Still don't own Mashima's Fairy Tail or Desna's Pradeshes. Or anything else for that matter. I rent.
Reviews are always welcome and make me feel pretty. Enjoy. Note at the end.
She turned around idly, knowing who was coming. She felt him. Zen looked at her and she felt the breath leave her chest. She hated the pull as much as he seemed to. "You think we'll ever be able to have a normal conversation?" she asked tilting her head to the side and sighing. "You mean like normal people who aren't bound by magic to try to make 500 babies over centuries?" Lucy laughed outright. It was the first time since Romell.
"Nah," he answered, smiling himself. "I appreciate what you said there, about not bonding or mating." His mahogany hair shone in the last rays of the sun, the blonde streaks glimmering gold. Lucy's face became very serious as she considered what he said. "It would be easy. I could tell you to drop trou and see if a new mate would work," she shrugged, "But no one deserves that. Don't you want a chance to have a normal life with a normal woman that isn't going to try to make 500 magical babies?" Her face broke into a smile again. He chuckled with her and leaned on the rail next to her. "Did you know," he started, watching the sunset and the sea begin to glow. "My magic. It's Archangel, yes, but there are subsets?"
Lucy leaned into the railing further, intrigued. "No."
"As you know, my wings are black. They call me The Evening Star. This time of day feels like home for me." Lucy turned her body back toward the house and smiled lightly. "I always feel more like me at night, especially under the stars." He looked out over the sea. "Me too."
Lucy rolled over and touched Horilogium's key. 2:30 in the morning. She sighed. She was starting to get used to not sleeping. The bed felt huge without him in it and she couldn't seem to get comfortable. She had been crawling in bed with Vander for the past three weeks and could tell the poor man needed a break, even though he'd never say it to her. It wasn't his job to take care of her. It wasn't any of their jobs. They were grieving just as much as she was and she had been leaning too heavily on Vander and Bix for comfort when she could stand it.
With a frustrated grunt, Lucy swung her legs over the side of the bed, sitting up and hanging her head. She needed to eat. The thought of sitting at the table without Cristoff in his usual place, though a place was set, dampened her desire to eat immediately. She understood why Arman did it. And he had done it for years for Zen. But Lucy just couldn't stomach it yet.
She padded lightly down the hallway, acutely aware of two dragon slayers trying to sleep on the same hall as her room, her lavender sleep dress swaying in the breeze that the hall caught. The hem brushed her upper thighs and the breeze felt great on her skin, the scent of the Grass Sea filling the whole house. There was something truly magical about the estate at night.
She turned into the now empty living room, noting how much larger it looked when there weren't a dozen people filling every available seat and then some. Her fingertips trailed along the stucco walls, meeting bookcases and touching every spine on a shelf as she walked by. She loved the feel of the books on her skin. It was familiar and safe. As she rounded the corner into the open kitchen, she hadn't been expecting anyone else, but the door to the fridge stood open, half a person sticking out of it. She approached the island in the center of the room and slipped onto a barstool at the counter, waiting her turn.
The man waist-deep in the fridge had found his prize and pulled out with his arms full of meats, cheeses, vegetables, and condiment jars. Lucy's mouth watered at the thought of a sandwich. Kicking the door closed, Bix laid everything out on the counter directly to the left of the fridge, still unaware that Lucy was sitting, watching him. "Any chance you'd make me one?" she asked, smiling faintly as the Seith mage nearly jumped out of his skin. Bix whipped around to face her, a jar of mustard still in his hand, eyes glowing green faintly before settling back to their normal crimson. His empty hand shot to his chest over his heart in surprise.
"Fuck, Cosplayer! You nearly gave me a heart attack," he chastised her softly, keeping his voice as low as possible. "You sneak around much at night?" His eyes held the smile as he pouted his dismay at being caught off guard. Bix knew she's been having trouble sleeping just like he had. He kicked himself silently for doing it again. He had the bad habit of totally dropping his guard at home. And even if the bad guys of the world wouldn't be popping up on the back deck any time soon thanks to protection barriers around his family home, Vander and Xally were both in the house and could be more dangerous than any baddie that had the misfortune of trying to get into the estate. "Only into the kitchen and to find someone to cuddle. Sleeping alone isn't happening," she answered bluntly, pulling him out of his thoughts. She tucked a piece of golden hair behind her ear and frowned slightly at her admission.
He didn't bother answering her original question. As he pulled ingredients over to the island, she noticed he pulled out six slices of bread. Guess that answered that. He leveled a look at her that showed how concerned he was. They had become close during the disbandment of Fairy Tail after Tartaros, Lucy joining the Thunder Legion after her team had just up and walked away. The thought still left Bix with a little well of anger in his chest. Some fucking friends they'd been. He shook his head slightly and cleared his mind of it. Nasty thoughts of Natsu, Gray, and Erza did nothing for them now.
