Chapter Text
It was just the two of them.
Lucy folded her hands in her lap, suddenly acutely aware of how close Lockwood was sitting in the back of the cab. Too close to be accidental. Close enough that the she could feel the warmth radiating from his arm, close enough to catch the familiar scent of his cologne – something clean, sharp and yet sweet that always made her think of Portland Row.
She stole a glance at him.
He looked unfairly good.
Dark hair perfectly in place, his lean frame wrapped in a tailored black suit. He had grown into his clothes over the years. Grown into himself. He was no longer the reckless boy who had welcomed her into Portland Row. He was a charming young man, who led his agency just like he should. Years had gone by since that day.
Her pulse fluttered traitorously. Her heart was beating faster than it had any right to.
Get a grip girl, she told herself. It’s just Lockwood.
Except it wasn’t.
Not tonight.
Not since the fight at the Fittes penthouse.
Not since he had given her that necklace.
The necklace of his mother.
She felt the weight of the pendant resting against her skin. She had worn it every day for four months now. It’s weight was sleight – but what it meant was not.
Silence had settled between them – heavy and expectant for the events of the coming evening. Lucy looked down at herself. The pale blue dress Holly had insisted on making her wear. The ridiculous shoes that alreay made her feet ache. She missed her usual attire, her belt, her rapier. The reassuring weight of iron and silver at her sides. She shook her head. She would rather fight Penelope Fittes again, than attend a DEPRAC ball. But Lockwood had been invited – and had asked her to come with him. Not as his partner on a case. As his … plus one. Of course he hadn’t phrased it like that. But still, he had asked her. Specially her.
She sighed and decided to stare out of the window, to watch London blur past in pools of light and shadow. But her thoughts refused to settle. Since the problem was solved there were still some cases left and they were still working a lot, just like George and Holly this evening. But there would be a day agents were not useful anymore. She was one of a dying species. She swallowed.
„So“, she ventured, forcing steadiness into her voice. „Do you know who’ll be there tonight?“
Lockwood seemed almost relieved by the question, maybe glad she had started a conversation at all.
„All the major agencies“, he said, „DEPRAC officers of course. Some politicians.“ He snorted softly, „In short. People who take themselves far too seriously.“
Lucy smiled faintly: „Lucky us.“
He glanced at her, amusement flickering briefly across his face. „You don’t sound thrilled.“
„I’m not.“, she admitted. „I don’t really…belong to an event like this.“
She had grown up in a small town. More farms than dance schools. More mud than marble halls. Her elbow brushed his as she shifted and her breath faltered when he made no point in moving away from her.
„Well…“, Lockwood said lighlty, though something sharper flickered in his eyes, „aren’t you glad you work for me now? And I took you with me tonight?“
Lucy turned, poking her index finger into his chest: „Don’t confuse things. You should be glad I sacrificed myself to accompany you.“
Was she… flirting? With Lockwood?
Her heart thudded harder. Nothing had really changed between them. Not really. Except for the necklace. Except for the stolen glances. The almost touches in the kitchen. The way he stood closer now. That they both knew since that horrible fight that they couldn’t live without the other. He caught her hand with the finger still poking into his chest before she could withdraw it, fingers warm around her own. He opened his smirking mouth to reply, but the cab stopped before he could say something else.
Lucy had known it would be overwhelming.
Still, nothing could quite prepare her for the sight that greeted her as Lockwood opened the cab door. Light spilled out of the grand entrance in warm, golden waves. Music drifted into the night air, smooth and elegant, carried by laughter and the low murmur of too many voices speaking at once. Everywhere she looked there were people – dressed in silk and velvet, jewels glittering at their throats, champagne glasses balanced effortlessly in their hands. She hesitated.
Lockwood was already out of the cab, still clutching her hand in his. She was used to the feeling of his calloused palms and long fingers, but today it felt familiar and yet suddenly charged with something new. New since his gift? No, new since he had seen her coming down the stairs, where he had waited for her. He tugged at it and she sighed. The moment her feet touched the pavement, Lockwoods posture shifted. His shoulders straightened, his expression smoothing into something polished and effortless. The charming agency head. The boy everyone admired. Except Barnes maybe.
