-Imperial Court, Alvarez-

The annoying beeping wouldn't go away. He knew what it was. He'd grown familiar enough with it since he'd bought the lacrima a few months back. One day, he'd have to sit down and figure out how to program the ringer to play something more pleasant, or at least sound off more quietly. Or even just how to turn the damned thing off.

"I'm not answering. End the call already," he mumbled into the pillow.

Persistently, it refused to obey his command. Figures. Anyone who'd ever even heard his name knew not to cross him. But from a distance away, some people felt it was safe to get on his shit list. Like he wouldn't bother with the effort required to track them down and repay them for the dare. For choosing to do so this late at night, he was ready to correct them for their folly.

"I'm too tired and drunk for this," he whined, pulling the pillow over his head.

The beeping, after another minute of its ear splitting nonsense, finally stopped.

*Sigh* "At last," he quietly cheered, pulling the pillow away—

*Beeeeeeep beeeeep beeeeeeep*

—and jumped, accidentally disintegrating it in his hands.

"Son of a—!"

In irritation, he waved the atomized debris away as he at last reached for the source of his ire. Knowing it was too dark for his eyes to adjust to the light the device would emit, and his alcohol-laced vision too blurred for it to matter anyway, he accepted the call without verifying who it was, ready to gripe at and curse the asshole who wouldn't leave him alone, when a vaguely familiar voice beat him to the first word.

"I finally return your call, and you make me wait."

The voice was indeed familiar, but his mind was still too deep in a fog of inebriation mixed with having been dragged out of a deep sleep. Hearing no urgency in the voice, but instead more of a questioning tone, he thought it safe to assume the person on the other end of the call wasn't dying or under threat of doing so any time soon, and was ready to hang up without a word and go back to bed. But he was still annoyed, and wanted to at least let the fool know that he was the cause.

"I would have been far more forgiving if you were a beautiful woman, but since you definitely don't sound like one—"

"—Gildarts?! Ha! So that's why the name says 'Cana's Crash Test Dummy!'"

At the mention of his daughter's name, he instantly sobered, sitting up and switching on a lamp. He eyed the clock next to the lamp, seeing it was too many hours before dawn, and began to worry if something had happened to her, for this person to call so late.

"Who the hell is this? Did something happen to my little girl?"

The caller waited a beat, then answered, "I guess he wants me to explain. This is Loke. I'm not sure what this is about either. Gray just shoved his com lacrima into my face, the call already going through, and told me to speak for him as soon as it got picked up."

All Loke knew was that Lucy had summoned him into her apartment moments ago, and before he could get one flirtatious word out, she'd told him about Gray's cryptic message and sent him to his house, with orders not to leave him until she gathered the rest of the team there. If it wasn't being used right now, he'd borrow the lacrima to let her know not to worry, and that a team meeting wasn't really necessary. At the very least, it could wait til morning.

Now he and Gray sat at the dining room table, door closed so a sleeping Lyon wouldn't be disturbed, and Joy sleeping in Gray's lap as he softly grazed his fingers, stiff and sore from the day's earlier overuse, through her fur. The dim lighting from the single lamp was enough to see his face, and the shadows cast about failed to hide the look of melancholy and hopelessness he saw there.

The tension Gildarts had felt for the sake of his daughter lessened, only to be replaced by a new one, this time focusing on the one and only brat he'd personally recruited to his beloved guild. After days of trying to call him, the kid had to choose this time of night to get talkative?

'Don't get upset. Maybe he really doesn't know how late it is. The kid can't see light. His circadian rhythm is off. Doesn't mean I can't still be annoyed, though.'

"Is he aware of what time it is?"

...

"... I know you're still new to this, but I need you to keep in mind that, for all intents and purposes, you're talking to Gray right now. Direct your answers to him. That being said, *ahem* , Yes. You told me to call you, day or night, anytime I needed to talk."

"Shit … Yeah, okay. You're right. Sorry. I wasn't trying to … *sigh* ... too freakin tired for this. You know what I'm trying to say. I know who I'm talking to. Just … Sorry … And what the Hell is this 'Crash Test Dummy' nonsense?!"

"You're a Crash Mage, aren't you?"

"Hey, I am the Crash Mage, and don't you forget it … But you're right. I'm definitely Cana's dummy … So … she's told me a lot of what happened. Believe me, if the old man hadn't ordered me to stay, I'd have been parked right next to her, swapping old war stories and dirty jokes along with her until you woke up."

"I know … I'm glad you stayed. We need you there more."

"Hmph! She also said you'd say that. There's nothing wrong with being someone's priority, kid."

"... I'm also glad … that you weren't one of them. The ones that pulled me away."

Either Loke was really good at mirroring whatever emotion Gray was trying to convey, or he was also feeling sad for him, and his sympathies were coming out. Either way, Gray didn't sound all that pleased with his friends right now.

"Gray, what happened? Not with the attack and everything after. Tell me what's going on with you. What made you finally return my calls?"

The com lacrima must have been set on speaker, because he could hear the sound of a piece of furniture, a chair(?), squeaking as it's occupant got more, or maybe less, comfortable, followed by a sigh.

"I don't even know. I don't know, Gildarts. I just … Everything is just … coming at me, one thing after another, all at once. The battle, and having to fight … to protect all those kids … of having no other choice, and having the hubris to think I could even do it … My friends are always hovering, always worrying, always feeling like they need to keep me in sight, as if I'll just fade away if one of them isn't always with me. I want them to be able to stay away. I want to be able to enjoy solitude … but … I can't … not have them. I'm scared to death of being alone, but I feel so confined by my need for them to be there.

