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Lockwood sits back down at the table, a satisfied grin on his face.
George knows that his friend is excited about giving Lucy her Grade Four certificate, and to be honest, he is as well. She’s proved herself a lot over the past few weeks, including saving all of them at Combe Carey Hall by not only finding the sources for the monks, but also keeping Annabel’s source on her and letting her out.
George is only a bit concerned about her risk-taking, as it falls under Lockwood’s insane threshold – and he had survived living with Lockwood for a year now, so George supposes he should be used to it by now. But Lucy has more than earned her certificate, which makes her a full-fledged Agent and means that she isn’t working with them illegally anymore (another small mercy George is thankful for).
“You shouldn’t have said that,” Lockwood says, breaking the silence. “About what Listening can do.”
George matches Lockwood’s low voice, more than aware of their conversation’s subject only one floor below them, putting away the goggles he stole and her Grade Four certificate. “Well, someone has to,” he responds. “She got way too close to Annabel…and Listeners can burn out.”
He’s seen it before, when he worked at Fittes, though he heard more than his fair share of rumors too. How Listeners are the most often replaced position on the teams. How they often need longer breaks in-between cases because they fall ill more often. He has his own theories too, including one surrounding why girls seem to be Listeners more often, but nothing substantial has come from that one yet.
“We need to look after her,” George concludes. “She’s good, and she’s finally starting to get me.” And it’s true; Lucy and him have gotten over their initial dislike of one another. Not that George necessarily disliked Lucy, but he had worried over having another person in the house, in their lives, disrupting their daily routines. Lucy, however, fits right in, and she encourages his research and can banter back and forth with him. She isn’t afraid to call out Lockwood on his bullshit either, and he likes her all the more for that.
And after she had shared a bit about her own story, the tragedy of her coming to London, George wanted more than ever to give her a new home. While his brothers might be annoying some of the time (quite often, in fact), he still has a family that loves him. It's clear that Lucy doesn't have anyone except a ghost-locked friend up north. So George is determined to make sure she stays here, with them, building a new family.
“She’s a lot tougher than you think,” Lockwood counters.
In a spot of dramatic irony, there’s a thump from downstairs a moment later.
“Everything okay down there?” George calls, uncertain. There’s no answer.
“Luce?” Lockwood says, concern filling his voice.
The boys share a look, then stand in tandem and make their way to the basement stairs. George wonders what could have happened to Lucy. She’s only been gone a few minutes, but they do keep a lot of potentially dangerous supplies in their storage areas.
But Lucy, though less risk averse than himself, is not stupid.
“Luce? Lucy?” Lockwood says as they descend the stairs. “Everything okay?”
Everything is obviously not okay when George almost runs into Lockwood, who has stopped short on the last stair. His friend is tense and unmoving, even when George nudges him a bit to try and get him to step down fully into the basement.
George shoves around Lockwood and finally sees Lucy laying on the floor, her arms and legs straight, as if she has laid down to take a nap. With a muttered “Shit,” George races forward to the girl.
He’s worried about her; whatever happened to make her pass out like that can’t have been good. “Lucy?” he says, though he doesn’t think she’ll wake up just because he said her name, but instinct simply can’t be helped. George runs through a mental checklist of things to look for: breathing, cuts or open wounds, potential hazards around them. He puts a hand near her nose, and is relieved to feel Lucy’s warm breath. He can see that her chest is rising and falling too.
Good, step one complete. George holds her wrist just to reassure himself and give himself a quick moment to feel his panic, then shove it away, because his friends need him. Both of them do—George looks over to see Lockwood still standing on the final stair, face frozen in a mixture of horror and fear.
He doesn’t know the terrors that haunt Lockwood’s past. Lockwood likes to keep them shut tight – literally, in the case of the door on the landing. But George has worked and lived with Lockwood for long enough to know when his friend is stuck in his past, there are a few things that work better than others.
For example, calling his name won’t do anything, because Lockwood either won’t hear him or won’t respond. It was quite frustrating the first few times it happened, and downright awful that one time during a case, but George took notes and learned his lesson.
