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Lockwood sat on his own in the library, the dying embers of the fireplace casting a hazy glow on the room he spent arguably more time in than his own bedroom. The clock on the mantle ticked forward, taking the occupants of the house further from Christmas. George and Lucy had gone to bed while it was still fully situated in the holiday. It was their first Christmas together, soon they’d be nearing the New Year. It’d be the start of the first full-calendar year of Lockwood and Co. being together.
Christmas was one of his favorite holidays as a child, but he didn’t know if it had been because of the warmth of his family or just the excitement of receiving new gifts. He couldn’t deny opening presents had been a highlight of the first six years of his life. What he wouldn’t give to rewind time to spend in the hazy glow of his family rather than the empty rooms he’d been used to before George and Lucy came into his life.
Until this year, Christmas hadn’t had its appeal. Without friends or family to gather round and enjoy each other’s company, the holiday lacked any merriment he’d been fond of as a small child. The year before, it had just been him and George and while they enjoyed themselves, it was Lucy who really brought the spirit back into his holiday. And to think, until two weeks ago, he hadn’t even known they’d all be together for Christmas.
The effects of Combe Carey Hall still echoed through the halls of Portland Row. They’d celebrated their agency’s newfound notoriety, their debts being paid off, and the simple fact they had survived against all odds, and yet there were moments where a loud noise caused them to jump or a song on the radio reminded them a bit too much of the monks’ rhythmic chanting. Sleep had always evaded Lockwood, but now it seemed to taunt him. His nightmares dragging him by the ankles back to that demonic mansion. The mansion itself was now void of Visitors, yet the ghosts haunted him and his companions.
Christmas snuck up on him. He’d only realized it was so close because George asked about taking New Years off once again and that he’d need the kitchen clear all day for Christmas if they wanted a proper meal. It caught Lockwood off guard, even though he easily would avoid the kitchen if it meant getting George’s mum’s ham recipe once again. Even the leftovers were delectable.
Lucy had entered the kitchen moments later, and Lockwood reached out, making sure she hadn’t forgotten the holiday like he had.
“Oh, is it? I hadn’t realized it was coming up so soon,” she responded in that nonchalant way of hers.
Lockwood waited for her to go on, but she didn’t continue. “Do you need the time off?”
“Were you planning on us taking a case that day?”
“Of course not. I meant before then. If you wanted to – well, you know –” The look she gave him implied that she did not, in fact, know what he was getting at. “If you wanted to go home for the holiday.”
“Oh,” Lucy said simply as if that truly hadn’t crossed her mind. “No. I’m alright.”
Lockwood chanced a look at George who just shrugged.
“You know you’re welcome to go home, right? You haven’t since you started in the summer. We’d be just fine if you wanted to. I’m nothing if not a fair boss, and you deserve some holiday time if you choose to use it,” Lockwood continued. Lucy moved to sit at the table, picking up a pen to doodle on the Thinking Cloth. She still didn’t respond so Lockwood trudged on, “George’s family doesn’t celebrate Christmas, so he’ll be around still, if you were concerned about my being alone. It’s perfectly fine.” Lucy was the kind of person who’d give up time with her family to make sure he wasn’t alone. He was certain of it.
The other boy finally pitched into the conversation, “I do go home for New Years, however. That’s the real celebration, especially if my brothers sneak in some spiked eggnog.”
“We did that at my old agency once,” Lucy finally stated. “It was horrid, but it did the trick. I meant to do it again but –” She went quiet for a moment. Lockwood could practically see a wall being built behind her eyes. He’d seen that look enough on himself. She shook her head. “We just never did.”
“Does your family not celebrate Christmas either?” George asked, giving her a skeptical look. While neither boy had much experience outside of London, it felt like up north they would be celebrating the holiday.
