(Y/n)= your first name

(N/n)= nick name

(h/l)= hair length

(h/c)= hair color

(e/c)= eye color

When you two had initially met, you thought very little of the encounter. After all, you worked at the Fairy Tail bar; stranger characters had wandered into your workplace, some with others clinging at their throats as they walked or, on the weekly occasion, with their dedicated stalkers only feet behind them.

So when Cana Alberona stormed in that fateful Friday night, you honestly didn't expect much.

"Get me a Jameson on the rocks, kid," she had barked out, noisily plopping down on the only broken barstool in the entire building. Your eye twitched at the high pitched squeak that had ensued, but you merely pasted on a fake smile, shortly saying that you'd be there in a moment before returning to your current client. "Hey," she growled out impatiently, leaning forward to read your nametag. She tried and failed to correctly say your name before loudly exclaiming, "I said I wanted a drink, didn't I? Get your arse over here already!"

You grit your teeth, sending the blonde you had been talking to an apologetic look before marching over to the brunette that had so rudely commanded your attention. She had only been about two meters away and could clearly see that you were with another customer, and yet she had the gall to drag you away for her own benefit…

As you prepared a glass, you looked her straight in the eye, (e/c) to earthy brown, and frowned a little. "Ma'am," you started, "you probably had a real shit day and I respect that, but you need to respect that there are others here that also have the right to be served."

"Yeah, yeah, sure, now hand over my drink will ya?"

Irritated, you did as she said, studying her as she lifted the drink to her lips. While she honestly was infuriating, you couldn't deny that she did look rather spent herself; her messily curled ponytail was halfway undone and her outfit was straight out of the office, dishelved dress shirt and sleek skirt and all. The look on her face was bitter, though it did soften slightly as the taste of liquor filled her senses.

She slammed the glass down on the counter, the contents already gone. "More," was all she said, so you poured her another glass. She didn't down this one right away, instead glaring into it intensely as you took the opportunity to escape for a little while, collecting some customers' pay and serving others.

When you came back, her hair was completely loose, elastic lost somewhere on the wooden floorboards, and she had her chin resting in the cup of her palm, the other hand holding up an empty glass. "Oh, bartender, another glass is in order."

"You certainly don't waste your time, do you?" you sighed. Handing the glass back, you ran a hand through your (h/l) (h/c) locks. "How much more will you be taking? With how red your cheeks are you must have at least a little bit of a buzz, right?"

"I wish," she muttered. "It'll take a whole lot more to make me happy. I'm driving, though, so I'll just take this," she paused to quickly down her drink, "and a last one for good luck."

"Please, if anything another drink will be bad luck for driving," you quipped, face stern.

"Yer no fun, you know that… erm…"

"It's (Y/n). Just (Y/n)."

"Well, 'Just (Y/n)', I'll have you know that I'm still mostly sober, I'd still be able to drive after twenty drinks, and your fly is down." She chuckled evilly as she watched your face burn a bright cherry red and you noticed that she was in fact very much right. You swiftly turned to fix it and, when you turned back, you saw that the woman was walking away, waving goodbye. She'd left a crumpled wad of cash on the counter and called back over her shoulder that you could keep the change, ignoring you as you shouted back, annoyed, that she was short five dollars.

…

You hadn't learnt her name until the following Sunday, when you were close to closing time. Despite the late hour, there was still a few drunk guys left over, throwing punches and laughing hysterically when said punches made contact with anything that wasn't air.

You had simply been wiping down the bar counter with a wet rag, trying to ignore the drunken caterwauls behind you when someone lightly tapped you on the shoulder. Turning your head to the side, you were both surprised and unsurprised to see the same curly haired woman from two days earlier.

The first words out of her mouth surprised you. "Cana Alberona."

"I'm sorry, what?"

She shot you a look and repeated, in a gruffer voice this time, "I'm Cana Alberona and I'm here for a drink."

To this you arched an eyebrow. "We're about to close, Miss Alberona."

She rolled her eyes in response and took a seat on the stool next to you, saying, "'About to close' doesn't mean 'closed', therefore you can still make me a nice drink before you lock the place up. Besides," she added, nodding her head in the general direction of where the sound of glass breaking and roars of laughter was coming from, "you don't seem to be in a rush to be kicking them out."

