Four


The only thing is, now she actually has to be a housekeeper.

The next morning, her alarm goes off at six-fifteen and after another crying spell (she's had about three since last night), she arrives in the kitchen before seven, already in her uniform. The garden is misty and there are no sounds, except for the cherry blossom trees swaying in the wind. She feels as though she's the only person awake in the world.

As quietly as she can, she empties the dishwasher and puts everything away in the cupboard before straightening out the chairs from underneath the table. After three tries, she makes coffee that doesn't taste like dishwasher and makes a couple of sandwiches for breakfast. Then, she looks around the gleaming granite counters.

Her domain.

Except…it doesn't feel like her domain. It feels like someone else's scary kitchen.

So…what should she do now? She feels twitchy, just standing there. She should be occupied. She should be doing something. Her mind suddenly flashes back to Tokyo, to her regular routine. If she were still in Fantomu Rōdo she would be hurriedly eating through a packet of Shreddies for breakfast or lining up for some coffee right now. Or maybe on the train, answering e-mails. She wonders how many e-mails are stacked up, unanswered, just waiting for her replies? The thought makes her slightly ill.

No.

Don't think about it.

Do something else.

There's a copy of The Economist in the magazine rack by the table and she picks it up. She flips through and starts reading an article about international monetary controls, anxiously drumming her fingers against the counter top.

The sound of the kitchen door opening makes her start and she drops the magazine.

It's Gray.

"Good morning, Gray-sama," Juvia respectfully says.

"Good morning." He strides into the room, looking even more disheveled than usual, his eyes trailing over to the sandwiches she's placed on the table. Then, he raises a brow and says, "What? No curtsy for me?"

Juvia flushes and feeling slightly irritated, she makes an exaggerated bob. "Apologies, Gray-sama."

The corners of Gray's lips twitch but he doesn't say anything else. Instead, he sits down and takes a huge bite of his sandwich while Juvia scrambles around to pour him some coffee from the pot. Halfway through his meal, his eyes catch the half-opened Economist magazine.

"Anything interesting today?" he conversationally asks as he takes a sip from his coffee.

"Oh, yes. One article talked about how China is backflipping on currency policy to stem the yuan's outflow as a way for Chinese companies to kind of circumvent foreign-exchange controls…"

She trails off when she realizes that housekeepers aren't supposed to be reading about articles on international monetary controls. They're supposed to be making breakfast and dusting ornaments. Cautiously, she sneaks a glance at Gray and tries to gauge the expression on his face but he's still looking at her with rapt attention.

"Go on," he urges. To her surprise, he doesn't sound the least bit patronizing.

"Er…" she struggles to finish her sentence, feeling a bit thrown. Should she pretend that she didn't know or should she? Would admitting that she at least has some working knowledge on economics give her masquerade away? But then again, why can't housekeepers read stuff like The Economist? What if she happens to be particularly intelligent (which she is) and just happens to end up at the wrong side of the bend because her father was a drunkard who ran off with her mother's hairdresser and her mother died of pneumonia—

"Good morning!" Erza cheerfully says, rounding into the room and effectively breaking Juvia's increasingly outrageous imagination spiel.

"Good morning, Erza-san," Juvia says, relieved that she doesn't have to answer his question. She bobs a curtsy before reaching over for the coffeepot to pour Erza a cupful.

"Oh! Good thing you're here. I wanted to discuss something with you yesterday but never really found the time to," Erza says.

"Here you go! The document you've been waiting for!" With a self-important air, she roots around her gym bag and pulls out a folder marked "Housekeeper's Contract." Juvia carefully takes it from her hands and opens it to find a title sheet on cream vellum paper.

CONTRACT OF AGREEMENT

Between Rokusa Juvia and Furubasuta Gray, this twelfth of the day of December in the year two thousand and sixteen.

"Wow," Juvia says in surprise. "Did a lawyer draw this up?"

"I didn't need a lawyer," Erza chuckles knowingly. "Downloaded it from the internet. And obviously amended it slightly. All you need is a bit of common sense."

Inwardly, she bristles. Common sense? If contracts and matters of the law were as easy as that then lawyers wouldn't need to go through four grueling years of law school, now would they?

