Chapter Text
He’d gone back and forth on whether to get her a ring at all, actually. The sapphire necklace already promised forever, true, but seeing as Lucy had insisted on waiting till after her birthday for a proper proposal, Lockwood figured that warranted a separate declaration of devotion. Particularly given his plans for them to wear his parents’ wedding bands, he thought it would be nice to pick out something new for Lucy, something specifically hers. It wouldn’t do to give her the impression all he was good for was sentimental re-gifting, after all.
Besides, an engagement ring would have the bonus effect of advertising loud and clear that Lucy Carlyle was quite taken, thank you very much. Lockwood didn’t much care for the optimistic confidence he’d seen on a few faces this last year after surreptitious left hand checks. Lucy herself rarely seemed to notice, but Lockwood had spent more than one evening out grinding his teeth until he could swoop in with a pointedly placed hand on her forearm or lower back, or pull out her chair or cure her shivers with his suit jacket, or whatever other stereotypical move Lucy would allow that broadcast his intention to make her Lucy Lockwood the moment there was any hope of her saying yes.
Lucy’s eighteenth birthday had come and gone. In the following weeks, periodically she squinted at him, trying to divine his plans, but now, it seems she’s given up. Oh, he’d considered - heavily - dropping to one knee as the clock struck midnight. But that wouldn’t have been much of a surprise, would it? That, and Lucy had spent the first few hours of her eighteenth year in a derelict grocery store, lobbing salt bombs and hollering at him, Kipps, and George to duck as they all dodged tins and tangerines flung their way by a peeved Poltergeist. If he’s managed to wait this long, he keeps reminding himself, he can be patient for the perfect moment.
That said, if the perfect moment doesn’t present itself soon, there’s every chance he may prove Kipps right and actually start biting people.
It’s in that spirit that he takes a detour, having told the others he was headed to Mullet’s to check out their latest stock of rapiers. He probably will, still, before he heads home. They don’t really need anything new, though he’s been thinking a different weighting might be more comfortable for Holly, the nights she’s out in the field with Lockwood & Co. and not up in the ambulance rota, plus George lost another spare on a case last week. There’s a nice Italian piece he’s been eyeing for Lucy, too, but that will have to wait for Christmas if he’s to have any hope of a balanced budget in the coming months.
He turns down a side street, burrowing deeper into his coat against the wind, until he finds the jeweler Jessica once pointed out to him as they passed.
“I’m pretty sure that one was Dad’s favorite,” she said. “He took me with him, a few times. I think he was trying to pick out something special for their anniversary.” Her gloved hand squeezed his tighter as he attempted to run ahead. “It would have been fifteen years - that one’s crystal, isn’t it?”
Not that her little brother was any help. Jess glanced down at him, grinned at his impatience, and let go to race him to the end of the street.
Gloves would’ve been a good idea today, come to think of it. The chill is sharper than he expected when he left the house. He shoves his hands into his pockets to keep warm, then smiles when he realizes his spare gloves are balled up in there. That would be Lucy, looking out for him when he forgets to do it himself.
It’s exactly the push he needs to cross the street and enter the shop. The bells jingle, and the shopkeeper glances up from where he’s helping another customer. Lockwood experiences a pang, noticing the man is on the younger side, maybe in his thirties at most, and therefore unlikely to be the same owner who’d helped his father pick out the perfect anniversary present over a decade prior. The shop isn’t large, and when Lockwood makes his way to the ring display, he catches the shopkeeper’s raised eyebrows before he politely muffles his surprise. The rapier at his belt probably helps Lockwood’s case: while perhaps not exactly common, agents are known to marry younger than the norm, after half a lifetime confronted with constant reminders that life is fleeting.
After the other customer departs with a jaunty whistle, the shopkeeper approaches and asks Lockwood if he could use any assistance. His brows lift again when Lockwood asks if there are any gold rings for him to look at.
“Surely silver would be more customary, no?”
“Our wedding bands will be silver,” Lockwood confirms, with a glance down at where his father’s ring still sits on his right hand. He’ll have to get his mother’s resized, but that’ll probably be easier when he can bring Lucy along.
“Ah, so to match, yes? Not to mention the peace of mind in knowing you’re giving her a last line of defense.”
Lockwood has a flash of Lucy winding a silver chain around her fist, dancing across an attic to rescue George while he himself stuck to more traditional weapons. The memory of her creative efficiency brings a smile to his face, but he’s already shaking his head. “Gold is best, I think.”
Thinking of the silver necklace only makes him more certain, held up against the golden one he’d given her as an assurance of what he’s offering more traditionally now. Gold used to be the standard for this sort of thing, until the Problem. Of course there’s a part of him that likes the idea of one more way to keep Lucy safe; but isn’t it more important to give her something beautiful for its own sake, a simple future that isn’t only about slaying monsters and saving the world, but a simple peace side-by-side?
As he holds up ring after ring for inspection, Lockwood’s mind drifts to the first ring he saw in Lucy’s hand. A chill still grips him at the memory of calling her name and getting no response, until he surrendered and addressed his plea to a murdered woman. He thinks of Annabel Ward’s Source, surely once as new and shining with promise as the ones he’s examining for Lucy now; by the time Lucy pinched it off her decaying corpse, it was tarnished, a gem or two rattling loose in its setting, the supposed eternity of the silver circle dented. It says enough, Lockwood thinks, about dashed dreams and a story that started out like love and came crashing down as something else entirely. It’s hard to imagine anything further from the carefully cherished necklace he’d passed along to Lucy as a blueprint, his heart and vow. He recalls the Scripture quoted last time he hovered in the back row at St. James’ - a somewhat increased occurrence, no particular reason, in the last year - and how it had struck him as a sign: I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine. It’s as much pledge as claim, to put this ring on Lucy’s finger, a blending of selves. Which is why he’s determined it has to be perfect.
In the end, he does find the perfect ring: a thin gold band with a cluster of three similarly-sized stones, two smaller sapphires flanking a slightly larger diamond. It ties together the necklace and his parents’ rings nicely, Lockwood thinks, with a glance down at the blue in silver on his own hand; and more importantly, it practically shouts Lucy’s name. Or maybe that’s his own heart, beating so loudly it’s a wonder he hears and manages a reply to the jeweler’s well-wishes on his way out.
He can’t even bring himself to let go of the little box long enough to tuck it in his pocket for the walk to Mullet’s. In spite of the familiar destination, he takes no fewer than four wrong turns, mind too busy with plotting how he can ask Lucy the question that’s spent all this time nearly bursting out of him.