Chapter Text
Lockwood remembers the first night he notices something off with Lucy. It’s perhaps not unusual to anyone else, hell it shouldn’t be abnormal to him. But it is. And it unsettles him. It's after a case that has obviously blown up in their faces (literally) in true lockwood and co fashion, a client misinforming them, a near death experience, a screaming spirit. Typical Thursday night fiascos. And in true Lockwood and Co fashion, they were being lectured by Barnes to ‘watch their backs’ or something of the sort. Honestly, Lockwood didn’t care what Barnes had to say much, the way they dealt with ghosts worked. Sure, they ended up a bit bruised at the end of the night. But their team worked.
Adamantly refusing to listen to Barnes’ latest lecture, Lockwood glanced at Lucy, preparing his signature smile, but it soon fell as he noticed Lucy’s cloudy gaze hyperfocused on the floor, was almost disguised by her brownish reddish hair that covered her ear and most of her right cheek. His next instinct was to softly slide his hand down her forearm into her own where she would cling to it tightly. Or on nights where she was particularly angry at him, slap it away. But tonight, his hand just lay in hers loosely, while a knot in his stomach tightened. Lockwood could deal with angry Lucy. He could deal with sad Lucy. He could deal with happy Lucy. He loved her no matter what mood she was in. He knew the correct responses, the correct way to laugh, to apologise ,to smile. But this. This Lucy was new. Unfamiliar. Completely devoid of… anything. “Do I make myself clear Mr Lockwood?” He heard Barnes gruff in front of him.
Flashing his classic Lockwood grin “Of course Inspector, we will watch our backs from now on.” he replied cheerfully. Barnes appearing as satisfied as he could, George once remarked that he wouldn't be surprised if Branes was in fact actually made up of stone, walked away to deal with DEPRACs clearance crew, giving Lockwood space to watch Lucy with concern. “Lucy..Lucy!” he called to her waving his hand in front of her. But, she seemed too focused on whatever bug was moving beneath them on the ground. It took George physically shaking her for Lucy to come back to her senses,”Oh, sorry, zoned out for a bit. Is the cab ready?” she smiled, falling away from Lockwood’s grip and walking towards the waiting taxi leaving him behind. He didn’t miss how she winced when she talked though, or the way she limped slightly on left leg from a particularly nasty fall. He would ask her about it later. First a good cuppa of pitkins was in order.
The cab ride back was silent. Uncomfortably so. Both boys stared at Lucy, who watched the still life of London at night impassively from the window. Her hazel eyes were still foggy, as if she were ghost locked, and she had barely responded to anything they had said. Lockwood’s hand rested on her knee, an open invitation that she didn’t accept. She didn’t even acknowledge it, causing the knot in lockwoods stomach to tighten even more. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. They were just co-workers. Associates. Friends even. It shouldn’t feel like someone had stabbed him in the heart, twisted the knife and just left it there. But that's how it felt. Because Lockwood loved Lucy as intensely as the stars burnt. He loved how she would yawn each morning midday as she stumbled into the kitchen. He loved how she wrinkled her eyebrows and stuck out her tongue whenever she was thinking. He loved the way she slouched in her chair when she doodled on the thinking cloth or read a book. Hell, he was mesmerised by how ethereal she looked in the cab, despite having the dirt and dust and sweat over her face, her hair tangled from the strong breeze and her clothes half singed by ectoplasm (he made a note to increase her pay slightly to cover the costs). Lucy was perfect. So, did it absolutely crush him when she didn’t take his hand, returning his smiles. Yes. Was he ever going to tell her that? No. As far as Lucy was concerned they were friends. Friends who initiated as much physical contact as possible, sure. But just friends.
