AN: So, after the FUN-FEST that's been the last three chapters, it's time for the story to take a lighter turn.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or its characters – Hiro Mashima does. Cover image is made by Rae.

part XI.

Waking was hard.

The thought was slow in coming, and her mind felt sluggish and heavy, like trudging through a deep swamp – the marsh sucking her down, pulling her, tugging at the strings of her consciousness. She couldn't even open her eyes, and the fact had panic blossoming up in her chest, but even that felt almost lethargic – like a slow-burning pain, starting from the roots of her heart and reaching all the way to the tips of her fingers.

Consciousness felt far-fetched, and her breath hitched in her throat as she grasped for it, but all it felt like was grasping for smoke. It came apart in her hands, slipped through her fingers, and despite her effort it was elusive, fluttering away and out of her reach. She felt a sob lodge itself in her throat, but could not get the sound out – could get nothing out, and suddenly she became aware of how much effort it took to simple breathe.

Where was she? The question stood out amongst the chaotic state of her muddled mind, but she couldn't find an answer – couldn't find a reason for her predicament. No memories presented themselves. She could remember the bar–

Iron spikes drove through her hands, and she threw her head back, the scream lodging itself in the base of her throat, choking her–

–laughter. And ravens. "J-jet...Droy"–

–more laughter. Ivan–

–"Gajeel...!"

Hissing through her teeth, she tried to push herself up, but even the thought of how to do so seemed out of reach, like some long-forgotten language whose words she couldn't remember for the life of her. But she strained – strained to move, to get a bearing of her situation, her surroundings...anything but the suffocating dark that seemed to surround her on all sides, pushing towards her, crushing her beneath its intangible weight.

The pain didn't come slowly.

The pain came crashing, like an unexpected jolt of lightning from a clear sky, and the choke tore itself from her throat, and she coughed, lungs desperately pulling in air as her brain tried to make sense of the sudden weight on her chest, squeezing her ribs like a vice. And her hands...the scorching burn was enough to make whatever weak grasp she'd managed to get on her consciousness falter, dwindle, slip from her trembling hands...

She burned all over, her body like a scorching lead-weight. Her hands trembled, shaking as pain shot up from her palms to her elbows and her shoulders, and she wanted to cry out, but no sound would come past the coughs racking her frame. She couldn't for the life of her force her eyes open, and the panic fluctuated wildly, spreading through her aching body like the fire in her hands. And she didn't know where or how or when, and panic, and pain, the pain, oh the pa–

A rumble cut through her frantic thoughts, cut through the panic, and her breath hitched at the sound – familiar, gruff, booming...But it was muffled, as though she was ducked deep underwater, but that couldn't be right...Straining her ears, the sheer effort had her head swimming with pain, and she relented. It didn't matter, not right now. What mattered was the voice, because that was what it had been, and she'd recognize it anywhere. The voice. His voice.

But she needed to see – needed to know, but despite her efforts, all she could perceive was a blur of colours. Other sounds reached her ears, still muffled like a slow-trickling garble, and she grasped desperately for the one that was important, but it'd disappeared in the cacophony. Panic lurched in her chest like a fierce thing, and she attempted to make her body do the same, to make them understand, to make them help...

The weight on her forehead had her alarm vanishing like vapour. It's warm and rough and calloused and familiar and tangible and she grasped onto the feeling with all her might, straining her ears, her eyes, all the senses she could locate but couldn't for the life of her command.

"...ty..."

"...ye...Sho..."

"...hear..."

"...e...vy..."

"...Levy!"

Suddenly the weight was gone, and she felt like shouting – felt like expressing that she wanted it back, that it was her only lifeline and that how was she going to get back now...?

The marsh closed its soggy grasp around her and tugged her down, and she flailed, fought and writhed in her struggle not to lose her grip on reality, however vague it was. Because he was there, and he wanted her to wake, and she had to do something, say something...His name was on her lips, but her tongue was impossibly thick in her mouth, and the sounds refused to leave her, refused to be heard despite her efforts. She needed to tell him – needed to make sure he knew.

Making one final attempt, she forced her eyes to open. The blur of colours was chaotic, but the predominant one, filling her vision, was a dark looming shape–

–and then she was pulled back under, vision darkening as her consciousness slipped completely from her grasp.

The second time, waking was easier.