Grumbling to herself, she turns over the title sheet and quickly runs her eyes down the printed clauses. She has to bite her lip as she takes in phrases here and there, presumably Erza's amendments.

"Now, I know it looks intimidating!" Erza says, misinterpreting Juvia's silence. "But don't be intimidated by all these long words, okay? It's really quite simple when you get down to it. Lawyers just love to confuse people. Did you have a chance to look at the pay?"

Her eyes flicker to the figure quoted in bold under Weekly Salary. It's slightly less than what she charged per hour as a lawyer but definitely more than what an average housekeeper would have gotten.

"This seems extremely generous," she says after a pause. "Thank you very much, Erza-san."

"It's no trouble at all!" she says, beaming at Juvia jovially. "Is there anything else you don't understand? Just say!"

"Um…this bit," she says, pointing at Clause 13: Hours. "Does this mean Juvia gets the whole weekend off? Every weekend?"

"Unless we're entertaining," Erza nods. "In which case, you'll have two day offs in lieu…you'll see that in clause fourteen…I think I already told you this before in your interview…"

She's not listening. Every weekend off. She can't get her head around the idea. She doesn't think she's had a totally free weekend since she started law school.

"Didn't your previous employers give you weekends off?" Gray asks, noticing the expression on her face. He looks absolutely taken aback.

"Well, no," she says truthfully. "Not really."

"What? They sound like slave-drivers!" Erza says, shocked.

"Which is why Juvia is so grateful for Erza-san and Gray-sama," Juvia says, trying to inject as much humility as she can into her voice.

"Well! It is a good thing that you've come to us." She takes a sip from her coffee and gestures at the contract. "Once you've finished studying the agreement, you and Gray can both sign!"

"Juvia's pretty much read it—''

She halts as Erza raises a hand in reproof.

"Juvia, Juvia, Juvia," she says in avuncular tones, shaking her head. "I'm going to give you a little tip that will stand you in good stead in life. Always read legal documents very carefully. Lawyers can be particularly wily and they never miss the chance to pull the wool over your eyes."

"Yes, Erza-san," Juvia says, desperately trying to keep a straight face. From the corner of her eyes, she can see Gray's nose twitching, almost as if he too, is finding it difficult to keep deadpan. "Juvia will try to remember that."

Erza and Gray lapse into a conversation about some guy named Jellal and his new car while Juvia pretends to carefully read through the contract, sometimes pausing to mentally correct a clause here and there. After about half an hour of "reading," Juvia quickly signs the dotted line and hands it over to Gray.

"Done reading?" he mildly asks her as he signs his name.

"Yes," Juvia distractedly replies. Now that breakfast is finished, she's trying her very best to calm down at the prospect of cleaning the house. It shouldn't be too hard but her first attempt didn't exactly go swimmingly.

"Juvia, I'm afraid I'm going to have to desert you for the day," Erza says, looking concerned. "I have a very important meeting that I need to deal with in Mutsu and won't be back until late in the evening. Will you be alright on your own?"

"Juvia will be fine!" she says, trying not to sound too joyful. Things will be so much easier without Erza breathing down her neck. "Don't you worry about me. Really. Juvia will just get on with things…"

"Now, I won't be here to answer any questions. But Gray will!" Erza brightly continues.

"Oh. Yay," Juvia weakly says. After all the drama that happened yesterday, she's still not quite sure how she's supposed to act around him. It doesn't help that the entire brassicas and cheese wheel incident probably made him think that she has a few screws loose.

"Gray knows all there is to know about this house," puts in Erza. "So if you can't find anything, need to know how a door unlocks or whatever, he's your man."

"Juvia will bear that in mind," she mumbles, forcing herself not to look at him. "Thanks."

"But Gray, I don't want you disturbing Juvia," adds Erza, whipping round to give him a severe look. "Obviously, she has her own established routine."

"Obviously," Gray says. As Erza turns away, he raises an eyebrow at her in amusement and Juvia can feel her color rise.

What's that supposed to mean? How does he know she doesn't have a routine? Just because she can't cook doesn't follow that she can't do anything.

"Now for lunch I was thinking you can make some foie gras and lamb and some hummus! With that delicious apricot glaze you were talking about. And perhaps some mousse for dessert. And whatever's left over can be for dinner," Erza says.