It was a side of him she knew well – and yet, standing beside him now, she felt oddly distant from it.
„Ready?“, he asked quietly, just for her. Still he didn’t let go off her hand, not caring who looked at them in the crowd. She shook her head.
He chuckled lowly. „You trust me?“
He leaned over to her so close his nose brushed against her ear. She took a hesitant step forward, unsure on the heels Holly had made her wear. She was equally unsure of the dress Holly had made her wear. First she had felt a confidence that had been knew to her, now she felt only exposed. Holly. She missed the other girl already. Just as she missed George.
She nodded finally, though her stomach fluttered nervously.
Inside, the noise swallowed them whole. Lucy faught the instinct to cling to Lockwoods arm as they moved through the crowd.
Lockwood instead greeted people easily. He smiled at the right moments, laughed softly at the comments that weren’t particulary funny, answered questions wth practiced ease. Lucy watched him from half a step behind, fascinated by how seamlessly he slipped into his role. This was his world. And she was well aware that it was not hers. Names blurred together as he introduced her again and again. Supervisors. Agents. People with sharp eyes and polite smiles that never quite reached them. Lucy answered when spoken to, smiled when expected, but her thouhts drifted constantly back to the steady presence at her side. Whenever the crowd pressed to close, Lockwood shifted subtly, placing himself between her and the noise. When someone lingered too long, his hand would briefly touch the small of her back – guiding, grounding, reassuring. She pretended not to notice how much she relied on it.
But she could rely on it… until: „Luce…would you excuse me for a moment?“, Lockwoods voice was low at her ear.
He nodded over to the mens restroom.
„Course.“, she answered and smiled weakly, „you’ll find me by the food.“
For the first time he let go off her that evening and her hand felt awfully empty all of a sudden. She missed the warmth instantly. Slowly she made her way over to the buffet, gathering some small pieces onto a plate and decided to wait at a table. That was the only good thing at evenings like that. The food. Maybe the drinks. She took a bite of the shrimptoast before her and let her eyes wander through the room. Those events weren’t at Fittes anymore. They were now at DEPRAC. Not that they were better now.
„Lucy Carlyle“
She turned at the sound of her name. A young man stood next to her, perhaps her age, perhaps a year or two older. Tall. Broad-shouldered beneath an expensive navy suit. His red hair was styled a little too carefully, as if he had spent too long in front of a mirror deciding how effortless he wanted to appear.
He said brightly, „I’m glad I can finally meet you. You are here all on your own?“
Lucy opened her mouth, unsure what to say. There was something in his tone – not quite mocking, not quite admiring.
„Excuse me… Have I introduced myself?“, she asked, trying to be polite.
He smiled wider. „Not personally. But everyone knows your face. You are the famous agent everybody talks about. The girl who brought down Fittes.“
He offered her his hand. For a moment she asked herself if there was some of the hairspray on it he used. Nevertheless she took it. His grip was firm and sweaty. Lucy was surprised when she met some little callouses on his knuckles.
„My name is Smith. Harold Smith. I work for…DEPRAC. Now.“, a shadow hushed over his face as he emphasized the word now.
„So… nice to meet you.“, Lucy said and gently freed her hand from his grasp annoyed by his sweaty palm.
„You enjoying yourself?“, he asked, leaning slightly closer, „A beautiful woman shouldn’t be alone at a night like this.“
Lucy felt her jaw tighten.
„What a happy coincidence she isn’t alone, then.“, Lockwoods voice cut in smoothly.
She turned lightly to take a look over her shoulder. Lockwood offered her a small smile, before his arm came around her waist, tugging her close, pressing her body into his side. His movement was calm and controlled. But unmistakably deliberate. Her breath left her in a quiet exhale, relieved he came in time to save her from the awkward conversation with Harold Smith.
„Sorry it took me so long.“, Lockwood murmured at her ear, low enough that only she could hear, „you alright?“
She nodded weakly in his arms, her heart now racing for entirely different reasons. Smith`s eyes flickered down to Lockwoods hand at her waist. Then back to her face.
