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lewkwoodnco · 1 month

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and I hope it gets to you on some Pacific wind - Lockwood x Reader

will you love me like you loved me in the January rain? will you love me like you loved me and I'll never ask for more.

and I never minded being on my own, then something broke in me and I wanted to go home to be where you are but even closer to you, you seem so very far and now I'm reaching out with every note I sing and I hope it gets to you on some Pacific wind wraps itself around you and whispers in your ear tells you that I miss you and I wish that you were here

I didn't choose this town. I dream of getting out. There's just one who could make me stay...all my days.

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST part 1: I Can See You

a/n: WOOOO almost a month since my last fic (tl;dr got terribly sick, got my a level results, scholarship apps, trying to decide what I wanted to do with my life until I remembered, oh, right, I hate doing that, so now its back to fic writing) anywaysss watched miss peregrines home for peculiar children while i was sick and omg. the end credits song??? deCEASED. anyways heres a fic inspired by that song which you should definitely listen to and i definitely wont cry if you dont cbnjvfkjva bye going to get chocolate cakee

warnings/tropes: reader (unexpectedly) missing lockwood desperately after moving away, pining for someone w every fiber of your being, handling grief (NO major character death tho), angst, no happy ending :/// but some snippets of humour!

word count: 6.3k! (my longest fic yet!)

"You won't believe what they're doing at Fittes."

She slid into a seat at Portland Row's kitchen table, oblivious to the fact that she had just stolen George's seat. George glared at Lockwood for a minute, who looked appropriately sympathetic yet slightly distracted, before picking another seat.

"Hi Y/N, how nice to see you. Again. For the third time this week. Please, make yourself at home."

"Oh, Georgie, you're so sweet." She was too distraught to pick up on George's sarcastic tone or his eye roll, though Lockwood spared him an apologetic glance. She slammed a letter onto the table, upsetting the salt and pepper shakers, which Lockwood started curiously scanning. "Unlike my daft supervisors."

There was always a flurry of activity whenever she visited Portland Row. She somehow always had so much to say, and she had to say it within the first five minutes of her being there. That usually meant Portland Row's own activities would come to a brief halt, but her news was more often than not too entertaining to incite many grievances from the inhabitants.

After their joint case involving Winkman, Lucy and George had felt the air shift between them, in a way they couldn't quite put their finger on. Something had obviously happened, especially since she had started stopping by Portland Row. They'd exchange a few obligatory insults, share the highlights of their week, and somehow not bite each other's faces off. Over time, the insults faded into the background, but they still threw in the occasional jab when things started seeming too friendly. Why they were still pretending to get into tiffs when Lockwood had slipped her a spare key was completely lost on George and Lucy.

One unfortunate consequence was they became stuck in this weird limbo. Neither friends nor enemies, but something more rather than in between. And yet, some part of them always hesitated, and so they remained as the two singular, lonely entities they had always been. That wasn't to say they didn't have it in their hearts to feel appropriately outraged for the other when the circumstances called for it.

"Layoffs?”

"Layoffs!"

"What the hell are they laying you off for?"

"Exactly! Never mind that my team has the lowest mortality rate, or that we've never caused destruction worth any more than 500 pounds - no offence, Lockwood."

"Er, yes. At least they're giving you a decent severance package."

Apparently, that wasn't the right thing to say, and this time the egg cups went down as well.

"Overrated ass agency with fuck ass headquarters in the middle of London that I never wanted to spend the rest of my career at anyway, fuck Fittes bitch fucking Rotwell's wannabe-“

"What about Kipps?"

Her face twisted and the others braced for impact a third time. "If they don't put his head on the chopping block, I will-"

After a few cups of tea and a few more rounds of nonsensically excessive swearing, she had finally gotten her disappointment under control.

"Maybe a little rapier practice will take your mind off things?"

She pulled a face. "But my shoulder's so tired."

"Your shoulder's been tired for three weeks now. If your break goes on any longer you'll forget everything I've taught you about grips."

"Aw. Oh no."

"Yes, yes, you're very funny."

"What a tragedy."

"You could at least try to pretend like you care."

"I care! I so care. Of course I care. I've got the hottest instructor this side of the Thames."

"Only on this side of the Thames?"

"Yeah, 'cause he's also a dork ass loser who wears confetti-coloured socks."

Still, she joined him in the basement for a little bit of practice, just to refresh her memory. After that, they tried to venture into some basic lunges, which was where things started going downhill again.

"It's no use." She drove her rapier into the stand and started pulling her wrist brace off, despite Lockwood's deflating encouragement. She sat propped up against the wall, frustratedly combing through her sticky hair. "I'm hopeless at this. Maybe Fittes did know what they were doing when they laid me off."

Lockwood sighed. He put away his own rapier and joined her on the floor. "You're not the only employee they've dismissed. You just got...unlucky."

"Now I feel worse."

"My point is, things will start looking up once you move on." He fiddled with her wrist brace. hesitating. "You do know what to do next, don't you?"

She sighed. "I'll start sending out applications tomorrow. There's this agency in Canterbury I've worked with before. Maybe they'll consider having me full-time."

If she notices Lockwood being mildly taken aback, she doesn't remark on it. He manages some strangled response of approval, and their rapier practice session ends there. It's too late for her to return home by then, so they wash up and get ready for bed. It's clear the day has taken a sizeable chunk out of her when she almost immediately falls half-asleep. Lockwood worries over their conversation in the basement. He glances at her relaxed face. Yeah, she was probably still awake.

"Y/N. Y/N."

"Mm."

"You awake?"

"Mhm."