You yelled at the small group to calm down and stop throwing their shot glasses about before turning back to Cana. "Yeah, well… they're regulars and they actually pay me what they owe when it's time."

"Sure, it's not like you're too much of a wimp to scare them out. Not at all."

"…Shut up already, will you? I'll get you your bloody drink." Getting to your station, you wiped a glass clean and reached for a bottle. "Jameson again?"

"Gimme some Southern Comfort instead."

The minutes ticked by in silence, some of the guys leaving while two were left to figure out how to carry their passed out friend. It wasn't until her fourth drink that the brunette spoke up, staring at you over the rim of her glass. "You always wanted to be a bartender, (Y/n), or are you just another coward that can't act out on their dreams?" she asked, a smile evident in her voice.

You shrugged and replied with a mumbled, "A little of both I guess." Noticing that she was wearing the same attire as the last time you had seen her, you continued with, "What about you? You work in an office right?"

"Yeah, I work in a shithole." She took a gulp of her drink and set it back down, watching the ripples that spread through the liquid surface like a web. "It's real boring, but I guess it pays well. But in all honestly, I—pour me some more, would ya?—I can't stand sitting at that stupid desk all day, filling out stupid papers for some know-it-all boss like a total kiss-ass, you know?"

No, no you didn't know; you'd never worked in an office before in your entire life.

"Yeah, I get it, I know." You paused. "But if that's not it, then what do you want to do?"

She thought it over, taking the last sip from her drink and setting the glass aside. "Dunno," she finally said, tilting her head to the side. "Maybe I'd get filthy rich at some casino… travel the world or somethin'. I'm a real good fortune teller, too."

"A fortune teller?" you sceptically said, furrowing your eyebrows. "Sure, I bet."

"You don't believe, but you have no proof that I don't have any psychic powers, now do you?"

"I'll believe it when I see it," you huffed, taking her glass and putting it in the sink while ignoring her look of protest.

"Fine then," Cana smirked, "give me your hand."

You hesitated, shaking your head slightly as her own hands beckoned to you. Giving in, you offered her your right hand while muttering, "This shoulder be good."

Her hands were warm, firmly enveloping yours as all mirth and joking fell from her visage and was replaced by complete and total seriousness. The sudden intensity in her eyes as she studied each line, crease, and tear in your palms and finger pads startled you and you watched silently as her nails traced the curve of each muscle, sending an unfamiliar tingle up your arm.

"You…" she started, gaze never leaving your hand. "You come from a loving family and did in fact study at a local university, but you never did get your masters', did you?" You felt your head shake from side to side though you knew she couldn't see it. "You took up bartending here to… to put your dream on hold and perhaps meet the one that'll steal your heart away."

Her eyelids slid shut, and you suddenly noticed how long her eyelashes were despite the lack of make up on her face. "Yes… (Y/n)… you're going to meet someone special—no! You've already met someone incredibly special and amazing and…" You held your breath without really meaning to, leaning forward in anticipation.

"…And you'll be paying for all her drinks tonight!" she finished, a cheeky smile lighting up her face as she scurried away, letting your hand drop suddenly against the counter, making your knuckles sting. You yelled at her, telling her to come back and pay, but gave up in the end only to sigh in defeat.

You couldn't help but smile, though, at her antics and you wondered, briefly, just what your life would be like in the following weeks.

…

For the next two months, Cana would stop by at least four times a week. At first she was pretty much a loner, never really interacting with anyone but you, but after some encouragement on your part she soon became real friendly towards the other regulars.

She got along with the other woman, especially the younger ones like Lucy, Erza, and Bisca, by stepping in as the tough-and-experienced-older-sister figure, whereas her brutal and sarcastic side appealed to the opposite gender… although it did help that whenever she was even slightly tipsy she'd like to show off more cleavage than you were comfortable with.

She also never caused too many problems. You had gotten her to go from completely-unbuttoned-shirt to only-halfway-unbuttoned-shirt, though it did take a lot of free drinks to finally convince her… And while she did try to provoke others, get under their skin and such, she never threw herself into any fights, which meant one less punching-bag to worry about. While she could easily hold her liquor, she never had more than five glasses so that she could drive back to her apartment without any horrific accidents along the way.

