Locklyle Reimagined [A Lockwood and Lucy Fanfic]

Portland Row is My Home (Lockwood)

"Oh, you're with that Lucy Carlyle, the freelancer? Yeah, she's been here a few times. Even going out with one of our employees, have you heard of the late Harold Mailer?" Harold Mailer.

Of course, how can I forget? Interesting, Lucy never mentioned going out with him. What if she's still mourning him? What if she was in love with him? That's not fair! Just because I never said anything, doesn't mean I didn't care. To think that if he's not dead, he would've had her. Fuck. That is totally unfair. I'm the one who's always been there, he doesn't get to steal the show just like that.

"Oh, yeah. Good lot that one," He wasn't. But I knew better. Talking rubbing won't help. And, before I forget, he's the one who got Lucy in danger. Led black marketers to her house, stole her skull, and almost got her killed. If he did love her, I'm not sure. You wouldn't do such a thing to someone you truly love.

"We haven't seen Lucy in a while... have you, though?" Cristine was one of the workers we got closely acquainted with in our trips here at the furnace.

"Oh, she's mine—I mean she works for me," I replied.

"Well, that's lovely. She really can't stand not being with you, can she? That's great." She smiled. "I'll take your forms now, and get ahead and do the works."

"Oh, yes—yes, definitely." I nodded, handing the form out to her, all in a rush. "I'll get going now. It's good seeing you."

I walked out of the furnace. It wasn't a great place, really. I didn't have any reason stay there any longer, and we still had a case to prepare for tonight. Plenty of time to get home.

I took a tour, just for the fun of it. Passing by Lucy's old apartment. Recalling the awkward conversation we had there. I still can't believe Lucy looked after her neighbour's underwear. I doubt it, but that's what she told me. She was a mess back then. Like I was. Her room, all over the place, and I forced myself not to cry at the sight of it. Poor Lucy. And even until today, the thought of what she went through all throughout that winter, still saddens me. I'm glad that I got her home. Got her to safety. That she's still alive after everything that happened, and that I get to see her home.

But it doesn't erase the fact that she hadn't mentioned going out with Harold Mailer. She must've loved him. She must've been scared to tell us that she's fallen in love with someone who got her into so much danger, knowing I would be angry. If there is someone she should love for putting her life in danger, it should be me. I bring the kind of danger she's always down for. The danger she'd be safe to run into. Just reckless enough. But she loved him enough to keep him in secret. The reason why sometimes she'd zone out from reality. The reason she'd go absolutely silent. The reason why she can't sleep. The person she thinks about as she stares at her ceiling at three in the morning.

I made my way back to 35 Portland Row. I found Lucy, sitting on my favorite chair, reading one of the murder mystery books that lay dusted on the library shelf. She looked just like me, sitting the way I did. Slumped sideways, legs draped over one arm of the chair. Mirroring my habits now, are you, Lucy Carlyle? Something was kicking in my gut. An ache ran across my chest. I made an effort to exhale it out.

"Hello," she said. "You've taken longer," It sounded like a statement, that also sounded like a question.

"Hi...yeah, had to blow off some steam," I said. Keeping it as casual as a normal conversation would play out. But this knot in my stomach tightened. Breathing hurts, and I want to snap at Lucy, but I can't. I have no reason to, but I have all the reason to. I don't understand myself.

"Are you okay, Lockwood?" Her eyes were filled with worry. Oh, come on! Why must she give me that? Why does she care for me? She's not supposed to be like that. She's not supposed to notice my distress. Why does she care? God, she's making it worse. "You know you can talk to me."