in her new life while mourning her best friend that isn’t quite dead but isn’t all there. When the second month is up, four almost-death-scares later, Lucy starts to crave some sort of intimacy passed the planning talks at the dining room table. Not much, maybe some camaraderie and light-hearted teasing or to experience some of the ease she can see between George and Lockwood.
It started slow.
Instead of disappearing to her room as soon as they’re done with planning or done with missions, she sits at the dining table with a cup of tea and reads something or she makes cookies because she knows they’re running low on biscuits and she sometimes craves warm chocolate chip cookies instead of the rich tea biscuits the boys seem to favour. George doesn’t say anything about her appropriating his kitchen, he seems thankful for the nights off he gets when she decides to make them a meal.
Granted, they’re never as elaborate as George’s - he’s definitely the better chef of the two - but they’re often warming and homey. She used to cook for her mother in an attempt to earn her love but this is different, this is her wanting to cook for her colleagues after they’ve had a long day fighting Type 1s and 2s until their muscles ache and their heads hurt.
Lucy gets hurt on a mission fighting a Type 2 and she doesn’t tell them. Instead, she leans against the bathtub and gently sews herself up with the first aid kit. She doesn’t mind, her father used to do more damage when he was drunk so she knows what she’s doing. The stitches are straight and the ache dulls as she sends back a few pills of paracetamol before packing up and cleaning up after herself. She makes muffins then, wanting the warm fluffiness to soothe the pain and she moves slowly, deliberately, around the kitchen as she usually does, humming some soft tune absentmindedly.
Norrie used to sing a lot. It helped assuage Lucy’s pain. With Lucy’s abilities mainly tied up in her hearing it leaves her frazzled if she’s gone too deep into the source, meaning she can sometimes still hear scared or sad or angry voices long after they’ve dealt with the problem. Norrie knew that and used to coddle Lucy close to her chest and hum a tune - one Lucy could never recognise by name but always by the tenor.
“What song is that?” George asks gently, not wanting to startle her from where he’s leaning on the doorframe of the kitchen. He’s not exactly the quiet one in the house but only once you get him going does he really start to ramble, Lucy likes to listen to the way his voice changes with his passion. She doesn’t think she’d ever get bored of the subjects he talks about even if she couldn’t read the books herself without wanting to rip her eyeballs out of her head just to save her the trouble.
“Oh,” Lucy thinks about it. She pours the mixture into the muffin wrappers she picked up when she did the grocery shopping, having noticed that both boys were so tired this week and she wanted to help, “I don’t really know. My friend she uh she used to sing it to me when I got fried during missions.” Lucy sends him one of her small smiles before she slides the muffins into the oven to bake.
“What happened to her?” George is hesitant about the subject since Lucy has never mentioned it before but she doesn’t mind. She understands curiosity, sometimes she thinks she can stifle her own but she often fails.
“The last mission I went on before I came here, we went out with our team. I could tell it was something more than they told us as soon as we got there, but our handler didn’t listen. He told us to handle it and less than ten minutes later everyone was dying. I begged him for help but he backed out of the door and left us there, I had to drag Norrie out of the building where all of our friends had died and when I tried to speak to her… she was-is ghost locked. Our handler lied after that, during the trial. They blamed me, I told them to shove it and two weeks later I was on your doorstep stealing biscuits.”
“I’m sorry,” George whispers, sliding into one of the seats at the dining table and Lucy tries to hide the way she lights up at the company. She’s been so alone and here he is making an effort. She knows he likes his tea with half a sugar and a dash of milk and he seems surprised at her ability to notice things. “Do you-do you go and see her when you go out for the day?”
“No. I can’t go back there. My mother… she’s not a nice person and she’d sell me out to Jacobs as soon as I step foot in that town. Besides, everyone there thinks it was my fault and they won’t believe me when I argue.” George looks at her with wide eyes and Lucy just smiles, sliding into the seat opposite him with her own tea grasped between her palms, warm against her cold skin.
“Where do you go?”
“Everywhere,” Lucy replies wistfully, “London is so much bigger than anywhere else I’ve ever been, it’s neverending. Sometimes I watch the ducks in the park or I sneak into an orchestra practice, I went on the London Eye but I forgot how high that went and freaked out at the top.”
“You’re scared of heights?” George sounds amused, his eyebrow raised in a way that makes her laugh bashfully. She shrugs and looks down at her mug.
“Everyone’s afraid of something, right?”
