Chapter Text
Yeah, I still act like an orphan, I guess
And my hard heart breaks to confess
That even while you hold me as I cry on the floor
I still don't know how to be yours
You say that you love me
Don't say that you love me
'Cause I don't know how to be yours
You say that you want me
Don't say that you want me
'Cause I don't know how to be yours
—“How to Be Yours” by Chris Renzema
“It’s just a migraine,” he informed his reflection sternly as he looped his tie around his neck. “You can work a case with a migraine.”
The migraines weren’t new. He had his first one when he was only six and they’d only gotten worse as his skills developed. But that was a trade off he was willing to take.
It didn’t quite feel like one of his usual migraines, he had to admit. His head was hurting, it just felt a little off, like the pain was sitting in the wrong part of his brain. This time he felt the nausea more than anything else. That was odd, but nothing he couldn’t handle.
He closed the door to his room behind him and jogged down the stairs, biting back a wince when his stomach flip flopped. But he schooled his face into carefully maintained lines before he walked into the kitchen. “How’s it going?” he said, keeping his voice light.
“Well, we’re ready, we’re just waiting on you,” Lucy said as she checked over her kit bag.
He couldn’t help but beam at her. It had taken months to get Lucy back, but here she was, as if nothing had ever happened. She was right there, close enough to touch, smiling at him.
George looked at his watch. “Cab should be here any minute,” he said. “Pity Holly and Kipps couldn’t come along, we could use some extra hands.”
“Well, Holly couldn’t very well miss her dad’s wedding,” Lucy pointed out.
“And I don’t know what Kipps’s conflict is, but I’m positive we’ll be just fine without him,” Lockwood said.
Lucy frowned. “You all right, Lockwood?” she asked. “You look a bit peaky.”
“I’m fine,” he said, offering her a winning smile. “Everything’s packed, I take it?”
“I think so,” George said. “This shouldn’t be a bad one. I imagine we’ll be home well before dawn.”
Only about twelve to fourteen hours, and then he could go back to bed and sleep this off. “Wonderful,” he said instead. He picked up his rapier. “Let’s be on our way then, shall we?”
It was harder to maintain his sense of calm in the cab. It was an older car that reeked of petrol and old fast food grease, and the driver seemed determined to run over every bump and pothole possible. He forced himself to stay focused on their conversation instead of the churning in his stomach.
It didn’t help that somehow he had gotten squished into the middle seat with George on one side and Lucy on the other. If he’d been fast enough to claim a side he could have cracked a window and at least gotten a little fresh air. But now he was pinned between them, unable to move.
George frowned. “Lockwood, are you sure you’re all right?” he said. “You’re unusually quiet and that’s never a good sign.”
“Oh, he’s probably just scheming up a secret backup plan that he’s going to surprise us with in the middle of everything happening,” Lucy teased, but her hand crept into his and squeezed gently.
“I’m sure everything is going to be fine,” he said, hoping he sounded like his usual self-assured voice. He squeezed Lucy’s hand. “This ought to be pretty simple.”
But as the drive went on nothing really seemed simple. He felt like he was going to be sick. Badly sick. Saliva started to pool in the back of his mouth as his vision blurred. He needed out of the car. Or at least something to vomit into.
Without thinking he squeezed Lucy’s hand as another wave of nausea washed over him. She frowned. “Lockwood, you look awful,” she said. “Do we need to turn around? We can send you home, George and I can handle this.”
“We’re already here,” George said grimly.
The cab came to a stop and Lockwood forced himself to swallow. “I’ll be all right, it’s just a bit of a headache,” he said. “Someone hand me my rapier, please?”
It was better once he wasn’t trapped in the car. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths of damp night air. Funny, it was surprisingly warm, but he didn’t feel warm. If anything he felt cold.
George shouldered his kit bag. “Right,” he said. “So according to my research-“
Lockwood didn’t realize he’d zoned out completely until he blinked and found himself in the foyer of the building. “That doesn’t sound too bad,” Lucy was saying, her hand balancing on the hilt of her rapier.
He realized they were waiting for him to respond. “Of course,” he said, although he hadn’t heard a word they’d said. He took a deep breath. The immediate threat of throwing up had passed, but not completely. He checked his watch. “We still have another hour until sundown. We can do a survey of the house in the meantime. I’ll take the basement.”
Lucy raised an eyebrow. “You really think that’s wise to split up?” she said.
“Of course, Luce, we do it all the time,” he said, smiling at her. “And you said it yourself. Tonight shouldn’t be that bad.”