Lucy shrugged, intent on her drawing. “Not really.” She chuckled slightly, setting her pen on the table. “Funny enough, we basically had the opposite of Christmas. My sisters tried buying me and my other sister, Mary, a gift at one point, and mum threw a fit they’d waste money so frivolously. Got rid of the gift and gave us all a bollocking for it. Not that Mary or I had anything to do with them getting it, but that’s just mum.”
She went back to her doodling, but Lockwood couldn’t take his eyes off her – this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence lately, but the circumstances this time were much different. He looked up at George who wore a similarly pinched expression at the “funny” story Lucy shared. Lucy, herself, seemed completely unaware of the dark cloud that had descended on her teammates.
“Well, if you insist,” Lockwood said tentatively.
“I do.” Lucy said, finally noticing their eyes on her. “It’s fine, really. I’m not missing anything back there even if I went they wouldn’t be doing anything. I’m perfectly fine staying here. Actually, I’m probably better off here.” Lockwood didn’t want to ask what she meant by that, but the way it made his stomach twist said enough. And yet, she said it was the same casualness she'd ask for a donut or if he was making tea.
“We exchange gifts,” George said. “Nothing big, since it’s not like this one actually pays us. But don’t want you to be surprised by it.”
Lucy nodded. “Thanks. I’ll figure something out.”
Lockwood smiled as he sat in his chair, despite himself. The Christmas holiday actually went relatively well for how low of expectations Lucy seemed to have. Celebrating by himself felt hollow, like he was throwing a pity party with the ghosts of his past. Before George he’d just tried to ignore it. With George the year before, they’d had dinner, exchanged gifts, and that was the extent of it. With Lucy, there was now a purpose. While their books were empty of Visitors for the holidays, he still had his own mission to complete.
He glanced around the room at the tree that had been in storage since Jessica died, the little knick knacks he remembered his mother taking care to set around the home, and even the stockings he’d found at Arif’s last minute. He wished they were actually in their favorite colors, but on short notice, red and green were the best he could manage. Maybe next year he’d plan ahead and make sure they each had their own stockings with their names on them and everything. Lucy looked awed by the little he was able to throw together. Her eyes shone like he’d presented her something out of a Christmas movie. He wanted to see that look again.
He thought back to only a couple hours ago, after they’d had their dinner and decided to spend time in the library. George broke out his own surprise – ingredients for spiked eggnog. They let Lucy do the honors, and what a mistake that had been. He supposed they had to stay warm somehow in the north, but he was never allowing Lucy to mix a drink for him again. It made his tongue feel looser, he’d wanted to share everything with her, especially when she opened up to them.
“My mum always would put a Christmas movie on the telly, and we’d make jokes about it the entire time. It’s probably not the most proper way to spend a holiday, but it was fun at the very least. Can you believe that tosser Dickens made the ghosts be actually helpful? Idiot.”
“Dickens? What kind of name is Dickens?” Lucy snorted.
George looked at her in shock and horror despite his defamation of the man moments before. “Charles Dickens? He’s a writer! Did you not study him in school?
Lucy shrugged. “Didn’t stay in school long enough, I ‘spose. Mum pulled me out the moment I was old enough to do agency work. Didn’t need to learn if I was just going to be killed by a Visitor.”
George blinked rapidly at her, the alcohol seeming to slow his normally quick mind. “She didn’t think you’d survive at all?”
“Dunno, probably hoped I would just for the paycheck. It all went to her anyways,” Lucy giggled, even though neither boy could find anything funny in her statement. “I actually think she might have hoped I’d die. Seemed angry enough when everyone on my team but me did. She never said it out loud, but she didn’t have to, did she? The other families got a payment from the Fittes Foundation, and I’m sure she would’ve loved that. Better a check than a mouth to feed.”
Her tone was light, but Lockwood watched her eyes darken. Before he could stop her, she took another large drink from her eggnog cup.
Lockwood frowned. “Your team died?”
“I’m the only one who made it out that night, everyone else died…or as good as died. There was an inquest and everything. Death by misadventure . I bet the whole town wishes I’d died with them so they could’ve put all our names on a little plack in the center of town and went on with their lives.”
