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Lockwood sits back down at the table, happy that he could give Lucy her Grade Four certificate. She’s a full agent now, officially, though Lockwood would have told off anyone who tried to say otherwise, even before now. Lucy is more than skilled in her Talent, and her rapier fighting – while not always pretty – got the job done. And after Combe Carey Hall, Lockwood’s more glad than ever to have her in his agency.
Though he does have a quick bone to pick with his other employee. “You shouldn’t have said that. About what Listening can do.” He keeps his voice low, so Lucy can’t overhear them from the basement.
George is unrepentant, though he matches Lockwood’s tone. “Well, someone has to. She got way too close to Annabel… and Listeners can burn out. We need to look after her.”
Lockwood turns to look at the basement door, waiting for Lucy to appear after putting away the goggles George stole and her certificate. He’s glad that George wants to protect Lucy as much as he does. They’re a good team now, the three of them. And after they each risked their lives to save the others at the bloody Hall, they’ve gelled even more.
“She’s good, and she’s finally starting to get me.” George smiles at Lockwood, who gives a small one back.
It’s a relief, actually, that George and Lucy have gotten over whatever animosity that existed between them since their first meeting. He’s not used to sharing his friends with others, and he desperately wanted Lucy to feel welcome into both his agency and his home, and George is a big part of both. Hopefully this means the two of them will continue their friendship, though he’s not eager for the teasing that is bound to happen if they decide to team up against him.
“She’s a lot tougher than you think,” Lockwood replies.
Then, as if the universe has decided to prove him wrong, there’s a clatter from the basement. Lockwood stiffens, his smile disappearing.
“Everything okay down there?” George calls. Silence is the only answer.
“Luce?” Lockwood says, a finger coming to his mouth in consternation. She only left a few minutes ago.
Lucy doesn’t answer again. Lockwood looks to George, who’s also concerned. They stand in tandem and make their way to the basement stairs.
“Luce? Lucy?” Lockwood calls again as he walks down the swirling staircase, George right behind him. “Everything okay?”
What greets them is Lockwood’s worst nightmare come to life. Lucy lays on her back, dead still, as if she had fallen asleep on the cold floor of the basement.
It throws Lockwood back to being nine years old, seeing his sister sprawled on the floor of her room, a ghost hanging above her.
Panic rushes through Lockwood, chilling him as if he’s been ghost-locked.
He freezes on the bottom stair. All he can do is look at Lucy. His body refuses to move. Lockwood wants to run to Lucy’s side, wants to check her, wants to pick her up and cradle her to his chest and never let her go. But he simply can’t make himself.
The past rises up before him, as Lucy’s blue and white jumper becomes Jessica’s purple blouse, and her hair darkens into Jessica’s long black braids. Two rooms, superimposed over one another—a childhood bedroom, the dark basement.
This can’t be real. Please, please, she can’t be gone.
Not like this.
Not again.
Lockwood vaguely feels George push past him and mutter an expletive of some kind, but it’s like he’s underwater, the world around him muted and wavering. He can’t focus on anything except the fact that a girl he cares for (more than he wants to admit to himself) is dead on the floor; that he is too late yet again to save her.
There’s pressure on his arm, a voice. “Lockwood, hey!”
George is standing in front of him, hand squeezing his arm. Lockwood drags his eyes to meet George's.
“She’s breathing, Lockwood. But I need you to check the sources we have in storage. We don't want to find one of them hanging about. And look for any broken glass too.” His voice is calm and collected, and Lockwood can believe his friend’s words.
Lucy’s alive. She’s alive, she’s not gone, she isn’t Jessica. The relief restarts Lockwood’s heart, allowing new blood to warm his veins out of their stupor.
A plan. Lockwood’s supposed to come up with those, but it’s all he can do to nod and follow George’s instructions. As he walks to their storage corner, he tries to shove away his concern and accompanying relief into its own little box in his mind, like he normally does. But Lockwood realizes this hit too close to his most vulnerable spot, so the emotions don’t go quietly.
He reaches the shelves lined with sources and takes stock; they are all contained in their silver glass cases, all accounted for. His eyes sweep the floor of the basement between the shelves and Lucy, and he spots a box of tacks that has spilled, but no glass.
Lockwood walks back to George to see that his friend is kneeling by Lucy, checking her over and mumbling to himself. He’s got the back of his hand on her forehead, like Jessica used to do to Lockwood when she was checking for a fever. As usual, George is the steady rock Lockwood can fall back upon in a crisis.
“No glass and no missing sources,” Lockwood reports, though his voice shakes, betraying his continued fear. He drops to one knee on the other side of Lucy. “Is she…” Lockwood trails off, not even sure what to ask of his friend, who is not a doctor by any stretch of the imagination. He wants to hold her, but he’s afraid to confirm the dark thoughts that still linger in his mind.
“She’s not ghost-locked, or ghost-touched, obviously.” George looks up at him and shrugs. “She’s not abnormally cold or warm, so she doesn’t have a fever or chills. By all accounts, it seems like she just fell asleep.”
George’s words give him comfort, as they so often do, and Lockwood lets himself hold Lucy’s limp hand, feeling for her pulse. It’s beating strong and steady, as it should. George prattles on for a few more minutes, filling the silence, but Lockwood just lets it wash over him and tries to settle his emotions into something a bit more manageable.