Over the many evenings that she spent with you—and your customers of course—you slowly saw her open up to the world around her. Not only that, but you also saw her in a different light. You started noticing the smaller things, like how she smelled of coconut oil with a hint of citrus when she'd first walk into the bar. Like how on a good day her dark curls were sleek and parted to the left, whereas on the more stressful days her hair would be messier from all the times she had run her fingers through her tresses in frustration. While she did hate her job and would rant on and on about how much she despised on the worst of days, she was responsible and did her best when at work. When she thought of a witty comeback her eyes would gleam mischievously and whenever someone mentioned something about their father she'd grow a little forlorn. If she was confused, a little crease would form between her furrowed brows, a crease that would grow much deeper when she was angry.

It got to the point where a simple glance at her could immediately tell you how she was feeling and when she did not come to the bar you'd miss the confident undertones of her voice. And you were fully aware that that point was well past simple attraction.

Now the problem was not your feelings towards her; to deny what you obviously thought of her would be ludicrous to even a non-related bystander. No, rather the problem was that as she had gotten closer to you and everyone else, she eventually hooked up with one of the male regulars, a big and muscular blond one. Laxus, you thought his name was.

It did hurt, it really did; she'd sit by him instead of her usual seat, the broken one at the end of the bar counter, his arms constantly around her waist and his eyes perversely wandering all over her. But it was not out of pure jealousy that you warned her about his tendencies; you knew fully well along with anyone else that frequented the Fairy Tail bar that he used girls like ass-wipes. One week he'd be with a big-boobed girl with platinum blond extensions, the next it would be the new Chinese girl in town with a plump behind.

Cana only rolled her eyes when she heard your warnings. She said that you worried too much.

…

The third month after you two had met, Cana had started to change in drastic ways.

She arrived one rainy day, hours earlier than usual, wearing baggy, worn out jeans and a hoodie with a zipper down the front, zipped halfway open so that her lacy blue brassier was peeking into sight. "I got fired," she had explained to you solemnly, eyes downcast. This had greatly surprised you, seeing as she had always put her greatest effort into her job despite how dull she thought it was. You gave her a drink on the house—a glass of neat bourbon—and talked to her a little while before your other customers grew rowdier and started ordering more and more drinks.

She had drunk a little more than usual that day, so you grew worried when she left. She assured you that she could drive without any problem. Though incredibly uneasy, you let her return home this way.

Then Laxus had cheated on her, which left everyone surprisingly unsurprised. They had lasted two more weeks than what had been expected, but in the end, he wound up wrapped around another guy's finger, namely his long haired childhood friend.

That day, though Cana told everyone that she was fine, she drank an extra four glasses that night and almost ran over a pedestrian. From that night on, you refused to let the brown haired woman drive herself home, instead driving her back to her apartment in your (dream car).

As days passed, Cana grew more and more isolated, going back to her usual broken seat and essentially ignoring anything living and breathing around her. Lucy and Erza invited her to go shopping with them but she refused, just as she had brushed off Loki's flirting the day before. She'd talk to you, sure, but your conversations were limited to only a sentence or two, that is, if you counted her drink orders.

Speaking of drinks… each day the amount she had increased, climbing from eight to ten to a steady minimum of fifteen per night. She would pass out as soon as she entered the passenger side of your car and, the times when she stayed awake, she'd babble random nonsense, ranging from happier questions about your life (some making her laugh maniacally as your face burned brighter than the sun) to aggressive rants about Laxus, the guys that had fought in the bar that day, and the "cock-sucker that just cut you off". Then, when you got to her building, you'd walk her up the stairs and to the door, not trusting her stumbling feet to sufficiently carry her home safely. Finally, before you'd leave and head back to your own house about a dozen blocks away, she'd pat your arm and, with red cheeks and a smirk, drunkenly chant the same thing she did every night: "Smell ya later, (N/n)!"

However, even if she seemed a little sad during the past few weeks, that couldn't compare to her lowest, witnessed only by you, exactly five month after you two had met on yet another rainy Friday.

…

It was early in the morning, not a single customer in yet, but the storm clouds had darkened the sky to the point that it looked more like late afternoon. Even so, there she stood, cell phone to her ear and her jacket tightly wrapped around her as she stood outside the window, shielded if only a little from the rain that streaked down the glass relentlessly by the little stretch of roof peeking over the edge of the establishment. She had stayed there for a long while and you tried not to watch her apparently frustrating conversation, judging by the way the corners of her mouth were turned down and her free hand waved about in frenzied gestures from time to time. After a while, though, you had run out of things to scrub clean and found your eyes glued to her every move.

