A/N: Wasn't expecting to take this long...sorry guys. Real life is super time consuming
Aside from that, I WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT KIND OF RESPONSE FROM THE FIRST CHAPTER OMG GUYS. SERIOUSLY. YOU KILLED ME. THANK YOU ALL SO SO MUCH YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH YOUR REVIEWS MEAN TO ME. THEY KEEP ME GOING. THANK YOU.
Theory #1: If you have no birthmark, you are an Inflictor
She twists her wrist, coating the inside of the short rocks glass with the amber liquid. Scotch whisky.
She's not a big fan of hard liquor, but beer would clash her outfit. A halter-neck dress with a plunging neckline and stilettos was not something to drink beer with. Wine or scotch.
She hates wine.
She takes a sip of her drink, careful to avoid getting too much lipstick on the rim. Matte didn't leave behind as much as regular, but red was always prominent and she prefers keeping her lips stained deep.
She relishes in the burn as it coats her throat, all the way down to her empty stomach. She's warm now, her head tingles, and she peeks over to one of the far tables.
There he sits.
Short, dyed black hair, reflecting blue. Salt and pepper scruff on his cheeks and dark eyes. She can't tell whether they're green or brown but it doesn't matter to her. He's unfairly attractive for someone in his mid forties.
Or at least he should be if it was him.
Either way, he's her next suspect.
He sits with a middle-aged woman and man. A large briefcase peeks out from beneath the tablecloth and when the middle-aged man isn't looking, the woman steals glances at her suspect. She smiles, licks her lower lip and bites.
Her suspect doesn't react with a smile, but he winks in such a way it looks like an eye twitch.
She has enough experience with differentiating between the two to know secret flirtation. She's watched masters for years.
A lot of good it does them when they're in her chair.
"Waiting for someone?"
Fuck.
She'd heard someone come up behind her, but thought nothing of it. She'd prayed they'd want to talk to the girl next to her and not her directly.
If he talks to her, that means she can't go through with her plans tonight. She can't be noticed or placed at his last known location. She can't be more than just a passing customer and that means, tonight, this man gets away with his con.
Oh well…she doesn't think he's the one she's looking for anyway.
She turns to the voice and smirks, "Something like that."
He's tall, handsome, broad and beautiful. His eyes are dark, almost black, and his smile is dazzling. His hair is slicked back and falls just past his shoulders, startlingly silver with a slight blonde tinge, but he's not the age for it to be natural. He holds his own drink in one hand and leans against the bar with a forearm.
He's in full black. An open button down exposes the tanned skin of his chest and tucks into deep black slacks. She doesn't see his shoes because yes, he's attractive, but his grin doesn't need to be any wider, and it would be if he knew she were sizing him up.
He was being discreet himself anyway, but she didn't miss the way his bottom lip rolled over his lower teeth. He was avoiding biting it.
It was nice of him.
"You don't seem like you'd be old enough for grey hair," she grins, raising a brow and leaning slightly sideways to get a better look at his oddly coloured locks. He looks up as if he has the ability to see it himself and smooths his free hand down over his hair.
"I lost a bet," he tells her. "Dyed it yesterday."
She giggles.
"Why grey?"
"My friend has an odd obsession with the colour for some reason," he moves in a step closer, and the light reflects off his face. The silver of his hair matches a patch of jagged skin on his neck and she finds herself trying not to stare.
Who is this guy?
She twirls her drink again, downs the final sip and sets the empty glass on the bartender's side of the counter.
"Well," she says, turning to him. "I've been kept waiting long enough I think."
He raises an eyebrow and smiles, "That an invitation?"
"Depends," she leans toward him, "you taking it?" She sees the muscles in his neck tense slightly. She makes him nervous.
Good.
He tilts his head toward the bartender without breaking eye contact, "Another drink for this beautiful young woman and I'll have the same."
She registers the faint sound of 'sure' from behind the bar and two glasses hitting the hardwood.
"So," he smiles, "do I call you Beautiful? Or do I get a name?"
She snickers, "What kind of pickup line is that?"
He shakes his head, "No pickup line, just honesty and flirtation."
She eyes him. He's attractive, seems witty, and is the reason another drink is in her hand free of charge. His aura is a little daunting, however. He seems exhausted, the weight of the world on his shoulders, but when he smiles at her it goes away.
This could be entertaining.
"Elie," she offers him a hand and he takes it in his own, bringing it up to his lips. The cliché of all clichés.
Seriously, who the hell was this guy?
"Haru."
—
Lucy didn't feel like the drink in her hand anymore.
She shoved the whisky bottle back into her liquor cabinet and dumped the glass and shot in the sink. She'd really been looking forward to it too, a drink always helped her to relax when her brain was in overdrive or when she was on edge.
Which she currently was.
She shuffled into her living room, fingers around the neck of a beer bottle instead, and turned her attention back to the boxes of her mother's stuff. There were still two large stacks that reached the ceiling, and what was once a third tower, was now a row of scattered, ripped cardboard.
She hadn't meant to rip the boxes open, but a corner of one of the photo albums had been catching on the ribbing and she'd ended up tearing out one of the sides in her frustration.
And now her family and baby pictures were littering the floor, and if she was going to have to go through them all to put them back…
She took another swig of beer.
Not the best coping mechanism, she knew, but hey, it helped some and as long as she didn't overdo it it'd be fine.
Damn. The bottle was empty already.
Irritated, Lucy doubled back toward her fridge but stopped at the sound of a heavy thumping through the wall beside her.
Oh…right.
She tossed her empty beer into the recycling, ignored the clattering of glass against more glass—she needed to take her empties back to the liquor store—and yanked open the front door, catching it as it swung on its hinges.
