A/N: I wanted to wait to work on this story until I'd whittled down my ongoing stories, but the plot bunny beckoned. I'm not sure how many chapters this will have. I only have a vague idea of things that I want to have happen at this point, but my brain doesn't feel like plotting. I hope you all enjoy!

(And Madsoullessqueen… Surprise!)

Chapter 2

"Earthland to Freed!"

The Rune mage jolted and quickly took in his surroundings - the modestly sized compartment his team had reserved on the train, he recalled after a moment - then turned toward Laxus' scowling face. He could barely see his friend's stormy eyes in the dim lighting. "Yes?"

"Dude, what the fuck is up with you?" Laxus huffed. "I've been trying to get your attention for five minutes."

Freed sputtered and glanced toward the open door. Based on how quiet the darkened train was, they'd reached their destination. Oshibana was where the train stopped for the night, and the Raijinshuu's mission was just a few miles outside of the city.

"We're here," Laxus huffed. He stood to his full height and turned to stalk out of the compartment. "Get your shit together."

He left. Freed was silent while collecting his bag from the bin beneath the seat, then rushing to catch up with Laxus. He'd grown accustomed to the brash way Laxus spoke, but to have it directed at him had the Rune mage cringing while shuffling past rows of empty seats. Had Bickslow and Evergreen also already left?

Once they stepped down onto the empty platform, Freed welcomed the brisk autumn air that brushed across his cheeks. He did not, however, welcome Laxus' heavy glare.

"Before we get around the others, we need to talk."

Freed's spine went more rigid than normal, but he nodded all the same. That tone gave no room for argument, so he followed Laxus over to a nearby bench and took a seat next to the hulking Lightning Slayer. "I do apologize for being distracted," he began.

Laxus put one hand up to stop him. "I need you to be honest," he said. Freed nodded. "Are you at a hundred percent?"

"Laxus, of course."

"I mean it, Freed. You've been off for weeks. Something's not quite right, and I have no idea how to try to help if you don't just tell me-"

"There is nothing wrong," Freed chuckled.

"It's not from those anti-magic particles-"

Freed's eyes widened. "Laxus, no," he insisted. He understood the concern. Everyone on their team had been affected by Tempester's curse for months after their battle against Tartaros, but it had been so long since then. If anyone needed to worry, it was Laxus himself. He'd intentionally breathed in those particles to save everyone around 8 Island that day. His lungs were full of holes, even to that day - not that Freed would tell anyone what Laxus had said to him in confidence. "I have fully recovered from that ordeal."

"Then what is it?" Laxus asked. "Something's on your mind, and Bix seems to have it in his head that you fucked that Tartaros-prick, and now you're under his thrall or some shit."

"Mard is not a vampire," Freed sighed.

Laxus' jaw tensed, the muscle in his cheeks tightening enough to have Freed growing exceptionally concerned over whether his molars could withstand the pressure. "Did you?"

His small smile faded. That one night he'd been with Mard Geer, and the odd morning that had followed, flowed through his memories. He wouldn't lie to his closest friend, but Freed distinctly recalled not caring what anyone might have to say over what he did with Mard.

He cared then.

With how Laxus looked at him, with how disgusted he sounded… How could Freed not care?

Still, he wouldn't lie.

"I did," he said softly. Instead of holding Laxus' suddenly burning gaze, Freed looked off toward the opposite side of the train platform. To the line of closed souvenir and snack shops and their darkened windows. Stations were always bustling, so there was never an opportunity to really see things like this. Even though it was well past ten at night, he rather preferred the gentle blue glow of lacrima lightposts along the square. "It was only one night, Laxus. I have yet to see him since."

Silence was his answer, but Freed understood that Laxus just didn't know what to say yet. It gave him a chance to formulate his own thoughts on the matter.

"It has been six months, and I have neither contacted him, nor received any sort of communication from him," Freed continued. He astutely ignored the hollow feeling in his chest at the admission that he had, in fact, participated in a one-night stand. "You have nothing to worry about, Laxus. It was just once."

"Why, though?"