Of course, it still felt like wading through knee-deep mud against the wind, and pulling air into her lungs still took more effort than it should, but her hearing was better – sounds were no longer muffled, and it didn't feel like she'd been sucked far below water. Her eyes wouldn't open even if she tried, but the voices in the room were loud in her ears – almost painfully so, but it was a welcome pain – something tangible, in her struggle to stay conscious.

"How are the cuts?" the voice was light, young and female.

A gruff scoff answered, "Better. We avoided infection, for now at least." Also female, but older, hoarser. Her head swam as her memory attempted to place images with the sounds, but nothing presented itself.

"And the scar?"

There's no mistaking that voice, though, and her heart skipped a beat in her chest at the low rumble.

"We will have to wait and see. I have done what I can."

"Hag–"

"I have done what I can," the voice snapped, and there was a sense of finality to it. Her mind felt too muddled to even attempt to work out what they were talking about, but she assumed it was about her. She wanted to move – wanted to alert them to the fact that she was awake, but she couldn't find the strength to make even her fingers twitch. It was like she'd forgotten how to – like the command to her brain wasn't coming through. The fact had a wave of nauseated worry roll unpleasantly in her stomach, and she felt like screaming, just to make sure she could.

But she couldn't. Fear lodged itself in her chest, gripping her heart.

"I'll keep an eye on her tonight, Gajeel," the murmur came to her left.

"Nah, get some sleep, kid – I'll stay."

"You should rest," the voice was admonishing.

"I'll rest here."

An exasperated sigh, then a scuffle beside her. A small hand on her forehead, the cold startling on her warm skin, but even the sensation wasn't enough to make her as much as twitch. A scream built in her chest, but wouldn't be released.

"Do you think she'll wake up soon?" another voice asked. It was further away than the others, but it was familiar all the same. Tired...but warm and kind and laced with concern.

"She was conscious before, but I don't think she understood what was happening. Right now her body is trying to catch up with the healing, so if she does wake she'll be a bit out of it."

"She responded." Gajeel – the name leaped out at her from the depths of her mind, a deeply cherished thing, the tones and syllables as familiar to her as her own. She wanted to smile, but couldn't make her muscles react.

"We'll see the next time she wakes," came the murmur, and Levy felt hopelessness curl its cold fingers around her heart. I AM AWAKE! The thought was there, loud and clear, but the ability to express it was as elusive as catching dust upon the wind. She felt like screaming again.

The scrape of a chair reached her ears, cutting through the quiet. "Go eat, kid – you've been here all day."

"Do you want me to bring you something? A spoon...or a doorhandle?"

A snort, a shuffle, and then the scamper of small feet.

And then quiet.

She wanted to say something – more than ever, she wanted to say something, wanted him to know she was awake. Remembering his sensitive ears – an errant thought, but a lifeline if she'd ever known one – she pulled in a breath, as sharp as she could manage in her muddled state.

The chair scraped against he floor roughly, pushed away. There's a weight on her forehead again, but it wasn't a small, cold hand – it was rough and warm and if she could cry she would, just out of the sheer sense of familiarityit presented.

"Shorty?" The question was careful – surprisingly tentative for the brash man she knew him to be, and she wanted to smile. "Oye – can you hear me?"

But most of all she wanted to answer. Wanted to shout at the top of her lungs, but she couldn't form the words, couldn't even fathom what sounds to create or where to find them. Her head swam unpleasantly, and she felt herself being pulled under again. She wanted to fight it – wanted to kick and scream and stay awake, but her body wouldn't allow her the luxury. Desperation tore at her mind – angry claws ripping through her sanity.

I AM AWAKE! I AM–

"Levy?"

Fatigue dragged her down to the depths of unconsciousness.

When she awoke for the third time, it was to complete darkness.

Blinking her eyes heavily, she found that it wasn't her vision that was dark – not this time. This time, the room was dark. Dark and quiet. Was it night?

Pulling air through her lungs, she winced at the pain that shot through her chest, but ignored it as she attempted to move her...well, anything at this point. Trying to move her fingers had her pulling a hissing breath through her nose at the pain that erupted from her hands, and her vision swam nauseatingly as she tried to gather her scattered wits. Okay, hands – not a good idea. Her feet were a little better, but something felt...wrong...with her toes, as though they were encased in something.

Blinking her eyes a little more, Levy tried to move her head, and found from her surroundings that she was in the infirmary, which made sense, in that she felt like she'd been caught in a rock-slide. Catching sight of the form on the bed to her right, and the blonde hair played across the white pillow, she felt a violent burst of concern cut through her jumbled thoughts.