"Hey," she muttered, glaring slightly at Gray. "You're late."
He looked at her, unimpressed, and held up her red lanyard, keys jingling on the end as he did so. "Yeah well, I had to go get this damn thing for you, which meant I ran into Natsu and he wouldn't shut up."
Lucy's eyes narrowed at the mention of her Inflictor and she snatched her keys, "My super wasn't too happy with me."
Gray shrugged, "Not my fault."
"Not saying it was."
Gray crossed his arms over his chest and avoided her eyes. He was bouncing slightly on the tips of his toes as he shifted from one foot to the other and bit his lip.
He was mulling something over.
"What?" Lucy wasn't in the mood to deal with dancing around. If he had something to say he should just say it.
"We need to talk," Gray sighed and stilled, finally looking at her, "can I come in?"
"Are you going to lecture me?"
"Probably."
Lucy let out an irritated groan but pushed her door open the rest of the way, "Fine. I've got nothing better to do really."
"Well don't I feel special," he teased, brushing by. She resisted slamming the damned door after him, instead closing it firmly, and locked it again.
"You should," she grumbled, but he was already in the kitchen, so he hadn't heard.
She followed after him, watching as he took his usual place at the small island in the middle of her kitchen. Since she wasn't entirely heartless, she grabbed a second beer from the fridge, twisted the cap off and slid it over to Gray. He caught it absently and brought it to his lips, downing a few gulps before setting it down.
He wasn't looking at her again.
He flinched as she pulled the stool across from him out from beneath the table, metal legs scraping against the glass tile. It wasn't good for her floor, but it got a reaction out of him—sometimes doing things like that was the only way to get a reaction out of him.
"We've played this game before, Gray," Lucy wasn't having any of it. "So start talking before you sink your teeth any further into your own tongue."
Gray smirked slightly, "That's morbid, Lucy."
"I've been morbid lately," she deadpanned, "can't you tell?"
Gray let his mouth fall flat and the room was silent for a moment.
"You aren't driving right now, right?" he asked, features soft.
Lucy's brow furrowed. Why the hell would it matter if she was driving or not? She'd only had one beer and wasn't planning on going anywhere today. The last time she got points off her license was years ago and that was only cause a cop had caught her texting and driving. In her defense Levy was freaking out about Gajeel having proposed to her and Lucy had been fumbling with buttons, trying to call her.
It'd felt unfair but whatever.
She was a good driver and there was nothing that would prevent her from—
Oh.
"He told you," Lucy glared, "didn't he?"
Gray shook his head, "No, he didn't."
"Then why are you talking about driving, Gray?" she glowered.
"Because you know driving is dangerous when you're reliving memories even if you only blank out for a few seconds," he told her. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't taking any unnecessary risks."
"And what makes you think I'd do that?" she asked, taking another drink. The bubbles were starting to numb her tongue and she could taste more wheat than alcohol.
"I'm just making sure," Gray said softly.
"I'm not suicidal, Gray," Lucy said bluntly, "I'm not gunna put myself in danger just cause shit's happening."
Gray went silent at that and opted for scraping at the label on his bottle. He always did that when he was nervous, but why would he be nervous about telling her to not drive?
Wait.
"Gray," Lucy growled, "if Natsu didn't tell you anything, how'd you know what I was talking about?"
The mask he was forcing himself to wear was very good. His eyes darted from his bottle to her, back to the beer before he chugged a good half of it.
His mask was good.
But the guilt in his eyes was unmistakable and she recalled his reaction in the records room yesterday. The way he'd looked between the two of them. The way he'd fled without explaining why. The same look in his eyes.
It clicked.
"You knew," she breathed, and Gray pressed his lips together.
He swallowed.
"You knew?!" Lucy stood from her stool and slammed her hands down on the table. "Are you fucking kidding me, Gray? You knew?!" her voice cracked at the increase in volume and pitch.
Gray didn't move.
"Answer me, Fullbuster!"
His jaw clenched as he nodded, but didn't look at her.
"Get out," she hissed, shoving the stool aside and pointing to the door. "Get out of my apartment."
"No."
Lucy stared at him incredulously and he met her gaze, eyes hard and jaw set.
"Get out."
"No."
"This isn't up for discussion. Get the fuck out."
"I'm not leaving until you listen to me." Gray stood, grabbed his beer, and walked away from Lucy into her living room to take a seat on her couch.
Who the fuck did he think he was to have the audacity?
"And what makes you think I'd want to listen to anything you have to say?" Her voice was loud but she wasn't screaming anymore. Her throat didn't need to be more sore than it already was.
"Because I had a good reason," he said simply.
"Oh, you'd better have a good fucking reason for this," she snarled, following him over.
She opted to stand, hand clenched around the neck of her beer bottle as she stared him down. The height she had on him from this position made her feel better.
"How the fuck did you know?"
Gray rubbed at the spot between his eyebrows and leaned forward, free elbow resting on his knee. He breathed deep before looking up to her.
"He's my partner."
"Yeah," Lucy crossed her arms, "that's been established."
Gray shook his head and set his beer down on the coffee table. "No. I mean before. Last time. He was my partner in our past life too."
Lucy continued to stare, waiting.
His forehead was crinkled, eyebrows drawn together and his nose was scrunched as he ran his hands through his hair and tugged at the roots. His breathing was more ragged and his head was bowed with his leg bouncing quickly.
He didn't want to say it.
With that, he let his arms fall and body relax, gaze straight ahead as he took a deep breath.
"So when I relived my memories, I relived the ones when I was with him, too."
He relived the ones when…
"Wait…" Lucy's brow furrowed, "what?"
Gray didn't move, but his eyes flickered over to her.
The pain she saw made her stomach churn.