"I just wanted to tell you that...I was perfectly serious that time. When I said you could come work for me. In case you were wondering. Y/N?"

She doesn't respond, and after a few minutes, her breathing evens out again. He isn't sure if she's heard her, and is even less sure why she's doing everything in her power to stay away from Lockwood & Co.

One cold, January morning, she had been at the Archives with Lockwood & Co. where they were doing some research on their latest joint case. By the time that January morning had turned into a chilly January afternoon, George was telling Lockwood off for leaving one of the maps behind at Portland Row. Naturally, Lockwood was sent to fetch the missing materials, who, not-so-naturally, enlisted her help.

As reluctant as she may have appeared to join Lockwood on this errand, she rested her buzzing head against the soothing, cold glass of the cab gratefully. She had been a little distracted all morning; working at a slower pace, fiddling with the large volumes disinterestedly, staring off into space. She was simultaneously irritated and relieved that Lockwood had noticed. She stared out at the foggy streets of London with her own foggy eyes, trying to make sense of the day.

She had decided to wait on their front porch while Lockwood nipped in to get the papers. While waiting, a sharp rap on their tin awning startled her. Peering up at the sky, she watched the first raindrops of that January shower land in Portland Row's garden. Soon enough, it started to pour generously. The delicate, almost curious winter daffodils drooped their heads under the violent force that was the rain coming down in sheets. In the grey of the clouds and the streets, their yellow petals made her dream of something half-happy.

Tentatively, she walked down the path and stepped into the garden. And then another step. And then another. She was frolicking in the rain for the first time in her life, and there was no one around to stop her.

She felt the rain pause, and turned to see Lockwood holding an umbrella over the two of them. She wrapped her fingers around his on the handle and, with a bit of difficulty, closed the umbrella over their heads. It was only a matter of seconds before the heavy raindrops started weighing his coat down and flattening his otherwise perfectly coiffed hair. She watched the hues of curiosity and amusement shift in his eyes, all of them tinged with the mauve of love. She watched him love her wholly, unabashedly, asking for nothing.

She felt sorry for ruining Lockwood's nice clothes only for a moment, before throwing her arms around his neck, clutching him a little stronger than what was strictly necessary. Papers forgotten, rain soaken, daffodils smitten…she never wanted it to end.

And that was when her life started to fall apart. Being laid off by Fittes had drastically changed their dynamic, and hardly for the better. It was no longer banter from one agent to another - it was one agent and the bad habit he had picked up over the months, one he didn't seem too keen on kicking anytime soon. She didn't ask to stay, and he didn't ask her to leave. And so she spent the rest of her days of unemployment at Portland Row, helping out however she could, filling out and mailing her applications.

Which brought her to her next problem - letters of recommendation.

She was sitting at the kitchen table, reading through the advertisements in the newspaper while nervously shredding its bottom corner. She didn't even look up when Lockwood placed her mug of tea in front of her. He shifted it right on top of the ad she was picking apart.

"Oh. Thanks."

"How's the job search going?"

"Not good." She sighed. "A lot of them require a letter of recommendation."

He slid into the seat next to hers, resting his chin on the back of the chair. "I'll write you a letter of recommendation."

"From my previous employer."

"So? Go over to Fittes and ask for one."

"I don't know," she said, disintegrating the final scraps of newspaper. "Seems a little awkward to go back there after they laid me off."

Lockwood took a look at his watch. "I've got a client meeting at 2, so we should leave after breakfast."

He was already climbing out of his chair and talking to George about the stove misbehaving again by the time her brain caught up. "Hang on, we?"

Lockwood seemed to very conveniently not hear her. "Y/N, if you're not going to drink your tea, we should leave now."

She crammed the last of her toast into her mouth while shrugging her coat on, and joined him outside where he was counting out some coins in his hand.

"Should be just enough for the two of us."

"Just enough for what?"

"The bus. Lovely day, isn't it?"

The trip to Fittes was one of the worst she'd had in her life. She almost felt ashamed for getting laid off and was driving herself crazy obsessing over it. Halfway through she felt a warmth settle over her hand, and glanced down to see Lockwood's palm covering her own. He was looking out the window as if nothing had even happened, and she was looking at him. She couldn't quite tear her eyes away from the sight.

When they reached, she went up to the customer service counter while Lockwood hung back. He looked around the first-floor lobby languidly, watching everyone hurry about their da- hang on, was that Barnes coming out of a conference room?

Lockwood smiled at him while Barnes averted his gaze and started walking out a little faster. Yes, that was most definitely Barnes. He started walking towards him and was just about to call out when he was interrupted by a slightly heated voice coming from the customer service counter.

"What do you mean you don't offer letters of recommendation?!"

A few days after they were almost-but-not-really kicked out of the Fittes headquarters, she and Lockwood were in the library reshelving some books a little before lunchtime. George and Lucy were in the kitchen, so for a while all that could be heard was the smooth sounds of books being pulled off and being put onto the shelves. Lockwood glanced at her and cleared his throat, forcefully injecting a certain nonchalance into his voice.

"I was talking to Barnes the other day."

"Hmm?"

"I think I managed to convince him that we're a big enough agency now to need health insurance."

"Health insurance? Well, don't tell George, or he'll fling himself off the roof at the first chance."

Lockwood stifled a laugh, turning it into a cough though his voice was still comically strained. "Don't go giving him any ideas, now."

They continued rearranging the books in silence until he steeled himself enough to pick up the conversation again.

"So, what I wanted to say was...if you wanted to join Lockwood & Co... you wouldn't have to worry about your mother. Not anymore."

She paused her shelving and frowned at him. "Why do you want me to join Lockwood & Co. so badly?"