„Tony.“, Smith greeted Lockwood with a small nod, but ignored him further and turned back to Lucy, „Would you care for a dance?“
She glanced at Lockwood, half expecting him to stay silent. Instead he stiffened at her side. Not visibly of course. But she felt it.
„Sorry Harold“, he said smoothly, „Lucy and I were just on our way to the dance floor.“
The polite warmth he had shown everyone else was vanished, replaced by something sharper. Lucy knew this tone. It meant no good. Lucy looked up at him in alarm, her thoughts still caught by the feeling of his arm around her waist. He met her gaze, a faint, unmistakable smirk tugging at his lips.
„Oh – yes.“, she managed. „I promised Lockwood to dance. Sorry.“
Smiths expression flickered. Surprise, irriation, something else she couldn’t quite place – before he masked it with a smile. „Another time then.“
Lockwood didn’t wait for a response. He guided her away, his hand firm at her waist.
„What are you doing?“, she hissed under her breath once they were safely lost among the dancers.
„Saving you from the worst dance of your life.“
„I just agreed to accompany you, not to dance with you.“, she snapped.
„That’s much the same at a ball, Luce.“
She glared at him. „You are being a prick.“
„Maybe“, he said mildly. „Would you rather dance with your new friend Smith?“
„Maybe“, she grumbeld back – and immediately regretted it when she felt him flinch.
„No“, she said quietly. Then, after a beat, „I don’t know how to dance.“
That made him stop. He turned to her face fully now, the noise of the ballroom fading into the background. His expression softened. „I thought as much.“, he said gently.
Lucy crossed her armes defensively. „And I don’t want to dance.“
„I will show you.“, he said simply.
Before she could protest, he took her hand and placed it on his shoulder. His other hand settled at her waist – warm, steady, careful. Lucys breath caught. This was a terrible idea. And yet, when the music shifted and Lockwood began to move, guiding her with slow, deliberate steps, she found herself following his lead instinctively.
„Just trust me.“, he murmured.
„I do.“
And for the first time since entering the ballroom, Lucy let herself breathe. The music slowed. Lucy noticed it only because Lockwood did. His hand at her waist tightened almost imperceptibly, guiding her into a gentler rhythym. The world around them seemed to soften, edges blurring as the dancers adjusted their steps. His hand was warm against the thin fabric of her dress. Not posessive. Not careless. Just … there. Steady. Grounding. Every movement of his body translated into hers, as though he was quietly lending her his confidence. She tried to concentrate fiercly on her feet despite his closeness.
Don’t step onto his toes. Don’t trip. Don’t embarass yourself.
But Lockwood moved with an ease that made it impossible not to follow. When she faltered, he adjusted her instantly, shielding her mistake as if it had never happened.
„You’re doing fine“, he murmured.
She dared to look up, but he wasn’t watching her. His gaze was fixed somewhere over her shoulder, sharp and distant. Smith, she realized. Of course. Even here, even now, Lockwood was alert – # protecting her.
„Lockwood?“, she said softly.
He hummed in response.
She shifted, distracted – and promptly stepped on his foot.
„Oh- sorry“, she blurted, heat rushing to her cheeks. „I really should concentrate.“
„I don’t mind.“, he said quietly a small smile now tugging at his lips. It wasn’t his usual gigawatt smile he showed the world. It was a small private one, that showed how at piece he was in the moment. She hesitated, then spoke before she could overthink it. „I don’t want to dance with Smith. Sorry I said that.“
That made him look at her. Really look. „I wouldn’t have liked it“, he admitted softly, „But I… wouldn’t mind if you stepped on Smiths toes instead.“, his words made her giggle.
The tension between them splipped away and for a heartbeat, she thought she saw something raw in his eyes – hope maybe, or relief – before his expression smoothed again. She swallowed.
She felt the urge to ask him „Where do you know him from? He knew my name somehow.“
Lockwoods movements slowed, then he stilled entirely. But he didn’t let go off her.
„He… asked for a job at our agency “, he said, the words tumbling over each other. „He wanted to work with the girl who brought down Fittes. After working for Fittes, I should add.“
His jaw tightened. His whole body tensed. She felt it beneath her hands.
