Lucy winced as the nurse cleaned up the small cut above her right eyebrow. The alcohol solution stung more than the tiny splinters of glass getting pulled out had. But then again, Lucy hadn't really noticed that there'd been glass in there at all until she'd had them taken out by a paramedic in the ambulance.
She didn't remember much of what had happened. Most of it had been a blur. But Lucy clearly remembered the sound that had come from the other car driving right into the side of them. And she remembered the crunching sound that came from the side and then the roof of their car landing heavily on the asphalt, and then the creaking of the metal and the spin of the wheels until they'd stopped with everything else going still.
She didn't remember managing to pull herself out, but she remembered turning to face Bickslow and seeing the open cuts from where the glass had shattered right next to his face, and she remembered how his eyes had been closed and how it had only been the seatbelt and airbag still mostly holding him in place, with the roof on the ground and the wheels facing upwards. She remembered almost screaming at him afterwards, once she'd somehow gotten out of the car through her own broken window, but she just hadn't been able to get him to wake up.
She hadn't even been able to pull him out of the car, though. That much, Lucy remembered. She'd tried so hard, scraping her knees on the broken glass on the ground, but it had been to no avail. Everything had just hurt. Even the paramedics having to almost forcibly drag her away from the car just so they'd been able to get Bickslow out had hurt. But in more ways than one.
Lucy still didn't know who'd called the ambulance. She suspected it to be the woman walking her dogs that she could vaguely remember, but she wasn't sure.
Now though, being in the emergency department for what felt like the fiftieth time that year, all Lucy wanted to do was go and find Bickslow. She simply didn't care about how she was. The last time she'd seen Bickslow was when he'd been put into the second ambulance, right as the doors to her own had been closing. She'd already asked the nurses and doctors attending to her a hundred times to let her go and see him, but each time had been for nothing.
Each time, they'd only told her that she needed to sit tight and wait. She wasn't going anywhere until they got her and her unborn children sorted out first.
The cut on her face was still being tended to when someone finally came to administer the ultrasound everyone had been going on about her getting. The man giving it only tried being as chipper and positive as possible, telling her that they were just going to quickly check on the babies to make sure everything was fine. And for the most part, Lucy just didn't care. So she only rolled up the bottom of her shirt and told the guy to get the hell on with it.
It wasn't lost to Lucy that they probably thought she was being a terrible mother for not caring about them making a point of checking on her babies. She noticed it. And it wasn't as if she didn't care, because she did. She wanted the twins to be as fine as they had been that morning. But at the same time, she wanted Bickslow to be fine just that little bit more. And not knowing a single damn thing about him was just killing her.
So when the technician just asked question after question about the babies – asking if she'd already found out the genders, just in case he ruined anything, and then even if they had any names picked out – Lucy couldn't help but snap at him. "Stop asking me all of that and just tell me whether they're okay or not!" she shouted, and at that moment, Lucy didn't have a care in the world about how she seemed.
And, after an uncomfortable moment, the man squeaked his response, and the nurse went back to finishing up with the cut above her eye. Lucy hadn't needed anyone to try and make her feel better. She hadn't needed anyone to try and make things seem normal. She had just needed someone to tell her straight up whether anything was wrong or not.
Thankfully, everything had been fine. Although having a bruise from the seatbelt, and the twins having slightly higher than usual heartbeats, everything had been fine. And that was all Lucy had wanted to hear.
But even then, with the babies having been checked out and having someone higher up review it and confirm it, and with all of her own minor injuries, mostly just scrapes and cuts, treated to… Lucy still wasn't allowed to go and find Bickslow. Once again, Lucy just got told to sit tight and wait. And that time, she couldn't help but try and curl up on herself, ignoring the aching pain from almost every single joint in her body, and begin to cry.
She was still crying, curled up on the emergency department hospital bed, when Mark and Claire came in. They'd been listed as extra emergency contacts not long after Ingrid had been born, so with Bickslow being admitted as well, they'd been notified as soon as Lucy had been brought in. Claire hadn't been able to help but worry when Lucy and Bickslow hadn't been there to pick up Ingrid after getting the message from Lucy saying they'd be back soon, but Mark had only told her not to think the worst. 'Maybe they got stuck in a bit of traffic,' was what Mark had said, and with that city, Claire hadn't really had much choice to suppose he was right.
But when two hours had passed, and when every call to either of their phones just went straight to voicemail, and when all of her messages to them went unanswered, Claire began to worry again. That was when the phone in her apartment had decided to ring, and she'd been told that the parents of the precious child sleeping peacefully in the old crib in the living room, had been in an accident and that they were both in the hospital.
