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Part One: Lucy
Lucy Carlyle was at the end of her fucking rope. Somehow everyone in London thought that the precise nature of her relationship with Lockwood - strictly professional and friendly, she was tired of insisting - was not only up for debate, but a little dig to throw in her face every time Lockwood held them accountable for their actions. He’d never dress her down like that. He’d never get in her face about this. He’d never chide her for that. Never mind that he did dress her down and get in her face and chide her. No, never mind any of that. If it didn’t fit the narrative that Lucy could get away with bloody murder because Lockwood thought she hung the moon then it never happened.
She had come to accept it when it came from George. She had steeled herself against the silent, sidelong looks from Barnes and the raised eyebrows and smug comments from Flo. And she had more or less learned how to tune Kipps out entirely. But when it came from Holly , whose company and general approach to social interaction she was still learning to accept without wanting to bare her teeth.
“It shouldn’t matter that I have the least field experience! I have more than enough for a full-fledged agent, and I took every reasonable precaution!” Holly shouted, inches from Lockwood’s face. He was stunned into silence, so rare was it to see Holly lose her general air of pleasantness and competency. “We’re all tired and irritable after this string of jobs, and we all took risks tonight, but I don’t see you sniping at anyone else for their rash actions!”
She didn’t say names, but she didn’t need to. It went without saying. She meant Lucy. And that was enough to send Lucy over the edge.
“I’m tired of it! I’m tired of all of you acting like Lockwood has never said a word of criticism to me because he’s secretly in love with me, or acting like I’ll always take his side in arguments because I’m secretly in love with him!” Lucy realized she was screaming in the foyer in the middle of the night, but months and months of frustration shoved down and bottled up had pressurized, and she was ready to burst with the force of it. “Every single one of you has seen Lockwood lay into me for getting too close to a ghost, for leaving circles to try and communicate after he told me not to. And you’ve seen me jump down his throat for being reckless and endangering himself instead of just asking for help or waiting for backup! I don’t know what more either of us has to do to convince you!”
Her cheeks were on fire and her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she kept shouting, glaring daggers at Holly, George, and Kipps. She was going to get through to them if it killed her. Words clearly weren’t cutting it.
And then, an idea.
“If you’re all so sure that Lockwood and I are secretly in love with each other, all that’s left for me to do is to prove you wrong! Then maybe you’ll all stop acting like kicked puppies any time one of you does something stupid and dangerous and you get taken to task for it! Maybe you’ll stop lashing out at me about what you all decide to do!”
Quick as a flash, Lucy’s hand darted out to Lockwood’s tie. She curled her fingers tight around it and dragged him close. He stumbled, feet unsure and overbalancing on the smooth foyer floor, and he nearly toppled down with her. One of his hands flew out to brace against the wall, the other catching her around her waist to keep her upright too. Lucy jumped at that opportunity and pulled him down with his tie to slam her lips into his. If all of them were so convinced she and Lockwood were stewing in a pressure cooker of sexual tension, she would prove them all wrong with what would be an obviously awkward and uncomfortable kiss. They’d see there was no sexual tension there at all, and-
But then.
Then, Lockwood had to go and misinterpret her goal and be good at kissing, just like he was good at everything else. The prick. Holding her close with his stupidly large hand and tilting his head to correct the angle she’d thrown their faces together at with his stupidly soft, warm lips. She felt a fluttering in her stomach as she heard him draw in a surprised breath, the faintest little oh that she couldn’t be sure didn’t sound pleased. This wasn’t going at all how she’d planned. But she had a point to prove, and she couldn’t bear to give up just yet.
Never one to walk away when she could instead escalate the situation, Lucy pressed herself closer to Lockwood, practically melting against his body as she parted her lips and darted her tongue out, letting it play along the soft curvature of his bottom lip. He opened to her immediately, but otherwise stood there, shell-shocked, as she sucked his bottom lip between her teeth and tugged at it teasingly. And then something snapped in him, spurring him to action as he threw himself, tongue and lips and hands alike, into the kiss with such fervent enthusiasm that Lucy realized she had made a terrible mistake.
