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They had been operating in a kind of oblivious truce up until this point. The screening party thrown in their sitting room (really can they call it a party when they’ve only invited five people) was intended to be a celebration of how far they’ve come as an agency.
Lockwood was thrilled to have finally made some real headlines, the agency bearing his name gracing the cover of his favorite gossip paper - LONDON’S ICONIC TRIO, LOCKWOOD & CO, SAVES THE NATION. Sensational headline notwithstanding, they were on the rise. The cherry on top was the photo printed; he looked devilishly handsome and quite nearly dangerous, with his swashbuckling demeanor and wicked grin.
“You do hold a high opinion of yourself, don’t you?” George commented drolly. “I can see you drooling over your picture from across the room.” Lockwood chucked the paper onto the coffee table and missed Flo’s murmured, “I’m sure it was his picture he’s makin’ eyes at.”
“Look, look - it’s about to come on!” George hustled for the remote to turn up the volume. “All that fuss better have been worth it, we nearly got the poor cameraman killed on that job.” Emphatic agreements chorused round the room. Inviting cameras to follow them to a job for their segment was probably the worst call, but Lockwood was always happy to make those if it meant they’d be recognized for their talent.
After much pleading from Lockwood and George, Lucy was the last of them to acquiesce and agree to the whole endeavor. She was quite dreading seeing herself on the telly and especially concerned about how daft she’d sound during her interview. Lucy found herself lying awake more nights than not, replaying the awkward responses she gave and desperately praying to the media gods that she wasn’t caught on tape doing something mortifying.
The chatter died down as the reporter flashed a winning smile at the camera. “I’m sure you’ve all heard by now of the hot new agency on the rise in London, Lockwood & Co. Relative newcomers on the scene, they are making quite the name for themselves on the heels of resolving several high-profile cases…”
Following the introduction was a dazzling supercut of the trio in action - Lockwood swishing his rapier expertly to shield Lucy, who was lobbing salt bombs over his shoulder whilst George scrambled to retrieve the Source from beneath a floorboard; they even managed to make George’s long stints in the Archives look mysterious and cool.
Lucy cast a glance at Lockwood, who was rapt on the grainy screen. His eyes shifted to meet hers and he flashed her a soft half-grin; how did he have a second sense for knowing when she looked at him? Now the program began in earnest, following them as they worked through a case. “Come on, Luce, it can’t be that bad, can it?”
As it turns out, it can.
By some miracle, no one else in the room seemed to pick up on it. Not George, not Flo, not even Holly or Kipps pointed it out - as if they didn’t even watch the same program as Lucy. More mortifying than being caught tripping up a staircase or having something stuck in her teeth was how the camera seemed attuned specifically to pick up on every single interaction between her and Lockwood.
Lucy, watching Lockwood pace as they planned their attack at the kitchen table with the softest expression she’s ever made.
Lockwood, checking in with her to make sure she’s okay as they reach the job site.
Lucy, looking to Lockwood for reassurance before stepping inside the threshold of their client’s home.
Lockwood, reaching out and steadying Lucy with a hand on the small of her back after she snaps to after Touching an old stuffed bear.
Lucy, leaning into his touch as she recovers from the cold, insidious feelings from the toy.
Lockwood, reaching for her hand and pulling her behind him when a Visitor makes their first appearance.
Lucy, a faint pink tinge on her cheeks and fucking stars in her eyes while Lockwood helps her wrap her upper arm in gauze after removing a large splinter from a shattered door frame.
Lockwood, mild panic on his face as he rushes to shield Lucy from even more debris (they really need to work on their aim with those bombs).
Lucy, desperately seeking out Lockwood’s prone figure through the dusty haze, scrambling over a heap of rubble and broken furniture to pull the wrecked side table off of him.
Lockwood, looking up at his savior in amazement, his relief that she’s unharmed is palpable through the screen.
To his credit, he doesn’t say anything at first. He can’t stop thinking back to their segment - was it really that obvious, so clearly written on his face? The heat rushes to his neck and ears even now, alone in this room, the blush staining his face like a kid absolutely caught out. Adding insult to injury is how effortlessly Lucy breezed out of the room before the last frame had faded to black, calling over her shoulder she’s just, “Putting the kettle on!” Lockwood heard the terrace door creak open and whump shut. She hadn’t returned, maybe enjoying one of the last warm nights as summer draws to an end. She always hated the spotlight.
The others didn’t even mention it, all swept up in the excitement of being on television. Lockwood’s ecstasy was muted - distracted by the absence he felt. Slowly they packed it in, Kipps rounding up Holly, Kat and Bobby into a night cab while Flo seemed to dissolve into the night. George was the last to beg off, flashing Lockwood the strangest toothy grin and vanishing upstairs without further commentary. Odd.
And Lucy… He thought all this time that any moment between them was imagined on his part, something he pondered fondly in the small hours when he couldn’t sleep. Over and over, he would play his favorite ones on repeat (like the way she smiled at him when she told him she wasn’t leaving to work for Fittes). Lockwood had convinced himself it was wishful thinking, but how could he have missed the way Lucy returned the energy?
He’s lounging in his favorite chair, cheek braced on his hand with one finger resting on his bottom lip. His right foot is bouncing mindlessly. The television is off now, so he can see himself on the dark screen (he looks tired). Before he can stop himself, he launches off the cushion and crosses the space between the forgotten chair and the refrigerator.
Lockwood emerges onto the terrace with two beers in his hand. The balmy night air has the bottles beading with condensation. “Want one?” Lucy accepts the bottle with a small nod. She has simultaneously been dreading this conversation and willing it to happen.
