Archive of Our Own

[one week after]

[35 Portland Row, London]

The familiar dust had settled again on every surface, atop every unread book, and sideboard and along the skirting boards that lived inside of 35 Portland Row.

No longer disturbed, for now, by rushing bodies and constant movement; the three occupants of the house were no longer teetering on the edge. They’d been pulled back.

Everything had fallen back into the same disjointed rhythm as before.

Almost.

George was George.

Cooking and cleaning and oftentimes still, walking around with his trousers left behind.

She, Lucy, was more or less the same but wholly different, unable to peel herself from the comfort of 35 Portland Row since the incident that had almost cost her him.

How could she leave the only home she had ever dared call such a name now?

Not a house where every floorboard creak, door slam, and raised voice brought with it a sense of terror or a pit of sadness.

But a home, with laughter that had seeped into the bones of the house, that soaked the foundations with waves of joy, and hope, and love in all its awkwardness between the three of them.

Lockwood was healing, as far as Lucy could gather. Yet with all the distance that had been put between them since he’d been shot, mentally and physically, but more so emotionally, Lucy was beginning to detest being held at arms length even though there were lapses, when she found herself unable to sleep, and sought out comfort in his bed, with him close so that when she inevitably woke from the nightmares that clung to her, she could watch his chest rise and fall and know that he was alive.

“Want to come with me to the shops?” George’s voice appeared in her clouded mind before she could focus her gaze on his form, thankfully trouser clad, in the doorway.

Lucy sniffled, hiding her hands in the sleeves of her blue knitted jumper, “no thanks.”

Outside was unpredictable, outside was busy and unpleasant, outside wasn’t safe anymore.

But inside Portland Row was safe. Tucked up in her bed was safe. Curled up in the armchair by the fire in the library was safe. Sitting at the kitchen table tracing her finger over the Thinking Cloth as she nursed a cup of tea, was safe.

Knowing that George and Lockwood were there too, was the only time her heart didn’t skip every other beat, and that she didn’t bite down her fingernails until they bled, that she didn’t ruin yet another knitted item of clothing with her incessant tugging of loose threads.

“You haven’t left the house in seven days. How are you not going stir crazy?” George pushed, clearly not understanding that she didn’t want to go, much less continue the conversation.

“I’m just not.” Her words were followed by a shrug and she briefly caught George’s gaze, expecting the steely look he often used with her, but when she saw the softness of his eyes she frowned.

This George wasn’t exactly safe either. Not if he was going to involve feelings.

They had worked out a back and forth between them, which negated feelings completely.

“Have you maybe thought that it’s none of your business George?” Lucy snapped, feeling her grip on her own emotions slip, and the anger and frustration she’d pushed down in the last week, begin to boil.

“Jeez Lucy, who pissed in your tea? I was just asking a question.” The scowl that flashed over his features was, at first, calming to her, but then the guilt stirred into her overflowing pot of emotions.

“Sorry.” She mumbled, a rare occasion where that word was actually said with the proper intentions.

“It’s fine,” although Lucy could tell from his tight lipped smile that it wasn’t, and that she’d hurt his feelings, “I’ll be back in an hour. Anything you need that wasn’t on the list?”

If there was, Lucy couldn’t think of anything, so she shook her head.

George turned on his heel at her silent confirmation and no less than ten seconds later she heard the door open and shut, firmly.

Somehow, everything she’d done since Lockwood had been shot, had been the wrong thing. Everything she’d said and even words she hadn’t.

In her mind, she was just an inconvenience, and she didn’t deserve to be part of the agency anymore. She hadn’t been able to protect George or Lockwood. She could have lost them both that night.

“Fuck sake.” The words stung as they left her lips, her muttered cursing only heard by her.

Dropping her head into her hands she tried to calm the erratic breathing that had started out of nowhere, the tightness in her chest following, both of which had not been an uncommon occurrence in the past week.

After almost losing George and Lockwood, after almost dying herself.

“Luce?” His voice only heightened her panic because she didn’t want him to see her lose it.

She’d done well to keep that side of her away from the prying eyes of her friends.

“Can you just go away please?” Lucy managed to choke out, still looking at her sock clad feet, still half gasping for air, feeling like her body was betraying her.

“Not until you show me that you’re okay.” Lockwood stepped tentatively over the threshold of the library and slowly approached Lucy’s hunched over form, he could see the way her chest heaved, the telltale signs of a panic attack, something he was all too familiar with.

“Lockwood…” she persisted, but she could barely speak now, and that was when the ringing in her ears started.

Even most ghost encounters didn’t leave her so disarmed by her senses.

This was a whole different sensation that she was both scared of, and annoyed by.

It was an inconvenience, a show of weakness.

“Lucy, come on. I’m not an idiot, you’re having a panic attack, whether you realise that that’s what’s happening or not. And you shouldn’t really be on your own when they happen. You don’t have to say anything, but will you let me help you through it? It’ll be over quicker.”

Lucy stiffened when she felt her heart skip a beat and when the stars started to invade her already blurred vision she slipped down from the edge of the armchair so she could sit on the floor.

Closer to the ground if she passed out again.

The last time she had, she had given herself a nasty bruise on her elbow and shoulder, both of which were still healing.

“Go…away.” She slurred, burying her head against her knees as she continued to breathe in too quickly, and not deep enough.

The numb tingling in her wrists, hands, feet and face were the next indication that she was close to losing consciousness, just like last time.

“You’re so bloody stubborn Carlyle.” Lockwood’s words barely reached her but she felt him tuck one leg in between hers, so he was invading every inch of her personal space.

His right hand succeeded in titling her chin up just enough so that she could see his soft gaze trained on her.

The sensation was suddenly foreign, and she didn’t have the same sense of comfort from his touch in the way she usually did.

The pins and needles type sensation that was present all over, was overpowering.

“Come on, I’ve got you now. Let’s breathe together okay?”

Still struggling to take in even half a lungful of oxygen, she shook her head, not trusting herself to form a coherent sentence.

“You’re going to end up passing out if you don’t get a handle on your breathing, and I’m not going anywhere Luce. So I can sit here and help you, or I’ll end up sitting here anyway with your head in my lap when you eventually faint.” Lockwood spoke as calmly as he could, remembering the times when George had done the same, and when he had been alone and had to mirror the same calming mantras.

Even though more complicated emotions bubbled up under the surface for him as he watched Lucy in such distress, he knew that whether or not she wanted it or was aware of it, she needed help, and he was the only available person to do that.

“Will you hold my hand, please?” Lucy whispered, dragging out the space in between words as she continued to gasp for air.

There was no hesitation as he wrapped his fingers around Lucy’s, interlocking their digits both gently and firmly enough so Lucy could still move her fingers, whilst feeling that he was there.

“I know it’s scary,” he continued in the same level tone, “but it’ll be over soon, and I’m not going to leave you until it’s done with. You’re okay, I promise you that.”

Lucy focused on Lockwood’s voice, using it to draw her out of the depths of her mind, from the darkness that had taken hold in the beginning.

“Keep talking, please, it’s helping.”

Gathering that maybe his techniques weren’t as well suited for Lucy, he was glad at least that she’d offered up her own potential coping strategy, and he was more than willing to comply.

So he tucked himself even closer to Lucy, who then rested her forehead against his, and he let his left, still slightly incapacitated arm move up a little so he could rest his hand comfortably on Lucy’s knee.

Physical touch seemed to be helping too, he noted, keeping stock of that information for a later date, which he desperately hoped would never come, but wasn’t that much of a fool to believe it wouldn’t.

“Anything you want me to talk about in particular? That might help?” Lockwood murmured, his lips closer to Lucy’s ear now, dropping his voice to a whisper so he didn’t overwhelm her already overridden senses.

“I don’t care.” She breathed, reaching out to gently place her hand on top of Lockwood’s, the one resting on her knee.

Relief flooded her bones when she felt the warmth of his skin and the tingling sensation begin to ebb away.

“Okay, well. Here’s a story I don’t think I’ve told you before, about one of the very first evenings after you’d arrived. I think it took you a while to adjust, to being here, and George and I pretended not to notice that you weren’t sleeping, because we didn’t want to suffocate you with unwanted attention. We wanted you to feel comfortable coming to us first. I remember that the afternoon had barely broken and I was ready to peruse George’s mind on what brilliant recipe he’d chosen to use for dinner, when I came across him in the doorway of the library, just stood there. I was confused, at first, but then I saw you and realised George was staring at you, a blanket in his arms teetering on the balls of his heels.”

Lucy adjusted herself and Lockwood waited before continuing.

“I’d barely spoken one syllable and he shushed me, his exact words being ‘if you wake her I’ll put salt in your next weeks worth of cups of tea, that’s the first time I’ve seen her sleep since she arrived, I’m waiting for her to fall asleep a little deeper before I risk it with the blanket, do not disturb her Lockwood’ and so I left him and he joined me in the kitchen ten minutes later. Blanket gone, the worry lines had also disappeared from his forehead. I knew then that George was fine with having you here, because he’s never let anyone sit, or much less sleep in his designated armchair. Not even me.” Lockwood finished what he hoped would have been a helpful anecdote for Lucy, and when he felt her grip loosen, and his fingers were able to linger on her wrist he was glad to feel her steadying pulse.

“George is definitely mad at me.” Lucy mumbled, pushing herself slowly back into a sitting position, wondering if she felt brave enough to unfurl her fingers from Lockwood’s grasp.

“Why?” He questioned, not quite knowing what could have caused such a quick turnaround in emotions between the pair, since lunchtime barely an hour before, when they’d been laughing together at his expense.

“Because he asked me if I wanted to go shopping with him, I said no, he questioned why and he wasn’t even rude about it and I snapped at him for no reason. Then he left and even though I’d apologised I knew he was still mad. And then this happened.” Her voice stilled to a whisper when she felt the embarrassment seep in.

The dawn of realisation washed over her as she recollected that Lockwood had witnessed the whole thing.

That now she would be seen differently by him, which was the last thing she needed. To be perceived as weak or unstable.

“George will come round, this last week hasn’t been the easiest for all of us. It’s okay, give him a little bit of space when he gets back and then talk to him.” Lockwood levelled.

George and Lucy were eons closer than they had been and it made him happier to see the two most important people in his life getting along.

What Lockwood didn’t expect was for Lucy to suddenly snatch her hand away from his and attempt to stand without much regard for her weakened state.

He barely had enough time to stand himself, so he was there to steady her when she stumbled.

“Get off.” She huffed, pushing his hands away as she sunk back into George’s armchair. The thought of him touching her now, when the only thing she was feeling was guilt and shame and embarrassment, almost suffocated her again.

“Lucy-”

“Can you just give me some space, please?” Her voice was gentler but still guarded and Lockwood took heed of that, remembering how he’d felt the first time George had witnessed a panic attack of his.

“I’ll go make you a cup of tea.”

Lucy wanted to push back with a harsh tone, reminding the older boy that ‘cups of tea don’t solve everything’ but she refrained and watched tiredly as Lockwood left her alone and somehow she sunk even deeper into the plush, worn cushions of the armchair.

The inevitable tiredness rooting her to that spot, even though she wished she could have made it up to her room.

Bringing her still shaking hands to her flushed cheeks she shivered, the rest of her body rushed with cold.

It never got easier, the after effects.

But Lucy didn’t fight the tiredness this time, as she normally did, and instead she let it take her as a willing passenger on the voyage of much needed sleep.

The kettle had barely finished boiling when the sound of George’s arrival filled the hallway.

And Lockwood abandoned the tea cups, not wanting George to end up in Lucy’s crosshairs again.

Yet as he walked into the hallway he saw George emerging from the library.

“You could have at least covered her with a blanket or stoked the fire, she’s freezing in there.” George scolded as he picked up the shopping bags and left him to stand in the doorway of the library.

Lucy was indeed fast asleep, curled up close to the fire with flushed cheeks and a worried look still drawn on her face, with the very same blanket George had covered her with on that night all that time ago.

The way Lucy stirred and wrapped herself even tighter in the multicoloured fabric made him second guess crossing the threshold himself. Instead, he reached forward and pulled the door to, and headed into the kitchen.

“She had a panic attack. Quite a bad one.” Lockwood knew he probably should have asked Lucy’s permission to share such an intimate detail about herself with George, but he knew that he wouldn’t say anything. In the same way that his own experiences still sat safely in George’s mind, unspoken.

“That’ll probably be partly my fault.” George replied, half preoccupied with organising his spice rack, whilst also balancing a handful of fresh fruit.

“No, panic attacks are no one’s fault. They’re an involuntary response by the nervous system. I’m pretty sure that this one wasn’t her first.” Quick to remind George that it wasn’t his, or anyone’s fault, Lockwood sat down on ‘his’ chair at the kitchen table and absentmindedly found himself trailing Lucy’s most recent drawings.

“It wasn’t.” George deadpanned, turning to face his best friend with an air of calm and caring that he never usually had.

“How do you know that?” Immediately the lump formed in his throat at the thought of Lucy confiding in George but not being able to confide in him, not wanting to.

“I saw her pacing outside your bedroom door the other night. She woke me up after falling in her bedroom? I assume. Maybe she fainted or something but the thud was loud enough that I heard it and well, I’m accustomed to the sound of ragged breathing now, and she just couldn’t get a handle on it until she walked into your room and I heard you speak to her.” George relaid the information to his friend before returning his attention to the shopping bags.

Lockwood remembered that encounter the other night, how Lucy’s freezing form had slipped under his covers and he’d let her take his hand without hesitation. Not having really been awake enough to understand just why Lucy had come into his room again, just hoping that it brought her enough comfort to sleep.

“I can’t imagine staying in the house is helping.” Lockwood approached the subject he’d been wary of.

“It most certainly isn’t. She’s terrified of going outside, of what lies in wait past the iron line. Of losing you, like she almost did. I can believe that maybe she’s scared of losing me too…” George’s tone softened at that realisation, his anger had fizzled out the second he’d stepped over the threshold of Portland Row to leave an hour or so before, he knew that Lucy’s words had been spoken in fear and not in anger, “we need to help her out of this, maybe a holiday?”

Lockwood glanced at his best friend, who had removed his glasses, making him look older than he was, “a holiday?”

He purposefully left the rest of George’s words undisturbed.

“Yeah, do you still have access to that cottage in Cornwall? It’s much less inhabited by the Problem down there. You could both relax and enjoy some time away. I think Lucy needs out of London but she just doesn’t know how to do that, to ask for help.”

His parents had owned the quaintest little holiday home in Cornwall since before he was born, and he had vivid memories, happy memories, of days spent on the beach, in the small seaside town.

“You said both, are you not going to come? You could probably benefit from some rest and relaxation too you know.” Lockwood would hate to leave George alone, even if he did promise not to take on any clients by himself.

“Ah, no. I’m a homebody,” he returned his glasses to the bridge of his nose, looking like George once more, “and I hate sand and well…I already have a much better offer. In the form of Flo, and bird watching and exploring the little islands she’s found. So, don’t worry. I’ll be absolutely fine. You and Lucy need this, and you could probably benefit from having time to talk away from the busy, prying ears of London.”

Lockwood couldn’t justify deterring his friend from something that so clearly made him happy, as he watched George’s grin spread across his lips just from talking about Flo.

“We can discuss it when Luce wakes up. I don’t think it’ll be easy by any means but even just a weekend, will do her some semblance of good. I might go and read for a while, come and get me if she wakes up?”

George nodded, “I’ll bring you some tea once I’ve finished putting the shopping away.”

Lockwood left the kitchen, and his feet carried him to the hallway that separated the living room and the library, he could give Lucy some space, and let her sleep. Or he could sit in the library, where he could keep stoking the fire, to keep her warm and be there when she wakes up.

So he pushed open the library door, and stopped for a second before entering, his foot teetering on the edge of the creaky floorboard that needed fixing but was at the bottom of a very long to-do list.

The blanket had slipped down from Lucy’s shoulders, but he was relieved to see the relaxed look on her face that had replaced the one of worry from before.

Using his bare feet to his advantage, he moved silently across the threadbare carpet and gently covered Lucy with the blanket again, hovering his hand over her cheek as he gently pushed some loose strands of hair behind her ear.

She shifted, and he held his breath, hoping that his unnecessary gesture hadn’t woken her up, but she didn’t move again, or open her eyes so he retreated backwards and sat down on the small, worn sofa.

His current read already opened, the armchair of the sofa being used as a bookmark.

The next hour crept by slowly, and two cups of tea had been consumed, before Lucy’s eyes opened, and her voice filled the void of silence that had settled.

“Mmm, how long have I been asleep?” She mumbled into her shoulder, turning her head to look at Lockwood who was watching her, the book he’d been reading now forgotten on his lap, pages slowly moving and disguising the point he’d gotten to.

“Little over an hour, you needed it. Any longer though and I probably would have woken you and encouraged you to sleep in your bed. That chair is far from comfortable to sleep in.”

Lockwood’s soft lopsided smile; the smile she was certain now he reserved just for her, was sat on his lips.

She took in his appearance, untucked white shirt, the absence of his tie, the biscuit crumbs that decorated his chest, and his cuffed and rolled up sleeves.

