Laxus' bruised knuckles rapped soundly on the door to his father's study. The solid wood carried the sound, yet muffled Ivan's "Enter." Laxus clamped his damp hand around the piece of paper he held and pushed the door wide while his stomach cramped with nerves. He didn't know why. It was just a stupid letter. Maybe it wasn't the letter at all that had him twisted around, but his father's coming response. He knew all too well what Ivan thought about this kind of thing. 'When you get involved like that, you'll see that women are good for taking to bed and that's about all, Laxus. Listen to your old man and you won't have to learn the hard way.' He'd heard the lecture a thousand times, even before he was old enough to do such things. Asking about Mom earned him a cuff to the ear if he was lucky. A day of rigorous training and no meals if he was not. He learned to listen without speaking. Most of the time, Ivan's rants ended non-violently with only a fissure of hate between his brows. He'd take a few hours to calm down. In that time, Laxus would avoid him like the plague because he could never seem to stop himself from kicking the hornets' nest, even when he didn't mean to.
Now, Ivan sat at his desk, one leg crossed over the other, a piece of paper held up.
"Hey, Dad," Laxus greeted.
Ivan barely looked at Laxus. "Aren't you and Curran supposed to be training?"
Laxus thought of the brute of a man that was likely waiting for him in the training hall. His already sore knuckles weren't going to thank him after that clash. "Yeah. I was just..." He hesitated, nearly backing out. He didn't write letters to girls. He didn't even know what to write. Before he could get too abashed and back out, he remembered his promise and barreled on. "I was just wondering if you would take this and drop it off when you send out your guild reports to the council? You have to mail them, right?"
Ivan finally offered his full attention and noticed the letter Laxus had a death-grip on. He held out his hand. Laxus trapped his breath in his throat and passed it over. "Mirajane Strauss," Ivan read.
"Yeah."
Ivan tapped his stubbed nails against his solid oak desk. Each time one finger thunked, Laxus suppressed a nervous twitch."The girl the demons are after."
Acting unaffected, Laxus affirmed, "That's the one." His voice came out just as he wanted: full of false surety, like he could see no reason why his father might object.
Of course acting the part didn't work. Ivan had a wealth of opinions and he had no trouble voicing them. "She's trouble. Leave her in Magnolia." He moved to tear up the letter.
"Don't!" Laxus lunged for it. Ivan held it out of reach, a dangerous look on his face.
"Don't?"
Laxus extended his hand, palm out and met his father's eyes for only a moment. "No."
"Or else what?"
Laxus clenched his fingers and looked away, thinking of all the things he'd like to say. None of them would come out of his mouth, he wasn't feeling quite that reckless yet. "Nothing." Ivan visibly relaxed, so Laxus pushed a little more in a politer way. "Could you please just do it? It's just a shitty letter."
"You're right," Ivan said after a long moment. "It's just a shitty letter. But I'll do it, for my son. Make me a promise, though."
"What's that?" Laxus asked warily.
"When the trollop doesn't bother replying, forget about her, Laxus, and Fairy Tail. You have everything you need here."
Laxus' only response was, "She'll reply."
Mira walked at Gildarts' side, studying the golden sunset. Its splash across the clouds was the only colour on the horizon. A week ago, a huge windstorm had come and raided the trees of their leaves, now they were naked and trembling in the bittering fall wind. The chill didn't bother her, she was preoccupied—it was mail day, the first since Laxus left. Her own letter was in the mail—she'd begged Raven Tail's address from Master Makarov and filled a piece of paper with everything that had happened since Laxus left. Including the addition of her new soul and Master's unconventional punishment. So busy wondering what Laxus would have written, it took her quite a while to realize that the man at her side was talking.
"Personally, I'm not a huge fan. I like to come and go, you know? Master always manages to rope me into this shit, though, and they eat me alive. 'Oh, Gildarts, break apart this wall. Gildarts, how hard do you train? Gildarts, let me see crash one more time' like it's a goddamn game. But you looked like you were doing okay. They loved that new soul."
That new soul that was so obstinate. That new soul that made Mira work through every waking hour over the last two weeks—and some sleeping, too—just so she could get good enough to call it and not have it totally overrun her in front of the public. Even with all the extra training, she couldn't use it for very long, otherwise it didn't matter what she did, she'd lose her hold. "They may have loved it, but I hated it."
