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It’s not often that Lockwood dissociates, and it doesn’t happen now. He’s good in a crisis, action oriented, lucid, and incredibly alert. He's always thankful for it in the moment, but at night, when he’s trying to shut his mind off, it doesn’t help as much. He pictures a dark room in his head, a new box in front of him, the crystal clear images of his memories in his hands, and one by one, he places them into this new box, and shoves it away into a corner with all the other boxes labeled, dangerous, do not open. He wonders, if he ever dared to examine all of them, how many boxes of memories he’s accumulated and compartmentalized over the years.
And now, in this moment, as Holly says, “There’s been an accident,” he knows he’ll eventually be packing another box soon.
He knows immediately it’s George, it’s bad, and with complete clarity, he also knows it’s Rupert Gale and his thugs. When these things happen, as usual, time seems to slow for him. Holly appears composed but she isn’t, and Lucy practically crashes into him at the news, gasping. She throws a hand out towards the wall to brace herself, and he briefly misses the warmth of her against him. He exhales. His mind clears.
He needs to know the following: where is George, what has happened, who has found him. He asks Holly these questions in quick succession, committing her answers to memory, St. Thomas's hospital; George was beaten, left on the sidewalk lying face down unconscious, lots of blood; Jake found him.
He walks towards the kitchen, grabs the phone and starts making calls. First, the hospital, where he demands to see George soon, then Barnes’ house where he leaves a cryptic message in case the line’s been tapped, Kipps next, Jake last. He obviously can’t call Flo, but he knows she’ll find out soon enough.
He looks at his watch - only ten minutes have passed. Good, time to get going. He walks back into the hall and finds Lucy and Holly hugging, and normally, he’d be relieved and happy to see this, but he doesn’t have time to relish in the moment now. He does catch sight of Lucy's eyes searching his, and as much as he wants to pause, to reassure, to pull her away from Holly and into him, they do not have time for this.
“Jake will be here in five minutes,” he says. He knows his voice sounds rough, demanding, but he can’t give a damn about whether he’s coming across as insensitive. He sees Lucy nod, and she and Holly pull apart. He makes sure he has his rapier, that Lucy and Holly both have theirs. Jake arrives, and Lockwood ushers them into the cab, looking back at Portland Row, as they leave. He flexes his hand, as he looks out at the window. What was it that he told Lucy? That’d he have to kill Gale - that bloody fucking bastard - not now, but soon. Well, soon is looking like it’s coming earlier than he thought.
He's next to Lucy in the cab, and she’s shaking - he puts a hand on her thigh, dragging it down to her knee and grasps it. She gives him a wild eyed look, but stills. He feels his mind wanting to pause here, the feel of his hand on her leg, but he drags it away, as Jake presses the brakes hard, muttering a “fuck” as he hits a red light.
They arrive at the hospital. Lockwood takes a deep breath. Time for the shit to hit the fan. He walks towards the doors, throws them open and is immediately hit by blinding fluorescent lights, the smell of sterile rubbing alcohol in the air, the frenzied rush of nurses, and the downcast faces of guests sitting in hard plastic chairs. Images come rushing to his mind - his hand in Jessica's, his uncle sitting next to him after the accident, even though he already knew, then being told to wait outside the morgue while his uncle went in to identify the bodies, even though he already knew. He hates hospitals.
He strides to the front desk. “George Cubbins. I need to see him.”
The nurse just looks at him, “I'm sorry, sir, and you are?”
“Anthony Lockwood.”
“No visitors right now, even family members, which,” She looks him over, “you are not.”
“He's an agent, my agent, I need to see him.”
“Doctor’s orders,” she says.
Bloody hospitals, useless the lot of them. He huffs, and though it’s the last thing he feels like doing right now, smiles at her. He leans towards her, like they’re sharing a particularly intimate secret, and whispers, “Can you at least tell me how he is?”
She stares at him, like he must be mad, but she’s only a few years older than he is, and she doesn’t have a ring, so bracing himself, he pushes his luck, “Miss,” he looks at her badge, “Atkinson, please. I'm sure you’re exhausted and overworked, and you’re not appreciated like you deserve,” he looks into her eyes, knowingly, “But he’s my friend. Please, I need something.” He smiles again at her, softens it a bit.