Juvia blankly stares at her.

"The seared foie gras in apricot glaze with minted hummus," Gray pipes up. "It was on your list. We shopped for the ingredients yesterday."

"Er…right! Yes! Absolutely!" Juvia says, trying to feign confidence. "Juvia will just…um…whip that up! No problem!"

"Great!" Erza peers at her in concern. "So you'll be okay? You've found all the cleaning stuff?"

"Um…" she looks around uncertainly.

"In the laundry room!" Erza stands up and disappears through the doorway for a moment, coming back with a giant plastic tub full of cleaning products.

"There you are!" she says, dumping everything on the table.

"Oh! And don't forget your Marigolds!" Erza merrily adds.

Her what?

"Your gloves," Gray supplies. He stands up, takes a huge pink pair out of the tub and hands them to her with a little bow.

"Yes. Thank you," she says with dignity. She gives him an annoyed look. "Juvia knew that."

"Go on," Gray says. He jerks his head towards the gloves. "Put them on."

She has never worn a pair of rubber gloves in her life. Trying to keep an air of nonchalance about her, she slowly pulls them on to her hands.

Oh god. She has never felt anything quite so…rubbery. And revolting. Must she wear this all day?

"Alright! I just need to change and then I'll be off! Goodbye!" Erza says, striding out of the kitchen.

"Right! Goodbye Erza-san! Juvia will just…get on then."

She waits for Gray to leave but he leans against the table and looks at her quizzically. "Do you have any idea how to clean a house?"

Juvia glares back at him, feeling quite insulted. Does she look like someone who can't clean a house?

"Of course Juvia knows how to clean a house!" she waspishly says.

"Only I went for a morning run and ran into Belno and told her about you." His eyes twinkle, as though remembering the conversation. Juvia shrinks back apprehensively. What could he have told Belno? "Anyway. She's willing to help you with cooking. And I told her you probably need cleaning advice as well."

"Juvia does not need cleaning advice!" she retorts. "She's cleaned loads of houses before! In fact, she needs to get started."

"Don't mind me, then. I just need to finish breakfast," Gray mildly says.

She'll show him. She'll wipe that stupid look on his face. In a businesslike manner, she picks a can out of the tub and sprays it into the counter.

"So you've cleaned loads of house," Gray says, watching her.

"Yes! Millions," she defiantly says.

The spray has solidified into crystalline little gray droplets. She rubs them briskly with a cloth but they won't come off. She looks more closely at the can. DO NOT SPRAY ON GRANITE. Shit.

"Anyway," she says, hastily putting the cloth down and standing in front of the counter to hide the droplets. "You've already finished your breakfast."

"I want relax here for a bit," Gray casually says.

"But you're in my way."

She grabs a feather duster from the blue tub and starts brushing crumbs off the table. "So if you can just excuse me…."

"I'll leave you, then," Gray says, mouth twitching. He looks at the feather duster. "Don't you want to be using a dustpan for that?"

She looks uncertainly at the feather duster.

What's wrong with this one?

Anyway, what is he? The feather duster police?

"Juvia has her methods," she says, lifting her chin up. "Thank you."

"Ok," he says. He gives her a little salute. "See you this lunchtime. I look forward to your foie gras."

Juvia watches him leave the kitchen, feeling apprehensive all over again. She will not let him faze her, she resolutely decides. She just needs…a plan. Yes! A kind of timesheet to organize her day. Like at work.

She grabs a pen and pad paper from the phone and starts scribbling a list for the day. She has an image of herself moving smoothly from task to task, feather duster in one hand, brush in the other, bringing everything to order. Like Mary Poppins.

9:30-9:50 – Make Erza and Gray's beds and tidy up their rooms.

9:50-10:10 – Do laundry.

10:10-10:30 – Clean bathrooms.

10:30 -10:50 – Make lunch.

She gets to the end and reads it over with a surge of optimism.

Hah.

At this rate, she should easily be done by lunchtime.


9:36 - Fuck. She cannot make this bed. Why won't the sheet lie flat?

9:42 - And why do they make the mattresses so heavy?

9:54 -This is sheer torture. Her arms have never ached so much in her entire life. The blankets weigh a ton and the sheets won't go straight and she has no idea how to do the stupid corners. How do chambermaids do it? How do they have the strength to carry these blankets? Do they have some sort of secret workout regimen she doesn't know about?

