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The door to Portland Row slammed as Lucy ran up the stairs. The sound shocked George enough for him to drop the sponge in his hand into the sink. Given the fact the door was a heavy oak, he had a seed of fear blossom in his gut over how things went.
Lucy had told them after the Aickmere Brothers case that she was leaving the agency to protect them from her mistakes. While George couldn’t deny the truth in the endangerment Lucy had caused in the past few cases, never in his wildest theories would he think the outcome should be Lucy turning in her notice. She was a good agent, but more than that Lucy was one of his best friends.
So when she announced her departure, George’s first instinct was to say no. Obviously Lockwood agreed with him, much to Lucy’s annoyance. He had wanted to converse with her as to why the idea was stupid but Lockwood told George to stay home. Lockwood and Lucy went to a nearby cafe to talk about it. To quell the hurt he felt for not being allowed to talk Lucy out of it, George started to clean. Which ended with George fishing in the sink for the dish sponge, as he also tried to listen if Lockwood came in with her, but all he was met with was the twin slam of her attic door.
A small smug smile brushed his lips knowing that clearly whatever Lockwood did just pissed her off more only to be swiftly replaced with concern and doubt. If Lockwood couldn’t get to Lucy, what would that mean for them? His mind swam with the dozens of possibilities of how their conversation went, how Lockwood messed up and how he could’ve fixed it. He moved on auto pilot, scrubbing the dishes in the water until he realised the sink was stone cold and the ghost lamps were just starting to flicker on.
He finished as quickly as he could, trying to listen if Lucy was talking to the Type Three he had unknowingly stolen or if Lockwood had come home and he had missed the sound of the front door. He highly doubted that possibility, given the fact he had woken up every time that door swung an inch. No matter how much he tried to oil the hinges or change them, in the past few years he’d been living at Portland Row George had never missed the large door’s squeak.
He was proven right when Lockwood came in as George dried his hands on a hand towel. He listened as Lockwood shuffled into the library, most likely to bunker there for the remainder of the night. His entrance was much more subdued than Lucy’s, which only worsened George’s worry. He was quick to make some tea for the two of them and almost dropped the hastily made tray on the library side table as words came tumbling out.
“How did it go? Did she say anything new? Why all of a sudden? Did you explain how stupid it was? Did–”
“George.” Lockwood interrupted and he registered how utterly exhausted his friend looked. He bit his tongue for a moment, trying to decide which question was most important before settling on a broad one that could give him something.
“Lockwood,” George started his voice far more steady than he felt. He waited until Lockwood finally met his gaze. “What happened?”
The breath Lockwood heaved was deep, to supposedly fuel the long winded explanation of how he ‘totally didn’t fuck this up stop glaring George’. Only Lockwood’s mouth opened and closed like a fish drowning in air, way out of its depth. His eyes flicked back and forth seeing something George couldn't before he slumped further in his chair releasing all the unused breath in his chest.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” George was quick to parrot back, an eyebrow raising along with his voice in octave. “You don’t know? Bloody hell Lockwood you insist you do it yourself but can’t tell me what happened?”
Lockwood’s responding glare was short-lived before he shook his head. “She’s just so stubborn. She refused to listen to anything I had to say. She has to know she’s making a huge mistake right? That throwing this, ” He gestured around before quickly continuing. “Her career I mean, away is just idiotic at best. I thought I– this was worth more to her.” Lockwood pinched his nose as if to rid his brain of the past few hours he attempted to convince Lucy to stay.
Seeing the obvious distress he was in, George felt his worry morph into panic and went to go upstairs. “I’ll go talk to her. She clearly won’t listen to you but she can’t go through with this.”
Lockwood jumped to his feet to seize George’s shoulder. “No, no you can’t. She’s pissed beyond disbelief and needs space to calm down. I’ll make a new plan in the meantime.” Sensing George’s lack of enthusiasm Lockwood gave him a reassuring smile and continued. “George, you know me, I always have a plan. Luce just needs a bit of time and we can chat about it in the morning over breakfast alright?”
Something in his gut told him it was a bad idea, that leaving this in Lockwood’s hands and his alone was a recipe for disaster. But George trusted Lockwood, even when he made questionable calls and he knew that Lockwood would do his best.
