Chapter Text
“You’ve got to be joking, Lockwood!”
Lockwood turns away, pushing the neat edges of his trenchcoat out of the way as he places his hands on his hips. His tongue sticks out a bit as he bites it, mind racing as he tries to find the perfect words to wrap up this agonizing quarrel.
“You can’t just expect us to be okay with this!” Lucy exclaims. “You didn’t even ask us!” The darker sounds of her accent are enunciated by her anger and the fact he even notices this inadvertently distracts him from the slew of scrambled explanations going through his head.
He pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. Lucy has a point with her fury. It is completely justified by the sequence of events that led them here. But, by God, Lockwood did not want to be ripped apart over something neither she nor George are involved in. They weren’t even supposed to know!
“Luce…” he starts, finally turning back towards her. “I–”
“This is a suicide mission !” Lucy jumps on the small pause in his words, completely shutting down his attempt to explain.
He shifts a bit so he’s standing a bit straighter. “Look, I know it looks bad on paper but–”
“You weren’t even gonna tell us! The only reason you did is because we wanted to watch a film!” Lucy snaps, jabbing her finger into his chest. She swats away his attempt to guide her hand away and rams her finger back into his sternum. “What were me and George supposed to do if you never came back?!”
“Lucy.” The name is said firmly and it makes her pause. Her green eyes hold contact with Lockwood’s whose own remains unreadable. “I know it sounds bad, but I need you to trust me. Please.”
Lockwood can see the cogs turning in her brain as she stares at him. He begins to wonder if she can read his mind, see past the calm exterior he’s trying to ease her with. Does she know his worries? His fear of this job and the consequences to come… for all he knows she could be hearing his inner monologue wondering if she can hear him thinking about her hearing–
No, don’t get distracted Lockwood. Lucy is worried, this is not a time to get lost in an endless loop wondering if her listening can work on humans. Though… It would be cool.
“Fine.”
Lockwood snaps back to the present when Lucy finally speaks.
“But you have to promise me you will come home,” continues Lucy, words more like a demand than a request.
“I will.”
She insists, “in the morning.”
Lockwood hesitates before offering her a soft yet forced reassuring smile. “I will come home, Luce, you have my word.”
She stares at him long and hard. Her eyes dart around as she examines the smile and clear avoidance of her words. The silence is only for a few seconds, but Lockwood feels as though an eternity is ticking by. The tension building in his shoulders is almost unbearable, though when he notices her expression soften, he finds himself relaxing.
“Alright. But you will let us help you research,” Lucy says, crossing her arms. “You’re not going in blind.”
Lockwood sighs and his smile becomes more genuine. “Of course. I expect no less.”
“Good. I’ll go tell George.”
Lockwood nods and watches Lucy leave the living room. A pit of regret starts to build in his stomach now that he’s alone, pulling his fears back to the forefront in order to shred them to ribbons and make them spiral out of control. One worry becomes two, two becomes four, the process exploding in his mind to the point his own inner voice is speaking over itself.
What if there’s visitors? What if there’s multiple? What if they’re Type Two what if there’s a Type Three what if…
…too rare, won’t happen. But…
Could they be walking into a trap? Could he be walking into a trap? Is this…
…even trust him? He’s a Fittes agent there’s no…
What if he dies?
He lowers his head and closes his eyes, placing his hand across his face as he takes a deep breath. Tonight is going to go swimmingly . Nothing will go wrong, because he is on the case, and Lockwood never screws up.
He is not going to die.
At the sound of pounding footsteps descending the stairs, Lockwood looks up and peers curiously through the doorway. He can hear the two of them chatting, but some of the words are lost through the wall. So, he steps around the coffee table, carefully approaching the hallway until he is standing near the open entryway.
“–actually crazy! Does he realize how dangerous this is? None of us have ever stepped foot near that part of London, how can he expect this to go well? It’s the rich part! We don’t know what’s there! And he’s planning to go in blind without asking for help!”
Lockwood huffs out a small laugh at the sound of George’s rambling. He’s far from shocked that the younger boy is irritated by what he can only assume Lucy told him.
