The door to the apartment was opened and the first person to walk through was Lucy as Bickslow held the door open with hand while Ingrid was supported in his other arm. The morning had been surprisingly quiet; incredibly stressful, but quiet, and it was only because neither one really had the words to talk about anything.
Lucy had been discharged at a little past 9 a.m., having spent only a few hours in the emergency department, and they were all back home by half past. They could have been home sooner, but Dr. Delia had been notified and instead of going home after she'd been attended to by one of the emergency ward doctors and one of the midwives on the floor as soon as she'd arrived, Lucy had opted to stay and wait for her chosen doctor's arrival. It was something that she hadn't regretted, because she felt a little bit more informed about what was happening.
But even though she knew what was happening and what had happened, she hadn't stopped worrying since she'd woken up. Her entire internal state had been in constant emotional chaos, and if anything, she was worrying more now that she knew what it was.
And honestly, she was terrified.
So when Bickslow went to put Ingrid back in her crib for a little while, Lucy went straight back down to the bedroom. She grimaced when she looked back to the blood-stained sheets and wiped the tears that were slowly pooling in her eyes with the back of her hand. She couldn't cry. She wouldn't cry.
She had too much to do.
The sheets needed to be washed, and the bed need to be made. And the bathroom needed to be cleaned, and Ingrid needed to be looked after…
She didn't have time to rest. She had things to do.
And, if anything, she needed a distraction.
So she began to strip the bed, starting by throwing the pillows to the floor and then she went for the quilt, reaching for the ends to unbutton the cover.
Bickslow first went out to the living area after putting Ingrid down, and frowned when he once again saw that Lucy wasn't out there. If she wasn't there, then she could only be in one of two places: their bedroom or the bathroom. So turning on his heels, he quickly went back down the hall and checked the bedroom first, and when he saw her hovering over the bed, trying her best to undo the buttons on the quilt cover with shaky hands, he rushed over to her side and gently pried the quilt from her hands.
"Stop that," he said.
"But… But the sheets…" she muttered, trying to reach for them again. "They need to be washed and the bed needs to be made again and—"
"Forget about the damn sheets," Bickslow cut Lucy off. When she made a grab for the quilt again, he gently turned her away from the bed and led her to the other side of the room and to the chair in the corner, just in front of the window. "They're not important right now," he said quietly.
Lucy let herself be pulled into his lap when he sat down on the chair, and almost instinctively, she tried her best to curl up where she sat and let her head rest against his shoulder. "They are important," she whispered.
"They're nowhere near as important as you are." And it wasn't hard to see what Lucy was doing. Even Bickslow, an oblivious male most of the time, was able to see that Lucy was trying to ignore her problems, just so she didn't have to deal with whatever it was that was going through her head. She'd been so unusually quiet all morning that it actually scared Bickslow, just because he had no idea what she was thinking or how she was feeling. She was keeping it all bottled up inside of her, and Bickslow didn't want her to do that.
He didn't want her to run away from her problems, either, because they were their problems. He wanted her to tell him how she was feeling and what she was thinking about. She needed to talk about it, and Bickslow wanted to listen.
He wanted to help her, like he always did. He just needed her to talk so they could work through it all together.
So as his arms wound around her just that little bit more and she shifted slightly in his lap, quietly, he asked, "Are you okay?" He knew it was a stupid question, because she quite clearly wasn't. And neither was Bickslow, honestly. Their morning had been rough, traumatic, and quite frankly, frightening. He was still trying to get over it all himself, but he was getting there.
Lucy was still the priority though, and if anything, he needed to know that Lucy was able to understand everything. If he understood everything, then he could understand how she felt, and how to help her.
"I'm… fine," she whispered. And it was the truth… Mostly, anyway. Yes, she was shaken up, worrying more than she'd ever worried in her entire life, and she was incredibly scared, but she was fine. "I'm okay."
"And who else is okay?" And that was the important question, really, because if she could answer that, then Bickslow knew his job would be a lot easier. Except when she remained silent and continued to look down at her hands in her own lap as she wrung them together, Bickslow's brow furrowed slightly with his suddenly growing concern. "Lucy?" he said softly.
Lucy sighed then, and as she closed her eyes with an ever so slight nod of her head, she whispered again, "The baby. The baby is okay."
And that was what was truly important.
When she'd woken up that morning and seen all of the blood, she'd instantly assumed the worst. Losing the baby had become her worst fear, and she'd let it take over all of her thoughts in an instant. But, to be fair, what else was she supposed to have thought when she'd woken up bleeding? That wasn't really supposed to happen when you were pregnant, so she reasoned that her freaking out was justified.
Not that anyone was saying otherwise, of course – least of all, Bickslow. He'd been freaking out just as much as she had when he'd been woken up, because it had become his worst fear, too. He'd just done his best to remain calm, though, because he hadn't wanted to worry Lucy any more than she already was.
