Chapter Text
After his conversation with George, Lockwood took some time to himself. As much as he wanted to talk to Lucy, he knew that she needed sleep. He tried to occupy himself with a book but he just ended up sitting lost in thought.
The subject of his rumination was, of course, none other than Lucy Carlyle. The images in his mind cycled between different images of her:
Lucy, newly arrived in London, scared and hungry and in need of a job, a home, a family. Lucy, in her blue dress (always blue with her) for the Fittes ball, before it was ruined by the dirty Thames water.
Lucy, by his side through countless cases and ghosts and things going wrong. Lucy, patching him up and pulling him back from the brink time and time again. Lucy, forgiving him for being too reckless, for pushing her away, for his seemingly endless stupid decisions.
Lucy, safe in his arms and his bed, where she belonged.
He was certain at this point that she just might be the love of his life. Which was a pretty big revelation for someone who wasn’t even 20 years old. But staring literal death in the face every night has a tendency to age a person a bit faster.
Lockwood checked on Lucy several times throughout the day. Each time she had been asleep, and he had simply tucked the covers around her and indulged in a kiss to her forehead. She must have woken up briefly at some point, though, because she had changed into the pajamas he had left out for her.
Lucy looked so small in her bed, so fragile. Even though he knew she was the strongest person he had ever met. She didn’t appear to be having any nightmares, but her brow was furrowed and she was still paler than usual.
Lockwood wanted to do more for her, but George continued to assure him that the best thing to do was to let her sleep. So he did, ignoring George’s smug satisfaction at being listened to for once.
He didn’t wake Lucy up for dinner, instead opting to bring a sandwich and tea up to her room once the sun had gone down. They didn’t have a case that night, and she had been asleep for hours already when he made his way up the steps to the attic.
As he neared her door, Lockwood started to hear strange noises. Lucy sounded like she was struggling, small cries escaping her. Just as he pushed open the door, the cries turned into screams. Terror ran down his spine as he entered the room.
The intensity of the screams had Lockwood almost dropping the entire tray all over the floor. Setting it on her desk, he quickly made his way to the bed. Heart in his throat, Lockwood could now see that Lucy was in fact still asleep.
The covers were twisted around her body as she thrashed around, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Her fingers were gripping the sheets tightly, face contorted as if in pain.
And her screams…
Lockwood had heard Lucy scream before. In pain, in fright. It was simply a part of their profession. But these screams were something else entirely. It sounded like she was crying out from deep within her soul, the sounds piercing through him.
He reached for her frantically, needing to wake her from this. His hands grasped her face but she shook him off. At his touch, her wordless screams suddenly changed.
“Lockwood!” she screamed, tears streaming down her face now.
He reached for her again, not understanding.
“I’m here, Lucy. I’m here. You need to wake up,” he pleaded, voice cracking. “Come back to me.”
He needed to be strong for her, but seeing her like this was breaking his heart. Prying her fingers from the sheets, he gripped her small hand tightly in his own.
Still she struggled, breath coming in harsh pants. Lockwood was no stranger to nightmares or panic attacks, but he hadn’t experienced anything quite like this himself. This seemed like a combination of both. He needed to get through to her, to bring her back to him.
Wrenching her hand from his grasp, Lucy’s wails became louder.
“No! Anthony! You can’t leave me,” she cried, and then her body went limp.
Lockwood hovered over her, stroking her face gently as she came to. Her green eyes locked onto his as soon as she opened them and she launched herself into his arms, shaking violently. His arms wrapped around her without hesitation, holding her tightly.
She didn’t seem to be able to speak just yet, so he just held her, stroking her back and whispering soothingly.
“It’s alright, you’re alright. You’re safe, I’ve got you.” He pressed gentle kisses to her hairline, feeling her shudder against him.
“L-Lockwood,” she finally spoke, stuttering as her breathing began to pick up speed again.
“I’m here.” He pulled back so she could look at him, her eyes moving rapidly over his shadowed face in the dark.
While she was no longer in the throes of her nightmare, all he could see in her eyes was terror and sadness.
“You - you were gone. I watched you die,” she whispered, so quietly that he had to strain to hear.
A lump rose in his throat and he swallowed roughly. Was that what she had been dreaming about?
Oh, Lucy.
“I’m safe, I’m alive,” he tried to reassure her. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Lockwood knew that he couldn’t truly promise her that, not with their jobs. But he would try his damn hardest. He would never willingly leave her.
But Lucy shook her head, sobbing in earnest now.