After that things are a little easier with George. Every so often he sits with her while she cooks or bakes, telling her about the most recent thing he read because he knows she’ll listen raptly and ask question after question that even gets him thinking about the topic and diving back into his pile of books to figure it out. She likes the noise, especially after missions where her gift is the main tool they use, and she also enjoys the company, even when they’re both quiet.
Lockwood is a harder nut to crack. Either he’s on a mission or he’s hidden in his room or in the library with George. Lucy will never encroach on their time together unless invited so finding time to make any sort of connection with Lockwood seems impossible until he sits down at the dining table next to George while Lucy makes a cake. She’s always enjoyed baking more than cooking and George already has ideas on what he wants to make for dinner that she will not ruin for him. “Is that chocolate?” Lockwood asks and Lucy nods absentmindedly, stirring rhythmically as the flour is folded into the wet mixture.
She yelps in surprise when he swipes his finger through it and sticks it into his mouth, “You uncivilised heathen!” Lucy yanks the bowl away and smacks his questing hands, “No double dipping.” George is laughing behind them, tapping his fingers against his mug as he watches Lucy fight a losing battle. “Okay! Okay! God, let me pour it and you can have the bowl and the spoon after!”
That’s enough to get Lockwood to back down and slink back to the table. She didn’t realise all she had to do was make a chocolate cake to trigger his inner child and she notes it down in her head to make it again in the future. George doesn’t comment on the fact she just successfully negotiated with the most stubborn member of their team but she feels pretty proud of the fact, she will remember it always.
The distance between the two of them and her seems to shorten slightly. They gather in the kitchen two or three times a week, Lockwood and Lucy listening to George’s theories no matter how crazy they may seem while Lucy makes some sort of sweet treat or their meal for the evening. But it doesn’t truly break until both boys come down with the flu at the same time. At first, it’s not noticeable, George is quieter than usual but Lucy blames it on the way they’ve been constantly working without breaking for rest for almost a fortnight. She feels worn down too so she also doesn’t notice that Lockwood is spending even more time in his bedroom than usual and his rigorous training schedule has taken a hit.
Both their facades break when she hears them both puking at the same time in different bathrooms. From her convenient place in the kitchen, she digs through the cabinets to find anything that may be useful in treating the common flu and comes up with two pills of ibuprofen and a sachet of cold and flu. With two sick boys and their needs, this won’t do so she sighs and throws her head back before marching to each of their rooms to grab their duvets, pillows and blankets to set them up in the lounge while both of them continue to puke their guts up. She prepares a fresh pot of chamomile tea with honey for their nausea and sets that up on the coffee table.
She’s able to coax George out of the bathroom first, cleaning him up with a cool wet cloth and leading him into the lounge where he’s delighted to bury himself underneath everything with the intent of warming up with a cup of tea in his sweater paws. Lockwood is a little irascible when Lucy pokes and prods at his face that is currently pressed against the toilet seat, his skin paler and his eye bags more stark than usual. Eventually, she’s able to put him down next to George, both of them a pitiful sight as she stands opposite them and debates leaving them to go to the store.
“Right, I have to run to the shop. Stay here and get some rest, I’ll be back soon,” They both protest her trip due to the late hour but she knows that they need it so she prepares a bag and brings her rapier with her for the short trip to the supermarket after fighting off two flu-ridden idiots intent on going with her. The trip is easygoing, her hands weighed down with goodies like cough medicine and electrolyte drinks.
She forces both of them to take a plethora of pills and drink their drinks while she disappears to the kitchen to make some chicken soup knowing that it’s meant to be one the best treatments for sickness. Once that’s done and eaten, the boys asleep and the dishes done, she curls up in the armchair with a book in her lap and waits for them to wake up.
Lucy manages to get a lot done while the boys are sick which surprises her. She gets the groceries, cleans the house from top to bottom, organises the basement and the library and completes two missions on her own due to the tight time constraints Lockwood put in the contracts before falling ill. It takes almost an entire week for them both to get their strength back, Lucy having spent the entire week coddling them whenever she was around with gentle touches and wet cloths, plying them with soup and crackers and endless cups of tea.
George is up first, fresh out of the shower and seated at the dining table while Lucy bakes cookies. He’s happy to lay his head on his folded arms as he watches her move around the kitchen while humming softly. “I’m glad you didn’t get sick, Luce,” George says as she places a glass of orange juice in front of him.