But when they'd seen that heartbeat on the monitor, Bickslow had been so relieved that he'd wanted to cry. Lucy, on the other hand… well, she had been relieved, but she hadn't been able to stop worrying. Something was obviously wrong, and nobody had been able to give her a clear answer as to what was going on. That was the case until her obstetrician had arrived, and she'd been the only one who could actually tell her what was going on and the only one who'd been able to somewhat calm her down.
Not even Bickslow had been able to do that, and it was because he'd had no idea how to. He couldn't tell her everything would be fine, because he didn't know if it would be at the time.
Even when Lucy knew exactly what it was, she still hadn't stopped worrying, and there was a part of her that believed she'd never stop worrying. She was convinced she was always going to be worrying about something for as long as she was pregnant.
But she did find a little bit of solace to know she hadn't been losing the baby, and that they really were fine. The heartbeat was strong, and everything else looked fine. You know, apart from what was essentially a clot that had caused her to be bleeding in the first place. The only upside (apart from the baby being fine, of course), was that it was on the smaller side, and that it should hopefully clear itself up in the coming weeks.
Key word: hopefully.
Because there wasn't really anything they could do about it. It was just a matter of waiting and seeing what happened, and until all of the bleeding had stopped and the clot had disappeared and been reabsorbed or something else, she was on bed rest, and that had been a problem as soon as the doctor had said the words.
She was supposed to stay off her feet as much as possible, avoid doing any strenuous work around the house, and no lifting, and that was the biggest problem of all. She had a six-month-old and she wasn't going to be able to care for her. Even though Lucy had only been a parent for an incredibly short amount of time, for the first time, she was beginning to feel like a pretty bad one.
She just couldn't stop worrying though, and it was entirely why she'd needed a distraction. She needed something to occupy her thoughts and take her mind off the fact that she'd been told to just 'wait and see.' She couldn't just sit on her ass for the next couple of weeks and wait for her body to decide whether it was going to heal itself or not. No way in hell. She had too many things to do; she already had a baby to look after and a house to run.
She just simply didn't have time to sit and worry all day.
Bickslow, though… He was worrying, of course, because as always, there was still the chance Lucy could end up losing the baby anyway – and that chance was still incredibly small – but he was fine with her having to take it easy. She'd instantly hated the fact she had to do so, and Bickslow knew that. It was why she'd tried to give herself a distraction.
Sure, it wasn't going to be an easy few weeks, but it would work. Lucy would do her best to stay off her feet and take it easy, and Bickslow would look after Ingrid while she couldn't (or just wasn't allowed to, basically). He'd have a few things to sort out at work since he'd be taking time off, but he wasn't mad about any of it. He couldn't complain about it because Lucy was the priority; his family was the priority and they would always be more important than his job.
Besides, when his best friend was his boss, it was bound to make things easier, even when they hadn't been talking for a short while.
But right then, as they sat in that chair in their bedroom, Bickslow knew it wasn't going to be as hard as he'd once thought. Though Lucy would still hate what she'd have to do for the next few weeks, he knew that she would do it. She'd do it for the baby – their baby – because she cared about it as much as he did.
So pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head before he turned his own to rest his cheek against it, he murmured, "You're both okay, and that's what matters."
Lucy let out a shaky breath then and tried to make herself as close as possible to Bickslow. She needed that feeling of being safety, that warmth, and the strange sense of hope that he could give her, just by being close to her. She still needed him to tell her that everything really was going to be okay and that things weren't going to get any worse.
"I'm still scared," she said as barely a whisper.
"I know you are, but… everything is going to be fine, I promise." But if anything, that promise was more for him. Bickslow, too, wanted to believe that everything was still going to be fine. It had to be.
"You can't promise that…"
"I can still try."
Lucy sighed again, and she lifted one hand to light rest on the top of her stomach. "But what if everything isn't okay?" she asked quietly. She needed to know what would happen if she did end up losing the baby, because if that happened, then things really would not be okay.
"Lucy…" he whispered sadly. The usually so chipper and positive woman was anything but her usual self. Always so negative and thinking of the worst, and Bickslow didn't like it. It was a hard time for them – especially for her – but still, the odds were in their favour that nothing bad would happen. The chances of anything terrible arising from the slight complication with the pregnancy were incredibly low, so still, there was an incredibly slim chance of Lucy miscarrying.
But maybe her pessimism and worry was because she just had to wait. Maybe the fact that there was nothing anyone could do to truly easy her worry was why she was thinking that way.
Bickslow really didn't know.
"What then?" Lucy asked again, a little louder. She couldn't bear to think of what she'd do if she ended up losing the baby, and then Bickslow because of all of it. Not now, not ever, even.