“You were their reminder of what happened,” Lockwood whispered.
She nodded. “Hard to ignore the Problem when someone who survived is still there, walking around when the rest of them aren’t. Easier to blame me for the deaths so they don’t have to feel bad that I went through it.” She looked at her cup, noticing it was empty. George sneakily slid the bottle behind him, out of her line of sight. She sighed. “I didn’t want them to die. I tried to tell our supervisor that something was wrong. I didn’t tell him enough, and they suffered for it. Sometimes I wish I’d gone with them. It should’ve been all or none of us. They were more of a family to me than my own. It doesn’t feel right to be here without them.”
Sometimes I think I’d be better off dead.
He understood it then, and he understood it now too. He’d been too set on Lucy in the moment to think about it, but he’d understood her perfectly. He’d often thought of his own family and how wrong it felt that his life should continue moving forward without them. How many times had he visited their graves wondering why he’d been left behind. She didn’t deserve to be blamed for her team dying, and she especially didn’t deserve to feel guilty for her surviving. How close it had been that he’d never met her… He couldn’t imagine her having died with her team. How could he have known a life without Lucy Carlyle?
She hadn’t cried telling them any of it. She didn’t cry for her team or the lack of love from her mother growing up. She revealed that her father had died when she was just five years old. She’d lost a parent even before he had. However, she said it with a flippancy Lockwood never could imagine using himself. Lucy’s father had apparently been just as ghastly as her mother, and it made Lockwood shudder to think about.
He’d always felt horribly for losing his family young. His house was their monument, holding their memories and mementos in its grasp, unable to let a single item go. It seemed like life’s greatest indignity to give him a loving family only to take it away. Now, as he stared into the fire, he began to ponder what was actually worse: to know love and lose it or to never have experienced that love at all? He never wanted to feel the pain his family dying brought him again, Lucy would never know what it was like to be cared for so deeply by a blood relation that it ripped your very soul out of your body to lose them. The warm hugs, tender voices soothing nightmares, warm meals, and hearty laughter echoing through the walls – none of that was known to Lucy Carlyle, that much he was certain after hearing her speak. While the absence of it was sorely felt every moment of his life, Lockwood couldn’t fathom never knowing it at all. It threw Lucy into a stark new light. Her scowls coming easier than her smiles, her disdain for someone else’s help, how could anyone fault her when that’s all she’d known. Lockwood hoped that while he and George might not be perfect, they could show her she mattered.
Part of Lockwood hoped Lucy had no memory of this in the morning. He knew she’d hate having told them like that, but another part of him hoped she knew that they’d heard it all and still accepted her. He’d wanted to give her a hug, but he’d held back even as she drifted to her room shortly after George. He’d refrained from more than holding her hand since Combe Carey Hall.
Combe Carey seemed to be the moment that changed him. Before then, Lucy had still been someone to draw his eye and his awe as he watched her exceed all expectations. Something about their perilous journey through the haunted mansion had truly changed. Suddenly his thoughts had become filled with Lucy Lucy Lucy . But when had it been?
He’d been terrified the moment that Fairfax’s assistant had threatened to shoot her as opposed to either of them. The sight of the gun, so different from a rapier, so much more difficult to defend against, was enough to send his mind reeling. He’d quickly lowered his weapon. Lucy had been the last to do so, standing her ground despite the threat to her own safety. Had she thought of her desire to join her past team at that moment, or was she simply being stubborn Lucy? He might never know, but he admired her for it regardless. He’d never met a fight of his own that he wouldn’t face, and Lucy seemed to be much the same.
But that didn’t feel right.