His hair was all over the place, but somehow still looked neat, and the wrinkles by his eyes as he smiled did nothing to alleviate the purple darkness underneath them.

Sleep, was a fickle thing for them all it seemed. Although it pained Lucy more to see the bags under Lockwood’s eyes again, just when he’d begun to lose them.

Even still, Lockwood looked handsome, against the soft glow of the fire, a warmth had brushed his cheeks, turning them a shade of pink that resembled the salmon coloured tie he always favoured when he didn’t automatically go for black.

“Thank you, and I’m sorry. For before. You were only trying to help and I was an arse.”

Lucy switched the blanket around, so she could tuck it behind her and cocoon herself with it and she sunk back further into the cushioned armchair, clinging onto the last remnants of sleep; still a little too groggy to sit up.

“You’re welcome, and you don’t have to be sorry. I know all too well how hard it is to deal with the aftermath of a panic attack. I should have been a little more careful, so that’s my fault. It’s done now, so please try not to dwell on it. I’m not upset and I don’t want you to keep feeling guilty. Are you feeling any better?”

Lucy knew of Lockwood’s panic attacks, she’d witnessed the beginning of one once before, but it still didn’t help her not look at him differently. In a light she’d never seen him in before. One she couldn’t decipher. Just like him. He was an enigma to her, one she was desperate to solve.

The argumentative protest she wanted to wage against his words, died before it could even reach her lips, “okay,” she pushed out in response to everything but his final sentence, “and I feel okay, tired still, and I don’t quite trust myself to be able to stand up without my legs giving out.”

“Would a sugary cup of tea help?” George announced himself and Lucy startled, but relaxed when she saw her friends smiling expression.

“Thanks Georgie.” She wanted to say more, but when he handed her her favourite mug, and a small plate of rich tea biscuits she knew she didn’t need to.

His nod and gentle nudge with his elbow reassured her that their argument had dissolved, and that there was no need to rake over it again.

“No tea for me?” Lockwood questioned, eyeing George’s smirking face.

“You’ve had two cups already whilst Lucy’s been asleep, you can survive.” And with that George had disappeared, being pulled towards the kitchen probably to begin preparations for dinner.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lockwood broached the question he’d been wanting to ask since Lucy had woken up, in as soft a tone as possible.

Lucy glanced at the swirling dregs of milk in her tea, watching the murky liquid move around and around the mug.

Only pulling her gaze up to Lockwood, when she felt like she could give him an answer that didn’t sound so unsure.

“Not right now,” Lucy shrugged, “I think I’d rather figure it out in my own mind before I can vocalise it. If that’s okay?”

“Yeah, of course. I’m here, whenever you want to talk. I’ll be here to listen.”

Lucy offered up her most genuine smile before she finished her sugary tea, “I might go and shower, could you maybe just follow me up the stairs so I don’t fall backwards?” Her cheeks growing a little warmer as she realised how childlike she sounded.

“Of course.”

When she stood, Lockwood followed, and he stayed a step behind her as she headed to her room, his hand hovering inches away from her lower back, and part of her wished to feel his fingers brush against her exposed skin. His warmth always contrasted perfectly with her coldness.

Physical touch was not her favourite thing.

But all of her resentment for it seemed to dwindle whenever she was around Lockwood.

“You all good now? I can stay if you need me to. You might not react great to the suddenness of hot water if your blood pressure is still too high…” he stopped himself short not wanting to put too much pressure on Lucy or seem like he was being overbearing.

Lucy reached out and gently squeezed his arm, “I’ll have a lukewarm shower I promise, don’t worry. And I’ll be fine now you can go downstairs, I won’t be long.”

His caring nature was still a little foreign to her, after years of having to fend for herself, and the complete absence of physical or emotional affection from her mother. Integrating into the odd way of living at 35 Portland Row was still a little challenging, but she was getting used to it. Slowly but surely.

Taking note of the ways that George cared for her, and Lockwood too, even if he was less subtle about hiding it.

“See you soon.” Lockwood gave her one last look over his shoulder before he walked down the stairs and out of her attic bedroom.

Lucy turned the shower on, and pulled the curtain around whilst she pulled out some clothes to change into after, settling for a pair of Lockwood’s sweatpants she’d ended up claiming as her own, and one of her darker blue knitted jumpers.

Throw a blanket over me or something, I don’t care to see you undress, or see you at all for that matter.

Lucy scowled at the glowing green light coming from the corner of the room, where the Skull appeared to smirk at her from the safety of the silver glass.

“Pick your moments don’t you?” He’d been silent for the last six days, and right now Lucy had no desire to interact with the Type 3 that floated around in the murky green plasm that filled the silver glass jar.

What crawled up your arse and died?

Lucy scoffed, “not you, thankfully. You’re already dead and I can’t say I’m not happy about that because god forbid what it would be like to converse with you as a mortal being.”

She dragged a dust sheet from the bottom of the wardrobe and walked over to the Skull.

Jesus. You look like you’ve been hit by a truck, and I thought that would have at least improved your appearance. Not made it worse.

Lucy closed the valve, and threw the dust sheet over the jar and sighed softly.

Tomorrow. She could deal with it tomorrow.

The same worn blue towel she always used was pulled from the back of her chair and she put her hand under the steady stream of water, making sure that it was lukewarm, like she’d promised Lockwood it would be.

Slowly, she pulled off her jeans and the vest and jumper she’d layered to keep warm, tossing them onto the steadily growing pile of dirty clothes by the staircase.

Another thing she could deal with tomorrow.

And then finally she stepped underneath the warm water and let her taut muscles relax, inching the tap a little closer to the left just so she could have the water a few degrees warmer.

⋆⭒˚⋆⚷٠࣪𖤐⋆☠︎︎.⟢

Brushing through her still damp hair with her fingers, Lucy followed the smell of one of her favourite meals made by George, down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Even though winter was still just out of reach, the autumn months were chillier this year and the end of September was beginning to feel like the middle of November.

“This smells delicious.” Lucy grinned, settling down in her designated place at the dining table as she accepted the warm mug of hot chocolate, with two pink marshmallows and three white floating on top.

“It’s nearly done, I figured you could use some comfort food and the weather seems to have agreed.”

The drizzle that was covering the windowpanes invited in a familiar chill, and Lucy was glad she’d layered up again after her slightly warmer than lukewarm shower.

Lockwood was doodling absentmindedly on the Thinking Cloth, but when Lucy reached out her sock clad foot under the table and touched his shin, he glanced up at her.

“Yeah Luce?”

She tilted her head, trying to figure him out.

“What’s got you fidgeting? George is the one who litters the Thinking Cloth with doodles. Not you. Only when you’re mulling over a particularly difficult topic of conversation, or a case do you take part. But since we’re ‘on leave’ with your injury and all, that rules out a case. So spill.”

Lockwood shifted in his chair and dropped the pen which had left indents in his fingers, briefly glancing over at George who gave him an encouraging nod.

“Okay. So you both know something and I don’t. Would one or both of you be so kind as to include me in this conversation?” Her words passed through gritted teeth as she tried to keep calm, and not let her anxiety surface again.

“It’s nothing bad, but George and I were talking earlier about the two of us going away for a little while, not long maybe four or five days, a long weekend at most. To get out of London. You haven’t really left the house since…well we all know what happened, and I just don’t want you to stay cooped up in here because you’re scared Luce. You need a break, and today proves that.”

George had barely set down her bowl of beef stew when she pushed her chair back, a scowl settling on her features.

“So you’ve both decided I’m unstable and a bit mental, and now you want to ship me off to another foreign place, so I can relax? When I’ve barely begun to settle in here? Do I not get a say in this, or were you going to drug me and pack me up into a cab against my will?”

How stupid was she to think Lockwood and George saw her differently than some unstable idiotic girl, who was more of a liability than an asset to them.

Lucy stood, her appetite disappearing as her stomach twisted in knots.

“We don’t think that at all Lucy,” George began, “but it’s been a week, and you’re not coping. I’m not going to sugarcoat it. You know I won’t bullshit you. A holiday might be good, and we weren’t scheming behind your back, I just mentioned it to Lockwood earlier when you were sleeping and we thought it would be better to bring it up over dinner when you were feeling a little more like yourself.”

She shook her head, walking away from the kitchen table, George, and Lockwood’s sad face.

His stupid, soft, brown eyes were even lighter as they brimmed with tears.

“Luce please, don’t just walk away. You know we don’t think that about you, we’re worried, but that’s all. It just might benefit you to get out of here, to process everything away from Portland Row.”

Lucy stiffened, stopping in the doorway.

“I’m not going. That’s final. I’m not leaving Portland Row. It’s safe…and I don’t ever want what happened last week to happen again. I can’t lose anyone else.”

Before she cried, and only got herself more riled up, she turned on her heel and left the kitchen, heading up the stairs to her bedroom.

It was silent downstairs, and Lucy knew that she’d once again, dragged down the mood of everyone, not just herself.

Sleeping on an empty stomach wouldn’t help her in any way, but she didn’t want to face George or Lockwood again tonight.

To be expected to grovel and appease them both.

Why couldn’t they understand that this was a safe place for her?

The first safe place she’d had since leaving her crappy life behind. Arguably the only safe place she’d known, besides Norrie. Her mother had never ever been that for her. The boys knew that too, and maybe that’s why it stung so badly.

Lockwood’s presence was always there in the form of rapier training and heavy footfalls as he paced whilst he read a book or leafed through the morning paper, only ever walking softly when he came to check on her, and George’s presence manifested in the aromas of new recipes he would often try, and the copious cups of teas he made, with his torrid jokes that only the three of them could laugh at.

Whether they liked it or not, they were her family now, and Lucy could not lose either of them.

It would kill her.

As she walked over to her bed, she cast a glance at the dust sheet and wished that she didn’t crave the annoying voice of the Skull to fill the silence she knew would ensue whilst she waited for sleep to come; if it came at all.

The dust sheet was removed with one swift tug and she opened the valve, “any funny business and I’ll give you to George. See how you like his company.”

Her warning didn’t warrant a response, and she was kind of surprised but she knew that he was probably still annoyed at being silenced earlier.

So she climbed under the covers and rolled over, facing away from the dim green glow, her eyes catching sight of the new line of Polaroids she’d taken, now displayed on some twine pinned to the mirror. Joining the Polaroids of her and Norrie.

Even though she knew who they were of she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness so she could look at them properly, her and George at the archives captured in the Polaroid on the left, then one of all three of them was next, a very jokey image of Lockwood stared back at her as she moved to the third and then she didn’t linger too long on the fourth.

One of her and Lockwood hugging after a particularly gruelling case, taken secretly by George.

Lucy knew why they couldn’t understand her reservations at leaving London, they seemed silly to everyone but her, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t hurt by the way they’d completely disregarded her feelings.

You think far too loudly. Be quiet please.

The growl of annoyance she made filled the whole room.

“Piss off.” She sneered.

Such ladylike behaviour, god knows how any man is ever going to put up with you. No wonder Lockwood won’t even dare.

Lucy sat bolt upright at the mention of Lockwood, and she leant over to turn on her beside lamp.

“Will you do us all a favour and shut your stupid mouth?”

All? Only you can hear me remember. It really does suck to be you.

“Can you not read the room? Or are you just that dense? Is the plasm finally dumbing you down, or do you want me to shake the jar for good measure? Maybe I’ll even drop it…out the window.”

Lucy pulled back the covers to show she wasn’t just spouting empty threats.

Did Lockwood make a pass at you? Is that what’s got you in such a foul mood? Or did you make a pass at him and get rejected?

Her feet landed firmly on the floor and she walked closer to the jar.

Fine! Fine. But if you’re going to toss and turn all night, with your incredibly annoying, loud thoughts, then you might as well give me a heads up on what I’m going to have to sit through.

Hearing the defeated voice of the Skull made her stop walking, and she shuffled backwards until she could sit comfortably on the edge of the bed.

“They, George and Lockwood, want me to leave Portland Row…”

Huzzah! Are we finally getting out of here, did they finally fire you? Or are they going to do it properly in the morning? Can I watch!

Lucy sighed, swiping her hand over her face, “are you incapable of letting people finish their sentences? No, for your information, I’ve not been fired, nor will that ever happen. Much to your disappointment, I’m sure. They think a holiday is a good idea, since I haven’t left the house in seven days. They don’t think I’m coping.”

I could have told them that. You lay in bed, or you have loud, unsettling nightmares, and then your breathing goes all funny. That fall the other night was very entertaining.

Lucy grumbled, not in the slightest bit impressed with the Skulls ruder than usual temperament; or with the fact that it knew entirely too much about her, “if you’re just going to be an arsehole then I’m covering you back up and delivering you to George.”

Wait! I’m not going to be a dick, hear me out. You should consider it, getting out…god knows I would if I could. I’d give anything to get out of this jar. It might help, is all. And that is the last nice thing I have to say.

Her fingers worked together, tying themselves up in knots in her lap as she stared at the ghost-jar. Trying to level with the ridiculousness of even listening to a single syllable that came from it.

But he’d actually given her the first ever piece of tangible information, that could prove useful, since Lucy had realised she could talk to him.

“Fair enough,” Lucy sniffed feeling a little bit deflated, “if I leave you uncovered and your valve open, will you promise to keep the insults and annoying comments to a minimum?”

No promises…but I’ll try. Anything to avoid Karim and his incessant whining and nonsense spewing.

Tonight had been enough of an emotional rollercoaster to last her a lifetime and she was just glad that it would all be over, just as soon as she could fall asleep.

However, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the falling asleep part would be her downfall.

Lucy tossed and turned for the better part of an hour, trying her hardest to cocoon herself in the sheets and keep her thoughts to herself, but sleep didn’t even bother to try and make an effort to appear.

Whether it was the hollow pit of loneliness in her stomach that eventually roused her, or the pit of hunger, she didn’t quite know; but she got up just before midnight and wrapped herself in one of Lockwood’s zip up hoodies that managed to bring her some sort of comfort and then made her way downstairs as quietly as she could.

Even though she was certain neither of the boys would be asleep.

Her hands stayed tucked deep into the fleece lined pockets of Lockwood’s hoodie as she descended the stairs into the kitchen slowly.

Not surprised at all by the sight of George sat at the kitchen table, a mug of tea in his hands, eyes concentrating on the open pages of his book.

Which meant Lockwood was in the library, or had been when George had decided he couldn’t sleep either.

“Tea?” Lucy spoke quietly as she moved across the tiled floor, reaching for her favourite mug and turning slightly to reach for George’s mug in his outstretched hand.

Mug still warm, Lucy wrapped her hands around it for a moment before she pulled out two tea bags and dropped them into the mugs.

“Can we talk?” George dared to disturb the silence, his voice joining the sound of the gently boiling water.

One lump of sugar for George.

Three for her, after today, she needed it.

“Can I get something to eat first? I really regret walking out of dinner I’m starving.”

George stood up and walked over to the fridge, pulling out a tupperware container, and he was already pouring the contents into a bowl and putting it in the microwave before Lucy could ask him what he was doing.

“I figured you’d wander down here at some point, so I left some stew in the fridge.” His half smile warmed her up.

She didn’t deserve either of them.

“Thanks,” interrupted by the whistle of the teapot, she poured the boiling hot water into both mugs and then moved to the fridge to grab the milk, “I am sorry for getting so upset earlier, I know that you and Lockwood were just trying to help.”

When she finally sat down, the microwave began to beep and she went to stand up again, but George shook his head and Lucy got comfortable, hooking her feet onto Lockwood’s chair that sat vacant opposite her, dragging it forward so she could rest her feet on it.

She slid George’s mug across the table, and when he put her bowl down in front of her, her stomach growled loudly.

“You don’t have to apologise, neither myself or Lockwood should have pushed you. I know you don’t think we understand you, but we do. We’re still learning, but both of us care about you. I know it hasn’t been easy for you since Lockwood got shot, but it also hasn’t been easy for us to see you retreat in on yourself.”

Lucy paused, swallowing the mouthful of beef, potato and carrot.

Obviously, she knew that Lockwood and George cared about her, that wasn’t something she doubted even when she was upset or angry.

But hearing them, hearing George confirm it, made a warmth spread across her cheeks, that eventually bloomed in her chest.

Was this what it felt like to be loved, unconditionally?

To know that even after silly arguments and dumb decisions, that she was still loved.

“I could have lost you…both of you. I don’t know whether or not I’m still in fight or flight mode, or I’m just in a constant state of panic, but almost losing you, has rooted the thought in my mind that it can, and most likely will happen again. If you’re both here with me, then at least I know you’re safe… and I guess that all of that emotional trauma has snowballed into my own fear of leaving the house.”

For the first time since well ever, George’s hand found her own, and she let him wrap his fingers around hers and squeeze.

“Lu,” George was just as surprised at the use of the nickname as Lucy was, but when he saw her lips upturn into a soft smile he knew he hadn’t crossed an invisible line, “we all know the risks of what we do, of walking past that iron line. Even just as simple as going to the corner shop could result in an encounter with a ghost. Or a particularly malicious human being. Danger, is inevitable. We just have to learn how to handle it, and the trauma that comes with it. But please, don’t let the events of the the last week deter you from getting some much needed rest and relaxation. If not for yourself, do it for Lockwood. He won’t go without you, and he listens to you more than me. You two deserve a break.”

