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Chapter Text

Lucy Carlyle was used to all sorts of voices running in her head, mostly not her own thoughts though. But years of proper training has taught her how to block out all the inner or outer noises. Well, almost all of them. Except for one, which in the silence of the night cab was louder than ever but he did not seem to care. You were brilliant, Luce, by the way… No matter how hard she tried, Anthony Lockwood’s voice was just as stubborn as the young man himself: always demanding attention. And as embarrassing as it was, Lucy always listened. 

However, tonight she could not bear it. He hurt her and did not even notice. A part of her suspected it was because he simply did not care enough to notice. You’re our biggest asset, he said and the words still rang in her head like a death loop. Asset. A tool. Just like for her mother. Just another thing to help him achieve his dream of becoming better than Fittes or Rotwell. No matter the price, apparently. Suddenly the air in the cab felt thick, almost as if she was in water, drowning.

“Could you please stop the car?” she asked hastily, not thinking twice. It was time to go.

This, finally, got Lockwood’s attention. “What are you doing?” He asked.

“Leaving,” Lucy stated matter-of-factly and climbed out of the car before she could change her mind.  “I quit.”

The cold of the night hit her in waves – thankfully not as cold as to make her worry about any ghosts – but at least she could finally breathe. She heard the thud when the cab door closed behind Lockwood. 

“Luce! Lucy!” he hurried after her, but she just walked on. She did not have any direction in mind, only one thought: away from him. “Can we please talk about this in the car? It is far too dangerous here.” Lockwood was right behind her, yet it seemed he missed the moment when the night cab drove off leaving them on their own in the middle of… Well, Lucy did not really know where exactly, but Lockwood immediately grew anxious. They were at Tyburn Gallows. Out of all the places in London , this is where she had to get out of the car?

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Lucy spoke but still didn’t stop to look him in the eye and it started something very unpleasant in Lockwood. He wanted to understand, for crying out loud, why couldn’t she simply tell him what was wrong? Ironically that was something people in his life – at least as long as they stayed – asked him too. “You wanted me fired anyway. You only kept me on because I’m an asset .” 

Lockwood halted a little. She heard us? He wished he could take it all back, and truth be told he wished he could do some other things differently that day, but for now all he could do is stop her. Make her understand. 

“What? No. No, that’s not true, there’s clearly been a misunderstanding.” He hurried after her and just as he was about to reach her she stopped, turning to him, eyes bearing into his soul.

“Funny, that. When you don’t understand anything about me,” a choking feeling of desperation started to creep upon Lucy. How could she be so stupid to believe this, them , could ever work. “You haven’t a clue what I’m going through. You couldn’t care less, if it gets you on TV.” 

Her desperation seemed contagious because now Lockwood was struggling to keep his feelings at bay. “I said I’m sorry about that.”

“No, you haven’t.” Lucy snapped.

“Well, I am,” Lockwood admitted, but based on Lucy’s expression it was too little, too late. “And I am the one who tried to stop this before it got too dangerous.”

“Yeah, which just shows how little you know,” she cried out, an ache that she thought she left behind filled her. Memories of her mother flashed in front of her eyes, the searing pain of her slap felt fresh again on her face. Why was her talent, her asset value the only thing people cared about and not her? Was she truly not enough to be simply loved for who she was? She could feel his gaze on her, while her eyes were filling up with tears. “You might be able to turn your feelings on and off like a tap, but I am drowning here, Lockwood. You know sometimes, I just… I just think I’d be better off dead.”

That was a feeling Anthony Lockwood knew all too well. Something he silently fought every day he woke up in that empty house since– Truth be told, many people, including himself, were surprised he even got this far, instead of choosing the cold embrace of the Thames. 

“I understand that,” he spoke silently, earning a soft look from Lucy. Did the night suddenly get colder or was it just the wave of sadness that washed over her making her shiver.  “And it’s not true, Lucy. We need you! And it's not because you're an asset.” There was an honesty and a sort of vulnerability in his voice Lucy hadn't heard before from him. Or anyone for that matter. It was sort of disarming, she could feel her desperation slowly fade. 

“Why then?” she asked quietly. 

“Because…” Lockwood swallowed hard. What was he supposed to say?  What could he say that would make her understand. ”Because you're…” he started again, the words he so desperately looked for escaping him better than the ghosts he hunted. She was more than an asset, he was a fool for ever saying that in the first place.  It was such a rare moment for him to not find the right words, to not be able to persuade someone to choose them. Him . 