"I think you'd be...a valuable member of our team."

So close, yet so far from the few words she wanted to hear. Please join us, Y/N. Forget about all these other agencies. I'd miss you more than I could bear if you left. Go on. Say it.

"Is that all?"

"I...I suppose."

She turned back to their task, disappointed. "I've been wanting to leave London for a while now. To get out, explore...see what's out there."

He stilled for a moment, before bowing his head regretfully. "I see."

Ask me to stay. Please.

They were sitting cross-legged in the garden on Lockwood's coat, the winter daffodils now resting their tired heads on their knees. She squinted up at the sky, now that the rain had come down to a light drizzle.

"My mum never let me go out in the rain." She smiled bitterly at him. "The rest of my friends would go out into the street in their...raincoats...wellingtons...and I'd watch them from the kitchen window. She always said I'd fall sick. And I'd always think...how terrible would it really be if I did?"

She stared at the ground and tried very hard not to cry. "I was a kid. I just...I just wanted a bit of fun." She pressed a shaky hand to her eyes, then dragged it up to her forehead. "And now, all I want..."

The silence filled in for the words she didn't say.

"I never thought I'd miss that."

She glanced at his face anxiously, trying to gauge his reaction. In a way, she mused, Lockwood, and whatever this was, was not all that dissimilar from the rain. It was some wish for a sickness for a fleeting moment of peace. A fleeting moment of being wanted.

He blinked away the raindrops weighing on his eyelashes. "You won't have to. She'll be alright."

"How do you know?"

He stared at a limp daffodil, whose head was being cradled by the bend of his knee, and sighed. "I don't. But some things you just have to...believe."

"I'm sick of believing."

"Then I'll believe for you."

She never knew what it was like to have someone hold onto faith when she couldn't. To have someone hold her up when her knees were buckling under her, to do what she wasn't strong enough to do herself. She cleared her throat, suddenly embarrassed.

"You don't have to do that."

"Someone's got to do it. I'll do it for you."

It was around this point that Lockwood suddenly started getting a lot busier. He somehow never had the time to stay in the same room as her for longer than a minute, and any short passing conversations they shared felt stunted. Other than a cursory smile when they passed each other in the hallways, Lockwood seemed further to her than ever, with his cool demeanour that was somehow forever occupied with matters greater and more important than her.

After a few days of struggling with her applications on her own, Lucy suggested that she pay a visit to DEPRAC for a letter of recommendation. Thankfully, her request for the letter was successful, but her joy was short-lived, barely lasting the bus ride home.

She watched the hopelessly in love couples on the bus whisper to each other, hold hands or even just enjoy each other's company in silence. There was a guy with his hair styled in an unnervingly familiar way. It triggered a sick image of Lockwood sitting on this very bus, next to a girl with lazily attractive eyes and hair prettier than hers could ever be. It made her feel nauseous.

When she returned to Portland Row, she walked around the seemingly empty house, perplexed, until she finally found the three of them pouring over a large book in the library. Lockwood was fiddling with the shirt sleeves folded at his elbows and was the first to glance up as she gently pushed the door open.

"Hey," she smiled at them faintly, avoiding Lockwood's gaze, trying to keep the worry gnawing at her synapses at bay. She stepped inside,

leaning over the huge book, tracing the letters with her eyes interestedly.

"Is that the -"

Lockwood slammed the book shut, cutting her off and sending Lucy into a coughing fit over the dust it released.

"Y/N! Find your way to DEPRAC alright?"

It was a heavy book, she kept repeating to herself, of course it was going to take quite an effort to close it. However, from the way his forearms flexed aggressively as he stuffed the book back into its cloth cover, she wasn't entirely convinced.

"...yes. I took the bus."

"Lovely weather we're having, isn't it?" The three of them exchanged a look while Lockwood firmly tucked the book in. The grey skies peeking through the curtains looked hardly lovely. George finally caved, glaring at Lockwood.

"We were just finalising our plan for next week's case."

"I used to draw up mission plans for my team at Fittes. Maybe I could -"

"I think we're fine." Lockwood crossed his arms, his expression unnaturally surly and his jaw set in a way that gave her a sinking feeling. George threw the book at him, who only barely managed to catch it at the last second.

"Told you we should have waited for her."

Unfortunately, matters refused to ease up over the next week. And so she somehow learned to live without him. One morning, she decided to get an early start to the day since she was going to be accompanying Lucy to the DEPRAC headquarters to submit some company paperwork. She paused at the foot of the stairs when she heard a bit of a ruckus in the kitchen, followed by some soft swearing. She crept towards the kitchen to see Lockwood scrambling to gather up an upturned first aid kit while a dark red patch swelled on his socks, still in the same attire as when he left for a solo case the previous evening.

He looked at her furiously, trying to hide his injured ankle behind the kitchen table. He seemed to become further incensed by her helping to set the first aid kit right. "Leave it. I can do it on my own."

"I'm only trying to help! Don't look at me like that, you got yourself hurt in the first place."

He spoke emphatically through gritted teeth. "I don't need your help."

"Lockwood, your sock is nearly soaked through with blood. So shut up."

Maybe the blood loss was starting to catch up to him, but for once, Lockwood did as he was told. He certainly wasn't happy about it, but he allowed her to peel back his sock and wince at the sight of the wound. As she cleaned and dressed the injury, she couldn't help but be reminded of old times when they would snap at each other, her more than him, whenever they were within ten feet of the other. It was almost nostalgic but slightly worrying to be back to square one.