Freed snorted, dropping his gaze to the hairline cracks in the stone under his boots. "That is unimportant," he said. "We were intimate for a night, and that is all."

Laxus was silent again, but Freed had nothing more to say. What could he possibly say, anyway? That he harbored feelings for the King of the Demons, and knew that nothing would come of it. He'd known the morning he'd woken up with Mard Geer still naked in his bed. And even though Freed had been treated to a wonderful morning full of soft kisses, quiet laughter over their shared love of coffee and bacon, and one last shower together, he'd known it was never meant to last. Freed was just some human, so far beneath Mard Geer.

What would a regal creature like him want with Freed?

"You thinking about him?"

"Right now, yes," Freed admitted. He sighed and rested his elbows on his knees, running his fingers up through his bangs. The heel of his hand pressed against his right eye, pushing into the damning evidence that he always tried to hide. Ever since that night with Mard, his eye hadn't changed back, even when he tried to force the darkness back under his tightly held control. "It was nothing, Laxus. A mere… experimentation, if you will."

Laxus chuckled and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "So because Blondie's bumpin' uglies with Jackal, you figured you'd see what the big deal is?"

"Not quite," Freed laughed, shaking his head. Crass as he was, Laxus still tried to be understanding. In his own way. "And he did offer to teach me that demonic language I've been toying with."

"So he speaks it?" Laxus asked. When Freed nodded, he said, "That's pretty cool. Did it help?"

He wasn't going to tell his best friend just how Mard had been teaching him. Testing him. Teasing him and tasting him before taking him just the way he wanted. No one needed to know about that side of Freed.

"It was enlightening," Freed said, smiling fondly at the ground. "I hadn't known-"

"Dude, don't get started," Laxus laughed, nudging his shoulder. "You'll never stop."

Freed's smile grew wider as he glanced back at Laxus. "Facts."

"You fucking didn't just…"

"I did, in fact, just," Freed said. The look of shock that was sent his way had him laughing again. Just because he was always reading about ancient languages, didn't mean he was unaware of the evolution of language that was happening around them. "And now, I believe this calls for a mic drop."

Freed stood and adjusted the strap on his bag over his shoulder while walking toward the hotel their team would be staying in that night. He knew that Bickslow would more than likely hound him with questions over his behavior on the train, unless Laxus put a stop to it right away, but that didn't mean Freed would ignore the responsibility he had of keeping himself well-rested for this mission.

"Wait!" Laxus called. He used a quick burst of magic to fall in step beside Freed, and they walked in silence for several minutes. It wasn't until they reached the doors that led to the hotel lobby that he spoke again. Quieter, this time. "I won't pry into your personal shit, but that's because I know you'll talk to me if it's important."

"I will," Freed said. Of course he would talk to Laxus about it, if it was important. Laxus was the first person Freed told about his sexuality. He was the first one to know that Freed had lost his virginity to a mage from a small guild when they were seventeen - partially because he'd smelled the pheromones on Freed's clothing, but also because Freed had needed someone to talk to about his confusion over how it had felt.

"So if you tell me it's not him that's distracting you, then what is?" Laxus asked, placing a staying hand on Freed's elbow before he could decide to end the conversation and walk into the hotel. "I've gotta know, man. You're not acting like yourself."

His shoulders slumped. He didn't want to talk about Mard Geer, but part of this was the demon's fault. Not all of it. If Freed just kept that little bit to himself, then it would be alright. Laxus didn't need to know about his eye, because it wasn't a real issue - just a cosmetic one.

The real issue was something far worse.

"My mother called," he said, feeling Laxus' go rigid at his side. "She is coming to visit."

"Shit."

Freed nodded. "Yes…"

"Do we need to get Evergreen to-"

"No," he said while opening the hotel door and holding it for Laxus. Freed crossed his arms over his chest once inside. They ignored the concierge, a woman whose deep purple eyes narrowed while observing their conversation. "I cannot keep lying to her and claiming that I am in a relationship with Evergreen."