She shoved herself away from him and ignored the voice of protest inside that wailed at the loss of his touch.
“See?” she panted, trying very hard to scowl as she frantically batted away the strands of her hair that had been mussed by Lockwood’s hands. “No attraction at all, from either of us! Obviously! So I don’t want to hear anything from any of you ever again.”
The house was deadly quiet as Lockwood stood there blinking, still leaning forward against the wall and looking unsteadier than ever, and the other three exchanged glances that Lucy pointedly ignored before stomping up the stairs to her room.
Part Two: Lockwood
As Lucy retreated noisily upstairs, Lockwood’s thoughts felt like dragonflies zipping about, catching the light and his attention only long enough to distract him, and never staying still long enough for him to catch hold of any of them. He was dimly aware of the three pairs of eyes staring holes in him, but he couldn’t focus on them just yet. Not when it was all he could manage just stopping himself from touching his fingertips to his lips to reassure himself that he hadn’t imagined what just happened.
“Are we going to address that, Tony?”
With all the subtlety of a bomb flare at a wake, Kipps broke the silence. Lockwood took personal offense at the sardonic arch of his brow and the knowing smirk that did nothing to improve his stupid face.
Holly watched him curiously, holding her silence while she waited for Lockwood to say something, do something, to come out of his Lucy-induced catatonic state. George, by contrast, simply stood there goggling at him, mouth open.
Finally, Lockwood’s brain caught up with the rest of him. He tugged at his rumpled shirt and tie, attempting to set himself to rights. Hoping the heat in his cheeks was less visible than it felt, he looked up at the three faces staring straight at him. “I should - should I go talk to her?”
George burst into laughter, broad, helpless guffawing that felt unwarranted to Lockwood. Kipps, to his credit, merely rolled his eyes and made for the door to head back to his own home for the night. But Holly smiled, a small, amused curve of the lips that was mercifully non judgemental. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting out a long sigh, before looking back up at him and nodding.
“Right then. I’ll just. I’ll go do that, shall I?”
George’s laughter followed him as he went upstairs.
Lockwood reached the attic door and stood there, at a loss for what to do next. Opening the door was such a small, simple motion, but it felt too bold to let himself into Lucy’s room without permission. But knocking felt strange too - he could still feel the electricity of her lips on his, the teasing warmth of her body pressed against him. Even if she’d said it was completely lacking in chemistry, he-
No, he needed to respect what she wanted, no matter how badly he wanted the opposite. She had done what she’d done to prove a point to everyone, and he wished things were otherwise, but they weren’t. So he raised a hand and rapped his knuckles on the door.
“Not right now, please!” Lucy’s voice called through the closed door.
“Luce, it’s me,” he said, his heart in his throat.
He heard a muffled “Oh!” and a sharp thud, followed immediately by more muffled swearing. “Give me a second!”
When Lucy flung open the door, she looked rumpled and pink cheeked - probably from fighting with whatever she’d tripped over - her eyes wide and her lips parted slightly - but that was likely from falling too, right? Breathing harder after struggling with something? She stood there a moment, holding his gaze, like she expected him to be the one to do something. Lockwood wished he knew what.
“Did you want to come in?” she asked finally, and for an instant, Lockwood thought he saw disappointment flash across her face.
“Yes, sorry, thank you,” he said, fumbling for words. He stepped in past her and felt off-balance in the room that had been his for years, rendered almost unrecognizable by Lucy’s influence. She had that effect on things. “I should apologize for what happened downstairs. Between us.”
He hadn’t the first clue how to go from there, looking to Lucy for help.
“Why would you apologize for it?” she said, her expression unreadable, but not displeased at least. He took that as a good sign.
“Because it was unprofessional of me?”