When he could hold himself back no longer, he pried the bandage roll out of her hands with an unexpected gentleness, shakily winding it messily around his ankle. When he was done, she put it away with the first aid kit, and when she returned, his nose was buried in the day's paper, once again as distant as an island.

Soon after that, George and Lucy joined them for breakfast, and George almost immediately picked up on

"Lucy, George won't leave me alone!"

"Lockwood's a pent-up git that never says what he feels!"

Lucy gave them a sidelong glance. "...right. Y/N, ready to -?"

Eyes watering, she chugged the last of her tea and clambered out of her chair, but Lockwood beat her to it. He folded the newspaper sharply, and straightened from his seat, albeit a tad unsteadily.

"No need. I'll come with you, Luce." She and Lucy exchanged a glance, and she slowly sunk back down into her seat. Lucy took in the ectoplasm on his trainers, his slightly charred shirt and the purple under his eyes.

"Are you sure? You look a little...tired."

"I've been out all night. One more trip isn't going to kill me." He patted Lucy firmly on the shoulder, his grip looking a little painful as he swayed imperceptibly, voice trailing off as he started shuffling towards the door.

His limp was unmistakable now, but the three of them knew better than to question him when he was in a mood like this, with his uneven voice and rough words dangerously close to becoming slurred. "Come now," he was saying, "let's not bother Y/N with Lockwood & Co. matters." His shifty eyes finally settled on her for the first time that morning, but she didn't like the brooding spite behind them. "Not when she has all these important applications to fill out."

The silence that followed prickled uncomfortably. Lucy scoffed and stepped out, Lockwood following her determinedly. There was some muffled argument in the hallway, then the sound of the front door opening and closing, and then silence once more. She stared at the dregs of her tea stonily, hating the way her face burned with shame. When she finally looked up, George had left, but there was a sympathy jammy dodger within reach.

It was getting dangerously close to half an hour in the rain, yet still the heavens beat down on them ruthlessly. They had retired to the front steps just outside the awning, now almost completely drenched. She shuffled her feet nervously, trying to scrounge up some warmth, while the rain flowed down Lockwood's nose freely. He was staring at the rich dark earth at his feet, like he had forgotten where he was, his coat long forgotten. She stood up and jabbed him between the shoulder blades sharply, making him snap his head up.

"It's getting cold. I'm going inside." Lockwood blinked, raindrops decorating an eyelash or two, and nodded after a moment. She sighed impatiently.

"Don't you want to come inside too?"

"...I'm not cold."

"No, but you'll fall sick if you stay out any longer."

He rubbed his face wearily, his back muscles shifting mechanically under his translucent shirt. "I'll be alright."

She bristled instinctively. The raindrops somehow got even louder as they pelted the tin awning. "I'm serious, Lockwood."

"So am I."

"Then come inside before you catch something awful."

"I'll come inside when I want to."

The torrential downpour continued unabated, viciously attacking their home's exterior. The rapping of the raindrops against the tin rung in her ears like anger.

"Why must you be so stubborn?"

He finally looked up to meet her eyes, his own filled with a despair she had rarely seen. "I want to be alone."

It was the night of the big case that Lockwood & Co. had been preparing for for a week now, but two of its three members had come down with the most awful stomach bug she had seen. Apparently, there was something off with Arif's doughnuts that day, and now Lucy and George were down with food poisoning. She was in her room, listening to Lockwood wear down the floorboards outside her room with all his pacing. Finally, he stopped in front of her door, and after a moment, gave a short knock.

"Come in."

He opened the door to reveal a fully decked-out Lockwood extensively decorated with flares and lavender. She raised her eyebrows.

"Wow. That is...wow."

"George and Lucy are down with food poisoning," he began impatiently, "and I could really use an extra pair of eyes." He softened his stance at the critical look in her eye, taking on a more apologetic demeanour. "...please."

"But I don't even know how to use a rapier."

"Not much room for one, anyway. It's a two-room cottage."

She toyed with the idea of saying no. The idea of watching the hope in his eyes flicker out, of watching him go do the job...alone...without anyone's help...without anyone to help him if he got injured, or worse-

"Fine. I'll meet you downstairs in two minutes."

The cab was waiting for them by the time she was hurrying down the stairs, and she flipped through the summarised research report on the way there. She winced at the circled deduction that the Visitor was likely a Fetch, which Lockwood picked up on.

"Is something wrong?"

"...no." With some difficulty, she tore her eyes away from the report and closed the file. In all her years of experience, Fetches were the one Visitor that she still struggled with. It didn't help that her encounters with them had been few and far between. She glanced at Lockwood, who was staring out the window coolly as if barely nonplussed by the anticipation of coming face-to-face with one of the most dangerous Visitor types.

The taxi driver was quite a bit intimidated by Lockwood's superfluous attire, and so refused to go any further than the foot of the hill at the top of which the cottage was located. As they lugged their equipment up the hill, she felt her frustration towards Lockwood swell and swell until it finally reached a breaking point. She dropped the duffel bag she was carrying with a clatter, making Lockwood stop and turn around to face her.

"What's wrong?"

"Why have you been so off lately?"

His features hardened and his jaw set like it had so many times before. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing. Obviously."

He stared at her hard, before dropping his own duffel bag. The tension over the past two weeks had clearly come to a head and it was happening right there on the hill in near-darkness. "I thought we were a team."

"We are."

"Well, it sure as hell doesn't feel like it."

"I just want to be independent."

"No, you don’t. You want to be alone."

“That's not true!” She hesitated. "That's not fair." At that moment, she felt so terribly small and insignificant, in a way she hadn't felt since having a particularly cruel supervisor in her first year of being an agent. Her eyes prickled unpleasantly, and she was suddenly engulfed with memories about that January shower. Oh, no, she thought. He was never going to hold her like that again.