"I just … I don't understand … I was alone in that chamber. Alone with that … that f*cking monster … I was helpless, unable to stop it, as that thing did … all those things to me … But I was able to put off my fear. I wasn't always able to think straight, but when I could, it was with such clarity; and I was able to hold on, and never doubted that my friends would save me. I never doubted!

"But now? I'm not in danger. I'm constantly surrounded by people who mean me no harm, who only want to help. I live in a warm, comfortable home. I get to hang out with a little girl who loves me, flaws and all; who doesn't treat me like I'll break if she doesn't handle me gently enough. I've learned, and adapted to all the changes in my life. And I'm not nearly in as much … physical pain as I was before … So … why?

"Why is it so much harder now? Why am I more scared now, than I was while that thing was tearing my flesh away? Why does it feel like it hurts more today, than it did when that creature was pouring salt into every wound it inflicted? Why can't I resist all the shit that keeps coming at me, while I'm free, when I was able to keep my wits and sanity from leaving me while I was strapped down to that f*cking table!"

Gildarts was able to hear every hitch and gasp in Gray's breathing in the background, as he took a few moments to digest the last of his tirade. By the quiver in Loke's voice, he could tell the spirit had been trying to tamp down his own disquiet as he'd relayed those anguished words.

He didn't know how to answer. Sure, he'd had his own encounters with extreme bouts of despair and hopelessness, and they'd been able to bond over that unfortunate similarity, that special comradery that came with such shared experiences. But no two person's situations were ever completely the same. Whatever got him through his long recovery from the injuries he'd suffered from Acnologia wouldn't necessarily work for Gray.

"Have you shared these things with that therapist you hang out with?"

"I have. Off and on. And it helps, for a while. But it's never enough. It never lasts. I can go days, weeks even, where things seem to get better. I can crack a smile if the conditions are right. I can have fun, joke around, tease Natsu or Lucy; look forward to waking up, knowing I get to enjoy time at the guild that day. But there's always something there. Something happens, or even nothing happens ... and everything seems so fake, or temporary; and all the progress of the previous weeks are shot to Hell, and I have to pick myself up again.

"I'm just … so tired, Gildarts. I'm tired of all the dueling emotions, of the need, of the constant fear and bitterness and shame. Of having to start all over, again and again. For a while, I thought I could just … shut it down. Stop caring … Escape …

…

...

"I wanted to stay …"

There was an extended pause, as if Gray was trying to gather his thoughts. Or perhaps Loke was having to stop himself from reacting to what he'd said, to regain his calm professionalism in order to continue to be the reliable voice Gray really needed right now. Because he knew that if he lost that objectivity, and started injecting his own opinions or reactions, Gray would feel like he truly had no way to fully express himself, and really would shut down.

After that short bit of nervous silence, he returned.

"For the time I was drifting, or comatose, or whatever, I had that escape. I never wanted to come back. That wasn't the first time I'd felt that way. In the chamber, I ... I begged to stay … where it was quiet … so quiet … where the pain couldn't reach me … I wanted to be weak, just that once, to retreat … And several times since then, I've felt that yearning. The allure of that place I go to, I don't even understand why it calls to me. I can't remember what it's like. All I know is that it takes me away from here. That when I'm away, I'm not afraid. Or in pain. Or feeling like I have to pretend I'm not falling apart so my friends no longer have to cry for me.

"And that terrifies me even more. That the temptation to say 'f*ck it all' , and leave it all behind is so strong. It pisses me off … more than what they did, in dragging me away … in forcing me to return to this never-ending nightmare … I hate myself because I want to run away! Because I couldn't stop what happened to me! I couldn't stop what those bastards did to me, what they're still doing to me! What she's never stopped doing to me!"

Both Gildarts and Loke had to make an effort to keep up with that last bit. Because they were both confused. They couldn't tell when he'd changed his focus from his friends to his torturers. Or if he even had. He seemed equally angry at both groups, and they couldn't tell whether or not he was even aware that he hadn't made such a distinction.

But one word did stand out. Gildarts wasn't a therapist. He couldn't offer more than his understanding and a listening ear when it came to such a broad range of troubles. But with a specific target he could zero his focus on, at least he could give something.

"By 'she', are you talking about your mother?"

…

"... This is Loke. He's listening. Keep talking while he's still willing to."

"Like I said, Cana's told me a lot about what happened. I promise I didn't know about your mom until after that whole mess with Natsu and the others. And I won't go into it if you don't want to talk about it. But … she also told me about that little girl, Wendy. About a spell she can do, to let you talk to your mom?"

No response.

"Cana said they had everything they needed to make it happen. That your young dragon slayer friend had done it before, in a dragon graveyard. And that she was able to rework the spell, to use it to call forth a human. It sounds like she put a lot of care and thought into that. She really wants to help you.

"I don't want to pressure you, and I can understand that you're afraid. I know what a tremendous effort it would be for you, to be able to do that. But I think it would at least be a step closer to healing. It'd be one less thing hanging over you, and if—

"—Gray! Breathe!"

!!!

"What's going on?!"

In the background, he could hear indistinguishable exclamations of worry, and sounds of a chair scooting across the floor, of rustling clothes, and heavy gasps. A door slammed open, followed by a shout of dismay. Someone else had appeared. Had Loke called for help? He hadn't heard.

"Loke! Answer me!"

Next Chapter: The burden of memories

*It's so interesting how different the readers tastes are on the two major fan fiction sites. FFN readers prefer the long, continuous story, while my AO3 readers like the idea of the trilogy. So I decided to have both. The story will continue as is on FFN, but I'll take advantage of AO3's innovative 'series' tag to go ahead and republish it as a trilogy. At least I can see how the readers respond to the change there. Hmmm ... I suppose I should have let you all know this story is cross-posted on both sites.