Bickslow knew she wasn't going to let up on it, but honestly, he didn't know what was going to happen if that truly unfortunate event did end up occurring. So with his own quiet sigh, he lifted his head slightly and tilted Lucy's up gently with his fingers lightly touching her chin so he could meet her eyes that were filled with worry and sorrow, and quietly, he said, "If that happens, we'll deal with it then. We're not going to worry about it now, and why is that?"
"Because the baby is fine," she mumbled, dropping her head to lean on his shoulder again. "Happy and healthy."
"Exactly." The corners of his mouth upturned into a small smile. He was getting through to her… sort of. It was progress. Always progress. "Now," he said as he moved one arm to hook under her legs just behind her knees, and as she looked up again to give him a look of complete confusion, he smiled again. "You need to get some rest."
"But… The sheets…" she mumbled, her arms lacing around the back of Bickslow's neck when he stood from the chair.
"Will you just forget about the sheets already? They're already ruined."
She ducked her head again then as they moved through to the hall slowly. "Sorry…" she mumbled, feeling the guilt slowly creep up within her. It was her blood on those sheets, and as silly as it was, she really did feel the need to apologise for ruining them, and they were just sheets.
But Bickslow was suddenly feeling his own guilt rise within him. He hadn't meant for it to come out like that, so as soon as he realised that his words had probably hurt more than he ever thought they would, he stopped in the middle of the hall, just before Ingrid's door, and looked down to Lucy in his arms. "Don't you dare apologise for that, alright?" he said quietly yet sternly, and when she raised her head slightly to look back up at him, he smiled softly. "I just meant that it's not worth trying to get the blood out now. Sheets can be replaced. You can't."
"Okay…" she sighed as Bickslow began to walk down the hall again and into the living area. "I don't think we have any spare sets in the linen cupboard though."
"Probably not," he agreed. "But I'll sort it all out. Don't worry."
Gently, Bickslow placed Lucy down on the lounge and handed her the cushions that sat in the corner of it, and she almost begrudgingly took them and fluffed them up slightly before leaning down on her side to curl up on the lounge. "I still don't think she meant literal rest…" she mumbled, only tilting her head forward on the pillow to watch Bickslow walk around the sofa and to the kitchen.
"Maybe not," he said with a shrug, pulling a glass from the dishwasher and filling it up with cold water from the fridge. "But still, doctor's orders. Lots of rest."
"You're not my doctor," she muttered.
"No, but I am your—" But he cut himself off mid-sentence as his brow furrowed and he stopped in the middle of the kitchen, staring down at the counter with the glass in his hand. Your roommate? Sort of, not really just your friend, who just happens to be in love with you? Husband?
What exactly was he to Lucy? Oh. Right. They hadn't had that conversation yet.
So internally shaking his head to clear his thoughts some, he came out of his half-daze and went back over to the lounge and knelt down in front of Lucy as he placed the glass of water on the small table by the end of it. "I care about you," he said instead. "And I want to make things as easy as possible for you, so if that means you have to take it easy for the next few weeks or whatever, then I'm gonna make sure you do that, okay?"
"You're really not going to let up on this, are you?" she asked, slightly amused.
His face split with a wide grin then as he shook his head. "Not a chance." And he really wasn't going to. As unfortunate the circumstances were, he was looking forward to spending more time at home. He'd get to look after Ingrid, and he'd get to look after Lucy, too.
But of course, he still had to go sort out a few things before he could do that, and that meant going into work and getting a few things… Talking to Laxus… Apologising to Laxus…
"Now, if I go into work to get a few things from my office and let Laxus know I'll be out for a couple of weeks, are you going to be okay here for an hour or two?" he asked.
She nodded then, before pulling her bottom lip into her mouth. "Are you going to tell Laxus what happened…?" She thought it was a fair question, since she wasn't actually ready to tell everyone she was pregnant anyway (and she was glad she hadn't yet, even though it had been planned for that weekend over lunch at Laxus and Mira's place since they had the biggest apartment out of all of them). But now that a (fairly common) complication had arisen, she found she didn't want everyone to know about that either.
But that being said… Bickslow had been having trouble with Laxus because of the time he'd taken off because of her, and he was having to take even more time off. She felt guilty, and even though she didn't want anyone taking time off for her and anyone else finding out about what happened, she knew she didn't have much choice. With that, she realised that it wouldn't be fair for Bickslow to not tell Laxus, because she could tell it was going to cause more problems for him.
Maybe just for once, she was going to have to deal with people going out of their way to look after her (even though it was mostly for Ingrid's benefit), because after all, it was all for the baby.
"I'll tell him as little as possible," he said with a small smile. He knew he was going to have to tell his friends some things, but he also knew it was something that was primarily supposed to be kept between them.