And so Claire had woken up Ingrid as gently as possible, and then her husband not so gently, and then they'd all gone off to the hospital together to see what help they could be. And when they got there, Claire only rushed over to Lucy's side as quickly as she could. She'd thought of Lucy as the daughter she never had ever since Lucy had moved into that apartment with Bickslow, so seeing Lucy like that at that moment crushed Claire.
"Lucy, sweetheart," Claire said softly, leaning over the edge of the bed to hug the younger woman as best she could – although being as curled up on herself as she presently was (not that Claire understood how she was even capable of doing that, being the size that she was), she only ended up hugging her head more than anything. "Look at you. What's wrong?"
It took Lucy a moment to even register that there was someone even in the room, much less actually hugging her. She only slightly lifted her head, and then seeing the kind face of her neighbour looking back at her with such worry and concern, Lucy couldn't help but cry even more.
Claire sat on the edge of the bed then, just so she could easier wrap her arms around Lucy and let Lucy lay her head on her lap instead. "What's wrong?" Claire asked again softly, smoothing and tucking the loose hair behind Lucy's ear. "Are you alright? Are you hurt? Tell me what happened."
"I-I'm… fine," Lucy cried, sniffling as she continued to cry onto the older woman's lap. The fact that her tears were leaving stains on Claire's pants was lost to her, but Claire didn't care anyway.
Claire looked up briefly to Mark still standing by the end of the bed. "Mark, look at her file, will you?" she whispered, then held out her arms for her husband to hand Ingrid to her.
Lucy sat up slightly when she heard the familiar cooing of her daughter, and was then all too taking Ingrid from Claire's hands and then pulling her to her chest. Claire could only watch with a gentle smile as Lucy held Ingrid as close as she possibly could, still sobbing softly, with most of any noise she made being muffled by Ingrid.
"So you're not hurt?" Claire asked again. Lucy shook her head. "What about your babies? Are they okay too?"
"T-They're okay," Lucy whispered.
Claire nodded. That's good. "What about Bickslow then?" Claire asked next, and the only answer she really needed from Lucy was the almost strangled sob that came from her as soon as her husband was mentioned. "Lucy, where's Bickslow?"
"I d-don't know…" she whimpered. "They w-won't… They won't l-let me see him… Or… Or t-tell m-me anything about h-him…"
Mark sighed as he set the file back down on the hook. The emergency department was ordinarily his department, and he never liked seeing it run poorly. It was like a well-oiled machine when he was there; everything ran smoothly and everything got done at a reasonable time. But right then, it was clear to Mark that it wasn't running that smoothly. And it happened sometimes, he knew that. Most of the time it was because they didn't have the staff and manpower to deal with everyone and everything.
Still, judging by Lucy's charts, she was fine. Everything anyone had recorded looked fine. There was no reason for her to be in that bed right then, as much as he hated to even say it. From his view of things, she should've been discharged not long after she'd been admitted. Her injuries had been treated, and her children had been looked at. There were people who needed that bed more than Lucy did at that moment, and honestly, Mark had a feeling Lucy would be all too glad to be able to get out of it anyway.
So he was going to try and help her with that.
He walked around to the other side of the bed, just to give a reassuring squeeze to her arm. Whether she even noticed it or not, he didn't know. "How about I go see if I can't get those discharge papers processed a little quicker for you," he said softly. "I'll try and find out a bit about Bickslow for you, too."
Lucy nodded into Ingrid's head, still keeping her daughter held against her as tightly as she could and letting Ingrid rest her head on her shoulder. "T-Thank you," Lucy managed to say. All she wanted was to know how Bickslow was doing, because after the way she'd last seen him, Lucy was just too scared to think that she wouldn't actually see him again.
Bickslow had woken up again by the time Lucy finally got to go and see him. He'd mostly just been staring up at the ceiling and berating himself the entire time he'd been awake, but when he saw Lucy walk in with Ingrid, he couldn't stop the tears from spilling from his eyes. And, he really almost never cried. He got teary occasionally, mostly because of Ingrid, it seemed. But he'd never been one to actually cry. Not as far as he could remember.
But right then, being able to see that at least Lucy was okay, it made him want to fucking bawl his eyes out.
Lucy handed Ingrid back to Claire so she could rush over to Bickslow's side. Everything still ached (and walking through the hospital had been more painful than she'd expected), but Lucy almost didn't notice it. Not when she could finally see Bickslow again, and see that he was actually okay – or at least not dead, which was a huge bonus.
