Chapter Text
"No... no, please. Lucy. You have to snap out of it. Lucy, please.", Lockwood urged. He would've ran to her if he wasn't already preoccupied with wielding his rapier as the monks close in onto him and George.
One more step. One more singular step was all it took for Lucy to have fallen off the ledge - into who knows what; a seemingly bottomless pit where her lifeless body will lay atop of many more.
"Luce. Lucy, no."
Her normally radiant and oh so lively eyes that have brighten up the lives of the (two) other Lockwood & Co. agents so much from the moment she walked into 35 Portland Row were now ashen; as pale as a ghost's - she's been ghost-locked.
The blokes were too busy trying to fend off the monks. Too busy trying to protect themselves. They were in no position to go and help Lucy wake up from her currently ghost-locked state.
Lockwood managed to get a glimpse of her silhouette as her shaky legs took the final step forward into the abyss.
He wakes up in sweat soaked sheets, his chest heavy. He's barely able to breathe yet his pulse has never been pulsating faster.
He's lost count on how many times he's had to wash his sheets in the span of three weeks. Just hopes his fellow housemates don't think he's been wetting the bed...
He's been having these reoccurring dreams - no scratch that, actually - nightmares for some time now.
The premises vary. Some nights the agents of Lockwood and Co. are in Combe Carey Hall. Other nights, they're in the cemetery or at the auction or in Bickerstaff's Mansion or one of them has gone insane from looking into the Bone Mirror. The only constant thing is he somehow loses Lucy every. time. Worst case scenario: he loses both Lucy and George.
That's usually his cue to wake up with a heavy chest and subsequently rid his sheets for new ones. Then, attempt to drift off again.
But, tonight, he thinks he'll head into the kitchen and go get some tea. Maybe even eat an extra biscuit - or two, or three. Lucy and George don't have to know. Maybe he'll even recollect his thoughts on the thinking cloth.
Pushing the kitchen door open, he's pleasantly surprised to see Lucy preparing a cup of hot chocolate.
"Hi.", she greeted.
"Hi. Can't sleep?", he asked.
"Yeah. And you? What's your excuse?"
"Same as yours."
Vague answers aren't anything uncommon for the pair. Lucy knows better than to ambush Lockwood with tons of followup questions and so does he.
Instead, she makes him a cup of tea. Holding up an Earl Grey tea bag to him, she asks: "Would Earl Grey suffice? Far too early for an English Breakfast, isn't it?"
"Ah. You're wrong. Early bird catches the worm, Lucy. It's never too early."
"Bogus. You literally wake up at like 3 PM."
"I'm healing.", he slightly lifts up his injured arm for extra emphasis. It's not Lockwood if it's not dramatic.
Lucy rolls her eyes. She can't believe him. "Speaking of, how's it doing? Still hurt?"
"Fine, I guess.", he conveniently leaves out the part where he's continuously overexerting it. Changing the bedsheets of a king size bed with only one properly functioning arm is no easy feat. Now, multiply that by how often he has those nightmares. But, Lucy doesn't need to know that either.
"I'm going to meet the clients for that place we're 'cleaning out' tonight. See what equipment we need to bring. I'll be back in a bit.", Lucy clarifies.
"Be careful, Lucy.", Lockwood says.
"Bye, Lucy." George bids.
"I will. Bye, George."
As soon as the front door shuts, "Hey, George. This is an odd question but what does it mean when one keeps on having the same dreams over and over again? I'm asking for a friend."
George looks at him in disbelief. "You really expect me to buy that? You have no other friends."
"How can you be so sure of that?"
"I've known you for years and not once have I seen you meet any 'friends'."
"Look, could you just answer the question? Please.", he tries again.
"Is that why you haven't been sleeping well? The dreams - are they bothering you?". As much as he enjoys a good tease, he really does want to know the reason behind Lockwood's sunken and sullen eyes as of late.
"To be frank, they're more accurately described as nightmares rather than dreams."
"So, they have been a bother to you."
"Yes.", his answer comes out as barely a whisper.
"I can't really help you out if you don't tell me what it's about.", George's tone comes out a lot more worried than he'd like to let off.
A pause.
Lockwood takes a moment to properly articulate his next reply in as few words as possible. "Right. So, they're not exactly the same every night but in all of them I end up losing you or losing Lucy and sometimes, both you and her."
"Well, nightmares are usually your mind's manifestations of your greatest fears - what you're most scared of. I'm quite flattered that you're scared of losing me.", George teases, trying to lighten up.
"Is there a way to get rid of them?"
"Not any that I know of. No."
"Could you.. keep this a secret from Lucy?"
"Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever you say, lover boy.", he practically rolls his eyes at this.
"Thanks, George. I owe you. And it's not like that."
"Sure, it isn't. I never said it was." he says in the most sarcastic tone ever.
"It really isn't. I swear!", Lockwood says.