"Alright then," she nodded again. "I'll be okay. I might just sleep for a bit then…" Because god knows she needed that after her stressful morning. It didn't help she was almost constantly tired those days.
Bickslow stood then, and after grabbing the folded up throw blanket from the bottom shelf of the table by the end of the lounge and then delicately draping it over Lucy, he went over to the windows and pulled the black curtains back enough to block out most of the light in the room, only leaving a sliver between the two.
After coming back out into the main room just a few minutes later with Ingrid in one arm, he quickly went about getting anything and everything he'd need to take with him just in case Ingrid decided she needed something else to entertain her, rather than her caring father, even though it would just be a couple of short hours, if that. Most of the things she'd need were in a bag in the car – diapers, spare set of clothes, one of her favourite toys that wasn't the babies… anything and everything, just in case – so all he really had to do was make sure he had something to feed her, and since she wasn't particularly fussy (they thought, anyway), it was going to be incredibly easy.
Oh, the joys of having a not-so-frustrating child. Here's to hoping the other one is this pleasant…
"Do we need anything else while I'm out?" he asked, ripping the shopping list that was stuck to the side of the fridge and putting it in his pocket.
Lucy hummed in thought for a moment. "I don't think s—oh… Wait…" She could quite literally feel her face burning when she remembered her little… problem.
She was bleeding, and she was going to be dealing with that for a couple of weeks at least. Well, that's just how she understood it. Of course, it was supposed to get better as the entire thing hopefully sorted itself out, but still… She was going to be bleeding some more.
She'd need some things. Well, more, anyway.
And with Bickslow taking the whole overbearing and paranoid caretaker persona to new levels, she was sure she wasn't going to be able to leave her own home to go and buy her own necessities. As embarrassing as it was to Lucy (and probably Bickslow, for that matter), she needed them, and that just meant asking Bickslow to get them for her.
"I um…" she started, still searching within herself for the courage she so desperately needed. She knew it was something she should have no problem with asking, it was just that she'd never had to have anyone buy her those kinds of things… Especially of the opposite gender. "I need… some things…" she mumbled.
Bickslow rolled his eyes as he shoved his phone and then his wallet into his pockets and picking up his keys. "Like?" he asked, feigning slight boredom as he looked over to the lounge. Wait, hang on. Is she blushing?
So with a sigh, Lucy willed herself to just get it out there. There was no point of drawing it out any longer. "I'm kind of… bleeding, remember?" She mentally (and sort of physically) cringed, and when she saw Bickslow stand there, still completely oblivious to what it was she was asking for, she rolled her eyes. "I need you to get me pads, alright?" she said, instantly wishing she could pull the blanket up over her head to hide.
Bickslow just stood there for a few more seconds, blankly staring at the lounge as Ingrid tried to shuffle in his arm.
And then he broke, and his face went an unflattering shade of pink. "Oh… Oh!" He mentally shook his head as he reached for the door just behind him. "Right… Yeah, sure, okay," he mumbled. Pfft. No problem. I'm a somewhat mature adult. I can totally go and buy her… things. No problem at all… "Uh… Anything else?" he mumbled again, pulling the door open.
"Sheets."
Bickslow moved Ingrid to his other arm as he walked up to Laxus' office. He'd already stopped by his own office and picked up his thing:; his laptop, a few draft policies and things he had to look over to make sure they followed the company's guidelines, and of course, the third draft for the gala that he was still trying to sort of. Then of course, everything else he'd left at work but needed to take home from the previous night before he'd left in a rush to get home to Lucy. They all sat in his usual messenger bag over one shoulder, which he'd also left in his office overnight.
"Is he in a meeting right now?" he asked, stopping in front of Laxus' personal assistant's desk.
The blonde with the tight bun looked up from her computer screen to smile before looking back down to it to pull up Laxus' schedule for the day. After a short moment of reading over what was probably a full schedule, she looked up to Bickslow once again. "He's in with Miss Scarlet at the moment," she said. "Would you like me to call to let him know you're here?"
"Nah, it's fine," he mumbled, already turning and heading for the door just next to him. "They won't mind."
So as he ignored the assistant's protests once again about barging into Laxus' office unannounced, he pushed open the double doors slowly and walked into the spacious office and let the doors swing closed behind him. "Hey," he said with his famous wide grin when both the scarlet haired woman and the blond man looked towards him, both with bemused expressions. Then, as he cleared his throat, lifting up Ingrid just a tiny bit higher on his side, he asked quietly, "Can I talk to you, Laxus?"
Laxus shrugged and turned to look at Erza who sat on one of the two chairs opposite his desk, and with her own quiet sigh she nodded and gathered up her laptop and papers to hold them in her arms as she stood from the chair. "I'll come back later, alright?" she said looking towards Laxus, and when he nodded, she turned and headed towards the door. Then, as she passed Bickslow who was taking a seat on one of the lounges, she said with a smile, "Say hi to Lucy for me."
