Chapter Text
Falling.
Everyone says they’ve had that dream at least once, endlessly falling into a dark abyss. Lucy had never experienced it herself, but she came close to living it, once, with the well at Combe Carey Hall. It felt nothing like this, like right now.
Falling, to Lucy, was like hurtling at full speed with no brakes towards a point she desperately, desperately did not want to reach.
Because if every other thing she’d seen when she used the Skull to look in the Bone Glass had been true… What did that mean for Lockwood? Ghost-touched, her mind supplied for her, and she choked back a sob. No. He wasn’t allowed to die. He couldn’t.
She swallowed it down, looking at the mop of dark hair on the pillow next to her. Lockwood was asleep, for once. He’d come in at some point around two in the morning and quietly slipped into the bed next to her, either too tired to talk about it or too wrecked to want to. Lucy understood that, more than she’d ever let on. It had become routine now, and neither of them seemed to want to question it. If she needed him, she’d find him, and vice versa.
She waited for a second, in the dark, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the duvet. Lockwood couldn’t know the full extent of the dreams, the visions, any of it. He’d worry too much, because that’s just who he is. He had enough on his plate already with everything he’d been through — not to mention the ongoing Golden Blade investigation that forced him to constantly think about his parents. She’d tell him, eventually. Lucy promised herself she would.
But not just yet, not while he was still recovering. Not until she’d had a chance to have a proper conversation with him about his recklessness. One that wasn’t rushed because of a life or death situation. Just reckless enough worked, but it wasn’t as reassuring as it could be. Not while the image of him being ghost-touched was still fresh in her mind.
Lucy couldn’t help but let her mind wander back to that night at Winkman’s. The first time, in which Lockwood pleaded — no, begged — for her to be spared, and for them to kill him instead. She hadn’t been conscious for most of the exchange, but the moments she had heard could almost be played on repeat, beat for beat. There was no erasing them from her memory, just like there was no way to get rid of the sound of Paul’s screams at the Mill, or George’s tortured words about being the one who would always be left alone, or… or…
Or the way Lockwood’s voice shook, just a little, when he told her no one would have cared if he was found at the bottom of the thames.
Her heart broke for all of them, in every moment, in every beat. It didn’t matter that she’d tried to close herself off after leaving home, patch up the cracks left behind by her old team. Lockwood and George worked their way into her heart and slotted themselves into the available space until she finally started to heal. They made her feel safe, they made Portland Row feel like home.
She couldn’t lose them.
The dreams had been coming and going in waves, and Lucy wished this was one of the better nights. She always did, but it never changed anything. Sometimes she couldn’t even remember the dreams themselves, just the deep-rooted dread that seemed to suffocate her afterwards. The new normal, now, was to get up and go to Lockwood’s room. Or run into him on the stairs, which was just as likely. Tonight she got lucky; he was already next to her.
But something was different. Something stopped her from reaching for him, from seeking the reassurance she so desperately craved to combat the hollow chill of despair that had her in a chokehold. The usual fear was still there — even awake, the nightmares had an unwavering hold on her for as long as it was dark outside — but there was something else too. It wasn’t ghost-lock, not like when she’d inadvertently let Annabelle Ward into her bedroom. No, it was definitely something of her own doing, which made it that much worse.
Lucy swallowed another sob but it was just getting to be too much.
One of her hands was clamped tightly around the blanket, but the other wasn’t so lucky. She barely noticed as her fingernails bit into the skin, slotting into the familiar indents that this method of coping had left in her palms time and time again. Silent tears shook her body and she squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to get them to subside.
Naturally, she felt Lockwood before she saw him. Felt his hand on hers, gently slipping his fingers between hers so she was gripping onto him instead of herself. Felt his arm come around her from behind, pulling her into him so her head was against his chest. Felt his lips ghost over the top of her head as he whispered quiet reassurances into her hair. Lucy couldn’t hear most of them, couldn’t focus on much of it, but she caught snippets here and there.
I’ve got you.
You’re okay.
I’m here.
You’re safe.
He was trying to console her, and it was helping for the most part — just his presence was enough to steer her away from the edge — but it wasn’t herself she was worried about. Lucy was safe, she knew that, she could feel it in the way his arms held her protectively. Lockwood would never let anything happen to her, and that was what terrified her the most. She was safe. But what if he wasn’t?
She barely realised she’d said some semblance of those words out loud, but the shift in his body language instantly clued her on. He had grown still on the outside, but next to her head his heart seemed as if it was preparing to fight to escape through his chest.
“Lucy.” His voice cracked a little, as if he was fighting tears of his own. “Is that— Is this about me?”
She squeezed his hand, once, hoping that was answer enough. A shaky exhale left his lips in response, fluttering a few wayward strands of her hair. She’d never known him to take so long to collect himself before speaking.
It was worth the wait.
When Lockwood pulled away, his own eyes misted up just a little, Lucy wasn’t sure what to think. Her breath still caught in her throat and she hated that she’d managed to wake him, let alone hurt him—
“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, with as much finality as he seemed capable of mustering. His eyes locked onto hers, driving the message home even further before he rested his forehead against hers. It was almost reminiscent of the auction, but Lucy was trying not to think about anything other than this moment because it seemed to be the only thing tethering her to reality. One of his hands gently came up to cup her face, drawing her attention back to him.