George felt satisfied that he’d done his best to try and convince Lucy to leave Portland Row, and now it was down to Lockwood, and Lucy herself to make the final decision. He was certain that the Skull had already given his opinion.

Lucy had almost cleared her plate when she had finally gathered her thoughts enough to speak.

“Are you not going to come?” Was the first question she asked.

“No, as much as I do find the allure of a break almost persuasive, I’m too much of a homebody, and with where you’re probably going to go, I’m not the biggest fan of. I don’t really care for beaches or sand. And plus, Flo has invited me to hang out with her for the duration of the time that you and Lockwood are away. So, an entirely better offer.” George had a glow about him as he spoke of spending time with Flo that Lucy decided wasn’t something to poke fun at.

Seeing George happy, made her happy.

But now she was left with more questions about the prospect of the holiday, and a little bit of apprehension knowing that now it would just be her and Lockwood.

“George?” Lucy began, just as she stood to put her clean plate in the sink.

“Yeah?” His eyes were now glued to his book again, but Lucy knew he was more than capable of listening to her.

“Thanks for not just ignoring me, for helping me try and process everything. I appreciate everything you said, and I’m really sorry for my outburst earlier. It wasn’t fair of me to explode like that.” Lucy felt the pit of hunger dissolve into guilt as she let the hot water scald her hands whilst she washed her bowl and the other few dishes in the sink.

“No more apologies needed alright? You didn’t do it with bad intentions, you were just overwhelmed, and that’s understandable. But if it helps, you’re forgiven.”

And it did help, because the knots began to untwist and the tightness in her chest eased.

“You’re the best Georgie.” Lucy acknowledged as she walked past him, flashing him a gentle smile.

His expression mirroring hers when she looked back at him over her shoulder.

Feeling so much more at ease with a full stomach, and George’s gentle reassurances wrapping around her like a soft blanket.

“He’ll be in bed now. If that’s where you were going, to talk to him.” George spoke just as she was leaving the kitchen.

Hoping that she’d turned around quick enough so that George didn’t see her flushed cheeks, was she really that predictable?

“Night George.” Was all she said.

Shaking off the embarrassment she checked in the library, just in case, but when she saw the blackened embers barely still smoking in the grate she knew that Lockwood must’ve retreated to his bedroom not long before she’d made her own way downstairs.

Making her way up the first flight of stairs, Lucy almost contemplated going the rest of the way up to her attic bedroom, not wanting to wake Lockwood up if he had succeeded in falling asleep, but when she heard a thud and a muffled voice from his bedroom she let out a quiet laugh.

If she had to guess, he’d stubbed his toe. A common occurrence when he refused to turn the light on to peruse his bookshelves at night.

Lucy knocked twice on his bedroom door and waited for the familiar yellow glow of his light to appear before she looked up.

So that when Lockwood opened the door, she was looking at him in the eyes.

Those tired, coffee coloured irises much darker now than they had been earlier. When they had been brimming with unshed tears.

“You okay Luce?” Lockwood started, the second he registered her slightly sad smile and the fact that she was drowning in his hoodie, his arms were open waiting for her to step into them.

Lucy didn’t hesitate, and she wrapped her arms around Lockwood’s middle. Laying her head on his chest.

Feeling the soft cotton of his pyjama top against her cheek was a nice reprieve from the rough fabric of some of his shirts.

“I’m sorry for earlier. I was awful. You didn’t deserve that.” She mumbled into his chest, barely containing the sob that sat in her throat when Lockwood held her tighter.

“You don’t need to say sorry Luce, I understand. I’m sorry for pushing you, I wish I’d realised just how badly this had affected you. I wish I could have been there for you in a better way.”

A new sensation took over her body when Lockwood’s lips gently pressed against the cool skin of her forehead.

It was like a gentle wave lapping over her, warm and comforting.

“It’s okay,” she replied when she was certain that she wasn’t going to cry, “I didn’t make it easy on either of you. I’m just used to having to deal with the fallout of the bad things alone.”

Lockwood could hear the waver of her voice and he hated how much Lucy had had to endure before finding her way to him, to the agency.

“You’re not alone anymore Luce.” Was all Lockwood could trust himself to say.

But when he felt Lucy pull back, and he was able to look at her face in the soft glow of the light, he relaxed, seeing the smile on her lips.

“I know, I’ve got my boys now.” And she wasn’t ever planning on letting either of them go.

“Want me to come and sit with you until you fall asleep?” Lockwood offered, knowing that whilst he was accustomed to the lack of sleep, it was a little newer for Lucy and George, in the wake of recent events.

Lucy shifted on her feet, “I was going to ask if I could sleep with you again…but it’s okay if you’re tired.”

Lockwood dropped his arms from around her and for a second Lucy could hear every noise that the house made, the sounds filling the space between her aching bones.

Until his fingers interlaced with her own and he pulled her over the threshold of his bedroom.

It didn’t take them long to figure out the comfortable positions they usually ended up in, Lucy took the right side of the bed, Lockwood curled up on the left.

Both of them facing each other, an extra blanket already on top of the thick duvet, for Lucy’s benefit.

“You knew I’d still come?” Lucy questioned softly, letting her fingers tug the blue knitted blanket a little higher so it covered her exposed shoulder.

“I keep it on your side, just in case. And I secretly hoped you would. I hated the thought of us both going to sleep, eventually, thinking the other was upset.” Lockwood resisted the temptation of wanting to reaching out and tuck the loose strands of hair behind Lucy’s ear.

He tried to enforce more boundaries when they shared his bed, never wanting to make Lucy uncomfortable.

“George mentioned something about the holiday. About not wanting to come because he hates sand and beaches, where exactly are we going?”

Lockwood felt the unintentional smile being drawn on his lips as Lucy’s words settled around him.

Where exactly are we going?

It was the first time she’d shown any interest in the proposed getaway.

“My parents own a holiday cottage in St Ives. It’s called Celia, and I’ve heard a lot of recounted stories that my father bought it before telling my mother that she shared the same name as their new holiday home. But it’s nice, to have that now. It used to be rented out, but it’s been vacant for a few years now, only the cleaner has access every three weeks, to keep it tidy. Just in case I have the chance to visit or I decide to rent it out again.”

Lucy shifted, moving a little closer, letting her hand find Lockwood’s under the covers, realising that that was the first time he’d ever spoken about his parents in a gentle, loving way, and not for business purposes or in passing.

“Tell me about it?” Lucy continued, only relaxing completely when she felt Lockwood adjust his grip on her hand, and their fingers laced together.

“It’s so beautiful, even now in the autumn. My mother used to call it quaint, and my father used to scold her, because it was so much more than that. It’s barely a two minute walk to the beach, and there’s a small town, with a handful of places to visit for the art lovers who end up holidaying there. I’ll admit, the interior is a little modernised now, but it used to be very rustic and old looking which was probably why my father fell in love with it. I know I was only six when they died, but I have so many vivid memories still, running across Porthminster beach until I was covered head to toe in sand. The little town is perfect too, and since it’s pretty much winter, it’ll be quiet and easier to enjoy. I’ve tried a fair few times to convince George to come, but he’s never caved. But between you and me, I’m glad that you’re the first person who’ll get to see it with me.”

Lockwood squinted to try and ascertain Lucy’s face in the dark, and when he saw that soft, sad smile on her lips he frowned.

“What’s wrong?” He squeezed her hand gently.

“Nothing, nothings wrong. It’s just…” Lucy swallowed, hoping that she wasn’t going to be overstepping with what she said next, “it’s nice hearing you talk about your parents in a happier way, and I’m just sorry that it’s so hard for you.”

“C’mere.” Lockwood whispered and when Lucy shifted across from the right side of the bed, and tucked herself into his arms he finally felt at ease, he adjusted the blankets around them and closed his eyes.

“It’s hard, but you and George make it easier to get to a place where I can talk about them without it hurting so much. I promise I’ll get there soon, you two deserve to know more about my past.”

Lucy sighed, focusing on Lockwood’s heartbeat thumping rhythmically beneath her cheek as she draped her arm across his torso, stealing his warmth.

“Take as much time as you need, okay? I know George probably doesn’t understand properly, and that’s not a bad thing, I’m glad he has his family. But I know what it’s like to have that sour taste on your tongue when you begin to bring up the past. I just want you to know that I’m going to be right here, whenever you feel like sharing anything. No matter how small or uninteresting you think it may be. Alright?”

What on earth did he ever do right, to deserve Lucy Joan Carlyle?

“Thanks Luce,” he whispered into the darkness, feeling sleep begin to finally pull him away, “are you up for it then, a holiday?”

Lucy shifted gently in Lockwood’s arms, being extra cautious so that she didn’t hurt his injured shoulder, “yeah,” she finally gave in, “I don’t know how easy it’ll be, leaving Portland Row, but I can do anything with you by my side, so, yes.”

The weight that simultaneously lifted, and settled from one shoulder to the other teased her with relief she was sure she wouldn’t feel completely until she felt the sand between her toes on the beach that Lockwood had told her so endearingly about.

“Goodnight Luce.” Lockwood murmured, pulling her a little closer.

“Night Lockwood.” Feeling safe for the first time since the showdown a week ago, in Lockwood’s arms.

Lucy waited for Lockwood’s breathing to even out before she finally succumbed to the warm hands of sleep that had been pulling at her, and for the first time in a while, the nightmares stayed well away.

[⋆⭒˚⋆⚷٠࣪𖤐⋆☠︎︎.⟢]

[three days later]

“Did you pack everything you need?” George fussed over them both as they all stood in the hallway, surrounded by bags.

“Yes George, I know neither of us have mothers but that doesn’t mean you need to step in as a surrogate parent.” Lockwood raised his eyebrows at his friend who held up his hands in mock surrender.

“You packed the sling though.” George remarked as he passed Lucy the flask of tea and an untouched packet of rich tea biscuits.

“I don’t–” he began.

“Lockwood.” This time he was met with Lucy’s gentle voice, and he sighed softly heading for the stairs.

“Do I have to?” He whined, he didn’t want to have to drag it around for no good reason. He didn’t actually need it anymore.

“If you want to finish healing properly, then you’ll listen to me and Lucy, and bring the sling. Please.” George gave him a sharp scowl that made Lockwood admit defeat, and he turned and stalked back up the stairs to his room.

Lucy heard the sound of the cab pull up outside, and she glanced through the peephole and allowed herself to smile albeit anxiously over at George.

“It’s going to be okay, you’re not going to be on your own, and I won’t have you worrying about me for your entire trip. Flo will look after me. You need this Lu, and so does Lockwood. Please promise me that you’ll try and relax.”

Lucy took a few steps forward and held out her pinky to George, “pinky promise, but you have to promise too, that you’ll be careful. I trust Flo but I don’t trust London. I want to come home and have you in one piece. Okay?”

“I promise.” George looped his pinky finger around Lucy’s and he squeezed softly for good measure.

That was good enough for her and the moment ended when Lockwood came stomping back down the stairs.

As she stood waiting on the top step of 35 Portland Row whilst George and Lockwood loaded their belongings into the cab, her heart began to race and the urge to take two steps back and shut the door on the outside world was so overwhelming.

But before the words, I can’t, could pass through her lips, Lockwood was standing in front of her, holding out his hand.

“Together?” He wiggled his fingers, trying to flash Lucy the most confident smile.

Lucy took a tentative step forward and let her hand fall into the gentle grasp of Lockwood’s.

“You won’t let go?” Her voice barely a whisper as they neared the black cab.

“Not until you ask me to. You’ve got this, we’ll get to the station, find our platform, get on the train and then we’ll be on our way. It’ll be alright.” He tried his best to reassure her, but he could feel the pressure of her grip, and he knew she was doing everything she could not to panic.

The only time his hand slipped out of Lucy’s, was when George pulled them both in for a hug, and then Lucy found his hand once more.

She didn’t let go the whole duration of the taxi ride to Paddington station.

Or when they moved through the late morning crowds to find their platform.

And when they eventually boarded their final train that would take them to St Ives, after a lot of persuasion from him, Lucy finally fell asleep, still with a steadfast grip on his hand.

“Proud of you Luce.” He whispered as she shifted in her sleep and dropped her head onto his shoulder.

Lockwood occupied himself with a handful of crossword puzzles from a book George had bought him, and in the end he also ended up falling asleep from the gentle rhythmic lull of the train as it moved towards their final destination.

[⋆⭒˚⋆⚷٠࣪𖤐⋆☠︎︎.⟢]

[Celia Cottage, St Ives, Cornwall]

Whilst Lockwood paid the taxi fare, Lucy was able to glance out the window, at the exterior of Celia cottage, and as she took it all in she felt a sense of calm wash over her.

It really was beautiful, and when she pushed open the car door she was met with the sound of the waves, and the gulls.

The salty air smelled almost wonderful, and Lucy smiled, glad that she’d said yes as she the panic melted away, this was her first ever holiday and she hoped it wouldn’t be her last.

“I don’t think my heads ever been so quiet,” Lucy remarked, shouldering the majority of their bags so that Lockwood didn’t strain himself, “your father really did have impeccable taste Lockwood.”

Lucy could feel Lockwood’s smile, and when she turned to look at him it was as if she was staring at a different person, devoid of all the weight he’d been carrying around for so long.

He was a version of Anthony Lockwood that Lucy felt privileged to be allowed to see.

The usual suit and tie attire had been swapped for jeans and a knitted jumper in a dark mahogany brown, his hair that little bit more unkempt, and the smile on his face it could light up the world. It lit up her world, and the longer she stared at him, the warmer she felt.

“They’d have loved you.” Lockwood thought about how his father would’ve probably been so fascinated with Lucy’s Talent, and how much he’d have enjoyed her company, just as he did. Whilst he knew his mother would have immediately taken Lucy under her wing, being the mother figure that Lucy deserved.

The blush crept onto her cheeks and she hoped that Lockwood couldn’t tell as she stayed a little bit behind him so he could unlock the door.

“I’m sure I’d have loved them too.” She tried to keep her voice steady but the emotion made her almost trip over her words.

If she could, if there was any way to make it happen, she’d give Lockwood his family back.

Luckily Lockwood had already moved inside so her wavered words, hopefully, hadn’t reached him, carried away by the sea breeze.

Lucy managed their things in two trips and once she’d shut the door behind her and shrugged off her coat, she finally let herself feel excited.

“So, are you going to give me the grand tour?” She smiled, slipping her shoes off and walking closer to Lockwood who was standing at the end of the short hallway.

“There’s one thing I’d like to do first.” Lockwood began, pulling his hands from the pockets of his jeans.

Lucy furrowed her brows, “yeah?”

He took two long strides forward and then pulled Lucy close to him.

And immediately Lucy melted into his arms.

“What’s this for?” She whispered, closing her eyes and relishing the gentle touch of his warm embrace.

“I’m so proud of you Luce, for facing your fears and for coming here. So so proud.” Lockwood felt Lucy’s grip tighten and he heard her sniffle.

Lucy swallowed over and over trying to keep the lump in her throat at bay, but she let out a choked sob and buried her face in the woollen fabric of Lockwood’s jumper.

The rush of emotions spilling over from what she’d kept at bay over the last week, but also from years of pent up anger and frustration and loneliness.

Never once had her mother ever told her she was proud of her. Never had her mother ever held her in such a way, that emanated so much love and compassion.

Lockwood knew that his automatic response was to ask Lucy what was wrong, to know what had upset her so he could try and help fix it, but instead he simply held her a little bit tighter, and kissed the top of her head. Trying to give her the comfort she needed.

Eventually Lucy felt steady enough to move out of Lockwood’s arms, and she wiped at the tears that covered her face, “sorry,” she sniffled, “it was just a little too much for a second. Thank you for being proud of me. For not making me feel like an idiot for being so irrational.”

“Hey, you’re not an idiot and you’re far from irrational. We’ve dealt with more in this last week than we thought we would, than we should have. I’d be more concerned if you were completely devoid of emotions. So don’t apologise for crying okay?”

Lucy nodded, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Ready for the tour?” Lockwood smiled again, eager to try and provide Lucy with a distraction and to help her ease into enjoying their holiday.

“Yes, please.” She managed a little smile when Lockwood reached out to take her hand.

The first room they came to, was the living room.

A wide, open space, with two bay windows that gave them easy access to the view that Lucy could only imagine became even more breathtaking in the summer months.

The dark blue sea lapping against the sand as the tide ebbed and flowed, making its way inland as the day stretched on.

Although she couldn’t really complain about the greying skies, or the way the sunshine seemed to hide in the clouds barely peeking through.

It was beautiful to her, regardless.

An ornate fireplace was the winning feature of the back wall, and Lucy tried to imagine a young Lockwood sitting in front of it warming himself up after a long day at the beach.

If she tried really hard she could almost hear the ghostly laughter echoing throughout the room.