So he doesn’t say anything, he just gets up and goes to the boy standing stock-still, and grabs his arm. The touch is what helps pull Lockwood out the most, and though George isn’t the best at physical comfort, he does know that getting over his own discomfort is the easiest route to take.
“Lockwood, look at me. Lockwood. Lockwood, hey!” It takes a few tries, like always, but his friend snaps out of it enough to look at George. He can see that Lockwood isn’t out of the woods yet, and quickly reassures him about Lucy’s well-being.
“She’s breathing, Lockwood. But I need you to check the sources we have in storage,” George says, keeping his voice calm and even. “We don’t want to find one of them hanging about. And look for any broken glass too.”
Lockwood’s breath rattles in his chest, but he seems to come a bit more alive at the news that Lucy is in fact alive. George will simply add this instance to his running tally of “Times Lockwood Cared a Bit Too Much About Just a Friend” when this is over.
From experience, George knows the best way to get Lockwood going after a trip to the past is to give him a simple and direct task. It always seems to refocus his attention back into the present, and unless they’re out on a job and time is of the essence, George can usually afford to give Lockwood a few moments alone to regain his composure.
Plus, this takes care of step three of his admittedly small first-aid checklist: find potential hazards. They do have a fair few amount of sources stocked in their shelves, not to mention their ghost-hunting supplies which can all be dangerous and lead to debris if they’re not careful.
Lockwood nods in acquiescence and walks stiffly over to their storage supply. George heads back to Lucy’s side and attempts step two: find cuts or wounds. He doesn’t see any, but also Lucy is wearing a long jumper and pants and she still has her shoes on, so he really can’t see any of her skin to ascertain whether or not she has any open wounds.
And George is not about to start removing clothes. He does not want to be punched into the high heavens, thank you very much. He doesn’t see any blood, so he’s just going to assume that Lucy is okay in that department.
He knows there’s something to do with concussions and pupil dilations, so very carefully, George peels open Lucy’s eyes. It’s a bit creepy, but he doesn’t notice anything strange about them.
Right, so no concussion. Maybe he should really learn some more first-aid, because George is running out of options for what could have happened very fast. Lucy’s eyes aren’t white either, which means she’s not ghost-locked in any way.
George places the back of his hand against her forehead, the way his mum used to do for him when he got sick. Lockwood reappears a moment later.
“No broken glass and no missing sources,” he reports. George had figured as much, but he’s glad to see Lockwood looking a bit more stable now. His plan has worked. George makes a mental note to include a section on Lucy-related injuries or situations, just in case he needs to adjust his actions next time.
“Is she…”
“She’s not ghost-locked or ghost-touched, obviously.” George runs through his list for Lockwood. “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.”
The simplest answer, though it doesn’t seem to make sense right now, tends to be the best answer, so George lets himself hope that Occam’s razor proves correct. While Lucy does have a tendency to fall asleep anywhere at any time, sprawling out on the basement floor is a new one.
He has to believe it isn’t something more.
George watches Lockwood as he attempts to let the information settle, holding Lucy’s other hand as if to comfort himself. He can tell the other boy is having a hard time with it, and there’s a certain way his head dips to one side that signals an oncoming guilt trip. It’s subtle, and if George hadn’t spent the last year living with his friend and trying to help get him out of these mental trips, he’s sure he wouldn’t notice.
But George notices things for a living, and he’s damn good at his job.
“Lockwood.”
There’s no response, but George tries again, because he can’t let Lockwood get too far away now.
“Lockwood, look at me.” Keeping his voice even is difficult, but George knows if he snaps at his friend, Lockwood will simply lash out. Trial and error is a bitch sometimes (but George also delights in finding the right answers, so he will keep going even if he gets burned).
Lockwood is tearing up now, staring at Lucy’s shoulder with the intensity of one avoiding another’s gaze.
Touch it is. George reaches over Lucy to settle a hand over their intertwined fingers, hoping the new contact will jolt him out of it. “Lockwood, please.”
That does the trick. Lockwood finally looks up, and George reminds him, “Lucy’s okay. And she’s gonna remain okay. But we gotta get her up to her bed, because this stone floor isn’t the best place to sleep for anyone.”