"You're marked?" she asked, confused. He'd never told her that before. In the years that they'd been working together why didn't he mention—
"No," he said softly. "I'm an Inflictor."
Lucy's blood went cold.
Gray…sweet, kind, funny, caring Gray…was an Inflictor?
Gray?
Her rage dissipated.
"You never told me," she whispered, "wh…why didn't…" she trailed off.
Gray smiled sadly, "I know how you feel about Inflictors, Lucy." Lucy shook her head as he kept talking. "I didn't want something that I'd done in the past to affect our friendship and it didn't seem to be relevant until now."
Lucy's eyes were darting everywhere, unseeing. Her brain was reeling, remembering every conversation, every argument, every case they'd ever worked together.
Who then? Who was it?
"I've never seen you with—"
"It's not romantic," Gray cut her off. "She's my best friend more than anything and she feels the same. I forgave her a long time ago."
Lucy looked back to him, confused, "You forgave her?"
He nodded, "She was a stalker. Suffered a lot in her past and didn't really know what she was doing. She latched onto me when I was put on her case. Really screwed with my friends and family in the months leading up to when we finally caught her." Gray reached for his beer again and took a sip. "It was suicide by cop, but technically it was still me that killed her."
Lucy had never heard of something like that before.
"I've never…" she trailed off, shuffling over to plop down next to Gray and set her beer on the coffee table.
"We're not all monsters, Lucy," Gray said gently, finishing off his drink, voice barely above a whisper. "Inflictors? Just because it was us that ended the life doesn't make us murderers."
Lucy shook her head and let it fall into her hands. She rubbed at her temples.
"Lucy…"
She looked over to Gray.
"As annoying as Natsu can be, and as much as he gets on my nerves, he's like a brother to me. He has agonized over meeting you for as long as I've known him," he told her.
"He knew you knew?" she asked softly, and Gray shook his head.
"No," he crossed his legs and turned to face her. "I never told him anything."
"Then…"
"He isn't marked, Lucy," Gray smiled sadly, "and he's lived in constant dread every day after learning about soul-bonded pairs. Brutal fear of possibly having killed someone."
Lucy shook her head and covered her ears. She couldn't hear anymore. It was too much. All of it. Too much information to process.
Gray pulled her hands from her head and waited until she looked back to him.
"And when I met you and remembered you?" he shook his head slightly, "I didn't know what to do. You were so happy, and so was Natsu. You both had anxiety about being bonded, sure, but it was too early and I wanted you two to stay that way as long as possible."
Lucy swallowed back tears.
"So," he breathed, "I kept you two apart. I did everything I could to protect you both…"
"Why didn't you just say something?" she asked. "Why didn't…why…why don't you just tell us what happened?"
Gray shook his head and took her hands in his.
"Because, Lucy?"
She looked up to him.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"How do you know?" she challenged, pulling her hands back. "How do you know that I won't believe you?"
"Because if I were you, I wouldn't believe me," he said softly, brushing her hair from her face. The care in his eyes is what did it.
Lucy crumpled, curled into herself, and cried.
She was angry. So angry. She never wanted this. She never wanted any of this. She didn't know how to deal with it. She didn't want to deal with it. With her mother being gone and leaving her alone. With her parents separating and father never trying to contact her, not like he'd ever acted like he wanted her. She couldn't remember anymore.
And Natsu.
She never asked to be soul-bonded. She didn't want the pain that came with having been killed, let alone the agony that wracked her to the very core at having been in love with the man. To have cared and love so deeply by someone and then betrayed.
The worst part was she couldn't even be angry.
Because she'd been a criminal.
She had tortured countless con men for information. She'd felt their flesh under her hands and her knife slice through their skin. She'd stitched them back up with no anesthetic and she'd felt their blood on her hands.
And she'd liked it. Relished in it.
What kind of monster was she to have felt that way? Even if the men she was going after seemed like they'd deserved that kind of pain, how could she have done that?
But as much as her head understood it, understood why her Inflictor had to go undercover to find her…as clear as the logic was…
It didn't change how much it hurt.
"I hate him," Lucy sobbed, "I hate him for making me love him."
She was pulled into a warm chest as she cried, and she fisted her hands in the shirt he was wearing. Her wails rang through her apartment until she didn't notice them anymore, ripping from her throat until it was raw. She had no control over her burning skin and she tugged at the fabric covering her chest to get to her birthmark.
Gray stopped her by pulling her into his lap and wrapping his arms around her securely. She flailed and screamed but he was strong and she wasn't fighting him as hard as she could have been.
"She left me," her voice was nearly unintelligible, warped with anger and muffled where her face was resting against Gray's neck, "all alone. She left me. She left me."
Gray just held her tighter.
"Why did she leave me?" she whispered, voice raspy and arms now clutched around Gray's shoulders. Her nails dug into the fabric of the back of his shirt, and her jaw was clenched. Her breath hitched in her throat as she did her best to keep herself from breaking down again.
"I don't know," Gray breathed, rocking her ever so slightly. Her head hurt and she tried to stop but the tears wouldn't stop running down her cheeks even when she quieted. "But we'll find out. I promise."
She was exhausted, her eyes hurt, and she was most likely getting a migraine.
But Gray was warm, so she curled up, head hooked under his chin and she breathed deeply until her body tingled and her muscles fell slack.
She just hoped Gray wouldn't be mad she'd fallen asleep on him.
—
She once again twists her wrist and coats the inside of her short rocks glass, this time with a dark burgundy brandy. This one burns a bit more going down, but she still isn't able to drink a beer with her outfit.
