Chapter Text
Lucy Carlyle woke up dazed and confused, in a bed that was not her own. Squinting, she looked around, trying to make sense of her surroundings. Where was she? Why couldn’t she remember anything about last night? And what was digging into her ribs, making it nearly impossible for her to breathe? She then noticed her chest threatening to spill out of a tight, blue-sequined dress that was now bunched around her hips. Yanking the fabric down, Lucy made to get out of bed, when something shifted beside her. Wait. Not something. Someone. A mop of curly, auburn hair rose up, and Quill Kipp’s face became level with hers. “Good morning, sunshine,” he said, and Lucy promptly vomited over the bed.
Last Night
“You pompous prick!,” Lucy screamed, nose to nose with none other than Anthony Bloody Lockwood. She had never seen him like this. Out of breath and completely flushed, looming over her with those maddeningly lanky legs of his, his hands almost tearing his own hair out.
“You can’t keep doing this, Lucy!,” Lockwood all but growled, stepping forward as he backed her against the door to her bedroom. “You can’t keep risking my life, George’s life, and your life, just because of this stupid-” He floundered for the word, his cheeks growing redder and redder as he yelled. “-experiment of yours!” She resisted the urge to slap him.
How dare he. How dare he get angry with her, after she saved his life?
“You would be dead if it weren’t for me, and you know it!”
“That’s not the point! You put us all at risk, without a care in the world, just so you could talk to a ghost! A ghost, Lucy! The creatures that we are meant to kill as agents, and your biggest ambition is to what? Talk to them?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Lucy bitterly spat out.
“Then make me!” Lockwood exclaimed. “Make me understand. If you’re going to put us all at risk, then at least help me see why!”
She rose her chin to look at him, her eyes meeting his. Lucy had expected anger and frustration to be written all over his face, but all she could see was fear.
“These ghosts are people, Lockwood. People! Who had lives, and stories, and who went through horrors you would never, ever be able to understand. That girl tonight? She was murdered, in cold blood, by her boyfriend. A man who was supposed to love her unconditionally, but instead stabbed her 13 times in the heart after one single argument. But you wouldn’t know that, would you?” She was on a roll now, all the words she had let fester in her mind for the last year spilling out of her, so fast that she did not stop to consider what must be going on through Lockwood’s head.
“You don’t care about them, Lockwood! All you want is to eliminate them, to erase them and their stories from this world, forever. Why can’t we at least try? Try to dignify their lives and their time in this world as best we can? Especially when you have someone like me on the team! I can do it, you know I can,” Lucy urged. Instead of seeing understanding on Lockwood’s face, she saw his eyes harden, and her heart sank.
“I wouldn’t understand?” His voice went dangerously soft. “Of all people, me? Of course I don’t understand! My sister was killed by a ghost, Lucy! So I’m sorry if I can’t see them as people with lives and stories, but only as what they are. Insipid, disgusting creatures. I can’t have this, Lucy. You might be an invaluable team member, but put us in danger one more time, and you will no longer be welcome in this house or at Lockwood and Co.,” Lockwood heaved.
What the fuck did he just say? “You know what, Lockwood? Fuck you.”
Lucy turned to fling her bedroom door open, only to be met with Lockwood’s hand grabbing her wrist, twisting her around and pulling her into a bruising kiss. His lips moved with a ferocity she didn’t know he possessed, and his hands were everywhere. Her hips, her hair, caressing her face. For a second, she felt exhilarated. Anthony Lockwood’s lips were on hers. But then, the raging anger at his words crept up on her, and she shoved him away. Lockwood fell back, his lips tainted red and his eyes wide open.
“Luce… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he managed to stutter out.
“Didn’t mean for it to happen?”
Tears flooded her eyes, but she angrily brushed them out of the way, both ashamed and embarrassed. She was angry, yes, but had also let a ball of hope balloon in her chest for a moment. For a second, she thought that he might love her back. That he might see in her what she saw in him. That he might want everything she wanted. For those longing stares and stolen glances to turn into something more. For them to be something more. But no. For him, it was just a mistake. And she was easily dispensable.
Lockwood realized his error the moment his words slipped out. But it was too late. Lucy Carlyle, the love of his life, turned around and slammed the door in his face.