Note: Written on a cruise ship on a very wobbly laptop, so please forgive me if it's not very good. My laptop has a nasty habit of clicking on it's own while I'm in the middle of typing, putting the letters in all the wrong places so I have to go back, fix it, and try to remember my string of thought. Most difficult.
Gray x Mary. You asked, and you shall receive, Moonlit Dreaming. Grary shipping ahoy!
Until It Snows
"Winter isn't really winter until it snows," Mary decided, gazing outside. The moisture on the windows had hardened into a crystalline sheet of ice, making it almost impossible to see the snowy landscape behind the glass. But Mary didn't need to see it to know that it was there, that Jack Frost had graced Mineral Town once again with his presence.
"I hate snow," Gray complained, leaning on Mary's counter. "It's too damn cold, and it piles up in front of the door, and it makes your clothes wet once you walk inside and the snow melts. How can anyone stand it?"
Mary smiled and brought her cup of cocoa over to the shivering blacksmith. Placing it into his hands, she sighed. "Oh, Gray, it's not just a nuisance. It's beautiful—nature's way of redecorating the world. And it's fun."
"Fun?" Gray repeated, taking a swig of cocoa. "What's fun about shoveling snow until your fingers are red and numb?"
"I don't mean that," Mary explained, rolling her eyes. "I mean…snow angels, and sledding, and ice skating. That kind of fun."
"It's really no big deal," Gray groaned. "Why don't you just make a sandcastle in summer or something? It's not cold in summer."
"But you hate the summer heat."
"It's not my fault the damn weather won't make up its mind."
A grin played at the corners of her mouth as she pulled on her coat and scarf. Wrapping her arms tightly about her, Mary waited at the door for the blacksmith to finish his cocoa and join her.
"Where are we going again?" he asked.
"Elli's. She made gingerbread cookies with Stu, and she wanted to give us some," Mary told him.
"Then why doesn't she come give it to us so we don't have to go out in the cold?" Gray grumbled.
"Because she doesn't want to go out in the cold, either," Mary answered. "Now, goodness, Gray: stop whining. You're going to pick up the cookies with me whether you like it or not."
And although Gray could argue, he knew that in the end Mary would get her way. Try as he might, the blacksmith just couldn't say no to her.
Maybe it was because of her glasses, he reasoned. That had to be it.
The librarian beside him sighed, her breath becoming visible puffs of air in the chill of the day. She cocked her head at Gray and smiled as she saw his uncomfortable expression. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and his eyes were squinted against the oncoming snowflakes.
"You forgot your scarf," Mary stated, watching his teeth chatter.
"Yeah, I guess I did," he replied, plodding forward.
"Do you want to go back for it--?"
"It's fine, Mary."
"You're going to catch cold."
"So what if I am?" he groaned, stopping and turning towards her. "Mary, it's fine. I'll be okay."
The librarian's worried expression relaxed, and she allowed herself a tiny grin. "I know you will. I just worry, that's all."
Gray stared at her, and, knowing that he was blushing, pulled his hat down. Of course she worried about him. In fact, Mary was the only person who worried about him; Saibara was never one to dole out pity, and Cliff and Kai were too busy to worry about their roommate. It had been awkward at first, but over time, Gray had gotten used to the "nagging," as Kai had called it. "It happens to the best of them," the traveler had sighed, shaking his head. "They're all eventually reduced to nagging, bossy women who remind you that your shoes are untied over and over until you finally bend down and tie them. It's a shame, really."
But if Mary didn't remind him, Gray knew that he'd trip over his own feet.
"Gray?"
The blacksmith turned to her, and Mary smiled. "Look. We've left a trail of footprints in the snow."
And as Gray looked, he saw two sets of footprints: one large and deep, the other small and delicate. "Huh. I guess we did."
"Isn't it strange? That one day, a path can be littered with weeds and blossoms, and the next, patterned with footprints surrounded by snow." She took in a deep breath, releasing it in a little puff of air. "Nature's ever-changing design. It's beautiful."
"Yes, you are."
The words had escaped into the air before the blacksmith could turn them into intangible thoughts, hidden from the world and from the wide-eyed girl in front of him. She stared at him, unable to make her legs move and her mouth speak. Finally, after much effort, she squeaked, "What?"
"…Nothing," he murmured, brushing past her. "Let's go to Elli's, Mary. At this rate, we'll both freeze to death."
Seeing as she was still rooted to the ground in shock, Gray groaned and jerked her by the arm, dragging her forward. "Damn it, Mary, do you want to see Elli or not? The only way to see her is to keep walking, you know."
"Y-yes," she stammered, stumbling along as he pulled her forward.
Snowflakes fell in a steady curtain of white lace, delicately falling onto the two figures below and sliding off their coats onto the ground. Mary and Gray stopped upon reaching the door to Ellen's home, where Stu was building a snowman in the front yard. His eyes glanced upward to see the two visitors, and he said matter-of-factly, "Elli's busy."
"But she invited us—"
"Doctor's here," Stu explained, interrupting Mary as he packed on another heap of snow. Mary and Gray exchanged glances, and Gray muttered something about how when a man and a woman worked together, it was always bound to end up like this. The librarian smiled, and bending down asked Stu how long he'd been outside.