Maybe because this was Lucy, maybe he could not make up anything, just stood there speechless because this was not about business, it was not the company that needed her. It was him who needed her . He had to look away from her intense gaze, look to the distance where an attack could come from any second. Yet he would have chosen any dark night filled with Shades and Wraiths than ever admit how he slowly let her in and now that thought of her leaving made him shiver. 

“Lucy Carlyle. We can't let you go.” He let it out eventually, burying the thoughts of him needing her. Nothing good ever came from that. But the truth, as he was so often reminded of, always found a way out. Maybe this was why he could not bear to look at her as she stood there in pain, but also wanted to do everything to stop it. Because she already meant more than he was ready to admit. 

Lucy broke his reverie: “You have to. Barnes will shut you down, he knows I'm illegal.” 

The thought of her leaving Lockwood & co hit them both at the same time, and without knowing how the other would have done anything to avoid that they both sighed. 

“That's why I went on TV, silly,” he stepped closer, a soft smile growing on his face. Maybe he could make her stay, after all. Maybe he could tell her how much she already meant to him– them, without exposing too much of himself. Or perhaps that was exactly what he needed to do, for both of their sakes. “Just to show Barnes he can shove his threats. Screw the rules. They bend the rules all the time. Why shouldn’t we? I mean why can’t we change the rules?” 

His tone grew heated, eyes sparkling in the middle of the night. Even through her tears, Lucy could not miss how his smile lit up the darkness around them. A few minutes ago, she did not wish for anything more than to run away, to be far from him and his stupid smile that seemed to work on her better than any ghost lock. But now– Now she was frozen to the spot, waiting, hoping he could find the right words to ease the pain that was weighing her down. 

“Because we’re nobodies,” she answered, her voice full of  sadness and resignation. As if she already gave up. No, that could not happen, Lockwood thought, she had to hold on, she had so much to live for.

“No, we’re not. We’re Lockwood & co. You, me, and George,” neither of them realised when Lockwood took her hand, or when he closed the distance between them, but now they both felt the warmth of each other’s touch. It was so unexpected, yet so natural. 

Everytime he held her hand all he felt was assurance mixed with admiration. 

Everytime she took his hand all she felt was safety and hope. 

“I’m sorry, Lucy. Please stay, ” he whispered ever so softly if there was even just a little breeze, she could have missed it. But his voice was amplified by the close proximity of their bodies. She could have sworn she heard his heartbeat hammering in his chest, but it might as well have been hers. She felt the urge to put her hand on his heart and feel its pace pick up, matching hers. 

Please stay, he pleaded with her, and for some reason she could not find the strength to say no to him. Even if a part of her knew, one day she might regret this. Just like he knew, as he leaned even closer, that tomorrow he might wake up regretting letting her in so easily. But this was Lucy Carlyle, he could simply not let her go.

“Just never lie to me again. Swear it.” Just like Lockwood’s voice, hers grew thin as well, merely a breath as she asked him to swear. He was so close, their bodies almost touching and the anticipation grew too hard to bear in Lucy. Swear it.

“I’ll never lie to you again, I swear,” he finally said the words. He felt the relieved sigh that left Lucy, caress his face, making him realise just how close they were. His own breath got caught as he looked her in the eye, his other hand – the one that was not holding hers – reached up to clear a stray strand of hair from her face. He barely touched her face with his fingertips but he might as well have set her on fire, her feelings ignited immediately. She looked at his face, deep in thought, her gaze catching his, just in time to see him look up from her lips. 

Was he…?

Just as Lucy thought of the possibility of Lockwood looking at her lips, she could feel his hand slowly and carefully slide under her chin, tilting it up just enough.

Just enough for their lips to meet. What they both felt, was never said, maybe there were no words for them, but barely a second after he kissed her, Lucy’s hand reached up to touch his heart. She could not stop herself smiling into their kiss as she felt the insane rhythm. He did not expect this either, and yet, it was the most natural thing in the world to be pulled into his body, his coat covering her from the growing cold. 

“Is this alright?” he pulled back. His gentlemanly question just made her smile more. She did not say anything, but Lockwood knew: it was alright. To be truly honest, it was so much more than alright. Her, in his arms, looking up at him like this– It was everything. His own face lit up as well, the widest smile Lucy ever saw on him, lighting up all his features. She raised her hand to touch the dimple on the right side of his face. How? Why? When? So many questions grew in her, but instead she just closed her eyes and let him rest his forehead on hers. Her senses were heightened yet dulled, all she could feel was him. 

When she opened her eyes to look up at him, he was still holding her with one arm around her waist, but his left hand reached for a flare in his belt, eyes alternating between her face and the distance behind her. 