She looks at him, and he sees her appraise him, and he knows he’s won. She checks her chart, then sighs. “I really shouldn’t be telling you this,” she whispers to him, “but he might be on floor 3, trauma. He might be in room 351. Let me get you a visitor badge.”
Lockwood feels his shoulders relax. “I need three.” She briefly glances behind him, at Lucy and Holly, shakes her head at him, but gives him the badges anyway.
He collects Lucy and Holly, and together, they walk to the elevators. No one says anything. He feels exhausted from talking with that nurse, his jaw tight from all the forced smiling, but he pushes it aside. He got them what they need - the chance to see George.
The elevator dings, and they walk out onto floor three, striding down the long corridor past busy nurses and doctors who rush by them, looking down at clipboards and talking rapidly, until they reach George's room. Lockwood grasps the handle, and as he does so, he hears someone say, “What do you think you’re doing?” He looks up. An older nurse is striding towards them, and he knows that she’s not going to be lenient. “I know for a fact you’re not family, so step away from the door.”
“Please,” he finds himself saying, “We just want to make sure he’s okay.” He hears his voice break. He balls his hand into a fist, blows out a breath.
“Visitors aren’t permitted. I'll walk you back to the lobby area, where you can wait with everyone else.”
“Fine,” he says, pissed, and not even trying to hide it. He, Lucy, and Holly follow the nurse back to the elevators and into the reception area. It’s too loud, too bright, and he feels his head spin.
Lucy and Holly settle into chairs, while he paces in front of them. There has to be something that he can do. He thinks about asking for the phone and calling Barnes, flirting with the young nurse if he really needs to and getting her to escort him to George's room, or just sneaking up there somehow.
“Why won’t they let us see him?” He hears Lucy ask desperately, her voice thin, but he knows why. It's bad, really bad. His breathing is fast and shallow. He should have never left George. What the fuck had he been thinking? He had been obsessed with getting into Penelope's headquarters, secretly pleased that he and Lucy were going alone. He shakes his head. He's a selfish bastard.
Holly lets out a little sob, as she says, “I think because it’s bad.”
“Don’t say that,” he says harshly back. There's an empty chair in front of him, and he kicks it, hard. It goes skittering across the reception room, stopping only when it hits a wall.
“Lockwood!” Holly gasps.
His eyes find Lucy's. She seems far away, but she nods at him, and he strides out of the hospital to get some air.
He walks past parked ambulances, past the entrance to the trauma center, pushing away thoughts of George's body coming through on one of those stretchers, unconscious, bruised, and bloodied. Walking aimlessly, at one point he punches the rough outside of the hospital building, and barely registers it. He feels his breathing speed up again, his heart thundering against his ribs, and he has to lean against a tree, so he doesn’t collapse. He feels lightheaded, dizzy, and he gulps for air, as he loosens his tie, throws it to the ground, and unbuttons the collar of his shirt, but he still can’t breathe. Crashing to his knees, he puts his palms to the cool pavement. This is a panic attack, his mind tells him. He pictures Lucy's hands on his cheeks, the back of his neck, the color of her eyes pouring into his, and wills himself to focus on the fact that George is still alive. He sucks in a breath, holds it in his lungs, and then slowly releases air from his mouth. He does this five more times, and his mind clears again.
He takes a deep breath and walks back to the hospital.
He throws himself into a chair next to Lucy. Holly has fallen asleep, her head resting on Lucy’s shoulder at what looks like a very uncomfortable angle.
Lucy glances at him, and he knows she wants to ask how he’s doing, offer some condolences, but he’s not sure what he can give her in this moment. Plus, he’s never really good at answering those questions of hers, anyways, and he knows she hates it, but that means dragging another box forward, breaking it open, and well, who’s got the time and patience for that. It’s not like he relishes this. His “George” box is already filling too quickly, and rather than dwell, he heaves a big sigh and looks back at her.
“He’ll be okay,” he says. He thinks it’s more for his benefit than hers. She nods slowly, reaches up a hand and pushes his hair back, out of his eyes, her nails scraping against his scalp a little, and for a moment he’s so tempted to let himself just fall into her, sod it all, but he doesn’t.
He has to focus on George. George is strong, he’ll get through this. He feels Lucy’s head knock into his shoulder, and he looks down at her. Her eyes are closed, but he knows she’s not sleeping - he knows what she looks like asleep, and this isn’t it. But at least this way, no one will see him if he falls apart.
