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missing scenes | AU | canon divergent
“I seriously hope you don’t have a soulmate,” George told Lockwood one evening after a particularly grueling job. “Because you are going to get them killed.”
Lucy shot George a nasty look, but Lockwood laughed it off. “I’m not that reckless, George.”
“Sure,” Lucy said bitterly. “And the sky’s not blue.”
Lockwood rolled his eyes and grinned. He was certain he didn’t have a soulmate, else he’d be dead by now. The universe was set on taking away everyone he’d ever loved; his soulmate would’ve been on that list.
“I hope Kipps is your soulmate,” George told him. “Then at least there’d be a silver lining when you managed to off yourself.”
That made Lockwood laugh even harder. Lucy scowled and went oddly silent. He hoped she was just angry about the job and not jealous over Kipps. Lockwood couldn’t handle it if she wanted to be that bastard’s soulmate.
Experts claimed soulmates were an unfortunate byproduct of The Problem. Whatever had twisted and torn the fabric of space and time between the world of the living and the other side had also played a cruel trick on humanity, linking souls at random. Most of the population never knew who their soulmates were as there wasn’t a reliable way of testing it, not without risking death. George had spoken of cases of near death experiences bringing soulmates together, but those were few and far between. Soulmates generally only found each other in romances and tragedies, and Lockwood did not want to live in either.
“You should be more careful,” Lucy told him as they returned home, kicking off their shoes in the hallway and tossing their rapiers into the umbrella stand. “For yourself, if not for your soulmate.”
“You and George worry too much,” he said. “I think I’ve been just the right level of reckless since the Fairfax ordeal.”
Lucy raised an eyebrow. “You just jumped from the top story of a house to, and I quote, ‘defeat a Visitor with the element of surprise.’”
“And it worked!” Granted, he could have just thrown his rapier or silver net down, or let Lucy and George handle it from the ground, but where was the fun in that?
With a sigh, Lucy turned to head up the stairs. “George is right,” she told him as she left. “Your poor soulmate…”
That evening, in the comfort of his favorite armchair in the library, Lockwood pondered what Lucy and George had said. Was he really putting some poor person’s life at stake when he took risks in the field? It seemed unfair of the universe to link the lives of two strangers, especially when at least one of them was an agent.
Sometimes Lockwood wondered if his parents had been soulmates. Maybe if they hadn’t been, one of them might have survived. Nothing about this soulmate business seemed good or right or fair. What was the point of entwining souls like this, only causing misery and strife? In old stories, the term soulmate was something beautiful, souls that were meant to exist together, souls that were meant to love each other. Now they were a worry at the back of your mind, a fear that kept children up at night. Love was never part of the equation.
It was a fear that kept him at night too, sometimes. Not for himself, but for Lucy and George. What if their soulmates were agents as well, or relicmen or nightwatch, doomed to the same dangers that came with their professions? Would either of them simply die one night without a word? It was too painful a thought to linger on too long, so Lockwood let himself live in a world without soulmates, where a person’s death was their own and no one else’s.
In the end, however, he would be forced to understand that this was not the truth of the world.
Lockwood had been shot.
Of all the ways he’d imagined his own death, Lockwood had never actually thought a gun would be part of the equation. Ghosts had no need for firearms and relicmen preferred weaponry that could double as tools of the trade. Even in the moments he’d considered the Golden Blade might be his end, Lockwood had assumed it would be with that stupid gilded rapier of his during some heroic duel to the death.
The fall was more in line with how he’d imagined it would all end. The crash landing in the bowels of the catacombs was a nice touch, very on brand. But this did not kill him, so Lockwood trudged forward, following the screams of his friends. His bullet wound screamed in agony, but he wouldn’t let himself succumb to that until he knew Lucy and George were okay.
His timing was impeccable. Lockwood took a leaf from Lucy’s book and chucked his rapier at Bickerstaff’s spirit, giving the others time to conceal his source again. They were both whole, both up and moving and alive. The moment the danger had passed, Lockwood fell to his knees. He could go now. He could rest.