Lucy...?

And suddenly, everything came crashing back – walking out with Jet and Droy, the terse conversation, the empty city streets suddenly not so empty...Raven Tail and Ivan and red hair and iron spikes–

Clenching her eyes shut, she knew with a heavy realization the reason for her body's inability to respond to her commands. Opening her eyes, she looked down at her hands, carefully laid out beside her, bandaged all the way from her fingers and up to her elbows, and she winced at the mere thought of the wounds underneath.

Calming her erratic breathing, she turned her gaze back to Lucy, a frown marring her brow. Lucy hadn't been there – hadn't been near the alley...had she? No – it had to be the tournament then. That meant at least one day had passed...at the very least. Maybe more. Turning her head again, she allowed her gaze to travel the room. Three more beds on her left side, one holding Elfman, she knew, and the other two nearest herself...

She inhaled sharply at the sight of Jet and Droy, and she felt tears pool in her eyes at the sheer and utter relief that crashed through her, and a smile tugged at her lips as her ears took in the soft snores of the larger of the two. If Droy was snoring, his injuries weren't fatal. Breathing out deeply, she let the thought settle her mind, and allowed her strung muscles to relax. The sheets were soft, tucked around her as they were, and the quiet of the dark room was soothing to the frantic mess that was her mind at present. Fatigue was still a heavy weight on her, attempting to pull her back down, but she fought to stay awake. Her head reeled with unanswered questions, but she had no voice and no strength to do anything more than simply stay conscious, and even that felt like a feat.

She could feel sleep pulling at the lids of her eyes, but she was unwilling to fall asleep just yet – who knew when she'd awake next time? And she hadn't seen Gajeel yet – the thought reached out to her like a light in the darkness, and she grasped onto it with whatever strength she could find. Concern clenched around her heart at the thought that something was wrong, but she ignored it. He'd been there earlier, hadn't he? Or had she imagined that? In the hazy blur that was her jumbled memories, it was hard to tell if she'd imagined the whole thing, and the fact had another wave of panic washing through her. Had something happened...after? What had Ivan done...? Maybe it wasn't the tournament that had injured Lucy. Had Raven Tail done something? What–

The heavy footfalls from somewhere down the hall had her questions halting violently, and she held her breath, her eyes trained on the doorway, anticipation building in her chest, pushing past her fatigue and hurt.

Then the door was pushed open, and the sight of the dark towering shape almost had her heart breaking through her aching ribs and out of her chest, and she couldn't keep the smile from her face as she met his eyes. His expression was almost comical at the sight of her, awake and seemingly lucid, but then it was gone, and between one laboured breath and the next he was beside the bed, and she could only grin like a maniac, tears pooling in her eyes to trickle down the side of her face.

"Hey."

His brows pulled down sharply at the sound of her voice, and she grimaced at the rasping croak. He looked around, not doubt for a glass of water, and brought over the one from Lucy's nightstand. Reaching a hand behind her head, he cradled it, fingers splaying across the back of it as he lifted it for her to drink, and a shot of surprise went through her at the feel of it...as though there was almost no hair...

"It'll grow back," came the low rumble, and the fingers tightened in their grip. She could only nod numbly, putting her lips to the glass that was offered. The tepid water felt incredible as it trickled down her parched throat, and only now did she realize just how thirsty she was.

Placing her head back down onto the pillow, Gajeel placed the glass on the nightstand before turning his gaze back on her. She tried a smile, but it wavered slightly. "How bad is it?" she heard herself ask, her voice husky from sleep and lack of use.

He didn't say anything, but pulled up the chair that was sitting by the bed. Seating himself on the edge, he looked at her, his expression grave.

"Do you remember what happened?"

She nodded softly, searching her mind for the memories, but her brows pulled down as she had a hard time piecing them together. Frowning felt odd with the bandage across her nose, but she tried not to dwell on the discomfort.

"It's...I don't remember everything," she said. "Must have passed out at some point.."

His gaze darkened at that, and his eyes flickered to her hands, bandaged as they were. She followed his gaze, and inhaled a trembling breath. "Will...will they...?" Will they heal? she wanted to ask, but couldn't find her voice.

He nodded, brusquely. "Kid's been workin' on 'em," he said, and his tone brooked no argument, as though his will alone would make sure they did. She felt a smile tug at her lips.

