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You don’t realise how comfortable you are until you find yourself falling into a routine. One that comes so naturally that you couldn’t picture your mornings any other way.
However, when one little crumble appears in this routine and forms just the slightest crack, you begin to see how desperate you are for some form of normalcy.
Mornings in Portland Row started off as the following:
George would be the first awake and busy in the kitchen cooking up some form of breakfast from his rather vast cuisine. Lockwood would follow not too long after, already clad in his freshly pressed white button-down shirt. When Lucy finally managed to unravel herself from the various blankets and tamed her wild bedhead, George and Lockwood would already be situated in their places at the table. Lucy would sit in front of a cup of tea of her own and have a plate of perfectly buttered toast slid toward her with a smile from Lockwood.
That was just how things were. Lucy had slowly found herself falling into a domestic life that she never had. And even though it was a challenge to switch to a new routine, Lucy found herself overcoming her feelings.
This was what true family was like. They were a team after all. Her, George, and Lockwood.
…And being a team sometimes brought along their own set of issues.
Like when one team member ends up hunched over a toilet; spewing his guts out after promising that they were ‘fine’ just mere hours ago.
“I see he woke you up too.”
Lucy’s widened eyes blinked from Lockwood’s crouched form to George who was currently beside him. If it weren’t for the high intensity aura heavy in the air, she probably would have laughed at the aqua kitchen gloves George was wearing.
Another choked retch filled the room making George turn back to his friend. “Easy there, mate. The worst is just about over now.”
Lucy observed from the doorway as her mind spun uselessly. “When did this start?” she asked once she had found her voice. It was a fair question after all. It was never good for anyone to be vomiting for extended periods of time; she knew that from when her own father was hungover from the bar.
George patted Lockwood’s back. “Hasn’t been long, just past midnight. Heard him from across the hall. Sounded worse than when the neighbour's cat was giving birth outside my window.”
Lockwood let out a couple wet coughs before feebly swiping the back of his hand against his mouth. “D-Don’t talk like I’m not here.” His voice sounded grainy; almost alien to Lucy’s own ears.
“Ah, he speaks!” George remarked rather casually. “How are you feeling? And no, don’t say you’re fine because you clearly are not.”
Lucy, who was still fully aware that she had not crossed the bathroom door’s entrance, only watched on as the two boys conversed on the worn-out tile.
“If I say I’m fine, it’s because I am fine, George,” Lockwood huffed. The argumentative tone he was trying to pull off was coming off flat. It also didn’t help that he looked so pitiful, knelt beside the toilet clad in only his joggers and short sleeve top.
It was a rather rare sight to see Lockwood in anything but his conventional attire; it felt almost wrong to be remotely staring at him at all. However, it wasn’t just his choice of clothing that made alarm bells ring in Lucy’s head. It was his god-awful complexion altogether.
His usual under eye circles appeared to be much more prominent; the deep undertones accentuating his ghostly pallor. Even his hair which was half stuck to his forehead was unable to escape this unfortunate mistreatment. Everything about Lockwood at this very moment was wrong; from his feverish haze to his crumpled state on the bathroom tile.
George merely shook his head at his friend’s retort. “You can sit here and argue with me all you want, Lockwood, but you’re the one who’s spilling last night’s Ghormeh Sabzi into the toilet, not me.”
Lucy had to hold back a snort with a cupped hand. If someone could level with Lockwood’s rather difficult personality, it was George.
The cramped room fell into a tense wave of silence. Lucy moved her gaze from studying the peeled paint on the wall back down to the two boys. Neither party uttered a single word as they both just sat there uselessly. George had backed off a bit, mostly to give Lockwood some more space, but also from the not-so-quaint smell that had started to tickle Lucy’s nostrils.
Lockwood must have caught onto this as with one wobbly motion, he was able to push the toilet handle down which allowed the evidence to dissipate. He then sank back down to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.
“You two don’t need to be here. It’s late, you should be in bed,” Lockwood spoke up, still not giving either of them eye contact. He was met with another huff.
“You’re right, we should be in bed. But given your current state I'm sure there's other things to be worrying about, yeah?" George stood up and rolled his shoulders back. He then turned to Lucy with an expecting gaze. "You mind helping me out with 'Mr. Fine'? Let's get him on the sofa."
Lucy nodded wordlessly and bent down to slip Lockwood’s left arm over her shoulder. She cringed immediately from the heat passing from his sticky skin onto her exposed neck. It was obvious how he appeared to be unwell, but the contact absolutely drove her worries home.
Had she been that careless to allow Lockwood’s symptoms to slip past her that evening? It was no doubt everyone was completely exhausted after tonight’s gruelling wraith hunt. Lucy herself felt as if she could retire to bed and never come out again. But it was Lockwood’s unnerving silence that made her keep a watchful eye on him. A reserved Lockwood was something that brought up red flags. Paired with his delayed reactions and nearly allowing himself to get swiped by the wraith, she wondered why she didn't say something sooner.