At some point, Kipps comes by. Without a word, he sits down next to Holly, but leans over and whispers to Lockwood, “Any news?”
Lockwood shakes his head.
“Assume you tried to get in?”
“Stupid question, obviously I tried.”
Kipps looks towards the young nurse. “And you didn’t have any luck? I’m surprised, Lockwood. She’s not your type, but–”
Lockwood rolls his eyes, “Piss off, of course I did, but then we were stopped on the third floor.”
“Less attractive nurse?”
“Oh, shut up.”
Kipps sighs, “Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“You’re always like this.”
“Maybe I should try, see how far I get.”
“Somehow I seriously doubt you’ll get as far as I did, but be my guest.”
But Kipps doesn’t move. He looks over at Holly on Lucy’s shoulder, and Lucy on Lockwood’s shoulder. Lockwood’s sure that Lucy is asleep finally.
Kipps raises his eyes at Lockwood, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to - he’d already taken the piss out of Lockwood after Holly had accidentally let slip that she swore La Belle Dame looked like Lucy. Plus, whatever he thought about saying would be pointless - it would be right, and Lockwood didn’t have the energy to lie to himself and Kipps by denying it.
Instead, Kipps says, motioning to the girls, “They probably need to go home at some point.”
“I know. I’m staying here, though.”
“I’m not an idiot, Lockwood. I know you’re a stubborn arsehole. I wasn’t talking about you.”
“They’ll want news.”
“Will there be any?”
“I hope.”
“Fine, how about this? You stay. I’ll be the in-between.”
“You sure?”
“Lockwood, I think I’m bloody capable of traveling between Portland Row and a hospital.”
“Right. Thank you.”
Kipps shrugs. “Anytime.”
At that moment Barnes bursts in. Lucy startles awake, and the movement wakes Holly too.
“Lockwood,” he growls. “Outside now.”
Lockwood stands, and follows Barnes outside. This’ll be rich.
“So?” Barnes asks.
“So, what?”
“Well how is he?”
“Inspector, I wouldn’t know. No one’s telling me anything.”
“You’re telling me those teeth of yours aren’t working?”
Lockwood crosses his arms over his chest. “No, apparently not, sir.”
Barnes softens. “Okay, we’ll get up there. We’ll see him. Now, listen, and listen quick. Any second now, more officers will be here. I got your message, but that’s the last we’ll talk about it, you hear me?”
“Obviously.”
“But what were you thinking, Mr. Lockwood? Leaving him alone like that? You’ve heard what’s happening - this isn’t the first time. And,” he leans in close to Lockwood’s ear, “you’re flying too close to the sun. Back off immediately. That’s a direct order.”
“Thought we weren’t talking about it, Inspector.”
“We’re not.”
At that moment, several officers approach them. “Gentlemen,” Barnes says, “Right this way.” They march up to the nurse at the desk, Lockwood following. This is his fault.
He looks over at Kipps, nods at him, and then he, Barnes, and the officers are being taken to the third floor.
Lockwood makes a mental note: Day two. He’s been up for more than 48 hours. He doesn’t see George, but Lockwood finds out that George’s doctor worked for both Fittes and Rotwell, after Barnes congratulates him on having such an esteemed resume, with a pointed look at Lockwood.
And yeah, Lockwood’s not an idiot, he knows he can’t trust anyone here. Everyone is in Fittes’ pockets.
And so he waits, whether it’s in a plastic chair in the hall or pacing the corridor. Barnes tells him to get some sleep at one point or at least grab a bloody tea or coffee, but he’s got to keep his eyes on George’s door. He finds out that George is still unconscious due to multiple head injuries, contusions on his back and limbs.
At some point, he gets to see George. It’s brief and horrible. George looks beaten to a pulp, his face barely recognizable - it’s black, purple, and blue, huge, and puffy, and Lockwood swallows back a sob.
Unprompted, a memory from their Hoxton Bathhouse case comes to his mind - George just staring at the naked ghosts, almost getting ghost touched, Lockwood blushing as he fought them off, his first real glimpse of what women’s bodies could look like for real, not like they did in the magazines under a very private floor board under his bed, him and George laughing about the ridiculousness of it after. He finds himself trying not to chuckle and then immediately feels like he’s going to vomit, as he looks back towards George.
