Chapter Text
Lockwood was lucky that they only had to take care of a few Specters in a graveyard. His head, and heart, were not in it. Holly and George were picking up his slack, though, and he thought they understood why. Once Source had tied them all together, a case of three graveyard workers who had been killed in a tragic accident. After sealing the source, an old grave shovel, Lockwood was eager to return to Portland Row. Lucy had been in bad shape when he left, he couldn’t believe that she had been so insistent she was fine. Hopefully, she hadn’t gotten any worse. Lockwood thought about Lucy for the whole taxi ride home. George and Holly tried to involve him in some conversation, but his mind kept wandering back to Lucy, and he couldn’t keep up.
As soon as they walked in the door, Lockwood set his bag down, slid his rapier into the rapier bin, and announced that he was going to go check on Lucy.
“I’ll make her some tea.” Holly responded, giving him a small smile.
“Thanks, Hol.” he said, already walking up the stairs. He knocked on the door, and when there was no response he opened it and made his way up. She was asleep, laying in her bed. The covers had been thrown off, and her face was flushed. Lockwood pulled the chair from her desk, and propped it up at her bedside. He softly pressed a hand against her forehead, and found it to be burning. He heard footsteps on the stairs, then Holly appeared with Lucy’s favorite mug steaming.
“Hey Lockwood, how’s she doing?” she asked.
“Definitely feverish, doesn’t seem like she’s gotten much better. Think I’ll go change then come back up if that’s alright with you.”
“Sure, of course. I’m assuming you know where the medicine is kept? It would be great if you could grab some.” Holly said. Lockwood assured her he would, and then made his way downstairs. Once in his room, he ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. He was justifying his need to be close to Lucy by telling himself he was just concerned about one of his associates. An essential member to his team. And sure, Lucy was both of those things, but she was also so much more. Especially to him. He didn’t want to give it away to George or Holly, though. But he also couldn’t bear the thought of Lucy spending the night alone in that room. He probably wouldn’t be sleeping, anyway. He should be there, to keep an eye on her, to make sure she was okay. With this thought, he changed into comfy clothes and stopped by the kitchen. George looked at him as he entered, nursing a cup of tea that was fogging up his glasses.
“Well,” he looked at Lockwood expectantly. “what’s the diagnosis?”
“Not sure, but it’s pretty bad…” Lockwood responded, running his hand through his hair again. He started prepping a cup of tea, and drummed his fingers on the counter top while he waited; he couldn’t stand still.
“I know… you’re concerned about her. Are you doing okay?” George’s eyes, still slightly fogged, drilled into Lockwood. Sure, he was concerned about her. A totally normal level of concern, thank you very much.
“I’m fine, I just want to make sure she’s okay. It’s my job, as her boss. We might have to call Kipps or borrow Kat Goodwin if she doesn’t heal up soon.”
“If you perform the way you did tonight, we’ll have to hire both of them. You must think me the stupidest person on the Earth. Lockwood, I know how you feel about her.” George took off his glasses, and began rubbing them on his shirt. “You’re not exactly subtle. You were like a ghost when she left, no offense.”
Lockwood’s cheeks had to be scarlet at this point. He felt like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar, it was bold of George to confront him like this. But very George all the same.
“You’re not wrong George. I’m not going to lie to you. I just want to make sure that she’s alright, that nothing bad happens to her.” he admitted, resigned. George patted him on his shoulder, which was about as affectionate as George got. He appreciated it all the same. Lockwood would never admit it, but sometimes opening up to people felt good, like a weight lifted off his shoulders. “I think I’m going to spend the night up there, keeping an eye on her. Just in case.” Lockwood added.
“Whatever helps you feel better, mate.” George cracked open a book, effectively ending their heartfelt conversation. Lockwood finished his tea, grabbed a collection of gossip rags from the library, some medicine from a cabinet, and headed back upstairs. He relieved Holly of her duties, and took up his spot beside her bed. He waited for her to wake up so he could give her some medicine, reading his magazines, and looking up at her every few pages just to make sure she was alright. Eventually, she stirred, pulling an arm over her face and groaning.
“Morning, Luce. How you feeling?” he asked softly, setting down the pages. She blinked a couple times, waking up. She registered his presence, and her eyes widened.
“You’re back,” she responded, voice scratchy. “and I feel like shite.”
“I’m sorry,” he opened the seal on the medicine bottle, and measured out a proper dose. He held it out to her with and expectant gaze. She looked bewildered by the gesture, put took the small cup and swallowed, coughing after. He passed her a cup of water and replaced the medicine cap. Satisfaction filled him, knowing that she was one step closer to feeling better.
“Thank you.” she looked at him, her eyes cloudy, but the sincerity clear in her voice. “I’m going to go back to sleep now, you can leave if you’d like.”