“Me too. I am an absolute nightmare, I’ve been told. Morning, Lockwood,” Lucy greets as the third in their trio drops heavily into his designated seat at the table.
“Thank you, Luce. I imagine we were both sore sights all week,” Lockwood rubs his face and Lucy can feel his ripple of embarrassment at the fact he needed care all week. She knows that if he had his way he would have hidden in his room and suffered silently, suddenly she’s grateful for the stubborn bones in her body that made sure he did not suffer alone.
“I’m glad you’re both feeling better, I was dreading doing the next case alone,” Lucy laments, thinking about how disastrous it would’ve been if she had even attempted to try it alone. The next few hours are spent theorising and planning for their next case.
After that, the changes are small but noticeable. They touch her more, gentle hands on elbows, guiding hands on the small of her back, brushing knuckles against her hand. Small, casual touches and it has her touch-starved body shuddering and singing at the same time, waiting for the next. They come to her for medical treatment after cases that end in injuries, allowing her to touch the bare skin of their shoulders and stomachs in their most vulnerable form. Lucy is incandescent with glee when they show her the trust they have in her, the way they ask her to have their back, their eyes flicking to her in their uncertainty and feeling bolstered just from her presence.
The first time they truly take care of her is when her mother turns up at their house while Lucy is upstairs sleeping from the heavy case they suffered through the night before. George has some idea of what Lucy feels for her mother so when he comes down to find Lockwood giving the woman tea and some of the cookies that Lucy baked with her own hands, he feels rage for the first time in a long while. He stifles it, chokes it down with the hope that he can keep himself controlled if only for Lucy’s sake.
“Ah, George! Come and meet Mrs Carlyle, Lucy’s mother,” George shakes her hand briskly and Lockwood tenses in reaction, he can see the line of tension in George’s shoulders and can feel the loathing the other boy is projecting.
“What can we do for you, Mrs Carlyle?” George’s voice is cold though only Lockwood would notice it and Lockwood runs through a million different scenarios in his head that would explain why George dislikes the woman. He sticks to George’s protective feelings for Lucy, how they’ve spoken in detail in their library sessions about how they both hate when she’s hurt, how when she’s upset they just want to be able to fix it for her. This woman must have hurt Lucy at some point, enough to make George hate her.
“I’m here to see my daughter. It’s been a long time and I am struggling,” Lockwood bites down a vicious retort, suddenly wanting to rip her throat out with his bare teeth just for insinuating that Lucy is worth nothing more than money. Lockwood would be the one who would have to pay the woman and he would rather peel his skin off and rub his nerve endings with salt than do that. “I doubt she told you but she got her entire team killed, you see, and then lied about it. I just need her to apologise to Mr Jacobs so she can get her job back.”
“No.” Lockwood doesn’t elaborate. He just leans back in his seat languidly like he is sure of his territory and his power in this situation. George finds it unfairly attractive and wishes he could also give off such self-assuredness but he’s too overwhelmed by fury right now.
“You don’t have the right to keep me from my daughter, Mr Lockwood,” She raises her nose and sharpens her glare, Lockwood is about to reply when Lucy appears in the doorway wearing her pyjamas and nursing a cup of tea. She freezes like a startled deer when she spots her mother, the woman in question launching herself up from the sofa and George watches Lucy flinch with a sinking heart.
This woman has definitely laid hands on her, he can’t explain the feeling he has in his chest at the idea of someone harming Lucy, especially someone who should love her with their entire being. “Lucy, get your things, we’re leaving.”
Lucy - strong, stubborn, vibrant Lucy - can’t seem to move. She looks at George with wide, scared eyes and he’s in front of her without even thinking about it, hardly recognising his movements until he can feel her shaking body against his chest. “George, take her upstairs, I’ll handle this.” Lockwood’s voice leaves no room for argument and George knows that he needs to get Lucy out of there before she dissolves into a panic attack.
He gets her to his room before she starts crying silently, her face blank and her hands gripping together until white-knuckled so she doesn’t continue to shake. George has only ever seen her wear her heart on a sleeve so to see the wall she’s managed to put up in less than five minutes is actually quite scary for him because he doesn’t know what to do. He knows when Lucy is excited to let her ramble on for however long is necessary. He knows that when she’s tired, she likes Earl Grey tea with a dash of lemon and a spoonful of sugar.