"I mean, you could tell her you're single, and-"

"And listen to her rant and rave about finding me a suitable wife?" Freed scowled at the lush red and gold carpeting in the hall. "I would rather-"

"Don't finish that," Laxus muttered. They stopped and he knocked on the door that he knew had Bickslow and Evergreen behind it. Evergreen had said they would get the other room keys, after all. "You're too detailed when you do that shit."

Freed didn't laugh. He couldn't. Even when the door opened, and Bickslow's grinning face appeared in the small opening with his nose sitting atop the chain lock, Freed's mood didn't lighten.

"Whoa," Bickslow laughed. "What, is Freed's mom coming or something?"

"Actually, yeah," Laxus sighed.

Bickslow blanched, and Freed's shoulders slumped. "I have two weeks to decide what to do," he said.

There was a particular order to things when Freed's mother visited him. She made a point of visiting every few months, but had been unavailable while vacationing in Minstrel recently. He'd been so relaxed in her absence, and now that she was supposed to be arriving within the next few hours, he was wound tighter than ever before.

Everything had to be perfect. She would accept nothing less.

He could already imagine her swiping a white-gloved finger over his bookcase to see if he'd dusted properly, just like the last time she'd been a guest in his home. He could practically hear her opening his refrigerator and scrutinizing his choice of groceries.

Why don't you have more milk and cheese? Because he didn't like either all that much when he was cooking for himself.

Why is that disgusting, orange-stained plastic monstrosity sitting on the top shelf again? Because Evergreen made spaghetti for herself and Elfman, and knew that Freed loved her recipe for sauce, so she'd brought some leftovers for him.

Your kitchen is a statement of who you are, Freed, so do tell me why there is hardly any food here. Because he was a working mage, and spent more time in the guild or on missions than he did in his house. A house he'd bought because of her incessant needling. A house that was too large for an eternal bachelor like himself.

But, Freed, one day you will have a wife and children, and this house will be far too small to hold all of you.

They'd had the same conversations over and over again, and she still didn't understand. No matter how many times he'd tried to get her to see that a wife and children were nowhere in his future, she'd simply tutted and waved her fan at him in that demure way of hers. It was why he'd eventually given up on telling her anything of real value about himself. She wanted to pretend that they were close, but she didn't know anything truly intimate about her own son.

It was why he let her believe that he and Evergreen had been a couple. His mother hadn't been happy about the choice - she'd made it very clear as soon as Freed returned from walking Evergreen home that the Fairy mage was beneath him - but at least she could continue pretending that he hadn't hinted at being gay, as long as he was with Evergreen.

He was sure she never acted like this over his three older sisters.

The darkness deep within him wriggled and shot a thought right behind his eyelids. What would his mother do if she learned that he'd let Mard Geer, a man, a demon, fuck him for hours on end?

Freed didn't want to enjoy thinking about the way his mother would struggle to hold her composure, to remain the perfect image of regal beauty while trying to wrap her mind around what he would tell her. How much he'd enjoyed being tossed from one side of his bed to another, how he'd cried and loved it when Mard bit him while slamming into his ass with ease.

She would cry if she knew. She would make a scene, and he would see just how ugly she was inside. She wouldn't be able to hide her disgust at knowing the truth about him. That he'd laid with another man, and that the man in question had been a filthy demon.

It would break her.

He wanted to see her broken.

Freed jolted and dropped the crystal fruit bowl his mother insisted he use (even though he rarely bought fruit when she wasn't around). The glass shattered on the wooden floor, but he didn't mind. He ignored his bare feet and the prospect of cutting them while rushing toward the sink to vomit.

Why would he enjoy that? He would never!

Why would he want to hurt her? The last thing he wanted was to hurt his mother!

She wasn't the best, but she cared about him. In her own way. She…

He retched again, and finished emptying the contents of his stomach.

Freed didn't want to hurt her. That was why he had to hide the truth. It was why he couldn't let her see a thing out of place in his home. Because she needed to know that her son - who had been stuck in a magical stasis for seven years, then nearly died at the hands of a demon named Tempester - was alright working as a mage.

