Work Text:
saw you there and I thought
"oh, my God, look at that face
you look like my next mistake
love's a game, wanna play?"
new money, suit and tie
I can read you like a magazine
ain't it funny? rumors fly
and I know you heard about me
—blank space
Times of London
August 19th Edition
Anthony Lockwood: “My Style”: see fashion pull out, center pages
“Lockwood,” Holly called, “there’s another reporter on the phone for you!”
Lockwood stood up from the kitchen table, where he’d been eating a quick breakfast with Lucy and George before they resumed their work cleaning up the house. He stepped into the hall and took the phone from Holly, nodding at her in thanks as she headed back into the kitchen.
“Hello, this is Anthony Lockwood.”
A somewhat shrill female voice greeted him. “Fabulous! Hello Mr. Lockwood, this is Felicia Parker-Whitehead of the Times of London. We have a proposition for you.”
“What kind of proposition?” He’d never received more inquiries from the press, and it was quite thrilling to see his agency obtain so much well deserved publicity.
“Since everyone is so interested in your agency in light of recent events, we’d love to do a feature on you in this weekend’s paper!”
“Interesting. What kind of feature?” Lockwood leaned against the wall, scribbling the pertinent information on a stray piece of paper. A grin broke out over his face as Felicia continued speaking. “I’d love to.”
When he hung up the phone and returned to the kitchen, Holly had started sweeping the floor. She turned to him. “Does the Times want you to do another interview?”
“Sort of,” he replied. “They’ve asked to do a feature about me in Saturday’s paper.”
“And?” Lucy asked, looking at him curiously from her perch at the table, accurately registering that he was being a bit cagey.
Lockwood braced himself for the inevitable reactions. Best to just get this over with. “They want me to do a fashion profile for the center pull out,” he said confidently.
There was a brief moment of silence as the others in the room took in his news, and then peals of laughter broke out.
“A style profile?” Lucy managed to get out. “Of you? ”
“Thank you for the glowing compliment, Luce,” he said, a bit miffed.
“I didn’t mean—” she protested, but he waved her off.
George was practically crying, but eventually managed to speak. “This is the stuff of my dreams,” he gasped. “Or rather it’s the stuff of your dreams, Lockwood. How long have you been buttering up some poor sod at the Times to be considered for this?”
“Oh, shut up, both of you,” Lockwood said crossly. “I’ll just pop out for a bit tomorrow to take care of the interview and accompanying photo shoot.”
George and Lucy both choked on their orange juice, stains flying all over the Thinking Cloth to Holly’s immediate dismay.
“That was brand new,” she muttered, scowling at them both, as she rushed over with a rag to clean it.
Lucy gathered herself first. “There’s a photo shoot?” she sputtered, her eyes growing wide.
“Yes, just a small one. They are mostly going to use older photos in the interest of time, but they want a new headshot.” Christ, he felt his face starting to get warm. “It’s free publicity for the agency,” he said defensively.
George looked like Christmas had come early. “Can’t wait for Kipps to hear about this,” he said dreamily, gazing off into space.
“I’m sure it’s quite flattering to be asked, Lockwood,” Holly said loyally.
Dear old Holly, Lockwood thought with a rush of affection. He really ought to consider giving her a raise. “Thanks, Hol.”
“Have you started working on your poses? How long are you going to spend on your hair?” George’s eyes were gleaming. “Wait—are they going to fix your hair for you? Will there be makeup?”
Lucy started doodling a sketch labeled ‘Lockwood the model’ on the Thinking Cloth that included some unfortunate facial expressions. “If anything might convince the Skull to come back, it might be the opportunity to give you shit about this,” she said a bit wistfully, lifting her head to grin at him. “He never would have let you live this down.”
“Lucy, I’m never going to let him live this down,” George chortled, leaning back in his chair. “I only wish I’d been invited. I’d pay good money to see this.”
“Well, you aren’t. They’ve only asked for me, and that’s no wonder given” —Lockwood gestured towards George’s questionable jeans and holey comic book shirt— “your sad excuse for a wardrobe.”
“Say whatever you want about my clothes, Lockwood. You better start practicing your smile in the mirror; I think the Times will rescind their offer if you show up scowling like that, and I know how devastating that would be for you,” George said seriously.
Lucy had to choke back another laugh, and even Holly looked like she was trying not to join them.