If she’s asleep, as he hopes, then leaving Lucy on the basement floor isn’t an option. Lockwood nods and takes a steadying breath, recognition in his eyes.
Then he looks behind him to the spiral staircase and jokes, “And just how are we going to do that, my favorite researcher?”
It’s a weak one, but they always are when Lockwood is attempting to pull himself back together. George just rolls his eyes at the flattery and replies, “With difficulty, I expect.”
The next while is a period of time George decides he will never dwell on again, but between him and Lockwood they do manage to carry Lucy up every single flight of stairs into her bedroom. They decide against putting any blankets over her or even taking off her shoes, because again, George doesn’t want to catch her backhand when she wakes up.
Girls are funny about things like that.
The boys trudge down the stairs and into the kitchen, where George begins making tea. It’s an instinct at this point, and he knows Lockwood can use the cuppa just as much as he does.
The tea is made, George pouring Lockwood’s into his favorite mug and fixing it the way he always likes and sliding it over to his friend. They nurse their drinks in silence for a little while, both lost in thought.
George scribbles a reminder on the Thinking Cloth for himself, to check the archives and library for some resources on basic first-aid and other random ghost-related injury possibilities. He knows the important ones, everyone does, but George is sure there’s been some documented abnormalities, and Lucy falling asleep so fast has him wondering if there are precautions he should be taking.
Lockwood cuts into his thoughts. “Thank you, George. For your help down there, and for getting my head on straight.”
George looks up at his sincere tone. Ah, yes, here’s the apology/reassurance part of the cycle. Lockwood doesn't always show his care through words (though he often does), so George is never quite sure whether he’s going to receive a little pep talk or a fully-stocked kitchen the next day. Seems like it’s words today.
“I don't know where I’d be without you,” Lockwood finishes.
George simply shrugs. They’re family, so while he doesn’t like the fact that Lockwood gets these attacks, he’s glad he can help him get out of them.
“I’ll always be here for you and Lucy,” he says. “No matter what. We’re a team of highly trained agents. We know to look out for each other.”
Then he tacks on, “That being said, you look like shit.” Lockwood huffs a laugh in response.
It’s true; Lockwood looks exhausted, and George is sure he’s emotionally drained too. Sometimes Lockwood will hibernate in his room or train downstairs with his rapier until he’s close to collapsing, as a way to rid himself of the stress. George wants to get ahead of it this time.
“Go try to rest, or read a book or something. I can go watch Lucy for a while.”
“You sure? I can—”
George rolls his eyes. He’s sure Lockwood would love to keep watch over Lucy and have a legitimate reason for staring at her instead of trying to hide it, but his friend needs to rest. And since Lucy isn’t awake to boss him around, the job falls to George for the moment.
“Lockwood, I’m serious. Go lay down, the two of us aren’t going to disappear in the few hours it will take you to find an excuse to go visit her.”
Lockwood waits for a long moment, but finally concedes. George resists the urge to grin.
“Come get me if she wakes up, yeah?” he says, a bit more vulnerable than George thinks he meant to be.
George nods and watches his friend slip upstairs. By the creaking, he can tell Lockwood takes a pit stop in Lucy’s room before coming back down to the library. George lets him settle there before clearing the cups from the table and heading up to the attic, grabbing the stool, a notebook and pen from his room on the way.
He settles near the bed, flips open to a new page, and starts to write out his observations from today. George almost gets lost in his notes, but a soft noise from the bed draws his attention back to Lucy. She exhales and inhales deeply a few times, then settles back down.
The fear hits George all at once, and he reaches forward to hold her hand, touchy-feely stuff be damned.
“Don’t you ever do this again, Lucy Carlyle. You better wake up and give Lockwood all kinds of grief for hitting your elbow against the wall on the way up here, because I can’t do it alone.”
I don’t want to do this without you , he thinks.
George squeezes her hand once before scrubbing away the forming tears and turning back to his notes. There was a book he read, for a case a few months ago, that mentioned encounters with powerful ghosts dropping agents into a sleeping stupor that was similar to ghost-lock, but not exactly the same. Perhaps the archives will still have it.
Research is what George lives for, and he’s not about to let his family get caught unaware like this again.