“Why did you light that? So you’d look cool?” she joked. The thought that he might have regretted what just happened almost knocked her off her feet. 

“Because I can see five Shades and three Lurkers closing in on us,” Lockwood laughed a little. Of course they could not have this one moment. Reality, as always, had to come knocking at their door. Or more like creep back to them. 

Lucy froze a little but did not move. “Are you lying?” 

“What did I just swear?” Lockwood’s hand that was still so casually on her waist, slid to her left hand, making her turn around. Even if her sight was nowhere near as good as Lockwood’s, when she looked a little to the right, she could almost see the apparitions. Shit. 

“We are right by Tyburn Gallows, the most haunted place in London,” Lockwood explained as they took a few quick steps back. There was no way they could find a night cab in the next 30 seconds. They were being surrounded. And yet, Lockwood could not help but  chuckle and turn to Lucy. “Frankly, you’re more of a liability than an asset, Lucy.” 

They were still in deep shit, and how they were going to get out, neither of them knew for sure yet. But this was Lockwood, he always came up with a plan. She squeezed his hand before letting go of him. They both took their rapiers, shared an affectionate smile, and with one last wink from Lockwood, started running towards the dead.

Chapter Text

With already dried blood on her hand, she watched Marissa Fittes talk on her telly but the pain of her cut was still creeping from her arm. Was it the cut truly? Or was it the repeating words, his words and tone, in her mind that made her feel an echoing pain all over her body. All at once. 

If you ever mention that room ever again, you’re done here. 

She spent the last weeks in this house, in this exact room, smiling and finally feeling at home and with just one sentence, Lockwood has taken it all away. The reminder was unexpected and inscrutable: this was not her home, they were not her family. How could it be, how could they be, if he never truly let her in? How were they supposed to be a family if they did not know anything about one another except for how he liked his tea or drank at least one glass of orange juice every morning? Or that he was the most charming and narcissistic yet kindest person she has ever met? How could one be truly at home if all she could see were closed doors? 

Who are you? She remembered asking him the day she joined the agency and all he said was: We have plenty of time for that.  And yet, time passed and they never truly seemed to have gotten to the point where he shared anything about him. Maybe she was a fool to believe Lockwood and co was more than an agency. Or at least naive enough to believe it could be more for her.  

She could feel the hot sting of tears rising in her but the sound of someone knocking and walking up the stairs came just in time to numb it. It was not worth her tears. God knew she had cried enough in her life. 

“I know I look like Anthony Lockwood, but I’m not. I’m actually a fully qualified doctor.”

After he spent the last 10 minutes just standing in front of her door with the tray in his hand, trying to find the right words to say to her, he had to face it: he had no idea what he was doing. What he did know was that he was wrong to talk to her like that in the library, but as soon as the words were out he could not take them back. He could only find refuge in his room, behind closed doors, just an echo in his mind: If you ever mention that room ever again, you’re done here. He almost let out a desperate chuckle at the thought: As if he could truly ever make her go. 

He could not fire her when Barnes threatened him weeks ago, even if he was gambling with the agency’s future.

He practically begged her to stay instead of sending her away. And when she did, when she gave him a second chance after his fiasco, this is what he gave her in return? He saw the hurt in her eyes immediately in the library. And yet all he did was run. As always.

Just like he was planning to run back downstairs with the tray in his hand, when he could not find the strength to knock on her door. Would she even let him in? Would she even let him explain? Could he even explain?

For God’s sake, he swore under his breath and knocked on her door. A soft but unsure yes invited him in. She was sitting on the bed, eyes quickly running from his face to the tray in his hand and then to the wall behind him. 

I’m actually a fully qualified doctor, he thought maybe some light hearted joking could melt the tension between them, but the air around them was heavy, if he had his rapier he could have cut it.

“Good,” she finally spoke. “‘Cause he was a massive prick to me just now,” she did not hold back, but did not look up at him either. She was all too aware of the fact: she could not bear seeing him hurt. And right now, both of them were in pain. 

A part of Lucy – the one tiny piece of her that was not plagued by insecurities and fear – knew he didn’t truly mean what he told her. And with all honesty they had a rather stressful night, so she could not blame him entirely for snapping. She almost scoffed at how quickly she came up with excuses just not to be mad at him. She was more hurt than angry anyway, but still, she could not give in to his sad smile and shyness so quickly. 

He was patiently waiting for her to send him away, to snap at him the same way he did with her before, and truth be told Lucy was planning on it. The words however did not come, she just sighed instead and said: “Come on then, bring it in.”