"Okay." Her eyes flickered to his face, and the deep lines etched into his features. He looked angry, but then, he almost always did, but there were tired shadows under his eyes that had nothing to do with anger. "Are you alright?"

He snorted, as though she'd said something funny. She frowned, about to ask again when he cut her off.

"I'm sorry."

She blinked, caught off guard by the fervent remark, but her gaze softened as she caught the anguish on his face. "Gajeel," she murmured, reaching out with her hand, but the pain that shot through her when she flexed her fingers had an involuntary hiss pulling itself from her throat, and nausea pushed its way upwards from deep in her stomach. Her vision spun unpleasantly, and blood thundered loudly in her ears.

"Idiot! Stay still!" Gajeel snapped, closing his fingers over the hand and placing it down onto the mattress, muttering under his breath at her stupidity. She pulled in a shuddering breath. A cold sweat had broken out across her entire form, and she felt horribly dizzy.

"S-sorry," she apologized.

"The hell are you sorry for?" he muttered.

"What are you sorry for?" she retorted.

His gaze was sharp, but she met it head-on, raising a brow for good measure despite the nausea threatening to overcome her. At her look, he grumbled under his breath, something that sounded suspiciously a lot like 'stupid' and 'smartass'. She quirked a smile, but felt it drop as a thought struck her.

"What happened to Lucy?" she asked, eyes shifting to the bed on her other side, although she didn't have the strength to move her neck. A dark look crossed his face.

"Sabertooth," was all he said, and left it at that. She frowned, but didn't push further. It was hardly surprising – other than Raven Tail, the second most ruthless team in the games was the one from Sabertooth.

"New style you're trying out?" she asked then, changing the topic as her eyes landed on his new shirt. He snorted, but a smirk tugged at his lips, as though at some inside joke.

"Aa."

She smiled. "Suits you better than the feathers."

He raised a brow at that, and her smile widened. "I thought they were ridiculous," she added with a small giggle, but the pressure on her chest had her coughing. He was on his feet then, his gaze stern and a curse on his tongue, but he said nothing as he helped her sit up a little to relieve the pressure. When the coughs subsided, her head was placed back on the pillow, and she inhaled a shuddering breath, a grimace pulling at her lips at the constricting feeling. Gajeel still said nothing, but seated himself back onto the chair. She met his gaze.

"Are we going to talk about what happened?" she asked, voice a whisper. "Or are you going to go around brooding? Because I'll be fine, you know, when I heal, and then it'll just be water under the bridge, but I know what you're thinking and I'll just tell you now that it's not going to happen, because I'm not running away and I don't want you thinking about running–" A rough hand clamped over her mouth, stopping the flow of words, and she bit her cheek, worry creeping up her neck despite herself.

Then he rolled his eyes, and she released a relieved breath. "You talk too much sometimes, shortstuff," he muttered with a shake of his head as he removed his hand. A smile quirked her lips upward.

"Have to make up for the time I was out of it, don't I?" she whispered. He only shook his head, but a smirk tugged at his mouth, and her own widened. She wanted to reach out, but the memory of the pain had her hesitate. Besides, he'd only yell at her for being stupid.

She regarded him for a long moment, her gaze following the sharp angle of his nose and the lines etched onto his face – those meant he was worrying, although he'd never admit it. He was watching her intently, as though she'd vanish if he took his eyes off her, and she smiled at the gesture, although he probably wasn't aware of it himself.

"So you won't leave then?" she asked finally. He snorted.

"The hell would I leave now?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know. You wanted to before."

His gaze hardened at that. "Too late now. Cat's already out of the bag and shit," he muttered.

She blinked, a frown tugging her brows down. "What do you mean? Did he do something? Ivan?" she asked.

He gave her a look, and she felt a bit silly. "Oh. Of course."

He sighed, but before he had a chance to open his mouth, she cut him off. "It wasn't your fault, you know," she said. "What happened...you couldn't have predicted it. Not so soon."

His brows pulled down into a frown, but she drove on. "I'll heal," she said – stated, because she would. Bones mended – her hands would, and her feet. Her hair would grow out, and she'd pick herself up and dust herself off, just like last time. Only this time she wouldn't have the fear for constant company. She wouldn't, because he'd be there. With all his disapproving glares, he'd be her strength when she had none.

"Hey," she said, and he lifted his gaze from where it had drifted down to her bandaged hands. She smiled. "I'll be fine. I'm stubborn, you know."