10:16 - At long last, she's made one bed. Finally. But she's already way behind. Never mind. Whatever. She'll just keep moving. Laundry next.

10:26 - Oh god what the hell has she done?

She can hardly bare to look. It's a total disaster. Everything in the washing machine has gone pink. Every single thing.

What the hell happened?

With trembling fingers, she picks up a damp cashmere blouse. It was cream when she put it in. Now it's a sickly shade of cotton candy. There must be a solution. Frantically, she scrambles around the laundry room for a solution. There must be a remedy…She just needs to think…

10:38 - Okay, she has an idea. It might not work but it's her best shot.

11:00 - It doesn't work.

But at least she's replaced the blouses and shirts by shopping online in Uniqlo. It cost her more than five hundred yen and everything will be sent tomorrow through express delivery but it's alright. She just hopes to god Gray and Erza don't realize that their clothes have magically regenerated.

11:06 - Oh crap. There's still ironing. It shouldn't be too hard and…fuck. Fuck. She's burned through Gray's linen shirt. What is she going to do about that?

11:12 - Okay, so she has a solution. After looking at the local paper, she discovers that a girl in the village will collect everything, iron it all overnight at about a fifty yen a shirt and sew on Gray's button.

So far this job has cost her nearly a thousand yen. And its not even midday yet.

But it's okay.

At least laundry's out of the way.

11:42Finally, she's gotten into some kind of rhythm. She's doing fine. She's doing well. She's got the vacuum on and she's cruising along nicely—Oh god. What was that? What just went up the vacuum? Why is it making that grinding noise?

Has she broken it?

11:48 - How much does a vacuum cost?

12:24 - Her knees are in total agony. She's been kneeling on hard tiles, cleaning the bath for what seems like hours. And it's just one bathroom.

There are little ridges where the tiles have dug into her knees and she's boiling hot and the stupid cleaning chemicals are making her cough. All she wants to do is rest. But she can't stop for a moment, she's already way behind…

12:30 - What is wrong with this bleach bottle? Which way is the nozzle supposed to point? She's turning it around in confusion, trying to make out where the arrows are pointing and squeezing it as hard as she can—

FUCK.

WHAT HAS IT DONE TO HER HAIR?

By one o'clock, she's in the living room, utterly knackered and trying to get over another crying spell. She's taken a bottle of wine from the refrigerator and after pouring some into the biggest wine glass she can find, she is now taking huge gulps. This is a disaster. She's only halfway down her list and she can't see herself making it to the end. She doesn't know how people clean houses. It's literally the hardest job. Ever.

Housekeepers should be paid more. They should be paid a millions.

She's not moving smoothly from task to task like Mary Poppins. She's darting about the house, moving from unfinished job to unfinished job like a headless chicken. And she feels so exhausted. She glances at the drawing room mirror and winces. She has never looked more horrendous in her life. Her hair is sticking out wildly and there's a huge grotesque streak of green-blond from where she's splashed the bleach. Her face is bright red and splotchy, her hands are pink and sore from all the scrubbing and her eyes bloodshot.

She's just thankful that Gray hasn't emerged from wherever it is he's hiding.

Shit.

Gray.

She should be cooking him his foie gras lunch. She takes another big gulp straight from the bottle before wiping her tears away and scrambling back to the kitchen, trying to regain her cool.

This is fine.

She's fine.

If she says it often enough to herself, it must be true.

She starts pulling out piles of raw ingredients, trying her very best to still her trembling fingers.

She can do this. She can cook. She can cook this foie gras lunch. Even if everything in her life is in ruins, she can do this. She has a brain. She can work this out.

Without delay, she rips the plastic coverings off the lamb. That can go in the oven in a tray. Simple. And the chickpeas can go in there too and then she can mash them and make hummus.

She opens a cupboard and pulls out a whole load of gleaming baking trays and dishes. She selects one and scatters chickpeas onto it. Some bounce on to the floor, but she doesn't care anymore. All she wants to get through this task. She grabs some olive oil from the counter and drizzles it over the top.

She shoves the tray into the oven and turns all of the knobs. Then, she puts the lamb in another tray and shoves it into the oven as well.