“Lucy,” George prompts, hoping to get something out of her rather than the bone-chilling silence they’re currently stewing in. He moves closer to her, hoping that he can bring her back to Earth by touching her and the second he’s close enough she falls into his side, allowing his arm to wrap around her waist and press her in tightly. She hides her face in his shoulder as she cries and he drags his fingers through her mussed hair.
It doesn’t take long for the front door to slam and Lockwood to appear in the doorway with a tray of chamomile tea for all three of them. “Luce,” Lockwood whispers, trying to coax her out of George’s shirt so he can see her. He aches when he sees her red cheeks and teary eyes. “Here, I brought tea.”
In the end, they find themselves in the library. Lucy is sitting with her back against the armrest, her legs over both of them as she rests her head on Lockwood’s shoulder while George explains what he’s discovered about their case that they’ve been stuck on for two days. Lucy is quieter than usual, content to just listen as the other two bicker over which plan to use and which would be most effective.
Lucy’s mother’s visit was never explicitly spoken about after that but none of them really cared, they knew enough. Out of that visit came casual cuddle sessions on the couch in the library and an ease that Lucy never expected. She came to London for a job and expected to live alone and work for a big company where her name didn’t really matter but instead she got this. She’s suddenly feeling lucky.
That is until a mission goes wrong. The owner said it was just a Type 1, an upset woman who wouldn’t stop crying and kept him awake at night but presented without violence. It ended up being three Type 2s that they hadn’t prepped for and the owner had locked them in to fix it without them even knowing so escape was impossible.
They had been thrown through walls already, each of them searching for the source of each Type 2 and hoping beyond hope that they would all return home together. All alive and all sane. George finds his first, trapping it in a silver box with a groan of pain. His entire left side is smarting with pain but he forces himself to run through the rest of the house to find the others. He finds Lockwood first, his head bleeding, his hands too and George fends off the Type 2 for long enough to get Lockwood back on his feet.
“You okay?” George asks, holding his own ribs while leaning close to the other boy who seems so relieved to see him.
“Hmm, we’re taking a week off after this,” Lockwood replies and George manages a breathy laugh, his chest hurting under the pressure. “Lucy?”
“I don’t know,” George sounds as scared as Lockwood so they tear apart the room to find the source, no longer caring about the damage they cause due to the violation of the contract. DEPRAC will have to handle that. “Lucy!”
“Up here!” Lockwood and George hardly have to think before they’re flying up the stairs to Lucy’s aid. If they thought they were injured then they were definitely not when they see Lucy. She’s battered to hell, barely standing but holding her own against the Type 2 with only her rapier. The boys divide and conquer, Lockwood joins Lucy in the fight while George dismantles the room with a fervour he didn’t know he possessed until finally, the third source is locked up and the ghosts are gone.
Lucy drops like a deadweight to the floor, “Lucy!” Lockwood shouts, diving across the room with George in tow to look her over. “Lucy, stay awake.”
“Luce, you can’t close your eyes, okay?” George is as frantic as Lockwood, trying to find where she may be in pain, what might be causing her dizziness but there are bruises everywhere. “Fuck, we need to call DEPRAC.” Lucy makes a noise and leans into their hands as she starts to close her eyes again.
“No, darling, don’t you dare,” Lockwood scolds softly and George knows it’s not the time but he wants to smile. It’s taken so long for the three of them to fall together as they have and George wants to enjoy it, wants to enjoy the way Lockwood is softening to the both of them but right now the three of them are in pain and exhausted and DEPRAC need to handle the rest because the dumbass owner violated the contract.
Lockwood forces the doctors to keep the three of them together since none of them needs surgery, he flits like a mother hen between the two of them. He got away with a head laceration but no concussion so once he was stitched up he was on the warpath. Lucy and George are given beds and tests and x-rays galore while Lockwood bites his knuckles to stop himself from lashing out when one of them makes a pained noise.
George has three fractured ribs while the rest of his left side is acutely bruised including his wrist and shoulder. Thankfully no neck or head wounds. Lucy has minor internal bleeding that will resolve itself overnight and a minor concussion with acute bruising on her right leg and arm from where she was thrown at the wall. “You two are going to be the death of me,” Lockwood whispers in the middle of the night once both of them have been fully checked over.
He’s on a chair in between their beds, George on his right, Lucy on his left. He holds their hands, fingertips pressed to their pulse to keep track of the beat. “At least we get a week off,” George says playfully and Lucy giggles, squeezing Lockwood’s hand when he glares.