The footsteps round the corner and retreat towards the kitchen. Their voices grow muffled again as they step through the door and Lockwood is left to sneak closer. He peeks out of the living room before stepping into the hall. He makes his way to the open kitchen door, minding the creaky floorboards he memorized years ago, and slides up against the wall.
“You know he wasn’t even going to tell us, right? He never does, it’s his entire brand at this point.” Papers shuffle around as George pauses momentarily. “And he wants to go tonight? That doesn’t give us time to research at all!”
“At least he’s not going in alone,” Lucy comments.
“Yeah, well, he practically is!” counters George. “You said he’s going with Kipps, yeah? Well that's basically going alone .”
There’s some more shuffling and muffled grumbling that Lockwood can’t quite make out. He hears the sound of a chair scraping against tile as it’s pulled out from the table before either of them speak again.
“We need to trust him.” It’s Lucy who says this, her voice gentle yet firm.
“I trust his ability to know what he’s walking into but I don’t trust his ability to handle any visitors–”
“Not Kipps, Lockwood.”
George hesitates and Lockwood wonders if the boy is making that face he always makes whenever he gets cut off mid rant. “Right, yeah. Lockwood. Of course I trust him, I just don’t trust the circumstances that he’s going into.”
“The fact that he’s–”
“–going onto the personal property of Penelope Fittes because Quill Kipps doesn’t want to get his own agents in trouble?”
“We don’t know that!” Lucy argues. “He told me Kipps wanted help investigating Penelope Fittes’s property, that’s it.”
George hums. “Kipps has the highest mortality rate of any supervisor currently employed at Fittes. It’s not hard to guess he’s trying to save his friends’ necks, if they’re even his friends. No sane person would want to be his friend.”
Lockwood hears a light chuckle from Lucy, who then says, “that’s true, but that’s not the point of this.”
The two continue to talk, but their voices fade out as Lockwood’s mind drifts. Is he really going to do this? Go out on a reconnaissance expedition in horribly illegal conditions with an agent he has a tumultuous past with? He doesn’t even know the intentions behind Kipps’s request. Lockwood was convinced to help on very little information and, at the time, he didn’t consider the fact he should have asked for more.
He is fairly confident they won’t run into visitors at least. Sneaking around where Penelope Fittes lives comes across as dangerous for reasons other than the undead, because Lockwood highly doubts someone as high standing as her would allow her home to be haunted.
Lockwood lightly taps the wall and bites his lip. Despite his confidence, he should go in prepared, right? Visitors are unpredictable… he should probably bring the necessary gear just in case. Flares, iron chains, a couple nets… He pushes off the wall, nodding slightly. Yes, he will bring that. They will be going through London at night, it will be safer.
Plus, he can save his death wish for something far more glamorous. He refuses to be caught dead next to Quill Kipps.
No longer caught up on the conversation between his friends, Lockwood decides now is a fantastic time to enter the kitchen. He pushes the door open wide and flashes the pair a charming smile. “Good afternoon, George. It’s nice to see you up and moving finally. Did you sleep well?”
George rolls his eyes as Lockwood walks around the table. “I’ve been awake since eight, you know.”
“I haven’t seen you all day ,” Lockwood whines dramatically, leaning forward with his hands propped on the back of his empty dining chair. “I’ve missed you George, you and your wonderful cinnamon pancakes I was looking forward to all week…”
“I was busy researching the Golden Blade,” says George. His deadpan expression nearly sets Lockwood off kilter. “You’re finally in working condition which means I can focus on looking into him, which I planned to set today aside for.”
Lockwood sighs and stands back upright. “And I appreciate you for that George, I really do. It means a lot that you are willing to look into him.”
“Well, I can’t anymore,” George says with a shrug.
Lockwood glances towards Lucy, who only raises an eyebrow at him. Looking back at George, he frowns slightly. “Why not? Is something wrong?”
“Yeah.” George stands up, scraping together a couple of the sprawled pages on the table. He holds them out towards Lockwood who takes them as George explains, “you want to go alone on a secret mission that could get you sent to prison with someone who could very easily sell you out to DEPRAC.”
Lockwood doesn’t know what he’s looking at. He flips through the few papers then gives his younger friend a confused look.
“So, I got you all the background information of Penelope Fittes’s property that I happened to have on hand.”