Though not as formal as the last, it's still not a casual enough venue for anything else. Hard liquor was the norm and she was not going to miss out on this man tonight by being the woman drinking beer. As misogynistic as it was for a woman to stand out for her drink of choice, it didn't change the reality of the situation. She'd learned it the hard way once before—early on in her…endeavours—and was lucky to have gotten away with it at all.
She's learned a lot since then.
She eyes her next suspect.
He's alone at the table, still early in on his con. He's the only one she hasn't been able to find an initial picture for, but he looks just like he would. Same hairstyle. Same general age. Same build. Those had been the parameters when she'd generated and stolen the list after all.
Days after she'd lost her last suspect—as much as she'd enjoyed her conversation with Haru it didn't alleviate her irritation at the loss—she'd kept an eye on the papers for suicides.
There were none.
However, when she'd instead found articles about the woman he'd conned having charges pressed against her by her husband, she'd been comfortable in concluding that he wasn't the guy she was looking for. She would've gone after him anyway to turn him in to the cops, but it hadn't taken long for them to find him.
The guy she's looking for is ruthless, and if it were him she would be looking at an obit in the paper. To anyone not reading between the lines, it would look and read just like a suicide driven by guilt at money loss.
She knew better though.
Once in awhile, there's always a slip up. This guy she's after is good. He's only slipped up twice. It may be easy for him to manipulate his targets into killing themselves with threats and fear, most likely with a gun to their heads or their loved ones, but he'd made a fatal mistake.
He'd underestimated a mother's love.
She could still feel them—her mother's fingers in her hair, brushing strands from her face and then pushing her under her bed. She could remember the tears running down her mother's cheeks. She could remember the sound of her mother's shallow breathing. Her mother's apologies. Her mother begging her to stay quiet.
She could remember the thunk of her mother's body hitting the ground, and she could remember the metallic smell piercing her sinuses. She could remember biting her hand so hard blood seeped through her teeth.
She could remember the blankness of her mother's face when she'd finally crawled out the next day.
She could remember screaming for her mother. She could remember being dragged away. She could remember the lights. The sirens. The police tape.
She could remember asking why. Why was her mother dead? What happened?
Nobody knew.
At least…that's what they'd told her then.
She could remember they'd all been secretive. Hush hush. Whispering. She could remember being given a different name and being told to say it again and again until she couldn't remember what her mother used to call her.
She could remember people pulling her from one home to another. The kids that were there were never really her age and they usually wanted nothing to do with her, which was fine with her. She didn't want anything to do with them anyway. She'd been alone ever since her mother was killed, she was used to it.
She was also used to being singled out by the boys that were there. She was used to guys getting close to her. She was used to the hungry looks in their eyes. She was used to being used. She was used to wanting to give up.
But she wanted answers, and once she was old enough…they couldn't refuse her anymore.
They hadn't been able to.
It was amazing, she'd found, what people were willing to do for money.
A faint squeaking pulls her attention back to her suspect as he stands from his table and pushes his chair in. There's a woman with him now, smiling at him. He gestures to his phone, she nods, and he heads outside.
She pays her tab.
She moves.
She grabs her clutch and swiftly glides into the women's bathroom. It's empty.
She undoes the clasp, pulls soft tissue from a pack and twists two pieces high up into both sides of her nose. It hurts like hell, but is definitely better than the alternative. Even with her sense of smell gone, she still remembers the scent of her mother's blood.
She can't wait to smell her killer's.
With tentative fingers, she slips a dime-bag from a slot in the side of her clutch and pries it open carefully. She can't spill a lot or it won't work for as long as she needs it to. With the height and build this guy is, it shouldn't take much anyway.
She swipes the powder just under her nose and eyes herself in the mirror. In this lighting there is a faint shimmer of white, but outside, under the night sky, it wouldn't be noticeable.
It takes all of one minute for her to enter and exit the bathroom and make her way to the side door of the restaurant. She opens the door, ready to round the corner and catch her suspect.
A flash of silver diverts her attention and her stomach sinks.
She has only a few seconds to take in the sight of her suspect sprawled on the floor of the alley, blood seeping into the fabric of his white button-down, before she's backed up against the brick wall with something cold and hard digging into her sternum. She flinches at the sudden contact with metal and suppresses a shudder as goosebumps spread over her chest.
Dark eyes blaze beneath dark brows and silver hair blows wildly across his face.
"Haru?"
It takes her three seconds to realize he's got the barrel of a gun against her, and a swift glance to see specifically, a silencer.
Damn. He'd killed her suspect. Now how was she supposed to interrogate the guy?
It takes two seconds for his eyes to widen in recognition.
"Well, fuck," Haru breathes, head tilting to one side. "What'm I supposed to do with you, Elie?"
And it takes one second for her to wrap her fingers in the front of his shirt and pull his mouth to hers.
He definitely wasn't expecting that.
She grins inwardly at the sound of a sharp inhale. He's rigid against her, neck craned to bridge the gap that the gun between them creates, but it doesn't last. She can feel it when he relaxes and when his grip on the gun goes slack.
She pulls back from him, grabs his wrist, and uses his sleeve to wipe the excess powder from beneath her nose. She'd have to wait until she got back to wash it away completely and get the tissue out.
"Put the safety on," she tells him.
"It's already on," he answers, taking a step away from her.
She flicks open her clutch and holds it out to him, "Take it apart and put it in here."
She watches his fingers fly with practiced expertise as he disassembles the body, silencer and magazine, and drops them in.
He's done this before. Enough to not need any direction. Enough he didn't even need to look.
He'd been staring at her the whole time.
Impressive.
She goes to ask him how he knows how to do that, but freezes at the sound of voices. Even if it isn't her that killed this guy, if she's questioned there's no way the cops won't find out who she is and what she's done if they dig deep enough, and she's not willing to take that risk. Not when she's so close.