He snorted. "That's putting it lightly."

"I've learnt from the best," she said, raising a brow, before her gaze softened. "Was it bad? When you..." she stopped herself. "Who...found us?" she asked then, as the thought struck her that she had no idea what had happened between the attack and her current predicament.

Something dark flitted across his face at that. "I did."

She inhaled sharply. "I...thought that might have been his intention." She watched as his frown deepened, and wished she could reach out to touch him. "I'm sorry," she said then, and he was about to protest when she cut him off, her voice a whisper in the quiet room.

"No, I mean it. I...I wasn't the one he wanted to hurt. Not really," she said. "And I'm sorry he knew...and that he used it against you."

He rolled his eyes. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

She grinned. "Thank you."

"Not meant as a compliment, Shorty."

"With you it rarely is, but I'm still taking it as one," she retorted, giving him a look. Gajeel glared, and her smile softened.

"Thank you," she murmured.

His frown was a dark thing. "For what?" And there was a world of guilt in that single remark.

She closed her eyes, choosing her words carefully. "For being a lifeline," she said, finally, opening her eyes to look at him. He had a contemplative expression on his face, as though he was weighing the entire situation.

Then he scoffed. "Think I'd let ya go that easily?"

She smiled. "I know you wouldn't," she said. "You're too stubborn. And I seem to recall you have a trouble giving up things that are yours."

"Damn straight," he said, but there was no smirk on his face, and the smile on hers dropped.

"What's wrong?" she asked, and startled a bit as he suddenly rose from his seat, and then there was a hand on her forehead again, and he leaned in–

–to...smell her hair? She blinked. Wha–

"Smell better," came the grumble. "Blood's gone."

She blinked again. "Thank you?"

His nose was in what remained of her hair, and he was so close if she'd been able to, she would have thrown her arms around him just because she could. And because she wanted to bury her face in his chest – they'd had way too little of that in their relative short relationship. She decided that when she got better, she'd glomp him at first opportunity.

And she might not let go. She was still deciding on that.

He breathed in deeply, and it was a weary sound. Her gaze softened, and she wondered how tired he really was. Had he slept since...? And what about the tournament? Had he been fighting? And–

"You over-thinking things?" came the rumble near her ear. A sheepish smile tugged at her lips.

"Maybe."

"Stop it."

She smiled, and breathed in, but grimaced and wished she hadn't. "Yuck, you smell!"

A dark rumble ripped through him – laughter? It was hard to tell with him sometimes, but it made her smile nonetheless. "When was the last time you got cleaned up?" she asked.

"This morning," he retorted.

That meant he'd participated in the tournament. She wondered how it had gone, and made a mental note to ask him later. Right now she was content with his presence – sweat and dirt and all. He was probably better off than her, anyway.

"Does it really look as bad as it seems?" she asked.

Pulling back slightly, he looked her over, expression annoyingly unreadable. "Depends," he said then. She rolled her eyes.

"How bad?"

He smirked. "The hair makes you look like a punk-rocker."

She snorted despite herself. "Be still my beating heart," she mocked, trying to contain her giggle, the pain a vivid memory, but she couldn't keep the smile off her face. "I'll just say you rubbed off on me," she quipped. He snorted, reaching out with a hand to a strand of hair having fallen across her forehead, but glared when it bounced back.

She smiled, and a sudden impulse struck her, and before she could question where her mental filter had gone, it was off her tongue,

"Kiss me?"

If the request surprised him, he didn't show it, but he raised a brow, and she could only grin in return. "That all you ever think about, shortstuff?"

She grinned. "It's pretty close," she teased. She could feel exhaustion tug at her mind, but stubbornly pushed it back.

He smirked. "Can't blame ya there."

"Don't get full of yourself, Gajeel Redfox," she warned, and was relieved to see the smirk turn into a grin. She didn't want him to frown – she liked it better when he smiled, anyways. Maniacal as they came, of course.

"Don't get excited, Shorty," he said, but leaned down nonetheless, and she smiled–

–but pouted when he only nudged her forehead with his nose.

"Get better first," he said, pulling back with a grin, and she glared.

"You're denying your injured woman a kiss?" she asked, giving him her best Eyes. He snorted.

"I'll kiss ya when you can take it, shortstuff – too much excitement now ain't good for ya. Hag's orders."

She rolled her eyes. "What did I say about getting full of yourself?"