She was already back to crying as well by the time she was leaning down over him and resting her forehead against his, almost on the pillow he had turned his face against. "God, B-Bicks…" Her voice wavered as her own sobs caught in her throat. "I was s-so worried…"
Except there was only one thing he could say right then, and it wasn't that he was okay, or that he was just so glad to see her right then. All Bickslow could say was, "I'm sorry. I'm so… So sorry." And he repeated it almost like a mantra, or like they were the only words he actually knew right then – which wasn't so far from the truth anyway.
They'd told him what had happened when he'd first woken up, not long after he'd arrived at the hospital, he supposed. They'd told him that he'd been driving when another car had run straight into them, and that their car had rolled a few times before finally settling right in the middle of the intersection. And then when he'd asked about Lucy, they'd only told him that she'd been getting looked at somewhere else in the hospital and that they'd let him know when they knew anything.
They'd never told him, though. And Bickslow just hadn't been able to help but think the worst; he'd only thought that it meant something horrible had happened and they just weren't going to tell him anyway.
But regardless of what happened, Bickslow knew it was his fault. All of it was his fault. He'd been the one driving. He'd been the one to not see the other car coming. He'd been the one to put them both in that hospital right then. And, for the most part, Bickslow didn't give a shit about how he'd ended up getting himself hurt – the concussion and the dislocated shoulder were nothing. He only cared about getting Lucy hurt. She'd been put in that situation because of him. If anything happened to Lucy or the twins, Bickslow just wouldn't forgive himself. Not now, and not ever.
And he almost wanted to kick himself for not even asking if the babies were okay. He was almost too scared to ask.
It took Lucy a few moments to even get through to Bickslow then, though. Over and over, he was apologising, and Lucy just didn't know what for. "Hey, hey, Bicks, honey, shhh," Lucy said gently, finally managing to get more than just one word said before Bickslow just tried to shake his head and apologise once more. She leant up slightly just so she could take his face between her hands, her fingers only lightly resting against his cheek so she didn't touch any of the dozens of tiny little cuts on the left side of his face. Bickslow wasn't looking at her then, his eyes closed again, but she could still see the tears sliding out from the corners and rolling down his cheeks slowly. And Lucy hated seeing that. "Bickslow, why are you apologising?" she continued, just as softly. "You have nothing to be sorry for."
Bickslow tried shaking his head again. "It was my f-fault. The crash. It was… It was m-me," he said, still sobbing almost silently. "You could've… You could've been h-hurt, and… And the twins… I could've… P-Please tell me they're okay… Please… Please tell me I d-didn't…"
"They're fine. They're perfectly fine, Bickslow," Lucy whispered.
And, she could, in a way, understand why Bickslow would no doubt be beating himself up over something possibly happening to them. Lucy knew that she was lucky with what had happened. She was lucky she'd been able to walk away from the accident with just a few bruises and cuts; she was lucky she'd been able to walk away at all, if anything. But she was lucky that nothing had happened to the babies, either. She knew she could've lost them. She knew she still could, as well. But for the most part, Lucy knew she was fine. She was fine and lucky and she never actually going to forget that.
Still though… Lucy didn't think Bickslow needed to be apologising. Not for anything. None of it had been his fault.
"Bickslow, look at me, please," she said. Bickslow stubbornly shook his head again, and Lucy held his face just a little bit firmer so she could stop him from trying to look away from her. "Please. Bickslow, please. Open your eyes. Look at me." And, reluctantly, Bickslow finally did. The only reason he hadn't wanted to was because then he'd have to see how much Lucy had been crying, and he hated having to see that. But as soon as his eyes were open and he was looking at her, with her own face just hovering right above his own, she smiled softly at him and whispered, "Stop saying you're sorry. You don't have anything to be sorry for. I mean that, okay?"
"B-But…"
"No. No buts. It wasn't your fault, Bicks. It was an accident. Everyone is fine. You did nothing wrong."
Bickslow didn't agree with that, though. Accident or not, it was still his fault. He'd been driving. He had to be responsible for what had happened, because no one else could be. He was the only one to blame, which meant he'd done everything wrong.
And no matter how relieved he was to know that the babies were fine, and that Lucy was fine, he still couldn't forget that it was his fault. He'd put them all there. He'd put them all in a situation that they were lucky to have gotten out of at all. Bickslow almost didn't know how Lucy could stand to look at him right then. He knew she wouldn't be if anything had happened to the twins, though. He knew that.