“I saw your death so many times. Night after night,” she whispered brokenly. “I didn’t remember.”
Realization dawned on him at her words. That would explain why his presence was able to chase away the terrors, why she didn’t have any nightmares when she slept in his arms.
He never wanted her to have to sleep alone again.
“God, Lucy. I’m so sorry.” Lockwood’s voice was hoarse, his own eyes burning with emotion. He couldn’t help but feel responsible, guilt washing over him.
“No, it’s - it’s not your fault.” Her voice was getting stronger now, but the hand she brought to his face still shook. “It just felt so real. I thought you were gone.”
He closed his eyes at the force of the memories that her words evoked. The times that she had scolded him for being too reckless, for getting too close to death. For wanting to die.
Those days were past him, for the most part. He didn’t think he would ever be completely healed in that regard, but any progress he had made could largely be attributed to her. She had made him see that life was worth living.
And he would do anything to keep himself in this life, with her.
Lockwood continued to hold Lucy until her sobs had mostly calmed down. He tried to untangle himself from her so he could bring her the tray. She refused to let go of him, clinging tightly to his shirt, eyes looking at him in utter panic.
“Shh, it’s okay. I’m not leaving.” He gently eased her back onto the bed. “I brought some tea and sandwiches, you should at least try to eat something.”
Lucy nodded and accepted the tray, opting for a biscuit and her tea, made exactly how she liked it as always. He chose not to comment on her choice of biscuit before sandwich. At least she was eating.
Lockwood looked down at himself. His dress shirt was wrinkled from where she had clutched at him and damp from her tears. Not that he minded, but Lucy looked far more comfortable in her tee shirt and shorts.
“Do you mind if I-” he gestured to himself awkwardly.
She nodded and watched him in the dim light as if she couldn’t bear to look away. His fingers made quick work of the shirt, leaving him in his white undershirt.
He glanced at her as his hands hovered over his belt, uncertain. She gave a slight nod and he slipped out of his trousers.
Now in just the undershirt and black boxers, Lockwood felt both completely comfortable in front of her and strangely exposed. When she had joined him in his bed he usually had his pajama bottoms on, but he didn’t want to leave her for long enough to get them.
He paused before rejoining her, suddenly unsure about his state of undress, but she patted the spot next to her and that was that.
Lockwood sat on the bed as she ate, talking quietly. He decided to tell her the story of George’s ill-fated goldfish. Even though she had heard it many times, it never failed to bring a smile to her face. That smile, in such contrast to her agony when he had found her, warmed his heart.
Between the food and the conversation, Lockwood was pleased to see that some color had returned to Lucy’s cheeks. Her eyes still held a multitude of emotions, but she no longer looked like she was drowning with the force of them.
Once she was finished eating, Lockwood brought the tray back over to the desk and then hesitated again at her bedside. As usual his doubts were creeping in.
Did she want him to stay? Should he go back to his room? Should he just sit until she fell back asleep?
As if she knew exactly what he was thinking, Lucy gave him a soft smile and pulled back the covers next to her.
“Come to me,” she whispered. And he was powerless to resist.
Tucking his long body alongside hers, he joined her under the covers. She settled against him immediately, her head on his chest and her legs tangled with his.
Unlike the nights she had slept in his bed, there was no hesitation. It was as if she was trying to touch as much of him with her body as possible. Lockwood caught on immediately, wrapping one arm around her and reaching for her hand with the other.
“Lucy,” he started as he entwined their fingers. Her breath hitched at the tenderness in his voice.
This was it, he thought. No going back now. But before he could bare his soul before her, Lucy spoke first.
“I need to tell you something, and then you can say whatever you want after, okay?” Her voice trembled slightly and he squeezed her hand reassuringly.
Lucy shuffled so her head was closer to his ear, and he tried not to shiver as she spoke. Lockwood figured it was easier for her to say whatever she needed to while not looking directly at him. His thumb drew soft circles on the back of her hand while he waited for her to speak.
“I didn’t get to tell you and George what I heard at the church earlier,” she started.
“Oh, we don’t have to go over all that now,” he said with a frown, confused.
Work and ghosts were far from what he had thought she would want to talk about. What he wanted to hear. But he had waited this long and he would be patient for her.
“No, it’s important, you’ll see,” she insisted. “You know how we didn’t know who exactly the ghost was?”
The case had been a strange one, even for them. They had thought that the basement was being haunted by the ghost of a former pastor who had a heart attack during a service. Instead, Lucy had informed them upon arrival that the presence was distinctly female.