He smirked. "Offer still stands stands. Get outta bed first."

"I won't break, you know," she said softly. He looked at her closely, as though determining the truth in her words and whether it was valid, and there was a dark shadow behind his eyes. She didn't like it. "I know...it won't be easy," she continued. "I'll have nightmares, probably, and...it'll take time for me to get back on my feet," she murmured. Then she set her gaze, resolutely.

"But I haven't broken yet, and I won't...not if you're there."

He was silent, contemplative, and for a long while they just looked at each other, his gaze searching, hers firm and unyielding. He'd backed away from her long enough. Out of fear or obligation...she didn't really care what his reasons had been or still were. She could give him a run for his money when it came to cold, hard stubbornness. He might be the wielder of iron, but he was far from alone in having an iron will. Things were going to be difficult, if last time was anything to go by, anyway. But she had him – she'd decided that, at least. She wasn't backing away. Rather, she was latching on for dear life, and he was welcome to try and shake her off if he wished to. She wasn't letting go.

Finally, he quirked a smile. "Stubborn wench," he muttered.

"And don't you forget it," she said with a smile, before she felt a yawn pull its way free of her lips. "I'm sleepy," she murmured.

"Then sleep."

She looked at him. "Will you stay? Until I fall asleep?" she murmured. He didn't say anything, but pulled the chair closer as he seated himself.

"Gajeel?" she asked, closing her eyes as she felt fatigue close its hands around her aching form, pulling her down already as she spoke.

"Hm?"

Darkness enveloped her, but where she'd fought it before she now welcome the heavy weight of exhausted sleep. "I love you," she murmured, the whisper slurred as she drifted off, and at his gruff murmur, a grin spread across her face as she succumbed to her fatigue.

"I'll stay."

The next time she woke, it was to sunlight and voices.

"Oh! She's waking up!"

Blinking her eyes, the glaring light was like a slap to the face, and she squeezed them shut at the sudden onslaught of brightness. Her mind was a sluggish mess, and it took effort just to gather her wits. Where–

Ah, that's right. She was in the infirmary.

Inhaling deeply through her nose, Levy grimaced at the constricting pain, and suddenly every bruise seemed to stand out like a signal, and where she before hadn't been able to get a proper bearing of her own body, she was now well aware of everything. And that meant the pain as well. There was a scuffle of feet around her, and when she peeked her eyes open it was to a fanged grin in a smiling face.

Wendy looked ready to burst with excitement. "How are you feeling?" she asked, a concerned frown making her look years past her young age.

Levy swallowed heavily. "Bit thirsty," she croaked, a smile tugging at her lips. Her attempted humour did its trick, and Wendy grinned, reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand.

"Gajeel stepped out for a minute. He'll be irritated, but I told him to get some rest – he's been fussing. But then, they do don't they – dragons?" she rambled, her grin widening. "Well, I would know, wouldn't I?" She giggled, helping Levy take a few sips.

Levy smiled. "Thank you, Wendy," she murmured. Wendy smiled back, but it was a wavering thing.

"I wish I could have done more. I...I'll do my best, with your hands. They look better, though! Porlyusica's helped me a lot, and..." she stopped herself suddenly. Levy frowned.

"What?" she asked, voice a croak. "What where you going to say? Wendy?" her tone rose a bit at her question, her worry seeping through. What was she talking about? Wendy averted her gaze, and she frowned.

"I...she did what she thought was best. You'll see later, when it's healed," she said, and Levy was about to open her mouth to ask again when the door to the infirmary slammed open, and Gajeel stomped in with all the caution of some rampaging beast, his glare a sharp thing in the afternoon light. Catching sight of her, he stopped, and then he turned his gaze on Wendy.

"Told you to get me," he muttered as he came to stand by the bed. Wendy rolled her eyes.

"She woke only two minutes ago, and she was thirsty and I only have two hands," she quipped. "And this is an infirmary, you know," she reminded him. "Don't stomp."

He snorted, crossing his arms over his chest as he turned his gaze on Levy. "How is she healing?"

Levy rolled her eyes. "Hello? Invalid awake now," she reminded him in a hoarse whisper. "I'm doing fine, thank you for asking."

He raised a brow, but turned his gaze to the smaller dragonslayer, who only smiled. "Well, she's awake sooner than we thought, so that's a good sign," she said. "I don't think she'll be out of bed in a while, but...it's looking better than we expected."