„And?“, she asked, carefully. They really could use some help.
„I...turned him down, of course.“, he said finally. „He is… a good agent. A good fighter – but he is an arrogant asshole. And something I don’t want to be. He is kind of… violent.“
Lucy exhaled slowly, remembering the knuckles of Harold Smith hand in her own.
„I am glad.“, she said.
He smiled and hummed only lowly at her ear, bending down lightly, when he started to move them again. The simplicity of his answer startled her. He hesitated, then he changed the topic quietly, „I like dancing with you.“
Something warm unfurled in her chest, fragile and frightening all at once.
She smiled shyly. „Tell that to your toes tomorrow.“
He huffed a soft laugh. They didn’t speak after that. There was no need to. The music carried them, slow and steady, and for the first time that evening Lucy stopped worrying about where she placed her feet. She simply let him hold her and guide her. After the song faded away neither of them moved. Lucy became painfully aware of the lack of space between them. Lockwoods hand still rested on her waist, his thumb now unconsciously tracing a small, absent minded pattern against the fabric of her dress. It was such a small gesture, barely noticeable. And yet, it sent a shiver straight down her spine. She should step back, she knew that. Say something. Do something sensible. Instead, she stayed there like a deer caught in headlight. Lockwood seemed to realize it at the same moment. His hand stilled. His breath hitched almost imperceptibly. When he looked down at her, the carefully constructed composure he wore so effortlessly in public slipped – just a crack. Enough for her to see. „You alright?“, he asked quietly.
„Yes“, she said. Then after a pause, more honestly, „I think so.“
His mouth curved into a faint smile, but his eyes didn’t quite follow. They searched her face instead, as if committing it to memory, as if he needed to reassure himself that she was really here. With him.
„What about a drink?“, he offered then and she nodded and shrugged her shoulders at the same time. She wouldn’t had minded to stay in his arms on the dance floor a little bit longer at all now. But they moved over to the bar, not quite touching, but close enough that she could still feel his presence like a steady hum beneath her skin. The noise of the ballroom rushed back in, too loud, too bright. She could feel Lockwoods tension coming back.
„Tony!“, the voice of a girl greeted him, „I’ve been looking everywhere for you.“
Lockwod turned slightly, positioning himself just enough in front of Lucy, that it was impossible for her not to notice. His voice was polite. Controlled. Even. „Mary.“, he said.
Lucy looked at the young woman that had approached them. Mary looked exactly like she had expected from her voice. Pretty in an effortless way, her smile bright and practiced, blonde hair and make up exactly in place. She was dressed in a long and elegant black dress that graced her figure in just all the right places. Her picture could have been on the front page on one of Lockwoods magazines. And her gaze was lingering on said Lockwood as though Lucy were invisible next to him.
„How are you?“, Mary asked, blinking up at him in that way Lucy immediately disliked.
„Fine.“, Lockwood answered. Too short. Had those two a history? With each other?
She moved slightly when she felt Marys curious eyes on her. Assessing.
„Oh … and you are…?“, Mary was the one asking, but Lockwood chose to answer instead. He didn’t hesitate. But he did not introduce Lucy to Mary, he did the opposite.
„Lucy“, he explained, „this is Mary. She is the daughter of my parents partners and friends. And… something like a … childhood girlfriend of mine.“
Lucy felt the world land like a physical thing. She forced herself to smile. „Nice to meet you, Mary.“
Marys smile didn’t waver, but something sharpened behind it.
„Childhood girlfriend“, she repeated, sounding amused, „that makes it sound just so innocent. We were fifteen.“
Just before she had met Lockwood then. Lucy forced a polite smile, while Marys eyes assessed her openly now. Measuring. Comparing. And it worked. Lucys fingers curled unconsciously at her side. Lockwood noticed. Of course. His hand brushed Lucys – just briefly – but he didn’t take it this time.
Lucy hated herself for how much it bothered her. The way Mary stood to close. The way Lockwood looked surprised to see Mary, but not at all irritated by her behaviour.