So with only a second of hesitation George agreed, bid Lockwood goodnight, and waited anxiously for the morning light.
~
Before morning light George awoke to the sound of the front door closing. It was far too early for it to be Holly, who wasn’t scheduled until 9. He had heard Lockwood drag himself to bed a few hours ago when he made a trip to the bathroom. Which left the only option he wasn’t sure he was willing to face.
Lucy Carlyle, one of his closest friends and a member of his chosen family had decided to leave Lockwood & Co.
He lays in his bed, staring at the ceiling trying to get the boulder pinning him there to go away. His eyes trace the details he’s gotten to know over the years living in the house as if somewhere between the spider web and cracks is the answer to handling this. George is supposed to have answers to his questions but for once he isn’t sure he can solve this problem.
When the first bird finally chirps out his window and sunlight streams in he drags himself out of bed.
Instead of journeying to the kitchen to move forward with this dreadful day, something compels him to go up and to check. To hope against hope that maybe he was wrong for once. That it wasn’t the door, it wasn’t Lucy, and it was all a horrible dream.
These hopes swell with each step up, a momentary pause at Jessica’s door for respect, then continue to climb as he does.
The ghost lamp broke down the street. Our screen door broke from the wind last week. Lockwood stepped out to get something and only got a few hours of sleep like normal. Or this or that.
The possibilities swell in his mind until he’s at her door and opening it without thinking.
Like an overfilled balloon, all the hope George had gathered from his floor to the attic popped and dissipated.
Lucy’s room wasn’t there anymore, not really. Odd clothes still lay around yes, but other than a handful of clothes barely large enough for a load of laundry, there was nothing. Her bed lay bare, her pillows rumpled but the blankets she had gotten from George at Christmas were gone. Her closet was open and bare. From his position at the door the sink was empty of a toothbrush. But quite possibly the worst part of this? Lucy’s room had ceased being Lucy’s because she took everything, even the blasted skull.
She was gone. But all the grief in the world was there and it made its poisonous home in George.
He doesn’t quite remember getting to the kitchen, only that one moment he was in Lucy’s room and the next he was reaching for the kettle. Still reeling from the gravity and reality of the situation George leans against the counter.
This wasn’t meant to happen; it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
George knew it. Lockwood knew it. Hell, even Holly knew it, and she and Lucy can’t stand each other for some reason.
Lucy wasn’t supposed to leave. And she definitely wasn’t supposed to leave without saying goodbye.
George knows that she thought ahead. As soon as Lockwood and Lucy came home from their insufferable walk last night, he knew that she would stay. That she would break under Lockwood’s words and smiles. So she skipped ahead and left before she could break.
He’s stuck staring at the kettle, clutching the handle like it’s a life vest, and in a way it is. Because George is drowning . This grief is stronger than he thought it would ever be. But then again, George never thought he’d experience losing her while knowing she still lived. He thought that maybe Lucy would die in the field. He always pleaded with the universe before every case that they would all stay safe.
But Lucy left on purpose. She wanted to leave. Had to leave. To protect them, supposedly.
A part of him knows that Lucy was just doing what she thought was best, and he couldn’t blame her for it. How many times had he stuck his neck out for Lockwood and her to do what he thought best? To protect them from Visitors more than willing to grab at them as they swung their rapiers in dark cellars?
But at the same time George never had to pack his things and leave to accomplish that. Even after everything that happened with Bickerstaff and the Bone Glass, he never felt the need to leave the agency to protect them from his mistakes. After his biggest fuck up the thing that helped him protect his family was by being present and being with them. But apparently Lucy needed to run away to achieve it.
His hands begin to ache from clenching too tightly on the counter and kettle, he releases both to rub them together. The pain radiating off his joints is a mirror to the one in his heart at the whole situation. Before the clump in his throat can fully turn into a sob, he shakes his head and starts to fill the kettle. George clicks the stove on low, hoping it won’t boil long enough for him to figure out what the hell to do.