Bickslow grabbed a pan from the hanging rack above the island and olive oil from the counter, setting them both near the stove. Turning a knob, he heard the oven click on. He could sandwich with the best, even Mr. Ellan. Making quick work of a bell pepper, an onion, and garlic, Bix oiled the pan and tossed in the veggies. Lucy propped her hand on her chin and watched him in silence. He moved through the kitchen like an expert and it still slightly amused her that he could cook. She would have never guessed. "Bixy?" she said, gaining his attention as he stirred the pepper mix in the pan by swirling it. "'Sup, Cosplayer?" he asked, looking over his shoulder and setting the pan back on the stove. Two minutes, he estimated to himself.
"How are you doing?"
He turned back to the pan, watching the oil pop. How was he doing? He wasn't sure he wanted to lay out how he was doing on her. "You've got enough of your own shit," he answered trying to dodge the question. She frowned at his back. "Yeah, well, we've all got our own shit. How are you doing?" she asked again. A long silence hung between them, punctuated only by the sound of cooking vegetables. They'd played this game before, she'd ask, he'd dodge, she'd ask again, wait for an answer and he'd spill his guts. They both knew how this worked. But instead of answering right away, he busied himself with making the rest of their sandwiches. He could feel her eyes on him. It made him squirm under the surface. He didn't want to pour it all out like he always did. He wanted to process without laying it on her.
He heard her shift on the stool as she continued to wait. This was probably the longest he'd ever been able to resist spilling everything, but she wasn't ready to back down. Sleep wasn't going to happen, so she had all night. He put the sandwiched together in silence and placed them on a pan, sliding them into the oven. He turned to face her finally, leaning himself onto the counter's edge.
"Not great," he answered finally, simply and honestly, his head hanging a little, not wanting to look at her. He knew what he'd find. Big brown eyes shining with worry and compassion. He also knew that if he looked at her, he was fucked. He'd be gutted and spilling everything he'd been carrying for the better part of the last month all over her and the counter between them. "I don't think I've said it, but I'm sorry about Ever," she said, her voice little more than a whisper. He snapped up to face her full on. "I know I've been so selfish the last few weeks. Everyone is hurting and I've been acting like I'm the only one. I'm really sorry, Bixy. I'm sorry I haven't been there for you like you've been for me." Her voice was thickened with emotion, her eyes stinging as she spoke.
Bix felt like he could have been knocked over with a feather. She was apologizing for not being there for him? "What?!" he asked, feeling dumb. "Lu, everyone is doing the best they can right now." He looked at her face, drawn and filled with pain. He didn't call her Cosplayer. He was serious, offering her absolution for her selfishness. She couldn't help but feel like she had done wrong by him and the rest of their family. And the guilt still gnawed at her. He turned back to the oven as soon as he started to smell the food, knowing they would be ready.
The smell hit her as soon as the oven opened and her stomach growled audibly. He smirked as he set the pan down, pulling them off with his bare hands. She remembered asking him about that once, why he was able to do that. He'd explained that the callouses on his hands and years of touching hot things stupidly had killed the nerve endings in his fingers, or at least desensitized them. She took the plate he handed her. "Want to talk?" she asked, taking her first bite. Gods, she loved when Bix cooked. He could make an old shoe taste delicious, she was certain of it.
He took a bite of his own, happy with the way they'd turned out. Swallowing with a shrug, he answered, "Not sure there's much to talk about." The look she leveled at him over her food made him sigh. "I miss them. All the time. I keep waiting for Evergreen to come screeching through the house, threatening Vander's balls. I keep waiting for Cris to walk up from the beach and scoop you over his shoulder hauling you off to your bedroom. I just haven't gotten used to them not being here." His voice tapered off to a whisper as he finished.
His answer floored her. Lucy always knew that she knew a different Bix than most. He wasn't the reckless loudmouth perv everyone thought he was. Well, he was, but he was so much more. He was a fiercely loyal friend, strangely wise from time to time, and an excellent cook just to scratch the surface. She also knew that, while he wasn't going to show it to pretty much anyone, he had this insane capability of being vulnerable and making it seem like it was nothing. Cristoff was the teddy of the family, but Bix was an extremely close second if you could get past the pervy hot mess he showed the world.
She took another bite and nodded. "I understand that," she muttered. "I figured," he answered. They sat for a few minutes, finishing their food. In the time it took her to eat one, both his sandwiches were gone. She slid off the stool and straightened down her nightdress before taking his plate with her own. "Thank you," she smiled. Her smile didn't quite extend to her eyes like it normally did, but it was a start as far as he was concerned. She walked over to the sink and did the dishes, making quick work of them. Mr. Ellan didn't have a problem with a capable individual using his kitchen, but dirty dishes in his sink were unacceptable. The list of acceptable cooks was short and excluded his father and Farron in particular. "Any time, Cosplayer." He smiled at her, keeping his tongue in his head. It was a real smile. "So, now what? Bed?" She scoffed. "I've decided to give Vander the night off. I don't think I'll be sleeping tonight. Probably going to keep reading my way through your father's study." She leaned on the counter, pushing her hips back as he leaned forward on his elbows. "What are you going to do?" he asked softly, his crimson eyes betraying his worry. She paused. He knew he'd done the right thing with everyone, saying it was her choice. And he firmly believed that it was. Being a Seith mage gave a man healthy respect for free will and agency. Not to mention being raised Boscan. Freedom was a massive part of their culture. But it didn't scare him any less. She was family and that meant everything to Bickslow.