Lockwood hesitated only for a second before stepping into the room and taking a seat next to her on the bed, faintly registering her moving closer to him, their bodies touching. 

You gave her a free pass just ‘cause you like the way she looks at you , he remembered George’s words. He could feel his own body relax and tighten at the same time, their closeness confusing all his thoughts. 

“I’m not sure what I should…” he cleared his throat. 

Lucy fought the urge to tell him: fully qualified doctor, aren’t you? But instead she just pulled up her sweater and laid her arm out. His touch was light and yet she could feel it everywhere.

“This is gonna hurt,” he warned her, eyes averting hers immediately. He busied himself with cleaning up her wound, but the tension from his body was louder than most of the ghosts she listened to. He was nervous, deep in thought, and his face almost looked pained as he searched for the words to say. Because it was clearer than day: he was here to tell her something. 

“Thanks for the warning,” Lucy said lightly, as if signing to him: yes, I am here and I am listening, no matter what it is, just say something. As if they had their own language which neither of them knew they spoke, he understood her and took a deep breath. 

“I was orphaned at the age of six so… all I can say is, I don’t really enjoy talking about my past,”  the lump in his throat grew bigger and bigger with every word he uttered, images of a past that he tried to bury deep, flashed behind his eyes, hands trembling for a split second before pulling himself together again. It was for her own good not to let her see too much of what was truly happening in that broken heart of his. Shattered under the weight of loss and guilt, he did not look up as he cleared his throat. “And that’s what’s behind that door.”

“Okay,” she softly whispered. Lockwood felt her gaze on him, the need to know more – Goodness, why did she even want to know him so bad? – clear in her eyes, yet she did not push him. Her being so patient with him and, in a way, so forgiving scared him: what if one day she ran out of it? What if one day he crossed the last line and she left? Just walk out the door she so unexpectedly walked in through, not looking back, and he was left to reminisce about what they had. The memories of where she used to sit, where she used to laugh or simply roll her eyes at him… all of them would have been left like a special death glow only he could see once she was gone. 

Whatever thoughts were running through his mind in that second, Lucy wished she could silence them all. The pained expression on his face broke something in her and if he was not holding onto her arm, gently trying to clean up her wound, she would have touched his face, framing it, forcing him to look her in the eye and forget whatever was torturing him. This was not simply a sad story to tell. This moment was a door opening between them. But as quickly as the thought came, it left her when he cleared his throat. 

“And uhm…” when he finished – or rather postponed – battling his own demons and ghosts of his past, he forced himself to focus again. There was a reason he was here tonight. “You used it to convince me that, not only are you one of the only two people in the history of the world to be able to talk to ghosts but that we actually have a Type Three ghost in our house, Two events with one in a billion probability and the chance of you being right…”

“I know!” Lucy stopped him mid-sentence. Yes, she was very much aware that for someone who barely knew her for a few weeks, there was no reason to believe what she said about the skull. Shit, even she could barely believe it, and it was happening to her. “I wouldn’t believe me either,” she admitted, too tired to argue.

“That’s not the problem…” Lockwood slightly shook his head and turned to reach for a bandaid to put on her cut. It was a nasty sight, and she knew it was going to leave a scar, but in that moment there was only one scar she cared about: his. The one he so masterfully tried to hide behind closed doors and charming smiles. “The problem is when you like the spotlight as much as I do,” he took a second to pause, when he continued his voice was lower than before. “It’s quite an adjustment to realise that the real reason you might be here is to shine it on somebody else.” He finally finished, his voice going fully breathless. What he said was barely audible – especially with her heart pounding in her chest so loudly, Lucy could have sworn even George heard it – yet… She heard him. Not just what he said, but what he truly meant. 

“You believe me?” her voice as a twin to his, lowered, barely audible and a little broken as she asked. He believed her. 

“I do,” he answered with all sincerity, this time looking her in the eye. She had to know he meant it. “About everything.”

There was a long minute – could have been an hour for all they knew – , but they were still looking into each other’s eyes as if trying to say something they didn’t know they wanted to say. But eventually, Lockwood broke their reverie by turning away from her, missing as her eyes started welling up as she whispered:

“Thanks.” It was such a small word, she thought, for whatever she was feeling. He believed him. Little did he know how, just with that, he made her whole heart fill up with gratitude and admiration. He was still a bloody idiot most of the time, but this bloody idiot stood by her. Believed her , when not even she could believe herself. 

