Valentine's Day Request 1: Alzack and Bisca first Valentine's Day.

So. This may not have been what you had in mind but the request was a little bit vague, just the way I prefer it, giving me more room to be my impulsive self. (Thank you for requesting Alzack and Bisca, anon requester, I've been thinking about writing them for a long, long time and just never got around to it.)

Fairy Tail belongs to Hiro Mashima.

Target Known

A snowsquall roared through Magnolia and brought visibility down to almost nothing. Alzack adjusted his poncho in the growing wind and flexed his hands on the grips of his guns. The metal was cold, making his fingers cold, too. More than anything, he wanted to abandon his post on the porch outside the Heartfilia mansion and go inside, get warm, shake the snow from his hair and brush it from the insides of his ears.

Not a chance. Not while little Lucy Heartfilia and her family celebrated her fourteenth birthday, which happened to be her Confirmation, which also happened to be Valentine's Day, and known petty thief, trickster and mischief-maker Mulan Rouge was on the loose and had not-so-subtly made her next target known, the news hitting the streets a day before the Confirmation was to take place.

Alzack was skeptical of the information, he'd seen it before—the criminal would make a false claim, making everyone tense. The police and the mercenaries they'd contracted would set up a solid defense perimeter, and then the thief would strike somewhere else entirely, blindsiding them and getting away without consequence.

Mister Heartfilia was insistent, though, and made most of the money move through the city, so the police rushed to do his bidding, which meant Alzack was stuck in the minus degrees waiting for a woman that may or may not show.

He flexed his grip on his guns again. Inside, the sounds of revelling could be heard. Lucy had long since gone to bed, it was too late for her to be up any longer, but her father and all of his peers still partook in drink and music, a live band on stage plucking on stringed instruments or blowing into horns love ballads.

It was loud.

Too loud.

Alzack had said that. The Captain of the police force had taken his concerns to heart but yet, nothing had been done. And why? Because Mister Heartfilia needed to have a band. It was a celebration, after all.

Alzack used his lacrima to check in with the men around the building.

Everyone called back. No suspicious characters had been spotted.

Alzack leaned back against the bricks and tried tucking his hands into his armpits to keep warm. He was afraid of shooting himself so he didn't keep it that way for long.

Inside, the festivities reached piercing height, rich men and women laughing, twirling on the dancefloor, music throbbing joyfully, drinks being poured, swallowed and spilled, shoes sliding on the slick marble floor as around and around people spun on the very brink of havoc.

Alzack spotted Mister Heartfilia dancing with a woman in an orange and yellow party dress. She was much younger than he was and tired him out in no time. She moved on, taking Mister Everlue by the shoulders and swaying him into exhaustion, too. She then hunted for a sprier partner and found one in Mister Lahar. They danced for many long moments. Two song changes, to be exact, and then the lady excused herself, fanning her face and nodding to the balcony. Lahar said something that Alzack couldn't hear and the two parted ways.

Alzack realized he'd been watching them for too long and not the perimeter. He made a call on his lacrima and got an all clear again, the last person checking in just before the balcony door opened and the lady in orange exited. She'd found a coat along the way, a suede and furred thing that fell almost right to her feet.

She closed the doors and breathed in hugely. The breath came out was like a sigh that fogged the balcony door's glass. Alzack put the lacrima in his pocket and found a place for his guns, too, in the holsters beneath his poncho, not wanting to scare her when she turned around and realized she wasn't alone.

That didn't come immediately, she took her time, still looking in on the swirling figures enjoying Heartfilia's party, adjusting her coat, her pale and coiling hair on her shoulders, and then opening the gold clutch she held and adjusting things inside. Metal things, if Alzack's ears were correct, money or jewelry or both. Alzack shifted his footing and the woman jumped and spun, her hand going immediately into the pocket of her coat. She found him leaning against the wall with little effort, and laughed nervously.

"You frightened me." Her voice was a little rougher than Alzack had expected. He liked it, though.

"My apologies."

She stepped into the lacrima light, and Alzack could see that she was beautiful. The kind of beautiful that made men do stupid things. "What's a handsome man like you doing out here in the cold, huh? Shouldn't you be inside, charming eligible ladies on this day of romance? Or are you taken?"

He smiled despite himself. "Working, actually."

"Working?" She boldly looked him up and down. "Oh. I see now. You're one of the shoddy mercenaries hired to keep Mister Heartfilia's guests safe."

Alzack's irritation pricked. "Rest assured, he's contracted only the best."

Her rouged lips pulled into a smile. "Now that I doubt."

"You've insulted me twice."

"Yes, yes I believe I did."

"On what grounds?"

