the bones of our past - Lockwood x Lucy

( )

A/N: Final chapter </3

----------------------------

Even in the direct aftermath of the Battle of Wythburn Mill, even whilst Lockwood was drifting in and out of consciousness, there was no thought in his head that didn't belong to Lucy. She was all that he knew in this strange state of mind, where everything seemed too hot, too cold.

He heard shouts all around him, most of them by familiar voices, and saw Lucy smiling down at him on a sunny spring morning. He felt himself being lifted onto something hard, something flashed down upon by red and blue lights, and heard Lucy call him by his first name during their lunch with the Whites.

He saw white above him, felt hands touching his stomach first, then his cheeks, and instantly knew that they weren't the right hands. Not the ones he was yearning for. Not the ones he saw each time he closed his eyes, the ones cradling his face whilst being covered in blood.

A few times, Lockwood felt himself being pulled away somewhere he did not want to go yet. Somewhere dark, somewhere light. Somewhere eternal. But, over and over again, she was right there to pull him back.

So, all things considered, it was no surprise that upon waking up after his surgery, Lucy was the first thing he thought of. And the first name he mumbled, too.

"Not quite, mate," a friendly voice answered him, and although this one distinctly did not belong to Lucy, the familiarity of it still got Lockwood to open his eyes.

He tried to take in the room around him but had to squint his eyes instantly. White bedsheets, white lights, white walls. It was all too bright.

"George," he greeted his best friend after his gaze had found him standing next to his bed.

"Good to see you," George said, and even though Lockwood was still blinded by the light, he could've almost sworn that there were tears in his deputy's eyes.

Tears? Why tears?

His mind, painfully tearing itself free of those lingering visions he'd had in his sleep, grew more and more confused by the second. "Where am I? What happened?" he asked, viewing the room around him with different eyes now, with more focus.

"We're in Newcastle Hospital," George answered him. The hand he laid on Lockwood's shoulder was surely supposed to be calming, but there was something akin to despair in his gaze, and it destroyed any chance it had of dispersing Lockwood's worry. "You were shot, don't you remember? Down in Boone's hidden cellar?"

And, of course, Lockwood did remember. In uneasy flashes, it slowly came back to him now: Their investigation going sideways with all of the teams losing contact. How he had tried to sacrifice himself for Lucy only to find out she was one step ahead of him. Making his way back through the fog to find her down in that basement.

But what had happened after that? He could only remember bits and pieces, and it was not enough.

"Colby shot me," he said, half in answer to George's question, half to voice his own thoughts, to anchor memories feeling more like fever dreams to reality.

But he had fought against Colby. That had really happened. His fingers found the surgical scar on his stomach where he remembered the impact of the bullet.

"Yeah, we figured it must've been him," another voice piped up, and he almost thought it belonged to Lucy. But when he turned, he saw Mary step in through the door. Whereas George obviously tried to hide any strong emotions he felt, Mary's cheeks were tear-stained, and her eyes were glaringly red and swollen. It looked as if she had been crying for hours.