But Bickslow knew better than to try and argue with Lucy right then. It would probably get him nowhere, and for the most part, he just didn't have the energy to. He felt sick to his stomach and almost every single part of him was hurting at least a little bit. He was struggling to keep his eyes open as it was.
So all Bickslow could do was nod, not saying another word before he managed to free his face from Lucy's hands and turn it in the opposite direction, letting his still slowly falling tears stain that side of the uncomfortable pillow instead.
Bickslow had to stay at the hospital overnight, and it was only after the doctor did his afternoon rounds that he was allowed to go home. For the most part, his injuries hadn't been severe enough to warrant him being admitted to the general ward – not the concussion, the dislocated shoulder, and definitely not any of the cuts and scrapes that would heal quickly on their own. But the bleeding had been a concern, mostly because they hadn't been sure whether it would heal on its own or if it would need surgery to fix it.
It had healed on its own, thankfully. That was what the doctors had presumed to happen anyway, since it wasn't that uncommon for internal bleeding to occur after an accident like that. And given the red, almost black bruise that covered Bickslow's side and his arm from his ribs and halfway down his thigh, no one had been surprised that he'd had bleeding at all.
Lucy had wanted to stay when Bickslow had had to spend the night in the hospital, but he'd managed to send her home not long after Claire and Mark had taken Ingrid back to their apartment. Lucy hadn't slept much that night, not even with the apartment being quiet with Ingrid spending another night across the hall. She'd been tired, but apparently not tired enough to be able to sleep through the silence and in an empty bed.
When Bickslow got released after just one night in hospital, Lucy had thought that things would be fine afterwards. They'd be able to just put the accident behind them and just get back on with their lives like they'd been doing beforehand. She'd thought that Bickslow would cheer up a little bit being that he wasn't stuck in a hospital bed.
But Lucy had been wrong.
As soon as Bickslow had gotten home, he'd gone straight to bed. And for the first couple of days, Lucy had just told herself that it was still fine. She'd told herself that Bickslow was just hurting still and he just wanted to rest. But then a few days of turned into a week, and a week turned into almost two, and Lucy couldn't help but worry that she'd lost him.
He'd barely spoken to her the entire time. The only time he did, it was to either say that he wasn't hungry whenever she went and told him food was ready, or that he was just tired and he'd get up later. He mostly ignored Ingrid, too. And Lucy had been able to understand that he couldn't very well pick her up, not with his arm in a sling to keep his shoulder from moving much, but that hadn't been an excuse for him to forget about his own daughter. Every time she'd had Ingrid playing on the floor, which mostly consisted of crawling around the apartment and following her around (or getting into things she shouldn't), and Bickslow had been out in the living room watching something for a change, Ingrid had always gone straight to him. She'd crawl up straight to him and she'd paw at his leg or his pants or even at the couch to try and pull herself up. But Bickslow had just ignored it every time. And Lucy could mostly deal with Bickslow ignoring her, but she couldn't deal with Bickslow ignoring Ingrid.
He'd even missed Father's Day, he'd been spending that much time in his own head with his self-destructive thoughts.
But… She just hadn't known what to do. She'd tried so hard to get through to Bickslow over the nearly two weeks where all he'd done is sulk and wallow about in his own misery, but it had just achieved nothing. It had almost been as if he'd stopped hearing her.
Still, it hadn't taken Lucy very long to figure out why Bickslow had been the way he had. She'd known that he was still beating himself up over what had happened from the moment he'd walked in the door after she'd gone with Laxus to pick him up from the hospital. Bickslow was just the type of person to never forgive himself – not easily, at least – and Lucy had always known that. He still wasn't completely fine with what had happened during the Fantasia Festival; he still wasn't okay with indirectly been the one to hurt her because of what their other selves had done to each other; and he definitely wasn't okay with having been the one to put her and their unborn children at risk.
He still blamed himself for it. Lucy knew that.
But, she still hated it. She'd hated hearing him apologise in the hospital, and she hated seeing what it was still doing to him even more.
She didn't want Bickslow to blame himself for it. She didn't want him to be miserable because of it. She just wanted him back. She wanted him back so Ingrid could have her father again. She wanted him back so they could just focus on cleaning up the apartment and getting ready to move in just a couple more weeks.
She wanted him back because she missed him. The Bickslow sulking in bed, not doing anything with his time, was not the Bickslow she was in love with.