It takes the cab coming to a stop in front of Portland Row for Lucy to once again wake up from her trance, stepping out with her kit bag as if she hadn’t ignored them the whole ride there. George followed with both his and Lockwood’s as Lockwood shoved a £20 note onto the tray, muttering “keep the change.” Realistically, he shouldn’t have. They were,quite frankly, broke but Lockwood wasn’t that interested in waiting around for the cabbie to work for the change. “George?” he heard Lucy call out from the door, “I left my key inside could you unlock the door?” She sounded fine and as Lockwood stepped out of the taxi she looked fine as well, as if turning up at Portland Row had woken her up. George clambered up the stairs, dropping the kit bags so they made a clunking sound as they hit the floor. While George unlocked the door, Lockwood stood next to the brunette, “Hey Luce?” he asked softly, “You good?” but she didn't acknowledge him until he softly touched her forearm. She looked up surprised at first, before immediately piling away and playing with her hair “Hmm? Did you say something” she replied, staring at him intently. He saw his reflection in her eyes and only now noticed how scruffy he looked, his tie had been singed by a splatter of ectoplasm, his face slightly burnt by a stray salt bomb and dust covered his father's jacket like a blanket. “Oh yeah, are you okay, you seem a bit out of it?” she stared at his lips as he spoke (Lockwood what the feeling in his stomach was and he definitely didn’t want to delve into it right now) and seemed to take a second for her to process what he said. The etches of her mouth perked up, a small but comforting smile which immediately loosened the knot in his stomach slightly, “Of course, I just desperately want a hot shower, get into fully intact and comfortable clothes and have a nice hot cup of pitkins with a digestive biscuit.” Any normal person wouldn't have noticed how she slightly elongated the r in course her northern accent thick, or diverted eye contact slightly. And a normal person would definitely not have tallied these behaviours into a little box of tells that she's lying. But Lockwood wasn’t normal, far from it in fact. And so he takes another mental note to ask her with that hot cuppa in front of her. Once inside, George runs into the library to record something that Lockwood did not understand, Luce went upstairs for a shower as promised, leaving Lockwood with 3 kit bags to unpack. He climbed down into the basement, unpacking each automatically. They had done this so many times it required no thinking whatsoever. Instead he was focused on the skull, who was making a range of grotesque faces. “Can it. I hear ghost jars are worth a lot on the black market, and I’m not opposed to selling you if the need comes.” he murmured angrily, finishing Lucy’s bag last. Lockwood couldn't shake the sense of dread that had been building since the job and the pounding energy of the skull in the back of his head was not making it any better. He wondered how it must feel for Lucy, hearing him so vividly on top of it. He’d sometimes see her wince or clam her hands upon her ears, not that it would help, listeners often communicated with ghosts well beyond the capabilities of their physical hearing.
After finishing up in the basement, he popped the kettle on, laid out 3 mugs and put some toast in the toaster. This was what he was good at. He wasn’t the best at communicating with his friends, or opening up for that matter. But making tea and toast after a long night. Washing the dishes out of rotation. It showed he cared and valued them. It made him feel needed. He had no qualms bringing up a cup of tea and sacrificing his go on the biscuit rotation to give George an extra biscuit while he meticulously studied whatever had peaked his focus. He waited until the boiler stopped before making Lucy’s, leaving it on the table. As per their routine, Lucy walked into the kitchen, a blue towel around her neck catching the water droplets dripping from her hair. The knot in his stomach eased a bit more and Lockwood leaned back onto the counter, watching her movements carefully, not missing the blood stain on her towel, “I made tea, toast is almost done.” He nodded towards the toaster before making a move to the fridge for the butter. Lucy sat down at the table and watched him meticulously as he prepared their toast causing butterflies to stir in his stomach. It didn’t necessarily unnerve him, it was more he was suddenly hyper aware of his actions, trying to make them as ‘Lockwoody’ as possible.
