Bickslow watched as Lucy scurried around the kitchen in the apartment, going from one cupboard to the next and back and forth every few seconds. He stood in front of the door, still holding Ingrid. Lucy had yet to say anything, but by the way she was acting right then, Bickslow knew he had been right. She wasn't okay, but she wasn't going to admit it any time soon.

"Can you put Ingrid in that chair over there?" Lucy lazily pointed towards the high-chair that sat at one end of the dining table.

Oh, so she does talk, he thought as he walked towards the table, and then he just stared at the contraption that he assumed the blonde had meant. It was a chair, that was for sure. It was just a weird chair. He eventually figured it out, though, and then went back to watching Lucy go around the kitchen in a rush.

She was obviously looking for something, but he had no idea what. The blonde was quite clearly getting stressed out over something, and Bickslow didn't like seeing her like that. He usually didn't care if people weren't themselves since he only ever really talked to the Raijinshuu or Laxus and they were all he needed in the world, so he never found himself needing to care about anyone else. But for whatever reason, seeing Lucy in such a state was unnerving, and he did care.

Deciding he'd watched her go through every cupboard and drawer enough times, though, he finally spoke. "What are you looking for?" he asked quietly.

"I don't… I don't know. I don't know what babies are supposed to eat or not supposed to eat and it's noon so she's probably getting hungry and I don't want her to start crying and I just don't know what I'm looking for…"

Did she even take a single breath? "Are you alright there?"

Lucy slammed her hands down on the counter as she stared down at it. "How many times do I have to tell you all that I'm fine?" she shouted.

"That's not what I meant," Bickslow replied softly as he took another step towards the counter. Yeah, she's definitely not okay.

"Whatever. Everything is alright, okay?" She turned to walk over to the fridge, but Bickslow quickly stepped forward and blocked her path, and she was sighing in frustration before trying to step around him. "Bickslow, please move. I need to find something to give Ingrid before she starts crying again."

Bickslow folded his arms across his chest and stood his ground. "I'm not moving until you admit you're not fine. Laxus may call me a moron, but I'm really not the entire time. I know you're not fine," he said.

She tried to get around him again, yet failed when Bickslow sidestepped. "So what if I'm not?" Lucy instantly shot back as she finally looked up to him. "Are you happy now? But please, I need to get Ingrid—"

"She'll be fine for another thirty seconds. You need to talk about whatever it is that's making you so not fine," Bickslow interrupted her.

"But that's the entire point! I can't talk to anyone about it! So please, just move," she shouted. Lucy hadn't meant to say anything at all, yet there she was slowly blurting it out to Bickslow of all people. Her entire world had ultimately come crashing down, and she had no one to talk to and she hated it. Lucy just wanted it to be fine. She needed everything to be fine again.

Bickslow's hands shot up to rest lightly on her arms. "Hey, come on," he said softly, frowning. He really wasn't enjoying seeing Lucy like that, which in itself only surprised him. "Talk to me. I promise I won't tell a single soul about what you say. Just… Just talk to me, please." 'I won't tell a single soul.' Yeah, nice one, Bicks. Soul puns are clearly going to help.

Before he could even comprehend what was happening though, Lucy was sliding down to the kitchen floor to sit on her knees in a crying heap, and all Bickslow could do was slowly lower himself with her to crouch down in front of her. Oh, down we go, then… Damn it, I didn't expect her to cry. I didn't sign up for this.

"I'm s-sorry," Lucy stammered as she wiped a hand across her face, wiping way the tears that fell even though she really didn't want them to. She didn't want to be a snivelling mess on the floor of the kitchen, and she certainly didn't want to be like that in front of Bickslow. She almost felt like her body had betrayed her, but she was forcefully reminded of the fact that it wasn't really her body, anyway.

"Alright, Cosplayer. Start talki—" Bickslow began, only to be interrupted by Ingrid's crying. "Hold that thought," he mumbled with a roll of his eyes as he stood up again. He had Lucy on the kitchen floor crying, and a baby on the other side of the counter also crying. What had he done that was so terrible that he deserved to be putting up with that? He wasn't cut out for that.

"I told you she'd start crying…" Lucy mumbled as she started to push herself up from the floor.

"You," He picked up the box of tissues that sat on the dining table and then dropped them on the ground next to where Lucy was getting up slowly. "Are going to stay put," he ordered. "I'm not done with you yet. Now tell me what she's supposed to be having."

"I… I don't know," Lucy mumbled again, and slowly sat herself back down and let her head rest against the back of the cabinet. "I guess the formula will work. There's instructions for it on the side of the can…"

"Right."

Lucy watched as Bickslow went around the kitchen, getting everything he needed for the formula before he disappeared out of her line of sight behind the other side counter. She didn't understand why Bickslow was acting like he actually cared about her. Lucy had never seen him care about anyone or anything outside of his team, so why was he so set on making her talk about why she was so upset?

