Chapter Text
Lucy was the only one awake. She had been living at 35 Portland Row for less than a week, but she already knew that was strange. They had all gotten back particularly late from a case that morning and had nothing scheduled for today, so she supposed it wasn’t too odd.
She pottered around the kitchen, searching for all the things she needed to make breakfast and tea.
George seemed to have a pretty regular sleep schedule, at least for an agent, but Lockwood was somehow always awake; always the last one to bed and the first one down in the morning.
She wasn’t sure she liked the quiet in this house; it felt like it needed the life noise brought.
She definitely didn’t feel comfortable enough yet to be up, and rifling around the kitchen, making breakfast for herself. But she was hungry and was going to have to get used to it at some point. She set the full kettle onto the stove and popped some bread into the toaster.
Lucy sat at the table studying the thinking cloth, scanning the plans and doodles spread across it to help her pass the time. There was a pen lying beside a forgotten mug, she took it, tapped it against the table, thinking about doodling something, mark her presence here at least semi-permanently, as she waited for the toaster to ding and the kettle to shout.
The doorbell rang, on instinct, she pushed her chair back and stood to answer it then paused. This wasn’t her house. Should she wait for Lockwood to make his way down? Lucy gave it a few moments more, waiting for the tell-tale sound of movement upstairs, but there was nothing. The bell rang again. It was probably just a food delivery at this hour, not a client, she should get the door.
Lucy sighed and then walked out of the kitchen and down the hall, avoiding the floorboard she had noticed on her first day creaked loud when she stepped on it. She opened the door to a bright-faced girl with acne covering her chin and forehead, rosy cheeks freckled, hair pulled back into twin frizzy plaits pulled over her shoulders. Her smile slipped into a slow frown, her thin almost nonexistent brows furrowing together before she not-so-professinaly masked her features into a polite smile.
“Doughnout and grocery delivery,” the girl said, raising the box in her hands a little as if to prove it.
“Thanks.” Lucy took the box.
“Are you new?” the girl asked.
“Yup.”
“Right.” She didn’t move to leave, seemed to be trying to look past Lucy and peek inside. “I can help bring the groceries in if you'd like.” She gestured to the bags at the bottom of the short flight of stairs.
“No, that’s alright, I can do it.”
“Right.” With one more hopeful look inside, she finally turned away.
What had she wanted? Lucy wondered as she stepped back. Was that kind of weird interaction common here? She remembered how George had so rudely greeted her when she came for the interview. Thinking over it, she wouldn't be surprised if they were ordinary. She left the door open as she went into the kitchen to put the box of doughnuts down at the table, then returned to the door.
She was barefoot, and the fall air was nipping at her exposed skin even just standing near the doorway. The cement stairs would be uncomfortable on a warm spring day, she definitely didn't want to step onto them now barefoot and cold. But she had no shoes down here, slippers or otherwise, and she wasn't about to run all the way back up to the attic. She spotted Lockwood’s discarded shoes by the door left there after he toed them off before trudging his way to the kitchen for tea after they returned from the case that morning.
Surely he wouldn't mind if she wore them just to bring in the grocery bags? He would never even have to know.
She pulled them on. They were far too big for her, but for running outside briefly, it would be fine. She’d done the same thing with her sister's shoes when getting the mail or helping to bring in the groceries back home. She hit her toes against each step as she went down to ensure the shoes didn’t slip off. She got all the bags in one go, not that it was that many, the delivery girl could have brought them all up with the doughnuts.
Lucy shuffled her way back up and then kicked the door closed behind her.
“Thank you, Miss Carlyle.”
She jumped as Lockwood stepped into the hallway, a bright smile across his lips, juxtaposed by the dark stamps under his eyes. Had he been awake the whole time? Not wanting to get the door? He hadn’t struck her as lazy.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” Lockwood chuckled as she frowned.
“You didn’t.” She took a step forward to bring the bags to the kitchen and stumbled, forgetting to take off his shoes
Lockwood stepped forward to catch her but didn’t quite make it in time, Lucy just managed to steady herself before she went tumbling to the ground. Bags clanking and swinging at her sides. Was George such a deep sleeper, or was he awake too and simply deciding not to leave his room?
Lockwood looked down, a quick frown was covered by another smile. “You can leave your own shoes by the door if you’d like, Miss Carlyle.”
Lucy’s cheeks burned, “I’m sorry, it was just to bring the groceries up, I didn’t mean to be a bother or anything.”
He put up his hands in a placating manner, brows arched in surprise then quickly evened out again. “It’s alright, I understand, really, no trouble; if wearing my shoes to get the groceries is easier for you, you can keep doing it.“ He chuckled good-naturedly, “I thought, because you tripped, it might be better for you to keep your own pair down here as well.”
“Right, thanks.” She toed off his shoes, focusing on that instead of him and the embarrassment of getting caught and almost falling flat on her face, and all of it. “And stop calling me Miss Carlyle. My name's Lucy.”
It was his turn to look sheepish. “Right, Lucy. Well, let me help you with these now.” Lockwood took a bag from her, and she followed him into the kitchen where two cups of tea were waiting, and her toast, a little burnt, stuck out of the toaster, ready to be buttered.