Their week off consists entirely of Lockwood coddling them to the best of his ability. Pressing them tightly to his chest every chance he gets and chasing them with food, pain medication and tea until they complain. They pile up together in Lockwood’s bed, Lucy tucked tightly between them, skin to skin, pulse to pulse as they sleep.
They don’t talk about it, they don’t feel the need to, not even when their stuff all seems to gather in Lockwood’s room so they don’t have to venture out into the cold house to get it. Not when Lucy’s blanket is folded at the bottom of his bed, nor when George’s books and notes accumulate on top of Lockwood’s desk. Suddenly, they don’t sleep alone and they prefer it that way.
The first kiss isn’t even a surprise. Lucy’s making chocolate cake because Lockwood has been looking too withdrawn recently and she wants to see him smile again, George is sitting at the table sketching on the thinking cloth while Lockwood makes them tea. It’s when Lucy, without prompting, hands the bowl to Lockwood once she’s filled the cake tray with batter that the kiss happens. Lockwood’s grip on her hips is gentle as he guides her down into his lap, she doesn’t flinch as he leans towards her, brushing their noses together playfully until she smiles at him.
He kisses her then and she kisses back. Lockwood reaches out towards George and is quickly granted the other boy’s hand and then they’re all gathered together like they do at night, Lucy sandwiched between them. The kisses that follow are explorative, gentle probing tongues and curious hands. George likes to kiss Lockwood’s neck, the tendons gripped between nipping teeth and the noises he gets out of the boy with the best facade. Lucy likes George’s jawline, nuzzling it with her lips until he sighs and nudges her to face him properly.
After that the kisses are common place. When they leave each other, soft pecks of reassurance and goodbye, heated make out sessions by the fire and in their bed, bite marks and hickeys left on necks and shoulders and chests. “And where have you been?” Lockwood asks George playfully as the boy enters the kitchen for their usual debate on who is cooking dinner.
Lucy is straddling Lockwood’s lap, her legs swinging slowly back and forth with her arms around his neck, face pressed to his chest. George likes her like that, soft and playful, warm and wrapped up, safe in their arms. He likes Lockwood like it too, protected and smiling, really, genuinely smiling. “Sleeping, I was researching in the library and I passed out on a book.”
“Blasphemy,” Lucy yelps, remembering when she did that in her first month of residence and George snatched the book from under her and scolded her for doing such a thing. George just hums and leans down to kiss each of their heads before making a beeline for the kettle. “You okay, Georgie?”
“Hmm? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Guess I just needed a little extra sleep.”
“You want me to cook tonight?”
“I can help,” Lockwood offers and both of them turn to look at him with raised eyebrows.
“You can’t cook for shit,” George says, “I’m good, Luce. I fancy something specific and as much as I love your cooking, this would not suit your talents.” Lucy snatches his hand from her hair and tugs him into a proper kiss before planting a few on his cheek until he goes a delightful shade of pink.
“Also, I expect a kiss since you just brutally insulted me,” Lockwood claims and George rolls his eyes, leaning down to grant the wish.
“Sorry, darling, but you burned rice last week and that’s one of the easiest things to cook.”
“Is he using pet names to ease the pain of the insult, Luce?”
“I think so,” Lucy eggs him on until the boys are full on bickering over her head while George cooks something that smells incredible. Once food has been eaten and Lockwood and Lucy do the dishes because they didn’t cook, Lucy races Lockwood to the library where George is already sitting on the end of the sofa with a book in his lap. One of Lucy’s favourite fiction books which brings her great satisfaction as he often refused to read anything other than something for a case.
She’s quick to shove Lockwood down onto the sofa, laying him out with his head in George’s lap so she can lay on top of him, her head tucked under his chin. Without prompting, George starts to read aloud, his hand slipping under her shirt to brush gently against her ribs and down her side while she curls her fingers through Lockwood’s hair in the way she knows he likes it.
“She’s asleep,” Lockwood whispers after an hour, looking up at the slopes of George’s face and falling again for him without worry. He knows they’ll catch him and he’ll catch them too. George hums and puts down the book, his now free hand stroking over Lockwood’s forehead and through his hair, careful not to dislodge Lucy’s careful grip on the nape of Lockwood’s neck. “I love you.”
George smiles gently, leaning down for a kiss before whispering the words against his lips. “She’s good for us, huh?” George asks a few moments later, his hand swooping over her hair and down her back, open palm sliding against her skin where her shirt has ridden up.
“I would even say perfect.”