They moved through to the kitchen, and Lucy found herself missing the comfort of 35 Portland Row for a brief moment, the smell of burnt toast and tea.

“Not like home,” Lockwood began, as if he’d read her mind, “but it’ll do for now whilst we’re here won’t it?”

Lucy nodded, eyeing the old fashioned kettle on the stove.

A little piece of home.

“We should’ve brought our own tea bags.” Lucy murmured as Lockwood pulled her through to a more secluded living room, that doubled as a small library.

“Well it’s a good job I packed some then.” Lockwood nudged her gently and Lucy smiled, standing back a little in the doorway as she watched him trail his hands across the spines of every book.

“Some of my father’s favourite reads in here. Pages he’s turned. Words read to me. Words read by my mother.” He pulled at one of the books.

Treasure Island.

The cover was red, and worn, a hardback copy that he’d always begged to keep in the cottage. The gold detailing in the intricate designs and the writing, traced gently with his index finger.

“I love Treasure Island,” Lucy took a few tentative steps toward Lockwood, reaching out to touch his arm, “we could read it together later?”

Lockwood turned slightly to face Lucy, and he half smiled, “that’d be nice, it’s been a long time since I’ve read it,” and he hoped he conveyed his gratitude with his words and the gentle gaze he had trained on Lucy, because what was probably just a simple gesture of kindness to her, was a huge gesture of understanding and as close to love as he could describe. To him it meant the world.

He tucked the book back into its spot, and then turned to leave the library.

Lucy trailed behind him, casting one last glance at the red and gold spine of the book that was so much more than a book to Lockwood.

The bathroom was a quick enough walkthrough, but Lucy loved it even still, seeing the preserved touches of what had been the original cottage integrated with the modern parts.

With one more room, besides the bedroom to go, Lucy found herself questioning the potential sleeping arrangements.

“Is this a second bedroom?” Lucy asked, nodding to the unopened door in front of them.

“Ah, no. This used to be the study. My mother had insisted on it, but then it became mine and Jessica’s room after the library my father had been lobbying for was finally finished. I turned it back into a sort of study/home office space when I had the place redecorated and changed. For her.” Lockwood confirmed her thoughts as he led them to the final room.

The master bedroom, facing Porthminster beach just as the living room did, was rather large, with built in wardrobes and a double bed in the centre. The colour scheme merged with the palette of St Ives and Lucy felt calm.

“I can take the sofa, if sharing the bed is going to be a problem.” Lockwood offered, only sincerity in his tone, wondering if he sensed apprehension in Lucy’s demeanour.

“Don’t be silly,” Lucy shook her head, “it’s not like we haven’t shared your bed for the last week and a half nearly. I just didn’t want to assume…and if anyone should be contemplating taking the sofa it’s me. This is your cottage, and you’re still healing.”

Sharing the bed was her preferred choice, because she only slept half decently when she knew Lockwood was fast asleep beside her. But she also knew that there were so many tangled up feelings that connected her to Lockwood right now, that she was desperately trying to unravel.

This holiday would either go by with those feelings unaddressed, or she’d finally pluck up the courage to confront them. And she hoped for her sake and Lockwood’s that it would be the latter option that came to fruition.

Whilst it was just the two of them, it seemed as good a time as any to figure everything out. Confusing feelings included. As well as all of the other stuff.

“You’re not sleeping on the sofa.” Lockwood replied, his tone earnest and unwavering.

“Okay, okay. Then sharing the bed it is.” Lucy offered up a smile, and then headed for the doorway.

“Where are you going?” He tilted his head and followed her with his eyes, leaning against the chest of drawers.

“To get our things so we can make some sort of headway with unpacking, I’m assuming the tour is over with? Because between you and me, I’d love to go down to the beach before it either rains, the tide comes in or it gets too dark, whichever comes first. This is my first ever holiday ever, by the way. I don’t want to waste a second.”

The joy that was beginning to appear on her face filled Lockwood with a sense of relief and happiness, if anyone deserved to have a break from everything, it was Lucy.

“I’ll come help.” Lockwood followed her, eventually catching up so they were walking side by side, their hands brushing together.

“With the light things, nothing heavy.” Lucy reminded him, casting a glance to his shoulder, shuddering at the way Lockwood’s voice filled her head, ‘oh and I got shot’, his nonchalant tone had been replaying over and over in her nightmares ever since. Lucy had never known fear like it when his legs had gone from under him, seeing the way the crimson had bloomed against his white shirt.

When she felt Lockwood’s hand on her arm she startled, “huh? What’s wrong?”

“You didn’t hear me talking to you? I said your name over and over. Are you alright?”

Lucy shrugged shaking off the dazed feeling, “yeah, I’m good. Come on.”

Determined not to ruin their holiday on the first day by talking about the situation that had come second on her list of worst days of her life.

Lockwood hung back as he watched Lucy take their bags to the bedroom, not sure how to approach everything. Yes, the next five days were supposed to be for them to relax, but Lockwood also wanted to talk properly with Lucy about it all, so that when they returned to London; they could start fresh.

A clean, blank slate.

But Lockwood had a feeling that things weren’t going to be that easy. It never was with the two people he was more than happy to call his family, his home. Reminding himself as he always did, that nothing truly worth it was supposed to be easy.

Half an hour later and he had wrapped a jacket over his shoulders, at Lucy’s request even though he’d insisted that the jumper and T-shirt underneath would keep him warm enough.

They’d left the cottage to get warmed up, and after giving Lucy the choice she’d lit up at the chance to walk on the beach before venturing into the little town for dinner.

Lucy was strides ahead of him, and seeing the slight spring in her step and the glow in her rosey cheeks whenever she turned back to look at him, caused a pit of warmth to bloom in his chest. Enough to shelter him from the cold altogether.

The cerulean blue knitted jumper she was wearing under one of his rain jackets was the perfect contrast of the darker blue waves rolling in.

“The stone incline will be slippery! Go careful yeah?” Lockwood called out just as Lucy reached the cobblestone ramp that led down onto the sand.

But Lucy stopped, and turned to face him. Hand outstretched.

“Come on then slowpoke.” Her Cheshire Cat grin was the only thing that mattered to him in that moment as he slipped his hand into hers.

“I know it’s probably beautiful in the summer, but it’s beautiful to me, right now. The quietness, the way I can hear everything. The waves, the wind whistling, the gulls. Do you think, if we can convince George to come, that we could make it a tradition? To come at the end of September every year?” Lucy proposed, matching Lockwood’s pace as they got closer and closer to the sand, her arm now linked with his, which had proved more comfortable as they walked down the slippery path.

“Even if George doesn’t always want to, we can still come. Always. If it makes you happy, then that’s all that matters to me Luce.” He’d have done anything, anything to revisit a moment like this, to be able to paint the beautiful smile on her face every time they visited St Ives.

Lucy stopped, just as they reached the sand, and she stood on her tiptoes and kissed Lockwood’s cheek, “thank you.”

The second she was detached from him, she slipped off her shoes and socks, letting her feet sink slightly into the cold grains of sand.

Grounding her to this moment.

It was beautiful, quiet and peaceful, and it was all theirs.

As Lockwood watched Lucy walk away from him, he mirrored her actions and let his bare feet relax in the sand, extremely glad for the first time since they’d arrived, that they’d managed to get out of London.

Glad that his cheeks were probably already rosy from the cold, so that the heat wasn’t as visible from the intense blush he’d ended up with after Lucy had kissed his cheek.

Lucy turned around flashing him the brightest, most serene smile he’d ever seen her wear, and then she took off running dropping her shoes as she picked up speed and changed course towards the lapping waves.

“Are you coming!?” Lucy called, the salty sea air wrapping around her as she stopped, just short of the incoming tide.

She didn’t think she’d ever felt so free.

Or happy…as she watched Lockwood jog towards her.

They were so young but they had the weight of the world on their shoulders, like every other child, teen, young adult. It wasn’t fair, but Lockwood reasoned that maybe he could deal with it, if they, if he, was allowed more moments like this.

If he could spend every September as it ended, here, watching Lucy let go of that weight for a little while.

It would be worth it.

When Lockwood finally caught up with Lucy, she was stood looking down at her feet, and he followed her line of sight and smiled.

The waves were just about covering the tops of her feet as they rushed in, so he stood next to her and let his own feet sink into the wet sand.

“You’ve really never been on holiday before?” Lockwood questioned, his fingers brushing against Lucy’s as he swayed gently.

“No, never. My mother was my mother by title only. She paid me no attention until I was useful to her, and then all she cared about was the money I earned her. So there were no holidays, no Christmases, and eventually she didn’t bother with my birthday either.” Offering up the most honest, blunt answer she could, Lucy tried not to dwell on the memories of her past, because it always ended up spilling over into the painful parts, Norrie and the trauma, and her mother, all mixed together in one swirling storm that raged inside her head.

The way Lucy’s voice was still, and unemotional only made Lockwood’s heart break even more.

“Well,” he gently interlaced their fingers, standing a little closer, “we have a lot of holidays, Christmases and birthdays to make up for then, don’t we? I know you might not want all the attention, or the fuss, but you deserve to be celebrated Lucy, and you deserve to enjoy the things everyone else has had the privilege to.”

“I’ll settle for Christmases, with you, and George, at Portland Row. That sounds perfect to me.” She squeezed Lockwood’s hand, and then focused on the waves again. The feeling of the cold water rushing in and lapping at her ankles was so calming.

“And your birthday.” Lockwood countered softly.

She could have argued, but she was feeling too calm and for once, completely at ease. It was the quietest her mind had been since before she could properly remember.

“No presents, no fuss. But fine, if you really have to. I’m only going to say this once though, if I even see the ingredients for a birthday cake in the kitchen, or god forbid you or George ever start singing happy birthday. Then I’ll figure out a way for you both to forget my birthday forever. Deal?” Lucy glanced up at Lockwood, catching sight of his pink cheeks and windswept hair.

“No cake, no presents, and no singing happy birthday. Deal.”

Seemingly satisfied with the answer silence settled between them until Lucy’s hand was suddenly gone from his and he watched as she took off running along the shoreline.

Her laughter carried by the wind, and the salty water of the sea splashing with every heavy footfall.

If only he could’ve bottled up the sound, the glorious sound of her giggling, and kept it for himself.

It took him a few seconds to come to terms with the fact that he could have fun too, that he was allowed to create more, happy memories here and that it wouldn’t erase the memories he already had.

So, he reached down to roll up his jeans and he cuffed them before he took off, running towards Lucy who was smiling broadly at him, reaching out for him.

They ran and ran until they ran out of beach, and they stopped to catch their breath, lungs filled with the salty air, feet and ankles covered in sand, jaws aching from smiling.

Talking, wasn’t Lockwood’s forte, nor was confiding in people about the darker stuff, or his past. It sat, heavily on his shoulders. But Lucy made it all seem easy, and he hoped that he could return the favour, and that his presence did the same for her.

To him, it only felt right to open up a little more, in the way Lucy had about her past, so as they stood watching the tide roll in and back out again he cleared his throat.

“There’s a few reasons why I never came back here, why I gave the cottage another purpose so I didn’t feel like I had to be here, but there’s one particular reason and I’ve never told anyone about it before…” the all too familiar feeling of a lump in his throat stalled him, and it was only when he felt Lucy’s cold fingers grasp his, that he found the courage to continue.

He closed his eyes and focused on the waves, and the wind, and the gulls circling the coastal landscape; he felt the sand beneath his feet and the water moving over his toes, and Lucy’s hand in his.

“I was scared, scared that coming here alone carrying the loss I’d experienced would be too much, that it would ruin the memories I had of this place. That I’d pace around in that cottage and eventually the echoes of a happy childhood I once had, would suffocate me. Deafen me. That living, which was already an undesirable thing for me, would become excruciating. I thought about it a lot…I’d leave the cottage as the tide came in and walk down that slippery cobbled ramp, and I’d keep going, in a straight line. I’d walk into the sea, and never come out again.”

It was only when he tuned back into his senses that he realised he was crying, and he looked up at the swirling grey clouds. Vocalising those thoughts, for the first time, was liberating.

The weight lifting from his shoulders as he wiped away at the tears.

“Every September, has to end like this,” Lucy whispered, bracing herself against Lockwood’s chest as she focused on his beating, very much living heart. Not sure she had the right words to say, not sure that the right words existed, “with me, and you, and sometimes George. I don’t ever want to be here without you, to live a life without you Lockwood.”

“You won’t ever have to, never,” he steadied his voice and welcomed the chill that made his whole body shiver, it was just another reminder that he was alive, and that he wanted to be, “and I promise, at the end of every September, we’ll be here.” He’d make it happen, next year, and the year after; every year, for her.

Lockwood wrapped Lucy up in a hug as they stood close to the cliff face, sheltering her from the wind.

“We have four more days here, and you’re freezing so why don’t we head back, get some dinner and warm up?” Lockwood proposed, he could feel Lucy shivering and he tried to rub his hands against her arms as she pulled back, to give her some of his warmth.

Nodding, Lucy wrapped Lockwood’s thin rain jacket tight around her and tucked her hands into her arms to try and preserve what little warmth she had.

Before she could register what was happening, she felt Lockwood’s hands brushing against her shoulders and then the smell of Earl Grey tea and a lingering scent of cologne filled her nostrils.

Lockwood wrapped Lucy up in his jacket, and he started walking ahead, not giving her a chance to argue and try and shove the coat back at him.

Admitting defeat, and letting the wisps of defiance float away with the breeze, Lucy caught up with Lockwood and was glad when he slowed his pace so they could walk side by side.

Warming up as they made their way along the shoreline again, in a comfortable silence.

This was her happy place now, and she desperately wanted it to become that for Lockwood again. She was determined to make the next four days as perfect as possible.

﹌﹌﹌

“Do you want a cup of tea?” Lockwood’s voice rang through the near silent cottage just as Lucy had gotten to the bottom of the stairs.

“Is that even a question?” She replied, running her fingers through her wet hair as she rounded the corner into the kitchen.

After insisting that he was more than happy to get dinner, and Lucy should go back to the cottage to warm up, Lockwood had ventured into town and found a fish and chip shop.

Lucy had run herself the hottest bath she could handle, but after almost falling asleep had moved into the shower to wash her hair and wake herself up.

“Well I stopped by the shop on the way back too and picked up some coffee, juice and hot chocolate. I figured we could venture out together tomorrow for some more necessities,” Lockwood turned around to face Lucy and smiled at her, she was completely drowning in his clothes, at his request, because he knew that not only did Lucy seem to feel the cold even more since the incident with Bickerstaff’s Bone Glass, but she found comfort in his clothes, “unless you just wanted to stay in tomorrow.”

Lucy felt her cheeks warm when she realised Lockwood was staring at her and she sat down at the kitchen table, “thanks for letting me borrow your jumper,” she accepted the mug of tea and wrapped her hands around it, “we can go together tomorrow, I want to see the town. Maybe even find somewhere to get a souvenir for George.”

“I know a good bookstore we can visit, and you’re welcome. I put all my jumpers in the bottom drawer, so you can help yourself.” Lockwood smiled, flashing Lucy a bright smile as he passed her a wooden fork and the greasy paper containing what Lockwood had called a ‘fish supper’.

It felt odd. That she felt so at home and peaceful with Lockwood sat opposite her, both of them sitting in silence as they ate. It was an unfamiliar experience, because until she’d found Lockwood and George, she’d been living in a constant state of fear and anger, the loss of her friends and Norrie hanging over her like the darkest, blackest rain cloud. Lucy had been in survival mode for longer than she ever wished she’d had to endure.

This was new and foreign, but comforting all at once and Lucy was almost completely glad that she’d left everything behind, but Norrie, leaving her, would always be her biggest regret.

After Lockwood had declared that he was going to shower after dinner, Lucy moved into the living room, not forgetting to locate the loved and well worn copy of Treasure Island from the library, intending to make good on her earlier proposal to read it with him.

So that when Lockwood reappeared twenty minutes later and sat on the same sofa as her she smiled at him and held up the book.

“You were being serious?” He asked, gently tapping Lucy’s legs and waiting for her to lift them so he could shuffle a little bit closer, throwing a blanket over them both once Lucy had lowered her feet in his lap.

“Yeah, I was. I’ll start reading then?” Lucy whispered, already leafing carefully through the pages to find the beginning of chapter one.

Lockwood leant his head back against the couch and turned to face Lucy, “please.”

Lucy began, taking note of the way Lockwood had gently rested his hands atop her shins, and was gently moving his thumb back and forth. It was comforting, yet enough to make her stomach twist in knots as the confusing feelings she held for him made themselves known again.

“How that personage haunted my dreams, I need scarcely tell you. On stormy nights, when the wind shook the four corners of the house, and the surf roared along the cove and up the cliffs, I would see him in a thousand forms, and with a thousand diabolical expressions. Now the leg would be cut off at the knee, now at the hip; now he was a monstrous kind of a creature who had never had but the one leg, and that in the middle of his body. To see him leap and run and pursue me over hedge and ditch was the worst of nightmares. And altogether I paid pretty dear for my monthly fourpenny piece, in the shape of these abominable fancies. But though I was so terrified by the idea of the seafaring man with one leg, I was far less afraid of the captain himself than anybody else who knew him…”

Lucy managed to get through the first chapter before her yawning was too much to handle when it interjected every other sentence and she placed the bookmark in between the pages and closed the book.