Bickslow sat on the chair closest to the highchair at the end of the table. He was resting his head in one palm while his other hand loosely held up the bottle that Ingrid was so painstakingly slowly drinking from. He just sat there staring from not knowing what else to do. Bickslow didn't know if he was doing it the right way or not either, but Ingrid didn't seem to be complaining so he figured he was at least close.

Lucy had stopped crying and so had Ingrid at that point, so Bickslow was a little grateful for that. He surprisingly wanted to get back to sorting out Lucy's problems, but he decided to deal with Ingrid first. There's no way he'd be able to deal with both at the same time.

Ingrid was about two-thirds of the way through her bottle that Bickslow was still holding up slightly when Lucy staggered up from the kitchen floor. Bickslow turned at the sound of the tissue box being placed on the counter and he watched Lucy head towards the hall. "Hey, what are you doing?" he asked.

"I just… I just want to go lay down. I'm fine now, really," she replied weakly as she gave a frail smile, and then she turned and headed down the hall towards the bedroom.

Damn it, Bickslow thought as he turned back to face Ingrid. It was beginning to frustrate him that Lucy was so intent on saying she was fine. Between repeating herself a million times and the forced smiles, she wasn't fooling anyone – least of all, Bickslow. He didn't understand why she couldn't just admit she wasn't okay. Sure, she'd done it once when he wouldn't let it go, but now she was back to lying about it.

Eventually, Ingrid seemed to be done when the bottle was almost empty and she refused to drink from it anymore, Bickslow couldn't help but sigh in relief when it was over. His arm was getting tired and he still needed to get Lucy to talk. As he stood up to pick Ingrid up from the chair, he cringed at the mess on her face. It didn't look like it was only the formula that she'd had, but she didn't seem to care all that much either way. Only thinking to himself about just how disgusting babies apparently were, he took a clean cloth and dampened it to wipe Ingrid's face clean.

"Time to go see Cosplayer," Bickslow muttered under his breath once he was done in the kitchen, and headed down the hall and towards the bedroom, holding Ingrid against his chest.

Lucy was curled up on the side of the bed when Bickslow walked into the room. She'd heard Bickslow come into the room and she assumed he'd just be trying to get her to talk about what was bothering her again, so Lucy decided to bring up something else. "Is Ingrid good now?" she asked quietly as she pushed her face into the pillow.

"I think so," came the quiet reply as he sat down on the other side of the bed before placing Ingrid on the middle.

"Thanks for feeding her, I guess," Lucy mumbled.

Bickslow moved so he was sitting with his legs crossed under himself and was facing both Ingrid, and Lucy was still lying on her side with her back to him. He looked back down to Ingrid, watching her turn herself around on the blanket. The room stayed silent for a few minutes as he continued watching Ingrid roll around and attempt to drag herself forwards. He couldn't help but find her just a little odd, but in a mostly cute way. Babies were all just so new to him.

Bickslow decided he'd given the blonde enough time to stew in her own sorrow, so as he lifted his head from where it sat in this palm, he looked to Lucy again and said, "Alright, Cosplayer. Either you start talking, or I'll do something you really don't want me to do."

Lucy sighed into the pillow as she wiped a hand down her face. "Bickslow, please. I don't need to talk. I'm fine."

"Right then." He quickly got up from the bed and walked around to the other side and held his hands out to Lucy. "Come on, get up."

"Bickslow, please," she groaned into the pillow. She felt Bickslow's hand wrap around her wrist and pull her up into a sitting position, and then to her feet.

"I'll give you one more chance," Bickslow said as he folded his arms across his chest. "Talk, or I really will do something you really don't want me to do." Damn it, she better talk. I don't know what I'm going to do if she doesn't. What will she find horrible?!

Lucy turned to head towards the hallway but as soon as she did so, Bickslow's hand caught her forearm and she was spun around once again. "Seriously, I don't need to ta—"

"I warned you," he said quickly before he leant down close to her face and drew a wet line up the side of her cheek with his mouth. Yeah, she'll definitely hate that.

"Bickslow!" Lucy squealed as she turned and tried to wriggle out of his grip, right before she burst out into a fit of giggles. Oh god. Why does that tickle?!

Bickslow raised his eyebrows and couldn't help but grin when Lucy started laughing. He had an overwhelming feeling of joy wash over him just from hearing her laugh. She wasn't trying to pretend she was okay and even if it was only going to be for a short moment, Bickslow was glad that she was actually smiling. Not a forced and empty smile to prove to someone she was fine; it was an actual, genuine smile. Granted, it had been from him half kissing, and borderline licking the side of her face, but that was okay. He'd done what he'd had to do.