Okay.

So far so good.

Now all she needs is to leaf through all of Erza's cookbooks and find a recipe for seared foie gras with an apricot glaze.

After about thirty minutes of skimming, she finally finds it.

She can do this. Of course she can. It's not quantum physics. It's just cooking.

Three hours later and she's still going at it. And so far, she hasn't made anything that can actually be eaten. She's discarded a collapsed chocolate soufflé, two pans of burnt carrots and a saucepan of rock hard apricots that look as if they taste like congealed sadness.

She can't work out where she did wrong. She hasn't got time to work out where she went wrong. She doesn't even bother to analyze anymore. Every time there's a disaster, she just dumps it and starts all over again, quickly thawing food together, changing tack, trying to cobble something together.

Meanwhile, Gray still hasn't come down to check on her. She has no idea where he is or what he's even doing but she's grateful for his absence. There was a point where he tried to enter the kitchen but she managed to head him off by shoving a bottle of sherry in his hands and telling him to relax in the drawing room.

Oh god.

In a few minutes, he's going to be expecting a gourmet meal.

A kind of frenzied hysteria overtakes her. She knows she can't do this but she can't give up either. She keeps thinking that a miracle will happen, that she will somehow pull it together—

Oh fuck.

The gravy's bubbling over.

She shoves the oven door shut, grabs a spoon and starts stirring it, wincing when she sees that it looks nothing more than revolting, lumpy brown water. Frantically, she starts searching in the cupboards for something to chuck in. Flour. Wait no. Maybe cornstarch? Well, whatever. The small pot of white powder will probably do. She grabs a handful and shakes vigorous amounts of it into the saucepan.

Okay.

What now?

Suddenly, she remembers the egg whites still whisking in their bowls. She grabs the recipe book, running her finger down the page. She changed the dessert course from soufflés to pavlovas after chancing upon the line: Meringues are so easy to make.

She peers into the next step of the recipe. Form the stiff meringue mixture into a large circle on your baking parchment.

Stiff meringue mixture?

Her's is liquid.

It has to be right. It has to be. She followed the instructions. Maybe it's thicker than it looks. Maybe it will stiffen by some weird culinary law of physics once she pours it out. As she pours the mixture into the pan, a giant splotch lands on her skirt and she gives a cry of frustration. Why didn't it work? She followed the sodding recipe and everything. A pent-up rage starts rising inside of her: rage at herself, rage at her negligence over the whole Fearī Teiru business, rage at her defective egg whites and crappy cooking, at cookery books, at Cordon Bleu housekeepers and food…but most of all rage against whoever wrote that meringues were easy to make.

"They're not!" she hears herself yelling. "They're not easy to make!"

She hurls the book at the kitchen door just as it opens to reveal Gray. The book whacks against his head with a resounding thud and bounces on to the floor.

"What the hell?" he says. He grabs the book and surveys the mess she's made in the kitchen. "Is everything okay?"

"It's fine," she says. She doesn't even bother trying to hide how rattled she feels. "Everything's fine. You can just wait in the dining room and Juvia can er…get your meal together."

She makes a dismissive motion with her hand but he doesn't move.

"I was just checking up on that gourmet meal you said you were going to cook," he slowly says.

"Yes. That's right. She's just…in the most complex stage of um—oh god! The gravy!" she screeches, glancing at the stove.

She doesn't know what happened. Brown bubbles are expanding out of her gravy saucepan, all over the cooker and down the sides of the floor. It looks like the porringer in the story of the magic pot that wouldn't stop cooking porridge.

"Get it off heat for god's sake!" Gray says, scrambling towards the saucepan and grabbing one of the mittens. He snatches the saucepan away from the stove and moves it to the counter.

"What on earth is in this?"

"Nothing!" she hastily says. "Just the usual ingredients! You know…cornstarch…flour…"

Gray notices the little opened pot on the counter. He grabs it and takes a pinch between his fingers. "Baking soda? You put baking soda in gravy? Is that what they teach you in—''

He abruptly stops and sniffs the air.

"Hang on. Is something burning?"

She watches helplessly as he opens the bottom oven, grabs a glove and hauls out a baking tray covered with what looks like tiny black bullets.

Oh no.

