Chapter Text
Lucy opened her eyes in the dark. She expected to be disoriented - after all, she was in her attic room, but simultaneously not in her attic room - but she was only conscious of the familiar comfort of home.
Green light flashed through the room as the ghost lamps outside flickered on, and there it was: the sensation that something was slightly off. Her bed and wardrobe were covered with white sheets, most of the floor space taken up with storage bins, every surface coated with dust. It was cold. No one had been up here in a long time.
Lucy grimaced as the floorboards squeaked beneath her feet. There was no way George would hear her - not over the sound of his own snoring - but Lockwood rarely slept. She would have to be very careful to avoid running into him.
Slowly and silently, Lucy descended through the house. She paused on the landing with Jessica's door and smoothed her hand over the wood. It was cool to the touch. If George had gotten his timing right, she should have shown up after Robin's untimely demise, but before her own arrival in London. That meant the George who was sound asleep on the floor below wouldn't know about Jessica's death-glow yet. She felt a sudden pang of sympathy for the Lockwood of this time, shouldering the burden of this secret grief alone.
The next landing down housed George and Lockwood's bedrooms, and Lucy was extra careful as she shuffled down the stairs. It wouldn't do to wake either of them as she passed. In fact, George had made it exceedingly clear that encountering either of them could destroy the space-time continuum, whatever that was.
Her foot made contact with the landing, and immediately everything went wrong.
A nearby lamp flickered on, the sudden light blinding, and Lucy drew her rapier on instinct. A familiar smooth baritone spoke from the shadows: "Can I offer you a cup of tea while you ransack my house?"
Lucy's heart rate sped up as she blinked white spots out of her vision to find herself at the business end of Lockwood's rapier. He was half in shadow, dressed in joggers and a t-shirt, dark eyes glinting in the lamp light. Just the sight of him almost made her lower her weapon in relief. But then Lucy remembered that this Lockwood did not know her, and would not trust her. The thought turned her stomach.
He stepped forward, dragging more of his lanky frame into the light. He looked slightly younger, she thought, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced. Lockwood's expression was casually curious, as though he encountered strangers in his home every night; but the intensity in his eyes betrayed him. There was no recognition there.
"You're an agent," he said, looking her up and down in a way that made her face heat. "What agency are you with? Fittes?" His eyes met hers again. "Rotwell?"
Yours. Lucy bit her tongue and rolled her shoulders back, rapier still raised. "That's none of your business."
He raised a single eyebrow, tapping the tip of her sword with his. "It's my business when you're in my house."
This was bad. George was going to kill her when she got back. That is, if the Lockwood in front of her didn't run her through first - there was no way she could beat him in a fight. Her only advantage was that she had fought him before, but he hadn't fought her yet. She knew all his fancy moves.
That sparked an idea, albeit a desperate one. Lucy returned the tap, light glinting off their rapiers as they moved, and Lockwood's mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. "How about we make a deal?"
"Oh?" Lockwood loved a good mystery, and a strange agent appearing in his attic in the middle of the night would be just odd enough to intrigue him. George would have refused outright, pointing out that she was breaking and entering and therefore in no position to make demands. But Lockwood couldn't resist a game. "What did you have in mind?"
"If I can disarm you, I get to take what I came here for."
"Which is?"
It was Lucy's turn to raise an eyebrow. She trusted him implicitly, of course - if it was her Lockwood, that is, the future one, she would have told him everything. But she couldn't be sure how the boy in front of her would react.
"Alright then." Lockwood took another step toward her, putting them in proper fighting range. He slid his blade against hers, down to the hilt and back, the metallic zing sending shivers down her spine. "And if I disarm you?"
Lucy thought it was generous of him to say 'if' and not 'when', considering he was a fencing prodigy and arrogant to boot. "Then I suppose I'll have to answer all your questions."
His smile ignited in the dark. "Deal." And then he struck.
For once, Lucy was ready. In one fluid motion, she took a step, twisted her hips, and flicked her rapier in a complex swirl. Lockwood's sword was ripped from his hand and hit George's bedroom door with a loud clang.
It was the first time she had ever seen him look truly shocked. Lucy pressed forward before she could lose her nerve, backing him into the wall with her blade against his long, pale throat. The look on his face wasn't something she recognized - still utter disbelief, but something else as well. It was a little something like admiration.
Lockwood's dark eyes locked on hers from the other side of her rapier, and she flushed under the full force of his attention. It was like the whole world had been filtered down to just the two of them, sharing breaths in the shadows, and she couldn't have looked away if she tried. "Who are you?" he breathed.
Before Lucy could come up with a good answer, George's door burst open.