“Luce, I-” he starts, her hesitant “Lockwood…” overlapping. They both halt, regarding each other. Lockwood cracks a smile and takes a swig of beer. “We looked pretty cool, didn’t we?”
Lucy hums in agreement. She’s sitting on the patio table, bare feet swinging just above the damp stones. “I’m glad I didn’t completely make a fool of myself. I still don’t know how I let you two convince me to say yes.”
“You didn’t make a fool of yourself at all. You came across very brave and extremely competent,” Lockwood assured her, stepping closer to her. He was standing in front of her now, his drink abandoned on the cockeyed bird bath crumbling under the weight of time. Her face tilted up to hold his gaze. Lucy wondered if he noticed her white knuckles where she was clutching the edge of the table on either side of her thighs.
“Easily the most competent agent in the room, I should think,” Lucy couldn’t resist a prime opportunity to get a rise out of Lockwood. He hit her with a practiced dramatic look and clutched a hand over his heart.
“Luce, you wound me.” He let his hand drop. For the first time since the doomed Wickman auction, Lucy saw the vulnerable young man behind his charming and bombastic veneer. He looked nervous, completely unsure of himself. His hands hung awkwardly at his side before he made the decision to push them into the pockets of his soft gray hoodie.
That oblivious truce was well and truly shattered, wasn’t it? Because now she was allowing herself to notice the way his eyes darkened just slightly when he held her own, and the way they seemed to gravitate to each other like moths to a flame. Lucy couldn’t hand-wave away the electric shock when he pushed her out of the way of a flying chair and held on as if letting go pained him, or how he looked so defeated when she told him about Kipps’ offer; all of those little moments falling into place like dominoes.
“I haven’t been upholding my end of the deal,” Lockwood offers. Lucy is thrown by the confession. A small wrinkle forms between her brows in confusion. “I haven’t been completely honest with you, Lucy. I think maybe you know what I mean.” She opens her mouth to respond, but doesn’t have the chance to get a word in.
“That is to say, I-” the words he imagined himself saying to her are failing him. Lockwood cuts himself off in frustration and closes the distance left between them. He grips the edge of the table mere centimeters from Lucy’s hands and leans in. Lucy is regarding him with wide eyes, soft as honey. She doesn’t say anything, just waits for him to continue, reminded of the way his hands wound through the hair at the nape of her neck in the middle of his panic at the auction.
Lockwood’s mouth quirks into a small smile, the one he usually reserves for apologies. He brings a hand up to push a lock of hair behind her ear and lets his hand trace her jaw as it comes down to rest on the top of her thigh, just above her knee. Their foreheads press together and Lucy’s own hands move to hold the backs of his arms above his elbows. They stay like that for a heartbeat, two. Lockwood’s eyes drop to her lips and back up, a questioning look on his face. Lucy’s heart skips a beat at his open, honest face and tilts her nose up to bump against his with a tiny smile.
“The thing is, Luce…” Lockwood says, his voice low and rough, “I have spent several nights wondering what it would be like to kiss you.” He had been hungrily drinking in her serene expression but he stops now to hold her gaze.
“And I have spent the past ten minutes wondering when you would,” Lucy murmurs back, tightening her fingers around his arms.
Yes, well and truly broken. In shards at their feet.
Lockwood finally, finally leans in and kisses her.
Lockwood’s mouth feels so warm and soft on Lucy’s. His tongue brushes against her lips and it sends tingles down to her toes. He’s breathing harder, his hands lifting to cradle her neck. Lucy sighs into his mouth and his fingers tighten a little.
It is everything he imagined, and more. The musings of sleepless nights paled in comparison to the living, breathing spectacle of kissing Lucy. She tasted like over-sugared tea and her beer (forgotten on the table behind her). Lockwood moved a hand from her neck to grip her hip, pulling her flush to him and reveling in the way her lips moved against his. His heart was racing; he was fucking giddy.
“Lockwood,” Lucy whispered when they pulled apart. She was just as breathless as he felt. She took in his flushed cheeks with sparkling eyes. He hummed and pressed closer, cupping her jaw and tilting her chin to kiss her forehead. “Anthony…” It sounded like a question. He locked eyes with her and waited, his thumb sweeping a soft arc back and forth across her cheekbone while the other squeezed her hip. Lockwood was touching her as if he couldn’t get enough, like no one handful was satisfactory. Lucy thrilled at the thought, butterflies fluttering in her chest around her racing heart.
“I- I quite like you, I think,” Lucy finished lamely, flushing scarlet. She gave him a sheepish smile, unable to look away from his dazzling grin and dancing eyes.
“Thank goodness,” Lockwood whispered back, “Otherwise this would be a most grave offense.” He leaned in once again and captured her in a soft, sweet kiss. They broke apart giggling, Lucy shaking the table in her clumsy rush to wrap her arms around Lockwood’s neck. The long-forgotten beer bottle clattered to the ground, rolling away into the lush grass. Not a single glance was spared for it, the two so wrapped up in each other.
Except for one glance, above from a window. George had been half asleep before he was startled awake by the sudden crash. He rushed to the window to investigate and was treated with an eyeful.
Scoffing, he drew back from the window and collapsed back in bed. Of the rest of them, he had bet that they’d confess after the segment aired. He knew they couldn’t live on in denial forever. Flo bet on never (can you believe it), Holly bet on the closing of their next case, Bobby insisted that it would happen weeks ago, Kat refused to take part and Kipps simply abstained.
He couldn’t wait to collect his winnings tomorrow.