After what happened with Jacobs and how no one, including her mother, believed her… Lockwood could never truly understand how much his words meant to her. “You know I don’t actually want the spotlight, right?” she joked, feeling that if she did not say something he was going to leave. It must have been so hard for him to not only open up about his past but also admit that he was scared of being only second best. The least she could do was to make him understand: nothing was going to change. She was still the same Lucy, and he was still Anthony bloody Lockwood, he could keep the spotlight that suited him way more than it did her, anyways.

“I know. It’s maddening,” he smiled at her and there was a sudden leap in her chest. It was a new sensation, more and more frequent lately, and it always happened when he was in the same room as her.  

Now that the air was finally rid of the heaviness of grief and guilt, Lucy felt the need to tease him, just to get that smile again on his face, wide as possible, to make the room brighter as always. “I suppose that would make me uh, quite the asset, wouldn’t it?” 

All Lockwood could do was let out a chuckle.

“I’m not gonna make that mistake again.”

Now, he did see how his words might have been a little misleading, taken in the wrong way even. Because sitting in her room, on her bed, sharing parts of his past, showing her pieces of him that he would not let anyone else see, admitting her things he could barely admit to himself, holding her hand… It was insanely idiotic of him to simply call her an asset. He looked at her, and almost had the urge to laugh because she was everything but an asset. What was he supposed to call her though? He stared at her, as if he could find the answer in her beautiful eyes. An associate? A colleague? A friend? A family member? She was all of those and yet neither… She was just… She was looking at him with so many different feelings and he could feel the gentle brush of fingers as his thought unravelled. His gaze dropped to her lips and as if he just realised that none of it mattered, he leaned forward. She didn’t need any labels, she was his Luce , and this was right. 

Whatever else he might have tried to think about got lost for good once his lips and hers crashed. The surprise of his kiss caught Lucy off guard but barely a second after she realised what happened, her whole body melted into his, their previously lingering hands now holding onto one another like their life depended on it. Whatever he came for that night, Lucy could have sworn her whole life on it, it was not to kiss her like he was the last breath of fresh air in the world. And yet… here they were. 

A few moments later when she pulled away to catch her breath, he had the nerve to laugh. A sudden rush of embarrassment crept over her as she realised this  was her first kiss and maybe she was not that good at it… but was she really that bad to be laughed at? 

“What is it?” she asked, a blush already betraying her as she tried to move a little further, but his left hand was around her waist keeping her close to him, while his right was still holding her injured hand. 

“George was right,” Lockwood admitted, still laughing. Of course he saw through him. Note to self, never underestimate George’s razor sharp attention. He was still kind of amused, drawing little circles on Lucy’s hand he was so happily holding, when he looked up at her and noticed her confused expression. She even seemed a little mad, which somehow just made him even more soft. Goodness gracious, he really was that stupid to not realise what was happening until this moment? He leaned in a little closer, and whispered to her in a very dramatic manner: “He was right, I do like the way you look at me…”

As if someone was sitting on her chest and now finally stood up, she took a deep, relieved breath. He didn’t regret it. “I’m glad to be of service, I suppose,” she matched his playful tone, earning another laugh from him. Jesus, how much she loved that sound! She was ready to just sit there and look at him, smile, get lost in… whatever was happening between them when a voice in her head – one sounding very much like that demented skull downstairs – reminded her of everything that happened that day. “ George!” she almost jumped up. “We should really tell him.”

“Uhhh…” his entire body froze, the fuzzy warmth that was covering them the past few minutes – if he spared a look on the clock he would have noticed it has almost been an hour, not a few minutes – gone.  “ I am not quite sure that is a good idea, he is already unbearable, I don’t know how to deal with him saying I told you so five times a day.”

Lucy fought the urge to smack him, instead she just gave him one of her famous really? looks. “I mean about the skull, Lockwood.” She could see a wave of relief wash over him. She gave him a soft smile but all of a sudden he pulled back, clearing his throat as if he just realised something important. 

“Oh, of course, yes, the skull… talking.. Yes.. what else,” he stuttered but then cleared his throat. Barely a minute ago they shared their first kiss and Lockwood was not even sure how to breathe at the moment let alone think, and yet, she was already back to the skull and Type Three ghosts and George. As if nothing really happened. 

Trying his best, he sat up straight, and as subtly as possible tried to pull his hand away from hers, ready to forget everything that happened that night. Or at least pretend he forgot, because God, there was no way he was ever going to erase the feeling of her in his arm, the way she pulled him closer, how their lips crashed. He was capable of a lot of things – he had to give himself some credit here – but forgetting that he kissed Lucy Carlyle and it took his breath away, numbed but also intensified his senses to feel her in ways he couldn’t even imagine before.That was literally impossible. 