Then, when her laughter had seemed to die down some and she calmed down a bit, Bickslow finally said again softly, "Look, Lucy. Whatever it is that's making you so upset… You need to talk about it."

Lucy looked up at Bickslow. The same worried expression he'd had before was back. She didn't understand why he wanted her to talk about it so much. What even was there to talk about? How do you tell someone that you feel alone in a world surrounded by your friends and family without sounding like an idiot?

You didn't. That was the simple truth.

"I…" She looked away again when she felt the tears threaten to spill once again, but it was too late. "Fuck, not again," she whispered to herself as she tried to pull away. Lucy didn't cry very often and she swore even less. Yet here she was, crying for the second time in less than hour and she hated herself for it.

As Lucy tried to pull away, Bickslow pulled her back in against his chest, wrapping his arms around her as he rested his chin on her head. He could see Ingrid look around the room from where she lay on the bed without a care in the world.

"It's pathetic," she mumbled into his shirt. "I'm pathetic." Lucy had just reached the point where she didn't care. She'd broken down, and she hated herself for it. Pathetic. Stupid. Weak. The words echoed in her head again as she rested her head on Bickslow's chest while her hands gripped at the fabric of the shirt.

Did she really just say that? What the fuck? He pushed her back quickly, holding her shoulders, "Why would you say something like that?" he asked.

Her gaze flicked up to look at his stern expression before lowering back down to where her hands were still fisting the fabric of his shirt. "Because it's true. I-It's stupid, and I'm weak. I'm pathetic."

Stupid? Weak? Pathetic? Where the hell is she getting all of this from? "Alright, I really don't know where you're getting any of that from, but.. Lucy, look at me." A hand went to her chin to lift her head up so that he was looking directly in her eyes. "You're not stupid. You're one of the smartest people in the guild. Whatever it is that has you like this isn't stupid either. You're not weak. So far from it, actually. You've kicked my ass before. Twice, actually. That shit at the Grand Magic Games? You should have won that, and everyone knows it. That Raven chick lost in my eyes. The Naval battle – you held your own in there and way longer than anyone else could have if they were in that situation," he said softly. "Cosplayer, you're stronger than you know. So please, never, ever say anything that's pissing you off is stupid, or call yourself weak, or pathetic. And please, no more crying. I can't deal with anymore crying for the day."

Lucy let go of shirt with a small nod and headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She splashed cold water on her face before staring back at the reflection and thinking about what Bickslow had said. She didn't understand why he was doing it, so she was going to ask just that. When she walked back into the bedroom, Bickslow was sitting on the end of the bed with his legs crossed under him with Ingrid sitting in his lap while he was holding her arms. He really did seem to like her arms and her hands.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked quietly then.

He looked up. "Doing what?"

"Caring."

"Why wouldn't I?" Bickslow shrugged as Lucy sat down beside him. "It's weird seeing you like this. No one likes seeing someone they know upset and I just… I don't know, really. Talking when you're upset about something is supposed to help, and I want to help you," he admitted, looking away slightly as his voice trailed off. Bickslow felt almost… exposed. There were three people in the entire world who knew that he was actually capable of caring about people, and Lucy just wasn't one of those people.

But he had to put that aside. It wasn't about him in that moment. It was about her.

"But… why?" Lucy asked. She reached for a pillow to hug to her chest, resting her chin on the top of it.

"Because we're a family." Bickslow watched as her eyes went wide, and he grimaced slightly. "No. Not… Not this," he said, gesturing between them with his hand. "This is on a whole new level of weird, but no, not this. I mean Fairy Tail as a whole. We're all one giant, chaotic, dysfunctional, stupid, hysterical, crazy, fucked up family. Sure, it's probably more like distant relatives or something, but we all still care about each other, right?" At least that was the way Bickslow saw things. "Families are always there for each other. It's because we're all part of the same guild that I'm doing this. Whether you like it or not, everyone in Fairy Tail loves you, Cosplayer. And you know it's like one big, fucked up ball of friendship in there. I just want to be your friend for once and actually help you."

Lucy hugged the pillow to herself even tighter as she thought about it. Bickslow was right and she knew that. She really did. Fairy Tail was a family. For some, it was the family they never had. For others, it was just a place to call home for the day before they went back to their own families. But it was a family nonetheless.

But Bickslow… Was Bickslow her friend? Of course he is. The guild was a family, and they were all friends. That's what it meant to be in a guild. To be in Fairy Tail.

So maybe she should talk to him about it. Where would she start, though Lucy didn't know how to talk about it, that was the problem. It's hard to talk and explain something you can't entirely understand yourself, so what was she to do?

Talk.

It reverberated through her mind over and over again. She needed to talk. She knew that.

And so she would.