She boldly grabbed the edge of his poncho and lifted it up, examining the long-sleeved shirt beneath that was supposed to combat the cold and allow for movement, and his well-worn deerskin pants. "The state of your clothes, for one."

Alzack had never considered himself to be a vain man before but just then he felt very concerned with himself. "They're comfortable."

"Mmhm. Your guns, then," she said, glancing down at the fired steel.

"What's wrong with them?"

"They're scuffed. Either they're ancient or you don't take very good care of them. Either way, it means the same thing."

He needed to be watching the perimeter, not concerning himself with what this woman thought of him. And yet, he asked, "And what's that?"

"If you were as good as you say you are, you'd be hired often and paid well, meaning you'd be able to buy better equipment. My conclusion remains, even based solely on the condition of your firearms. You're a shoddy mercenary and I think I should take issue with Mister Heartfilia, sending you to stand between me and Mulan Rouge."

"I'm more than enough to handle someone like her."

Humor flicked through the woman's eyes. "Is that so?"

"She's a renegade criminal at best."

"I hear she's an excellent shot, a specialist with rifles, actually."

"Magic," Alzack said. "Anyone can do that. Real skill comes from real training."

"And what real training have you had, Mercenary?"

"My name is Alzack," he replied. "And I've done eight years in the King's army, protecting the Alverez border."

"There hasn't been a war there in twenty years," the woman replied. "That doesn't sound like real experience."

"There are border skirmishes all the time," he said.

"Well, stop the press. That must mean you're better than everyone here." Sarcasm dripped from each word.

"That's not what I meant."

"It is, but that's okay. You're still young, a little bit dumb."

Even as he opened his mouth, Alzack knew he was playing into her. He continued. "I'm neither, and if I think I'm better than everyone else here, it's only because it's true. No one can make a shot like I can."

"Ah. There's the confident man. May I see?"

"You want to see me shoot?"

"I'd love to." She put her elbows on the balustrade and bent her back. Her coat opened and Alzack could see her dress once more. It was made of very nice fabric that clung to her every curve, of which she had plenty. "What do you say?"

Alzack looked back up at her face again. She was smiling like she was enjoying herself very much. "I'd say I'm working." He fingered the lacrima in his pocket. He'd need to check in with the others again soon.

"And afterwards?"

"After?"

She shrugged. "The party isn't going to go on forever, right? You're done at some point."

"Yes."

"So? Will you take a girl out and show her how badly you shoot? I know a gun range across town, out near the apple orchards."

Alzack knew the one. He'd been a couple of times when his own range was closed down for maintenance. "Are you asking me out?"

She grabbed his poncho again and both pulled him in and stood up straight. "I'm asking you to come make a fool out of yourself, Mercenary." Her breath smelled like champagne and tobacco and while Alzack thought maybe that shouldn't smell good, he liked it.

"Didn't you come here with a date?"

Her grip on his poncho tightened and her grin widened. "Several."

The disappointment Alzack felt was almost crushing. "I doubt very much that they'd approve of you asking me out. Now, if you don't mind, I need to return to my duties."

"Watching for your criminal."

"Yes."

"Lucky us, to have such an excellent and dedicated mercenary to keep us safe." Mocking him again.

Alzack smiled tightly. "Yes. You should return to your party, Miss—"

"Mulan, actually."

"Miss Mulan." It took Alzack saying her name aloud for it to really hit home. He looked into her eyes and saw laughter there, she was waiting for the moment he figured it out.

He grabbed her wrist and was hit hard in the chest with her elbow as she spun. Though the breath was knocked from his lungs, Alzack grabbed her bicep and pulled her back toward him. That got him a kick in the thigh with her high heel. It hurt so much he lost his grip on her. She spun away and got a few steps in toward the balustrade. Alzack remembered he was armed and pulled out one of his pistols. He didn't bother telling her 'stop,' he shot the air next to her ear and she pulled up short.

Alzack straightened and sucked in a breath. "Put your hands on the bannister."

She turned to face him. "You sound a little wheezy, Mercenary."

"Hands. Get them on the bannister, Thief."

She lifted her hands instead, holding them by her ears and wiggling her fingers. "I told you, you weren't the best. The best wouldn't have had the wind knocked out of them."

"You're the one with your hands up, Miss Mulan."

"I guess the name calling didn't last long, huh? That's a pity. It's kind of a kink of mine. I especially like it when things are getting hot and heavy and it's whispered right here." She tapped her ear. "We can work on that, though."

Alzack's ears roared. He focused on getting his handcuffs out. "Be quiet."

"You don't like your ladies like that, do you? Honestly now. Mousey girls saying, please Mister Mercenary, please don't arrest us?" She leaned forward in a way that was meant to draw his eye to her body. "I mean. I guess I could try being like that. In the interest of science."