Maybe opening up to her that night also allowed her a new way of understanding his thoughts, because the second Lockwood stiffened and pulled away, getting lost in his thoughts, Lucy knew what he was thinking. They crossed a line here, opened a door, and she was not going to let him hide back behind it. Before he could say anything stupid – because she was sure as hell he was going to say something to ruin it again –, she pulled him back to her. H er hands framed his face as she kissed him, harder this time, with more intention, like she wanted to tell him something words could not express. After one second of shock she could feel both his arms sneaking around her waist and pulling her into him, deepening their kiss. 

“This we can keep to just us…” she smiled up at him. And before he could overthink it, because of course was going to, she added: “At least for now. A Type Three in our house talking to me is enough on our plate.”

“We’ll go carefully. I promise,” Lockwood laid a quick kiss, barely a peck on her lips, then took a deep breath, memorising every second of what just happened before standing up to leave the room. They were still holding hands when he opened the door and let her out first – as the gentleman he was taught to be –, but by the time they reached George’s room, they were just Lucy and Lockwood again. Nothing has changed, except for their smiles which grew wider and brighter than before. If it was even possible.

Chapter Text

Go. 

I have to stay.

He said it as if there was any chance in hell she could just leave him. Even if they weren’t in a building that was heavily guarded by the most ruthless people Lucy has ever seen, and who were more than ready to get rid of them in the most violent ways they could, she would never have left him.  Dammit, sometimes she wondered how she could barely leave his side when they split up during cases. In the back of her mind she always stayed focused on him. Beside all the unsettling voices from the other side, she couldn’t help but always have a part of her just listening for him. When did he become so important to her? There was not a worse place or time to ask this question to herself, that much she knew, so with an annoyed grunt she hurried back into the room they came from. In her quick movement she missed the silent shock, gratitude and fear on Lockwood’s face.

She stayed even though they were about to walk into a suicide mission.

She stayed even though he told her to leave.

She stayed and now both of them were going to walk into a room filled with murderers and their chances of coming out alive were thinner than paper.

His shock and happiness that she remained by his side was quickly overcome by the terror of something happening to her. They might even die tonight all because he refused to leave that bloody mirror and she refused to leave him. Once again, he did not listen, endangering the lives of those he cared about more than himself… That cannot happen again.

While the guilt and ghosts of a past he kept under lock started surrounding him, Lockwood did what he was best at: ignored them and jumped head first into finding a way out of the mess he made. Lucy stood there and just watched as he rather maniacally tried to get the situation under his control again. 

“You're incredible, you know?” she groaned in anger. “The way you can lie to yourself like that.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, trying no to pay too much attention, whatever she was saying, she was most definitely right. But with his hands busy, it was easier to ignore the truth.

“Where do I start?” The fact that he was not willing to stop and look at her as she was talking to him did not help her rising anger. Yes, she decided to stay with him but that didn’t mean she wasn’t angry at him. “This job has gotten so out of control and you just refuse to acknowledge it. All you care about is winning. It's─” what was the right word?  “It's an obsession.”

“Yeah, of course I care about winning. I have to,” as much as he tried he could not ignore her. “I don't have anyone around me to pick up the pieces if I fail. Okay. If there are things I haven't told you about myself, it's probably for your own good.” 

And it was the truth. 

“Bullshit.” That was the thing about Lucy Carlyle: she said whatever she thought without any sugar coating. Well, almost everything. Sometimes Lockwood found it the most charming thing about her, and sometimes, like in that moment, he would have rather chosen a bunch of Shades over her opinion. But she already started, there was no stopping her now. “Two hours ago, at that party, you were petrified at the thought of me leaving you. You made me believe that you, me, and George could be a family. But Lockwood & Co. can never be that, because at the centre of it is you. And at the centre of you is just a─”

His hand stopped midair. He heard those words before. 

“Is what? A cold, dead heart of stone?” he snapped, finally abandoning his foolish plan to try to tune her out. He was no listentener, but Lucy Carlyle was like an ever-constant whisper, his own ghost-voice. He could not fight against listening to her. My brave little knight, his mother used to call him when he ran up to her with his tiny little rapier, made of wood of course, his father made sure he was looked after even if he was not around. You know, my boy, a true knight always knows when to use his rapier, but also when to put it down, she softly cooed as she took his weapon out of his hand and brought him to sit in her lap. But there are times when the best thing to do is put down your armour and let your kind heart defeat your enemy.

