Nobody was quite the same the day after Lucy left. Holly was shocked and devastated, convinced she'd run her off. She was so stressed out she'd eaten three slices of chocolate cake, which was highly unusual for her. I felt emotionally exhausted. I was still recovering from Aickmere's and this wasn't helping. Lucy's absence felt like an emptiness that had opened up in the room, and no one wanted to speak or do anything.

But my main concern was Lockwood. I had almost expected him to have a complete emotional meltdown, turning into a mess of sobs and tears on the floor. That hadn't happened (at least, I hadn't seen it) and it would've been better if it had. He had sat down in his armchair and simply stared at the ground. His eyes, usually bright and alive with energy, were darker than usual, dull and glazed over as if he were dead. He didn't move, didn't eat, didn't say a word. He had a hollow look on his face that made me worried. Only the subtle rising and falling of his chest and the occasional blinking indicated that he was even still alive. I was beginning to genuinely worry that he'd gone into shock.

I finally broke the silence. "Lockwood, are you okay?"

His eyes remained glazed. He was locked in his thoughts.

"Lockwood. Lockwood!"

He jolted. "Did you say something?" His voice was quiet and emotionless. His tone had a very faint edge of reluctance, as if he were making a great effort to speak.

"I asked if you were all right. Which, clearly, you aren't. It's three o' clock and you haven't eaten anything. It's a good thing we don't have any cases tonight, because you are a mess."

"I'm not hungry," he snapped out of nowhere, his eyes flashing. "It's not like I'm starving. It's only been a day." He didn't indicate what he was referring to, but I knew. He couldn't bring himself to mention Lucy leaving. With a glare at me, he grabbed his rapier and stormed down the stairs into the basement.

Holly sat down next to me on the couch. "He'll be okay," she told me, although she sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than me. "She did just leave. He needs time to come to terms with it. We all do."

"We're not all madly in love with her. She filled the void that was left by his family. He was starting to heal. Now that's all gone. He's already got a lot to cope with and now the one person who was holding him together is gone. He's not going to be okay."

She blinked rapidly as if trying to hold back tears. "Oh, I should've quit! I should've left as soon as I got the hint that she didn't want me around! Now she isn't coming back and Lockwood's falling apart before our eyes!"

I had no experience with comforting people, but I tried my best. "I'm sure it's not your fault. Lucy wouldn't have left because of a stupid grudge. If she wanted to get away from you, it's more likely she would try to chase you out before resorting to leaving. Stubborn as a mule, she is."

"Then why did she leave?"

I didn't have an answer for that.

Holly sighed. "Why did Lockwood run off to the basement?"

"Rapier training. It's a coping mechanism of his."

(Timeskip)

In the weeks that followed, Lockwood was in the basement a lot. He alternated between relentlessly hacking our straw dummies into pieces and reading the newspaper with that same dead expression (whether he was combing it for any mention of Lucy or simply pretending to read it, I couldn't tell). He didn't starve himself, but his appetite was small and he'd gotten a little thinner. When spoken to, he responded with short, unemotional replies. He barely spoke at all unless it was necessary for a case. The dark circles under his eyes suggested he hadn't been sleeping well, but when asked about it his only response was 'Don't worry about it'. Those words were becoming his catchphrase these days. He was polite as ever with clients, but his words tended to have a curt edge about them that made our clients a little nervous. Lockwood was quick to take cases. Too quick. I figured it must've been a good distraction for him, but it had recently gotten to the point where I wasn't even given the opportunity to research the histories of the hauntings anymore. All he cared about was getting in, destroying the ghost, and getting out. His recklessness had increased tenfold. He didn't actively wish for death; it would have found him by now if he did. But I got the sense that he no longer cared one way or the other if he lived or died. It was hard to see him like his. I wished he would talk to me about it; I was his best friend and I wanted badly to help him. But I'd learned over the years I'd known him that you couldn't just pry him open. He would talk when he was ready and patience was key.

To my complete and utter surprise, my patience did end up paying off. One evening after we'd gone through a few minor cases that had been exhausting all the same, I was winding down on the couch with a cup of tea. Holly had long since gone home. The house still seemed so forlorn and empty without Lucy in it. Lockwood had gone down to the library, but around thirty minutes later, when I was about to head off to bed, something had possessed him to return to the living room and sit in his armchair. He didn't blankly stare at the coffee table or a newspaper as I'd expected he would. He leaned slightly towards me but looked uncomfortable, as if there was something he wanted to say but he was debating whether or not to actually say it.

I waited, pretending I didn't notice the look on his face. I resisted the urge to try and prompt him to speak. I didn't want to risk that he'd change his mind and go back down to the library. So I let the silence press around me, ringing in my ears. I hated it and hoped he did too. After a full ten minutes I gave up and started towards the stairs.