But when he said something to this effect, propped up between his friends, Lucy made a distressed noise and held him closer, supporting his abdomen with her hand. It was warm through the thin, bloody fabric of his shirt.
“We won’t let that happen, will we George?” Lucy asked. Lockwood could barely grasp her words, as distracting as it was to have her hand on his stomach.
“Never,” George said, and the intensity in his voice startled Lockwood. It had been a long time since anyone had cared if he lived or died, and now he had two of them.
Unfortunately for them, Lockwood could feel himself fading. He’d never come this close to death, despite his best efforts, but he knew it was fast approaching. He hoped George and Lucy would be okay when he was gone; at least they had each other.
Suddenly, the left side of Lockwood’s body went cold, and distantly he realized Lucy had pulled away. He looked over, vision blurring, and saw she’d slumped to her hands and knees, body trembling.
“Luce?” He whispered. She didn’t respond.
“Lucy?” George spoke more loudly, more urgently. “Luce, what’s wrong?”
“I…” Lucy’s face had drained of color and her elbows buckled, sending her face-forward into the stone floor. “I think I’m dying.”
“What? Were you ghost touched?” George surged forward, jostling Lockwood in a way that made his bullet wound blaze in agony. He and Lucy groaned out in unison and for a moment Lockwood’s vision went white. He slumped against George, unable to hold himself upright anymore.
“Oh, shit ,” George whispered. “Where’s Kipps. Kipps?!”
Suddenly Lockwood found himself lying on the dusty stone floor of the catacombs. George scrambled off, shouting for Kipps, shouting something about the keys to a pair of handcuffs, and Lockwood turned his head to get a better look at Lucy.
Her eyes met his, distant and unfocused. Her breathing was labored, chest rising and falling in a painful staccato. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Lockwood understood.
“What’s wrong with her?” He heard Kipps ask. “Ghost touch?”
“No,” George replied. “Worse. They’re soulmates.”
“Shit.”
Shit was right. All this time, Lockwood’s soulmate had been some poor, faceless sod somewhere in the world, collateral damage in Lockwood’s personal quest to join his family sooner rather than later. But now it was Lucy, and he realized that every stupid, reckless thing he’d ever done had put her in the line of fire. It was inexcusable. It was monstrous .
Tears welled in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he croaked out. “Luce, I’m so sorry.”
Someone was lifting him into their arms—Kipps, he thought distantly, since he could see George pulling Lucy to her feet—but Lockwood didn’t care. They could throw his body in the Thames for all he cared. He just needed Lucy to be okay.
“We’re not tossing you in the Thames, Tony,” Kipps said, and Lockwood realized he’d spoken aloud. “That would only kill Lucy faster.”
Kipps had a good point. Lockwood supposed a broken clock was still right twice a day.
“You’re awfully rude for someone who needs my help,” Kipps said lightly. Lockwood couldn’t tell where they were going, but it felt like up . Surely he wasn’t already dead. Heaven didn’t exist and if it did, he certainly wouldn’t be let in.
“Shut up,” George said and Lockwood realized he must have said that aloud as well. “No one’s dying tonight.”
“Except Joplin,” Lucy wheezed.
“Ah, well, yes,” George agreed. “Except Joplin.”
Lockwood laughed as his vision went dark.
The trip out of the catacombs and to the hospital was a blur. DEPRAC had arrived quickly and taken care of Winkman and his men. Lockwood knew he and Lucy and Ned had all been loaded into ambulances, though there wasn’t much anyone could do for Lucy in her state. George and Kipps were waylaid by Barnes, but George threw such a fit that he was allowed to ride in the ambulance as well. The pain and fear in his face chilled Lockwood to the bone, so he closed his eyes and let the darkness overtake him again.
When he next came to, Lockwood was in a small room divided by a curtain. Someone was in the other bed, but he couldn’t see them, could only hear the beep of their heart-rate monitor. It beeped in tandem with Lockwood’s, slow and steady.