So, after spending so much time just giving him space, and then even more time trying to get through to him with anything at all, Lucy did the only thing she could think of. She walked into their bedroom, opened up the curtains to let some goddamn light into the room, and then sat down on the edge of the bed, right next to where Bickslow was lying propped up with all of the pillows.
"Bickslow," Lucy said softly. She took note of the man shifting uncomfortably and making a point of turning his face away. He couldn't very well roll away, not unless he hurt himself in the process. But even with Bickslow making it obvious he wasn't wanting to hear whatever it was Lucy had to say right then, she went ahead and said it anyway. "I'm sick of this. I really am."
And that was putting it mildly, but it was still the truth.
She was sick of Bickslow moping and sulking and being downright miserable.
"I know you're still in pain," she continued, only when Bickslow did her the honour of glancing in her direction. "And I know the doctor said for you to get your rest. But you have done nothing but sit here in this bed, wallowing in your own misery, for the last week and a half, and I'm sick of it."
"…I'm not wallowing," Bickslow mumbled.
"Yes, you are," Lucy insisted. "And I get why you're doing it. I do."
He doubted it. "Do you?" he asked, almost mockingly. Because she hadn't said anything to him about it since he'd come home from the hospital. Lucy just had no idea, as far as Bickslow was concerned.
"Because you're still hating yourself for what happened."
So maybe she does know. Bickslow could only shift uncomfortably on the bed again, making a point of looking back towards the window and away from Lucy. Even if she knew, it didn't mean she understood it. How could she understand it? It had been him. All of it had been him.
"It was an accident, Bickslow," Lucy said softly then. She reached out just to gently lay a hand on the shoulder she knew wasn't dislocated and still healing. "You don't have a reason to hate yourself. It wasn't your fault."
"It doesn't matter," he mumbled.
"What doesn't matter?"
He sighed through his nose before he gave his answer. "That it was an accident." He didn't really want to talk about it. He really did want to just wallow in his own misery, because that was all there was to do. "It doesn't matter. I still did it," he mumbled again.
"But you didn't do it," Lucy said.
"I was driving."
"Yes… But it wasn't your fault." Bickslow wasn't to blame for what had happened, at least that was the way Lucy saw things. They'd learnt later on that the other driver had been drunk. He'd been four times over the limit and he simply shouldn't have been driving. And that wasn't Bickslow's fault. It had been an accident. All of it. And it had been horrible, and they each seemed to have their scars to show for it, but it had still been an accident and that was final. Lucy just wanted Bickslow to finally see that. "You're not to blame for it, Bickslow," she whispered. "You didn't do anything wrong."
He shook his head at her. "But I am for blame for it," he insisted. "I was the one who was driving. I was the one who put us there on that road. That means it's my fault."
Lucy had to refrain from groaning into her hands. It was almost like talking to a brick wall. "Stop thinking that it's your fault. Please." She was just about pleading for Bickslow to finally stop thinking he was to blame. "I hate this, Bicks. I hate seeing you like this," Lucy whispered. "I hate seeing you ignore Ingrid, too. Do you even know you're doing that? She's our daughter, Bickslow. You don't just get to ignore your responsibilities because you don't feel like getting out of bed." And she knew she was being harsh, but with what Bickslow was doing, everyone was suffering.
"Of course I know I'm doing it!" he snapped. He almost regretted the words as soon as they'd come out of his mouth. Especially when Lucy sat back suddenly, her hand falling from his shoulder and her eyes widening slightly in surprise. Bickslow knew what he'd been doing, though. He'd known it the entire time. But he still couldn't look at Lucy when he quietly admitted, "How do you expect me to even look at her when every time I do, I just keep thinking about what would've happened if she'd been in the car with us?"
Every time he saw her, or heard or, or just thought about her, that was what Bickslow imagined. He imagined how things would've happened if Ingrid had been in the car with them. Lucy had been lucky to get out of it as unscathed as she had – and Bickslow was going to thankful for that until the day he died – but he knew that Ingrid wouldn't have. Ingrid wouldn't have made it out of that crash, and that fucking terrified him.
Lucy hadn't expected Bickslow to say that, though. She'd never expected anything close to that, to be honest. But… It made sense. "But she wasn't with us," she reminded him softly. "She was here, and she was safe."
"But what if she hadn't been?" Bickslow asked.
"That doesn't matter, because the point is that she wasn't with us." Lucy wasn't interested in thinking about what could've happened had their daughter been in the car with them. It wasn't a train of thought she wanted to go down. "Stop focusing on what didn't or could've happened. You're just hurting yourself even more."