Her chickpeas.

"What are these supposed to be?" he incredulously asks. "Rabbit droppings?"

"They're chickpeas," she retorts. Her cheeks are flaming but she lifts her chin up and attempts to regain some semblance of dignity. "Juvia drizzled them in olive oil and put them in the oven so they could melt."

Gray stares at her. "Melt?"

"Soften," she hastily amends.

He puts the tray down and folds his arms. "Juvia. Do you know anything about cooking?"

Before she can answer, an almighty bang explodes from the microwave.

"Oh my god!" Juvia shrieks in terror, jumping. "Oh god! What was that?"

Gray peers through the microwave's glass door.

"What the hell was in there?" he demands.

Her mind races frantically. What on earth did she put in the microwave? It's all a blur. Maybe it was the chocolate. No, she dumped that in the pan. Or maybe it was the first gravy mixture—

"The eggs!" she suddenly remembers. "Juvia was hard-boiling the eggs for the canapes!"

"In the microwave?" he expostulates.

"To save time!" she practically yells back. "Juvia was being efficient!"

Gray yanks the plug of the microwave from the wall sockets and turns around to face her, his face scrunched up with disbelief.

"You know jackshit about cooking!"

"Juvia does know how to cook!" she defensively retorts. "She knows how to cook loads of things! She…she's just rusty! It's because she hasn't cooked since—''

She abruptly stops. Great. Now she's walked right into it.

She can always try deflect the conversation to another topic but she's too emotionally spent to do so.

She takes a deep breath, trying to prepare herself for the inevitable awkward pause once she tells him that her parents are dead.

It can go so many ways. Silence. Hand over mouth. Gasp. Exclamation. Awkward change of subject. Morbid curiosity. Story about a bigger, more horrific car crash the distant relative of his friend was in. One girl she knew actually burst into tears and she had to fumble around for a tissue and watch her cry for a good thirty minutes.

"Since your parents died?" Gray says, speaking before she can.

She blinks at him, surprised. He looks a little uncomfortable but he hasn't looked away or cleared his throat or gasped or changed the subject. Instead, he looks at her square in the face. Despite his obvious discomfort, it doesn't feel awkward. It's…weird.

A long stretch of silence passes between them.

"I'm sorry if it was sensitive information I wasn't supposed to know," he finally says. "But I was worried that you were trying to exploit us."

Oh god. What does he think? That she's some kind of confidence trickster?

"So I asked Belno during my morning run about you and a bunch of other people who used to know you while you shopped for clothes," he continues.

"It's…it's fine," she says. She stares at him apprehensively. "What exactly…did they tell you?"

"Just that your parents died in a car crash when you were ten. And that you stopped cooking ever since. Belno told me you used to make the best bread but afterwards, you wouldn't even step foot in the kitchen," Gray says.

Juvia fiddles with the hem of her skirt, relieved that he doesn't know about the whole boating incident.

"Yes. Our restaurant closed after the car crash. Juvia's best friend's dad took her in but he owned an auto shop and we always just had take-out so…" she trails off. She is not about to go into a conversation about how cooking and baking was too painful because it made her parents' deaths all too real. Least of all with him.

"Did they die both at once?" he asks, in a more gentle voice.

"My dad straightaway. Dead upon arrival. My mom the day after." She flashes him a brittle smile. "Never got to say goodbye to her either though. She was already in a coma by the time Juvia got to the hospital. She suffered lots of internal bleeding."

She's learned early on that smiling is really the only way to get through these conversations.

"I'm very, very sorry."

"No need to be!" She says in her standard, upbeat voice. Like clockwork, she begins to go through the pre-prepared speech she's memorized since she was ten. "It all worked out. Juvia moved in with Metallicana and she got the big brother she never had but always wanted. Metallicana and Gajeel-kun looked after her really well and made her feel as if she was really part of their family. So it's all good. All good."

Even though she's taking great care not to look at him, she can still feel his eyes on her. She looks one way and then another, trying her absolute hardest to dodge them.

"That explains a lot," Gray says at last.

She can't bear his sympathy. She can't bear anyone's sympathy.

"No it doesn't!" she tightly says. "It does not. It happened years ago and it's over and Juvia is a grown-up and she's dealt with it. So you're wrong. It doesn't explain anything."