A minute passed, and finally she angrily hung up, shoving the phone into her coat pocket and energetically throwing the doors to the bar wide open. You quickly turned away, grabbing a sparkling clear shot glass and dragging your soaping rag over it, not-so-nonchalantly trying to seem like you had been doing the dishes the entire time and not spying on the young woman.

She sat down grumpily and you were quick to notice how flushed her face already was, how her sweet coconut and citrus smell had been completely replaced by the poignant stink of alcohol, the smell rivalling that of the bar itself. And just like the day you first met, she tersely said, words slurred if only a little, "Get me a Jameson on the rocks, (Y/n)."

"Cana…" You put the glass down and leaned towards her slightly, studying her. "Did something happen?"

"The hell do you think, (N/n)? Gimme a drink already!"

Maybe it was the bags under her eyes or maybe it was the smell of her breath, hot against your face, but you could only shake your head. "No, Cana," you softly said, "you shouldn't."

Her dark eyes narrowed menacingly. "I want my drink, (Y/n). Now."

"You're already drunk. Go home, Cana."

"Like hell I will—give me my fucking drink!"

You broke eye contact with her, (e/c) gaze settled on the floor before you busied yourself with drying the glass you had just re-cleaned. She repeated your name a couple of times as you put it back where the other dishes were stowed away, continuously refusing each time the familiar syllables left her lips. After the umpteenth time, she fell silent for about five seconds. Then she got up and turned to stomp away. "I don't need this bullshit!" she gruffly spat as she opened the door yet again. "If you won't serve me then I'll just go to another bar."

She stepped out and you found yourself reaching out to stop and try to maybe reason with her. "Cana—"

"Shut up! I don't need you anyway."

The next moment happened very fast and it honestly surprised you when it did happen. There were two steps outside the door, a rather useless and decidedly dangerous thing around a bar like Fairy Tail. However, no matter how drunk a customer had gotten, the most trouble you'd seen regarding those stairs was a slight stumble in the person's step, if only because they'd had an extra drink.

Cana managed to slip, somehow, and you were startled when she went down.

"…Cana?"

The door had barely swung shut when you raced outside, finding her sprawled out in front of the building, the rain beating down on her and leaving her soaked. You were scared, so, so scared that she might've somehow hit her head, but slight relief washed over you when she slowly sat up, groaning and grimacing. Her hand went to her ankle, tentatively touching it before pulling away like she'd touched a hot stove. She winced and cursed under her breath; it was twisted.

"Hey, are you okay?" you quickly asked, your voice urgent and worried.

"What the hell do you think?" she said weakly, unable to hold an angry tone with you any longer. She tightly closed her eyes, both in pain and resentment; after the way she had just acted in front of you, she expected you to walk away knowing that she had only hurt something as little as her ankle. When she opened them, however, she was surprised to see that you had crouched down to check her yourself, seemingly not minding that your (h/c) hair was now plastered to your scalp and your uniform was beyond damp. Instead you simply adopted a worried crease in your forehead and a careful stare as you lightly grazed the injury with your fingertips in a feather light touch. Her cheeks managed to grow even redder than they were before as you silently contemplated something, eyes darting from her ankle to the bar to her wet face.

Finally you got up and quickly jogged over to the doors, making Cana's spirits deflate until she saw you flip to the 'open' sign so that it read closed and close the lights instead. Her eyes were wide when you did return, arms outstretched so that you could help her up. "Come on," you murmured softly so that only she could hear over the sound of the rain's steady patter against the pavement. "I'll take you home."

She tried protesting, but, in the end, she found herself leaning against you as the two of you walked, one of her arms around your shoulders as you supported the rest of her. And while there was a steady and painful throbbing in her leg, she found the proximity both oddly soothing and pleasant, her cheeks hot and heart pounding a little faster than a moment before.

A comfortable silence had slowly formed and it stayed for a while until you had to break it, curiosity getting the better of you as you replayed the scene from outside the window before in your mind. "Cana," you started, continuing only after she had turned her head to look you in the eye, "who was that on the phone? You didn't look all that happy to be talking to them…"

Her eyebrows arched. "You were watching me talk on my cell phone?"