Holding two plates, he sat down next to her, placing the toast in front of her “There you go Luce, extra buttery toast cut into triangles just for you” Lucy, who was still watching him intently, smiled back before immediately digging into her toast. “Lockwood, you are amazing, thank you so much, '' she exclaimed, though it was muffled by the toast she was munching on. Lockwood tried to eat his own, but only ended up picking at it, instead opting to stare at the brunette (or redhead, he hadn’t decided which). It was ridiculous really, how mesmerising she looked considering it was 3am and they had been up all night. It didn’t take long for her to finish her toast, and within minutes she curled herself around her tea, resting her feet on the edge of his chair. This had become a routine for them, yet every night they ended up in this same position, Lockwood had no idea what to do. He leaned onto the table, burying his cheek into his arms, preparing himself for the inevitable wake up call. But for now, he was happy to remain in this domestic bliss where no words were needed. The silence was more than comfortable, it was enjoyable. He valued these moments with Lucy more than he did any other,he felt vulnerable and exposed but not uncomfortable. Sometimes, in these moments, Lockwood thought about just telling her. Blurting it out and getting it over with. But he cared about these moments too much, he couldn’t bear the thought of losing them. Losing her.”Hey Luce,” he heard himself saying. Her eyes found their way to his lips as he continued “What was going on earlier? Was the ghost…” he trailed off. Lockwood couldn’t describe it, but they both knew what he meant. She waited for a moment and though her eyes didn’t move, something in them shifted.
She curled up tighter around her tea, using the warmth as a blanket, “It was just- the ghost…” she paused, her lips pressing together and her eyebrows furrowing in the way they always did when Lucy was thinking. “It just hit too close to home. A runaway girl with no one to care and too much talent than she can bear.” Lockwood’s heart stilled, a wave of guilt washing over him. He should have realised sooner. The boy didn’t know much about Lucy’s past, she mostly kept quiet about it apart from a few comments about her mother. From what he gathered, Lucy lived in an unloved environment for most of her childhood before her team up north became her family. He didn’t know what happened to the rest of her team although pictures were plastered all over her room - he felt guilty for saying it, but he felt a tad jealous that he was yet to make an appearance - but he knew that Lucy’s best friend was laying in a bed, ghost locked. Lockwood should have known to treat the situation delicately, and have been sure Lucy was okay, because of course she would have seen herself in the ghost.
Lucy seemed to recognise the discomfort in his eyes, immediately trying to explain, “No, Lockwood you couldn’t have known, I think I would have been alright if it weren’t for her screams….” she shivered, “I can still hear them. Normally I can block them out… but she…” Lockwood closed his eyes momentarily. “I know…” And he did know, Sometimes he would see death glows and mistake them for his sister, or his parents. They would haunt him for days, everytime he closed his eyes he could see the go When he opened them, Lucy was still staring at him, a sad smile on her face. “It’ll go away in the morning. I will wake up in the morning, fresh faced and back to normal.” He chuckled heartily but immediately shut himself up. Was laughing the right thing to do? It wasn;t was it? It wasn’t the mood. On top of the dread and the guilt, anxiety forced its way through.
Lucy blinked at him, her face unreadable, “What?” “Sorry, it’s just… you up in the morning? Fresh-faced?” he tried to justify, his brain scrambling for an apology. He shouldn't have laughed but- Suddenly, Lucy was chuckling, her head leaned back. “Thanks, Lockwood…. I think.” her face twisted, but it wasn’t negative. Her smile radiated the dimly lit kitchen causing the butterflies in Lockwoods stomach to flutter uncontrollably. He couldn't help but return it and it felt like, for a moment, that there were only two people in the world to exist and nothing else mattered. Just two colleagues? Associates? Friends? Enjoying each other's companying, finding comfort in the other. Lockwood wished he could take a snapshot of this moment and place it on his bedroom wall. Mirroring Lucy’s. As the laughing subdued, Lucy took one last sip of her tea, emptying the cup. As she got up to wash it, Lockwood placed his hand on her forearm. She looked at him quizzically, “I’ll wash it up you go to bed.” he said plainly, taking the mug and plate off her. She opened her mouth to protest “ But you- you’re not even out of-” “Luce, my night has been smooth sailing compared to yours, go rest up and I’ll see you bright and early midday.” She smiled in return,mouthing a thank you and letting him take the dishes in her hands. “Goodnight Lockwood, and thank you. I really appreciate it.” he heard her say as she turned around to go to bed. She didn't need to know the way that she had made his insides feel. He was happy to simply wash her plate.
But as he lay in bed, he still felt this feeling of dread tied firmly as a knot in his stomach. There was something wrong, something more. But she wouldn’t tell him tonight and he wouldn’t push. That's why they worked.