“Do you want me to take over?” Lockwood asked, noticing Lucy’s tired gaze.

The way he’d almost fallen asleep too was brushed aside, Lucy’s voice had been so soft and gentle, reminding him too much of his mother.

“I’ll probably end up falling asleep two sentences in, I might go to bed, if that’s okay?” The day had finally caught up with her, and she knew that as soon as her head hit the pillow she’d be tugged away to what she hoped would be a dreamless and nightmare-less sleep.

She pulled her feet away from Lockwood’s lap and moved out from under the blanket.

“Yeah course it is, thanks for that Luce, I really enjoyed hearing that story again. Sleep well, I’ll try not to disturb you when I come to bed.”

Ignoring the way he was internally screaming at himself not to get up and hug Lucy, he got to his feet and opened his arms.

And as usual, like it was muscle memory at this point, Lucy walked into his embrace.

The air thick and heavy with unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings.

For the first time Lucy felt suffocated in his arms, and the hug barely lasted ten seconds.

“Night Lockwood.” Was what came out, instead of the hundreds and thousands of words that were written inside her, begging to be spoken, because friends didn’t feel so comfortable in each others arms, friends didn’t act so nonchalant about having to share bed, friends didn’t sit together on the sofa as close and content as a married couple would be, winding down for the evening, Lucy didn’t know everything about love and relationships, but she knew that what she felt towards Lockwood wasn’t friendship.

Lucy waited until she was safely in the bedroom before she let out the strangled sigh of anger and frustration, raking her fingers through her hair.

Maybe it was love, but Lucy couldn’t love him.

To love him, meant she was allowing part of herself to be Lockwood’s, and in turn, she would be given part of him.

If she’d lost him before, when they’d barely met, it would’ve hurt, of course, she wasn’t a monster.

If she lost him now, it would be excruciating.

If she admitted that she loved him, and if he loved her back, and then she lost him.

She was certain that she’d die.

Climbing into bed after tugging off his jumper, she hated the way she wanted to reach for him, to seek comfort in his arms.

Lucy made herself as small as possible and tucked herself under the covers, on the right side of the bed, leaving the left side for Lockwood.

And somehow, at some point, sleep came.

Lockwood gave it an hour and a half before he did a final walk through the cottage, checking the windows, the front and back door, turning off all the lights, drawing the curtains.

Just as his father had done.

He was the man of the house now, and as much as it stung, for the first time as he echoed his father’s footsteps, he felt a surge of comfort.

Whether it was thanks to his new outlook on life, or the people he’d welcomed into it, he wasn’t quite sure.

But having Lucy with him, knowing that George was back in London, that they were his family now and he wasn’t alone, it had helped heal part of him that he thought would be broken forever.

Lockwood hoped that he was making them proud.

When he was satisfied that the doors and windows were locked, and that all the curtains were drawn and the lights switched off he padded barefoot down the hallway to the bedroom.

Quietly pushing down the handle, he walked slowly over the threshold and when the dim ray of moonlight that spilled through a gap in the curtains lit up Lucy’s sleeping face, he sighed.

He loved her.

He’d tried so hard not to.

But the heart wants what the heart wants.

And his heart not only wanted Lucy, but it belonged to her.

“If only you knew Luce…” he whispered, taking off his jumper and throwing it over the back of the chair, laying it on top of the jumper Lucy had been wearing.

He grabbed the blue knit blanket from the top of his unpacked suitcase and unfolded it as he approached the bed, draping it over Lucy’s side of the bed.

“Lockwood?” Her groggy, half asleep voice caught him by surprise and he let his hand fall to Lucy’s shoulder.

“Shh, I’m here. Go back to sleep.” He spoke even quieter than before and walked around to the other side of the bed.

Sliding under the covers, he tried to keep to his side of the bed, but when Lucy’s hand brushed against his arm he moved closer.

“Come here.” He caved, and only when she was pressed against his side, head half on his chest, did he feel at ease.

He loved her.

There was no doubt, no way around it, he was in love with Lucy Carlyle, and he wished he knew if she felt the same.

It plagued his mind for an hour maybe more, until he felt sleep begin to take over, and he didn’t fight it when his eyes closed and his mind finally went blank; sleep allowing him a brief reprieve from everything for a while.

[⋆⭒˚⋆⚷٠࣪𖤐⋆☠︎︎.⟢]

[day two]

The nightmare on the first night hadn’t been so bad. The nightmare on the second night however, was the worst Lucy had ever had and the worst Lockwood had ever witnessed.

Lucy’s shouting pulled Lockwood from his barely deepened slumber, just like they had the previous night, but when he coaxed open his eyes, her voice seemed so much further away.

His bones still heavy, tethering him to the realm of sleep.

When his eyes started to finally adjust to the dark, he reached out beside him, expecting to find Lucy, but his heart skipped a beat when he felt the cold empty sheets.

“Luce?” He sat up abruptly, now completely awake.

It was silent now, and he stiffened, “Luce?”

He tried again, but he knew it was futile, because Lucy wasn’t there, and the cold shiver that ran down his spine tugged him from the comfort of the bed.

Forgoing the bedside lamp he took careful strides across the bedroom, and turned on the light, checking the bathroom, he tried not to panic.

Tugging on his discarded jumper over his pyjama top, he headed down the stairs, listening out for footsteps, or a noise, something that would tell him where Lucy was.

“God Luce, where the hell are you?” His words were all wobbly, and he gave up trying to still the worry and fear inside him.

They were in a foreign place, partly to him, but completely for Lucy.

Every light was turned on in the cottage, every room investigated, and then when he was about to completely lose control he stopped.

Listening to the thud, thud, thud noise.

Scared at first that it was a Visitor.

But then the sound became clearer, the sound of wood against brick.

The front door.

Forgetting shoes, barely thinking clearly, he just about collected his thoughts for long enough to grab his coat, thinking that Lucy would’ve wandered off into the night. To the beach. Into the sea…

But he’d barely stepped over the threshold of the front door, sock clad feet coming into contact with the cold cobblestones of the courtyard and there she was.

Facing away from him, hair flying in the wind. Lucy was stood stock still, and Lockwood hesitated.

“Luce?” He hoped she’d turn around, explain that she’d needed some air, and he’d convince her to come back inside.

Yet, she didn’t, she didn’t even respond to his voice and the fear and worry only intensified.

Lockwood pulled his coat off and draped it carefully around Lucy’s shoulders, stepping in front of her.

“Oh Lucy.”

The outside automatic light illuminated her, her pale complexion, glassy eyes, lips tinged blue and cheeks rosy and pink.

Somehow, she’d managed to navigate her way through the cottage in her sleep walking state, and had ended up outside.

If he’d been any longer Lockwood wondered if he’d have found her further afield. On the sand. In the sea. Or if he’d have even found her at all.

Her nightmares were bad, but he didn’t think they were this bad. Bad enough to induce sleep walking.

The cold was getting to him too, and fogging up his brain, so much so that he couldn’t think straight, he couldn’t figure out how to rouse Lucy safely.

George would’ve known, and Lockwood wished more in that moment than ever before that he was at home.

All he knew, was that it was so dangerous to wake a person who had sleepwalked and that terrified him enough.

So he stood opposite Lucy, not caring about himself, only for Lucy who was wearing nothing ample to protect her from the cold, her pyjama bottoms, a thin cotton t-shirt and no socks.

“Come on Luce. Wake up.” Lockwood tentatively took a step forward, and then Lucy let out a gasp which merged with a sob and dropped to the ground.

Lockwood winced at the way she’d gone down so heavily on her knees, but he joined her instantly, dropping to her level and taking her hands only feeling relief when he felt Lucy’s ice cold fingers wrap around his.

“Lockwood…” her teeth were chattering and her lips were even bluer, and he couldn’t pretend that he didn’t see the steady stream of tears that were falling down her cheeks.

“It’s okay, it’s okay Luce. I’m right here, you’re safe, you’re just outside. You must have sleepwalked.” The reassurances tumbled out of his mouth in one long breath, and he didn’t let on that Lucy’s grip was hurting him, because she clearly needed to hold onto him.

“I…saw…it…was…” Lucy couldn’t, she couldn’t say it out loud, she couldn’t even think about it, what she’d seen, who she’d seen, that image was burned into her mind, and it kept taunting her. Her stomach in knots as she tried to keep a firm grip on Lockwood’s hands despite the fact that she couldn’t feel her fingers, hands, or anything really.

She knew that she’d hit the ground hard, but she couldn’t feel the pain that was supposed to come with such an impact.

“Let’s get you inside, come on Luce.” Lockwood knew that staying out in the cold was not going to help either of them, so he pulled himself up and then he turned his focus to Lucy, being as gentle as he could as he helped her to her feet.

She clung to him like he was her lifeline, and Lockwood held her just as tightly, walking slowly, matching her pace, just wanting to make it inside safely to get Lucy out of the cold.

Once they’d made it to the living room Lockwood wrapped Lucy in both of the blankets that had been folded neatly on the back of the sofa, and he promised to be right back, heading to the bedroom to get some socks, swapping his jumper for a different one so Lucy could have the one that was clinging to his warmth.

Lucy couldn’t move, she stayed tucked into the corner of the sofa, buried in the blankets, trying not to blink because every time she did, she was met with the same image from her nightmare.

“Lockwood?” She called out for him, her heart beating faster and faster the longer he was gone. The silence in the house no longer peaceful, but deafening.

The panic that was building digging it’s claws into her ice cold skin.

When he rounded the corner three minutes later with his arms full of clothing and the first aid kit she’d packed, she let out a shaky sigh of relief at having him back with her.

“I’m fine I don’t need the first aid kit…” Lucy began, but when Lockwood pulled away the blanket from her legs she winced despite still not feeling the pain, the rips in her pyjama bottoms stained a little with blood.

“You went down pretty hard on the cobblestones.” Lockwood tugged the blankets from Lucy’s shoulders and helped her into his warm jumper before returning the blankets to the position they’d been in.

Lucy let Lockwood put the socks on her feet and gently roll up her torn pyjama bottoms, just focusing on trying to regain the feeling in her stiffened limbs.

“That’s never happened before.” She whispered, watching as Lockwood gently cleaned her grazed knees, wishing that she could just rewind to before this all happened.

“It’s not common, but it’s not unheard of. Nightmares can induce sleep walking, I’m just sorry that I didn’t wake up before. It could have been so much worse than this Luce…if you’d wandered to the beach, into the sea-”

Lucy reached out to wrap her fingers around his wrist, waiting until he looked up at her, wanting him to have her full attention.

“But that didn’t happen, and I’m okay. Anthony, it’s not your fault. It wouldn’t have been your fault.” His first name slipping out before she realised what she’d done.

Lockwood froze, the way Lucy had said his first name, how gentle and comforting it sounded coming from her lips, he found himself torn between never wanting to hear her say it again, and for it to be all she ever called him.

The last time he’d been called Anthony in such an affectionate manner, was in the weeks leading up to his parents deaths. His mother used it more often than his father, who called him Tony more than anything.

He refused to go by Anthony; Lockwood was all he’d known.

But Lucy made his name sound like the most precious thing in the world.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Lucy stumbled over her words.

Lockwood shook his head, slowly rolling down Lucy’s pyjama bottoms, “it’s okay, it was a little strange to hear it after so long, but I didn’t dislike it. And hey, I call you Luce all the time, so it seems only fair that you have a nickname for me, even though it’s not really one.”

“You don’t have to say that. I won’t do it again if it makes you uncomfortable.”

He sunk down on the sofa beside Lucy and reached for her hands, cupping them in his own and bringing them to his mouth so he could blow hot air over them.

“You, and only you, could ever make me enjoy hearing my first name again Lucy, so I’m saying that it’s okay, that I don’t mind. That I want you to.”

That was exactly what she didn’t want Lockwood to say, because how could she not love him when he was sat opposite her, warming up her hands, and giving her and only her the privilege of calling him by his first name.

Lucy tugged her hands away from Lockwood’s and stifled a yawn, wrapping the blankets even tighter around herself.

“Do you want to go to bed?” Lockwood asked, trying not to overthink the fact that Lucy hadn’t responded to him, hoping that he hadn’t overwhelmed her too much.

Lucy shrugged, “I don’t want to sleep walk again…”

“I won’t let that happen Luce.” Lockwood frowned, because he knew that Lucy wouldn’t sleep until the exhaustion got too much, but he truly couldn’t promise that she wouldn’t sleepwalk again.

“You can’t stop it from happening.” She tensed up as a shiver passed through her body, a heavy ache in her chest as she remembered that image again, the sordid epitome of her nightmare.

“I know…” he trailed off, “but I’ll be here if it does happen again, I won’t let you end up in danger. I’ll keep you safe this time.”

The temperature in the living room seemed to have dropped by a degree and a half, and Lucy found herself reaching for Lockwood’s hand.

Clinging to his unnatural warmth.

“You can’t promise that either.” And Lucy knew from the way Lockwood’s eyes darkened, that he understood she wasn’t just talking about this solitary moment.

It was a promise he could make, over and over, and still always be perpetually close to breaking.

It was a promise Lucy longed to make to him too.

“I can keep you safe now, that I do promise. Do you trust me?” He stood up, releasing Lucy’s cold hand from his slightly clammy grip.

Lucy watched him, not taking her eyes off of his sleepy expression, “always, I will always trust you Anthony.”

Hearing his first name pass through her lips again invited a sense of comfort to wash over him. He liked it, it felt right, and he hoped she’d do it more often.

Lockwood stepped forward, stooping to Lucy’s level as he untucked her from the cocoon of blankets, “put your arms around my neck, and don’t worry, you won’t hurt me.”

Lucy’s protest died on her lips as she slowly did as he’d asked, snaking her arms around his neck, feeling the cold almost immediately, but then she felt Lockwood’s arms slide under her knees and against her back, lifting her up.

No words were needed as she gently dropped her head onto his shoulder.

A feeling of unadulterated safety seeping into her bones as Lockwood carried her to the bedroom.

Lucy tucked herself under the thick duvet and was grateful for Lockwood when he pulled the crocheted blanket over her too, but when he walked away from the bed almost out of sight she stiffened.

“Where are you going?” Her voice giving away her rising anxiety.

“Nowhere, I’m just going to lock the bedroom door. I’ll be there in a minute. It’s alright.” Lockwood did what he’d explained, and tucked the only chair in the room under the door handle too, just in case.

Although he didn’t intend on sleeping, because he was terrified of anything like that happening again, he wanted Lucy to feel safe.

“Don’t do that,” Lucy whispered, eyes half closed as she fought sleep, talking to Lockwood’s back as he sat on the edge of the bed, “don’t just sit there and stay awake. Please come here, I don’t want to fall asleep if you’re not next to me.”

He wanted to restrain himself, because he wanted to be able to be alert if Lucy did wake up again, and he wouldn’t be able to do that if he was asleep with her in his arms, but the tiredness was wrapping around him too.

Lucy’s voice pulling him in.

As much as Lucy needed him there to fall asleep, he needed her too.

So he took off the jumper, shedding the extra layer he no longer needed, and he climbed into bed beside Lucy.

Staring up at the ceiling he could only focus on Lucy’s uneven breathing.

“What was the nightmare-”

“Lockwood.”

Her sudden interruption and the fear in her tone had his blood running cold. She’d never sounded so scared.

“Don’t…please don’t ask me to tell you.” Every single nerve in her body was tingling as she struggled to breathe properly, Lockwood knew about every other nightmare she’d ever had…but he couldn’t know about this one. Not what she’d seen. Not what she’d been replaying over and over since she’d woken up.

“Okay. It’s alright I won’t. Come on, come here, you’re still freezing.” The curiosity he had being shoved deep down as he let Lucy curl up beside him, pulling the covers over her shoulders hoping that now she’d be able to properly warm up.

His lips lingering against her temple as she draped her arm across his torso, her fingers bunching up the fabric of his pyjama shirt.

“You know I won’t let it happen again Luce,” he felt her body tense, and in an attempt to soothe her he began to draw small circles on her back, a flash of a memory spilling over from years ago, his mothers voice whispering softly in his ear, “I’ve got you, and you’re safe.”

“Can we stay here…forever?” A stupid question, a far fetched notion, and yet Lucy wanted Lockwood to say yes.

Yesterday had been one of the most peaceful days of her entire life, a day without the weight of the world, worry, and loss balanced unevenly on her shoulders.

A day where she felt like a normal teenager.

Maybe Portland Row was her home, but it still felt tainted with a life she hadn’t ever wanted, a responsibility that she hadn’t asked for.

“I wish we could,” Lockwood admitted softly, because he could think of nothing more important to him than Lucy being happy, but that wouldn’t last forever, “but we can’t. If we could Luce, I’d say yes in a heartbeat. You know that don’t you?”