They needed to get out of there.
And if she had any hope of figuring out whether the dead guy was her mother's killer or not…she'd need to bring Haru with her.
"Fuck," she growls, "c'mon. Follow me."
She pulls him through a series of interconnected alleys behind various restaurants and adjoining buildings until she pushes through an old, wooden door into a nearly empty parking lot. It's dark and abandoned and definitely not the safest place to be at night, but that's kind of the point.
She unlocks the doors, "Get in and put on your seatbelt."
He complies.
She slides into the driver's seat and raps her forehead against the wheel a few times before starting up the engine and pulling out onto the street. The lamp posts are dim, a few are broken, and she winds her way through back streets before merging onto the highway.
"Okay," she breathes, knuckles white on the steering wheel.
She glances over at Haru.
He doesn't look to be much bigger than her original target, but he's younger and it doesn't take a genius to notice the muscle he's got. She won't have as much time as she'd like before he's in control of his actions again.
He's still in his seat, unmoving, eyes forward, waiting for orders.
Weird. The others would usually make crude remarks or try to strike a conversation and she'd have to tell them to shut up. There was no way he was naturally quiet like this…this was training or some sort of self defense.
This guy she wouldn't be able to interrogate normally…she was going to have to bring him back to her room.
"Fuck," she whispers.
"You okay?"
Her eyes flicker over and widen slightly at the sincerity of his question. His eyes are dark. Dark enough that they stare right through her. It's unsettling and makes her stomach flip.
Seriously. Who the hell was this guy?
"I'm fine," she answers, looking back to the road.
"Liar."
She can hear the smirk in his voice.
She sizes him up briefly before looking away to change lanes. She could talk to him about anything, it's not like he'd remember anyway.
"Just stressed," she relents, deflating slightly.
"Doesn't seem like that's all it is." His voice is soft and she avoids looking back over at him, because he's right.
She's exhausted.
She's exhausted and not just because it's been a long day that's far from over.
She's tired of it. She's tired of hunting and not finding. She's tired of digging into article after article, suicide after suicide, watching these families being torn apart the way hers was.
She's tired of being lonely.
There's not much keeping her going anymore at this point.
"Nothing important," she tells him, moving to take the next exit. This late at night and moving against the flow of regular traffic puts only a few cars around her as she makes the last few twists and turns into a hotel parking lot.
She pulls into her usual spot.
"Get out and follow me."
She undoes the clasp and thumbs the gun pieces out of the way to pull her key card from her clutch. The light blinks green as she swipes it and she yanks the door open.
Haru walks ahead of her into the stairwell.
His footsteps echo hers as they climb the flights of stairs to the third floor. Her room isn't far from there, which she's especially grateful for tonight.
She inserts her card into the lock with 173 printed on it. The paint from the three is gone but she can still see the outline etched into the metal.
She leans into the door and lets Haru in first.
"Sit cross legged on the bed."
Again, he complies.
"Do you have any other weapons on you?" she asks.
He nods, "There's a pistol strapped to my left ankle."
"Take it off, remove the bullets, and put them on the bedside table." She grunts a little as she pulls a large bundle of rope from the front closet. Thin and strong. Should do the job.
She hears the clinking of metal as he follows her orders.
"Shirt off," she mumbles.
"Trying to get me naked are you?"
He's smirking at her, playfully, a glint in his eyes.
Her stomach drops. Has it worn off already?
No. He'd definitely be making a break for it if it had.
Regardless, she needed to move quickly.
"Easier to tie you up if there isn't fabric in the way," she offers, climbing onto the bed and pulling his wrists behind his back. She makes quick work of them with the rope.
"Move to kneeling."
He does.
She binds his ankles—tight enough she can see his skin start to fold slightly, but not enough to cut off his circulation. She then binds his tied hands to his tied ankles with enough slack that he can sit.
"Sit."
He does so with his knees bent to his chest.
She can see the muscles of his arms strain beneath his skin. They're pulled taut from the position he's in. Kneeling would probably be more comfortable for his arms, lying on his side would be the same. Comfort wasn't something she was entirely concerned about at the moment, however.
She pulls up her desk chair to the foot of the bed and takes a seat across from him. Finally sitting down herself she undoes the clasps of her heels, slips them off, and frees her hair from the twists of bobby-pins.
Oh…right.
She stands and walks over to the bathroom, flicking the light on. With practiced grace, she lathers up her hands, washes around her mouth, and pulls the tissue from her nose with tweezers and a faint, "Ow."
She relaxes as she exits the bathroom and moves back to the chair, sinking into its cushions.
"What am I gunna do with you…" she breathes, rubbing her face with her free hand and covering her eyes with her palm.
"Wasn't that my question?"
She peers at him through her fingers.
She watches as he blinks and takes in the sight of his ankles, then his arms as they strain against the rope.
Yeah, he's definitely back.
He rolls his neck and lets out a low groan, "Damn, that memory loss is the worst."
She raises a brow, "This happen to you before?"
He ignores her.
"Y'know, if you wanted to tie me up on your bed all ya had to do was ask," his teeth flash at her, but there's nothing behind the comment. She can tell.
Not that he knows that.
In one fluid movement, she rises from the cushions and leans forward, hands braced on the bed. His eyes widen a fraction when she pulls her knees up and begins to crawl. She stops just as the bare skin of her chest brushes his knees.
She can see him swallow again.
"Where's your bite, babe?" she grins, smirking at the blank look on his face.
"Uh…" he blinks at her.
She moves in closer, lips coming to brush at the skin of his neck, "I guess I can if you won't."
She hears a slight whine come from his throat and she pulls back, returning to her chair and leaving him stunned. The grin over her features makes her cheeks hurt before it fades.