Lucy met his gaze. She had been thinking about that while she wasn't sleeping. "Consensus says I'm going to make it," she smiled weakly. His face didn't change. No smile. Not even a glint of one in his eyes. She breathed deep and looked down at her hands. "It would be so easy to just say it's fate. To just roll over and let my soul leak away." He listened, trying not to show how angry that made him. If that's what she chose, he didn't have a leg to stand on to say otherwise. But he'd be the only one that would have to watch it happen. "I don't know," she sighed. "There's a part of me that wants to just let it happen. But there's a bigger part of me that wants to tell fate to eat a dick."
Bix smiled at that. Not terribly long ago, it would have floored him to have heard Lucy Heartfilia say 'eat a dick,' but now it was pretty commonplace to hear the Light of Fairy Tail say far worse. Lucy Pradesh was a whole nother animal. He blamed Vander and Emi. One that he had found he enjoyed far more than Lucky Lucy. She was feisty, fun, and most of the time easy to get along with. But he'd found he enjoyed her company no matter what.
"For what it's worth, I'm in camp 'eat a dick,' Lu," he grinned. She leaned up off the counter and smiled back. "You've been spending too much time alone," he declared. "No reading tonight. Tonight we watch a movie." His over exaggerated pomp made her giggle softly. It was music to his ears. "Fine. But I pick what it is. You can't be trusted."
The lacrimavision screen had long since given up on them. The first rays of sunlight were starting to pour through the windows, creating a red and orange glow. Arman rose like normal, heading to the kitchen for a morning cup of coffee. Strolling through the hall in his running clothes, he turned into the living room and smiled at the sight.
Lucy was asleep, curled up, her knees to her chest holding an arm that looked deeply tanned in the orange glow of sunrise and next to her creamy white skin. She purred what sounded like the smallest of snores and the hand she was holding squeezed hers lightly in its sleep. Bix had his head resting on her waist, cuddled partially behind her. One arm was snaked underneath her, no doubt as asleep as its owner, and the other being snuggled into the chest of the sleeping blonde. His long legs stretched out to the other end of the couch.
Arman couldn't help but chuckle softly as he quietly made his way into the kitchen, finding Mr. Ellan with a hot cup of coffee waiting. "I'm guessing they've been there all night?" he asked, sipping on his mug. Gods, was there a more satisfying thing first thing in the morning? Mr. Ellan shrugged. "They made a snack at the very least. One of the peppers is gone, I'm missing half an onion, and a clove of garlic. Not to mention meats and cheeses. I'm guessing the culprit was Bix." He sipped on his cup of very blonde coffee.
"Not the first time," Arman grinned. Bix was a damn fine cook and he only got the chance at home when Mr. Ellan was home asleep. "Vander should be in a better mood, though, today," he remarked to his old friend. "He may have slept alone last night." Mr. Ellan made a slightly pained face. "I wouldn't count on it." Arman looked at him, curiosity shining in his eyes. "Xally, according to Isla."
Arman laughed quietly. Isla Ellan was known to check on everyone when she arrived. If she found an empty room, she began her morning tasks. No one slept anywhere without her knowing it. Oliver and Isla Ellan had been with them for the better part of the last twenty years and Arman valued their friendship and loyalty. They had both had a hand in raising his crazy bunch of children. He was certain he couldn't have pulled it off without them.
"Anyone else displaced?" Oliver grinned at his old friend. Ah, he thought, someone was not displaced so much as right where they ought to be. "The guest room that Presca has been occupying is empty… for the fifth night in a row." Arman grinned back. He'd always liked Presca. "I'm going to have to up my wager in Van's pool."
Arman raised an eyebrow as Oliver looked at him and grinned wider. "As am I."
A/N:
So if you read the last note, you know this is two of two.
All of this was written for one chapter. And then I looked at how many pages of a Google Doc it was and nearly had a heart attack. I had a couple of criteria for the family meeting. The first was I didn't want the family meeting to be a chapter by itself without giving some story for afterward. Second, I wanted both chapters completed before I posted them. I am vehemently opposed to cliffhangers.
So chapter nine was longer, this one is short than normal. It does balance out reading-wise.
Thank you so, so very much to those of you reviewing, favoriting, and following. It truly means so much to me. I'm going to call out those of you reviewing regularly and blow a special kiss your way. You know who you are.
One more thing. asked a great question and I wanted to clear it up here. Here is what I shared with Ashooka. "Cassiopeia is NOT the All-Mother. She's been in the celestial game for thousands of years and has found herself on the wrong side of the All-Mother's ire before. Think of it as more of having a healthy fear and a shitty attitude combination." Great question!
I don't anticipate needing to take any kind of break from this even after this double upload. So I'll see you soon!
Nik