He had to make her believe his life was perfect. Just like his sisters' lives were perfect.

She couldn't handle another surprise, and he didn't want her to know the truth.

It would be better for her to live the rest of her life, believing what she wanted about him. He could keep up the ruse until she finally died - probably of old age, when he thought about it. Freed could be miserable, hiding the truth about himself from her.

He had to.

The hours passed in a blur, and finally, his doorbell rang. Freed took a steadying breath and set the red satin ribbon in place in his book, then placed it on the end table next to his reading chair. Another slow breath, and he stood and walked to the front door. His mother wouldn't ring the bell twice.

More accurately, her driver, Braden, wouldn't ring the bell again. Freed already knew that she was still sitting in the back seat of her SE vehicle, waiting for Braden to return and open the door for her. And he would only do that once Freed answered the front door.

He'd intentionally dawdled once before to see what would happen - while still recovering from Tempester's curse - and it had resulted in his mother yelling at him just as soon as the front door was closed.

He wanted to avoid that at all costs.

"I wish Laxus was here," he muttered as his hand closed over the knob. That would make this more bearable, for a short while. Eventually, Laxus would leave for the night, and Freed would be forced to listen to his mother talk about the Lightning Slayer. Sometimes, it was positive - how powerful he was, how much more attractive he would be if he smiled more.

Freed opened the door and plastered on the diplomatic non-smile that was expected of him to greet Braden.

But it wasn't him.

Freed's eyes went wide in horror at the sight of Mard Geer standing so casually on his doorstep. A soft gust of wind toyed with his violet tresses pulled into that high ponytail. He was just as sinfully, painfully beautiful as Freed remembered. No, he was more beautiful than Freed's memory could dutifully replicate.

He'd forgotten about the sly little lift at the corners of Mard's lips that made him seem both bored, and mischievous. He'd forgotten how intense that midnight gaze was as their eyes locked.

Freed had forgotten the way the darkness in him pulsed with need at the Demon King's proximity.

"Is it rude, in human customs, to drop by unannounced?" Mard Geer asked. His lips quirked just a little more when Freed nodded absently. "Apologies, then. I did not know how to contact you."

Had he wanted to? Freed had wanted to get in touch with Mard Geer, but he couldn't. He hadn't known how - if the demons had use of lacrimas, or other means of communication they preferred - or whether Mard wanted him to do such a thing. Freed had forced himself to accept that Mard wanted nothing more to do with him.

"I have come for a reason, however," Mard said, breaking Freed from his stupor.

He gulped and stepped back, granting the King of the Underworld entry into his home. "P-Please, come in." He closed the door behind them, then bit his lips with unease. This couldn't be happening.

Mard couldn't be there. Not then.

It was bad enough that Freed's mother would be there soon. He'd been a mess of nerves and anxiety for weeks, waiting for this day. Trying to decide what he would tell her. If he would tell her anything. If she would even listen if he tried.

Mard slowly turned to face him. "It was brought to my attention that I am missing something. A button on my jacket has disappeared," he said, taking a step closer to Freed, pinning him against the wall beside the front door with nearly a foot of space between them.

"And you believe it is here?" Freed asked.

He hadn't been rough with Mard's clothing when they'd spent the night together. Still, Freed wracked his brain, trying to remember specific details of their night. When had Mard's jacket been removed? Wasn't the the first thing he'd taken off the demon?

His gaze strayed lower to find Mard was wearing the jacket in question. As Freed counted the buttons, Mard stepped closer again and brought a hand up to brush the hair away from Freed's right eye.

"It is still like this," Mard breathed. His thumb skated across Freed's flushed cheek when their eyes met again. "The darkness is still there."

"It won't go away now," Freed said. He wasn't sure why. He hadn't told anyone about it, but Mard Geer knew the truth anyway. That wasn't part of his magic. It was the reason he had such power in the first place. He hadn't learned a spell that gave him access to a demon's power. The demon lived in him. It was as much a part of him as his organs and bones.

"Good," Mard chuckled. "I want to see it."