"Wha…" he looks confused.
"I'm not one to take advantage," she clarifies, gesturing to him, "even if you weren't tied up there's no way I'm gunna do anything like that to you."
"Didn't you kiss me though?" he smirks, teasing.
She raises a brow, "Yeah, cause you had a gun to my chest."
He nods slightly, "Fair."
They sit in silence for a minute.
"So, are you gonna kill me?" he asks.
"If I was gunna kill you, you'd be dead already and you wouldn't be here," she tells him. Only half that is a lie. She wouldn't kill him. She couldn't with good conscience. There's only one person she's intent on sucking the life from and she's not wasting the guilt on anyone else.
"So why am I here then?" He shifts slightly, stretching the muscle spanning the length of his shoulders and rolling them. She can see the pulse of his jugular. It's quicker than she'd assume by the tone of his voice.
"The guy you killed," she starts, leaning back into the springs, "why'd you kill him?"
Haru smirks, "What's it to you?"
She glances around the room with a raised brow and gestures to his bindings, "Do you think you're really in a position to ask questions right now?"
"Since I'm the one with the information you want, yeah. I do." He tilts his chin up slightly, trying to sit tall despite his restrictions. His eyes are mischievous. Burning black.
"What's stopping me from lying to you?" she counters, crossing her arms over her chest.
He shrugs as best he can, "Nothing, I guess."
"I could just turn you in, let the cops deal with you if you don't answer my questions," she glares, crossing one leg over the other.
"Somethin' tells me you won't," he lures.
She doesn't like his tone.
She keeps her face still and pulls one side of her mouth up slightly. "And why's that?"
"'cause you don't wanna get caught either, sweetheart," he says simply.
She raises a brow, "I'm the one who caught you having killed a guy."
His smirk widens into a full-blown, toothy grin, "Why'd you catch me?"
She blinks and her stomach plummets. She really doesn't like the tone of his voice or the look on his face. "What do you mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean."
She says nothing.
"Why were you out there in the first place?" he questions, head tilting to one side. He seems to mull over the question himself and doesn't wait for her to answer. "Actually…no. That's not my point."
"What's your point then?"
"You're acting like you've got all the power, when you really don't," he rolls his shoulders again and winces.
"I dunno, Haru," she sighs, "you're tied up in my room and it doesn't look like you'll be going anywhere anytime soon."
"You drugged me," he says, bluntly.
She blinks, "So?"
"Which means, you already had the drugs on you, and people up here aren't just walking around with Devil's Breath." The cocky smirk on his face as he says the name is blinding and she can hear his unspoken word.
Gotchya.
Fuck.
His eyes dart to the flicker of emotion on her face and she refuses to swallow reflexively.
"I mean…fucking Christ, Elie," he laughs slightly, "how the hell did you even get your hands on that scary-ass shit anyway?" The question is rhetorical. She knows that. He isn't done talking.
"I'm guessing you weren't planning to use it on me since you weren't expecting to run into me," he continues, the black of his iris' flashing. "And since you're asking about him, I'd guess he was your target. This wasn't a coincidence. You planned all this out."
She didn't like this. She didn't like this at all.
"Which means you were after him too," he concludes.
This wasn't okay. He was flustering her.
"Even if you were right," she starts, voice miraculously even, "the proof of what you've done is currently splattered all over the back alley of a pretty high-end restaurant, and all you've got on me is speculation. You can't do anything to me."
"Doesn't mean you'll want cops digging into your personal life."
She rubs her narrowed eyes and lets out a long sigh. He wasn't wrong, that was the annoying part. He knew too much about her, she should've dosed him again when she'd had the chance, but it was too late for that now.
She needed to get some control back.
"Looks like we're stuck with each other then," she pulls her legs under her, off to one side so the skirt of her dress was still covering her and leans on the armrest, jaw against a closed fist.
"What makes you say that?" He blinks at her.
"We're at an impasse," she states simply. "I could turn you over to the cops, but that may potentially put me in a situation I'd rather not be in."
He seems to consider that and waits for her to continue.
"I also can't do that because you were the last person to see him and I need answers from you," she mutters to herself, scratching under her jaw, "which you aren't willing to give freely."
She lets out a long sigh.
"So here's the deal," she stands from her chair and shuffles over to one of the dresser drawers. "I'll hide you from the cops, and you tell me everything you know about the guy you killed. Including why you killed him in the first place." She pushes a few rolls of socks to the side to pull out a switchblade.
"And if I refuse?" he challenges. For the first time there's nothing playful on his features. He's dead serious.
"You don't want to refuse," she says, walking over to him, "because without me you'll be in jail and I'll be gone before you can say 'uncle.'"
"What keeps you from killing me after I tell you everything?" he asks, watching as she flicks the knife open and comes to stand in front of him.
"I don't kill people," she says bluntly.
"But you hunt them." It's both a statement and an invitation to elaborate.
"There's only one person I intend on killing," she says softly, flicking at the edge of the blade with her thumb, "so be glad it's not you."
He seems to accept her statement.
"So," she presses, "do we have a deal?"
She meets his gaze head on, unblinking, back straight. She's more annoyed with him than scared and he needs to know that about her.
Hell, she needs to remember that about herself.
"I'd shake your hand," he glances over his shoulder in the general direction of his bound wrists, "but I can't."
With one last flick to the blade, she moves in to pull his arms away from his back and grab the rope that binds his hands to his ankles. With a few quick movements he's stretching his legs out in front of him with a pleasant hum vibrating through his nose.
When she moves to get under the covers of the bed he's not sitting on, he sounds a little desperate, "Whoa, wait, you're not going to untie me?"
She shakes her head at him as she reaches for the bedside lamp switch, "No. Those come off when you've answered my questions."
