'There he was again…'

George liked to think he was an easy-going person. Sure, he tended to argue with those in a position of authority, and he spoke his mind often and honestly – which lead to some sticky situations every now and then – but he didn't go looking for fights or things to be annoyed about. In general there was very little that could faze him. Right now however, he was running into something that definitely did.

Sweeney had sent him down to the national newspaper archives to hunt down information for a case his team had been assigned too. It had sent him down a long, boring paper trail he still hadn't found the end off, and his concentration was starting to falter. This was not helped by the young man that kept running around his reading table. In the past 15 minutes, George had seen him pass by at least six times, and he still wasn't carrying anything.

George generally tried to keep to his own business, but… – Oh, who was he kidding? He was as nosy as those old ladies in his mother's street, who watched the neighbourhood so thoroughly they could solve all crimes that occurred there if anybody ever bothered to ask them. He was just quieter about it.

With a dramatic sigh he got up, slightly tugging at the stupidly fitted uniform jacket his team leader made him wear even when he wasn't working with clients directly, and walked up to the other boy, who was still looking dramatically lost.

He cleared his throat as loudly as he dared in the silence of the archive, and waited for the other boy to turn around. He was about George's age, had dark eyes to match his dark hair that flopped across his forehead, and was really a lot taller than was fair. He was wearing a long coat, dress trousers and fancy leather shoes, which surprisingly didn't make him look like a child playing dress up.

"Are you actually here to look something up, or did you just want to swan around the bookcases?" George asked.

"Oh no, I…" the boy hesitated, glancing around for a moment as if to check for eavesdroppers, which was utterly ridiculous, because really, who'd gain anything from eavesdropping on a 15 year old who's apparently never been in a library before?

"Are you lost or something?"

For a moment the boy just stared, silently gazing at George as if he was trying to figure him out. Well, if he thought that would scare George off, he had another thing coming. George stared right back, his eyes unblinking behind his glasses. There was a smudge on the right lens, he noticed. He should clean that.

After a moment, a bright smile broke through on the boys face.

"I'm Anthony Lockwood," he said, sticking out his hand for George to take.

"George Cubbins," George replied in a grunt, before giving Lockwood's hand a single shake. "You didn't answer my question though. Do you need help looking something up or are you looking for the rest of your team or something?"

Something flashed through Lockwood's eyes, but George couldn't be bothered to decipher the fleeting emotion. He silently waited for the other boy to answer.

"I'm working on my own," Lockwood started. "Just got all the licenses and requirements finished, trying to make a name for myself, you know?"

"I guess I do," George muttered, even though he didn't actually, before taking of his glasses and giving them a quick rub on his undershirt which un-tucked with the motion. The stupid uniform didn't even have the right texture for cleaning them.

"So, need any help with research?"

Lockwood hesitated for a moment, whether it was out of guilt for keeping George from his work or because of his pride, George didn't know. Then he blew out his cheeks.

"You know what? I could use some help, if it doesn't disturb your work."

George raised an eyebrow at him.

"You skulking around looking lost was disturbing my work," he said. "Helping you will probably waste less of my time than getting irritated with you."

And so George went back to his reading table to get his clipboard (one of those horrid things that was half the size of his torso, he'd seen younger agents disappear behind them entirely) and quickly flipped to an empty page.

"So, do you need to look up a person, an address, or something else?" he asked as he uncapped his pen and got ready to write.

"Well, I was walking around in Tooting last night, rounding up Type Two's-"

"I'm going to stop you right there. I don't care what you were doing, I need to know what you need me to look up." George interrupted.

"Uh, there is a ton of Death Glows in this garden and I want to know why?"

"Now we're getting somewhere. What's the address?"

He wrote down the address Lockwood rattled of and then made his way to the index near the stairs. It was a good thing Lockwood was at the right floor at least. Chances were that the address had been the sight of some horror or another. Perhaps there had been gallows long ago…

"Where are you going?" the taller boy asked, catching up to George in a few quick strides. He had taken of his coat, and now George could see he was wearing an entire suit instead of just dress trousers. His clothes were slightly too tight, which made them cling closely to his body. That could not be comfortable.