It was that bad.
He tried to chalk it up to his migraine, to malaise , to something that could explain what he was feeling. Something that could go away with a couple of paracetamol and maybe a quick nap. But the paracetamol hadn’t helped, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a decent amount of sleep, and he felt terrible.
He leaned against the dirty cement wall and closed his eyes. The room was starting to spin and he couldn’t explain it away as carsickness or a migraine anymore.
If he could, he would take a break. He would sit on the floor and breathe slowly until he felt like a person again.
“Lockwood! We’re coming down there!”
He pushed himself away from the wall, wincing as his stomach sloshed unpleasantly. There wasn’t time to take a break, he had to pull himself together now. The last thing he needed was for them to catch him.
It took everything in him to keep going. He tried to talk normally, to act normally, but any energy he had left was draining rapidly. The details of the case had abandoned him completely and he could barely summon up any kind of response to George and Lucy when they talked to him. He offered to set up the protection circle and even the simple act of placing the iron filings on the ground was almost too much.
It felt like he was underwater, the pressure weighing down his body, and his stomach was tied up in knots.. He felt ice cold, cold enough that his teeth were nearly chattering. Something was wrong- really, really wrong.
“Lockwood, come over here.”
It took a little while for the words to register; he picked up his rapier and walked slowly over to George and Lucy. Just walking took more effort than normal. “There’s something in here, I know it,” George said. “It should be soon, it’s nearly fully dark.”
“I haven’t heard anything yet, but hopefully you’re right and we can shut this down quickly,” Lucy said, raking her fingers through her hair. “I have a bad feeling about tonight. Lockwood, do you-“ She paused. “Holy shit. Lockwood, you look terrible.”
He tried to force his usual award-winning smile but he knew it was coming out like a grimace. “I told you, I’ve got a bit of a headache,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”
“You don’t look fine, you look like death,” George said bluntly. “If you had a migraine we should have left you at home.”
“I’m used to migraines,” he objected. “I’ve worked cases with them before and it’s always been fine.” He nodded towards a far corner of the basement. “There’s a pretty nasty death glow over there, by the way.”
Lucy’s mouth quirked up. “You’d be an awful lot more convincing if your hand wasn’t shaking,” she said. “Your rapier is about to rattle out of your fingers.”
He tightened his grip. “I can manage just fine, thank you,” he said. “Shall we focus on the task at hand now, please?”
“Still think we ought to send you home,” George grumbled under his breath.
He managed to get them off his back, but he still couldn’t concentrate. The nausea was getting harder and harder to ignore, twisting in the pit of his stomach. He was not going to throw up. He could handle this. He just needed to focus on getting the case over with, and then make it home, and then he could hide in his room until he could sleep this off.
“Lockwood!”
He didn’t realize his rapier was slipping from his hand until it clattered to the ground. The ground that was suddenly so much closer than it was a few minutes earlier.
George grabbed him by the arm. “What the hell ,” he said. “You’re sure this is just a migraine?”
The room was spinning. It took a moment to find his voice. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes half closed. He didn’t even sound convincing to himself. “Just…just a migraine.”
“You just about collapsed!” George said.
“You’re not in any shape to do this, you’re just a liability at this point,” Lucy said. “Go sit in the protective circle.”
“Luce-“
“Nope,” she said, shaking her head. “At this rate you’re just going to get yourself killed, your reflexes are shot. Go sit in the circle, and once George and I handle this visitor you’re going to go home and go to bed.”
He hadn’t even noticed the shadowy form of the Visitor rising up over the death glow. Maybe she was right. And he did want to go home and go to bed.
Reluctantly he stumbled over to the circle, his eyes half lidded. It was like he was drowning in ice-cold fog. This wasn’t just a headache, something was wrong. He wasn’t sure what, but he didn’t feel well at all.
He knew George and Lucy were fighting something, but he couldn’t tell what, or what was going on. He wanted to help, but he couldn’t see straight. It was taking everything in him just to stay upright and not vomit. He clamped his hand over his mouth and tried to take slow deep breaths.
“Lockwood, you all right?”
He tried to call back to Lucy that he was fine, that he could help in just a moment, but he couldn’t force the words out.
“Lockwood? What’s wrong?”
He wasn’t. He wasn’t fine.
“Lockwood?”
“Lucy,” he mumbled, but his vision went black, and as the ground rushed up to meet him the last thing he was aware of was Lucy screaming his name.