"Erm, that's beside the point."

At that, she shook her head and chuckled lightly, entertained by your antics before the smile dropped from face very suddenly. "My dad," she said grumpily, glare directed to the ground as you continued down the sidewalk. "He… he called to see if we could get together sometime."

You nodded your head in understanding. Sometime during the first month that you two had been acquainted she had told about how her father had left her and her mother when she'd been very young and you could tell that it bothered her very much so you never really asked anymore about it. When someone else would bring up their own father, though, whether it was about how much he'd been nagging them or how he should be more 'generous' in the things he gave them, you'd always steal her attention away with a change of subject, something like an embarrassing story about one of the other regulars.

For that reason, you didn't ask anything more on the matter and simply held her tighter, trying to reassure her while fighting the blush-blood creeping up your neck.

While you had driven her to her apartment complex many, many nights, you had never gone in with her, always opting to stay in the car instead of following her like you really wanted to. So as you slowly mounted the steps with the brunette, you felt your heartbeat quicken despite the circumstances.

Cana's apartment… you thought, a small shiver crawling up your spine. I bet it's real cozy… it probably has lots of animal prints and the sofas in leather. A smile crossed your lips. I'll bet the wallpaper's brown, but not quite as brown as her eyes…

What broke you out of your reverie was none other than Cana's voice. Locking stares, you found that she looked much less happy regarding how close the two of you were getting to the end of the hall, where her place was. "Um, (Y/n), you don't have to come in," she said, looking almost a little nervous. "I don't wana' be a burden; you can just leave me at the door and I'll take care of everything else. Is that okay with you?"

"What?" You blinked, eyebrows knit together. Am I making her uncomfortable or something? This isn't like her… "You're not a burden and it's really no problem, you know." Seeing that her expression didn't change in the slightest, you inwardly heaved a sigh and added, "But if you really don't want me here, I'll just help you inside and get you some ice. Then I'll be out of your hair. Oh!"

You smiled at the sight of her door; you had finally arrived. As she handed you the key, though, to unlock the apartment door, you didn't catch Cana's defeated expression of despair, knowing that there was no way to stop you now.

Gripping the brass doorknob, you glanced at Cana. "What's the big deal, anyway?" you inquired before laughing a little and adding, "What, is there like some huge mess inside? You should know by now that I wouldn't judge you for that."

"Yeah, maybe," she mumbled, almost too quietly for you to hear, "but I don't want you to see it."

You shook your head, pushing the door open. "Cana, it can't be that—"

You stilled as the room came into view, (e/c) wide and jaw gone slack as you took it all in. "…bad."

Yes, yes there was a mess, but not quite the kind you were expecting. The coffee table, kitchen counter—hell, every single flat surface was occupied by at least two bottles. Whiskey, rum, beer, you name it. There were even some on the carpet and perched precariously on the couch cushions. But even though they were almost all different, the things they all shared in common was that they were essentially empty, if not for a remaining and forgotten quarter in some. The air was heavy with the scent of alcohol, the smell almost too much for even you, and you were a bartender for Christ's sake!

Remembering that you were still supporting Cana, you brought her over to the couch you had been eyeing, transferring the empty bottles from the seats to the table in front of you. You then quickly strode to the fridge to retrieve an icepack for her twisted ankle.

When all of that was taken care of, you simply sat there, hunched forward with your elbows on your knees and knuckles pressed to your lips as stared down at the shag carpet without saying a word. Cana sat to your left, alternating between awkwardly fiddling with the icepack and sending you an occasional glimpse.

The silence drew on, but it wasn't the same comfortable one from before.

No, now the tension in the air was abuzz, atmosphere so thick that it would take more than a steak knife to seamlessly cut through it.

She's…

"I guess the cat's out of the bag now, huh?" she lamely said, trying to make her voice sound much more lighthearted than she could genuinely muster. A thinly lipped smile adorned her face for about two seconds before falling away.

You were silent for a moment before you sighed, rubbing your eyes as you continued your thought aloud. "An alcoholic," you said tiredly, dropping one of your hands while the other began to slowly massage your temple. A sigh left you lips, quiet and serious. "Shit. How… how long has it been? Since things got this bad?"