Before long, nurses came in and took his vitals. They gave him water when he asked and explained that he was a very lucky boy, that he’d flatlined during surgery and had to be resuscitated. Fear and guilt pooled in his gut, and Lockwood tried to ask after Lucy, but it came out a jumbled croak of words.
“Your friend should be back soon,” one of the nurses told him. “The one with glasses. He’s been by your side all day.”
George was here. George would know where Lucy was— how Lucy was—and would be able to tell him everything he needed to know without sugarcoating it. Lockwood thanked the nurses and they left again, promising to bring him some juice.
They were right; George arrived not long after, sipping on a Styrofoam cup of tea. He looked haggard and half-dead himself, eyes bloodshot and clothes still covered in blood and gravedirt. He gave Lockwood a small smile when their eyes met, then immediately scowled.
“I can’t believe you got shot ,” George said in lieu of a greeting. “Of all the stupid, reckless things you do on a daily basis, I never expected you to get shot .” He took his seat next to Lockwood’s bed, setting his tea aside.
“I promise I wasn’t trying to get shot,” Lockwood said. Speaking was getting easier, but his chest still burned something fierce where the bullet had entered. “Lucy, is she-?”
George’s expression darkened. “You know you died on the operating table, right?”
Lockwood’s heart skipped a beat. He had died. He had died, for a minute. That meant his soulmate-
Ignoring the pain in his chest and the tug of his IV, Lockwood shot up into a sitting position. He gripped his sheets, ready to throw them aside. “Is she- did she- she can’t have-” Everything went numb and cold. Panic fizzled through his veins. Lucy couldn’t be…
“I’ve never watched anyone die before,” George said quietly, looking down at his knees. “She was just…gone.”
The room spun. Lockwood struggled to breath. His hands shook. Lucy had…she had…
“They resuscitated her,” George said quickly, sensing Lockwood’s panic. “She’s alive, Lockwood. They resuscitated her and you and everyone is alive.”
Lockwood fell back against his pillow. The relief was overwhelming.
“She’s alive,” a voice said from the other side of the curtain. “And can hear everything you’re saying.”
George grinned and stood, moving quickly to pull back the curtain to reveal Lucy in the other bed. She was still sickly pale and hooked up to as many wires and machines as Lockwood was, but she was here and awake and alive . Lockwood let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
“Luce,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
Lucy smirked. “Yes, Lockwood, I’m sure you were just begging to be shot.” Her tone was joking, but they’d been in a situation a little too similar to that not long ago at Combe Carey. “You couldn’t have known.”
He couldn’t have, it was true, and he certainly hadn’t begged the Golden Blade to kill him, but there had been so many times before then where he’d put Lucy’s life in jeopardy. He should have cared more before when his soulmate was just a shadow of an idea, but the selfish part of him knew it only mattered now because it was Lucy.
“Killing you is unforgivable,” he said softly. “You should be angry with me.”
“Oh, trust me, I’m fuming,” Lucy said. “As soon as we’re out of here, we will be having words. But not because you nearly killed me , Lockwood. Because you nearly killed you —again.”
George moved his chair to sit between their beds, smiling softly. “We’ll be getting a lot more jobs after this,” he said, taking off his glasses. He rubbed the lenses with the hem of his shirt, but it was so dirty it just made a bigger mess. “Better jobs. More dangerous, high-profile jobs. We’ll need to discuss your habit of getting into near death situations.”
“Never again,” Lockwood said sincerely, struggling to push himself into a seated position. “I won’t endanger Lucy like that again. Not now that I know.”
Lucy sighed and gave him a sad smile. “I wish you’d take your own life more seriously.”
“You know what?” George said. “I’ll take it. I don’t care why he keeps himself alive, just that he does.”
He laughed and so did Lockwood, but Lucy stayed silent, shaking her head. He knew she was mad at him, but Lockwood found her anger and her concern wonderful. It was a warmth he hadn’t known in years, one that sank into his bones and made his heart feel light. If staying alive meant Lucy was alive, that was enough to keep himself safe.
But if staying alive meant Lucy was happy , then he supposed that was more than enough to truly live .