Gildarts snorted. "Really? I saw you fixing your hair and smiling for that journalist and his photographer. You can't bullshit a bullshitter."
Mira rolled her eyes. "I just didn't want to look like a troll. No reason to give everyone more ammunition when they see that article and come to burn down Fairy Tail, calling me a she-devil." She'd expected the same treatment as they entered Sorcerer Weekly earlier that afternoon, but surprisingly there was no crowd to scream or throw things at her or call her horrible names. She knew Master Makarov gave Sorcerer Weekly explicit instructions to keep their interview hush-hush until the article could be printed; she didn't think they'd actually listen. Gildarts had shot her down immediately when she voiced her fear, telling her that the magazine would want to make sure that the story was all theirs. The less people that knew about it meant that they couldn't be undercut by any other newspaper looking to poach a story.
"Nah, they loved you." Gildarts smacked her hard on the back. Mira was both simultaneously annoyed and pleased. Since Gildarts had agreed to stay at Fairy Tail to hunt demons in the area, she'd only become sweeter on him, smiling foolishly, tripping over her words. When she told Cana about it all, the girl had looked at her like she'd grown two heads and cussed fluently. Their conversations had been sparse since. Mira wondered if it was because she seemed to like a boy. She wasn't brave enough to ask, afraid of what it meant if Cana said yes. Of what she'd say in response.
Gildarts said, "I'll give it a week before Sorcerer's calling you back again, wanting to do a photoshoot. I think you should go for it. Any good publicity you can get is a big win, especially when you're like you and me."
Mira ignored the way her heart flopped irksomely and furrowed her brow. "You just told me how much you hated it; why are you pushing it?"
He scrubbed his thin beard. "Politics. Gotta know them when you're in a guild, Let Fiore know the real She-Devil. But not really. The She-Devil you want them to know, that's the key. Make yourself look as good as you can."
Her response was immediate. "Don't call me She-Devil."
"Why not? It's a good handle."
Gildarts didn't squirm under her glower like others did. Like Laxus, he was unafraid. Mira missed her friend badly in that moment. She wondered what he'd think of Master's peculiar punishment: an interview and photoshoot with Sorcerer Weekly hadn't even been particularly bad. She'd worked herself up a lot over not much of anything.
"You can't even think of a reason not to use it," Gildarts continued when she was just silent. "Trust me, Mira, people are going to think of all kinds of names for you, most of them are going to be fucking awful. You might as well embrace them. They want to call you a She-Devil? Take it away from them by making it yours. Make it mean something. Don't let it chain you down."
Mira added that to the list of things she had to chew over. They crested the hill, bringing Fairy Tail into view. Ahead, a small, grey man carrying a huge stack of letters teetered down the road. The wind grabbed one off the top of the pile and sent it flying. Mira left Gildarts there, rushing to pick it up. It was a letter from the magistrate's office. Not Laxus. She wouldn't be deterred, though. There was a giant stack yet unexplored.
"Master!" He hadn't even noticed that she was there yet.
The man turned and fixed her with eyes as grey as Laxus'. "Oh, Mirajane. How did it go?"
"Fine," she said dismissively. "Is there a letter for me?"
"Fine? Tell me about it."
Mira waved him on impatiently. "I just did. It was fine. Did Laxus write me? Yes, or no?"
Makarov pursed his lips. "I don't know. I haven't looked through the mail, I just collected it."
Mira bit back a huff. "Well, here." She took a large part of the stack from him, intent upon sitting on the frozen ground and going through it herself.
Makarov said, "Inside, Mirajane. I'm too old to be sitting out here in this cold."
She brushed past him without apology and hurried inside, straight to his office, ignoring shouts from the other guild members, Lisanna and Elfman included. She didn't want to talk about her stupid interview. It wasn't important. Makarov shuffled in behind her, while Gildarts took up residence at the bar.
While the old man closed the door, Mira dropped her portion of the stack on his cluttered desk and started rooting through it with abandon. Most of the letters had 'Makarov Dreyar' stamped to the front in dark ink. The ones that didn't were addressed to the other members, Macao, Wakaba. Even Cana had one.