Lucy sighed, pushing her hair out of her face and seeming suddenly very frustrated with…possibly him? Or perhaps the situation as a whole. He wasn’t sure, and didn’t think it sensible to ask just then. “Lockwood, explain to me how me kissing you was unprofessional on your part.”
Something in the back of his head told him that actual, clear honesty was the safest approach at that moment. In spite of every other instinct telling him to say what he thought she wanted to hear, he decided to trust the voice. “I’m not sure what you want me to say right now.”
Her eyes widened and she made a small sound - a scoff, or maybe a laugh? She scrubbed at her face with a hand, and when she took it away and looked at him again, he saw an embarrassed smile creeping across her face. She shook her head and said, “I’m also not sure, if that helps.”
“I hope the kiss wasn’t awful, at least.”
Lucy’s smile grew wide and disbelieving as she broke down into breathless giggles. Her shoulders shook and she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound, but she couldn’t stop. It was far from reassuring, and Lockwood was strongly considering leaving to pretend he had any pride left to salvage from this conversation. He was fairly certain he heard “thick” and “impossible” in between gasps of laughter, and decided that was enough.
He spun on his heel, ready to leave, when Lucy, out of breath but no longer laughing, reached out towards him.
“No! Don’t go - I’m not laughing at you,” she said. “Or, I am, but not because of anything you did!”
Lockwood allowed himself to be pulled back into the room. The look on her face wasn’t helping the spinning in his head as he tried to make sense of the night, of her outburst and speech, of her laughter just now, or of the kiss in the foyer.
“Lucy,” he began, his voice soft just in case anyone was snooping on the landing, “I would hate to think anything I did made you uncomfortable, or made you think I was treating you differently from everyone else. I don’t mean to single you out. As your employer and technically your landlord, I-”
“Please stop.”
He had already been speaking softly, but the way she asked him to stop - her voice was so small. No trace of the laughter from only moments ago. He reached out a hand towards hers, wanting to hold it and reassure her somehow. She let him, and the disappointment he had seen flash past earlier was there again so clearly.
“Tell me what to do and I will,” he said, and he surprised even himself with the seriousness of his tone. He couldn’t stand to see the hurt splashed across Lucy’s face and written in every line of her posture. “Luce?”
For the second time that night, Lucy reached out and wrapped her fingers around his tie. Lockwood drew in a breath, not sure if he should expect a repeat of earlier, but instead she just toyed with it, drawing it between her fingers and focusing very intently on the knobbly texture of the knit fabric. She stared at it, not allowing her gaze to wander up to meet his.
With his free hand, Lockwood - slowly, so as not to startle her - cupped her cheek and stroked his thumb across her smooth, soft skin. He watched as she let the tie slip from her fingers and leaned in to rest her forehead against his shoulder.
“I lied,” she said simply. She let the words hang in the air alone for a moment, and Lockwood didn’t dare interrupt her with questions. Not before she was ready. At last, she went on. “I was angry and tired, and I lied.”
“About what?” Lockwood asked, but the way her free hand was clutching tight to his shirt gave him hope what the answer might be.
“The kiss.”
It was his turn to laugh, though unlike her irrepressible giggles, it was a quiet, warm laugh, just for her. “I assumed as much, silly goose. What about it?”
She buried her face against his chest and, as far as he could tell, said, “Iliedaboutitbeingawkwardandthatwehadnochemistryatall.”
“One more time?”
She looked up at him with a scowl, and he couldn’t help the broad, silly grin stretching across his face. He knew damn well what she had said, and he was certain she could tell. He felt her hand release his shirt, smoothing where she’d crumpled it in her fist. The gentle passes of her hand across the fabric became firmer, more lingering. He sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling, and Lucy seized the chance.
Just as quick as before, she had his tie in hand and was pulling it like a leash, bringing his face down level with hers. With her other hand, she raked her fingers through his hair and helped guide his lips to hers without the clashing. This time, he was sure she wanted to be kissing him. She wanted him to kiss her back. And he could never say no to her.
(He could. He often did. But not that night.)