"I could've gotten you killed," he said then, almost bitterly. Bickslow wasn't going to disagree and say that he wasn't hurting himself by thinking about all of it, because he knew he was. He just couldn't stop himself.
"But you didn't."
"You could've lost the twins."
"But I didn't."
"Yet." He wasn't completely oblivious to what had been going on in the apartment while he'd been sulking. Bickslow had heard Lucy on the phone to Dr. Delia during the week. He'd heard her talking to Levy and everyone else when they'd come over at some point, too. Even if the babies had been fine when they'd checked at the hospital, and even if they were fine now, Bickslow knew that there was still the chance Lucy could lose them. And it was all because of what he'd done.
But, even if Lucy knew all of that herself, she wasn't letting herself get caught up on it. She'd been down that road before, where all she'd thought was the worst, and she'd refused to let herself be happy or even enjoy what she was doing. Lucy wasn't going to do all of that again. She was choosing to be optimistic about things, and she liked to think that she had pretty good reasons to be.
So with a roll of her eyes, Lucy only reached for Bickslow's hand to pull it towards her belly. He grimaced, mostly from the sudden movement jarring his other shoulder, and she quickly apologised – hurting him hadn't been her intention.
Bickslow only sighed and tried pulling his hand away from where Lucy had placed it just on the side of her rounded tummy. "Lucy, don't, ple—"
"Just wait, okay?" she interrupted him. Lucy wasn't sure how else to get Bickslow to stop worrying about the babies. For the most part, she doubted that Bickslow would ever stop worrying about them. But she wasn't going to let him keep worrying about her losing them. Especially not when he was going to be constantly feeling guilty for it, too.
But, when Bickslow realised that Lucy wasn't letting go of his hand anytime soon, he only sighed and resigned to going along with whatever it was Lucy was making him do. But after a few moments of Lucy just sitting there, mostly holding his hand still against her, and with him propping himself up on his elbow and the pillows, Bickslow couldn't help but finally ask what Lucy was trying to achieve. "Seriously, this is—" But then he cut himself short that time. And his brow furrowed as he stared directly to where his palm was against the side of Lucy's belly, right to where he was sure he'd felt a tiny bit of pressure against his palm. "Was that…?"
Lucy's face lit up when she realised Bickslow had felt it, and she nodded as she dragged Bickslow's hand to the side slightly, closer to the front and then a little lower. "They've been doing that all week," she said softly. Of course, she knew that it was just one of the babies doing all of the moving (and kicking), but she'd still been feeling it almost constantly. The occasional flutter had been nice beforehand, but as the weeks had gone on, Lucy had become more and more sure that what she'd been feeling was actually the babies moving.
And, she had been just a little unsure of whether or not Bickslow would be able to feel it (although more than once, she'd been able to feel them from the outside when she'd been laying her own hands against her belly). But she knew that he could, and if that didn't convince him that the babies were well and truly kicking (literally), then she didn't know what would.
Bickslow was almost in awe though. He'd been waiting for that moment for so long. It had mostly slipped to the very back of his mind with everything with the crash, but he'd felt it. He'd felt his babies move.
And even if it was just a glimmer of it, Lucy saw that Bickslow was happy. She swore she saw the tiniest of hints of a smile, too. But that glimmer gave Lucy hope – hope that she was finally getting through to him.
"They're okay, Bickslow," she whispered. "All of our children are okay. And so am I."
Admittedly, Bickslow was more inclined to actually believe Lucy that time. But for the most part, it didn't change anything. As glad as he was that they'd all managed to walk away from what had happened, he still couldn't stop thinking about what could have happened. Even if they had been lucky, Bickslow couldn't just forget that he was still to blame. He'd been the one driving, which made him responsible – at least to an extent. He couldn't just move on from the fact that he'd been the one to put them all in that situation, one where there'd been a chance of no one actually walking away from it.
Bickslow couldn't forget about that.
Even after Lucy had let go of Bickslow's hand, he didn't move it from where it lay flat against her stomach. She wasn't sure what was going through Bickslow's mind at that moment, but more than anything, she hoped it was something positive. Lucy didn't want Bickslow to keep hating himself for what had happened. She could see why he was, but she still didn't think it was necessary. All of it had been an accident, and until the day she died, Lucy was never going to blame Bickslow for what had happened.
Lucy just hoped that someday, Bickslow would reach that point, too.
"I have an appointment with Dr. Delia on Friday," Lucy began softly then. Bickslow finally managed to look up from his hand and finally to Lucy's face. "I think it would be good if you came with me." At least then he could hear from her doctor herself about whether the babies truly were fine or not.
