Lockwood and Co Small Fics

Intruders Part 8

Lockwood's POV

I had to move upstairs. I wasn't mad at George, and I definitely didn't blame him for getting sick. It was just making me nauseas, too. I mean this was our best friend we were talking about.

Our best friend that was violently torn from our hands, swept away to a place we had yet to figure out. Her life was on the line, along with my home, my business, and my sanity. The rage that was beginning to boil beneath my skin was nothing I had ever felt before. Not since Jessica at least.

I sat on the edge of my bed, starring at the ground. I was wasting time. Who knows what they could be doing to her right now. 

The thought was enough for me to pull my hands through my hair. I was surprised it wasn't grey already. I avoided looking down at my arm, where her last try at safety screamed failure on my body. 

I had a singular shoe. My only clue.

A solid size ten. Black. Loosely tied. Nike.

Just like every other man's shoe in London. 

I had already searched George's room for the map but found nothing. Maybe she'd been hallucinating. Maybe she was just hoping for anything to work. For anything to give us a hint.

I laid back on the bed.

My mind was running a thousand miles an hour. So many thoughts I had never really looked into were floating to the surface. Lucy Carlyle.

My best friend.

My best operative and colleague.

But that wasn't all that was surfacing. My heart was aching. My chest felt like it was caving in. Was I having a heart attack? Is this what it felt like? 

Last week, her and I had been in the kitchen. It was late at night; we had just gotten home from a case. It had been a nasty beater too. George had gone off to bed, leaving Lucy and I sitting rather close at the table with steaming mugs in our hands.

I remember watching her so intently. I don't know what had come over me that evening, but all I wanted was to sit there with her and listen to everything she had to say. 

"Did you know at one point people didn't believe in Ghost?" Lucy asked that night. Her brown eyes pooled like creamer being added to black coffee, catching a breath of honey lighting from the bulbs in the kitchen.  I was trying to focus on what she was saying, but the curve of her lips drove a stake into my side. How could they form words like that? 

She bit her bottom lip, then clicked her tongue. It was such a small motion, all caught before I could make it to the next blink, but I was going to think about it for the rest of my days.

"People didn't believe in Ghosts? I've never heard of such a thing," I responded quietly. She gave a small chuckle, tucking a strand behind her ear. I caught sight of a small scratch paving its way just an inch over her jawline. Losing every bit of control, I watched my own finger trace the thin red line of her skin.

A sunrise took to her cheeks, and it was then that I remembered where we were, who I was, and what we were supposed to be. I didn't recover though. No, instead I scooted closer, and the two of us talked until the outside matched our skin tones. 

She was giggling. Giggling! Lucy Carlyle, the women in my home who was as serious as they came. The most head strong, committed, and dedicated person I had ever met, giggling. I would've sold everything I owned for just another hour at that table. I hadn't even known that I had the capability of arousing such a sound from her. But it took me to my knees like a whore in church and I was okay with that.

"Oh God, Lockwood," She finally gasped, "Look at the time."

It was almost six a.m. We'd sat there for hours. Our drinks cold and untouched. I laughed. How chaotic it was, for her and I to do that.  Sitting closely for hours laughing and talking like the day was never to end. 

I watched her stumble sleepily up the stairs to her room, admiring the shape of her hips as she stepped. I had almost fell out of the chair after realizing what I'd done, but I was in too good of a mood to harp on my eyes. I didn't leave the table until George shuffled into the kitchen wearing nothing but cherry pie boxers and bunny slippers. 

I didn't have and explanation as to why I was still up, but his eyes hinted that he knew very well why. 

"Lockwood? Lockwood are you in there, are you okay?"

I shot off the bed, coming out of the sweet memory. There was another knock on my door. 

George stood on the outside, a bright glimmer in his eyes for the first time in days. 

"Lockwood, someone's here. They said they know where Lucy is and how we can get her back."

Lucy's POV

"That's pretty shallow of you to sit there and ignore me. I'm stuck here too. At least talk to me so I'm not bored."

I knew what he was doing. The Skull was trying his hardest to get some kind of reaction, any type of emotion, or even movement from me. I hadn't moved from my spot on the cold concrete floor. I wasn't sure I was able to after my head had hit the wall.

My hand slowly raised to the side of my face, where the skin felt scaly compared to the rest. Dried blood rubbed off on my fingertips. I was sure it looked rough. I let my body still again, scared if I moved too much I would black out. 

I wanted to be awake for everything. No matter what it was.

"Lucy, flick me off or something that way I know you're hearing what I'm saying."

I did. He chuckled in a dark ghostly relieved way, then there was silence again. 

I didn't have anything to say. Embarrassment cradled me like an infant. What Jeremy had done, or at least begun to do, had stolen every ounce of dignity I owned. And he knew it. He loved it. And whatever he had planned next was going to be paraded around like a grand trophy.

He didn't want to be embarrassed, and Lockwood had done just that the night of the ball. I shuddered thinking back to then. I would've met this fate regardless it seemed like. Although, I refused to believe that whatever Jeremy had against Lockwood was just about that night. There had to be more. Something deeper.

Or maybe he was just a raging fucking lunatic that's been cooped up in this shack for too long and I was the first one he saw.

Either way, once this was all over, I was going to kindly recommend a psychiatrist. There's plenty of them around. 

Keys jingled, and my heart stopped. Maybe the Skull was right. I should just play dead. They wouldn't really know I was alive. I could slow down my heartbeat. They were idiots anyway.

"Wakey wakey.... stale bread and crackers? That didn't rhyme the way I was hoping for," Jeremy called from the top of the steps. I kept my back turned to the door, whatever he had to offer wasn't going to be good enough for me to accept.

"Wake up my stubborn spitting beauty queen, I have exciting news for you," He sang clattering his way into the cell. He dropped the plate of food next to my face, sending a sharp pain through my head.

His dusty shoes came into view next the plate, and soon after I was looking into his cruel dark eyes. Something was off. There was no smell of alcohol, and the smile on his face looked horrifyingly genuine. 

"Ah there she is. Come on, we have to get you ready. We're going to see Locky and Cubbins tonight."