She shook her head as if trying to shake some sense into herself. "I don't...I don't want to be a burden. I can do this on my own."

"You want to do this on your own."

"How could you possibly think that?"

“All I see is someone too scared to stick their neck out for something real for once in their life."

“What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't think you know what you're running from!"

She looked around in despair as if searching for some way to make him understand. "I'm not running from anything."

He stepped closer to her, and it was all she could manage to not burst into tears with his face twisted something ugly with hurt.

"You're running from me."

I'm not, she wants to say, but the words get caught in her throat. The silence rings out harshly between the two of them until Lockwood picks up his bag and resumes the trek uphill. After a moment or two, she follows him.

When they reach inside, they go through the motions of setting up their chains and investigating the areas of the Visitor's appearance, the way they've done hundreds of times before. Eventually, they split up and pace their corresponding rooms, the malaise growing stronger in the air by the minute.

After an hour or so, she felt it. A prickling in the hairs at the back of her neck. Waves of nausea washed over her and she felt paralysed by fear. She knew that when she turned, she'd be faced with something too terrible to comprehend. But she's too weak to brave seeing something so terrible, and so she doesn't turn. At that moment, she unravelled, and covered her eyes with her hands like a child, gasping with sobs that she struggled to suppress.

Suddenly, the cold breathing down her neck was replaced by intense heat as the hiss of a flare eating through a Visitor filled her ears. She felt rough hands desperately clutching her wrists and peeked through her fingers to meet Lockwood's panic-stricken gaze. Panic-stricken over her. His eyes shifted to the Visitor behind her and lobbed another flare at it in the nick of time.

She started creeping along the walls, running her hands over every nook and cranny until she came across a picture frame radiating strong feelings of anxiety. She scrambled for the iron still folded in her pocket and threw it over the frame. The Visitor instantly evaporated, leaving Lockwood staring at the corner it had just been occupying with a haunted look in his eyes. When he had regained proper control of his senses, he turned to her.

"I didn't know-"

"I thought I'd be able to manage it, okay?" She avoided his gaze. "I'm sorry. Can we just go h- go back now?"

The ride back was somehow even quieter than the ride there, both of them burdened by thoughts that would clearly never see the light of day. He paused at the hat stand near the front door while she shrugged her coat off.

"Y/N-"

"I think I'll go to bed now. Goodnight, Lockwood."

She cut past him brusquely, heading straight for her room, though it would be many hours before the buzzing in her head quieted enough for her to fall asleep. As she got undressed, her mind drifted back to when Lockwood was standing right in front of her, holding her wrists with a long-forgotten gentleness, and the close shave with the Fetch. Too close of a shave. Tonight could never happen again. She had to make sure of it.

Over the next few days, their relationship returned to being suspiciously amicable. Perhaps it wasn't as glaringly obvious to the others with the distraction of their stomach bug, but George's squint at her when she handed him a glass of water was enough to see that he was onto them.

She had been in the basement polishing their iron chains when Lockwood knocked on the door. She put the chains down for a moment as he pulled out a minimalistic envelope.

"This just came for you in the mail."

It had the address of one of the agencies she had applied to written on it. She nervously ripped it open and started scanning the contents before she remembered where she was. She looked at Lockwood, who had a cool expression of polite curiosity.

"So? Did you get it?"

"They want me to start next week." Lockwood's lips curved into a half-smile, and it was the first smile he'd given her in weeks that reached his eyes.

"That's...that's amazing. You deserve it. That is, if you're going to accept it."

"It's a rather decent offer. Think it would be quite a shame to pass it up. Don't you?"

He gave a slight pause. "Of course. Yes."

"...but?"

He shook his head and gave a short laugh. "It's...it's silly." He was staring at a patch of grease on the floor which he was very focused on rubbing out with his shoe. "I've known you for...for as long as Lockwood & Co.'s been around." He looked up from the floor to meet her gaze, his eyes open and honest.

"I don't know if I can do this without you."

She looks into his flighty brown eyes and drinks in as much as she can of him. Next week, she'll be in a different town, at a new job, meeting new people until he becomes just a distant memory, some dream she had once upon a time, and she'd be freed from her shackles of longing. But now, in his eyes she sees the two of them spinning round and round, forever together in a January shower in some universe.

"I should start packing."

Her goodbyes were fairly uneventful. They exchanged promises to write, to keep in touch. Lucy and George waved her off from their front door. Lockwood didn't come down from his room. Now she was in her new home, miles away from any feelings that may have tethered her from Portland Row, and all that was left to do was sit and wait and try to forget.

Except. Except.

Here she was, lying on her bed with an all too familiar weight on her chest. Those feelings she had promised to bury with the winter daffodils were here - travelled miles to plague her mind with restless thoughts of which nothing could ever come. How was it that all this distance only made her crave Lockwood even more? He stained her mind and hung from her lips like a broken promise, like an unheard prayer. It was there when she woke up, it was there when she went to sleep, it laid next to her and embraced her like a lover till she couldn't breathe.

Three months later, she still hasn't moved on and has almost entirely given up on any hope for sleep. She replays her memories of him like a tired VCR, and every night the image grows fainter and fainter. What, exactly, did his voice sound like? Did he have dimples? He had a scar on his collarbone, she was fairly sure. But how did he get it? She waits for the sky to light up for those few short hours after her work for the day, but be it day or night, the sadness remains.