Freed whimpered as he leaned closer to bring their lips together. Just before they touched, he turned away. It was nearly painful to force his head to move, but he had to. This couldn't happen.

The timing was all wrong.

Mard couldn't just waltz into his home and pin him to a wall, make him so needy, so ready for more.

"Stop," he breathed. "I will search for your button, and have it returned to you, should I find it."

Mard stopped, his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. Freed knew he didn't like being ordered around - it went against his very nature. But this couldn't continue. He'd thought he might be stronger, that they could possibly have a physical relationship. It couldn't happen.

Just as the thought of things only being a one-time thing between them had torn him apart over the last few months, he knew this would too if he didn't stop things.

"I am expecting company," Freed said. He reached up and carefully removed Mard's hand from his cheek, letting his bangs fall in front of his eye once more. "If you have no other business, I must insist-"

"Very well," Mard Geer said. His voice was suddenly colder, sending a devastating chill down into Freed's bones. "As you are otherwise occupied, I will take my leave."

Freed wasn't set at ease in the slightest by the look in those calculating eyes. If anything, he was more tense than before. This wasn't good. His mother would be there any second, and if she saw Mard Geer leaving the house, and the state that Freed was in right then, she would have questions.

He couldn't promise that he would have the wherewithal to come up with some excuse that would be believable for her.

His hand trembled while reaching for the knob to let the demon king leave, but he couldn't get his fingers to wrap around the cool metal. His vision wavered slightly while he thought of his mother showing up, the questions she would ask, the answers he would have to come up with on the fly.

He had no plan. He had nothing.

Freed's hand moved to grasp the knob again, and he missed. His breath hitched and caught in his chest. This was all wrong. He wasn't supposed to see Mard again. Not in his home. Part of him wanted to turn and beg Mard to take him, right there in the foyer, consequences be damned. But he couldn't. There could be nothing more between them. Just as he's told Laxus, it was a single night spent together. Nothing more.

The doorbell rang, and Freed froze.

"Is this the company you were expecting?"

No. This couldn't be happening.

Still, he nodded. "I-I should get that." He wasn't ready for this. Not in the slightest. But that didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Not the churning in his belly from the gentle scent of roses wafting off of Mard, or the memories of soft strands of violet brushing across his quivering stomach.

He breathed a little easier when Mard Geer stepped back to an appropriate distance, and his fingers finally found purchase on the knob. As Freed opened the door, he was greeted by the widely smiling face of his mother's driver, Braden. His young, dimpled cheeks and bright green eyes flashed with recognition.

"Afternoon, Mr. Justine," Braden said, tipping his grey chauffeur's cap and revealing neatly slicked blond hair. Why Freed's mother had decided that his uniform needed to be tight black slacks and a pale blue shirt that hugged his lean body, he hadn't a clue. Freed's older sister, Claire, claimed that it was because their mother wanted the eye candy. The second eldest, Amelie, said it was a wonderful fashion statement - though he and Claire both suspected that she just preferred ogling Braden. His eldest sister, Jeanne, said that Braden was only working for their mother so he could fuck her in the backseat.

"Hello, Braden," Freed said, still trying to force himself back into his normally composed demeanor. He could feel Mard's black eyes boring into the side of his head where he was hidden behind the door. "How do you fare?"

"Oh, just fine," Braden laughed. "The Madame is ready for you."

Freed nodded. "Very well. I look forward to her visit."

It was the same conversation every time with Braden. A carefully crafted script that he knew had to be followed. If he said one thing wrong, Braden would tell his mother, and then she would badger him until he confessed.

Braden tipped his hat once more and turned to walk down the steps and into the drive where he'd parked the sleek black SE vehicle. Freed closed the door - careful not to slam it - and rounded on Mard. "You-"

"I will take my leave," Mard said again. Freed opened the door for him, watching the regal set to his shoulders as he stepped through and paused on the doorstep. "Do contact me if you find that button."

"How?" Freed asked.

Mard smirked over his shoulder. "Lacrima, of course," he said. "I am a demon, not a corpse."

