notes: kinda inspired by nbc's the blacklist. which is actually really cool. anyway, i've had this written up for a while now, but i just hadn't gotten around to posting it. and i'm still procrastinating that thing i'm supposed to be writing, so. if you have any questions about my current ongoing stories, or if you have any prompts/requests, look me up on tumblr. the link's on my profile.
summary: It's a relationship built on blind trust. Or, she takes the plunge, and crosses her fingers. All that's left is for him to catch her.
pairings: natsu/lucy (major), gray/juvia, erza/jellal, gajeel/levy
disclaimer: own nothing
.
.
.
cause you are the best i never had
.
.
.
It all begins one bright and sunny Tuesday morning, with a repetition of hard knocks and calls for her to open her door.
Lucy glances down at the ink-blotted papers spread all around her living room and kitchen—which, if put together, would form a half-finished chapter of a novel—before standing and making her way over to the front door. She isn't expecting company, and it's not a voice that she recognizes.
The aggravated assault against the wood continues in short but rapid bursts, and she quickly checks her appearance in the mirror hanging in the entryway.
Her blonde hair is disheveled and there a stray locks hanging out of her messy bun. Her russet-colored eyes are tired, and her skin is a bit too pale—the results of a late night and early morning—and there's a black smudge across her right cheek.
She looks like a mess.
The knocking persists.
"Lucy Heartfilia, open the door!"
She spares a glance at the clock—8:32, she realizes forlornly—and turns to open the door. But first, she steals a peek at her over-eager visitor.
Only to find that there are in fact, four, wearing suits and carrying federal badges.
Oh, she thinks as she unlocks the door and pulls it open, oh no.
Lucy manages to muster up some scraps of a smile. "Can I help you, gentlemen?"
Her voice is weak and vulnerable, she can hear it herself.
The man who'd been knocking—he is, unkempt dark hair, brooding deep blue eyes, pale skin, and a stern expression—nods at her and lowers his fist. "Lucy Heartfilia?"
She inhales deeply and breathes out through her nose. "That's me."
He makes eye contact with one of the other agents—and for some reason she feels he's the only one that really matters, the rest are just the grunt—like some kind of nonverbal communication. It's fast, and wouldn't have been noticeable, if she hadn't been watching for it, at least.
She understands, sort of anyway, and waits for what's sure to come next.
His attention returns to her, and he pulls back his dark blazer to reveal his badge—shiny, golden, an emblem of justice. "Agent Fullbuster, FBI. We'd like you to come with us."
Lucy blinks—once, twice, and then closes her eyes and brings an ink-stained hand to her forehead. She'd known this was coming when she first noticed their badges out the peephole in her front door.
"Okay, just—just give me a few minutes, please. To get dressed and cleaned up," she steps aside and looks at the suits standing on her front porch. "Please, come in. I'll try to be quick."
Agent Fullbuster nods, and she gathers that if this was an arrest or some kind, she would have already been on her way to an interrogation site with some newly acquired bracelets binding her wrists.
But.
He steps inside and quickly seats himself on the worn sofa in her living room, and the other agents waste no time in following him in. They stay standing though, looking much more tense than the man reclining on her couch. He gives her a nod after she shuts the door and passes by on her way upstairs, like he hasn't a care in the world but at the same time there's a steel gleam in his eyes.
It speaks of experience, guarded attention, countless situations much more hostile than this, and she knows that even though he looks relaxed, he's completely alert. He's one of the best.
And Lucy, well.
She doesn't quite know what to think of that.
She scrubs at the dried black liquid marring her skin, leaving it red and raw, but after a few minutes most of it is gone and so she slips into a more decent outfit.
Lucy pulls out the bobby pins holding her hair up and lets it fall loosely over her shoulders. She observes herself in the mirror and decides that she does not look anything like the agents downstairs.
FBI agents didn't wear faded wash skinny jeans that were ripped in several places, or brown leather boots, or dark floral blouses with a chunky purple cardigan.
At least, not on duty.
She smiles at her reflection, and it smiles back.
She looks nothing like an agent at all, and that's just fine. Because she isn't.
Lucy turns on her heel, marches out of her room, and down the stairs. Agent Fullbuster is still where she left him—along with the others—and she brushes her bangs away from her eyes.
Fullbuster stands, and soon the blonde is flanked by the other three agents as she is marched out the door. One of them opens the back door of an SUV for her, and she thanks him quietly.
He doesn't respond.
She climbs inside.
Agent Fullbuster slides in beside her, and shortly afterward they're pulling out of Strawberry Street and away from her house. Headed toward some undisclosed location.
They make no action to keep their destination a secret from her, she denotes, other than the fact that none of the agents speak it out loud. It makes her wonder.
It's quiet, and almost uncomfortable. They ride like this for a while, with no one saying anything, until Fullbuster suddenly breaks the stifling silence.
She turns to him.