“Indeed,” Lockwood said wryly.
“Buck up, Lockwood,” George said. “Someone has to keep your vanity under control, and I’m happy to have the job.” He pushed his chair back from the table and headed up the stairs, whistling cheerfully.
The next day, Lockwood wasn’t quite sure what to expect so he arrived at the elegant Times of London office fifteen minutes early. As instructed, he’d dressed in his best suit, and he hadn’t been able to resist spending a few extra minutes on his hair.
While he’d never had difficulty talking to the press about the agency, this feature was a new opportunity, and he wanted to put his best foot forward. It was different to have the focus on just him, but it wasn’t as if the questions would be truly personal. It was only a style profile after all.
After several minutes of waiting, Felicia Parker-Whitehead strode across the lobby to meet him. She was quite tall, even by his standards, but seemed even taller on account of her flaming red hair, dramatic black and white dress, and towering high heeled boots.
Lockwood stood, his winning grin firmly in place, and shook her hand.
“Welcome, Mr. Lockwood,” she said warmly, motioning down the hall. “So nice to meet you. Please follow me.”
He followed her into a large white room, clearly intended for photo shoots, and she guided him over to a set of two armchairs in the corner where they both sat down.
“We’ll chat first, and then I’ll hand you over to our photographer, Archie, to get those shots we talked about. Now, Anthony—do you mind if I call you Anthony?” she said, giving him a gleaming smile, as she whipped out a small notebook and a tape recorder.
“Lockwood, please,” he interjected. “I prefer to go by my surname.”
“Of course. Thank you for agreeing to do this interview. It’s such a delight to talk to you,” she cooed. “I’ll be recording this conversation if you don’t mind.”
He nodded in agreement. “The pleasure is all mine. Thank you for having me.”
“Now to start off, I’d love to hear about what you consider to be your wardrobe staples. That’s what we’d like this piece to focus on.”
“Oh that’s quite easy. Personally, I think the importance of a well cut suit can’t be overstated,” he said enthusiastically. “It’s the perfect combination of aesthetics and function. And it’s versatile—it can take you from work to social engagements seamlessly. For me, a suit is a uniform; it allows me to focus on what matters each day and to be ready for whatever might come up, whether it’s meeting with a potential client, heading out on a case, or speaking with a member of the press like yourself.”
Felicia continued scribbling notes. “What’s your preference for your suit?”
Lockwood leaned back slightly, feeling more relaxed. This might turn out to be the easiest interview he’d ever done. “Now, I prefer my suits with a slimmer cut. I think it keeps the look youthful, while still professional. The best of both worlds, as they say.”
“Any tips for getting that perfect fit? Do you have a tailor you rely on for instance?”
He nodded sagely. “Oh, yes. Tailoring is of critical importance. And when you find a good one—it’s best to hold onto them. Personally, I’ve patronized the same establishment for many years now.”
“Of course. And what other wardrobe items might you consider important?”
“I’d say my other staples include a classic black coat, especially living in London. I keep a surplus of white shirts around as well. You can imagine that I go through those quite quickly in my profession.” He laughed, and Felicia tittered in response.
“Do you have a favorite item of clothing?”
“Hmm,” he said slowly. Mentally, he went through his closet at home, trying to think of what might be worth mentioning. “I have a favorite tie,” Lockwood said impulsively. “It was a gift, and well, it’s meaningful to me.”
He glanced down at his hands, suddenly hoping there wouldn’t be a follow up question about exactly who had given him that gift. He seized on another idea as a distraction.
“And of course, there’s my ring.” He waved his hand in Felicia’s direction. “It belonged to my father, so it’s quite important to me. I wear it everyday. It’s nice to have items that have meaning and sentimental value; after all, that’s what truly makes your style your own.”
“I couldn't agree more. What else would you say makes your personal style unique?”
Feeling like he was on solid ground again, Lockwood continued more confidently. “I also like to always include something a little unexpected. It adds that extra element to your look, keeps it from getting boring. For example, I prefer colorful socks. I used to always wear pink, but I’ve found myself favoring blue these days.”
“Lovely! And what about shoes—any preferences there?” Felicia inquired
“Now in my daily life, I opt for a classic pair of trainers. They’re a necessity in my line of work, as one must always be ready for whatever comes at them when confronting a Visitor. Although, of course, a nice pair of loafers or dress shoes are more suitable for formal occasions.”