"I'm going to look up the address in the index," George said. Wasn't that obvious? No wonder Lockwood had been wandering around like a lost puppy, if he hadn't even known to check the index…

George scoured through the large books, quickly jotted down a list of potentially interesting newspaper issues, directed Lockwood back to the reading table and then hunted down the newspapers he'd found. He did all this within ten minutes. He could be efficient if he wanted to…

"If you can't find anything in here, you could always try going to the housing registry and cross-referencing the owners to newspaper articles." George told Lockwood as he put down the newspapers on the table top. When he didn't get a reaction immediately he looked up to find Lockwood staring at him with big eyes.

"You're really good at this." The compliment made George pause. Usually his teammates didn't care for his researching skills. Sure, they wanted his information at the start of cases, but nobody ever commented on it unless he had missed something. The simple comment was something nobody had ever really told him. It was a welcome change.

"Thanks, I guess…"

For a while they sat at the reading table in silence, and George had gotten back to his own work – he really did need to find something to present to Sweeney in the next hour – when Lockwood suddenly cleared his throat.

"I'm setting up my own agency," The lanky teen said, looking up from the opened newspaper he had been reading. He was looking at George intently, and George could've sworn his dark eyes were twinkling.

"Uh," George started intelligently, "good for you?"

"I want you to be my researcher."

George raised an eyebrow at him.

"Thanks for the offer, but I do actually have a job," he said, gesturing at his grey uniform jacket. Lockwood pursed his lips for a moment, obviously trying to hide his disapproval, but the bright smile was back almost as fast as it had gone.

"Just know that if you ever are in need of a new one, I'd gladly welcome you." He grabbed one of George's stray pens, scribbled something in the margin of George's notes, and gathered the newspapers.

"I'm going to follow that tip of yours about the housing registry. See you around!" He grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and swung it on. A moment later he'd disappeared.

George should've known he wouldn't last much longer. The supervisors had been getting fed up with his questions and insistence for a while now, and he really should've known that asking about the secret basements would be the last straw for them. Still, it stung when Sweeney told him to clear out his desk, and nicking the large ghost jar only made him feel a little better.

George had put the jar in his cardboard box, covered it with a sweater, and was now sweeping the last pieces of clutter from his desk on top of it. Soon the space he'd occupied for the last few months was completely empty.

Although, on the corner of his desk was a folded issue of The Times. Timothy had probably left it there, the little boy liked George (George had the hunch he was the only one in the entire agency) and always passed the day's paper along.

George was about to fold it and toss it into his box as well, when the headline caught his eye.

The Terror of Tooting

Horrific crimes revealed. Multiple bodies found in residential garden.

Yesterday evening the authorities in Tooting arrested Harry Crisp, a 30 year-old home owner, for multiple accounts of murder. The horrific crimes were revealed by a young agent, who noticed a suspicious amount of Death Glows in the suspect's Garden during a routine ghost hunt in the neighbourhood. Young Anthony J Lockwood, who has been setting up his own agency, approached the owner of the house after contacting the DEPRAC when he could not find a historical reason for the traces of death.

It is believed that over the past three months, the suspect lured –

George snorted. Typical, Lockwood had solved his case and gotten his free press. George tossed the paper into the cardboard box and left Fittes House with his head held high. Sweeney might think he'd never amount to anything, but George had already figured out his next course of action.

With the box underneath his arm, he hailed a cab.

"Where can I take ya, mister?" The balding driver asked. With a smile, George thought about the paper in his pocket, with the small address scribbled hastily in the margin.

"35 Portland Row, please."

A/N: I finished the first request, whoo! I must confess I did start it before Tuesday, despite what I had promised myself. I hope you enjoyed it, let me know what you think!