He doesn't look at her, but rather chooses to keep his eyes on the stretch of pavement in front of him—even if he isn't the one driving.
"This isn't an arrest, or an interrogation," he states, tone passive.
Her lips twitch upward, and Lucy turns back to the window.
"No, it isn't," she agrees.
Magnolia passes by in a blur.
She wonders where they're taking her.
.
.
.
They pull into the loading and unloading dock of an old post office located near the outskirts of the city. It's a quiet place with hardly any activity—perfect for a covert underground facility belonging to the FBI. She stays quiet as they come to a stop, and one of the unnamed agents opens the door for her again.
There's a woman waiting for her—long scarlet hair, neat and tailored two-piece suit, stern almond eyes—and Lucy immediately recognizes her.
"Lucy Heartfilia," the woman greets, holding out a hand, "nice to make your acquaintance."
The blonde gives her a slight smile, and cautiously shakes hands with her. "Agent Erza Scarlet, it's a pleasure. Or, at least I hope it is."
There is complete silence for a moment, before Erza nods at Agent Fullbuster. "You're not in any trouble, Miss Heartfilia. We just need…your help with something."
Lucy raises a brow. "What do you mean? What kind of help?"
"Your expertise, and quite frankly, you." the scarlet-haired woman leads them into the building and down a hallway. "I apologize for bringing you in, especially like this, but the matter at hand is extremely urgent and well…you're the only one who can do anything about it."
They stop at an elevator, and Lucy realizes that the only way to go now is down.
"Why me, though?" she questions once they are headed down—one floor, two floors, five, six, seven.
The elevator stops, and Erza turns to her with an uneasy smile. "There's something you need to see."
Lucy follows her out, with Fullbuster behind them. Erza waves a dismissive hand at some agents nervously idling at their desks, and leads the blonde into a room off the side.
"Sir, Miss Heartfilia, as you requested."
There's an elderly man sitting behind a desk, rifling through several stacks of paper and files. He glances up at them once they enter, and when Erza speaks, he pauses.
Lucy swallows hard because, this is the assistant director and asked to see her. There are several ways this could go, she theorizes, and even though they've informed her she's in no trouble, her analyst training is telling her otherwise.
With several situation scenarios come several different—possibly unfavorable—outcomes. If she's really not in any sort of trouble and they've just called her in to help, then the situation must be pretty dire. The thought makes her a bit queasy, and she has to squash the foreboding feeling bubbling up in her chest and stomach.
"Y-you wanted to see me, sir."
Makarov Dreyar nods. "Yes, have a seat, Miss Heartfilia."
He glances at agents Scarlet and Fullbuster. "You two as well, I'd like you to hear this."
Lucy sits down and tries her hardest not to fidget.
Makarov pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. "As agent Scarlet and Fullbuster here already know, this morning we arrested a wanted criminal. We've been trying to get this guy for years, but he always disappears on us. He has connections everywhere—or so it seems. Friends, allies, subordinates, all of whom would rather die than give him up. He's extremely dangerous—possibly a threat to national security."
He pauses, and looks straight at Lucy.
"And this morning he walked into Magnolia's branch of Fiore National Bank and gave himself up voluntarily."
The blonde isn't exactly sure what to make of the situation. "Pardon me for interrupting sir, but what does that have to do with me? You caught him, so what do you need me for?"
Makarov sighs again—deeper, this time. "Because, Miss Heartfilia, he's been asking for you. He says he won't speak to anyone except you."
.
.
.
Lucy stands outside the door of the interrogation room. She's never been in very many blacksights, but this one is especially outfitted with extra security, the newest advancements in technology, and lots of tense agents—specifically designed to hold one prisoner. When she thinks about how much it all must have cost, it gives her a headache.
Agent Scarlet turns to her, worry and anxiety written all over her face. "Are you sure you're ready for this? You'll be going in alone, and we can hear everything you say but—,"
The blonde smiles and taps her ear, where her earpiece is a bit uncomfortably situated. She's not used to wearing them anymore, after all. "I'll be fine. I was trained for this, remember?"
Erza doesn't say anything else, and so Lucy takes a deep break and steps forward. An agent unlocks the door for her, and she steps inside, the bright luminescent lights blinding her for a few seconds.
But then she can see again, and the door shuts behind her.
"Agent Lucy Heartfilia, am I right?"
Her head snaps toward the man sitting at the table, and he grins—wide and bright and a little too happy for someone being detained. His salmon-pink hair is messy and looks strange with his white dress shirt, gray vest, and matching slacks. His eyes are deep and dark and mischievous, and for a moment she thinks that he's just a teenage boy and not a man.
She clutches the folder in her hands to her chest.
"Hello, Natsu Dragneel."
His grin widens, and she wonders just what she's getting herself into.
.
.
.
end notes: basically what you should gather from this is that i watch too many dramas, and i don't really know anything about the fbi (and i watch way too many dramas). also, lucy's backstory will kinda be explained next chapter? and is natsu really a criminal?