Chapter Text
Lucy gingerly removed George’s clothes from her bed— the attic bed, she reminded herself. She didn’t live here anymore. This stay was temporary. But still, it was a huge comfort to be back at Portland Row, in her old room, even with all of George’s things strewn about.
There was a knock on the door. “May I come up?”
“Yeah, come in.”
Despite the chaos of the past forty-eight hours and her utter exhaustion, Lucy couldn’t help but perk up as Lockwood’s long frame slowly ascended the stairs. He seemed hesitant again, like he had been at her flat a few days prior, as if the attic were still her space.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked.
“Tired. But better. Thanks again for letting me crash here, Lockwood, and getting my stuff.” He had just returned with Holly with a bag of her clothes. He had also allowed Holly to think that the thugs who were after her had subsequently trashed her place, even though Lucy was fairly certain that it had already been in a state.
“Don’t mention it,” Lockwood gave her a small smile. “I hope you don’t mind, I actually grabbed something else from your flat.” He handed her a familiar shoebox. “I thought you might want it.”
“Oh…” Her fingers caressed the construction paper decorating the outside, covered in doodles of hearts and flowers, L+N in bubble letters. Her tapes for Norrie. “Thank you, Lockwood.” It was kind of him to keep this private, and she was surprised that he thought to grab them. She had told him about them, once, a time that seemed like forever ago, how she used to record letters for the Whites to play for Norrie. Used to, being the operative phrase. She swallowed guiltily, tears pricking her eyes.
The truth was, as she became more comfortable with the skull in the jar, she had stopped making the tapes. She didn’t know if Norrie could hear them, for one—or if they even got to her at all, to be honest. For all she knew, the Whites threw them away. Still, she hadn’t even meant to stop. It had happened gradually, and then one day she reached for a blank tape and discovered that she didn’t know where she last left off. It occurred to her that the time she used to spend talking alone to herself—to Norrie—had been replaced by talking to the skull. For better or worse, the skull responded and was always there, at least until yesterday. She really didn’t want to cry in front of Lockwood, not right now. But it hit her like a ton of bricks that she was alone again.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” Lockwood swept her into a firm hug as she sobbed into his shirt. Nothing was okay. She had almost been killed, the skull was gone, and now she was putting Lockwood in danger again. And she had neglected Norrie. It was too much.
They stayed like that for quite some time, until Lucy’s breath finally slowed. When Lockwood finally stepped back, he kept his hands on her shoulders, rubbing her arms. “Look at me, Luce. We’re going to fix this, okay? We’re going to find the skull. You’re safe here. Really, you can stay as long as you like. You always have a home here.”
His words made her bawl all over again, causing a stricken look of panic to cross his face. She really wished she could stop crying.
“How about I make you a cuppa, yeah? Does that sound good?”
She nodded, trying to smile. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds really nice. I’m sorry, Lockwood. Oh, look I’ve ruined your shirt,” she choked.
He looked down at the damage. “It’s nothing, Lucy. Let me go fix your tea, okay?” He trotted downstairs. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to get away from her as quickly as possible after her outburst.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Lucy opened up the shoebox full of cassettes and her old tape recorder. Finding a blank tape, she popped it in.
“Hey Norrie, it’s been awhile. I…Things got busy, and everything’s a mess.” She paused, wondering where to begin.
“Well, I guess, first off, I left Lockwood & Co. But that’s a whole thing,” she sighed. She didn’t have enough tapes to go through that whole ordeal. “Actually, I am technically staying here at the moment, but only because some men tried to murder me last night.” No, that didn’t work either. Rewinding the tape, she started over.
“Hey Norrie. I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch lately. I—I think about you every day. I’ve been freelancing. You’d be proud of me, I have my own flat and everything,” she choked on her laughter. “Had, I guess. It’s a long story, but the skull was stolen and there are people after me. I ended up coming back to Lockwood and Co this morning. Lockwood and George were nice enough to patch me up and give me a place to stay, even after how I left things.” She took a deep breath.
“I haven’t had anyone to talk to for a long time. Not really. The other agents I freelance with are mostly numpties honestly, and the skull hardly counts as a person.” Even though I miss him terribly, she thought to herself. Kind of like how I miss you. She swallowed thickly.
“I had a vision a few months back. A Fetch showed me Lockwood, dead. He’d died for me, Norrie, and I couldn’t take it. Not after losing Paul, Julie, Steph, and Alfie-Joe. Not after losing you. I won’t be left behind again, I won’t do it.” Large drops ran down her cheeks, spilling into her lap. She hadn’t thought about the Mill Incident in a long time. There had been plenty else to occupy her thoughts. But that’s why she’d left, hadn’t she? She couldn’t risk losing her team again. She couldn’t even keep the skull safe. Better not to have any team at all.
Yet she remembered the easy camaraderie at the Guppy house—she’d even admitted to Lockwood that it was the best night out that she’d had in a long time. She remembered Lavender Lodge, Kensal Green, Combe Carey Hall. There was a pang in her chest as she thought about sparring with Lockwood in the basement, doodling on the Thinking Cloth with George across from her; a pit in her stomach as she recalled Norrie teaching her how to make salt bombs and oil chains properly, how Paul quietly congratulated her after her first case.
“I think I might have fucked up, Norrie.” That was it. That was the truth.
Lucy had known in it in her bones as she watched George rubbing his glasses outside of the Guppy house before he laid into her. Lockwood wasn’t just being reckless now, she could see that much; he was being foolish. It was entirely possible that her leaving had exactly the opposite of her desired effect. But then again, here she was, back at Portland Row, and dragging Lockwood on a dangerous mission, for her.
She shook her head. No, stopping the Winkman ring would benefit him too. He was doing this for the good of the company. It just happened to also help her out. Still, Lucy knew in this moment how selfish she was being. She was putting the people she loved in harm’s way, again. Even if she desperately wanted to come back to Lockwood—& Co., her mind hastily added—she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
“Hey Luce, tea’s ready,” Lockwood’s voice startled her from the other side of the attic door. She wondered how long he’d been standing there.
“I don’t know what to do,” Lucy whispered into the tape recorder. “I really wish you were here. I miss you so much.” She pressed the record button to stop the tape, wiped her eyes, and went to open the door.