For years she had been so strong, so tough, so ready to do anything and to do it alone. Too independent to even work properly with his agency. But after meeting Lockwood, it all felt like a farce, like she had just been pretending and hoping and closing her eyes through as many horrors as she could handle until she finally reached her breaking point. Something had snapped in her soul - some ill-gotten desire to fasten herself to him from the moment she had kissed him after Winkman's. To have him be her home.

Even so, she still had a job to do, so she carried these feelings around with her. There was this one particular case where her team was tasked by the city council to clear out an old, abandoned mansion of any Visitors. She had been creeping through the third floor when she saw him standing there, in the shard of moonlight peeking through the rafters. Lockwood was standing mere feet in front of her, sleeves rolled up to his elbows without his coat, whole and uninjured.

"Lockwood!" She closed the distance between them. "What are you doing here?"

He turned to face her, smiling mildly as if she had done nothing more than greet her. Y/N, he was saying. His voice reverberated differently than what she was used to, but she put it down to the weird acoustics of the mansion.

Why did you leave me?

"...what?"

Why did you go away? You've made me sick with worry.

"I...I have?"

Day in, day out, you're all I think about.

"No...no, that can't be right. That's me, not you."

Are you sure? Think harder. What do you remember about me?

"I don't know, I don't know. Why are you doing this, Lockwood?" Something was very, very wrong. What was he of all people doing here, and why weren't his lips moving when he talked?

How can you be so in love with me if you can't even remember me?

I do! I do remember you! Please don't say I don't.

Why'd you leave me, Y/N?

"Wha...what? I didn't - no - I didn't mean to leave you-"

I wanted you to stay.

"Then you should have TOLD ME!"

But I did tell you.

It still hadn't fully clicked in her brain, but she gleaned enough to tell that this wasn't Lockwood. Some obscene bastardisation of him, perhaps, but nothing of any real substance. She walked back a few steps, keeping her eyes trained on him, and against her better judgement threw a flare at him. It hit the centre of his chest, which began to fizzle up and corrode away at the figment until there was nothing left but the dying embers reflected in her misty eyes. He had looked...so solid. So real. Real enough for her to believe. Oh god, how badly she wanted to believe.

That night, she had barely pulled off much of her excess gear before slumping into bed, which she did not leave for the next three days. Obviously, that hadn't been Lockwood, it was a Fetch. But it only had her memories to work off of. What was it that had happened that made her feel like he had told her to stay? She drove herself mad picking apart every interaction she had had with him since she was 13. What did she miss? Where was the mistake?

Maybe she was just hoping for a mistake.

I miss you. I wish you were here - not miles away in London, here, beside me. I wish it was you lodged in my chest instead of this acrid longing. I'm the one who can't do this without you. Please come back to me. I'm so tired of being strong. Please come save me. I need you here. I wish you were here. I wish you were here. I wish you were here.

TAGLIST: @mitskiswift99 @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @avdiobliss @ahead-fullofdreams @neewtmas @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits

P.S. until I changed my mind at the very last minute this WAS going to have a happy ending I wrote it out and everything but then deleted and Grammarly won't let me ctrl z my way out of this :(((

#lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood netflix #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood angst #anthony lockwood x reader #florence and the machine #wish that you were here

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sasarahsunshine · 2 years

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Hey, could I request omega Spencer loosing a long term pet and tuning to his alpha, Aaron, for care and comfort while he's giving.

Sorry, I know it's really specific, I'm loosing my dog and coping with it is hard.

TW: Pet death, grieving, Omegaverse, Alpha gentling his Omega at the end tho it's not smut, just soft <3

A/N: I hope you're doing better, hon. I struggled a little with writing this, mostly cause I wanted to use my own experience as a reference for Spencer's feelings. This also isn't as long as I wanted, but still longer than I expected, so it's a decent-ish blurb. I hope Aaron comforting Spencer helps to comfort you <3

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It wasn't as though he didn't expect it to happen. He knew that Einstein was getting old; older than the average age for cats, actually. But it was still a shock to wake up on that Saturday morning, to open the can of wet cat food that his picky, sassy, no-nonsense kitty always demanded of him, only to not hear those old paws pad their way across the tile floor of the kitchen. No demanding, scratchy meows. No quiet purrs that rumbled on his skin as Einstein rubbed himself against his leg impatiently for breakfast.

Spencer emptied the can onto Einstein's little plate (he had a flat face; a pure white Persian--more gray now-- that his mom just "found" one day while Spencer was at school. He never really cared to see where Einstein came from, his childhood having been very lonely up until that point, where now he had a friend to cuddle and spend time with), and called for the cranky old man (as Jack and Aaron liked to call him).

"Einstein? Here kitty." Spencer walked from the kitchen to the dining room, checking the chair that sat in the sun. No Einstein. He walked to the living room, checking the cat tower, the two different cat beds, and the space behind the bookshelf. No Einstein.

Slightly concerned now, wondering if he maybe got out somehow, Spencer went back to the bedroom and shook Aaron's shoulder, "Aaron? Aaron, I can't find Einstein."

The Alpha mumbled something under his breath, laying on his stomach with his arms under the pillow. Saturday's were the only day he allowed himself to sleep in, sans being on a case, of course.

"Aaron?"

Aaron cracked open an eye at the way Spencer's voice wavered, the scent of distressed Omega hitting his nose as he became more aware. He pushed himself sitting up, his back cracking in a few places, his shoulder popping, before he maneuvered his legs off the side of the bed. With a yawn, a shake of his head, he finally settled his eyes on his lovely mate--and frowned.

"Spencer? What's wrong, hon?"