As much as Lockwood is the leader of their group and Holly is the organiser, George is the one who does the brunt work. He finds the data for cases, the information dire to their success in finding sources quickly instead of guessing. The hours of research he pours into work is no easy feat, but to keep his tiny family safe and prepared against ghosts it's worth every minute.
Only this time, George doesn’t have hours to figure out how to solve this. Hell, he isn't even sure there’s a scrap of paper in the Archives that can help him figure this out.
Normally George would ask Lockwood what to do when he was stuck. Yet the very thought of telling his best friend that their family is short one member leaves him hovering in the kitchen doorway balancing on the tightrope of uncertainty.
Waking up to the sound of Lucy leaving ripped George’s heart to shreds. When Lockwood finds out? It’ll take whatever heart he had allowed them to have and crush it back to the ash it had been before. George isn’t sure Lockwood can take anymore heartbreak. Yet he’s the one who has to do the smashing.
He drags himself back to the stove as the water begins to whistle its boiling tune. Robotically, George goes through the motions of making tea like he had done millions of times prior only this time he was sure that it would be far too bitter to drink. He glances out the window as he drops his spoon in the sink and almost laughs at the sight.
The sky that was bright the day before is now dark with fog and clouds that promised a rain to dampen the happiest of spirits. It seemed mother nature had gotten the memo on the mood for the day and a distant roll of thunder echoes in George’s ears as he turns to finish preparing his and Lockwood’s tea. It was only a matter of time before he would get up and George needed to distract him for as long as he could before telling him the inevitable.
Early this morning George heard a noise.
It sounded like the front door closing.
He went to check on Lucy.
Lucy’s room was basically purged of all belongings.
Lucy had left.
Lucy had left and didn’t say goodbye.
And the hardest one, which George loathed knowing he’d have to say.
Lucy wasn’t coming back.
George takes off his glasses to clean them off and rubs at his eyes, weariness overtaking him with the clock mocking him for it. It’s barely 7 if George’s blurry squint is accurate and all he wants to do is crawl back in his bed and pretend like today doesn’t exist. He’s getting more and more tempted to go when the telltale creak of a door opening shakes him out of it.
With every step Lockwood takes down the stairs George’s heart drops lower and lower until he is sure it is bound to fall out of his foot. He slides his glasses back up his nose and waits anxiously for him to round the corner.
Lockwood comes into the kitchen already wearing his signature suit and smile which only helps the heartache burning in George’s chest.
“Ah, good morning George, well not really given the weather but it will be if we get started. Can you make your special fry up?”
George blinks twice, unable to stop his mouth from speaking. “I’m sorry what?”
Lockwood opens the fridge and starts to pull out various ingredients necessary for breakfast while George stares from the table.
“It’s the key to kick start my plan to get Lucy to stop her stupid plan and it heavily relies on you and your culinary prowess.”
George feels his guilt slowly switch to annoyance at how nonchalant Lockwood is acting. “Lockwood, you can’t be serious.”
“Rarely am George you know that.” He quips as he digs deep for something George has no will to make. “I’m not serious obviously but truly I need you to make it because she’s not going to be happy after I sit her down and get her bloody head on straight.”
“Lockwood.” George tries again his annoyance making the beginning of an emotional bomb set to go off any second now.
And still Lockwood remains digging in the damn fridge and ignores him.
“I mean honestly though she can’t be that daft can she? ‘Leaving the agency’ is she mad?”
“ Lockwood! ” George snaps and Lockwood freezes with his body still bowed down to search for some stupid vegetable. George feels the rock in his chest solidify as Lockwood straightens himself slowly and refuses to face him.
“Please.”
Lockwood whispers it and the sound nearly shatters George right then and there.
His voice breaks and his eyes begin to burn as he replies. “I’m sorry Lockwood.”
But instead of Lockwood crying, he gives a firm shake of his head.
“This isn’t funny George.”
George scoffs, his disbelief and anger coming back in full force. “Does it look like I’m joking?”
But Lockwood just doubles down. “No you’re wrong she’ll be back.”
George gets up from the table and shoves his chair in. It’s best if he leaves soon otherwise he knows that he won’t be able to control what he says.
Only Lockwood can’t shut up.
“Where are you going?”
George is quick to turn. “You’re such an idiot.”