How many times has his mother spoken of how kindhearted he was?

How many times has she taught him about the importance of letting others in when he begged her to tell him the story of King Arthur and his knights of the Round Table?

And here he was now. Alone with a cold, dead heart of stone.

“Yeah, maybe. But who knows, though? 'Cause you don't actually show anyone,” desperation was getting the better of her, making her eyes slowly well up in anger, frustration and undeniable disappointment. 

“Nothing good comes from letting people in.” Was this the best time for this conversation? No, absolutely not. But their relationship─ No, their friendship─ Still not the right word, but their whatever has reached a breaking point and something in Lockwood gave a painful scream. A voice, very much similar to Kipps’, whispered: Everyone leaves him eventually . “Everything ends and everyone leaves. When my time comes, I don't intend on leaving anyone behind who's gonna lie there every night wishing I would just walk through that door one more time."

“Then you never should have let me in,” the reply came in a heartbeat. Lucy knew she might as well have said what she meant in other words, but for some reason she didn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable by the confession: she cared for him. A lot. But that didn’t mean she was the only one. “Or George. Because now it's far too late.”

The shadow of guilt that was looming around him for a while now crashed over Lockwood as waves of the ocean. And it felt just the same: he was drowning. 

“I never asked for it,” he said coldly, eyes averting Lucy’s gaze. The once so kindhearted boy his mother adored, long gone, leaving a mere shadow, a hollow boy behind. 

“And that─” he had to look back at the painful laugh she let out. She was tearing up, and seeing her cry was the last thing he ever wanted. But seeing the disappointment and pain in her eyes as she laughed? It felt like he was just ghost touched, right on his heart. “That is the saddest thing I have ever heard. You just have no idea how you affect others, do you? You give one speech and people are ready to follow you into anything, you smile and the world becomes brighter! Just because you decided to condemn yourself for a miserable and lonely life, it does not stop the rest of the world from caring about you. God knows, I wish I didn’t care so much about you because frankly you can be an annoying bastard, Anthony Lockwood!”

When or how he moved so close to her, he couldn’t recall. But he was there, barely a step from her, the need to wipe away that one tear on her face after what she told him… But this was not the time.

“There are two men out there due back here any minute with a barrel. I don't plan on either of us ending up in it. Whatever else you have to say about me, Lucy, it's gonna have to wait. Put this on,” she didn’t move, something in her still trying to not break into pieces by the way he spoke to her. “Please, Lucy.”

But the truth was: Lucy Carlyle could never say no to him, when he said her name like that.

Well, maybe she should learn how to say no to him, the thought occurred to her when they were being chased by a dozen murderers, trying to escape in a lift that moves slower than George at 3 am after a case. If they survive tonight, she was going to kill Lockwood for all this mess.

“Shit! They've radioed up!” she cursed out loud as she saw the sign for the fourth floor lit up. She could vaguely register Lockwood behind her. 

( Just breathe, he thought, just breathe. )

“They're stopping the lift at four. They know we're coming. We need to get out of here now!”  She started frantically pushing the button for the third floor. 

(It didn’t matter how much he tried to breathe, his chest felt heavier with every single attempt. Something was choking him like invisible barbed wire, pulling him deeper to drown.)

“Where are the other sources?” she asked. When the door finally opened, she looked up at Lockwood still trying to catch his breath. He was falling apart right in front of her eyes at the worst time possible.

(Cold sweat covered his face as he tried his best to get back to Lucy, to resurface again and breathe. Breathe for her .)

“Go, go!” Lucy yelled, and when he didn’t move she started dragging him along the way. 

(The sight of her was the only thing that reached him. His line of vision was not more than a tunnel, everything was slowly fading to black, as he unsteadily leaned into the wall when she let go of him.)

Lucy yanked at the door that went to the roof but when it didn’t budge she let out an exasperated groan. They had to get out of here. The voices behind them were coming from closer and closer with every single minute. She needed to come up with something, anything actually , because there was no way this was how they were going to end. “Lockwood, snap out of it!” 

(His hands were trembling as he reached up to unbutton his shirt but instead he settled on holding onto her shoulder as she stepped in front of him, her voice distorted, like it came from under water.)

“They just killed him like that.” 

(And now they were going to kill them, he remembered. The thought of him dying almost brought relief to him but her… The pain in his chest just tightened and a sudden wave of nausea hit him.)

“I know, but we need to go.” 