How did I not notice?

"Why didn't you say anything, Cana? It didn't have to come to this…"

"I know," she whispered, eyes downcast. "I did think of telling you, but I thought you'd be so disappointed in me, you know?" A short, loud laugh somberly left her. "Now that you know, though, (N/n), I'll bet that you're just that. I really couldn't avoid it, could I? Honestly—"

Her voice died in the middle of her sentence and she stiffened considerably. You had thrown your arms around the poor woman, tightly embracing her and sending her cheeks aflame. "You could never be a disappointment to me, Cana," you blurted out. "Not a burden or even a waste of time." Pulling away, you gazed into her eyes, watching as they welled up a little before catching onto her long eyelashes. You brought your hand up to brush some stray strand of hair from her face, softly saying, "I would have helped you with any problem you told me about; Laxus, your job, your dad… and I'll help you with this problem, too." A small smile graced your features and you leaned forward, gently pressing your forehead to hers. "I'd never think otherwise."

Cana was crying now, an occasional sob choking her as she gripped onto you, fingers lost in the still damp fabric of your shirt. That sparkle in your eyes as you looked at her, the unconditional acceptance… Had they been there all along? "How did I not notice?" she quietly murmured. When you sent her a confused look, she laughed and rested her head on your shoulder, letting out all the sadness she'd been feeling throughout the past months.

Comforting smile never leaving your face, you let her tears soak through the shirt material and laid your hands on her back, feelings each and every shaky breath and shudder pass until she eventually grew silent, breathing gone even and her snores being the only sound in the room other than the beating of your heart. Before you knew it, you found your own eyelids drooping and, content, you followed the girl to dreamland.

Getting her back to normal would be hard, you knew, but any hardship was worth it if it was for the one you loved.

***Extended Ending***

"Please?"

"Cana…"

"Oh, come on, (Y/n), it's been a year hasn't it? Let the poor girl have a drink why don't you."

"Yeah, (N/n), listen to Gajeel, he knows what he's talking about for once."

Several sets of eyes watch as you contemplate the matter, your (e/c) stare firmly focused on that of your girlfriend as a pout starts to take form on her face. True, with your help it's been over one full year since Cana's had even a drop of alcohol, but even so…

"Nope," you finally say, making the entire bar groan in protest before going back to their tables. It's been that way every single day for the past four months and each time you refused. Still, it was a small form of entertainment for the rest of the Fairy Tail bar.

With everyone now turned away, Cana, her sleek brown waves pulled into a low ponytail and clothes freshly ironed, shoots you a disappointed glare. "Fuck you, (N/n)," she mutters, though you know she doesn't mean it. "Can't I have just one little shot? I've been good, haven't I?"

"You've been the best," you say, happily laughing as you set down a small glass onto the counter in front of her, the contents a light, translucent red. "Here, have a Shrub. You've earned it."

"(N/n), there's barely any alcohol in that thing."

"Which is why it'll be the first drink you have." Grumbling, the brunette grabs the glass and turns to walk off, but not before you press a kiss to her cheek. "Love you."

"Yeah yeah, love you, too, (Y/n)," she replies, trying to sound angry but unable to keep the happy little glimmer in her eyes at bay. As she strides away to where Lucy and Levy sit, you hear a snicker from the black haired man sitting across from you. "You caved, eh?"

"It been a year, so I figured she deserved one." You shrugged, your eyes landing on the object of your affection. "There's a right time for everything."

"That's rich coming from you," Gajeel chortles with a smirk. He takes a slow swig of his Heineken before setting it back down, waggling his fingers at the general direction of your bottom half. "I heard you bedded her on the first night."

"Yes, we slept together, but not in that way," you scold, shaking your head slightly. "Does everything always have to be so perverse with you, Gajeel?"

"Nope," he simply says, popping the 'p' as he gestures towards the blue haired girl sitting by Cana. "I'm a total fricking gentleman and I ain't touching a hair on her head unless she's ready. I just take things as they are." He then leans forward and asks, quietly, curiosity practically dripping off his tongue, "You gonna' ask her?"

You look away and your eyes find Cana's. She cheerfully waves at you before turning back to her conversation, and you wave back with your left hand as your right hand dips into your pocket, fingers grazing the velvety surface of the box inside.

"There's a right time for everything."