"Will do," he replied.
Both Bickslow and Laxus sat in silence for a few short moments after Erza left. Laxus sat idly swinging side to side on his chair, and Bickslow gently lowered Ingrid to the floor as he slid down to it as well, resting his back against the sofa.
"I kinda need to apologise…For the last few days…" Bickslow mumbled, finally breaking the silence between the two as he watched Ingrid slowly pushed herself to sit up.
"Not really," Laxus replied as he stood up from his chair. "I shouldn't have pushed it, to be honest."
An eyebrow arched in amusement as Bickslow raised his eyes to see Laxus sit on the lounge just opposite him. "Is that an apology?" he asked, and when the blond man grunted in response, avoiding the blue-and-black haired man's gaze, he chuckled. Laxus never really apologised, and Bickslow knew that. An indirect and discreet one was as best as he could ever manage. "Anyway, I still shouldn't have ignored you like I did. I just wanted to avoid my problems."
It was Laxus' turn to raise his brow. He had to admit, he was still curious about what his friend was calling a problem. "Still avoiding them?" he asked.
"What do you think?" Bickslow muttered.
The blond shrugged. "It's hard to tell with you, sometimes." The once Seith mage had always been a master at hiding his emotions, even with his closest friends. Of course, with the visor he'd always worn, it had been near impossible to tell what was going on with him, and on the odd occasion he did take it off, it was without a doubt a lot easier.
But with the new world and the man's almost entire personality shifting, it was back to being impossible. The lack of visor was irrelevant there, because it was just that no one really knew enough about what went on in Bickslow's new life to know much about what he was thinking or feeling.
Of course, Laxus could still tell there was something that was troubling his best friend, and it wasn't just because the usually stubborn man had come to him to talk (which as it turns out, was something he'd always done when things got too out of hand and he just really needed to talk with someone about things), but his entire demeanour was different.
And hey, if Bickslow wanted to talk about things, Laxus would listen. He'd always listen.
"Yeah, well, honestly? I don't know myself I'm still avoiding them." And it was the truth. The more he thought it all, the more he realised just how many problems he had.
"Do you want to talk about any of those problems or not?" Laxus asked.
Bickslow shrugged. "I don't know. Kinda? I guess so…"
"Well, I'll listen. Which one are we going to start with today?" he asked, his voice laced with amusement.
"Shut up," Bickslow mumbled as the corner of his mouth lifted up into a small smirk. But… It was a valid question. Where did he start? Of course, there was a logical answer, and that actually involved answering the question Bickslow had left unanswered on Friday night. So clearing his throat, he shrugged, and quietly, he said, "Well… You were right…"
"About what?"
"Lucy," Bickslow sighed. "You were right about Lucy. What you said last week, I mean."
"Oh?" Even without Bickslow says the exact words, Laxus knew what he meant, and even though he'd already realised it himself, it was still a surprise to hear from Bickslow himself. "So you love her, huh?" he asked quietly.
Bickslow nodded. "Worst part is that I really only just realised it myself last night. Or finally accepted it… I don't even know what it was, to be honest," he mumbled.
"Wait, what do you mean?" Laxus asked, his brow furrowing in his confusion. He wasn't entirely sure what Bickslow was saying.
"I mean, I think that I've been in love with her for a while." There was just no point of avoiding that anymore. "Before everything happened here."
"Shit, really?"
Bickslow rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't say it otherwise."
"Does she know you are?"
"Of course she doesn't," Bickslow shot back then, causing Laxus to raise his eyebrows again from the sudden bitterness in his voice. "And that's kind of one of my other problems."
"How so?" Laxus asked, crossing his leg other his other one instead and glancing down to the blonde infant on the floor just in front of Bickslow who was doing her best to lean forwards and onto her hands.
Bickslow sighed. "It's not entirely one-sided. I mean, it's not like she's in love with me." Though Bickslow could only let his mind wander and almost fantasise about Lucy actually being in love with him, but he knew it was just a fantasy. "But we're close, right? Like, we both want to see if an actual relationship could work. Well, I mean, I think that's what she wants," he mumbled, suddenly wondering if that was what she indeed wanted. It seemed like it. "But it's like every time we've talked about actually discussing it and talking about what it is we really want, something comes along to fuck it up."
Because whether it be him needing to go to work, Lucy being too exhausted and sick to do much talking, or the entire miscarriage scare, each time they'd been close to having that conversation to see what they were going to do, something had gotten in the way and they'd been unable to actually talk about it all. Even though they were both done avoiding it and they were both worried about whether it was a good idea because they didn't want to ruin anything between them, Bickslow couldn't help but wonder if the world was almost trying to tell him not to fuck up what was already so good.