Lucy nodded into his chest, she had a feeling that Lockwood would give her the universe if she asked, and she tried to disguise the rush of emotion that came by clearing her throat, but it came out as a quiet sob, “I know, I know you would. I just hate everything, I hate the expectations that weigh us down, the rules and the demands of people who have no idea what we go through. The danger. The loss…the way that this moment could so easily become a painful memory instead of a cherished one…that I could lose you.”

I love you. The words burned the tip of her tongue.

Lockwood wrapped his arms around Lucy even tighter, his heart aching. I love you.

“This is just our life, for a while anyway, until we inevitably lose our Talents. It’s dangerous, it’s so draining and difficult, and it’s steeped in years and years of trauma and pain and death. It’s unfair but it’s just what we have to endure. Lucy, I need you to understand this, I am never going to leave you. By choice or by chance. I’m not going anywhere. You have helped me realise so much since you came to Portland Row to be part of our little dysfunctional family. The world used to mean nothing, but now every second, every minute I spend with you and George, makes the whole world mean so much. I no longer fall asleep willing the universe to let me not wake up. I don’t have dreams of wading into the freezing cold waters of the Thames to never make it out again, I want to wake up. I want to live. And I intend to live a very long life, with you and George by my side.” He wondered for a moment whether he’d ended up sending Lucy to sleep, her breathing finally even and her body warming up a little more.

But when she found his hand and laced their fingers together he sighed softly.

“Thank you for taking a chance on the broken, guilt ridden girl who didn’t really have a place in the world. She would be amazed at who I am now, who I’m learning to be; that’s all thanks to you and George.” Lucy let her eyes close properly, sleep gripping onto her tightly, but not as tightly as Lockwood was.

That very first day remained one of the happiest memories he carried with him. He’d moulded it into a perfect relic that he could store in his mind, and he was certain that if there ever did come a moment where he had leave this mortal coil before his time was up, it would-somehow-become his source.

Meeting Lucy, in fact, just Lucy would be his source.

The reason he stayed tied to the land of the living even in death.

He would always have unfinished business with her. There would always be an instance where he had something left to say to her that prevented him from passing over peacefully to the other side.

“You are not broken, and you are not to blame for the things that happened in the past, you were and still are just a child Luce. It was a terrible accident and it was tragic, but it was never your fault. And I hope one day you believe me when I say that.” Lockwood would never stop reminding Lucy that the words she’d been told by nasty, selfish adults, who were supposed to have protected her, were the furthest thing from the truth.

Lucy’s fingers loosened their grip on his own and he waited for a few minutes, listening for the soft snores he knew so well, and he let relief flow through his veins.

Fitful sleep was going to be better than no sleep at all, for the both of them, but Lockwood lay there, with Lucy’s sleeping form curled up close to him, for two hours until he finally felt tired enough to try and sleep as well.

With Lucy’s warm body moulded perfectly against his own, her hands grasping the fabric of his pyjama shirt, her head resting on his chest, his mind calmed and his body finally settled down no longer immersed in fight or flight. In recent weeks these moments had been the only way he’d been able to claw his way out of the depths of his mind. The hours when the world slept, and when he could finally do the same, only because Lucy was there beside him grounding him to reality.

“I…” a whispered syllable formed in the silence of the room, he wasn’t speaking to anyone, but he wanted Lucy to hear him, “…love you,” he wanted the courage to finally say those three words out loud, to Lucy, but for now he settled for sharing them with her sleeping form in the early hours of the morning as he so often did when they were back at home. Words he gave to her, that meant more than all the riches in the world, because he loved her, he loved her with a fierceness that he’d never felt before for anyone.

Lucy shifted in her sleep and rolled slightly out of his embrace and he wondered if he could move a little, and relieve the numbness in his arm, but she moved right back to the same position, and she clung to him like a lifeline.

But Lockwood didn’t mind, instead of prolonging the fight with sleep he decided to give in knowing that soon enough the sun would begin to spill through the curtains, and for now at least he was content that Lucy was safe in his arms.

Just as he felt himself sinking deeper and deeper, the whispers of Lucy’s voice followed him distorted by sleep, and he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or if it was real.

“…I love you too.”

It didn’t matter much though, it was her voice, and even if it was just part of a dream beginning, her voice saying those three words was enough, for him, for now.

﹌﹌﹌

[day three]

When Lockwood finally woke up the weight of Lucy in his arms was missing, and he turned his head expecting to see her sat up, maybe reading or drawing.

The room was empty, the chair he’d used to barricade them inside back in its usual spot, as if it hadn’t ever been moved.

For a brief moment, it felt like he was truly on his own, and he wondered if this was all some elaborate hellscape, where he’d imagined everything.

But the sound of glass breaking in the kitchen, whilst it didn’t fill him with much hope of it not being an intruder, grounded him to the fact that he wasn’t alone.

It wasn’t until he made it down the stairs, still struggling to put his arm into the left jumper sleeve, that he heard Lucy’s quiet voice mumbling curse words.

Lockwood rounded the corner and stopped in the doorway, “there’s a reason George never allows either of us in the kitchen.”

Lucy turned, narrowing her eyes at Lockwood’s lame attempt at humour; his hair all over the place, the bags still prominent under his eyes, but that perfect lopsided smile sat on his lips and she couldn’t deny the warmth that bloomed in her chest.

As she went to move her hands from the sink one of the shards of broken glass dug into her palm, and she cursed loudly, focusing her attention on the scarlet droplets of blood coating the bottom of the sink.

“Don’t touch it,” Lockwood made her jump when he appeared over her shoulder, “you’re going to need stitches, maybe, just don’t pull the glass out. I’ll be right back.”

Lucy shrugged off his hand from her shoulder and closed her eyes, trying to stop herself from feeling dizzy, the combination of fitful sleep, anxiety and the already existing pit of nausea in her stomach not helping.

“You are not stitching my hand up Tony!” She shouted to him, and then lowered her head against the cold rim of the sink, stars blurring her vision.

“I said maybe Lucinda.”

Lockwood was certain Lucy was scowling at him even with her head bowed.

“My name isn’t Lucinda,” Lucy grumbled, gritting her teeth as she tried to pull the shard of glass out of her hand, “can you come over here and help, please?”

Lockwood walked over, guiding Lucy to the kitchen table once he’d laid a towel down, and he pulled his chair up as close to her as possible.

“Well, you won’t tell me what it is, so. And if you call me Tony, I’ll call you Lucinda.” He shrugged, but he was smiling, despite the nature of the situation, he wanted to try and defuse some of the tension.

But as soon as he held Lucy’s hand in his, he was completely focused on the task at hand.

Being as gentle as he could as he pulled the shard of glass out of Lucy’s hand, and with a clearer view he felt a little bit relieved that Lucy wouldn’t need stitches.

So he flushed the wound with antiseptic much to Lucy’s displeasure, just to make sure there were no more small pieces of glass hanging around, and then he set about wrapping her hand with gauze and a bandage.

All the while Lucy was stuck in a different memory altogether.

From the night they’d taken the case for Sweet Dreams Excavations, when she’d gauged a sizeable wound in her forearm with her sword.

Lockwood had patched her up then, and they’d gotten so lost in the moment, Lucy was certain that they were going to kiss.

Maybe, she wanted to kiss him.

But the moment had been over just as soon as it had begun, and Lucy was glad that at least this time the tension she felt wasn’t due to what she was certain was one sided attraction.

The tenseness was emanating from her.

From her nightmare.

It was the reason for the broken glass in the sink, and now the gash in her hand.

He was the reason.

The reason why she fell apart, but also the reason she always ended up put back together.

Lockwood was always there, picking up the pieces, even if he wasn’t the one who broke them.

So, Lucy was, rightfully so in her opinion, terrified of the day she fell apart completely, and was left to pick up the pieces and put herself back together. When he was no longer there to fix her.

Losing him, would shatter her beyond repair.

“There you go Lucy, all done.” Lockwood gently released her and she kept her eyes trained on his back as he stood up and went to put away the first aid kit.

“It is Lucinda.” Finally, she caved, after keeping her full name tucked away over the last couple of months for no real reason other than wanting to keep her past at arms length.

Wanting to give herself a distraction from the dark, sweeping thoughts that were invading her head, she offered up a different part of her that would not only distract herself, but Lockwood too from talking about last night, about the reason for the smashed glass, and her waking early.

It worked, as she’d anticipated, because his brown eyes seemed to grow lighter when he caught her eye, she was indulging him and in his mind, letting him into the parts of her life that she kept shrouded in darkness, justifiably so.

“Why not just say that? There’s nothing wrong with Lucinda,” Lockwood spoke softly, treading carefully as he sunk back down into the kitchen chair opposite Lucy, “it’s just a name, no?”

Lucy shrugged, tucking her injured hand into her lap, avoiding Lockwood’s face, looking at anything else in the kitchen except for him.

“I hate what it represents for me, it feels fake…it places me in this world where I never belonged. With Margaret, Hannah, Katherine, Elizabeth, Josephine and Christina. Six sisters, all older, all long gone by the time I was old enough to recognise that they’d had every right to leave me behind. They’d had a lucky escape. Marriages and husbands, sons and daughters. Lives of their own. Christi was the first to go, and then Josie. Lizzie and Kate left together, and Ann wasn’t far behind. Mary pretended that she wanted to stay, but even eight year old Lucy could see the damage that had been done…but not the damage that awaited her. I hate it, because of what it holds, and I knew you’d understand, but I wanted so desperately to leave it all behind…” Lucy looked up and willed the tears to disappear, because she didn’t want to cry over her mother and the way she’d been treated then, she couldn’t help the cards she’d been dealt. But she was older now, wiser, and she’d learned to keep her deck close to her chest, playing logically and strategically. Without having her heart as a bargaining chip.

It worked. It had worked.

Until she’d knocked on the door of 35 Portland Row, and she’d ended up placing her bets, all her wins and her losses, every penny she owned. On two boys, two very different, very important, boys. Her boys.

She shared with them her hand, and they promised to have her back, to teach her new ways to play into the game of life.

Once again, her heart had ended up as an offering. A bargaining chip with its value higher than ever before. The stakes higher. The losses even more so.

Lockwood’s calloused thumb brushing against her cheek pulled her back to reality, “you’re so far away from that Lucy, you’re not just different, you’re stronger, older, and you are perfect just the way you are. To me, to George. You’re Lucy Joan Carlyle, and you are one of the greatest Talents of our generation…and the best thing that has ever happened to me—to us—and I’m being so incredibly sincere when I say this Luce, my life is infinitely better for knowing you.”

Lucy still found it hard to be on the receiving end of complimentary commentary, to be praised and acknowledged and loved.

Even more so by a nerdy teenager who knew just about everything about anything, never could get his glasses to sit straight, declared that trousers were for wimps and cooked food so phenomenally and with so much love Lucy never wanted to go without; and his best friend, who wore suits like they were an extension of him, with prominent dark circles as accessories, knew his way around a haunted house and how to wield a rapier with such ease and precision that it had to have been an infallible part of whoever he was in his past life, and he rounded it all off with a smile that Lucy was certain had the potential to make even the most stoic person reciprocate his adoring gesture.

Letting her boys love her had seemed like the hardest thing in the beginning, a burden not a blessing, she’d done her best to keep them both at arms length, until they’d broken through her defences and helped her realise that the love they intended to give her, wasn’t a trick or an artificial act, it was real and it was true.

“Anthony?” Lucy began, flexing her fingers a little to stop them from going numb.

Lockwood tilted his head a little, giving Lucy his full attention, trying to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat at hearing her call him Anthony, “yeah?”

“Can I have a hug?” She hated that she still sometimes felt like she had to ask for permission for physical contact to ensue, but it was something she was working on.

“Oh Luce,” he stood up and offered her his hand, “of course, c‘mere.”

Enveloping her in a hug, Lockwood felt anchored by the warmth of Lucy’s body moulding to his so perfectly.

“You go into the living room, I’ll make us a late breakfast/early lunch, and then we can watch a movie. I think we both need a day to properly relax.”

Last nights stress painted on both of their sunken faces, lack of sleep evident from dark circles that had formed under their eyes.

They both had so much to say, but no energy to talk.

Lucy didn’t argue, but waited for a few more minutes to pass before she peeled herself away from the sanctuary of Lockwood’s embrace.

And relax is what they did.

Curled up on the sofa in each other’s arms.

Cups of teas made on the hour.

Sleep coming in fits and starts.

Words left unsaid (tension brewing as the time went on).

The pair of them ignoring everything that would complicate the brief reprieve of their worries and the air of uncertainty.

Lockwood remained concerned about Lucy, silently watching her as she slept.

Lucy unable to stop thinking about everything she wanted to say, even the things she wasn’t sure she should.

They’d talk tomorrow…

﹌﹌﹌

[day four]

On the second to last day of their holiday, Lockwood woke up to an empty bed, again, but this time he knew exactly where Lucy was.

“I’m sleeping on the sofa. Do not argue with me Lockwood I’m not in the mood.”

A 3AM conversation that he’d barely understood, still having been half asleep.

The tail end of her nightmare had pulled him from sleep, but instead of being able to comfort her like he usually did, an argument had broken out.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!”

“You’re impossible Lucy. You know as well as I do that bottling it up won’t help.”

“Don’t be smart about it. You’re one to talk, you don’t talk about anything.”

“All I’m doing is trying to help-”

“No! You’re interfering. You’re making things worse. Just leave it.”

“God. You have to know by now that I care about you. You don’t need to shoulder things on your own. You’re not on your own anymore.”

“Care about me? Wow, really?! You have a funny way of bloody showing it sometimes Lockwood. Honestly, I don’t think you care about anything or anyone besides yourself.”

That had stung.

“Fine. Deal with it alone if you’re so sure that I don’t care.”

He’d watched Lucy gather up a couple of blankets and her pillows and any anger he’d felt dissipated instantly.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m sleeping on the sofa. Do not argue with me Lockwood I’m not in the mood.”

The door slamming afterwards had echoed in his mind for hours.

Lockwood had tried to go back to sleep but he hadn’t even been able to get comfortable again.

The bed too big, too cold without Lucy’s sleeping form beside him.

Shortly after nine o’clock he heard the sound of the shower being turned on, and Lucy’s soft movements, so he pulled himself out of bed and moved into the kitchen so she could get ready for the day without having to worry about bumping into him.

The sight of the sofa still made up into a bed was like a punch to the stomach.

He wasn’t angry, but he was hurt.

The whole conversation was still replaying in his mind, and in his thought filled haze he grabbed two mugs instead of just one.

The cold tiles of the kitchen meeting his bare feet, making him shiver.

“Morning.” He greeted Lucy when she walked through the door, but he was met with her red, puffy eyes, pursed lips, and dark rimmed circles.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that she hadn’t slept.

Lucy didn’t say anything as she moved further into the kitchen, her eyes landing on her mug with a tea bag already in.

For the first time since they’d arrived in St Ives, Lucy felt sick to her stomach with worry, fear and grief. So she pulled the tea bag out of her mug and left it on top of the box.

She shivered as the water from her damp hair collected on the inside of her jumper, droplets travelling down her back as she leant against the counter and watched the drizzling rain pattern the window pane.

“Are you just going to ignore me then? You’re acting like a child Lucy.” Lockwood hated how irritable he was, but he’d spent the night worrying about Lucy, and he’d hoped that come the morning that they’d be able to talk.

But Lucy was making that impossible.

Lucy turned and scowled at him, folding her arms across her chest, “piss off Lockwood, stop trying to fix me. Stop trying to be the hero of the hour who makes everything better with a cup of tea and a heartfelt conversation. I don’t have anything to say, I don’t want to say anything. Have I made myself clear enough for you?”

This outburst, to an outsider looking in, would seem completely unexpected.

But to Lucy it wasn’t, it had been brewing for weeks now.

To Lockwood, it wasn’t either. He’d expected Lucy to break at some point but he didn’t think she would be so terse and cold when it came down to it.

“Be angry, fine. I don’t care, if this is how you’re going to process everything. But please, don’t make me out to be this person that you don’t know, that doesn’t understand. You know me and I know you. I know you don’t mean it.” He turned in his seat, watching the way Lucy’s face simultaneously turned pale, and red, her complexion contrasting the heat in her cheeks.

“You do do you?” Lucy let out a short laugh of incredulity.

Everything she’d kept inside beginning to boil over. Scalding her, and Lockwood, even though he was right, she didn’t mean it.

Lockwood frowned and rubbed at his temple, knowing that a coherent and peaceful conversation wasn’t going to happen right now.

“We should take a breather, and talk when we’re not both in such an emotional and intense state.” Rationally, he was doing what he thought was best.

To try and initiate a stalemate to give Lucy some space.

But that was the exact opposite of what Lucy wanted. If they didn’t have it out now, they’d end up back in London with this unbearable weight still heavy on their shoulders.

“No! No. We can’t keep ignoring everything!” Lucy threw her hands up in frustration raking them through her hair, pacing backwards and forwards on the cold tiles of the kitchen floor, “I can’t keep skirting around the things I want to say to you.”

As she opened herself up to those stored away conversations she couldn’t stop the nightmares seeping in too, and her fears of losing Lockwood to his recklessness and the images her mind had conjured up of him actually dying mixed together and blurred into one sordid scene, replaying over and over.