Lockwood remained silent, still not sure where she was going with this.
“It’s strange, and I know it wasn’t a Type Three, but it almost felt like she was speaking directly to me. Don’t look at me like that. I’ll explain the details more tomorrow with George, too, but-” Lucy cut off abruptly, drawing in a sharp breath.
Pulling back, Lockwood turned them so that they were both lying on their sides facing each other. He reached for her hand again and watched her face intently while she gathered herself.
“This is the hard part.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “But I need to say this.”
He nodded, holding back a gasp at the intensity of her gaze. The terror had faded. Some of the sadness remained, but now it was mixed with determination and something else he hadn’t dared hoped for until that moment.
“I don’t know her name, because she wasn’t the pastor’s wife. She had grown up with him, and had been in love with him but he - he never knew. And her biggest regret was never telling him how she felt. She was a nurse, and she was there during the sermon when he - when he died.” Lucy paused, resting her forehead against his, gathering her strength.
“She tried to save him but she couldn’t and she had to watch him die, Lockwood.” His name was said on a sob, tears once again running down her cheeks.
Wordlessly he brushed at the wet trails with his thumbs, aching to comfort her but knowing she needed to finish saying this.
“Her words brought everything rushing back to me. The nightmares, every single one of them. Every time that I had to watch you die in my mind.”
“That’s why you collapsed,” Lockwood said quietly. He couldn’t stand that he had been the subject of her nightmares, that he had caused her pain.
Lucy nodded, taking another deep breath.
“I don’t know if this will stop the nightmares. But I can’t keep pretending that I don’t - that I’m not-” she faltered, eyes searching his face desperately.
“I know,” he whispered roughly, even though she hadn’t said the words yet.
“Anthony,” Lucy tried again. Her eyes widened when she realized what she had said but he shook his head quickly.
“Lucy, it’s my name,” he reassured her. “You can call me anything you want.”
“Even,” Lucy took a deep breath, “mine?”
His heart felt like it stopped and then restarted at triple speed.
“Yes, Lucy. Yes. Especially that. Yours.”
Nothing had ever sounded more right to either of them.
With a groan he surged forward, unable to resist anymore. He kissed her over and over, feeling her melt into him, her hands finding purchase on his shoulder, in his hair.
“Yours,” he whispered solemnly, lips dragging along her jaw. “Yours.”
He trailed his lips over her soft skin, tasting the salt of her sweat and tears. She tilted her head back to give him more access as his mouth made its way down her neck.
“Yours.”
Lockwood pressed a firm kiss to her pulse point before dipping his head, pulling her top down slightly to expose the skin over her heart. Lucy let out a long sigh as he brushed his lips reverently over the place where he could feel her strong heartbeat.
He knew with certainty now that it beat for him. Just as his beat for her.
Placing his hand where his lips had been, Lockwood brought his head back up to hers. One of her hands covered his over her heart, the other cupping his jaw tenderly.
“I don’t know why I was so afraid,” she sighed, her eyes meeting his again.
He already knew, but waited for her to say it.
And then she did, the words falling from her lips with ease once she had finally allowed them to come out.
“I love you, Lockwood. Anthony. I’m yours, too, if you’ll have me.”
His eyes shut briefly as he took in her words, feeling them settle into his bones. When he opened them again he knew they were shining with his own unshed tears, but he wasn’t embarrassed. Not at all, not with Lucy.
“I think I’ve loved you since the day you walked into this house,” Lockwood mused once he found his voice again. “And it’s just grown every day since.”
Now it was Lucy’s turn to kiss him, her sweet lips gliding over his before she dove in, her mouth parting his with insistence. He moaned into the kiss, her fingers gently tugging at the ends of his hair. Their tongues met and danced, slowly.
God, he would never get tired of kissing this woman.
Lockwood rolled them so that he was once again on top of her, holding himself up on his forearms. He gazed down at her in adoration, relieved that he could finally show her everything that he felt.
They continued to kiss languidly. He knew that Lucy was still exhausted, and made no move to take anything further, keeping his body weight hovering above her.
Not tonight. They would have plenty of time for that when she was feeling up to it. Soon enough, Lockwood felt her movements start to falter, and she pulled back to stifle a yawn.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, but he cut her off with another peck to her lips.
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Will you stay?” Lucy asked tentatively, even after everything they had just said to each other.
Lockwood moved her gently so that she could once again burrow against his chest. His hand stroked her hair gently as her eyes drifted shut.
“Of course I’ll stay, Luce. Always,” he promised.