Spencer's fingers tugged and pulled at the hem of his sleep-shirt (one of Aaron's old shirts), stretching the fabric more than it already was, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. He could feel his own panic starting to bubble up through his body, a ball of anxiety settled in his stomach and pushing its way to his chest, to his throat, forming a lump that he couldn't swallow down.

"I-I can't find Einstein," he said again, quieter, voice wavering, "Wh-what if he got out? Aaron, he's so old, he couldn't survive outside! He's never had to fend for himself before! Oh, God, what if--"

Aaron was suddenly in front of him, one hand cradling the back of Spencer's head, thumb and forefinger pressing into those Omegan pressure points on the neck to help calm him. The other soothed over his rapidly beating heart as he shushed him, chuffing softly in a form of comfort, "Shh, Spencer, it's okay. I don't think Einstein got out. He's probably sleeping in the extra room. Have you checked there?"

Spencer shook his head, eyes watering, but his Alpha's presence and pressure helped him to relax. Within moments, his breathing evened out, the anxiety that had settled in the pit of his stomach feeling a little lighter--though not gone. He swallowed, managing to take a deep enough breath that Aaron felt he could let go.

"I'll help you look for him, okay?" Aaron said with a small smile. He loved how much Spencer cared for his cat, how he practically babied the grumpy old thing. Nobody could get away with holding him aside from Spencer, and if Einstein was in Spencer's lap, well, Aaron knew he wasn't allowed near. He had to schedule his own cuddle time with his Omega after the cat. He didn't mind--especially since it made Spencer laugh.

The two went to the guest room, only to find it empty of Einstein there too. Going back to the kitchen, Spencer's breathing a little too quick for Aaron's liking, brought them to a scene that Spencer will never forget.

Jack was standing by Einstein's food bowl, the cat in his arms, and he looked... sad. The little Alpha pup had watery eyes, his cheeks and nose red from fighting back tears, and his arms were so full of gray and white fluff. He looked up at his parents, lower lip wobbling, and whispered, "He doesn't wanna eat. He didn't wanna get up, either."

Spencer swallowed, gently taking Einstein from Jack--and for a moment, Aaron feared that his son had been holding a dead cat without knowing it--only to hear the old grumpy kitty let out a small meow. Aaron was relieved, but that feeling was short-lived.

Spencer held Einstein for a long moment, face pressed to the scruff of the cat's neck, inhaling his familiar scent, hand petting down his back softly, gently, and purred. Einstein was purring too, though very faint. Quiet.

He took an unsteady breath before looking up to meet Aaron's eyes, his own now tinted red as tears flowed freely down his cheeks.

Aaron sighed, his whole body rigid and tense. His job as Alpha was to protect his pack--his mate and his pup--but this wasn't something he could protect them from. This kind of heartbreak wasn't an enemy he could fight. He couldn't defend them from it, and his instincts were screaming at him. His inner Alpha demanded blood, demanded he hide his family away in their nest, cover them with his body and protect.

Instead, he made two phone calls. One to Jessica to please pick up Jack for a couple of days. And then to the vet.

It happened much quicker than Spencer expected. Not that he knew what to expect; he had never had a pet before Einstein, and had never seen how any of this worked outside of TV shows or movies (which, it turns out, most of that is inaccurate).

Spencer had met Einstein when he was a tiny kitten, maybe 5-6 weeks old (Spencer decided Einstein's birthday was the same as his, October 28th, because it just fit the timeline better). Spencer had just turned 10, and now he was a few weeks away from turning 30, meaning Einstein lived to the ripe old age of 20--4 years longer than the average housecat.

The vet told them that he was sick, an auto-immune disorder that most cats get when they're around the age of 4-5 years. It's possible he's always had it, but it was dormant, or he was just healthy enough that nothing triggered it to act. Until now.

So, ultimately, it wasn't even old age that was killing his cat. But, because of his age, he couldn't take the medications he would need to fight off his own immune system to keep it from attacking him.

After 7 hours at the vet (tests, more tests, talking about options, too many tears shed, one more test), it was finally time to say goodbye.

Spencer sobbed, holding Einstein in his arms, petting his soft fur, sitting cross-legged on the floor with Aaron beside him, a hand rubbing up and down his back in an offer of comfort. The vet was sweet, made it easy, simple, and quick. One moment, Einstein was softly purring into Spencer's neck, and the next he was still, quiet.

Spencer handed him over with little fuss, wrapped in a blanket, and his cat--his first friend, his childhood pet, his furbaby--was taken away.

It took 2 weeks to get his ashes back. Spencer printed out his favorite photo of Einstein, framed it in a wooden frame that said "True Love has Four Paws." On top of his dresser, he placed the ashes in a little metal tin that he found at the thrift store; it was once part of a jewelry box, he thinks, the sides the color of an off-cream with vintage drawings of little white cats. They aren't Persians, but that's okay. Next to the ashes is the framed photo, and dangling from the top corner of the photo is Einstein's baby blue collar (with his tag, the name "Einstein" engraved in a fancy script that Spencer picked out when he was 16, thinking the cat was too proper for anything else).

During those first two weeks, waiting on the ashes, Spencer was mostly silent. Work was easy, of course, his mind able to shut off and just focus on the paperwork before him. He would finish before everyone else (as usual) and then go into Aaron's office, laying down on the couch and staring at the wall.

Sometimes Aaron could hear his mate crying softly. When he did, he could cover him with his jacket, knowing the scent and the weight would calm him, before going back to his own paperwork.

He had tried to convince Spencer to take some time off, but the Omega refused to be home alone. He didn't like laying on the couch without the weight of Einstein on his chest. He didn't like being in the dining room without knowing his cat would be under his seat, begging for scraps. He didn't like taking a shower alone anymore either, because now Einstein wasn't sitting on the edge of the tub and daintily sticking his paw into the falling water--only to be angry if he got too wet from his vantage point.