Freed flushed and watched Mard Geer walk down the steps and into the drive, past his mother's car just as she stepped out. Mard Geer didn't stop to talk with her, just continued on his way to the sidewalk. He turned left and out of sight, heading away from the guild.

Freed took a deep, calming breath, and plastered on the expected non-smile as Braden carried his mother's bags up the drive and deposited them on the porch. She walked at a slower pace - not that he blamed her, considering the three-inch red heels she was wearing to contrast her navy blue pencil skirt and white blouse - and wasted no time once she stepped onto the porch.

"Who was that man leaving your home, Freed?" she asked.

He waited while she removed her sunglasses, looking into the bright turquoise eyes he'd inherited. "Mister Traitorous," he said. "He is an author well-versed in languages."

She raised a thin, pencilled brow.

"There is a dead language that I have been studying," Freed continued. Maybe if he simply skirted around the truth, he could get through this. "He is an expert in it, so I consulted him to learn more about the phonological aspects that do not translate in text." Maybe if he talked enough about his magic, she would grow bored and change the subject. "For instance, I had no idea that it had so many variations based entirely on the pitch of a glottalic egressive."

"And that… man, told you this?"

"Indeed," Freed said, then bowed his head. He could tell she was bored. Perfect. "But please, do come inside, Mother. I have prepared the guest room for your arrival."

The small huff of air that escaped her would have gone unnoticed by most. But not Freed. He cringed, realizing that he'd called it a guest room and not a guest suite.

The next several days were going to be dreadful.

As Freed sat across the table from his mother and quietly dined on the roast duck that he'd cooked, he really took in her appearance. Her cheeks seemed a little thinner, and the few wrinkles that she hadn't had surgery to remove were a touch more noticeable. Her makeup was impeccable as always - a soft, natural look that highlighted the beauty of her genetics - and her long green hair was pinned into a complicated, professional updo.

Her nails were just as pristine as always. There wasn't really anything out of place. Maybe he was just noticing for the first time, how she'd aged. Jeanne did like to tease him over being the reason their mother had plastic surgery - if he hadn't disappeared on Tenrou, she wouldn't have wanted to make sure she looked the same after realizing he hadn't aged in seven years.

"Have you heard the news?" she asked, breaking the silence that had reigned for the past fifteen minutes. He wasn't going to speak unless spoken to; he hadn't forgotten that rule.

"Which news?" he asked, dabbing at his lips. He took a small sip of his wine - a fine vintage of Bordeaux that his mother favored.

"Your sister has accepted the Duke of Morrington's proposal," she said, flashing the asparagus spears on her plate a proud smile. "Amelie is such a wonder."

Freed nearly choked. Amelie? She'd actually accepted a proposal? "Truly."

"Indeed," she said. His mother set her fork on her plate and sipped at her wine. "Jeanne is hopeless - far too crass for any man to be willing to put up with - and by this point, she's well on her way to becoming a spinster."

Well, it wasn't his eldest sister's fault, really, that she'd done everything in her power to rebel against their parents. Or the four stepfathers who took their father's place after he died. She'd honestly gotten much worse in recent years, but Freed did prefer spending time with her over the other two. She was so much easier to talk to. She didn't hold back for fear of offending someone.

"And my sweet little Claire has been married since-"

"Since she was sixteen," he finished. "I know, Mother."

She flashed him a quick, disapproving glance before returning to her serene smile. Who was he to burst her bubble and tell her that Claire was miserable in her marriage? She had been miserable since her wedding day, but it was expected of her. She followed in their mother's footsteps and went through with an arranged marriage.

At least Amelie actually liked the Duke of Morrington. And from what Freed knew of him, the man was stable, dependable, and far less interested in their family name than most of Amelie's other suitors. His own name held status just a touch higher than theirs so, if anything, the Duke was "settling" with this marriage. As the gentry would see it, he was most likely accepting that Amelie was his best shot at marriage at his "old" age of 33, even though she was two years older than him.