Lockwood appreciates George’s response to his nonverbal question. Though, in his curiosity, he asks, “why did you have this?”
George opens his mouth to speak but Lucy butts in before he can get a word out.
“I asked him to look into the Fittes family,” she says quickly. “I, uh… I just wanted to know more and he knows the Archives better than I do!”
Lockwood looks between his friends and takes in their outward appearances. Lucy seems stressed, her eyes wide and crooked smile nervous. He can see the nerves in the way her fingers tap her palm and how her gaze flickers towards George. She can’t keep contact with Lockwood for more than a couple seconds. George, though, is calm. He nods when Lockwood’s attention falls on him, solidifying Lucy’s statement.
Lockwood flashes yet another smile. “Thank you for this, I’ll look over it as I get ready to leave.” The two nod and he continues. “Now, I’m going to pack up and prepare for the night. If you guys find anything before I leave, let me know.”
He isn’t stupid. He notices the way Lucy slouches when he ignores how suspicious her jump in was.
“Will do,” George says.
“Wonderful.” Lockwood curls the papers and stuffs them into the inside pocket of his trenchcoat. “I leave in two hours, wish me luck as I head out the door.”
When his hand wraps around the handle to the basement door, Lucy speaks.
“Are you sure we can’t come with you?”
Lockwood turns his head to look over his shoulder. He’s met with her worried gaze and sighs through his nose. “I’m sure, Luce. They aren’t my stipulations. I’d bring you along if I could.”
She nods.
“I’ll let you know when I leave.” With that, he heads down the stairs, pulling the door shut behind him.
Lockwood props his elbows on his thighs as he hunches over, resting his chin in his hands. The chair he’s seated on is an old swivel chair that barely manages to spin. He’s convinced it’s older than him from how worn the cushion is and the way the metal squeaks whenever he sits on it. George has suggested purchasing a new one, but Lockwood doesn’t find it necessary. It works for what he needs: sitting when he’s sulking over a case in the basement.
A duffle bag lays at his feet, stuffed full of the necessities that stock the shelves. Underneath the flares and metal is where he stashed away a change of clothes. Any normal case, Lockwood would do no such thing. Yet, with that nagging worry about how long he will be gone… he would like to be able to stay somewhat clean.
He stares at the bag. He takes the time to notice the intricate machine stitching and the way the old black fabric is beginning to fray along the seams. He has used the bag for as long as he can remember, and he’s more shocked it has lasted this long than he is about the rips.
He halfheartedly kicks the bag before sighing and lowering his head. His eyes fall shut and he can feel the quiet whispers of exhaustion begin to ask for sleep.
Four hours truly is not enough when you’re planning on pulling an all-nighter. Especially one where you risk the fatal encounters of visitors.
He considers going upstairs just to make coffee.
Considers is the key word.
Lockwood exhales and rubs his face. He dreads what lies before him. His time spent down here packing gave him time to sit and stew on the complete lack of information he has, and it only made his fears worse. He has no clue what he’s getting himself into.
He lifts his head, tired eyes staring lazily across the room.
Best case scenario, it’s going to be an in-and-out mission. They will sneak onto Penelope’s property, find whatever it is Kipps is looking for, and be on their way without a hitch. If anything goes wrong, he firmly believes they can handle it. They’re two of the best agents in the entirety of London. It is going to take a lot to knock them down.
Worst case scenario…
Someone dies.
"Lockwood?"
Lockwood perks up when Lucy calls his name from the first floor. "Yeah?"
"George made dinner if you wanna eat before you go!"
"Alright, thank you!" Lockwood turns back to his bag. Eating would be smart, but his stomach is beginning to knot up at just the thought of the task ahead. He wonders if he can even handle a bite.
He stands up and grabs the ragged straps of the duffle bag. Maybe he can. Getting up and moving around will wake him up anyways, so hopefully something to eat will get him the energy he needs to last the night.
The wonderful aroma of George’s cooking greets Lockwood once he is up the stairs. He discards the bag along the wall before circling the table and heading towards the stove. He comes to a stop next to George, peering over the boy’s shoulder.
“It’s stir fry, specifically a recipe that Pa– Joplin gave me before she went psycho on us,” George comments after a quick glance at Lockwood. “I thought now would be a good time to try and reassociate it with you guys, especially since you could be walking into your certain death.”