Alzack had to put away his gun to put the handcuffs on her. He also had to be close, and close was where girls like Mulan Rouge did the most damage. She allowed him to put the cuff on her one wrist without any fight. He grabbed the second, though, and she leaned in and kissed him.

Alzack was stunned still. Mulan, though, she moved faster than a cobra, breaking his hold and sneaking her hand beneath his poncho where she grabbed his gun from its holster and turned it around on him. He had his second pistol out before she had it cocked and aimed, but just barely.

"I guess you are a little bit good." She started backing toward the ledge where the balustrade dipped artistically, the handcuffs wobbling on her wrist and winking in the lacrima light.

"If you don't stop, Miss Mulan, I'm going to have to shoot," Alzack warned.

"Then I guess you're going to have to shoot. This close, there's no way you can mess up and miss, right, Mercenary?"

"Right. Come quietly."

"I'd do a lot of things for love but not that. Sorry. This was short but entertaining and sweet. Thank you for one unforgettable night."

Alzack brought down the hammer of his pistol and aimed for her center of mass. Mulan stopped her climb onto the balustrade to raise her own gun. Alzack squeezed the trigger and heard two shots go off. His hand was forced up by the kickback and the gun knocked out of his grip with the collision of another bullet. His hand went painfully numb. That was secondary as he watched Mulan fall back through the air off the seventh storey of the Heartfilia mansion.

Alzack raced to the edge. He expected to see Mulan's crumpled body on the snowy lawn but instead, he saw the glow of a magic circle mid-air and Mulan standing in its center. She looked back over her shoulder and waved. He'd missed her, somehow.

By the time Alzack had gone back for his doubly scratched and scuffed gun, the magic circle that had taken her to the ground had disappeared and Mulan Rouge was gone.

Shooting his right-handed pistol with his left hand was all wrong. Ambidextrousness meant nothing if the handgrip wasn't right. He was getting good, though, after a few hours of work in the gun range. Reloading was more difficult. The fingers on his right hand weren't good for much, all wrapped up in a cast the way they were.

"That looks difficult."

Alzack stopped his futile struggle and found her leaning against one of the empty tables looking just fine. Gone was the party dress and the long pale hair. Now she wore a dark pair of jeans and a red leather jacket. Her hair was cropped short around her ears, messy, and bright green. She looked exactly like the type of character that would choose a name like Mulan Rouge.

"Do you want some help?"

"So you can steal my other pistol?" Alzack asked. "No, thanks. I'll struggle."

"Awe. Don't be like that," she said teasingly. "I just want to help."

"I should arrest you."

"But you won't."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because, Mercenary. You got paid for a job, now that job's over. You don't get anything now if you bring me into the police. Just a pat on the back."

"And satisfaction."

"You don't become a mercenary because you want feel-good satisfaction, do you?" She swayed to his table and rested her hip against it. She was in his personal space again and taking a gun off her hip. Not just any gun. His gun. Alzack watched it warily but she only put it on the table and picked up the other, feeding bullets into the wheel.

"The answer's no, by the way. A good mercenary does the job he's hired to do and once it's done, it's done. Or are you going to tell me you're bad at that, too?"

"My job's not done," he said. "You're still walking free."

She closed her eyes and shook her head condescendingly. "I saw the details of your contract. You were hired to protect the Heartfilia mansion during the party. That's all. There wasn't anything in there about ensuring my arrest."

"Now how would you know what my contract said?"

"Because when I saw the ad in the paper, I considered taking the job myself," she said with a wink. "It seemed like easy money."

"Then you figured you'd make more money by stealing people's baubles?" There had been a plethora of reports of lost necklaces, watches and earrings, even wallets, from Mister Heartfilia's party.

"Exactly." She tapped his chest with the back of her hand and Alzack felt electricity move through his body.

"You're despicable."

"Yes. And charming. And beautiful. And a better shot than you."

"Only one of those things are true."

"I thought I'd have to try harder to get you to admit that I was the better marksman. Show off at least. It's no fun when you just give up like that."

"No, I meant—"

"Oh. That I'm beautiful? Thank you." She smiled and it was a little charming.

Alzack bit his cheek hard. It seemed safer than speaking.

"So, Mercenary, are you going to arrest me, shoot with me, or compliment me some more?" she asked.

Alzack picked up his returned pistol and knocked the wheel out. It was still fully loaded. "You're right. I wasn't hired to arrest you."

"Does that mean we're going to shoot some things?"

"Until a bounty for you comes into my hands."

She grinned widely and pulled a long rifle from thin air. "In that case, you can call me Bisca."