“Speaking of work, you’ve built quite a business for yourself, haven’t you? And at such a young age!”
“Yes, I’m rather proud of our agency at Lockwood & Co.” He puffed up a bit, feeling a familiar flush of pride come over him. “We’re small but mighty, and so much of the credit for that has to go to my team. My deputy George Karim is the best researcher in the business—”
“And yes, what about Lucy Carlyle?” Felicia interrupted brightly.
“Oh, Luce, well, she’s superb, the best Listener alive, a brilliant field agent… I couldn’t do any of this without her,” Lockwood trailed off for a moment, then collected himself, clearing his throat. “There’s also our assistant, Holly Munro, as well as our associate Quill Kipps. They’re each instrumental to our work at Lockwood & Company.”
“Well, Anthony, now that we’ve discussed business, how do you feel about more casual attire?”
“Lockwood,” he said automatically, starting to feel a bit irritated. “To be frank, I’m not much for casual clothing. I don’t even own a pair of jeans. Plus, there hasn’t been a lot of leisure time in my life over the past few years—busy building a business as it was—but I'm hoping for more to come in the months ahead.”
Lockwood hadn’t realized it was true until he said it out loud, but perhaps it would be nice to carve out some time to relax. While he’d always thrived on adrenaline and the chase of the next challenge, he was still feeling fatigued from their most recent journey to the Other Side and the ransacking of his home.
His mind wandered, and he found himself wondering how normal teenagers even spent their free time. He honestly wasn’t quite sure what that entailed at this point. But maybe he could take Lucy to see a movie—that sounded nice, didn’t it? He was so distracted by this train of thought that the next question caught him completely off guard.
“And what do you like to wear on dates?” Felicia asked, feigning innocence, as she blinked at him.
Lockwood choked on air at that question. “Excuse me? ”
When did this woman think he had time to go on dates? Unless going on a case alone with Lucy counted—and he wasn’t delusional enough to think that it did—he’d never even been on a proper date.
Felicia leaned forward conspiratorially. “Well, if we’re talking about your free time, you must know that you’re quite the eligible bachelor! There have been rumors linking you romantically to both Ms. Munro—”
Lockwood couldn’t stop himself from barking out a laugh. He looked forward to hearing Holly’s thoughts about that idea.
Felicia pounced on his reaction immediately. “Interesting,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m taking that as a denial?”
He cleared his throat and gave Felicia his most winning smile. “I’m not really sure what my personal life has to do with any of this.”
“Just want to know a bit more about the man behind the suit as it were,” she tittered.
“Indeed.” Lockwood shifted in his chair, his eyes narrowing. This interview had officially taken a turn, and the lights were starting to seem a bit too bright.
But Felicia hadn’t been deterred from prying. “And on that note, what about the talented Ms. Carlyle? You two are quite close, are you not? What was it that you called her earlier—‘Luce,’ wasn’t it? A charming nickname if I’ve ever heard one,” she said brightly. “Anything you’d like to share there? Our readers simply love a bit of romance!”
Lockwood’s smile faltered ever so slightly. His mind went to his mother’s necklace, currently tucked away in his dresser instead of around Lucy’s neck where it belonged. He quickly shook his head. “Let’s keep the focus on style, shall we? Or I’m always happy to talk more about my work.”
“Is that a denial of a romantic relationship with Ms. Carlyle as well?” Felicia inquired, looking at him through her eyelashes in a way that suddenly made him want to poke his eyes out.
Lockwood felt his still pasted on smile grow tighter. “It’s a no comment.”
Felicia’s eyes grew wide, and she gave him a wicked grin, as she scribbled frantically on her reporter’s notepad. “Interesting… so very interesting!”
Lockwood had to fight the urge to rip the damn notebook out of her hands. Lucy was going to kill him if she ended up being mentioned in this article, especially if it implied that they were… together. Because they weren’t.
And yet.
There were undoubtedly moments where it felt like they were. They were closer than ever before, and while Lockwood thought that his feelings for her were obvious—and he hoped that she felt the same way—he hadn’t managed to have a proper conversation with her.