After some awkward manoeuvring, Lockwood was deposited onto the mustard-coloured sofa. He sat there nearly sagging into the cushions with a pout that screamed ‘I’m absolutely crossed with you two, how dare you order me around.’
“Really Lockwood?” George raised a brow at the attitude he was receiving. “This is for your own good, you know. With all this recklessness you were bound to get sick some way or another.”
“I’m not sick,” Lockwood retorted.
George paused with a blanket in hand. “Sure. And I’m Penelope Fittes.” He then plopped the blanket unceremoniously onto Lockwood and turned to Lucy. “You see what I’m forced to deal with? The last time he was like this, I nearly went mad.” He shook his head. “I’m going to need all the help I can get, if that’s alright with you Lucy.”
Lucy nodded numbly, still unsure whether this was some cocked-up dream.
She wanted to blame her hesitancy on her sleep deprived mind, but she knew that was not the case. Having Lockwood in this current state caught her so off guard that she hardly knew how to react. It made her want to slap herself to be frank. How could she freeze like this when her comrade needed her, even if he was acting rather indignant and childish.
And so, with a new found purpose, Lucy found herself mixed into the madness that was Lockwood with the flu.
“Last question; if you were to bring only one item on this list to a job, would it be A.) A magnesium flare, B.) Iron chains C.) A Rapier, or D.) Greek fire.”
Lockwood wrapped his arms around the throw pillow as a shiver coursed through him. “A rapier. Honestly, what a ridiculous question that is.”
Lucy hummed at that as her eyes skimmed the page to the magazine. Her polished finger trailed along the print until she found what she was looking for and met Lockwood’s awaiting gaze. “Fittes Agency.” She then went back to read the passage. “We would like to welcome you aboard to the most prestigious agency filled with London’s finest agents alike. With your sharp skills, nothing can stand in your way.”
The distaste upon Lockwood’s face was instantaneous. “What an absolutely mediocre, sad excuse for a quiz.” He squeezed the pillow he was holding tighter to his chest. “Definitely something Kipps would eat up. Pathetic.”
Lucy chuckled at his frivolous reaction. “Well, I got Rotwell, does that make you feel any better?”
“Not in the slightest.”
Lucy would almost call the sour scrunch to his face rather cute if it were not for his flushed complexion. “Right, they really ought to include more agencies to that quiz.” Her droll smile was refreshing in the stuffy room. “No fun with it just being between Fittes and Rotwell.”
Lockwood abandoned the decorative pillow to reach for his cup of tea. Just as he bent over, Lucy swept in and handed him the saucer. She watched as he gaped from the quick exchange, almost snorting at his comical expression.
“It's ginger tea. Sip it slowly,” Lucy coaxed. Last thing she wanted was to deal with Lockwood hurling half-digested tea at her.
Lockwood took her advice and carefully sipped at the beverage. The moment it touched his tongue, he grimaced and removed the cup from his lips. “No milk?”
“To be gentler on your stomach. Do you not like it?” Lucy studied Lockwood, waiting for his next response.
Lockwood shook his head. “No - I mean yes.” He let out a small huff. “No. I do like it. Really Luce, you don’t need to be doing,” he paused and used a free hand to make a motion in front of him, “all of this. You should leave me here, get some rest. It’s been a long day, and now a long night.”
It was now Lucy’s turn to shake her head. “No way. I’m not leaving you alone when you’re clearly unwell, Lockwood.” Her tone was definite and unwavering, much to her own surprise. With this new found confidence, she kept going, “you are not a burden, so don’t think of yourself as such.”
The room fell into a new wave of silence, making Lucy much more aware of her own beating heart.
“Luce, really, I’m-
He was so insistent. So stubborn!
“Lockwood-”
“Lucy-”
“Lockwood.” She was much firmer that time around, leaving even Lockwood startled.
Almost satisfied, Lucy regained her focus on the boy next to her. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. I am not going anywhere.” She held her gaze with his and then they began their own little silent standoff.
Lockwood’s eyes that usually conveyed a sense of ambition and charm were bleak and clouded. Lucy was unable to refrain from allowing her gaze to linger longer than necessary once Lockwood broke the contact.
“I’d never want to lose you, Lucy.”
It suddenly became hard to breathe. It felt as if all the air was sucked out around her, leaving her gaping like some fish out of water.
If it were even possible to lose any more colour to his face, Lockwood succeeded and now appeared to be a proper corpse.
“-Sorry, that just came out of me,” Lockwood blurted out as his cheeks now took on a darker hue. “But I do mean it. Really. You're very important…” he faltered and his eyes darted around briefly, as if looking for the words to come out of thin air, “...to the agency.”