They don’t know what caused this, which means there’s nothing to fight—nothing for Lockwood to throw himself into as a distraction, because they can do nothing until Lucy wakes up.
She has to wake up soon, right?
She can’t just sleep forever, since she’s not ghost-locked. But he’s never heard of anyone simply falling unconscious and sleeping when they were perfectly fine before.
Lucy was fine, wasn’t she?
Lockwood had been making sure she ate enough food every day, as much as he could. He had noticed how she bit into her biscuit that first day, during her interview, as if she hadn’t eaten in days. George had seen too, and the glance they had exchanged told him that they agreed—-even if this girl didn’t end up having Talent enough for them to hire, they were going to find a way to give her food to take on her way out. But Lucy had eaten dinner yesterday and breakfast this morning, even if the stupid news about Combe Carey Hall being hushed up had taken away his own appetite.
Could Lucy have been dehydrated? Or had she been hurt, and he hadn’t noticed? Lockwood tries to think back over the past few days, as crazy as they were, to find something he must have missed to make Lucy pass out like this.
Lockwood’s beginning to tear up, wracking his brain to find something that could be the cause—even though he’s sure it was him all along. He hurt Lucy; she’s unconscious on the floor right now, unmoving, none of them even knowing the extent of her injuries—all because of him.
All he does is lead the people he cares about into danger.
“Lockwood.”
It’s George—because of course George can tell when he’s spiraling. He can always tell—it’s the kind of friend he is, detail-oriented to a fault, often socially unaware but always paying attention to his closest friends.
“Lockwood, look at me.” George’s voice is kind; his friend is always too kind to him. Even if he tells Lockwood off for stealing a biscuit out of turn, or for being a dickhead to him or Lucy. Lockwood doesn’t want to catch George’s eyes, because he knows his friend will tell him something he simply doesn’t want to hear, and he needs to hold on to this guilt because it’s the only thing that gets him through sometimes—
“Please, Lockwood.” A hand settles over his own where it’s still clutching Lucy’s.
Goddamn George and his persistence. Lockwood finally looks up, not bothering to hide his fear and anguish. His emotions seem to be taking over today, and he doesn’t have the strength to push them away.
“Lucy’s okay. And she’s going to remain okay. But we gotta get her up to her bed, because this stone floor isn’t the best place to sleep for anyone.” He’s still collected and quiet, and Lockwood has no idea how, but he’s not about to complain.
Lockwood nods, taking a deep breath and trying to emulate George’s calm manner.
Then he looks over to the spiral staircase and muses aloud, “And just how are we going to manage that, my favorite researcher?”
George rolls his eyes at the attempted humor, but gives a sigh of his own and replies, “With difficulty, I expect.”
Somehow they do manage to carry Lucy up the many flights of stairs to her attic bedroom, with only minor cursing from both boys and a slight knock of Lucy’s arm against the wall. They decide against putting any blankets over her or even taking off her shoes, choosing to leave her as they found her in case she gets mad at them for taking liberties.
The boys trudge down the stairs and into the kitchen, where George begins making tea without a word. Tea is the best way to cope with any exhausting task, after all.
Finally Lockwood speaks. “Thank you, George. For your help down there, and for getting my head on straight. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
And it’s true. George seems to have a sixth sense when it comes to what Lockwood needs (even if it’s not always what he wants), and he’s good at pulling Lockwood’s head out of the mental spirals he sometimes falls down.
George shrugs. “I’ll always be here for you and Lucy. No matter what. We’re a team of highly trained agents. We know to look out for each other.” His matter-of-fact tone doesn’t disguise the smile that’s peeking through, and Lockwood knows their friendship means just as much to George as it does to him.
“That being said, you look like shit.”
Lockwood huffs a laugh at George’s directness, but his friend continues before he can argue.
“Go try to rest, or read a book or something. I can watch Lucy for a while.”
“You sure? I can—”
George rolls his eyes. “Lockwood, I’m serious. Go lay down, we’re not gonna disappear in the few hours it will take you to find an excuse to go visit her.”
Admitting defeat is difficult, but Lockwood decides to let George win this round. He is exhausted, after the emotional roller coaster of the last few hours, and it decides to make itself known down to his bones.
“Come get me if she wakes up.” He waits for George to nod before getting up and slowly walking up the stairs. He can’t help but go into the attic for one more look at Lucy, but she’s the same, breathing steadily, asleep on her bed. He forgoes his bedroom for the library, picking up his book and slumping down into his chair.
Lockwood runs a hand over his face, letting the tiredness win for once as his brain cycles back through today’s events. The NDA and the coverup of Fairfax; giving Lucy her Grade Four; finding her passed out; George helping to keep him calm, and then carrying their Listener up the stairs.
He’s grateful Lucy and George continue to stick around. Sometimes he’s not sure why they bother with him, but it’s times like this that he remembers how important it is to let people in, no matter how terrifying he finds it. He needs them; needs their care and comfort, needs their steadiness when he can’t hold it together.
Lockwood’s glad they are his friends.
With a sigh, Lockwood opens his book and attempts to let the story take him away, if only for a few minutes.