Perhaps, it was in the Red Room. He’d been panicked at the spectral blood seeping from the ceiling. His only thoughts were of George and Lucy, how they might escape without any of them being ghost-touched. Lucy once again had discovered what they’d missed. She’d led them out to where they’d found the real Screaming Staircase. It’d been so loud even he could hear it, as useless as he was at Listening. He’d felt the blood dripping from his ears and saw it practically streaming from Lucy’s. It hadn’t phased her. Lockwood hadn’t had time to consider that in the moment, but with her considerable Talent, was that a common occurrence? So common that she couldn’t even notice? The voices must have been so much louder to her, and yet he’d hardly been able to tell. Impressive Talent and impressive resolve. His admiration for this girl knew no bounds.
Lockwood knew the moment his brain chemistry had been fundamentally altered. It really couldn’t have been anything else. It was the last moment he’d held her close, closer than he’d ever dared before. His fear had been so palpable.
The Monks were gaining on them, forcing them into a corner rather literally. He’d been so focused on them, he’d hardly noticed the Ghost-Lock taking over Lucy until it was nearly too late. He remembered the foreign way his voice sounded in his ears as he yelled her name. She’d been at the very ledge of the well, nearly ready to plummet to God knows how far.
It was that moment. He’d never felt the fear of losing someone so acutely before. Lockwood had never believed that someone else’s death could kill him as much as hers would if he watched her disappear down that ledge.
His arms had wrapped around her waist, reaching her with a speed he didn’t know he possessed. He’d pulled her to him, any closer and they would have melded as one. For a moment, he believed he’d never let her go. There was a rightness of her in his arms that he’d never experienced before, only accentuated by the wrongness of nearly losing her. She smelled of dust and grime, but he would’ve happily breathed her in forever if it meant knowing she was safe and feeling her warmth seep into his arms. His own words still echoed in his ears:
No. No, Lucy. That’s not the way it’s going to be.
Lockwood had whispered it straight into her ear, breaking her of her Ghost-Lock. He would have whispered anything to her so long as she came back to him. With the look in her eyes, his world shifted. Not even the explosion moments after rocked his world like the revelation he would do anything to keep Lucy Carlyle safe.
Maybe if Lockwood was a more honest man, he’d recognize that this moment meant more than he was willing to admit to. That this was the exact moment when not just his mind and body were dedicated to Lucy’s safety, but that his heart had enlisted into her care forever more. There would be no one else. If he were truly, truly honest, he might have been able to even see the moment they’d met that he’d known. Despite George’s skepticism and barbs, he’d taken one look at the girl in front of him, correctly identifying psychic traces with finesse he’d never seen before, and knew she was meant to be at his side. His employee. His agent. His friend. His Luce.
Lockwood glanced at the clock, Christmas had passed hours ago, yet his mind was wide awake. Perhaps one day, he’d allow himself to think about the moment he’d held Lucy close. In some of his more fanciful moments, he’d maybe allow himself to wonder at holding her like that again without the fear of imminent death looming over them. Maybe he’d admit to Lucy herself that he’d been lost to her since the beginning. Lucy Carlyle from the moment she crossed the threshold had brought life to his haunted home, banishing the Shade that resided in his soul.
He had recognized something in her from the first. Like calls to like, as the poets his parents loved might have insisted. Lucy was his like, even if they hadn’t experienced the exact same loss, his soul called for hers. He’d seen it instantly, even if his mind took longer to catch up to his heart. Or could it have been the other way around.
Something tied them together. Lockwood wasn’t lofty enough to call it fate, yet no word quite fit. No words really ever fit when it was Lucy he was trying to pin with words. The wordsmith’s tool failed him in her presence. He stared above him, wondering whether her thoughts ever drifted to him this much. It wouldn’t do to think that way, but it had been a night of indulging and he allowed himself this just the once. He glanced at the paper lying on the table next to him. Lucy had drawn portraits of him and George as a gift. It was worth more than the entire treasury at Fittes. If this was how Lucy saw him, if she was willing to spend this much time watching and crafting him just so, maybe there was home for him – one day.
Maybe Christmas could be his favorite holiday once again.