"Freed, do tell me you are done dallying with that mage," she sighed, swirling her wine and watching the way her long, slim fingers curved elegantly around the stem. "You deserve so much better."

"About that," he said, clearing his throat. "Evergreen and I are not together, Mother."

"Oh, what wonderful news!" she laughed. "I always said she was of no significance. But you boys do need time to go out and sow those oats, as they say."

He very nearly retched at the prospect of being naked with Evergreen.

"Amelie's engagement ball will be utterly extravagant, and you must attend," she said.

"Well-"

"This is not optional." Her smile faded until her lips pinched into that disdained frown he dreaded. "You will support your sister, Freed. She may not have another chance at this, and you would do well to remember that, as the only male in our family, you are seen as the shining example of the Justine line's pedigree." She set down her wine glass and reached across the table to rest her hand over his.

Freed flinched as her perfectly manicured nails dug trenches into his guild mark.

"At that ball, you will prove to everyone with eyes that those rumors about you are false."

"What rumors?" he asked. His eyes widened as he watched her break the skin on the top of his hand. "M-Mother?"

"Filthy rumors, Freed. No son of mine would ever do something so vile."

"I don't understand." He made a point of staying out of the nobles' circles. He stayed as far from high society as he could. Unless his sisters happened to tell him some bit of gossip during one of their calls, he was left out of the loop. He rather preferred it that way. But to hear that there was gossip about him, when he'd done everything in his power to keep away from that life… "What has been said about me?"

She let go of his hand and wiped her fingers on her napkin. He watched as the cream fabric was spotted with his blood as it swiped over her nails. "I told you how I felt about you leaving to join this… guild of yours," she said, reaching for her half-empty wine glass. She paused to take a sip. "Still, I allowed you to go off and have your adventures. But there has been talk for some time that your devotion to the team you are a part of is not entirely pure."

"What do you mean?" he asked, frowning. He secretly took his own napkin and wrapped it around his hand beneath the table.

"Some circles have whispered that your relationship with that woman was a ruse, to cover up the intense devotion you have for someone else."

His frown deepened as he thought. His faux relationship with Evergreen was only for his mother's benefit.

"I could understand your Jeanne doing something like this, but you are not like her," she said. Their eyes met, and he fought to hold her heavy gaze. "So you will go to Amelie's engagement ball, and you will prove, once and for all, that there is no truth in those claims."

"What claims?" he asked again. "Mother, I do not underst-"

"Enough," she said, gulping down the last of her wine. "This conversation has ruined my appetite. I will retire for the night, Freed. Do make sure to do something with the rest of that duck." She stood from her seat before he could move to pull out her chair. "It was dreadfully dry."

He sat there in silence while watching her round the corner, listening as she made her way up the stairs to the guest room. He listened for the soft click of her door closing, then turned his attention back to the meal he'd cooked. He'd followed the recipe to the letter, and had made this for his team several times. They'd never complained about it being too dry.

Freed bit his lips and left the dining room, then went to his study. There was only an archway separating it from the hallway, but that didn't matter. His mother wouldn't leave her room for the rest of the night.

He took a seat in his reading chair and grabbed his lacrima from the table, ignoring the book he'd been reading just that afternoon. If he couldn't get answers from his mother, then one of his sisters would be able to tell him what was going on.

Amelie was too proper to be willing to talk about it. She didn't like spreading rumors. Claire was prone to spilling secrets, and he knew that she would be willing to tell him, but he couldn't call her at dinner time. It was horribly rude.

Jeanne, though…

He let out a heavy breath and called his eldest sister. While waiting for the call to connect, his gaze shifted toward the fireplace. With a couple runes, he was able to light the logs and feel the gentle warmth filling his study. Raucous laughter from the orb in his hand drew his attention back to the lacrima, and a genuine, loving smile curled his lips as he saw his sister's neon green pixie cut hair and dark blue eyes.

"Hey, it's my string bean!"

He chuckled softly at that. "Hello, Jeanne," he said. "How do you fare?"

"Hun, Imma need you to chill on the proper talk," she laughed. "It's like rubbing my eardrums with wool."