By the relief in her tone, seconded by the dark look on Gajeel's face, Levy didn't even want to think about what they'd expected. Her body still felt unnaturally heavy, and she didn't dare move anything after what happened last time, and she still had no idea how she looked. Going from what little she did now, her hair wasn't in the best shape, but she could see faint traces of blue at the edge of her vision, and knew it wasn't all gone. So she was half-bald, maybe. She didn't even know how long she'd been out. Memories of what happened were still clipped and a complete jumble in her mind, but she'd need to sort those out later, even if it turned her stomach just thinking about it. But shutting it all in wouldn't make things better – it'd just make it all the worse when she finally did think about it.

A rough hand on her forehead had all her thoughts halting, and she blinked, staring up into a pair of red eyes. "Fever's better," he muttered, and as he pulled his hand away she almost fathomed she felt him brush away some of her hair. She smiled at the gesture.

Wendy hummed. "It's still too high for my liking, but I'll keep an eye on it so it doesn't rise throughout the day," she murmured as she went through a series of check-ups that Levy tried not to dwell on, other than when her small hands came in contact with a sore area...which was pretty much everywhere. She occupied her mind with watching Gajeel, who loomed like some kind of silent vigil above her.

"You know, it's kind of disconcerting, you looming like that when I can't even sit up," she said then, hoarse voice carrying a hint of humour. Raising a brow at her, he snorted, before he seated himself on the bed, surprising her as she'd thought he'd sit in the chair.

"Her highness happy now?" he asked. She grinned, and something...odd...flashed across his face, but her smile didn't falter. A smirk tugged on the side of his mouth.

"Did you get some sleep?" she asked then. He nodded, although she doubted it was much, going by the tired lines by his eyes. She frowned, and was about to comment on it when another voice had her query halting on her tongue.

"It's good to see you awake, Levy."

Turning her head – an action that required more effort that necessary, she noted – her gaze landed on Lucy's in the bed to her right, and she smiled. "Lu."

She grinned. "Hey."

"You alright?"

She snorted. "Not going swimming for a while," she said with a shrug, cryptically, and there was a shadow in her eyes – guilt, but it vanished just as quickly as it'd appeared. Levy frowned, and resisted the urge to pry. She already felt like she'd missed out on a lot, and the fact was horribly disconcerting.

Suddenly, Lucy's smile was very coy. "So you two were quite the romance novel last night," she said slyly. Levy blinked.

"Huh?"

Then she remembered, and her cheeks flared a bit at the thought of an unintended audience to her pain-induced rambles and demanding Gajeel to kiss her.

Wonderful.

Lucy grinned. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself. And this is an infirmary, you know. We all share everything – even the sappy stuff. Well, especially the sappy stuff. What do you say, Elfman?" she called across the room.

"Concern worthy of a true man!" came the fervent remark, and Gajeel rolled his eyes, and Levy caught something suspiciously close to 'damn circus' as he muttered under his breath. She caught his gaze and smiled, and a smirk tugged his mouth upward despite his grumbling.

"Ask him about the love-headband, Lev," Lucy called from her bed. Levy raised a brow.

"Love-headband?"

Gajeel's eye twitched, and he shot Lucy a glare, to which she only grinned giddily. "That's what we're calling it, if you're wondering," she told him.

Levy blinked, thoroughly confused. "What is she talking about?" she asked Gajeel, who was pointedly not looking at her.

"Tell ya later," he grumbled, and Levy could only smile, although the itchy feeling that the world had passed her by during her coma persisted, and she tried to push it back. What mattered was that she was finally awake – awake and healing, and that was all she was going to dwell on for now. If she let her mind wander too much, she'd start thinking about the extent of her injuries, and thoughts like that would only make her paranoid.

Meeting Gajeel's gaze, she allowed her mind to focus on what was in front of her. No the impalpable fear of her hands refusing to heal properly and whether or not she would walk again, but the very tangible, very real dragonslayer who was by her bedside and looking for all the world like he had no intention of ever leaving. Remembering his words from the night before, she felt a grin tug at her mouth.

"You stayed," she murmured, as it it made all the difference. And it did, didn't it?

"Aa," he said, simply, but did she really need anything else? She grinned, and he smirked, and it was like an inside joke between them, and she loved it. Loved it, because it was so wonderfully dysfunctional – so him and her.

And who needed exclamations of ardent love when you had that?

AN: Ah, dysfunctional fluff – my lifeblood.