She couldn’t think of a time where anyone had ever held her so tenderly.
His eyes fluttered closed, lips parted ever-so-slightly as he took a shaky breath. “I. Promise.”
And just like that, the dam broke again.
Lucy sobbed until her lungs burned. Until her breaths came out in choked gasps and her eyes were blotchy and raw. Until there was nothing left to give. Through it all, he held her. Lockwood was steady, even though it was clear that her pain was hurting him almost as much as it was her. She could tell by the way a few stray tears landed on their joined hands, from too awkward an angle to have come from her.
It was impossible to tell how much time had passed, but at some point Lockwood had leaned back and eased her with him. Lucy slotted under his arm perfectly, letting him pull her closer with it as she rested her head on his chest. All the while, he kept hold of her hand. The moment could stretch on way past the sunrise and she’d be content with that, but the knot in her chest wasn’t gone just yet.
There was only so long she could shut him out for, and if tonight was anything to go by… It wasn’t doing her any favours. Lockwood hadn’t pushed her to say anything, but she didn’t need to look up at him to see the worry creasing his face. The streetlamp outside her window cast a soft green glow over his features and for a moment she could almost imagine they were somewhere else, somewhere easier and a little less terrifying.
Lucy had no idea where that would be, but it was a nice thought to entertain. Even if it was only briefly.
“One of the…” Her voice was hoarse from disuse, scratchy and dry from all the crying. “When the Skull looked into the mirror…” She trailed off again; how the hell was she supposed to start?
Lockwood squeezed her hand lightly once more in reassurance, and she found herself looking away from him to see if it made the subject any easier to tackle.
It didn’t.
“There have never been that many people who cared about me,” she started quietly, unsure of herself. But where else to work from than the beginning? “Or that I cared about. My dad… He drank himself to death, the bastard. I don’t think my mum ever forgave him for it either. Neither of them cared about me, not unless I could make them money. Not even when I was grieving some of the only friends I’d ever had. I took my first three grades with that team, they felt like family… And then they were gone.
“And then you came along, you and George. And you reminded me what it felt like to have someone watching my back, making sure I got home safe. More than that, you gave me a home. But I’ve never been able to hold on to good things for very long, so I think I started waiting for the other shoe to drop.” She swallowed thickly, trying to keep going. “And then we almost lost George because of Joplin and that bloody Bone Glass, and then we almost lost you because of that tosser who brought a gun to a rapier fight…” Lucy trailed off again, clutching his hand just a little tighter in an attempt to will herself into continuing. “When I saw those visions, I thought they were memories. But they couldn’t have all been memories, because before I passed out I saw something that hasn’t happened yet. That’s one of the things that keeps me up at night.”
“Me?” He asked quietly.
“Ghost-touched,” Lucy filled in the final blanks. “And as far as I know, I can’t do anything about it. It haunts me, Lockwood. It’s not even a far away possibility and that terrifies me. I was scared that telling you… telling you would make it real. Like it would become some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy or something.”
Lockwood let out a slow, unsteady breath. “I’ll be careful, I swear,” he promised again. Lucy wished she could believe him completely. “I will. I’ll even…” He trailed off, making a weak attempt at lightening the mood. “I’ll even look both ways when crossing the street!”
She pulled a face, exasperated. Still, somehow he managed to help the weight lift just a little bit. “If you haven’t already been doing that I’m actually disappointed in you.”
“It adds excitement?” He suggested half-heartedly, and she scoffed in disbelief.
“Yeah, like we need more of that in our lives.”
Somehow, telling him had helped a little. The knot had loosened enough to breathe again, and her smile didn’t need as much effort put into it as before. It all just felt a little bit easier because of it.
“I mean it, Luce,” Lockwood steered the conversation back, his voice low. “I won’t put myself at risk. On purpose, at least. And if I do it accidentally… I trust you to reel me back in before I get too far ahead of myself. Does that work?”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think I already do that. Just make sure you actually listen?”
He chuckled, pressing his lips to the top of her head again. His next words were muffled by her hair, but she understood them all the same. “Yeah, I will.” A beat, and then: “I told you I’m not going anywhere. Now you just have to let me prove it.”
“Okay.” Lucy sighed. “I do believe you, though.” She closed her eyes and stayed leaning against him, reassured by the steady thrum of his heartbeat next to her. Still, sleep didn’t come just yet. “What time is it?”
Lockwood glanced up at the clock. “Just gone five.”
“The sun’ll be up soon,” she noted.
“But we don’t have to be,” he pointed out.
Lucy nestled in closer under his arm. “You’re right,” she hummed. “We don’t have to be.”
He dropped her hand momentarily to rearrange the duvet around them, to pull it back up from where it had slipped partially off the side of the bed at some point earlier. Slowly and methodically, Lockwood tucked the edges around her, and then himself, before using his now free hand to brush a stray piece of hair out of her face. “Goodnight, Lucy,” he whispered, eyes fluttering closed.
If he noticed her leaning into his delicate touch, he didn’t mention it.
“Goodnight, Lockwood.”