Over the past several months, he’d tried multiple times to bring up the subject with Lucy, but when the moment came, he’d either lost his nerve or she hadn’t picked up on his hints. When he’d found his mother’s necklace in Jessica’s room, the path forward suddenly seemed clear. The necklace was meant for Lucy, just as it had been meant for his mother before her. He’d decided to give it to her and to confess his feelings, but then Kipps had interrupted them.
And ever since, it had continued to be stupidly difficult to get a few minutes alone with Lucy at Portland Row. They were constantly being interrupted, and his hopes that another opportunity would present itself kept being dashed.
Lockwood closed his eyes briefly. Why the hell hadn’t he given Lucy that necklace already?
“Are we quite done here?” he inquired, carefully schooling his face into a neutral expression. “I’ve got a busy day ahead of me, so it might be best to get on with the photoshoot.”
The next thing he knew, Felicia was ushering him over to hair and makeup where a hair stylist put no less than three products in his hair (in addition to the one he’d already incorporated that morning) and finished it off with half a can of hairspray.
Just as he’d finished coughing, the makeup artist appeared—a woman with spiky hair who introduced herself as Cressida—and evaluated his face appraisingly. He knew he had some light bruising and cuts that were still healing from the battle at Fittes, so he couldn't blame her for sighing, although it did wound his pride a bit.
Cressida started poking at him with all sorts of brushes and compacts. She attacked his face with a vengeance, layering on concealer and powder as well as some other products he couldn’t identify, particularly under his eyes.
“Dark circles,” she said in explanation when he gave her an inquisitive look, and well, he couldn’t argue with her about that.
“Ah,” he said. “I come by those quite honestly.”
The entire process was such a blur that he didn’t catch the hairstylist’s name, but he did feel a small flush of satisfaction when, at the end, Cressida stood back to admire her work and gave him an approving nod. He was only human after all, and he found himself basking in the attention.
“Oh my God,” she exclaimed. “Look at that face!”
Lockwood spared a quick glance in the mirror to evaluate. He did look quite good, didn’t he?
“Archie,” Cressida called, “he’s all yours now!”
Archie was equally businesslike, quickly directing Lockwood through a series of poses to get the desired shot. Lockwood summoned his most blinding smile for the camera, feeling pleased with himself. While he might have mucked up the interview a bit, this portion was one of his specialties.
And just like that, it was finished. Lockwood shook his head as he pulled on his coat, still pondering Felicia’s questions. He just had to hope that the profile focused on style, rather than any gossipy implications about his personal life.
It turned out that he’d been correct to be concerned. Lucy blushed when she saw the style profile—that is, after she was finished laughing at him.
On Saturday morning, George immediately fetched the paper and sat with Lucy looking over his shoulder, as they read it together for the first time. By the end, George was almost crying again, and Lucy was wheezing.
Once they composed themselves, George insisted on doing a dramatic reading of the feature over tea before Holly and Kipps arrived for the day. Thankfully, they’d condensed his answers considerably, but sure enough Felicia had included a reference to his dating life that made Lockwood cringe.
“‘Get the Look! How to Dress Like Anthony Lockwood. Anthony Lockwood, London’s youngest agency head, shares his style staples exclusively with The Times of London—’ Hold up,” George said, interrupting the article. “Are they really ‘staples’ if you wear the same outfit every day?” he asked, eyeing Lockwood who was, as usual, dressed in black trousers and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He’d made a strategic decision to forego the tie this morning given they were planning to spend most of the day painting.
“If you’d read the article, George, you’d know there’s a reason why I dress this way.”
“Well, we all know you lack imagination, but that’s no excuse.”
“Oh come off it,” he said, mildly offended. “You have to admit that I don’t look terrible at least, even if you think this entire piece is stupid.” George grunted, and Lockwood decided to take that as agreement.
“They really made you wear makeup?” Lucy asked, peering at the headshot again.
He shrugged. “My face was still bruised. Had to be done.”
She snorted. “Now you know what girls have to go through at least.”
George resumed reading the article. “I can’t believe they gave you this much page space, Lockwood. Must have been a slow news day. Oh, and here’s the mention of Lucy because of course there’s one.”
“She’s in one of the photos,” Lockwood pointed out. In addition to his new headshot, there were a selection of photos from various cases included in the profile, as well as a candid of him and Lucy from a society event he’d dragged her to last year.
“And she looks nice in it, doesn’t she?” George said slyly.
