George had already settled himself at our client's dainty, pink breakfast table. The chair he was sitting upon looked like it might break at any moment under the strain.
With any luck, that would be the only thing broken in the course of the night.
The kettle had been set to boil. Lockwood was setting his duffel down on the breakfast table; I settled into the seat next to him. As was our routine, we began sorting through our supplies while George gathered his papers.
Silence hung heavily over us as we worked. We were much too tired to attempt any sort of conversation. Outside, the sun had already begun its steady descent. Pale light filtered feebly through the lacy curtains. The day was in its dying throes, and everyone knew it; I could see, through the narrow view offered by the window, people scurrying down the sidewalk across the street—adults, hurrying home from work. Soon, the streets would be empty. At least, empty of the living.
It hadn't always been this way, I knew. I pushed aside a coil of iron chain, dug deeper into my duffel for an iron canister. What had it been like, I wondered idly, before the Problem? Dull, Lockwood would say. George would say it had been safe. I was inclined to agree. But Lockwood did have a point…without the Problem, there would be no agencies, and no agents. No Lockwood and Co.
What would I have done instead?
I set down the iron canister I had been weighing, picked up a bag of salt. School perhaps? Yes, it would have been dull…George might disagree, school would possibly suit him, but that was George, and to anyone else it would be dreadfully dull…
And Lockwood? I shifted the salt bag from hand to hand, pondering. What would Lockwood do, without the Problem? It was hard to imagine. Lockwood practically breathed the Problem…distant and secretive as he sometimes was, that much was obvious. The way his eyes sparked at each new case, how he refused to turn down any job (a driving factor behind our current exhaustion), the energy he brought with him to every job, and which overflowed at every success…He was driven by the Problem. It was precisely what made him such a good leader.
But without it, would that energy be, perhaps, turned to something else?
To what?
I had no answer. I felt vaguely frustrated. I was no closer to knowing Lockwood than I had been the day I'd joined the company. Our leader's careful distance was a subtle thing, but it seemed to persistently poke and prod, gleefully snatching the limelight at the most unexpected of moments.
The high piping of the kettle broke me from my contemplations. George sprang up to snatch the kettle from the stove. I swung the duffels to the floor to make room for the biscuits. Tea, hot and strong, was poured out; I sipped at it gratefully. The steaming heat, searing against my tongue, was a welcome distraction. My ponderings had left me strangely unsettled…or was that simply the atmosphere? I took another hasty gulp of tea and focused on George, who was preparing to speak.
A/N: Sorry, I know I've taken forever to update. I had grand plans of updating every two weeks or so, but they've been sadly thwarted. I've been really busy with school. I know this chapter is mainly focused on Lucy's perception of Lockwood's distance...I figured I should include some of that since it seems to be sort of an important theme in the book. Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think.