“Well then let’s talk, lay it all out. Right now.” Lockwood was now stood, desperately wanting to reach out to Lucy, to hold her hand and stop her from picking and pulling at her skin, his least favourite of all the anxious ticks she had.

He just wanted to be able to click his fingers and make it all better.

Lucy stopped pacing, and leant against the counter, retreating in on herself as she tried to prepare herself for the truth to be out in the open, wringing her hands together and avoiding Lockwood’s gaze completely.

“I wish you weren’t so nonchalant about your own mortality, you’re reckless, you’re stupid, and you don’t think about anyone else besides yourself. You’ve spent a lot of your teenage years wanting to die, that’s not a secret, George and I know that. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt us. Knowing that you have such a disregard for your own life. That you don’t see past your own personal gain. That you’d be leaving us behind.”

Lockwood went to interject but Lucy held up her hand and he closed his mouth.

“A small part of me was glad that you got shot. That you’ve had to recover. Because it meant for a little while I knew that you were safe. That you weren’t going to be reckless. That I knew I wasn’t going to lose you.” The words tasted sour on her tongue but she had to say it, to get it all out.

“Luce…” he whispered, the distance between them seemed to have grown longer even though neither of them had moved an inch, “you don’t have to worry about me.”

Lucy scoffed, but her voice was no longer dripping with anger or coldness, sadness coated every word.

“I will always worry about you. I can’t lose you, I can’t! I can’t handle the fear of it in real life, and I can’t escape it, it seeps into my nightmares Anthony…it’s so fucking terrifying…” her voice caught and she tried so hard to swallow the lump in her throat, the nightmares flashing in her mind, and for a split second the Lockwood from her dreams, merged with the Lockwood stood in front of her.

“Your nightmares?” He questioned, his voice still barely above a whisper. Why did they matter?

The confusion on his face only made Lucy feel worse, because he really didn’t know, and she didn’t want to say anything. To put that on him.

But the words were tumbling from her lips before she could stop them.

“Yes, my nightmares…you really want to know? You want to know what I saw, what I haven’t been able to stop seeing since!? You, you Lockwood, dying. You died, right in front of me, and it was all my fault. I couldn’t save you.”

The sob that followed Lucy’s confession, broke his heart.

“That’ll never happen. Ever. Lucy, hey, Luce please look at me.” He tried to reach her but she was facing away from him now, shoulders shaking; he heard her crying, and he hated it. Because he couldn’t do anything about it. He was the reason why.

“I need some air,” she tried to compose herself and wipe away the steady stream of tears, but all she was left with was damp sleeves and salty tears still lingering, “don’t, don’t follow me please. I don’t want you right now.”

Lies.

She was a liar. The only person she wanted right now was him.

But her heart hurt, and her soul hurt and everything ached so intensely that she was worried that she would fall apart at his touch.

“It’s raining, and it’s cold. Please don’t go outside. Lucy, please.” Lockwood reached out for her as she walked past, but he felt the tightness in his chest when she flinched away from his outstretched hand.

“I can’t stay here right now.” Her skin was burning, longing for his touch, her anxiety riddled bones aching for him to comfort her, to hold her.

But instead she left Lockwood behind in the kitchen as she found her shoes and put them on, wrapping her fingers around the door handle, vision blurred with tears.

Stepping out into the cold morning air, barely feeling the chill as she walked away from the cottage. Away from him.

The second the door closed, Lockwood slumped down into the chair and dropped his head into his hands, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, desperately trying not to cry.

The sleepwalking made sense now. The nightmares that had occurred before would have been more than traumatic enough to induce sleepwalking, more than enough.

He didn’t think…he didn’t realise that he was that important to her.

Lockwood could hear George’s voice echoing in his head, of course you’re important to her you idiot. She’s Lucy. Your Lucy.

He loved her.

But this just made him realise that maybe, maybe, she loved him too.

He decided to give her an hour.

An hour was enough for her to cool off, for him to give her time and space. Like she’d asked for.

He actually gave her forty-five minutes. Forty-two minutes and thirty seconds if he had to be specific.

And then when he was certain he’d paced a little too much, and worn down the floorboards in the hallway, he tucked his coat around him, and a scarf, and pulled Lucy’s coat from the hook on the door and at the last second grabbed his gloves and a second scarf.

There were a handful of places he could look, to try and find her, but as he stood at the top of the ramp that led down to the beach, he knew exactly where she’d gone.

The one place they had planned to visit before they went home, a place Lockwood had been excited to show her, until everything had gone awry and their second to last day was overcast with dark, unforgiving skies.

A collection of tall, shallow caves carved into the cliff faces ran along the right side of the beach, and as he walked along the sand, arms laden with an extra coat and scarf, gloves tucked into his pockets to warm up, he began to understand Lucy’s worries.

The waves crashing in the distance a stark reminder of why he’d never visited St Ives alone in the first place. Why he was so reckless, even now; without really meaning to be.

He’d spent so long wanting to die, that he was programmed to be reckless to the point of facing danger that he would never come back from.

It was different when he’d been alone. No one would have cared if his obituary was printed in the paper. No one would have attended his funeral. No one would have stood at his grave.

But he wasn’t alone anymore, he had George and now, Lucy. Both of them loving him in different ways, but the same.

The thought of Lucy and George finding out that he was gone. Having to write his obituary. Organise his funeral. Stand at his grave.

It was a wake up call, the wake up call he needed.

So when he finally saw Lucy, sat in the third cave, trying to shelter herself from the winds rolling off of the sea, for once he knew exactly what he needed to say. And that the promises he was going to make, would be true.

The sound of stones being dislodged underfoot made Lucy lift up her head, expecting a random stranger to just be walking past, but not Lockwood stood at the mouth of the cave.

Rosy cheeked and wide eyed, the collar of his coat upturned to try and combat the unrelenting winds.

“How did you find me?” Lucy asked, imagining that if she could feel anything right now, aside from the numbing cold, it would be relieved.

Relieved to see him.

Relieved that he’d come to find her.

Relieved that she wasn’t on her own anymore.

“I took a chance on the most likely place, and I’m glad I did. Can I come over there? You’re going to end up being hypothermic if you stay out in this cold any longer. Your lips are blue Luce.” He was teetering on the balls of his feet, sand covering the soles and tops of his shoes as he rocked back and forth.

Not trusting herself to stand, she looked over at him and mustered up a half smile, “please, I can’t even feel my legs. I should’ve brought a coat.”

Lockwood moved around the rock formations with ease, memories of a childhood cut short flooding his mind for a moment, Jessica’s laughter echoing throughout the cave being carried away by the gusts of wind.

He set down the extra coat beside Lucy and shrugged his coat from his shoulders, wrapping it around her and then with her permission he wrapped the scarf around her neck, putting the other coat on before sitting down beside her.

The residual warmth from Lockwood circling around her as she tugged his coat on properly.

“Thanks for coming…and I’m sorry for everything I said. I shouldn’t have exploded like that.” She tensed her jaw to try and stop her teeth from chattering, looking ahead at the horizon, slightly obscured by the fog that was rolling in.

All while Lockwood was looking at her.

“You don’t have to apologise; we needed to talk, and it would have probably been different if we both weren’t so stubborn but it happened, it’s out there now and all we can do from here on out is try and communicate a little better with each other. Which I promise you I will try my hardest to. And I promise to stop being so reckless…it’s not fair on you or George. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been on the both of you.” Lockwood hesitated, wanting to reach out and take Lucy’s hand, but when he felt her move closer and tuck her arm into his he felt like he could breathe easier.

“I promise to try and be better at communicating too, but Lockwood you have to please try and not be so reckless…I meant what I said. I can’t lose you. It would kill me.” Resting her head on his shoulder wasn’t close enough, but she knew that they needed to talk, so she settled for this little moment of comfort for now.

The flashes of her nightmare still somehow blurring her vision and she had a feeling they would for a while. But she tried to remind herself that Lockwood was right next to her, and she was holding him, she could hear him breathing, and feel his warmth.

“Lucy, I promise you. I promise to never be so reckless and selfish again, I promise to keep you safe, and George safe, and myself. To follow the plans and abide by the rules, and to work harder on convincing my brain that I want to live. Because I do, I have two very important reasons to stay alive now…”

Words that he wasn’t sure he should say were clogging up his throat, making it harder to breathe, but he wanted to be honest, completely. But as Lucy cleared her throat he let her speak first.

“I never thought I’d have anyone else again after I left home…after losing Norrie. Our plans to come to London and get out became my one way ticket to a different life. I never thought I’d meet you and George, and I definitely never imagined that I’d end up letting you both in, that I’d feel that fear of loss again. But I do, every day…I go to sleep and wonder if tomorrow will be the last day that we’ll all be together, that a job will go wrong, that one little mistake will cost me everything. I…” she drew a shaky breath and held onto Lockwood a little bit tighter.

Only feeling reassured when he held onto her arm, squeezing her wrist gently.

“I don’t really know much about love, not in the way that I feel with you. I loved Norrie, and I love George, but it’s different with you. I’m scared of losing you both, but it’s you that haunts my nightmares, it’s your bed I end up in afterwards, it’s your touch and your voice that calms me down. I don’t know if that’s what love is, but it’s how I feel about you, and I know we’re young, and we don’t have the luxury of a normal life, but I don’t want to pretend that I don’t feel this way about you anymore.” Finally getting that off of her chest, had her feeling lighter than she ever had.

Lockwood stood, detaching himself from her, and Lucy waited for him to walk away, for her partial confession to have been too much, or not something he felt too.

But he turned to face her and held out his hand, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Anthony…” she breathed, wanting to reach out but not knowing what would happen if she did, but she missed his warmth and his presence beside her something fierce, “it’s okay if you don’t feel the same.”

Lockwood’s lopsided, emotional smile only made her own eyes well up, and she let him pull her up, his warm hands completely encompassing hers.

He pulled her into his arms, letting her push her arms into his coat and wrap around his back.

Burying her head into his chest, she breathed deeply, and let herself mould to his body like they were made to fit together.

“I’ve felt the same way for a while now…I think I knew that you were going to be this big and powerful force of nature the day I met you. But I didn’t realise until a little while later that you’d become so important to me. You’re not just different, or special Lucy, you’re brilliant, brave, and you’re so strong. You’ve been to hell and back and here you are, you made it out the other side. I’m in awe of you, and yes I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t in awe of your Talent too. But that doesn’t define you, and that doesn’t matter to me. If you had no Talent at all, I’d still feel the same. It’s you who I care about, it’s you who I want to keep safe, and stay up all night talking to, to have by my side. To hear knock at my door after a nightmare, to know that you feel safe enough with me to help you through the aftermath. I never want to give you a reason to think of me differently, to stop relying on me, to stop feeling safe with me.”

Lockwood felt Lucy’s hands move up his back as she curled closer to his chest, and he tightened his arms around her waist, pressing his lips against her temple.

“Thank you, for opening up to me…for letting me open up to you. I know we have some more things to talk about and I do want to. Just not yet. Can we just enjoy the last day of our holiday, and then continue this when we get home?” Her request being spoken slowly, and softly, so Lockwood didn’t end up thinking that she didn’t want to talk about this ever again. Because she did, she really did.

Knowing that Lucy felt the same, it was more than enough for him now. And if Lucy wanted to finish up their holiday before they talked more then he was more than happy to oblige.

One more day was nothing when they’d waited this long already.

“Whatever you want Luce, is fine with me. As long as you’re happy that’s all that matters to me.” Having her safe in his arms right now, was all he needed.

Nothing could ruin the happiness that he felt right now.

﹌﹌﹌

[day five]

Waking up tangled in Lockwood’s arms the next morning, with the sun spilling through the gap in the curtains, was the most peaceful she’d ever felt.

There’d been no nightmares, no visions of Lockwood dying, no sleepwalking. Just falling asleep to the sound of Lockwood’s voice and eventually his snores.

“Morning.” The way a yawn drowned out the last syllable of his greeting made her smile, curling back up under the covers when Lockwood wound his arm around her waist.

“Mmm, good morning. Did you sleep okay?” She murmured, letting her fingers trace the embroidered lettering on his pyjama shirt.

“Best nights sleep I’ve ever had,” he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind Lucy’s ear letting his hand linger on her cheek, “did you sleep okay?”

Realising that he hadn’t been woken up at all, which he hoped meant Lucy hadn’t had a nightmare.

“Best nights sleep I’ve had in years,” she partly mirrored his words, and lifted her head up slightly to look at him, “I could maybe use another hour though?”

Not quite sure she wanted to leave the comfort of Lockwood’s embrace; or that she wanted to fight off the pull of sleep she was still feeling.

“Go back to sleep Luce, it’s early anyway.”

Lucy gently pressed her lips to Lockwood’s cheek, and then let her head lay back down on his chest, adjusting her position slightly until she was comfortable again, “wake me up in an hour please.”

“I will,” Lockwood didn’t move, his face warming as he realised that Lucy had kissed his cheek, closer to his jaw more than anything, and that he’d liked it. It was weird but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Only able function again normally when Lucy mumbled something about being cold, and he moved the blankets around her and dropped his arm back to her waist.

[⋆⭒˚⋆⚷٠࣪𖤐⋆☠︎︎.⟢]

“Wait up Luce!” Lockwood called as Lucy excitedly walked ahead when they neared the bookstore.

Lucy turned around to roll her eyes at him, his scarf draped around her neck blowing against the wind, but the huge smile on her face didn’t falter, “actually I think you should hurry up Anthony!”

Their one task for the last day was to get George a gift, and Lucy had already proposed that they venture into the quaint bookstore at the bottom of the hill.

Lockwood was glad that their talk yesterday had resulted in such a change in Lucy, and he felt different in himself too, like a weight had been lifted.

She disappeared from view into the bookstore and he stuffed his hands a little deeper into his pockets as he walked the rest of the way alone, already missing the weight of Lucy’s hand in his.

The bookstore was filled with new books, old books, donations and books that had previously belonged to Audrey the owner. In his opinion, it smelled fantastic, but he’d always found the smell of books comforting in the same way others would with candles or their favourite food, or the salty sea air.

Every book had been loved, and enjoyed.

Audrey waved at him as he stepped over the threshold closing the door behind him, the bell above his head jingling in the wind signalling his presence.

“Hello dear, how are you doing? Your Lucy is in the science and history section by the way, barely said hello before she ran off.” Audrey slid a cloth bound classic of A Tale of Two Cities across the counter with a smile.

“I’m good, thank you Audrey. How are you? And thanks, Lucy’s looking for gift for a friend.” He slid his fingers over the cover, worn, but in good condition. A story he’d been waiting for to add to his library, he didn’t often find himself reading but he had lots of memories of stories that his father loved and that he’d had read to him as a child that he wanted to find. Audrey had promised to do her best when he’d popped in at the beginning of their holiday, and usual she’d prevailed. It was also a little keepsake for him and Lucy.

“I’m very well, all the more happy to see you two, but I’m guessing that you’ll be heading home tomorrow?”

Audrey had been running the bookstore since before he was born, before his parents had even found St Ives and their little cottage. So Lockwood always made a point to visit her whenever he came, because he had happy memories of being towed around the book store by his sister, perusing every shelf until they had collated mountains of books between them, and he wanted to keep those memories alive. Knowing Lucy was experiencing the same kind of joy, soothed his grief stricken heart.

“We will, but I have some good news. I’m not going to be renting the cottage out anymore. Lucy loves it here, and we want to try and come back every year, probably more than that if Lucy gets her way. And I think I’m finally starting to love it again too.” Lockwood watched Lucy’s smiling face appear as she held up a book, and he waved at her.

“Well that’s wonderful news dearie, I’m glad you’re feeling like that. Your parents would be so proud. They’d love that girl of yours too, she reminds me so much of your sister and mother. She’s a keeper.” Audrey grinned, winking at him just as Lucy made it to the counter.

“She is, and I don’t ever plan on letting her go don’t worry.” Lockwood spoke softly before returning his full attention to Lucy.

“Find what you wanted Luce?” He asked, trying to look at the title of the book Lucy had found.

“Yeah, I think he’ll love it. It’s a book on the Problem and also the years before the Problem. Contrasting the way people viewed the other side before and after the lines blurred. I don’t think he’ll have read it, I’m hoping not but I never can tell with Georgie. Anyway, I think he’ll love it. Just this thanks Audrey!” Lucy pushed the book across the counter, sidestepping a little closer to Lockwood so he knew that he could take her hand, because she could see him fidgeting with his hands.

The second she felt his fingers wrap around her own, she settled.

“No charge, I mean it. For either books. All I ask is that whenever you come down and visit that you pop in and say hello, maybe even bring Mr Karim next time I’d love to meet him too. I hope you’ve enjoyed your holiday.”

Lockwood pulled out a few ten pound notes and slipped them into the donation box even though Audrey had tried to move it away, “it’s the least I can do, and besides I know my parents would do the exact same. You’re one of the best people in this town, and your bookstore has always been a happy place for me and my family. I’m certain once I mention this place, I won’t be able to keep George away.”