Bickslow only nodded, slowly bringing his hand back to his side as he made himself comfortable against the pillows again.
Lucy had been about to get up and go back to packing up the books in the living room when she turned back to Bickslow and stopped. Thankfully, the guy had managed to shower at least every second day between his busy schedule of sulking and wallowing in his own misery, but he hadn't shaved. And, while Lucy was moderately pleased that all he had after a week and a half was stubble and nothing more, she still didn't like it. It just… didn't suit him. It had to go.
He was so much cuter with a baby face.
So, Lucy leant down quickly, just so she could press a quick kiss to his lips and pat the side of his cheek when she sat back up. He was looking at her with a confused look up until she finally said with a hint of a smile, "Seriously though, for the love of god, please go find a razor and shave that ridiculousness off."
Bickslow could only roll his eyes, grumbling, "Fine," under his breath as he began to finally pull himself out of bed.
Bickslow managed to cheer up a little after the appointment with Lucy's doctor. He still felt responsible for what had happened, but he at least stopped worrying about what could've happened, at least for the most part. He was still quiet for a little while, and he still didn't really do much other than sit up in bed or watch T.V. in the living room, but he at least made time for Ingrid again, and that was what Lucy had wanted the most.
He hadn't been able to help much as far as packing up everything in the apartment went, though. He stopped wearing the sling after three weeks, but he still hadn't been able to move it much without hurting himself. The best he'd been able to do was pack up the folded clothes, putting them all in suitcases or boxes when they ran out of the former. The rest of it, like the books, and everything in the spare room, and all of the kitchen utensils, Lucy had done. She'd mostly done it herself, but she'd had help from her team when they'd stopped by on the weekends or in the evenings.
When the actual moving came though, Bickslow really had nothing to do. He couldn't lift anything, and he couldn't really hold Ingrid, either. So when all of their friends had come bright and early one Saturday morning, ready to help move some of their furniture out through the tiny door and into the tiny elevator, all Bickslow had had to do was look after the Happy, because Natsu was still, for the most part, taking the cat everywhere.
Unfortunately for Bickslow, the cat-sitting hadn't lasted long, since he realised that he had some kind of cat allergy in that world. So when that had happened, he'd merely stood by and watched his friends literally do all of the heavy lifting.
Then, after just a few more days with the help of some professional movers, they'd managed to get everything into the new house, and all that had been left in the apartment was what had already come with it. For their first night in the house, all they'd done was sit in the living room just by the kitchen and dining room, and eat pizza in front of the fire. The fact it had been the middle of summer at that point had been irrelevant. It had been the first time in a little over a month that Bickslow hadn't cared about the crash, either. All that had mattered to him that night was getting to spend time with his daughter, his girlfriend, and being able to feel the twins kicking – which they had been. A lot.
Moving seemed to be a good thing for Bickslow, too. He'd been able to devote his time to helping Lucy make everything perfect. They painted the room they were planning on moving Ingrid into, and they painted the nursery for the twins, too. They even went furniture shopping, since the first floor of the house alone was bigger than their apartment had been. They spent their time making the house as perfect as it could be, between buying comfortable lounges to put in the lounge room, to buying shelves to fit their hundreds of books on. They even bought a piano to sit in the wide entryway, right below the stairs. Although admittedly, the piano had mostly been an impulse buy.
But by the time Bickslow was back to work for the first week of August, the house was pretty much complete. There were just a few boxes left in the mostly empty garage, but everything else had been unpacked and given a home. And for the first time, Lucy truly felt like she was at home. Because she'd made it her home. There were no more memories or reminders of their other selves there. It was just them, and that was what they'd wanted.
It was a Thursday when Bickslow came home one evening with a more than guilty grin plastered on his face. Lucy had been in the middle of getting dinner organised when he'd walked in, and considering he'd had his first visit with the counsellor that afternoon, Lucy really wasn't sure what had Bickslow in such a good mood.
But before Lucy could even ask what Bickslow was so happy (and guilty) about, he gently placed the large cardboard box he'd been carrying on the end of their large dining table, opening it up, and then pulled out what was essentially a ball of black and white fur.
"I got us a puppy!"
Lucy stared at the man hugging the eight-week-old border collie puppy with a deadpan expression. Of all the things for Bickslow to come home with, a puppy was not what Lucy had been expecting. She dusted her hands off on the tea-towel and then folded her arms. "And, um, why exactly… did you get a puppy?" she asked.