Kipps comes by again.
“You look like shit, Lockwood.”
Lockwood drags a hand down his face. He feels like shit, but he musters a slight grin, as he says, “Yeah, well, so do you. You need a shave.”
“Jealous?”
“Out with it Kipps.”
“Lockwood. They’re fine. I pulled Holly aside and told her that she and Lucy need to stick together.”
“Good. Make sure you check on them. I swear if anything–”
“Nothing’s going to happen to Lucy. I swear. Or Holly. You have my word, Lockwood.”
“Who’s watching them right now?”
“Flo.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, she stopped by. Filled her in too, but she already seemed to know most of it.”
“Ah.” Lockwood leans his head against the wall. He feels better with Flo there, given her skill with a rapier. Kipps regards him with something in his eyes Lockwood doesn’t like. “Don’t get sentimental on me now, Quill,” he says.
Kipps glares at him. “How is he?”
“Well, he’s severely concussed. Beaten bloody raw, still unconscious. They let me see him.”
“Well, at least that means—”
“That he’s still alive? Yeah.”
Kipps sits in the chair next to Lockwood. “You need to sleep.”
“I’m fine.”
“Lockwood. C’mon. Lucy and Holly are worried about you. Flo too.”
“I said I’m fine."
“You're a fucking liar. Because I totally didn’t mean it when I said you looked like shit earlier.”
“Just… Can you go back and make sure they’re okay?”
Kipps sighs but stands and puts a hand on Lockwood’s shoulder. “Fine. I’ll be back tomorrow though.”
Lockwood watches him leave. “Quill?” He calls. Kipps turns around. “This isn’t over,” he says. “I fucking swear–”
“I know,” Kipps says, his eyes burning. “And I’ll be right there with you. I’ll help you kill them.”
Lockwood stares at George’s door, watching, waiting, hoping.
Lockwood startles awake. Fuck. He checks his watch, his head throbbing. He wasn’t out long, it’s still night. He stands and peeks into the window of George’s room. He can’t see much, but he can see the machines still working, the steady beep of the heart rate monitor.
God his head hurts. He runs through what Holly told him about the incident, finally letting his mind fully process the literal details of it.
George with the book under his arm, walking home.
Gale and his thugs creeping out of the alley shadows after knowing full well where George was after taunting Lockwood and Lucy at the Gala -- god he could scream.
The thugs jumping George, because of course Gale wouldn’t have the balls to do it himself, George crying out in pain, trying to fight back, being slammed against a brick wall.
Gale stealing the book to bring back to his precious Penelope/Marissa or whatever the fuck she was.
George slumping to the ground, being repeatedly kicked in the head, George slipping into unconsciousness, wondering where the hell Lockwood was.
Gale commanding his thugs to push George into the drain, to turn him over, make it look like he was just trash.
Jake driving by, looking for work, driving away, then doubling back thinking those clothes look familiar, Jake calling 999, calling Portland Row, Holly answering, because of course Lockwood wasn’t there…
He feels something wet land on his knee and it takes him a moment to realize he’s crying. Kipps had it right in the archives all that time ago. Everyone does leave him, and it’s all his fucking fault.
He sees Lucy’s face beckoning him to the Other Side, and she’s dead, and everyone he loves is gone, and he can’t get there–
“Lockwood!” He startles awake to Barnes’ face, full of pity. He hates it. “You were shaking,” Barnes says.
Lockwood stands up in a panic, pushing Barnes away. “How’s George?” He demands.
“Easy,” Barnes says. “You weren’t out long. I just talked to the doctor.” He grabs Lockwood’s shoulders, which is a feat, since Lockwood is taller than he is, and steers him back to the chair.
“And?”
“And,” Barnes says, “He’s responding.”
“He’s awake?” Lockwood hears how desperate his voice sounds.
“Not yet, but the doctor feels confident that he’ll be soon.” Barnes looks at him. “You need to go home, Mr. Lockwood. Get some rest.”
“No.”
Barnes sighs. “Fine, I know it’s not worth wasting my time trying to convince you.”
