Work Text:
What no one tells you about being an Agent is the fears that you develop. No one tells you that something you once loved would become the thing that haunts your nightmares.
For Lucy, it’s thunderstorms. When she was little, she liked to play in the marshes when it rained, because Visitors couldn’t visit when it rained. And the rain was quiet, just gentle drops on the dirt, not a death loop. The thunder was loud and rattled the windows, but it was safer than rapiers and salt bombs.
It rained the night she lost Norrie. The world flashed bright as she screamed for Jacobs, for help, and moments later the building shook from the force of the thunder. And then it rained. The Mill was old and falling apart, and the rain seeped through the cracks and soaked through her uniform. The storm didn’t stop until Lucy was being kicked out of the hospital and left to wander her own way home.
She was lucky, the first few months at Lockwood & Co. She was still new enough that she could hide in her room when the rain pounded on the windows. And as she got to know Lockwood and George, she just… never mentioned her fear of storms. There were other things that were more important. And then they were burning down a house and she was connecting with Annabel Ward and they were nearly dying at Combe Carey, and suddenly she was head over heels in love with Lockwood.
She’s in her little attic room when the storm starts, a boom of thunder loud enough to rattle the windows. It startles her, and the book she’d been reading went flying into the wall with a dull thump. She’s frozen in panic as the rain hits the window, the harsh tapping sending her back to that fucking night at the Mill.
There’s a flash of light, another boom of thunder, and Lucy needs to hide. Her eyes catalogue the room and land on an old chest. She knows it’s just filled with blankets and pillows, but that’s alright. She bolts over to it, yanking out most of the blankets and pillows and folding ehr small body into the space. She’s not even truly aware that she’s doing it, she just knows that panic and terror are in every cell, and she has to hide.
She doesn’t realise that the thunder had cracked a pane of glass in the kitchen and Lockwood wants to make sure the glass in the attic hasn’t cracked either. She doesn’t hear his shoes on the steps, doesn’t hear his voice calling her name. She can’t hear him, she’s lost in memories. She can hear Paul screaming, can hear Alfie-Joe die. She can hear the Changer, laughing and taunting.
The thunder rolls, and she’s begging for it to stop, begging for help, for Jacobs. She’s stuck in the past and she can’t get out.
Lockwood peers around the stairs, trying to determine if Lucy was decent enough for company. But he couldn’t see her, and he racked his brain to think if she’d come down from the attic to somewhere else in the house. He hadn’t seen or heard her, so she must be in the room. He called her name again, falling silent to see if she replied.
In the quiet moment after a boom of thunder, he heard it. The cries from the old trunk in the corner. He rushed over, calling her name. “Luce? Lucy, are you alright?”
There was no response, at least, not a real one. He could make out vague words, help and please. Without thinking, he opened the trunk lid, revealing Lucy, curled up tighter than he thought possible, tears streaming down her face, eyes shut tight. “Luce?”
She didn’t seem to hear him, so he reached out and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. “Luce?”
But that was the wrong thing to do. Lucy screamed, eyes flashing open and staring at Lockwood with such fear and terror that it physically made him recoil.
“Luce?” Lockwood was beginning to panic now, wondering what the bloody hell was happening. He’d never seen Lucy like this, had never seen this type of terror before. “Luce, it’s me. It’s Lockwood.”
He just kept repeating himself, interspersed with vaguely reassuring nothings, until Lucy calmed enough to recognize him. The rain still pounded on the window, but neither of them were really paying attention.
“Lockwood?”
Never before had he heard such a beautiful but also heartbreaking sound. Lucy was talking, but her voice sounded so broken and small. He reached out to her, wanting to offer whatever he could. “Luce?”
Lucy looked up at Lockwood with wide eyes and she started to uncurl from her foetal position. And then there was another boom of thunder and flash of lightning and she was in his arms, holding on so tightly it hurt. He wrapped his arms around her instinctively, pulling her close. He started to realise that the thunder was causing her reactions, and he pulled her towards the bed. She wouldn’t let go, so he somehow managed to get them both onto the bed and draped an old quilt over the top of them.
It made a dark little cocoon, just Lockwood and Lucy inside it. It wasn’t enough, not really, they could both hear the staccato beat of rain against the window, could see the flash of lightning. Lucy was still crying, but at least she wasn’t begging for something Lockwood could never give. He pulled her close, pressing one ear to his chest, just above his heart. And then he gently put one hand over her other ear, effectively blocking out sound.
Lucy tried to focus on the steady beat of Lockwood’s heart, finding it easier the longer she tried. She focused hard on it, the even bah-whosh slowly taking over thoughts of screams and death. Lockwood’s heartbeat was proof of life. Lockwood was alive. Lucy was alive.
Lockwood held her for hours, curled up under the old quilt, until the storm finally settled. He didn’t say anything, just sat there and held her. He wanted to know why she was so scared of the storm, wanted to know what pain in her past caused such a reaction. He wanted to keep her safe, wanted to do whatever he needed to to get her to smile again.
His heart beat the seconds and minutes of the storm, each beat another that would forever belong to this beautiful woman. His arms ached, but he couldn’t let go, he wouldn’t.
Lockwood held her even after the storm settled and Lucy fell asleep. He gently tipped them over so Lucy could lay down, and he took several minutes to untangle himself from her. Finally, he was able to cover her sleeping form with the quilt. He hesitated for a brief moment before pressing a soft kiss to her brow before he escaped downstairs. Tea, he needed tea. And maybe he’d make Lucy some toast for when she woke up.