All the air rushed back at her like a forceful smack to the face. It was practically whiplash. “...The agency,” Lucy repeated numbly.
It was now Lockwood’s turn to gape foolishly.
“-Wait no! That isn’t what I mean exactly.”
Lucy crossed her arms and raised a brow at him expectantly. “Then what do you mean, exactly?”
The ticking of the grandfather clock filled the room as both parties fell silent. The air felt thick as if the sudden tension had fallen onto them like a weighted blanket.
Lockwood fumbled with the teacup as he placed it back onto the coffee table. He then snapped his attention back onto Lucy in a rushed manner as if she’d bolt at any given moment. “What I was trying to say, and clearly messed up, is that,” his words came to another halt as his eyes bore into hers, “you, Lucy Carlyle, are very important. And not just to the agency, but…to me.”
A sensation of warmth encased Lucy’s heart once her mind digested Lockwood’s words. It kept replaying over and over, like a displaced needle on a record.
She hadn’t had the chance to quite understand her relationship with Lockwood before. It was always clouded in some sort of haze that left her unable to pinpoint exactly where she stood with him.
And it wasn’t just her relationship that was a mystery; she hardly knew a thing about him. Lockwood was as tight lipped as they came. Any piece of information she got made her almost feel as if she should carry a notebook and pen with her wherever she went.
Living with him, she thought, would perhaps give her a chance to get to know him better. But besides his charisma and rather reckless tendencies, did she really truly know him?
No, of course she didn’t. She didn’t know why he’d hole himself in the library at ungodly hours of the night; why sometimes he’d appear to be so exhausted as if a slight nudge would knock him down. Or even more, why there was a locked room that no one could dare enter.
Anthony Lockwood was a puzzle with a missing piece. He was a padlock without a key. He was everything and anything Lucy couldn’t understand.
So why was he staring at her with such a longing expression; one that drew her in like some sort of trance?
“I mean it Lucy.” Lockwood interjected Lucy’s mess of thoughts. His tone was earnest and his intentions raw. He wasn’t using fancy words to sway her in any way. He was being outright and genuine, which by the way was quite impressive for someone ill.
Just as Lucy parted her lips to speak, footsteps thundered down the stairs and into the living room.
“Sorry I took so long. I brought the things I thought would be of use. Here, put this on your forehead.” George passed the damp cloth towards Lockwood before unloading his assortment of goods onto the oak table.
Lucy and Lockwood sat there both slack jawed in their designated spots on the sofa. George finished spreading out the care package he had gathered before taking in the looks on his friend’s faces.
“Oi, did I miss something? Lockwood you should seriously put that cloth on your face before you melt onto the floor.” He coaxed the rather frazzled Lockwood into placing the rag on his face and eased him into a more relaxed position.
Lucy stared ahead blankly. Just moments ago, she was having a one-on-one discussion with Lockwood; one that she never thought she’d have with him. Did he really mean it when he said those things or was his mind muddled from his feverish haze? She was so wrapped up with their conversation that she had forgotten her sole purpose of the night. Lockwood was ill. He wasn’t in the right state of mind. He was probably mumbling complete nonsense.
“Lucy?”
Lucy jerked and stared wide eyed at George.
“I said, was Lockwood sick again at all when I was gone?” George asked.
Lucy cleared her throat to gather her bearings. “Oh, no he wasn’t.” She then shot up from the sofa. “Is there anything I can help with?” She gave the items on the table a gander as she tried to tune out her jumbled-up thoughts.
George hummed. “Not really. Just brought some more blankets and pillows from the linen closet. And oh-” He grabbed a rather tattered looking raccoon stuffie from the pile. “I brought Mister Mask.”
As if saying a magic word, Lockwood ripped the rag off his face. “George - where did you get that?” If Lucy knew better, she’d almost say he sounded quite flustered.
“Found him in the linen closet,” George replied ever so casually. “You know, it’s quite rude to stuff a rather distinguished businessman in the closet as if he’s a mere dishrag.”
Lucy shared glances between both Lockwood and George.
Lockwood’s cheeks remained rosy as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I knew I’d regret showing you him,” he sighed and ran a hand through his dampened fringe. “My parents gifted him to me. I used the idea that he was sort of a businessman. Something I was passionate about being.”
Lucy allowed her imagination to run freely; entertaining the idea of Lockwood working in a large corporation of some sort. She smiled. That was so Lockwood to dream of something like that. Perhaps his younger self would be proud of what he had succeeded in creating. A small business was better than none after all.
The sound of a cardboard package being cracked open snapped Lucy’s attention towards George, erasing the ridiculous smile off her face.
“Alright, it says to take one of these at bedtime. I guess now would technically count.” George flipped the package back over and popped out a blue coloured pill. “Here, I have some water too.” He outstretched his hand towards Lockwood who merely sunk back with a frown.