He knew that the huge gratifying smile on Audrey’s face would stay with him.

“Thank you for being so kind Audrey, I can’t wait to come back and visit. Maybe I’ll convince the boys to declutter our library and bring you some books next time.” Lucy chuckled at Lockwood’s horrified expression.

“I was only joking Anthony, well kind of. But don’t worry I don’t think I’ll get a single book out of the door if George has anything to do with it.” She accepted the hug from Audrey and then stood back with her paper wrapped book so Audrey and Lockwood could have a moment.

They were truly ending the holiday on a much happier, softer note that had settled all of Lucy’s worries and anxiety. She was glad they’d ended up coming, even though there’d been some tough days, ultimately everything that happened, led to her and Lockwood finally talking and communicating and that was all she’d needed.

Closure.

The acknowledgment of her own trauma and the way the last few weeks had affected her, and just how Lockwood was intertwined with her life, how important he was to her. Being able to show and tell him how much his recklessness didn’t just affect him, but her and George too.

His opening up, and his honesty. How he’d listened to her, and let her listen to him. It was a feeling she’d never had before.

A feeling she hoped never went away.

“Ready to go?” Lockwood’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, and his grasp on her hand grounded her.

“Yeah,” she whispered, “let’s go.”

Tightening the grip she had on his hand, she let him lead her out of the bookstore and out into the cold afternoon breeze that was rolling off the waves.

The views she was looking at, belonged on post cards, or canvases, to be admired and displayed, but now they were painted in her mind. And all she felt was lucky, and calm, and safe and loved. With Lockwood by her side.

﹌﹌﹌

[later that evening]

When the day started to draw to a close, and they were back at Celia cottage, Lockwood had been convinced by Lucy to take a shower, or at least relax, and that she’d figure something out for dinner.

So, after a fair amount of back and forth between the two of them, Lockwood had conceded, and now, he was glad that he’d listened to Lucy.

The warm shower and hour he’d spent reading had left him feeling like a whole new person, but he had yesterday to thank for the way he felt lighter and happier. After having the first honest and intense conversation with Lucy about their relationship, his recklessness, feelings and all, everything had just fallen into place.

Despite agreeing to just be friends, for now, Lockwood felt a spark of hope in his heart that he’d never had before. Lucy had ignited that spark.

He wanted to let Lucy take charge with dinner but by the time he’d read two chapters of A Tale of Two Cities, he was restless again, so he’d abandoned the story and made his way downstairs.

Where he now stood, just around the corner from the kitchen, listening to Lucy’s soft voice as she sang along to the radio.

The smells of whatever Lucy was cooking finding him as he moved to stand in the doorway, “something smells amazing.”

Lucy spun around, startled at the sudden interruption, but then she relaxed when she saw Lockwood leant against the doorframe, the dark green knit jumper paired with his blue pyjama bottoms, mismatched pink socks on his feet, transformed him into a young boy, the illusion of him being years older not there anymore.

This Lockwood, was who she hoped would become more prominent when they returned home; trading in the suits and ties for a more comfortable and relaxed version of himself every once in a while.

“It’s nothing special, and I promise I won’t be offended if you don’t like it, but George has been trying to teach me some of his more basic recipes and I figured I’d give one a go for dinner tonight. And if it doesn’t taste good, I’ll run out and get us fish and chips.” She gave Lockwood a tight, yet genuine smile; the fact that they were going home tomorrow weighing heavily on her mind.

Of course she loved London, 35 Portland Row even more so, but here in St Ives she felt free and happy, unburdened by everything. There were no expectations, no ghosts to fight or dangers to face.

Stirring the pot of beef stew one final time before she put the lid on, Lucy felt somewhat satisfied with the result of the last few hours and hoped at the very least what she’d cooked was edible.

“I’m sure whatever you’re making is going to be delicious,” Lockwood, as usual, pulled her away from her overbearing thoughts, “hey, turn the radio up please Luce, I love this song.”

Frankie Valli’s, ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’ filled the warm kitchen, and Lockwood walked over to Lucy who was stood by the sink, facing away from him.

He tapped her shoulder and when she turned around he held out his hand.

“Dance with me?”

Lucy looked at Lockwood’s outstretched hand and wondered if he was joking, she definitely couldn’t dance, even a little, and she wasn’t sure if Lockwood could, but knowing him he’d probably mastered that talent as well.

“I can’t dance.” She tried to make it sound as sincere as possible, not wanting him to think she was trying to evade his sweet proposition.

“We’re in the kitchen, just us, come on. Please Luce.” His pleading tone and big brown eyes were enough to push her over the edge of concurrence.

So she took his hand, and let him pull her close, settling her arms on his shoulders and clasping her hands behind his neck just as he hesitantly guided his hands to her waist.

Their closeness a comfort for them both.

“…I wanna hold you so much, at long last love has arrived, and I thank god I’m alive. You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you.”

Lucy absentmindedly rubbed her thumb against the nape of Lockwood’s neck, his warm smile at her gentle touch enough for a heavy blush to creep up onto her cheeks.

“Pardon the way that I stare, there’s nothing else to compare. The sight of you leaves me weak, there are no words left to speak. But if you feel like I feel, please let me know that it’s real. You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you.”

The dancing, was mostly swaying, but Lockwood didn’t mind, holding Lucy close to him, soaking up the relaxed atmosphere on their last night, and seeing Lucy’s peaceful expression was enough for him.

“I don’t want to go home, I miss George and Portland Row, but I want to stay here. With you, and the beach, and this perfect, safe little town. I want to keep hold of this peace.” Lucy admitted, shuffling closer so that her chin was resting against Lockwood’s shoulder; soothed by the way his hands wrapped around her even tighter.

The song continued faintly in the background and Lockwood pressed a kiss to Lucy’s temple.

He had no words to give to her that seemed adequate, because he wanted to stay too. Staying, meant keeping her safe, staying meant their lives were not plunged back into the unending cycle of risk and fear.

“I know Luce,” he murmured, “I know,” was all he could say.

“I love you, baby, and if it’s quite alright, I need you, baby, to warm a lonely night.”

In an attempt to cheer Lucy up, he pulled her back from being pressed against his chest, spun her out and then reeled her back into his arms.

Her laughter lightened the atmosphere and his heart.

“Very impressive Anthony,” Lucy grinned as they continued to move to the music, “did George teach you that?” She teased.

But lyrics were clouding her mind, urging her to say the words she didn’t think she had the courage to speak.

“I love you, baby, trust in me when I say, oh, pretty baby, don’t bring me down I pray, oh, pretty baby, now that I found you, stay, and let me love you, baby. Let me love you.”

“You’ve missed out on a lot of silly things in the late nights and early mornings where we were both as sleep deprived as each other. There may have been some dancing in there, yes. But this is a much nicer moment to remember. Here with you is where I want to stay, forever.”

Lockwood wondered if their return to Portland Row would give them a chance, or if their feelings and half confessions would stay behind the iron line.

“You’re just too good to be true.”

‘I love you…’

Those words longed to fall from her lips, she wanted to give them to him.

“Can’t take my eyes off of you.”

‘I never want to know a life without you.’

Losing Lockwood, losing the life she’d begun to settle into, the love and the comfort. Her life would be grey without it.

“You’d be like heaven to touch.”

‘You gave me a chance.’

When no one else was willing, there they were, her boys. Ready to give her one last chance.

“I wanna hold you so much.”

‘I want to give ‘us’ a chance.’

Lucy knew what a relationship with Lockwood entailed, but she couldn’t deny her feelings any longer.

“At long last love has arrived, and I thank god I’m alive.”

‘The bottom of the Thames is no longer a place I long to be.’

On dry land, with Lucy, was where he found peace now.

“You’re just too good to be true.”

‘You’re everything Luce.’

Not just an asset, not just her Talent. Everything. To him.

“Can’t take my eyes off of you.”

‘…I love you.’

The words were there, ready to find their place in the world, a place with Lucy, if only he could form them properly, perfectly, because Lucy deserved no less.

The song ended, and Lucy stayed tucked in the safe embrace that Lockwood provided, his arms still encircled tightly around her waist.

“Thank you for this, the holiday, for the memories…I’ll never forget this.” She whispered in his ear, lips brushing against his cheek as she pulled away, the urge to kiss him too overwhelming when she locked eyes with him.

So she turned around, leaving the sanctuary of his arms, and pretended to check on dinner so it didn’t seem like she’d intentionally put distance between them.

Even though she had.

“Thank you for agreeing to come, for opening up to me and for letting me open up too. I’m glad we had a chance to talk, because I’ve hated the tension between us. I’m glad that when we get home we can turn over the page, and start a new chapter. One where we listen more, and work together better. One where things are different, in a good way.” Lockwood went to fill up the kettle, and he smiled when Lucy pushed their mugs across the counter.

“No more putting yourself in danger.” Lucy confirmed, turning to face him after she’d dropped two teabags into their mugs.

Lockwood mirrored her stance, but instead of letting his hands hang down by his sides, he reached out for her.

“Never again, never intentionally. You won’t lose me Luce, I promise.”

She was desperate to remind him not to make promises that he couldn’t keep, but right now she accepted that for a brief moment, that everything he was saying was true, and that she wouldn’t ever lose him, because she needed to believe it. To believe in it so much, that maybe she’d be able to protect him if the time ever came when she needed to.

“I…” but what she was about to say never made it past her lips because the smell of burning began to fill the kitchen and she tore her hands from Lockwood’s and darted to the stove, barely avoiding burning her hands as she took the pot off of the burner, “damn it, I think I ruined dinner.”

“Want me to see if it’s salvageable?” Lockwood offered as he stood just behind Lucy, noting her crestfallen expression.

She shook her head and dropped the wooden spoon into the pot, turning around and leaning against the kitchen counter, with Lockwood barely a foot in front of her.

“Sorry.” The apology came out quiet, and she rushed to swallow the lump in her throat as she fought off the stupid feeling of annoyance that was brewing over burning food.

“Hey, you have nothing to apologise for, it was an accident and it’s not a big deal. You go shower and get into something comfy and I’ll be back in half an hour with fish and chips. Okay?” He gently tugged Lucy closer and felt relieved when she melted into his arms, her head buried in his chest.

“Okay,” she mumbled against his jumper, and waited a few more seconds before she pulled back and headed out of the kitchen, stopping just as she reached the doorway to look over her shoulder, “can I steal one of your-”

“I left one out on the bed for you. I’ll be back soon.” He watched her smile creeping onto her lips just as her cheeks bloomed with pink.

“…thanks Anthony, see you when you get back, don’t be too long. And take a coat, please.”

Lucy disappeared around the corner after he’d acknowledged her with a nod, and then he emptied out the crockpot before leaving it to soak, grabbing his wallet, keys and his coat on the way out of the front door.

Their final night ending with fish and chips, a hot chocolate, and at Lucy’s request, him continuing to read A Tale of Two Cities once they’d gotten into bed.

Lockwood had propped himself up against the headboard, and Lucy was curled up against his side, one arm draped across his torso. Her head nestled into the crook of his neck as he spoke softly.

“A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it! Something of the awfulness, even of Death itself, is referable to this.”

“Want me to stop?” He asked, feeling Lucy’s head get heavier against his shoulder, wondering if she wanted him to be quiet so she could try and get some sleep.

“No, please keep going, you have such a soothing voice. This is the quickest I’ve felt tired in a long time…” a perfectly timed yawn proving her point, “keep going.”

When they returned home she hoped that Lockwood wouldn’t mind continuing to do this. It was one of the many things she wanted to ask him about but that could wait. For now, she wanted to enjoy one last perfect night with him; where her only worry was falling asleep before the chapter ended.

“Alright, I’ll finish this chapter.” Lockwood let Lucy adjust her position and he tugged the blanket over her shoulders a little more before he continued, and he gently wrapped his fingers around Lucy’s knowing that he wouldn’t need to turn the page, because Lucy would be asleep by the time he got to the end of the next paragraph.

“No more can I turn the leaves of this dear book that I loved, and vainly hope in time to read it all. No more can I look into the depths of this unfathomable water, wherein, as momentary lights glanced into it, I have had glimpses of buried treasure and other things submerged. It was appointed that the book should shut with a spring, for ever and for ever, when I had read but a page. It was appointed that the water should be locked in an eternal frost, when the light was playing on its surface, and I stood in ignorance on the shore. My friend is dead, my neighbour is dead, my love, the darling of my soul, is dead; it is the inexorable consolidation and perpetuation of the secret that was always in that individuality, and which I shall carry in mine to my life's end.”

Lucy’s soft snores only proving his point as he finished the final sentence, sliding the bookmark between the pages before closing the book.

As he managed to successfully shuffle down the bed and not disturb Lucy, he found himself wondering whether tonight would be the last night they did this. Seeking such solace and comfort in each others arms. Whether their unspoken feelings would be left in St Ives. That they’d decide on being friends and only that.

He didn’t want that, he wanted anything but that to be the outcome of their return home. But, just in case it was, he held Lucy a little bit tighter, and kissed the middle of her temple before closing his eyes.

If this was it, he wanted to cherish their final night together so that he could hold it in his mind forever.

﹌﹌﹌

[day six — home]

Neither of them wanted to go. That was apparent as they moved slowly around the cottage the next morning, trying to desperately cling onto the last dregs of the holiday bliss they’d created over the last day.

They had to go though.

To find their way back to reality, back to London, and George and work.

Lockwood was stoic and apprehensive.

Lucy was downright terrified.

The burden and the fear and the danger that waited for them, was something neither of them were in a rush to get back to.

But both of them hid behind their smiles over tea and toast, and they didn’t utter a single downcast word. Wanting to keep the atmosphere happy and gentle until they had to leave.

Packing had happened the night before, so when they were both ready the next morning, their bags were waiting for them by the front door.

Two train rides awaited them and the weather was cold, the rain stopping and starting, so Lucy was bundled up and Lockwood had gone in search of tea once they’d found their platform.

Lucy felt this overwhelming sense of anticipation as the clock slowly approached the time for them to get on the train.

Anticipation for what lay ahead.

For her and Lockwood.

Technically, their holiday was over.

Her wishes for things to be discussed after, for ‘them’ to be discussed after, were void now.

It was after.

And instead of feeling completely anxious, she felt happiness, and a sense of relief, that her reciprocated feelings, could be heard and acted upon. The only thing stopping her was a sliver of fear that maybe Lockwood would have changed his mind.

So she held her tongue when he returned with their tea, and she didn’t say anything as he sat beside her to wait for their train to arrive. Or when they made their way only the train and found their seats.

Her silence didn’t go unnoticed by Lockwood, but he didn’t question Lucy’s vacant stare, instead he just let her hold his hand and look out the window, until eventually she ended up with her head on his shoulder asleep.

The cab ride through London, again, was silent, and he began to wonder whether Lucy was regretting pouring her heart out to him at all, that in her silence she was trying to come up with a way to let him down gently.

But she was still holding his hand, and he could feel the way her grip kept getting stronger and weaker. Her anxiousness seeping through.

Surely if she was trying to distance herself from him, she’d have chosen to sit away from him.

Yet he waited, with baited breath until they finally rounded the familiar corner, and reached Portland Row. Not wanting the back of a cab to be where quite possibly one of the most pivotal moments of their relationship happened.

He paid the fare, unloaded their cases and then he watched as Lucy started to walk away from him.

It was now, or most certainly never.

Timing was everything, so just before she reached the iron line, Lockwood gently pulled Lucy back, so she was stood in front of him.

“Anthony-?” Her sentence was formed but not spoken quickly enough because before she could process what was happening, Lockwood’s lips were gently pressed against her own, silencing her again, but this time not of her own accord.

Maybe they were in public, and Lucy wondered if she was supposed to feel embarrassed, but instead she reached up to cup her hands against Lockwood’s cheeks. To her, in this moment, they were the only two people in the world.

All she felt was calm, and warm, and content.

His hands caressed her cheeks, and she let her fingers brush against the nape of his neck.

Lucy deepened the kiss, their lips moulding together perfectly, until they both pulled away and stopped for air.

Lockwood’s hands dropping from her flushed cheeks, to her waist gently guiding Lucy closer to him until the distance between them both was practically nonexistent.

“I’ll keep you safe, wherever we go, I promise you that Luce.” Lockwood murmured, searching Lucy’s eyes for any sign of regret or embarrassment, only being met with a look that he could only describe as love.

In his words, his promise, Lucy found herself feeling safe, and loved, and wanted all at once.

“I love you.”

Her heart steady, because she knew that this time she wasn’t wishing for the courage to say it, she’d finally let the words end up out in the open. She knew, as she stared up into Lockwood’s eyes, that he was going to say it back.

“I love you Luce.”

Her lips met his again, and she felt him smile into the kiss.

If all of her Septembers ended like this, if every day ended with her wrapped up in his arms, tucked safely inside of 35 Portland Row with her boys, then she knew, truly, that her past, and the pain, and the loss, would never hurt her in the same way again. This was her new beginning, and she finally had a firm grip on the pen writing her story, her future, and her life. This was all and everything she’d ever wanted, and she knew that she would never let it go.