"Wait," he interrupted me quietly, making me stop in my tracks.

I turned to face him, raising an expectant eyebrow.

He shifted. "I think I need to talk with you."

I nodded, making absolutely no sign that relief was now crashing down on me. I sat casually back down on the sofa. "Okay. I'm here to talk." I kept my tone light and unconcerned in hopes that maybe he'd feel more comfortable opening up. For the love of Pete, talking to him was sometimes like trying to tame a skittish feral cat.

"It's about Lucy."

"Naturally."

"I realized something when she left."

"I think I know what that is already."

A spark of surprise flickered in his eyes. "You do?"

"You have no idea. Let me guess, you finally realized that Lucy is your other half, stole your heart long ago, the reason you're alive and breathing, and various other corny but true things."

He blinked, conjuring up enough outward emotion to look embarrassed. "I wasn't going to phrase it quite like that, but . . . you got the point. And now that she's gone, I just . . . I thought I'd felt grief before. I thought I'd seen it all. But I've never felt this before. It's like . . . almost like my heart's been carved out, and I'm left gasping for breath, barely alive. Sometimes I have to convince myself that I'm even still alive. I don't necessarily want to be dead, but dead is how I feel. I don't have motivation for anything anymore. I feel drained all the time. I can't sleep because I can't close my eyes without seeing her walking away from me. I live for distractions. I have a massive hole in me and I don't know how to fill it. I feel . . . broken. It's the only way I can describe it. I can't think straight anymore. I have to struggle just to-" he cut off, furiously wiping the tears out of his eyes. "Just to function. To keep myself composed. I have to remind myself of reasons to get up in the morning." His voice broke and he glared down at his feet.

I was again out of my depth, having no skills required to act as a therapist. I awkwardly rested a hand on his shoulder, which made him start a little. "Let it out," I told him in my best sympathetic tone, feeling unnatural as heck. "It's the only way you'll feel better."

Lockwood shifted uncomfortably but whether he decided to listen or he just couldn't hold it back anymore, the tears started trickling down his pale face and he made no move to stop them. "I don't know what to do," he confessed, his voice thick. "Is it cheesy to say I almost feel like I can't live without her? I mean, I can survive, but I can't truly live. I've forgotten how to enjoy life twice now. The first time was when my sister died. And Lucy was the reason I could- she taught me how to go on despite the grief. I fell so completely in love with her and I couldn't even see it until she left me." His body was racked with a sob just then. "The worst part is, I just don't know why she left. She never gave me a straight answer. She said it was because she was protecting us from her Talents, but that can't be all of it. She wouldn't have done something so drastic unless she was pushed over the edge."

His words hung there, and they got me thinking. We didn't talk much after that, and shortly after we both went to bed.

I didn't sleep much, though. I had seen far too much of Lockwood's suffering. It was time I came up with a plan to fix it.

And that is exactly what I did. I planned to execute it as soon as I found out where Lucy was now living.

(Timeskip)

I didn't breathe a word of my intentions to Lockwood. I told him I was going to the Archives and left the house before he could ask me why. He was probably suspicious, but I didn't think what I was about to do would cross his mind as a possibility.

So I hastily hailed a cab to take me to Tooting. I thought over what I would say when I got there. It would certainly be hard to persuade her of anything if even Lockwood hadn't been able to stop her from leaving.

"We're here," said the cab driver. I wasn't at all ready to be there so quickly, but I tipped the driver and walked up to the correct door in the apartment complex. I took deep breath but didn't let myself hesitate as I gave the door a few sharp knocks and waited.

A few seconds later, the door was opened and Lucy stood there. Her hair was a bit disheveled and her clothes a little rumpled. She looked tired and a little stressed, and her eyes had just a tiny hint of the dullness that was now painfully familiar. Overall she looked a bit worse for wear, but a great deal better than Lockwood. She blinked at me, looking stunned and confused. "George? What-"

"Hi, Lucy. Can I come in?'

She blinked several times more, as if trying to discern whether I was really standing at her door or if I was some kind of mirage. "Um, I suppose so." She opened the door a little wider to let me in.

I stepped through the threshold and gazed around. The place was rather . . . destroyed. There were clothes, trash, and leftover food everywhere. I figured she probably didn't get a lot of time to clean up, and I'd seen Portland Row in worse states, so I let it slide. I wasn't here to inspect her flat, after all.

She looked faintly embarrassed. "Sorry about the mess; I-"

"We can chat about it some other time. That's not why I'm here." I looked her dead in the eyes. "Lucy Carlyle, you and I need to talk."