But hey, it was all about taking risks, right? That's what he had to tell himself.
"Really?" Was all Laxus could manage again.
Bickslow's eyes narrowed in annoyance as he lifted up Ingrid to sit her on his lap instead. "I get that you're the listening rather than talking type, but seriously, is 'really' the only word you know or something?" he said harshly.
"No," he scoffed. "I'm just surprised is all."
"How?"
"Blondie. And you. It's weird."
Even though Bickslow should have been feeling slightly insulted over it, he couldn't be. He knew it was weird, because girls like Lucy didn't go for guys like him. But hey, he wasn't complaining. So with a sigh, he shrugged. "Fair point." Bickslow looked down to his wrist to check his watch, and then as he lifted Ingrid into his arms to hold her against his chest in one arm, he pushed himself up from the ground with his other arm and sat on the edge of the lounge instead. "And that brings me to my next problem," he said.
"Just how many problems do you have?" Laxus asked, both slightly bemused and amused.
"Quite a few, it seems," he sighed again. "Anyway, I can't come in for the next couple of weeks. At least."
"What now?" Laxus groaned. "I thought you'd only have to miss a few days every now and then?"
Bickslow shrugged slightly. "Um, yeah… Remember how I said there was always something that came along to fuck things up?" When Laxus nodded, he continued, "Well, something came along, and it means I can't come in for the next couple of weeks."
"You know I'm going to need to know more than that, Bicks."
The blue-and-black haired man sighed then with his own slight nod. "I figured you'd say that." And he did. He'd had an inkling that he wouldn't just be able to get away with saying he couldn't come in, but he still had to say as little as possible. Lucy wanted her privacy so Bickslow would respect that as much as he could. "Look, something happened, and Lucy has to take it easy for the next couple of weeks at least, and it means she can't look after Ingrid by herself."
"Was it uh…" Laxus cleared his throat when Bickslow's eyes flicked elsewhere. "Was it something to do with the baby?" There was a long moment of silence following that, and Laxus had been about to apologise and say it wasn't necessary for him to answer (after all, it was just his curiosity into his friend's life that drove him to ask), but then Bickslow nodded as he looked down to Ingrid who was sitting on his lap again. Laxus suddenly felt concerned for his friend, because he was aware he cared about Lucy a hell of a lot (more than Laxus still expected him to), and the baby, too. Suddenly the way Bickslow was acting made sense; it was his worry for the woman he loved. "Is she okay?" he asked quietly after another long moment.
"Yeah, she's okay," Bickslow said quietly. "So is the baby, if you were curious," he said as he looked back up to Laxus. Suddenly, he felt a little more relieved. He'd already said more than he'd intended because Laxus had always had a knack for asking the right questions, no matter how blunt they may be sometimes, but Bickslow had to admit that talking about everything, even just a little bit, had made him feel just a little bit better about things.
And Laxus felt his own relief wash over him then, and he didn't quite understand it. "Right. I'm glad," he mumbled, shooting up from the lounge to walk back to his desk. "What do you want me to do about work, though? Get someone in while you're out or…?"
Bickslow shook his head as he stood up from the lounge too, lifting Ingrid up just a little bit higher. "Nah, I can do most of it at home. I just won't be able to come in," he said. "I'll be able to get James—"
"James?"
"My new secretary," Bickslow explained. "Just find a way to get everything to go through him and I'll be able to get things done at home."
Laxus nodded as he sat down on his large leather chair and opened up his emails, already working on composing an email to his grandfather and the rest of the board, notifying them that Bickslow wouldn't be attending any meetings of important for a while. If anything, it was to keep Makarov off his back.
Another glance down to his watch then and Bickslow reached to pick up his bag to swing the leather strap over his free shoulder. "Anyway, I've still got a few things to get done before I go back home, so I should get going," he said.
"Yeah, of course," Laxus agreed, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms, leaving his email temporarily.
"Thanks for um… Listening, I guess."
"Don't get all soft on me now. Leave that for Blondie," Laxus chuckled.
Bickslow rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up, Sparky," he joked, walking backwards towards the doors again. As he reached them, he lost his grin and instead looked back at Laxus, and almost desperately, he asked, "Please don't tell anyone why I'm not here. If they ask, though, just say it's some family or personal stuff, alright?"
"I know," Laxus said.
"Good," Bickslow said, a hand reaching out for the door as the corners of his mouth lifted up into a small smile. "Thanks again, Laxus." Because although the man had a gruff and mostly impenetrable exterior, he was actually someone who cared. Sort of. He had a heart somewhere. Hell, he had to, because he had Mira.
But still, Bickslow was glad that he had someone like Laxus to talk to, and he really had had to do that on a few occasions where everything had piled up and he'd needed to get things out before he just… broke.