Bickslow shrugged a shoulder. "Because she was just too cute to resist!" he said, laughing when the puppy licked his face. "That, and, well… My counsellor was going on about therapy dogs today, and… Well…"
"So you thought you'd get your own."
That was essentially what it was. Well, sort of. Bickslow knew he didn't need a therapy dog. Freya was just a pet. But if it hadn't been for his counsellor bringing up therapy dogs that afternoon, then he wouldn't have been thinking of dogs at all.
He'd only been visiting the counsellor at all because Lucy had suggested it one night when they'd been packing up things in the apartment. She'd said that it might be worth him going a few times just so he could talk about what had happened, and maybe try and sort out all of the guilt that he was still dealing with. Laxus and his team had told him that it would be a good idea as well, right after Lucy had talked to them about it, so Bickslow had promised to at least give it a go. Although after one session, Bickslow had to admit that just talking about it to someone else who wasn't there to prove him wrong or discredit how he was feeling had actually be nice. And it wasn't as if Lucy tried to discredit his feelings, but she still had her own view of things.
But the puppy? For the most part, that had been yet another impulse purchase. And when he'd seen her wagging her little tail in the shop window, Bickslow just hadn't been able to resist. His taxi driver hadn't been too fond of having a puppy in his car, but oh well.
Lucy could only shake her head. Honestly, she didn't even know what she was supposed to say to that. She definitely hadn't wanted any pets, especially not while she was nearly twenty-seven weeks pregnant and had a ten-month-old baby who was just learning how to walk around the edges of things if she held onto them. But now she had to look after a puppy? Pets required energy, and energy, she did not have.
But… Bickslow was happy. It was probably the happiest she'd seen him since the accident. And she was just so damn proud that he'd agreed to go to the counsellor at all, because she knew how stubborn he could be when it came to talk to people about anything at all – even her.
Lucy just didn't think she had it in her to tell the man that they couldn't keep the dog. Especially not when he was already so attached.
"Well, I'm not looking after it," she said with a sigh, picking up the large knife to go back to chopping up the vegetable. Of course though, Lucy knew she'd be looking after the creature anyway, because Bickslow worked during the day and she couldn't very well just ignore the animal. That would be cruel. "Your pet, your responsibility."
Bickslow was almost jumping up and down like a child. "I know! I'll look after her!" he said excitedly. He left the table just to walk around the kitchen and press a quick kiss to her cheek, still holding the ball of fur. "You're the best, Cosplayer!"
Lucy only shook her head again. And when she watched the former Seith mage go off to introduce the dog to her so-called human sister playing happily in the playpen in front of the fireplace, she could only roll her eyes and be thankful that he wasn't miserable anymore.
Although Lucy did have to admit that the puppy was kind of cute. She just hoped it didn't have a stupid name.
A/Ns: I seemed to have forgotten how to write, as far as this chapter goes (not that I really knew how to in the first place, but whatever). I'm not really that happy with this chapter, either. It was really difficult to write, and I think that probably shows with how a lot of it seems rushed. But in a way, that was intentional. This story is getting long as it is, and I want to try and get it finished up in the next 8-10 chapters. I'll have to sit down and write out some chapter plans though, just so I can see how much I actually have left.
Anyway. I know I'm steering away from Lucy's pregnancy/the twins/Ingrid in this chapter. Don't worry, there'll be more fluff to do with all of that in the next chapters. But for reference, since this chapter does take place over roughly 6-8 weeks, here's a mini timeline for the chapter as far as Lucy's pregnancy goes (since again, I know there hasn't been much of it lately):
- Crash at 19 weeks.
- Talking to Bix/Bix feeling the babies (yay!) at roughly 21/22 weeks.
- Moving from 22-24 weeks.
- Puppy! at roughly 26/27 weeks.
Hopefully that clears things up, or at least, gives you a better picture of how the story is going. There really wasn't much room to include a lot of details about it in the chapter itself since Lucy wasn't really the focus of it in a way. I don't know...
Also, since it had been such a long time since I worked on this, I've finally gone through the whole fic, and revised/edited/updated all the previous chapters. I'd done the first few sometime last year, but I'd been lazy and stopped doing it. But since I needed to go back and read this to see what I had/hadn't included, I thought I'd just finally get it all updated. When I was updating the chapters, I went ahead and removed all of the old A/Ns too. Most of them weren't really important.
On another note though, if you're into BixCo (Bickslow/Cobra), I'm hosting BixCo week at the end of October! There's an announcement on my page, as well as a title page/overview chapter for it already posted.