Barnes leaves. Time inches by. Lockwood plans. Gale and Penelope/Marissa know what they’re after now, and they’re all targets. They’re all in danger, but they won’t be able to do anything unless they get that damned book. George had mentioned there were more copies, so there’s no choice. They’re simply going to have to break into the Orpheus Society. Not only that, but Portland Row is a target now, and it’ll be an even bigger target after they steal Marissa’s book. He thinks through all the weak points of the house, and hell, there’s a lot. He starts making a list of supplies in his head.
He’s halfway through all the shops he’ll need to visit to fortify Portland Row when Kipps shows up again. He sits in the chair next to Lockwood.
“Somehow you’ve found a way to look like even more shit, Lockwood. Didn’t think it was possible.”
“Well hello to you too, Quill. Always a delight. How–”
“They’re fine, Lockwood.”
“Flo there now?”
“Yes, she’s watching. But you do remember that Holly and Lucy are agents, right? They can protect themselves.”
Lockwood sighs, “Normally, yes, but this is bigger than it’s ever been. You have to know that.”
“I do.” Kipps looks at him, “You’ve got something in mind, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I’ve had a few ideas.”
“You sure they’re good ones?”
“When have I ever had a bad one?”
“All the time, Lockwood.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“I mean, you’re sure they don’t spell certain death?” Kipps gives him a meaningful look.
Goddamn, he doesn’t necessarily want to die. He grins back, making a joke, “Well, now you’re just asking for the impossible, Quill.”
“So, how is our dear ‘ol George?”
“Might wake up soon.”
Kipp turns to Lockwood in surprise. “Really?”
“Never doubted it for a second.”
“Lockwood, your sorry state says otherwise. When do you think he’ll get out of here?”
Lockwood shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. I’m staying the night.”
“’Course you are.” Kipps stands. “Well I’m off to report the news, then.”
“Tell them not to worry,” Lockwood calls after him.
George wakes up that morning, and somehow Lockwood convinces the doctor to let George come home. He doesn’t apply his normal tactics – he’s too tired and delirious for that. Instead, he’s pretty sure he annoys and confuses him so much that George’s doctor acquiesces just to get rid of him.
George rides back in an ambulance with him, George trying to talk, but Lockwood just tells him to shut up and get some rest.
The medics bring George in on a wheelchair. Lockwood directs them to George’s room, but on second thought, tells them to put George up in his room instead. Almost as soon as they leave, Flo barges in, demanding to see him. She has a pot with something in it, god knows what, but she ignores him when he tells her that George needs to rest, and honestly, he’s so tired that he doesn’t fight her and just lets her in, resigned and annoyed.
At least he can be sure that George is safe with her. Well as long as George stays away from whatever is in the pot. His next thought is Lucy.
He tiptoes up to the attic and quietly opens the door and creeps up the stairs. The skull is glowing and gives him a horrible look. It’s such a blasted, demented thing. He flips it off and walks over to Lucy’s bed.
She’s asleep, breathing slowly, still wearing her clothes from when she was in the hospital. He kneels by her bed and just stares at her, relief and exhaustion coursing through him. He brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes and fights the urge to just crawl into bed with her, breathe her in and let exhaustion take him over. Instead he stays where he is.
He doesn’t know how long he watches her, but some time after 11 he tiptoes out of the attic, peeks into his room, where Flo sits on his bed, tending to George. She spots him, glares at him, putting a finger to her lips. He rolls his eyes at her, mouths, “I am being quiet,” and heads down to the kitchen.
He sinks into a chair, and before he knows it, his body is heaving with sobs. At some point, he doesn’t know how much later, he just stops. He feels a little like he’s floating, like he’s empty, and his head is spinning. His body feels far away. He doesn’t dissociate often, but maybe it might be happening now. He walks to the window and just stares.
“Hey, Holly…” He whips around, and it’s Lucy. She looks a wreck, but Christ, seeing her there, alive. His mind and body align again, and he’s tired, but he feels clearer. He grips a chair, so he doesn’t fall over from exhaustion, and smiles at her.
“Hi Lucy.”
“Is he–?”
“George is fine,” he says, “He’s alive.” And without thinking, he walks towards her, and pulls her towards him, his arms tight around her. He breathes her in, savoring the soft solid comfort of her body against his. Sunlight streams through the kitchen, and in this tiny moment with the two of them here, he feels safer than he’s felt for the past however many days.