"What makes you think I won't?" he asks.
"Never thought you wouldn't I'm just too tired to listen right now," she flicks the light off and rolls over. "That and the fact I just feel like it 'cause I know it'll bug you and you enjoyed picking at my psyche a bit too much for my liking."
She relaxes into the pillows and after a few minutes, her ears pick up the sound of rustling and soft grunting. A few muffled curses escape Haru's lips as he moves around on his bed—she assumes he's trying to get under the covers.
He finally breaks the silence just as she's about to pass out.
"You may not be willing to kill me, but you don't know me at all. I could very well kill you when you least expect it, y'know." His tone isn't playful, but she can tell he's just trying to pick a fight with her.
The corners of her mouth turn up slightly.
"Well, if you did, you'd be out of a safe place and more likely than not end up on trial for murder, so I doubt you'll do that," she says simply, pulling the comforter over her shoulder and tucking it under her chin.
He says nothing to that and she can hear his breathing even out slightly.
"Besides," she whispers, "if you killed me I'd be free.
"So I don't really care."
She says it softly enough that if he were sleeping it wouldn't have woken him up.
But if the lack of breathing other than hers is any indication…he'd definitely heard her.
—
It took her a minute to realize the covers pulled up to her chin weren't a memory, she wasn't in a hotel room with a guy tied up next to her, and that she was Lucy. Not Elie.
No. She was in her room, lights off, and her mouth was very, very dry.
There was a glass of water on her bedside table.
She sat up and downed half of it gratefully before standing and shuffling out into the hall and back toward her living room.
How long had she been out for?
She peered around the corner to just see boxes and couches. Seeing it was empty, she listened for Gray.
The photos were also gone from the floor where they'd scattered.
Gray'd cleaned them up?
She could hear some rustling coming from the kitchen and clinking of glass.
She walked into the kitchen, finishing off the glass of water, "Did you put all the pictures back in the photo album?"
Gray had her dishwasher open and a stack of plates in his hands. "Yeah," he slid them into place in one of the cupboards.
"You didn't have to do that," she set her glass down on the island.
"I know," he answered, sliding the now empty rack back in and closing the washer, "but I wasn't gunna just leave and if I'm here I may as well be useful."
"Oh, well how kind of you," she drawled, pulling out a stool and sitting.
Silence fell over them for a few minutes before Gray broke it.
"What did you remember?" he asked, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed.
Lucy twirled the silver band on her right ring finger. It'd only been there a week, so it still felt foreign. It shouldn't be on there in the first place. It should still be on her mother. Her living, breathing mother.
She ran her fingers through her hair, "That I was searching for the man who killed my mother and ran into Natsu at one of my stakeouts."
Gray hummed in response.
"Do I just not get a mom or something?" she breathed, laughing slightly. "I mean seriously. What's the point of remembering stuff like this if history just repeats itself?" She swallowed the thickness in the back of her throat.
It was meant to be rhetorical, but she and Gray didn't really do rhetorical.
"I think stuff like this happens so history eventually stops repeating itself, Lucy." Gray pushed off the counter and came to sit opposite her at the island.
"We're human," he starts, grabbing her empty glass and twirling it in his hands, "we make mistakes all the time. It's how we learn."
"How does me losing my mother twice help me learn anything?" Lucy spat, eyes flickering away from Gray.
"Maybe it's not your lesson to learn," he said gently. "Maybe there's something your mother had to tackle again in a way that was different than last time."
Lucy shook her head, "And the only way to do so was by killing herself? I don't think so."
"Lucy, why do you think we're here? Why do you think we come back again and again?" Gray looked at her, dark eyes flickering over her face, reading her. He was looking for a specific answer from her. He was trying to make a point.
She waited.
"We are bonded to remember, and to forgive," he continues, "that's what we know about soul-bonded pairs. But the bonded are no different than anyone else other than the fact that we remember."
She looked back to Gray, a fresh set of tears in her eyes.
"We remember, Lucy, because sometimes that's the only way we can change. Sometimes that's the only way we can atone," he stood from his spot and rounded the island to stand in front of her.
"And sometimes that's the only way we can forgive," he whispered. "Both others…and ourselves for our mistakes."
Lucy shook her head, hands coming up to cover her face.
"But it's so hard," her voice cracked.
"I know," arms were around her again, "believe me, I know."
"I'm so tired, Gray," she breathed, pressing her forehead into his chest. "This is exhausting…I just want it to stop."
"It will," he mumbled. "It may not feel like it, but the worst will be over before you know it."
"I can't," she gripped the back of his shirt, surprised she hadn't stretched it out already. "I can't, Gray."
There was silence for a few moments before Gray started talking again.
"I can't tell you how many times in both of my lives, people have sacrificed themselves to protect me," he said softly, "and how many times I almost gave up because of the guilt."
Lucy perked up at that. Gray never talked about his past. Never.
"But I got it hammered into my head finally to live for those who love you," she heard the smile in his voice. "To honour the people who make you who you are whether they die or not."
Hands on her shoulders pushed her back until she was looking at him. "If anyone can do this, it's you, Luce," Gray smiled. "You're one of the strongest people I know. Both in this life, and in your last one."
She blinked a few times to clear her vision, keeping the tears in this time. She was tired of crying. Her eyes hurt. "Gray?" she looked up at him and he raised a brow expectantly.
She was curious.
"You said you remembered me when you first met me," she reiterated, and he nodded.
"So how come I'm not remembering anything about you?" she asked, head now to one side.
Gray smiled, "Because you never met me or saw me. So you wouldn't remember me."
Lucy huffed, wrapping her arms around her stomach, "Well that doesn't seem fair." She raised a brow, "How does that even work then anyway?"