Of course, if you told anyone outside of the Raijinshuu or Mira that Laxus did in fact have a heart and wasn't as much as a bastard as he made himself appear to be, then there was a possibility that the once Dragon Slayer and lightning mage would shock you into unconsciousness… or death. Or maybe just enough to make you believe he was as uncaring as he wanted to appear.
Why are there so many different fucking types? Bickslow thought as he stared at the shelves in front of him that were filled with boxes and packages of all different sizes, all of them used for one specific purpose.
The longer Bickslow stared at the shelves filled with the feminine hygiene products, the more confused he got. He didn't think it should be that hard, and he was suddenly questioning how girls and women and anyone else who would need to buy such things could do so on a monthly basis. That shit was way too frustrating.
There were just so many different types! And brands! And then how many? How many was he supposed to get?
Oh god. This is too hard.
He looked down to Ingrid who was sitting in the cart, all strapped in and safe and happy. "You'd help me with this if you could, right?" he mumbled, careful not to draw any more unneeded attention to himself. When the infant just giggled as she usually did whenever someone talked to her, Bickslow sighed. "Of course you wouldn't." He was convinced his daughter enjoyed his misfortune.
So he turned back to the actual problem at hand: just what the fuck did he buy? He'd managed to figure out the rest of the shopping, and considering it was Lucy who usually did the grocery shopping on the weekends while he stayed home with Ingrid, he was quite proud of having deciphered the list, which for the most part, Bickslow was convinced was in a different language. Everything Lucy had written on it was in a shorthand of sorts, and Bickslow had never had a reason to know what they meant.
Until now.
But still, he'd stood in that isle for far too long, and the longer he stood there, the more uncomfortable he got. All he had to do was pick up a box and put it in the damn cart and go about the rest of the shopping.
It was just that he had no fucking idea which one. He was on the verge of calling Lucy just to ask, but… He couldn't do that. He wanted Lucy to think he could manage doing something as simple as buying her things she'd need. You know, because she was a woman, and they bled. On a monthly basis. Bickslow was well aware of that and he was well aware of everything that came with it… including extreme moodiness. He'd lived with Evergreen for a year when he was younger, and honestly, it had been the worst year of his life.
Besides, Bickslow would have to be okay with it all. Not just because he had to be a mature adult about things, but because he had Lucy (who, still, was just Lucy to him. Not his friend, girlfriend, or wife. Just Lucy… for now), a daughter, and it was quite possible he'd have another one. There was a chance he was going to be surrounded by women for the rest of his life.
All those hormones… he shuddered at the thought. It's not what he'd once thought of first when he thought about being surrounded by women. But hey, things change.
But seriously, he really had stood there for too long. So with a sigh, he searched for the most run-of-the-mill variety he could find within the various different types, brands, and quantities, and grabbed the box and threw it into the cart. "This is fucking ridiculous," he muttered, quickly pushing the cart down the isle.
Way too ridiculous.
Lucy absent-mindedly sipped at the water as she continued to press the down arrow on the remote and flick through the channels on the T.V. She'd only been able to sleep for a little over an hour, and since she'd woken up in a quiet and dark house, she'd been bored. And, if anything, a little lonely. She was never alone during the day, because Ingrid was always there, whether she was asleep or not.
But Bickslow had taken her with him just because she had to take it easy.
She hadn't liked the darkness, so she'd opened the curtains back up and the room had instantly become warmer as soon as they'd been opened. As it got warmer, she got just that little bit happier.
But now, all she had to do was wait for Bickslow to get back with Ingrid. Not even the noise from the television could make it feel any less quiet, and she didn't like it.
Thankfully, though, by the time she got through an episode of a show she hadn't enjoyed and had gone back to channel surfing some more, Bickslow was finally home, and he walked into the apartment holding Ingrid in one arm and holding all of the bags in the other.
"Did you get some rest?" he asked while kicking the door closed behind him as he dropped all of the bags on the island counter.
"Some," she shrugged, sitting up slightly.
"Good, good…" he mumbled. Once he'd placed all of the shopping bags on the bench, he went around to the table to gently place Ingrid in the high-chair, and once he had her in there, he lifted the leather strap from his messenger bag with his laptop and work things from his shoulder and let it sit on one of the other chairs. "Right, so…" he said, moving back to the counter. "I couldn't decide on a few things."
Lucy arched a brow as she sat up further, crossing her legs under her and moving one of the pillows to sit behind her back. "What exactly did you end up doing?" she asked cautiously.
"Uh, well… I kind of ended up buying silk sheets."
"Silk?" she echoed, her voice hinting at her amusement.