When Mira reached the bottom of the pile she took Master's from him and went through that, too. Then she went through them both again. There was nothing. Just to be sure, Mira scrawled through them one final time before she gave into disappointment. Then it hit heavy. To keep herself busy was to keep it at bay. Mira gathered up the letters. Some of them were bent by her furious sorting. She crumpled them more when they wouldn't fit back in an orderly manner. Makarov raised a brow. "Careful with those, girl. They could be important."
Mira didn't respond but did make a conscious effort to be more careful, thinking that while Laxus hadn't written her like he promised, her letter to him was already in the mail. Maybe that would remind him to write.
"I'm sorry, Mira," Makarov said, reading the despondence on her face. "I'm waiting for the boy to write or call too."
"That's alright. Maybe it got delayed? Or maybe he got busy and he's behind?"
"Maybe," Makarov agreed.
"Well… I have to start my shift soon. Thanks for letting me look." Mira turned to leave.
"Wait," Makarov called her back.
"Yeah?"
"The tables can wait. Tell me about your interview."
Mira narrowly avoided rolling her eyes. "This again?"
"Yes," he said patiently. "Sit."
"I'd really rather—"
"Mirajane." He rarely got so serious with her. Mira found herself clamming up and dropping into the plush pink arm chair on the other side of his desk. The soft material nearly swallowed her down. She adjusted so she wasn't inside the chair and waited for Master Makarov to prod. She didn't have long.
"Well, speak up."
She shrugged and said shortly, "It was fine. I went in, they asked me some questions, took some pictures, and in the next issue they're going to print some garbage story."
Makarov sat and started packing his pipe with fast, practiced movements. "Why will it be such a garbage story?"
"Because," Mira said hostilely. "The reporters will try to paint me in a good light, but as soon as people read 'demon takeover' they're going to make up their minds. That story won't make them like me more."
Makarov fingered the swell of his corncob pipe thoughtfully. "Some will hate you, and some will like you, such is the nature of the human condition. But hiding… that makes everyone suspicious, regardless of your character. I think if they ask you to come in again, you should, Mira. I won't force you this time, though, it'll be your decision."
"That's a hard no," Mira replied automatically. "I'm not doing it again."
"You say that now, but I think you may change your mind," Makarov said sagely.
"Not likely," Mira muttered, remember the woman with the makeup kit patting her face, complaining about shiny skin, fussing over that one piece of hair in the back that just wouldn't stay down, no matter what they did. That's why Mira was constantly checking in the mirror, the woman was making her self-conscious. It seemed to be an easy task lately.
"As you say."
Like he knew her better than she knew herself. That got beneath Mira's skin. "Yeah, I do say. Besides, what about the demons? I thought you wanted us to keep our heads down for a bit? Showing up in a stupid magazine that brags about my power doesn't seem like a good way to do that."
"You kind of already blew that out of the water taking over that new soul, Mirajane. Your name is going to travel through the demon world like wildfire." Makarov ignited a match and puffed life into his bowl. When the embers glowed red, he took in a mouthful of acrid smelling smoke and blew it out in a long silver stream. "And yes, I would be lying if I said I wasn't fearful. I've thought about it, though, and I don't want to give them the wrong impression. We shouldn't be hiding." He squinted and looked at her from the corner of his eye, pipe resting on his lip. "However, let me be clear, standing tall in the face of your enemy is very different from looking for trouble. And by that I mean, here in Fairy Tail, you're protected. I pity any demon foolish enough to attack you in our home. And when you go out into town, I've asked Gildarts to be nearby. You'll be more than safe enough."
Mira didn't know how she felt when Makarov stopped talking. She didn't like the idea of going back to Sorcerer Weekly, yet she did like the idea of defying the demons.
"Maybe you can even consider taking on some jobs," Makarov said slyly.
"Jobs?"
"Think of it, Fairy Tail's very own She-Devil." A light came to his eye.
This again? "Were you and Gildarts talking?"
He ignored her. "We'd be famous."
That means yes. Maybe all the Dreyar's are stupid. Mira left him there without another word, furious all over again.
