the bones of our past - Lockwood x Lucy

Lies Told So Freely

A/N: Last warning for everyone that hasn't read the third book yet!! Spoilers ahead!!

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Of course, Lockwood had always had his theories as to what might have happened at Lucy's old job. But he hadn't expected... this. Something like this wasn't supposed to happen to people like her. Not to her, not to Lucy.

It reminded him too much of his own trauma. Of finding his dying sister, unable to help her. He was the only survivor of his family much like Lucy was the only survivor of her old company. Their stories mirrored each other oh so sadistically.

Lucy already knew what had happened to Jessica, of course. Lockwood had told her and George the story back when he showed them her old room on the landing. It was funny, really. He and Lucy had both heard the screams of their loved ones too late.

"Do you not want to say something?" Lucy chuckled nervously, and it tore Lockwood free from his thoughts.

"I'm sorry, about everything, Luce. I'm sorry that this happened to you. And I'm sorry they blamed you. They're incompetent bastards."

She laughed, humourless, and he noticed that she had her arms slung around her waist even though it wasn't cold yet. Not only that, she was shivering.

"You're freezing. Take my coat," he said whilst already shrugging it off. Lockwood laid it carefully around her shoulders, but his hands somehow stayed with her afterwards.

"Thank you," she said, trying to flash him a smile.

He saw it then. This doubt, this fear in her eyes he knew all too well. "It really wasn't your fault, you know," he said with the wish to dispel it. "You couldn't have changed anything."

She laid her hands over his, a welcome, cold touch for his too-warm skin. "It wasn't your fault either. What happened to your sister, I mean."

He broke eye contact and looked down. Sure, he had told George and her about the evening his sister had died. But he hadn't told them everything, not the whole truth. Not the part where her death was his fault. Deep down, he still thought that if he told them every little disgusting bit, they would leave him.

"Hey." Lucy lifted his chin with a finger of hers so that they were eye-to-eye again. "Where did you go?"

Looking into her eyes, at her slight smile, he knew that he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't lose her, not like this. It would kill him.

Something happened then, just as they were getting a bit too close. A branch snapped. A bird took flight. Lockwood took a step back immediately, hand hovering above his rapier. But there wasn't anything or anyone. There were just hollow windows of hollow houses and the setting sun.

Of course, he couldn't lose her or George like this. This feeling wasn't exclusive to Lucy in its gravity, surely.

Lockwood cleared his throat a bit awkwardly, aware of how dangerously close they had just been moments prior. "We should get a move on before the night catches up with us. Is your family's place still far?"

"Umm, no, no, not at all. Just, umm, a few more streets, then we're there."

"Great." But no, in reality, nothing was great for Lockwood. God, he had to get a grip.

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"Mary!" Lucy whisper-shouted now for what felt like the fiftieth time in mere minutes, and Lockwood gave his best to throw the hundredth pebble against her window.