Gray looks at her from the corner of his eyes, his face more serious than usual.

"I meant it explains why you're absolutely crap at cooking."

"Oh."

"Or why you're not a real housekeeper."

Juvia stiffens. Oh god. He knows. She already had a suspicion that he did but somehow, it's so much more alarming now that he's said it out loud. She suddenly feels a tiny swoop of fear. Is he going to call the cops on her? Is he going to chase her out of the house with a broom?

"How did you—''

"I knew the moment Erza told me she hired someone who could cook 'Eiffels'' Gray says, the corners of his lips twitching.

"Look…please." She rubs a sweaty hand against her face. "Juvia is not trying to rip anyone off. Okay, she can't cook. And she's not a real housekeeper. But she ended up here because of a…misunderstanding."

"What kind of misunderstanding?"

She sinks down on to a chair and buries her face against her hands. She's so exhausted. Every single muscle in her body is singing with pain, including muscles she didn't even know she had. She feels as if she's run a marathon and she hasn't even polished the woodwork or beaten the mats yet.

"Juvia was running away from…something. She needed a place to stay for the night. She stopped here for some water and directions to a hotel and Erza-san assumed that Juvia was a housekeeper. And yesterday she felt terrible because Erza-san was so nice so Juvia thought she'd do the job for the day. As a kind of thank you. But she's not planning to stay forever. And she won't take any money from you, if that's what you were worried about."

"What were you running from?"

She feels a painful little wrench inside. She cannot face telling the whole dreadful story.

"It was a…situation. At work." She looks down. "Juvia made a terrible, terrible mistake."

"Come on. It can't have been that bad," Gray gently says.

"Think fifty million yen," Juvia miserably says. "So yes. It was that bad."

Gray falters but to his credit, he quickly manages to smooth his expression over.

"Well, at least you're out of it. If it was a bad situation, there's no point in staying and no point in going back."

"You're right. Yes. Juvia just has to decide what to do with her life." She morosely looks at her saucepan of soiled gravy. "Juvia knows it's really stupid but she thought she'd stay here until…she works herself out."

"It's not stupid," Gray firmly tells her in calm tones.

She stares at him in astonishment. "You really think so?"

He doesn't look as if he's judging her. He's not pitying her either, which she really appreciates.

He just looks like he always does; serious and implacable with brows drawn together.

"A—A friend once told me that when you've gone through a—a thing, it's important for you to remember that you have to be extra gentle towards yourself. You have to nurse yourself. In the same way an athlete who's broken an ankle wouldn't force himself to run on that ankle. They give themselves time to heal. They don't think of themselves as a failed athlete. They think: 'something isn't working so I'll take care of myself until it does."

Juvia looks up at him. His brows are furrowed and there's a look in his eyes that she doesn't completely understand.

"Pushing yourself too hard and getting frustrated when you don't feel better is just like trying to run on a broken ankle and getting frustrated when it doesn't heal," he continues.

"That sounds like something a therapist would say," Juvia observes. But already, she can feel the beginnings of a smile work its way round her lips.

Gray gives her a wry look.

"I keep forgetting you're not a real housekeeper who's actually read the brief," he mutters under his breath. Then, in a louder voice, he adds, "You're not the only one who flipped out."

"Come on. It can't have been that bad," she says, jokingly ribbing him with her elbow.

"Well apparently, it was bad enough for my siblings to send me here in Oma for a 'retreat'," Gray says. She waits for him to tell her more but he doesn't say anything else. Maybe he doesn't want her to know what he did. Maybe he's actually relieved that she's not a real housekeeper and that she hasn't read the brief and doesn't know. She understands that.

"So…you're okay with Juvia staying?"

"Of course. You know, not to brag or anything, but me and Erza are really good employers," he says with a little shrug. "You could do worse."

She gestures at her total wreck of a meal. "But…but she can't cook. Or clean."

"You can learn. I've already told Belno about you. She's willing to teach you."

She feels a sudden burn of humiliation and looks away. She doesn't want to be useless. She doesn't want to need lessons. That's not who she is. She wants to be able to do this on her own, without asking assistance from her own.

But…the truth is, she needs help. Apart from anything else, if she keeps going on like this, she's going to end up bankrupt in two weeks.