In Raven Tail's wide, echoing training hall, Laxus tightened his headlock around Curran and summoned a great force of lightning, enticing it to encompass his body. At such close range, Curran couldn't help but be affected. He screamed at first. When that stopped and the blood began to flow, a hole bitten through his tongue, Laxus let up. Good thing, too, he was exhausted. He'd used his magic today more than he had ever. His heart pounding let him know it was unhappy with the strain on his body.
"You alright, man?"
Curran stumbled away, ankles rolling on the blue matted floor, and garbled something incomprehensible.
"He's fine."
Ivan's voice was like ice in Laxus' veins. He straightened and found his father entering the training room, a stack of papers in his hand. Mail. Laxus' stomach took a dive for a new reason. He forgot about Curran and his gushing mouth, there wasn't anything to do about it anyway, and approached his father. "Do I have mail?"
Ivan glanced at Curran briefly as the man spat on the floor. "I think you should complete your training, Laxus, don't worry about silly things like that."
"We're done," Laxus replied.
"Curran is still standing. You're not done."
Laxus glanced in Curran's direction. He looked green. "He almost bit his tongue off." Or maybe he did. How the hell was he to know? Curran swayed and wiped his hand over his mouth. It came away red. He spat again on the floor.
"Finish him."
"He's done," Laxus repeated. "Do I have mail or not?"
"Not," Ivan replied. "Like I said you wouldn't. Now finish him."
Like I said. To be fair, Mira didn't promise she'd write. Still… that sort of smarted. "Can I see?" Just to be sure. Not because he didn't believe his father.
There was an instant where Laxus thought Ivan would hit him. The storm of anger rolled by. Ivan said, "Finish Curran then you can come to my office and look."
"I told you—"
"And I told you," Ivan replied sharply. "You said you wanted to be stronger, right, Laxus? This is the first step. Put your opponents on the ground so they can't get back up and come after you again. Prove to me that you're worth teaching."
"Dad—"
"Finish him."
Laxus bit back a torrent of curses and turned to Curran. The man was upright yet glaze-eyed. The stream of blood had slowed to a trickle. His chin was painted in it, though, as was the front of his shirt. A few spots even landed on his pants. Most of it was on the floor, adding to the myriad of other stains that marked the padded room.
"Are you good?"
"Of course he is," Ivan said for Curran. "I told you, if he's standing, he's an opponent, now attack."
Just do it. And be quick. Laxus didn't allow himself to look at the blood and closed out the voice in his head that called for mercy. The best mercy he could offer was to make this quick. He balled his hand into a fist and aimed for Curran's jaw. Curran didn't block, too dazed, and stumbled back. But he was still vertical.
"With your magic, Laxus," Ivan drawled.
With magic that felt too depleted for this kind of work. Laxus said, "I don't need it to finish the fight."
Ivan was as unyielding as a piece of granite. "You do because I tell you that you do."
Recognizing that stubbornness, Laxus thought, Just do it. Get it over with. He gritted his teeth and summoned as much power as he could. The next time he punched Curran, it was with enough volts that the man convulsed wildly before his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He didn't fall until the current left his system. He stayed down, muscles twitching every few seconds.
Panting, Laxus turned and found his father. Ivan looked on, something similar to pride in his eyes. He opened his mouth and said something that Laxus couldn't hear; his ears were roaring too badly. Laxus took a step forward. Black spots appeared in front of his eyes. The room chose that moment to spin violently. Bile climbed up his throat and kept on coming. Laxus fell to his knees and vomited, adding to the stained floor. Darkness claimed him before he could feel scared.
When Laxus came to again, he was in Raven Tail's small infirmary, chest aching, shirt torn open and he was bleeding. The cherry on the pie was the sharp smell of vinegar in his nose. He recalled the last time he was there. Then too he'd felt like shit and smelled like vomit.
A familiar looking man leaned over him, his jowls just as large now as they had been before, his crow's feet just as deeply etched, his eyes just as violently blue. And yes, his teeth just as sharp.
"There he is." His voice was raspy like sandpaper.
Since his recent encounter with a demon, Laxus had come to recognize the inhuman quality they possessed. This man exuded it. His heart sped. Adrenaline volleyed through his veins. Sitting up only brought on another wave of nausea, but there was no way—
"Relax, Laxus."
Laxus blinked. His father came into focus not so far away, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. The sour look that was perpetually on his face was for once gone, replaced now by worry.
"Dad," Laxus warned, "he's a demon."