"Since I ate all the cookies," he told them.
"They're…all gone?" Mary questioned, surprised. Letting him eat all the cookies? That didn't sound like Elli.
The boy nodded. "I ate them an hour ago. But Elli was getting all lovey-dovey with her Timmy-wimmy, and so I had to leave. Because of the cooties, I mean."
"Don't worry," Mary laughed. "I'm sure Gray would have left after seeing that, too."
"Her Timmy-what?" Gray exclaimed, shocked. "Who the hell comes up with names like that?"
Mary giggled, Stu shrugged, and the snow continued to fall. Adjusting his hat, Gray turned away from the door, and muttered, "Well, now what?"
"Wanna help me make a snowman?" Stu asked, eyes shining.
"Hell no."
Gray's automatic response made the boy's lip begin to quiver, and as his eyes welled up with tears, Stu wailed, "Gray's a meeeeeaaaanie!"
Mary shot the blacksmith a disapproving look and knelt down by the boy, putting her arm around him comfortingly. "I'd love to help make a snowman with you, Stu."
Immediately the tears vanished, and Stu threw his arms around the librarian in an enthusiastic hug. "Mary's nice," he smiled, burying his head in her scarf. Gray's hands balled into fists and he watched on helplessly as Mary hugged the kid back. What the hell? Was he getting jealous over some snot-nosed brat? No way, he assured himself, no way in hell would that happen. And yet--
"I'll help." Mary's ice blue eyes glanced up as Gray announced his decision. Coming forward with hands stuffed into his pockets, he glared from under his hat at them both and said, "I'll help, okay? But that doesn't mean I'm going to like it."
"That's great," Mary beamed, and Gray basked in the glow of her smile. "It'll be fun, Gray."
"Gray's still a meanie," Stu muttered, sticking his tongue out at the blacksmith.
"Shut up, punk."
Gray turned to Mary, and seeing her packing the snow into a ball, he did the same. Adding it to Stu's half-made foundation, they patted it together until a solid body was established. As Elli's brother rolled what would soon be the snowman's head into something resembling a circle, he asked, "What should we name it?"
"Name what?" Gray questioned.
"The snowman," Stu explained, rolling his eyes at Gray's stupid remark. "He needs a name."
"What about…Frosty?" Mary suggested, taking the head from Stu and positioning it on the body. "That's the classic name."
Shaking his head, Stu looked at Gray expectantly for ideas. "Hell, I don't know," Gray shrugged. "Come up with one yourself."
Stu tapped his foot in thought as Gray and Mary smoothed out the snowman's edges. Gray blushed a bit when his hand accidentally brushed over Mary's own, but she didn't appear to notice his touch as she continued prettying up the snowman for Stu.
"You do realize that this thing won't last a week," Gray muttered to her.
Laughing, Mary wiped her forehead and replied, "Gray, nothing lasts forever. Elli's cookies certainly didn't, and this snowman won't, and neither will this winter."
"But this is a waste of time."
"Is it?" Her eyes catching the sight of a few stones below, she bent down and picked them up: perfect for sculpting the eyes and mouth. "Well, Gray, don't you remember your first snowman?"
"My first snowman?" he repeated.
"Don't you remember how wonderful it feels, when you finally build one for the first time? How proud you are when you find something that couldn't stand if it weren't for your own two hands? How incredible that feels?"
"I don't know," Gray shrugged. "I guess I never really thought about it that way."
"Oh, really?" Her braid whipped behind her, her back turned as she gave the snowman two beady stone eyes. Gray watched as she stood on tiptoe to make the grin just right, and smiled to himself as he noticed that the eyes weren't aligned. "Well, sometimes it's a good idea just to do something for memory's sake. To have something pleasant to remember on a rainy day, something to fall back on when you're sad or alone."
Alone. What did he think of when he felt that way—alone? Gray closed his eyes, memories flooding his mind as they were sorted into good and bad, wrong and right. No, there was no memory of building a snowman; in truth, he couldn't remember playing in the snow at all as a child. No snowman's plastered-on grin could convince him to smile back; he merely sat down on the steps, watching the snow fall. No matter where his family moved each year, it was always the same cold, freezing, harsh snow that piled up on the driveway and required him to shovel it out day after day.
"Uma."
Gray blinked, startled out of his reverie, and Mary exclaimed, "What?"
"Uma," Stu repeated, coming forward and pointing a finger at the snowman. "I want to name it Uma."
Both Mary's and Gray's thoughts were on the hat sitting atop Gray's head as Stu continued, "I made it up all by myself. I like it."
"You little liar--!"
Mary restrained an indignant Gray as he lunged forward at the little boy, and she said, "It's a lovely name, Stu. Very creative."
The blacksmith turned to her and exclaimed, "You're going to let the kid lie through his teeth like that? 'I made it up all by myself'? Like hell he did! He read my hat and couldn't come up with anything better to say!"
"Gray," Mary chided him, "are you honestly going to argue with a five-year-old about this?"