Gray scratched the back of his neck, "Well, I'd seen you a few times from a distance. But the main memory I have of you…" he trailed off.
She waited.
He looked down at her.
"The main memory I have of you, was just after he'd killed you."
Her heart ached in her chest at the mention of her death and her hand flew to clutch at it.
"You okay?" Gray asked, concerned. "You keep doing that…"
Lucy nodded, smiling sadly. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just…anytime someone mentions me dying, or anytime I think about…him, I can feel that bullet going through me."
"Lucy…"
"It's okay," she forced her smile wider, "I'll get used to it."
"You don't have to smile like that."
She let it fade.
"It hurts," she breathed.
"I know," his voice was low. "It's not going to be easy."
He tilted her chin up.
"But you're not alone," he smiles. "You may feel like you are, but remember that you're not. You've got family at the station, Lucy. Never forget that."
She nodded, closing her eyes and breathing deep.
"How am I even supposed to work through this with him?" she asked, finally. "I can barely look at him without hurting."
Gray pulled a stool out to slide underneath him. "You do what you can. You may not be able to spend a lot of time with him right now, but it gets easier."
"Is that what you did?" she looked at him with a slight smirk on her face.
Lucy didn't miss the slight flush to his cheeks as he scratched the back of his neck. "Uh…actually…"
Oh this was gunna be good.
"I may or may not have pulled a gun on her," he confessed, "…in the middle of the precinct."
Lucy's eyes widened and she couldn't control the grin that broke over her face, "No."
"Yeah," he laughed, shakily. "Not my best moment, though in my defense the memory I relived involved me with a gun…so it was a reflex."
Lucy shook her head, snickering to herself.
"She'd apologized so many times to me in that moment they blended together until I couldn't understand her," he continued. "We worked through our stuff pretty quickly, actually. It was the memories of our lives until that moment and, for me, the ones after she died that we had to work through."
Lucy tilted her head to one side in question and Gray complied.
"You get a lot of cases where the bonded and the marked have to forgive each other for the pain inflicted, right?" Again, the question was rhetorical so she just stayed silent. "But that isn't always it. The events of her past that made her who she was affected her, and the same with me. Our childhoods…those were the experiences we needed to remember and work through, and because they were so similar, we could really understand and help each other. I believe we were bonded because of that.
"So I may not know exactly what it is you're going through because I haven't experienced anything like what you're dealing with," he ran a hand through his hair, "but I know the pain of reliving memories and history repeating itself and being left alone."
Lucy nodded and squeezed Gray's fingers when he grabbed her hand.
"I'd always been alone, Lucy," his voice was soft and it broke a little. "People would leave, or die, or send me away and any time I'd finally have something that I thought would stick, it would get ripped away from me. Even Natsu."
Lucy's head snapped up at that.
"In our last life I mean," he clarified. "I lost him too."
Her brow furrowed at that comment and she opened her mouth to ask what he meant when his phone went off.
His hand dropped from hers as he stood from his chair to answer the call and pace around in the kitchen. She heard a low voice muttering through the phone and a few noises of agreement from Gray before he hung up.
"I gotta go," he moved quickly, grabbing his jacket and keys from one of the hooks by her front door. "There's another girl down at the station who was cornered last night."
Lucy stood from her stool and followed him over to the front, "The guy that shot Natsu?"
Gray nodded, "Yeah. That's the one."
"What's he even doing anyway?" she wondered, moving to unlock the door as Gray shoved an arm through one of his sleeves.
"We're not sure yet. All we know is he's armed, dangerous, and is looking for someone," he zipped up his jacket and pulled the lapels up around his neck. "We gotta find him before he finds her…and because he shot Natsu."
Lucy snickered, "I love how Natsu's an afterthought."
Gray chuckled as Lucy opened the door and he took a step out.
He paused and turned back to her.
"I know what you've been through is difficult," he said. "More than that, I know it's unbearable and more than you should ever have to go through…"
Lucy looked away.
"But don't discount Natsu because what you remember and what you see in that file doesn't add up. Try not to jump to conclusions before you have all the facts, and don't always trust what you read."
Lucy opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off.
"It's hard, I know," he bit his lower lip slightly, "nearly impossible. But I'm asking you to try."
She sighed.
"He really is a good guy, Lucy," Gray smiled. "A total dork sometimes, and super annoying. But a good guy."
Lucy rolled her eyes and waved him off, "Fine."
Gray took a few more steps down the hall before glancing back over his shoulder. "Oh, don't tell him I said that!" he called.
Lucy just laughed and shut her door.
With her apartment now quiet, she was eerily aware of how alone she was again. She could hear her blood rushing in her ears with each beat in her chest. Her ears rang and her head ached.
She needed to be doing something.
Yeah, she'd told Gray she'd give Natsu a chance, but that didn't mean she had to do it right away. She'd do it at some point after she was done being angry.
For now she had an article to write.
A glance outside let her know that it was nighttime, and a look at the clock told her she'd slept for about an hour. It was annoying how quickly the sun was setting nowadays, though that was to be expected since winter was coming up fast.
She needed to find out more about her mom, but there was no way she was going into the station. Not when Natsu was there. Not today. Maybe tomorrow.
It was Saturday…which meant her office was closed and everyone was probably home by now.
She eyed her lanyard hanging on its hook right next to her door.
There was no way she was staying here. She was going stir crazy. There was also no way in hell she was going to let Jason tell her mother's story. No fucking way.
She grabbed her wallet and keys, shrugged on her jacket and slipped out her door.
Maybe her boss hadn't suspended her access to the digital records yet.
It was worth a try.
Again. Thank you so much. Let me know what you're thinking! I'm excited to see.
-xb