"Zan is also a friend," Ivan said. "And the one that implanted your lacrima, remember? You can trust him."
Laxus' mouth went dry. He'd always assumed he'd hallucinated the man's peculiar appearance. He'd been drugged and drowsy that day. "You know?"
"Of course I know," Ivan replied. "Do you think I'm a fool?"
"No," Laxus said finally. "But why is it here?" Why haven't you killed it is what he really wanted to ask. Beside him, the demon looked amused rather than insulted. Pity.
Ivan took in a short breath and said, "Your lacrima cracked because you haven't been using it as you were supposed to. As it was Zan that created it, he also agreed to try to fix it, which he did. We were fortunate that it was only a small break, otherwise you'd be dead. You owe him a thank you, not an inquisition."
Laxus bit back his next words.
"I'll say it for you. Thank you, Zan, and thank you for coming so quickly." Ivan crossed the room and took the creature by the shoulders like they were old friends. Just watching them together made Laxus sick all over again. "I'll be in contact."
"Very well. Goodbye, Dreyar."
The demon left through the door like any man might. As soon as it was closed, Laxus pegged his father with a scowl. "Why?"
Ivan turned on him slowly. "Why am I allying myself with a demon, Laxus? Because a smart man will use every available resource. A man that loves his family will crawl through the sludge to save it. I pride myself on being both."
"He's a demon, Dad." Like his father didn't know what a demon was.
"Yes. I won't lie, dealing with him hasn't been my favourite thing, but he's saved your life, twice. It was his idea that brought us to your lacrima." Ivan came to the side of the bed and clasped Laxus' shoulder. "Judge me if you must, but I would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant my son would be okay." His touches were even more infrequent than his sentimental words, and to have both at once was like being kicked in the guts. It also softened Laxus considerably. His anger was nearly gone.
"What kind of deal did you make with it?"
"Nothing so terrible. He wanted to know how the lacrima worked for you in preparation of using one on his own kind."
"I was a guinea pig." Just like that, the anger was back, Gramps' warnings so long ago looking like they'd were coming into fruition.
"You're all I have left, Laxus, I had no other choice," Ivan replied. "You were dying. I had to try something, and Zan was insistent that this would work. And look, he was right. No harm, no foul."
Laxus got quiet.
Ivan said, "Now you know why I push you so hard, boy. I want to hold up to my end of the bargain."
"But now there are going to be demons with lacrima like mine," Laxus said finally.
Ivan shook his head. "I wouldn't allow for that, either. I'm using Zan until you're strong enough on your own and it doesn't make sense anymore, and then we're going to set things right. We're going to strip him of the means to make these lacrima so that the world isn't overrun by this kind of power."
"We should just kill him now," Laxus said. "He can't have gotten far."
"We need him alive," Ivan rebuked. "If something were to go wrong with your lacrima again… he's the only one that knows how to fix it, Laxus. Be patient. Let things run their course. I promise when the time comes, we'll do the right thing." He patted Laxus shoulder. "Get some rest now."
Ivan was at the door when Laxus said, "Wait."
Ivan glanced back. "What is it?"
"The letters…"
Annoyance flicked over Ivan's face. It passed. "I'll bring them to you, Laxus. But I checked twice. There was nothing for you."
"I just want to see." Just to be sure.
Ivan nodded. "Very well. And then you can forget about that girl and that guild and start living your life here."
Despite the absence of Mira's letter and against his father's wishes, Laxus wrote the next week. Seeing an issue of Sorcerer Weekly with Mira immortalized on the front (She-Devil, the first mage known to possess demon takeover, tells all in a one on one interview! Look inside to see what this ambitious teen sees for the future of her magic and the future of her guild!) gave him courage to write the next week as well, and onwards for three months before annoyance and busyness stole his inspiration. There was Sweet-grass and Cora, too. When he got stoned and kissed her, he didn't get so nervous he missed her mouth. As the months wore on and they snuck out into the forest to shuck off their clothes and sweat on each other like animals, he didn't tell her about his father. They didn't talk about being S Class mages. They didn't talk about things that they loved or things that they hated.
The only form of rumination Laxus allowed himself as the months bled into one year, and then two, was a collection of Sorcerer Weekly issues buried between his mattress.