“Come on, what’s this about?” George sighed with a pointed look. “It’s cold and flu medication, don’t make this harder than it needs to be Lockwood.” He kept his hand outstretched.
Lockwood murmured something to himself as he avoided all eye contact with George.
“What was that?” Lucy asked when George didn’t pry himself.
Lockwood bundled the blanket around himself more snugly. “...I said I don’t need it.” His voice was just above a whisper, not in typical Lockwood fashion whatsoever.
“Of course, you bloody need it!” George responded exasperatedly. “Any longer and your brain is going to fry, if it hasn’t already.” He turned to Lucy. “Speaking of which, can you take his temperature? We need to see what we’re really dealing with here.”
Lucy nodded and snatched up the thermometer. She then sat on the edge of the sofa facing Lockwood. “Um...” She could feel a ghost of a blush fighting its way onto her cheeks. Her palms felt hot and moist as her heart increased its rhythm once more. “Open - please,” Lucy stammered, trying her best to resemble someone who was composed. This really wasn’t something she should be so worked up about anyhow.
There was some resistance on Lockwood’s part as his dreary eyes shifted between the thermometer and Lucy. After what felt like ages, his lips parted just enough to prompt Lucy to proceed.
The device beeped and George leant in to read the results. He immediately groaned. “100 degrees, Jesus Lockwood.” He shook his head. “Okay that’s it, take your medication and we’ll keep track. We shouldn’t let it get any higher.”
Once again, the pill was shoved towards Lockwood and once again, it was refused.
George let his arms grow slack to his sides as he exhaled. He then straightened up. “Alright, hard way it is then.”
Lucy’s mouth went dry as her mind wandered to the unpleasantries of what the ‘hard way’ could possibly mean. Knowing George, it was going to be something exceptionally clever; something that would nuisance Lockwood enough for him to give in.
George waved the cardboard box in the air. “You either take the pill or I tell Lucy about the wisdom teeth incident.”
It took one peek at Lockwood to notice the slight twinge on his face.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.”
Lucy glanced between the two boys. She could sense the increased pressure in the room and it only served to pique her interest more. “What’s this about wisdom teeth?”
“George is just babbling nonsense,” Lockwood interjected. His jaw was set firm as he sent George a heated look.
There was a growing smirk on George’s face. “Am I? So are you implying that you didn’t tell the nurse that you-”
“George. Stop.”
“Hm? I’m sorry, what was that?”
Lockwood sucked in a breath. “Just give me the pill.”
George placed the pill in Lockwood’s palm. “Too bad, we were getting to the best part.”
The playfulness of his tone was a huge contrast to Lockwood’s unhumorous demeanour.
Lucy held back a frustrated groan. Part of her hoped that Lockwood wouldn’t have given in so easily. She wanted to know the details of the story and why it made Lockwood react like that.
Lucy looked back over to Lockwood who was still nestled beside her. She observed as he eyed the blue coloured pill with a sour look on his face.
George handed him a water cup which Lockwood took wordlessly. After a pause, he tossed the pill back and chased it with water.
“There, now wasn’t that easy.” George took the glass back.
Lockwood sighed and burrowed back into the blankets.
George turned to Lucy. “Really Lucy, I need to thank you again. Without you, he’s even more insufferable.”
Despite the rather insulting statement, it lacked a bite to it. It was a notable trait of George that Lucy had quickly picked up on. He rarely intended to be hurtful beneath that satirical disposition he often displayed.
Lucy responded to George with a quirk of her lips. She didn’t have much to contribute to that comment and she honestly just lacked the energy to do so.
Her eyes wandered back to the grandfather clock across the room. Had that much time already passed? No wonder her eyelids were growing heavy; they’ve been at it for more than an hour.
“It’s about time.”
Lucy’s eyes shot open. Was she just dozing off? She whipped her head towards George as she tried to regain her alertness.
George simply pointed a finger to Lucy’s left with an amused expression. Lucy turned to face the direction George had pointed to and felt herself instantly relax.
Bundled up in various knitted blankets was Lockwood who was completely flaked out. His lips were slightly parted, letting out small puffs of air as he breathed out. Despite his feverish complexion, he almost looked peaceful.
“If someone who didn’t know him saw him like this, they wouldn’t believe me if I said he’s a real pain in the arse,” George articulated from his spot on the adjacent sofa. He too had a blanket wrapped around him.
“You two are close,” Lucy found herself voicing out loud. It sounded more like a statement, like she was confident what she said was true.
George merely hummed. “Well, someone has to look out for him.” He adjusted his glasses and smiled at her. “However, it looks like I’ve got some help now.”
Lucy’s attention went back to Lockwood who was still sleeping soundly. A warm feeling filled her chest.
“We’re glad you’re here Lucy.”
Lucy looked back up at George and smiled back at him.
She was glad too.