"Yeah, silk," he mumbled. "Also, just normal white ones. Well, I think they're normal ones." There were so many different thread counts and fabrics and colours that he was completely overwhelmed. It didn't help he was indecisive when he got left to his own devices, so of course, he'd just bought the set that seemed as close to normal as far as he could tell. "Also, new quilt cover, because it looked cool," he said, lifting out a turquoise chevron-style quilt cover.
Lucy sighed then. "Of course you did…" she mumbled.
"Yeah, also…" He began to unpack the groceries, quickly going back and forth between the counter, fridge, or a cupboard. "Why the fuck are there so many different types of pads and tampons and shit?"
"Oh god…" Lucy dropped her head to rest in her palms as Bickslow began his apparent rant. She hadn't been expecting that. At all.
"Like, seriously," he continued and kept going about putting everything away. He'd started his rant, and there was no stopping him now. "How bloody hard is it to—oh… probably not the best choice of words, but still, why are there so many?! Why can't there just be one type? For everything. Why can't life be simple?"
"I don't know, and I don't really care," she mumbled, suddenly kicking the blanket back and standing up from the lounge. It just wasn't something she'd had a reason to think about much; she just bought what she needed, when she needed it. There was no need to question everything… like Bickslow was.
Not too much later in the morning, though, once Lucy had found the one item she'd wanted and taken it away from the apparently way too confused male (who had made his confusion related to feminine hygiene products quite clear as he continued to ramble, becoming more and more flushed as he went and found himself unable to stop talking), said male had finished with putting everything away, then stripped the bed and remade it, and then put Ingrid down for a much desired nap, Lucy found herself back on the lounge and aimlessly going through the movie and T.V series catalogue.
And Bickslow sat there staring at the screen with a lack of interest, only occasionally glancing down to the blonde who had her head on a pillow on his lap. He couldn't particularly focus on anything but the conversation they really needed to have. He wanted to know what they could be, and he didn't think he could wait any longer.
He needed to know.
"Lucy," he said softly, and when she hummed quietly as a response, still staring at the screen and searching for something to keep her occupied for a while, he looked back down to her. "What do you want to do?"
She stopped searching then and instead rotated the remote in her hand. She knew that conversation was coming, and she was glad they were finally getting around to it since all they'd been doing was avoiding it, and then things just seemed to get in the way… but she was still nervous. She still felt like she was putting herself on the line and like she was opening herself up to get hurt, but at the same time, she didn't think that would happen.
Surely Bickslow wanted the same thing she did. Right?
She rolled to her back then so she could look up to Bickslow, and with the smallest of shrugs, she quietly said, "I… want to see where we can end up taking things."
He arched a brow. Maybe it was because he honestly had no idea how relationships worked because he had a lack of experience with them, but he still wasn't quite sure what Lucy meant or wanted.
Damn, I suck at this. He really just needed it to be out there, as clear as day, and that meant most likely making a fool of himself. And under normal circumstances, he wouldn't care because it was something he'd done on a near daily basis, but with Lucy, he felt the need to impress her. Constantly.
"So… Like an actual…" He paused to cleared his throat. "Relationship?"
"Yeah," she said as a blush crept up on her cheeks and a smile on her lips. "Unless that's not what you want…"
"Oh, no," he said quickly, internally cursing himself before correcting his words, "I mean, yes, that's what I want too," he spluttered. Damn it, man! Get yourself together! "I just… don't really know anything about… dating… or anything…" He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as he looked up to the ceiling, partly to hide his own flushed cheeks, which annoyingly, had been happened way too often as of late. "Wow, I'm already fucking this up."
Lucy let out a quiet giggle as she sat up, and turning just enough to place her hands on either side of his face to guide it down, she pressed a light kiss to his lips. "You're strangely adorable when you're awkward," she murmured.
"Please don't call me adorable."
A mischievous gleam was set in her eyes then. "If I can't call you adorable, then you can't call me Cosplayer."
"You've been trying to get me to stop calling you that since we met," he said as his lips slowly turned up into a grin.
"I know," she sighed. "And yet you still do it."
"Exactly. I'm just never going to stop calling you Cosplayer."
"Even if I call you adorable?"
He shrugged. "I'll deal with it." He silenced her quiet laugh with a quick kiss – something he was going to enjoy being able to do a lot more, or so he hoped – and then quietly, he asked, "So what exactly does that make us now?" Because really, he still needed some things to be quite clearly spelled out in front of him.
"Don't really know, to be honest," she mumbled, sliding back down the lounge to rest her head on the pillow again and to roll onto her side. She didn't think an actual label would be appropriate, since after all, she didn't know if things were going to work out. Besides, it would just be confusing since they were technically and legally married.
"How about 'partner in crime?'" he mused.
She rolled her eyes as she began to scroll through the movie catalogue again. "You're a dork," she mumbled.
"Yeah, but you just happen to really like this dork."