Chapter Text
Lucy had been keeping a close eye on Lockwood for days. Something was off, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Yet. He was quiet. And pale. Big dark circles under his eyes. She knew something was wrong, but he didn’t talk about it. Of course he didn’t.
The pigheaded boy would not confide in anyone unless he was forced to. And she wasn't going to watch that for much longer. She would no longer watch him brooding, shutting himself off from everyone.
When she came down to the kitchen that morning, Lockwood was already sitting at the kitchen table, scribbling away on the thinking cloth.
“Morning…” she mumbled. “Morning Luce”, he mumbled back.
Walking past Lockwood behind his back to put some bread in the toaster, Lucy caught a glimpse over his shoulder of what he was doodling. She couldn't make out exactly what it was supposed to represent, but the way he was drawing was disturbing. The pen in his slender fingers moved quickly and jerkily across the surface. Darkly shaded, billowing shapes seemed to contort into grimaces. Swirling, intertwining lines met and parted again.... A strong uneasiness came over Lucy, she couldn't quite put her finger on why. Plumped down on the chair, Lockwood sat at the table, his long legs stretched out casually. He wasn’t wearing his usual white shirt and black suit, but a jeans, t-shirt and worn hoodie jacket. At first glance, a picture of relaxation, but she could feel the tension in his body.
When the toaster spat out her bread again with a loud clack, she put it on a plate, grabbed butter and jam from the fridge and slid onto the chair opposite Lockwood.
As Lucy slowly spread butter on her toast, she continued to watch him out of the corner of her eye. Finally, she put the knife down on the edge of the plate and looked directly at Lockwood, but he paid no attention to her, kept doodling. The thinking cloth was all dark and wild where he had been sitting for god knows how long.
Okay, enough was enough. "Hey!" she said to get his attention. Not loudly, but firmly, and Lockwood flinched. He seriously flinched because she had spoken to him!
“What’s going on with you?”
He looked up at her. Gave her a small half-smile. “Oh, nothing much. You want a coffee?”
No, what I want is an explanation, she thought, but she didn’t say it. She knew she wouldn't achieve anything if she put too much pressure on him now. Then he would just shut down completely and nothing would be gained.
He averted her eyes again and she said “No, thanks. How are you, Lockwood?”
“Fine.” He didn’t even look at her when he said it. “A little tired I guess.”
Lucy nodded. Yeah, sure. He looked like death warmed up, not “a little tired”.
“Anthony…”
At the mention of his first name, he looked up in surprise and she asked “We are friends, aren’t we? We are family?”
“Absolutely. You know that, Lucy.” He raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“And you know you can trust me. With anything. Don’t you?”
“Yes.” He said quietly and she thought she could see a flicker in his dark eyes.
“So… tell me what’s going on. Please, let me help.” She reached out across the table and lightly touched his hand that was holding the pen and he froze. His fingers twitched as if her touch had given him an electric shock, but he didn’t withdraw his hand.
Lockwood cleared his throat and gave her another insecure smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Unconsciously he brushed his hair out of his face.
“I’m… Thank you for the offer, but I’m fine, really.” She lightly squeezed his fingers and he pulled away from her, dropped the pen on the table, stood up and pushed his chair back with a squeak - all in one fluid movement. As if he couldn't wait to get away from her.
"I have a few things to do, I'll see you later, Lucy." He left the kitchen and she could hear him walking up the stairs outside. Oh no, running - it was more like running.
That wasn't good. Not good at all. She would have to talk it over with George. It couldn't go on like this.