At that remark, Gray shut up, and Stu appraised "Uma" attentively. "He needs something more," the boy decided.
In response, Mary unwrapped her scarf from around her neck and placed it around the snowman's. They both cocked their heads at it, and Mary agreed, "He does seem to be missing something, doesn't he?"
Gray soon found himself being stared at by both Mary and Stu, a mischievous glint sparkling in both their eyes. He backed away hesitantly, and as reality dawned on him, he shouted, "Oh, no. You can't have the damn hat!"
Little pouts made their way onto both Mary and Stu's faces, and the former's made Gray's resolve start to crumble. Clutching the hat in his hands, he began to run, only to be followed by a very determined Mary. "Gray, it's just for a moment!" she pleaded, hitching up her skirt.
"I'm not giving Stu's snowman the hat, dammit!"
"Get him, Mary, get him!" Stu cheered, earning a dirty look from the blacksmith.
Gray knew he had an unfair advantage over the librarian, and he intended to make full use of it. He was taller than Mary, faster than Mary, and--most importantly--he wasn't wearing a dress like Mary. She fumbled behind him, calling, "Gray, this is silly! It's just a hat!"
"It's my hat, dammit!" was his response. There were some bushes ahead—if he jumped them, Mary would have to stop and climb over them herself, which was no easy feat in her gown. He increased his speed, eyes locking on the target ahead. He was ready for the jump, just in a few moments—
"Oomph!"
Mary came crashing into him from behind, sending them both tumbling forward into the thicket. Luckily, a thick layer of snow served as a buffer to keep them both from the sharp twigs' harm, and Gray found himself on the ground with Mary on his back.
"Sorry," she apologized hurriedly, climbing off him and kneeling by his side. "I—I'm so sorry, Gray, I tripped, and then—are you alright?"
In answer, Gray spat out a mouthful of what used to be snow and pulled himself up. Wiping the snowflakes and dirt from his hair, he turned to Mary, and glared. "You took the hat."
"I did?" she questioned, and looking down, she saw she was now kneeling on the cap. Picking it up, she held it close, and said, "I'm just going to use it once, Gray—to give a sweet little child a memory he'll always cherish."
"Sweet little child? Mary, this is Stu we're talking about, not Little Miss Muffet," he protested. Then, as he took a good look at Mary, his voice softened. "Your glasses…"
She blinked her eyes, and bringing her hands to her face, she exclaimed, "Oh, I've dropped them! I thought everything was foggy because they'd gotten dirty in the snow…oh, dear, do you see them anywhere?"
Gray's hands tore through the snow, sending it behind him in huge white clusters as he sought in vain for the glasses. Dear God, had he lost her glasses with his stupid game of tag? No, that was stupid—this was all Stu's fault, with his stupid snowman and his stupid whining and his stupid—
"Found them," Gray announced, and Mary sighed in relief. He breathed on the lenses, then rubbed them on his coat, leaving them clear and clean. The librarian's hand extended for them, but Gray held them back, an idea forming in his mind.
"Hostage exchange," he declared, pointing to the hat. "You give me what I want, and I give you what you want."
"Gray, you're acting like a child—"
"And you weren't? Chasing me down because I wouldn't give Stu my freaking hat?" He smiled as she relented, her grip on the hat faltering.
"Oh, alright. Have it your way." She came forward, then, skeptical, held the hat back again. "How do I know you won't just take the hat and run?"
"What the hell would I do with your glasses, Mary?" he replied, dangling them in his grip. "If you want, we'll exchange on the count of three. Alright?"
Biting her lip, Mary nodded, scooting closer to him.
"One."
Gray's hands quivered as he held the glasses up.
"Two."
Mary lifted the hat tentatively, her eyes searching Gray's questioningly as he began to smile.
"Three."
The glasses were pressed onto her nose, but before she could give him his cap, to her astonishment she found Gray's lips pressed against her own, a cold shock running through both their mouths. His arms wrapped about her neck, his skin pressing against goosebumps that had appeared where her scarf was absent. Seconds passed—minutes—before they pulled away, their blue eyes avoiding each other's gaze desperately.
"I…your hat…" Mary stammered, looking down. "You didn't…"
"Don't worry," Gray assured her, taking her hand. "I got what I wanted. You can keep the damn hat."
Mustering courage, she brought her eyes up to stare straight through his own, her voice quivering as she murmured, "But it wasn't a fair exchange."
"Of course it was, Mary—"
She shook her head, and whispered, "But I…I wanted that, too. It wasn't fair, because I got what I wanted…twice."
Around them, a flurry of white was falling from the heavens, coating the bushes and the roofs and the path, filling a trail of footprints one snowflake at a time. Somewhere, a snowman was lamenting his lack of a hat, and somewhere, a forgotten cup of cocoa was cooling in a library, and somewhere, a little boy was wondering if he'd been forgotten.
But all Gray knew was that right now, Mary's lips were on his own, and that was enough for all the cold and worries about him to melt away into an overwhelming warmth.
And maybe, Gray relented, winter wasn't that bad after all…if the right person was in your arms.