“ Excuse me?”
“This is all your fault!” George waves around, continuing.
Lockwood turns towards him fully, for the first time since coming into the kitchen. “Mine? Right like you weren’t always being too harsh on her.”
As true as Lockwood’s words are, George has spent the last handful of hours stewing with guilt and betrayal and fires back instantly.
“How about you never being harsh!”
“I was strict when I needed to be, you were always an arsehole to her and you know it.”
“Right yes of course because when Lucy stole a source she got a slap on the wrist and when I as a researcher decided to take a closer look at one you nearly fired me. ”
George laughs humorlessly, the sound coarse and hollow. “You still don’t see it. You know what Lockwood?” George braces his hands on the table and leans forward as Lockwood crosses his arms. “ None of this would have happened if you didn’t always have to be her knight in shining armour. She would still be here if you had let me help but of course you didn’t! You’re Anthony fucking Lockwood. God forbid someone shares the limelight with you.”
Lockwood shakes his head, his eyes narrowed. “You know why I didn’t include you George? Because you don’t get what it’s like to have your talent be all encompassing. You don’t understand how draining that is.”
“Right because I’m just a researcher.”
“Sure let’s go with that.”
George yanks his glasses off to clean them again, blinking furiously to keep his tears at bay.
Lockwood seems to soften at this but barely. His heart shattered the moment he found out and George has a hard time believing that Lockwood would ever open to him or anyone again.
“I heard her leave.” George’s voice is quiet. “If I got up earlier I could’ve–”
“Stop.” Lockwood’s voice is kind but firm. “I had a whole afternoon to stop her. This isn’t your fault George.”
But George shakes his head sniffing hard against the tears that threaten to fall.
“Yes it is.”
Lockwood looks like he wants to argue but all his fight seeps out as he drops into a chair.
“Mine too.” He says quietly as George descends into his own seat.
He bumps his knee against Lockwood’s, extending a nonverbal apology.
George knows that he isn't actually mad at Lockwood, but at himself. He gets the feeling that it's the same for Lockwood, that his anger is misdirected and shot at the closest target who happened to be shooting at him first.
George hates crying and yet here he is, each tear hot and horrible against his skin as it falls. He doesn’t know how long he sits there crying. The only thing he knows is that the tears falling are a mixture of guilt and betrayal that burn deep within. For every tear there is that cruel combination of pain because as much guilt as he feels for not doing enough there is a strong wave of betrayal laced with it.
George should've been there to talk at the cafe. He should've talked to her the moment she went running up the stairs.
But George should have been included. He didn’t do enough because Lockwood prevented him from doing anything to stop this.
Except George allowed him to do that. He left it in Lockwood’s hands. It wasn’t fair to pin that all on him when he’d clearly been trying his hardest to get her to stay. It was truly no one’s fault, only George can’t think of that. Because if it wasn’t their fault then it was Lucy’s, and he isn’t sure he is ready to face that just yet. For this moment he can settle for trying to swallow this pain and loss. To try and keep Lucy as a good memory before unpacking what her actions mean for them moving forward.
Moving forward, he almost laughs at the thought. An unsteady agency is a dead one and they’re tilting harder than the fricking tower of Pisa. Moving forward without a Listener, with one less set of hands.
Moving forward without Lucy.
He feels Lockwood’s hand slip into his own and through a watery view he sees Lockwood mirroring himself, tears falling and eyes red.
George’s voice is hoarse when he speaks. “What do we do?”
Lockwood closes his eyes and leans back in his chair before answering and letting the heavy feeling of uncertainty fully settle on George’s shoulders.
“I don’t think we can do anything anymore George.”
~
It’s 9 when Holly unlocks the door and walks in. George distantly registers her taking off her coat and humming some current pop song. A part of him wants to greet her, to cry out the news. But instead of George and Lockwood getting up, they're just sat there, tea cold, various ingredients for the abandoned breakfast on the counter, frozen in that moment. Like they’re just waiting for the last member of their family to come home as if she’s just gone to Arif’s for cake.
But Lucy didn’t go down to the shop. She didn’t say good morning. All Lucy had to do was say goodbye, but she couldn’t even do that.