“She always does,” Lockwood said promptly without thinking, immediately regretting it as he felt his face start to get warm.
Lucy flushed and looked determinedly in the other direction before giving him a small, private smile. Her hair was still messy from sleep, and she was wearing an old t-shirt and pair of leggings. His heart stuttered a bit. He loved her like this—cozy and soft in the early mornings. Dear God, he really had to talk to her today, or he was liable to do something insane like try to kiss her when she was handing him a cup of tea.
“Which tie were you referring to in this?” George asked abruptly, giving him a suspicious look.
“Oh,” Lockwood said, attempting to be casual. “I just made that up. I have so many ties; I don’t really have a favorite.” He didn’t risk looking at Lucy again, afraid his eyes would give the truth away.
George narrowed his eyes, but didn’t push it. “Huh.” He continued onwards with his dramatic reading. “‘While Anthony Lockwood remains coy about his personal life, he did not outright deny being romantically involved—’”
“Well, that’s enough for now. Stop reading it at breakfast, or you’re likely to get jam on the paper,” Lockwood said briskly, whisking the insert out of George’s hands and folding it up.
It was unfortunate enough that Felicia had emphasized his favorite tie that was a meaningful gift from a special someone, but then the article had also implied he was something of a serial dater. While untrue, it still made him uncomfortable. Lucy’s face had turned pink when she reached that section of the article and found her name listed with Holly’s, as well as a few girls from other agencies he’d barely even spoken to.
“Going to tuck it away to treasure forever, huh?” George inquired, arching an eyebrow and leaning back in his chair smugly. “Show it to the grandkids someday? Perhaps have it displayed at your funeral?”
Lockwood gave him a scathing look. “Okay, now it’s really time to get to work. I still sign your pay cheques after all.”
“When was the last time we were paid again, Lucy?” George asked.
“Hmm, been awhile if I recall.”
“I think we’ve been a bit busy with solving the Problem and all, but I’ll see about that on Monday. Let’s get started, shall we?” Lockwood said, ushering George out of the room.
Lucy stood, placing their empty mugs in the sink, and Lockwood hesitated by the door waiting for her. “Luce—do you…?” Just say it, he urged himself, his hand finding his mother’s necklace in his pocket, as she turned to face him. “Do you want to help me paint?” he finished lamely.
“Sure,” she agreed easily, snagging the rest of the newspaper from the kitchen table as she walked over to join him. “Just want to read the other article first.”
Today, Lockwood promised himself again as he trailed her up to Jessica’s room. He’d give the necklace to her today.
Two months later, as they continued to slowly redecorate the hallway at Portland Row, Lucy presented Lockwood with a stack of new frames featuring articles about the agency. On the top was his “My Style” feature.
“I really shouldn’t do this as your ego will inflate so much that you won’t fit through the front door,” she told him, looking bemused. “But we do need to start hanging new things up on the walls, and I couldn’t skip this.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re making fun of me, Luce?” Lockwood said wryly.
“Because I am. Part of the official girlfriend duties. Here, help me make sure this is level. I’ve already found a place for it.” She held up a hammer and nail and gestured to a blank space on the wall just before the stairs to the attic.
“You still think it was very silly, don’t you?” he asked, feeling a bit self-conscious. He leaned against the wall next to her, as she hammered the nail in.
“‘Course it is.” She flashed him a mischievous smile as she adjusted the frame so it was straight. “That’s why I want to be able to look at it every day. It’ll give me a good laugh.”
He gave her an arch look before she laughed and conceded, “Plus, you do look handsome in it if I’m being honest.” That made him grin back at her, feeling pleased.
Lucy paused to run her finger over the article, seemingly reading his interview once again. “Did you lie to George about the tie? You were talking about the one I gave you for Christmas, weren’t you?”
“Perhaps,” he teased, letting his hand rest on the small of her back. “I guess you’ll never be certain.”
Lucy looked over her shoulder at him, a knowing smile growing on her face. “And you like blue these days, do you?”
He shrugged and gave her a lopsided smile, as he looped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her back against his chest and resting his chin on her head.
“Suppose I do, Luce.” He moved one hand to graze the sapphire at her throat and then to tug the hem of her blue jumper. “Reminds me of someone I know.”
She hummed approvingly. “Sounds like she has really excellent taste.”
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “It’s a good color, darling. Especially when you wear it.”