"Hilarious," he said, still smiling.

"What can I do for you? You never call me outta the blue."

His head tilted slightly when he noticed a barstool fly across the room behind her. "Where are you?"

"Well, I was at this real swanky place with some friends, but we got bored and figured we'd ditch it. Wait, what town are we in?"

Freed blinked in surprise when he saw a person being thrown in the other direction in the background.

"Bean, isn't your guild in Magnolia?"

"Yes…?"

She turned to look at someone over her shoulder, yelling something that he couldn't quite make out. And suddenly, a frighteningly familiar face filled the screen, with his tongue sticking out and his helmet missing. "Freed, baby, how'd you get my girl's number?"

No… Oh, good heavens, no… "Jeanne, you're not…"

She smiled at him, and his jaw dropped when he saw the soft flush to her cheeks while glancing at Bickslow.

"Come on down to the guild, man," Bickslow cackled. "Jackal started a fight with Gajeel. Shit's getting wild!"

"Bickslow, my mother is visiting, remember?" he sighed, watching as both his teammate and sister went completely still. "And get your arm off of my sister."

"S-Sister?" Bickslow chuckled nervously.

Jeanne scowled at him. "Freed, I swear, I will come down there and rip out your fucking hair. Don't ruin this."

His lips pursed, but he nodded nonetheless. Maybe he was being too harsh. Bickslow was a loveable man. He was caring - if not just a little odd - and if there was anyone who could keep up with Jeanne, it was him. She was just as insane sometimes.

"My apologies," he said after a moment. "I have had a… trying day."

"With her royal cuntiness there, I'd say that's an understatement," Jeanne snorted. "Come down here and take a load off. I'm guessing she's stormed up to her room by now."

"Well, there wasn't storming, per se…"

"Come down and see your big sis," she laughed. She gasped a moment later, and Freed watched her smack Bickslow's chest repeatedly to get his attention from his babies. "Whoa, did you see that? That guy just knocked Jackal through the wall without even looking!"

"That's Mard Geer," Bickslow said. "He's the guild master for Jackal's guild."

"He didn't even look away from his book!" Jeanne shouted. "Oh my god, it's a hot Freed!"

"Please do stop," Freed groaned. He couldn't just leave his mother at his house, all alone.

"Freed, you've gotta come see. Seriously, I bet you'd be all over-" Bickslow's hand clamped down over Jeanne's mouth, and Freed watched as he whispered something in her ear. Her blue eyes widened, then she nodded quickly and leaned closer to the lacrima. "Just come down and see me, dealsies? I know you wanna talk to me, so we'll talk. Promise."

He wanted to tell her no, but the last time he'd seen Jeanne had been nearly eight months ago. He really did want to catch up with her, to see how things were going for her now that she'd been living away from their mother for so long. He wanted to make sure she was alright, even if she was of the firm belief that she didn't need her baby brother to protect her.

It didn't hurt that Mard Geer was apparently sitting somewhere in the guild, where his sister was, and that Freed would be able to secretly steal a glance or two of the beautiful creature who'd enraptured him so completely. Even if Freed couldn't have Mard Geer to himself, he could dream.

That had to be enough.

"Alright," he said, shaking his head and laughing as he looked at Jeanne's bright, smiling face. "I will be there shortly." He disconnected the call and made for the foyer to put on his boots and maroon jacket. He attached his sword to his belt, adjusted his cravat, then paused when a glinting light coming from his study caught his attention.

Freed turned and made his way back into the study, then knelt on the floor in front of his reading chair. He looked beneath it, and smiled when he found a silver button sitting on the floor. He hadn't a clue how it had gotten here, when he'd made sure to clean his house from top to bottom several times since Mard had spent the night. But there it was.

Freed tucked the button into his coat pocket, and stood once again. He wrote the runes to teleport himself to the outside of the guild, and didn't notice his mother standing on the stairs with her arms crossed, her turquoise eyes narrowed in anger as she watched his body flutter away in a wash of purple text.

"It can't be true. I will not let it," she spat.