Sometimes she forgot that seeing the dead and seeing death itself right in front of you… Were not the same thing. And no matter how hard they tried to pretend otherwise, they were still just children. He was Anthony bloody Lockwood, but under all that theatricality and facade, he was still just a young boy, too afraid to lose people to the world they lived in. And so he didn’t even let them in, in the first place. Oh, what she would have given to help him through this. To show him the world could move on, and a heart could heal after such loss. 

A painful groan: “What did he die for?"

“Because they're bastards!” There was no other way to explain it, and even if there was, Lucy suspected it could not help their situation. The DEPRAC agent died, there was nothing to be done about that. But they could still live. And they were going to live. He just needed to get back to her. Together they could do it. 

“It's because I am.” He remembered her words barely an hour ago: God knows, I wish I didn’t care so much about you because frankly you can be an annoying bastard, Anthony Lockwood! She was right. Of course she was. And now they were going to die because he didn’t listen to her.

“Lockwood. Please, Lockwood, you can't do this right now.” Her voice was pleading with him as she pulled him to her. His trembling hands moved from her shoulders to her neck, his forehead resting on hers as he finally managed to take a shaky breath. It felt like it was a thousand years ago, but he was breathing again: not air, but her.  

Her scent mixed with the mouldy air.

Her eyes in front of him, looking into his, bearing into his soul.

Her hands, grabbing his face, forcing him to get back to her.

Her touch, stopping the world from feeling like it was turning upside down just to make him lose his mind.

Her voice as she called his name from far away: “Lockwood, look at me!” 

But she wasn’t far away, no, she was right in front of him, their faces less than inches away. Her breath was his, just like his fate was hers. Come back to me, whether she actually said those words or his mind was playing tricks on him, as the panic attack slowly wore off, he could not tell. 

The desperate need to get through to him, to have him back, reached a new point when she heard him ─ or at least she thought she heard him, or maybe it was the adrenaline fooling her ─ whisper her name: Lucy.  

That one word was so fragile, just like him in that moment, she barely dared to touch him. But he needed to be reminded that all of this was going to end. It was not real, it was just a panic attack that he could end, all he had to do is refocus his attention and breathe. It was not the first time she saw someone fall apart like this, she remembered that one night they went on mission back with Jacobs, she remembered how Paul’s whole demeanour changed when he realised he knew the ghost . He was there and then he was gone in seconds, and she was forced to step up, but when the case ended, no one had spoken about what happened. It was natural and nothing to be embarrassed about, it could happen to any of the agents. 

But not to Lockwood. And not right now. 

“Please, look at me,” she whispered again and when he did─ 

When he did look at her finally, nothing else mattered. Not the panic attack, not Winkman, not the DEPRAC agent, not the bone glass… The only thing that mattered was the way he looked at her. It was overwhelming how raw his emotions were. For the first time since she has known him there was no sign of his usual cool mask or always controlling air. He wasn’t the Anthony Lockwood everyone knew, he was─ he was just him. Still in pain but also almost in awe of her, while she didn’t do anything. She just stood there. She was simply there to remind him it was all going to be alright. She held him close while his body still tried to shake off the shackles of the panic attack. But the fire in his eyes, oh, that addictive, reckless fire that she always saw in them whenever they were about to do something exciting, was back. He was coming back to her, and God she could kiss him for it. 

And just as the thought flashed in her mind, she felt the pull of his gaze, his strength returning, his admiration for her written all over his face. He has made up his mind about something Lucy couldn’t guess.

She stayed when no one else would have. 

She brought him back when no one else could have. 

And he had to kiss her now, as he should have done a long time ago. 

When their lips crashed, both of their breaths hitched, and their whole beings trembled because of the adrenaline of the moment. The sheer touch of their hands made him shiver weeks ago, but this? This was something more. He felt his heart race, his breathing stop and his body grewing unsteady just like minutes before during his panic attack, but now his strength was not leaving him. 

No. On the contrary. One kiss from her gave him all the strength in the world, so when she pulled away ─ ever so slightly blushed and dizzy from their kiss ─, he kept his focus on her, still holding her as close as possible. After tonight, he had no intention to do anything else than that.

“You were right. The mirror is too important,” she closed her eyes, a few treacherous tears running down her face. Whether in fear or in happiness, she could not tell. She pulled him close, giving him everything she had: “Now, please, please, just get back to being a flippant dickhead and get us through this.”

With a chuckle he layed a quick kiss on her forehead, took a deep breath, and gave her his awful smirk that sent her head spinning most days. 

“I guess it’s time to ditch this party too,” he took her hand just in time to hear somewhere nearby Winkman yell: Hello.