"That would be great. Thanks," she slowly says.

"Sure," he shrugs. Then he adds, "Plus, it would be nice having someone around who can make great strawberry cake."

This time, she can't help but smile at the slightly questioning look on his face. "Caterers."

"Ah. I wondered. And the boeuf bourguignon?"

"Take-away. Juvia bought it when you left her alone to shop for her clothes," she says.

"That was pretty clever of you. And the vegetables?"

"Oh come on! Juvia can do some things you know."

"Guess you can." He shakes his head. "You know, you're very lucky Erza's not here today."

"Yeah, Juvia supposes she is. Well." She gets up, still wobbly with fatigue. "Juvia guesses that she should try to at least cobble something together for your lunch."

"You should have a break," Gray firmly says. "You've been at it the whole day, I've seen you. Did you have any lunch?"

Juvia shakes her head. "No time. Housekeeping is a lot harder than Juvia thought. A lot harder."

"Uh-huh." He peers at her head. "What happened to your head?"

"Bleach," she says, shortly. "It was from cleaning the toilets."

He gives a muffled snort of laughter. At least she thinks it was laughter. She can't really be too sure with him. He's always so frowny and serious that she's secretly taken to calling him Mr. Frowny in her head.

"You're a hard worker," he says. "I'll give you that. It'll get easier."

"No, it won't. Juvia's hopeless."

"You're not," Gray says. He opens the refrigerator and takes out a can of coke. "Here. Have this. You can't work on no fuel."

"Thanks," Juvia gratefully says.

Gray helps her clean up the mess she's made in the kitchen and after ordering some Chinese take-away and a fancy gourmet meal off the internet for dinner (that he's insisted on paying), the two of them go through the house, trying to contain all the damage that Juvia's done. They're just in the middle of sorting through her bad vacuuming job when Gray suddenly speaks up, "You know, my friend lost his mother when…we were at college. I spent lots of nights talking with him. Lots of nights."

He pauses. "You don't just get over it. And it doesn't make any difference that you've supposedly grown up. Or that it happened when you were a grown-up. It never goes away."

Juvia pauses, stunned. He wasn't supposed to come back to the subject. They'd move on. He was suppose to gallop off to something else with relief.

"Well, Juvia did get over it," she brightly says. "She's dealt with it and she's fine and she's a well-adjusted adult. So…there."

Gray nods as though her words don't surprise him.

"Yes, that's what he always used to say too. To other people. I know. You have to. But it's hard to keep the façade up," he says, looking at her full on the face.

Juvia stares at him, stubbornly trying to keep her smile plastered on her face. She will keep smiling. She will not meet his eyes.

But for some reason, she can't help it. She does.

And her eyes are suddenly hot. Shit. Shit. This hasn't happened for years. Years.

"Don't look at Juvia like that," she fiercely says.

"Like what?" Gray sounds alarmed.

"Like you understand." She thickly swallows. "Stop it. Just stop."

She takes a deep breath and turns away from him. God, she's such an idiot. She needs to get a grip. She hasn't been taken this off-guard about her parents' deaths since…she can't even remember when.

"I'm sorry," Gray haltingly says. "I didn't mean to—''

"No, it's fine! It's totally fine!" she says, forcing herself to sound cheerful again.

She purposely turns away from him and spends the rest of the day avoiding his gaze.

She really can't stand it when people go off on their own narration about a more horrific car crash or people who make the situation worse by awkwardly trying to comfort her. But people who pretend as if they get it, as if they understand, are the worst.


Author's Note: Happy New Year everyone! Hope you are enjoying the holidays. This chapter goes out to Kate or muffin-dragon227 who told me something similar to Gray's athlete conversation with Juvia. That conversation is also very much based on this post I saw on tumblr made by somecompany.

As always, I'd just like to answer some guest reviews:

Katherine: Wow, that's high praise indeed! It was a great and light read so I would recommend you finish the book xD But I agree, if I had to critique it, it's that it needed to be tightened a bit more. Thank you for reviewing!

Guest: Thank you very much! I'm glad you found the scenes funny. Although yes, I will admit Erza is a bit OOC in this fic and I've taken some liberties with her character for the sake of the plot.

Thank you again! Until next time.