Lockwood chuckles and pats George on the shoulder. “I am not walking into my death, don’t worry about that. It’s just reconnaissance, George.”
“Sure.”
Lockwood turns to the table and takes his seat at the end. He shoots a smile to the drowsy form of Lucy near the opposite end, which is returned with a close-lipped half-smile. Though, as quick as it appeared, the smile falls and her eyes drop from his, now focusing as if she is fascinated by the scribbled ramblings on the tablecloth. Lockwood frowns slightly.
Before he can ask if she’s alright, George steps between them and places the stir fry in the center of the table. “There we go, do let me know if I need to change anything. Do you guys want something extra? Like sauce or a drink while I’m up?”
Lockwood shakes his head. “I’m alright, I can get my own when I’m thirsty.”
“Lucy?” George prompts.
She lifts her head and blinks in surprise. “Oh, uh, sure! Water would be lovely, thank you.”
Dinner passes without a hitch. The three discuss how their days have been outside of each other, each of them diving into their wild encounters (or discoveries on George’s part) in town. Lockwood finds himself fondly watching Lucy tell her story. There’s warmth in the way she emotes as she speaks. Her hands move to emphasize the importance of her words and her eyes light up as she reaches the climax, no longer burning with the fury he saw mere hours prior.
It’s a nice change from her recent gloom and distance. The energy that has been missing returned in the form of her dramatic retelling. It feels like Lucy is truly in the room with them, actually experiencing the present, no longer locking herself in her mind. She is acknowledging him and George, picking them out separately to drive home the crazy encounters of her day out.
She speaks with so much life that Lockwood can’t help but feel alive himself.
As Lucy gathers their dishes and George preps the food for the fridge, Lockwood makes sure to stay out of their way. Though, as he grabs his trenchcoat from the back of his chair, he nearly runs into Lucy who yelps with surprise.
In his shock, Lockwood grabs her arms to steady her. “Sorry Luce, I didn’t mean to nearly knock you over like that!”
“It’s alright,” Lucy says. “I wasn’t paying attention.” She lifts one of the empty plates close to his face and jokingly asks, “want some rice drowned in soy sauce?”
Lockwood plucks one of the remaining rice grains from the plate. “Why yes I do, thank you.” He plops it in his mouth as Lucy giggles.
He steps out of her way so she can get to the sink and pulls the coat on. He adjusts the sleeves and how the black cloth sits on his shoulders before checking the inside pocket for the rolled up pages. Humming, he pulls the papers out and opens them. A quick once-over and he is again familiar with the information he had scanned over down in the basement.
As much as Lockwood would’ve loved a map, he isn’t disappointed George didn’t have one. Unlike Combe Carey Hall, the address Penelope lives at probably doesn’t have as much publicly available information. It would be a bit weird to have a floorplan of the woman’s house and a map of the surrounding property, but it would be less weird for Lockwood to have something so convenient at his disposal. He deserves it.
He rolls the papers up and shoves them back into the inside pocket.
When he picks up his duffle bag, he turns to his friends. He doesn’t say anything at first, instead watching as Lucy and George tag team the post-dinner mess.
He doesn’t know what he would do without them.
George notices Lockwood staring, and raises an eyebrow at him. “You plan on leaving now?”
“Hm?” Lockwood nods. “Yes, I just need to get my rapier and I will be out the door.”
George eyes him for a moment. “Well, you owe me twenty pounds if you die.”
“George!” Lucy exclaims.
“What?!”
Lockwood laughs and shakes his head as the two bicker. “I’ll buy you ice cream if I don’t die,” is what Lockwood says to counter his friend. “I think that’s fair, yes?”
George and Lucy pause and both look back to him. They exchange a look before they both nod, George loudly declaring his agreement to the terms.
“Wonderful, I will see you tomorrow,” declares Lockwood. “Sleep well, you two.”
Lockwood exits the kitchen and, in one swift motion, slides his rapier from the umbrella holder. As he sheathes it, he spins to face the front door. He exits the comfort of the house and steps out into the evening road. He has half an hour until six… thirty minutes to make it to the agreed meeting place.
Oh how he loathes spending a night alone with the most annoying agent on the planet.