But once the ashes arrived, things got a little easier.

Spencer would talk to them, sometimes. Sit at the desk in his room and quietly tell Einstein about his day. Even he thought it was a little weird, at first, to be talking to some ashes (he's very aware that the ashes aren't Einstein, not anymore, his soul having moved on to the "rainbow bridge" as some call it), but that didn't actually stop him.

And then a month passed. And then two. And he cried a little less, went a day or two without thinking about Einstein--but the thing about grief, about healing, is that it's not linear.

Three months after Einstein's last day, a Saturday, Spencer woke up earlier than Aaron (like every Saturday). He stretched, yawned, and walked to the kitchen. He turned on the coffee pot, turned on the radio to listen to the local news and weather, hummed along to some car commercial with a catchy jingle that somehow always got stuck in his head at the most inconvenient of times.

As he waited for the coffee to pour, he opened a can of cat food and pulled out a familiar plate, scrapping the "grilled salmon" out with a spoon and adding a small amount of water to it, to make it seem like there's more gravy than there really is--

and he freezes.

Spencer stares at the plate of wet cat food, the can and spoon still in his hands. His lower lip trembles as he takes a deep breath, moving slowly, deliberately, to throw the can, and the food, away. He washes the spoon, washes the plate, his eyes watering--but he does not cry. He puts the dishes away, forgets his coffee, and moves to the living room.

Only one of the cat trees remains. It was new, and Jack convinced him to keep it, "in case we get a new kitten someday." Spencer doesn't want a new kitten.

He collapses on the couch, long legs folded up so his knees are pulled to his chest, arms wrapped around his shins. He stares at that cat tree. He stares at it and imagines a new kitten playing on it, sleeping on it, hiding in the little hole, and popping out when Jack walks by.

He doesn't want a new kitten.

He wants Einstein.

Aaron finds Spencer in the living room, crying quietly to himself on the couch, still in his pajamas, no coffee or breakfast in sight.

The Alpha doesn't even question it. He knows. He can feel the distress, the sadness, the emotions that surge through his mate. He just leans down, picks Spencer up carefully, and carries him back to their bedroom. But not to the bed; to the second closet.

Spencer and Aaron haven't spent any time in this little nest in a while, mostly due to work, partially due to the loss of Einstein, but Aaron hasn't stopped scent-marking it, just in case.

He lays his Omega down before closing the french-style doors, flicking on the dim overhead light. Along the walls are finely packed sheets and soft thin blankets, making for a thick and comfortable outer rim to the nest. While the inside is padded with quilts, comforters, one heated blanket, pillows, and a variety of older clothes that have all been scented and placed exactly where Spencer wants them.

The Omega whines, curling into himself and burying his damp face into the nest, inhaling all the mixed scents there. This is where he usually spends his heats with his Alpha, where the two come for comfort and reconnection--but Spencer hasn't had a heat in half a year due to stress.

Aaron maneuvers Spencer's body, lays him fully on his stomach, arms at his sides, and then covers him. This would be better if they were both undressed, but it will work for now. He tilts his Omega's head to the side, tucks his arms under Spencer's chest, cages Spencer's legs in with his thighs, and then starts rumbling. He noses at Spencer's wild curls, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the back of his neck, drags his fangs over the skin, scenting his mate thoroughly.

Spencer's little whines and choked sobs eventually fade into gentle, rhythmic breathing, his heartbeat in sync with his Alpha's. He feels Aaron's large hand resting right over his heart, fingertips pressing lightly into the skin with every beat of his heart, keeping the time. He can physically feel his grief fading away, like a darkness that had welled within his lungs slowly being replaced with the light of Aaron's gentling--of his love and affection.

In their nest time has no meaning. Not when they're sharing Spencer's heat or Aaron's rut, not when they just need time alone, and not now. They could have been lying here for minutes, hours, or days, Spencer doesn't know. What he does know, is that soon his body is fully relaxed, so in-tune with his Alpha, feeling protected and safe. And he starts purring.

Eventually, Aaron has them laying on their sides, Spencer's back to his chest, his chin on Spencer's shoulder, nuzzling into the scar of the mating bite he left on his Omega all those years ago. He kisses it, kisses up his jaw, and then kisses the corner of his mouth, "I love you, Spencer. And Einstein loved you too, so much. He knew that you loved him, and he knows that you miss him. You've been doing so well, and I'm so proud of you."

Spencer hums, his eyes closed, fingers interlocked with Aaron's over his stomach. He tilts his head back a little, a silent question for more kisses--which Aaron gladly gives. Still rumbling, still purring, their combined sounds a silent vibration in the stillness of their nest. Aaron kisses away the tears, the dampness on his Omega's cheeks, and he whispers, "Would you like to tell me a story about Einstein?"

Spencer finds himself smiling a little, a soft huff of laughter escaping his chest. He settles further into Aaron's arms, mumbling, "You know them all already."

"Tell me anyway."

The Omega cracks open his red-rimmed eyes, peering over his shoulder at his Alpha, getting a chaste kiss for his effort. His smile grows a little, lips curled up as memories upon memories fill his mind's eye of the 20 years he spent with Einstein.

"Alright," he says slowly, turning onto his back, tangling his legs with Aaron's, settling his head back on one of Jack's old soccer shirts. He blinks slowly, earning a chuff from Aaron who noses at his temple, scenting and kissing wherever he can reach while Spencer starts on his story.

"Did I tell you about the time he was trapped in the dryer all night?"

------

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