“I’ll stay here, I’d like to make sure you’re alright.” Lockwood regretted it as soon as he said it. The words were true, but it felt too close to revealing his feelings for her. Feelings that went deeper than he cared to admit, even to himself most of the time. He hoped Lucy was too feverish to remember it when she woke up. In response, she smiled sleepily at him, and turned over to face the window. When she smiled at him like that, his whole world lit up.
He kept an eye on her as she slept, finding it harder and harder to focus on his gossip rags. She was mumbling in her sleep too, but he couldn’t make out any of the words. Lockwood felt himself growing tired, as the weight of the day caught up to him. He set down what he was reading, stretching out his legs to get more comfortable. And the he drifted off.
“You’re not real!”
Lockwood jolted awake suddenly, registering where we was. The attic, watching Lucy. Lucy, who had just yelled, and was thrashing violently in her bed.
“You’re not him,” she said quieter. Her brow was knit, and her teeth clenched. Unsure what to do, Lockwood considered his options. She was clearly having a nightmare, and he didn’t want to suffer. So he stood up, gathering his strength, and shook Lucy gently. She didn’t react, so he grabbed her shoulders and shook her. Her eyes flew open, and her mouth gaped. He let go of her, and watched and she blinked into consciousness. At first, she looked confused, and then relieved. Before he could react, she threw out her arms and drew him to her. His brain took a few extra seconds to catch up, registering his body pressing into hers. He was unsure what to do, until he heard soft sounds of sniffling coming from behind him. Lucy was crying. Her nightmare must’ve been horrible. He pulled himself out from her arms, and propped her into a sitting position. Her skin was still flushed and hot, her fever hadn’t broken. Tears streamed down her face as she sat there.
“It’s okay Luce, you’re awake now. Whatever it was, it wasn’t real.” He grasped her hand and spoke softly. She looked at him with big, wide eyes.
“You’re here then? You’re alright?” her voice as she talked. Lockwood was confused, but figured she was just feverish.
“Yes, Luce, I’m here. And I should be making sure you’re alright. You’re sick, Lucy, and you need to rest.” she seemed to accept this answer, nodding her head and swiping errant tears from her eyes. Before Lockwood could think, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. He just wanted to make her feel better, he couldn’t help the way she sank into his hug made him feel. It was everything he’d ever wanted. He held onto her as she calmed down, her breathing slowed and she gripped onto him less tightly. Finally, he let go of her, returning to his chair. Lucy’s hair was mussed from sleep, her eyes red from crying. But she was still breathtaking. It was awkward now, neither of them too sure what to do.
“Thank you.” Lucy spoke finally, “I was having a rather bad nightmare…”
“Of course, Luce. I get them too, you know.” At that, she met his eyes again. She was connecting it to Jessica, to his past. But for some reason, he didn’t really mind her figuring him out.
“Well if they’re anything like mine, I’m sorry.” she continued, eyes drifting to the window.
“How’re you feeling?” Lockwood asked tentatively.
“Hmm? Oh, I’m alright. No need to worry, really.” Lucy continued to gaze out the window. Her tone was dismissive, which contrasted strongly from her behavior only moments before. He supposed he understood, though. She was likely embarrassed about having a nightmare in front of her boss, something completely reasonable. No need to make a fuss about it. And so, against his better judgment, made it way back downstairs.
Mechanically, he went about making himself a cup of tea. Tea could nurse all sorts of pains, from physical ones, to the ones that occur when you hug your colleague and then she dismisses you immediately. All sorts of things. George was sat at the table, doing a spectacular job pretending to be immersed in a book, but was peeking up at Lockwood every couple of seconds. Lockwood doubted that he was making much progress.
“Alright. What is it.” Lockwood announced as he sat across from George with a steaming cup.
“Nothing, mate. You just look… I know something happened.” George responded lightly.
“Mm.” Lockwood grumbled, hunched over his cup.
“Ahh. Got it.” George said, widening his eyes, “Let me know when you figure things out, I guess.”
Lockwood glared at him unceremoniously, beaming lasers into his tea as he willed it to cool down faster so he could escape. Eventually though, he just retreated to the library, his second favorite thinking spot, which was blessedly empty. As he slumped into the chair, he took a moment to admonish the way that he was behaving. It was childish, really, to be so disappointed by such a small thing. But to Lockwood, a rejection from Lucy, no matter how small, was devastating. He would always respect her wishes, of that he had no doubt. That didn’t stop them, however, from causing him immense pain. Lucy had become so incredibly special to him in such a short time, he often didn’t know what to do with himself. Combined with the fact that he was both her employer and her boss, Lockwood found himself exercising immense strain in his interactions with her. The most baffling part was that she seemed to have no idea how he felt about her most of the time, barely batting an eye when he made her tea and toast in the mornings, or gripped her hand tightly during an intense case. And so, he would carry on, just like this. So close, yet so far away from everything he yearned for.