Chapter One – Introductions

~February 1921~

Slamming his hand on a stranger's door was not something he had ever done before.

But that night was populated with many firsts for the man. It was the first time he had ever left the comfort of his town house at two in the morning, walking the streets of New York in a thunderstorm. It was the first time a group of men had battered on his door and demanded entrance to his home, pushing past him without waiting for an answer. It was the first time his father had sat him down and explained in no uncertain – but definitely angered – terms that he was a disgrace, and that he was no longer part of their family. It was the first time that he had looked up the address of a man that, up until that point, had never held any real importance in his life. So yes, it was a night of firsts for Freed Justine.

With rain battering down on him and wind swirling both his hair and his clothes, Freed slammed his open palm on the door three more times with strength fuelled by adrenaline. Hardened eyes glared narrowly at the unmoving door, and with every whistle of the strong and manic wind he found his anger at the situation doubling.

The lights were flickering inside; someone was there, and Freed would be seen to even if he had to wait the whole damn night. He had nowhere else to be.

A droplet of rain hitting his eye further ignited his anger, and he balled his fist and pounded on the black door in front of him. His knuckles stung slightly at the force with which he acted, but the many other sensations of the storm coupled with his resentment and rage at the situation overpowered any glimmer of regret. He took a step back, walking down the stairs that lead to the house's front porch, and glanced at the curtains covering the view of the downstairs room. No movement.

Just as he was considering yelling through the window to get the homeowners attention – because his spiteful dedication to the situation was overwhelming his good sense of manners and politeness – he heard the sound of metal on metal; a latch moving. A moment later, the door was opened by an incredibly unimpressed man.

Laxus Dreyar; so-called up and coming king of New York's criminal society.

He was slightly disappointing, Freed concluded on instinct. The arrival of a new crime family had created a large threat to The Justine's legacy, or so his father seemed to think. They were gaining power and influence fast, and nobody was able to control them, nor predict them. They were led by a man who, in the telling and retelling of his actions, had gained a reputation that rivalled Freed's fathers. A monolithic force of nature.

But the man standing before Freed was just that: a man. Admittedly rather a handsome one, with striking blonde hair, broad shoulders and a perfectly trimmed waist shown well by his tight cut suit and jacket, the shirt untucked and ruffled. He was as much a regular man as Freed himself.

A glare was painted onto his features, and perhaps a lesser man might have crumbled under it. He had a clearly expressive face, and the anger was not forced. But Freed had been surrounded by the types of men who would kill someone without a second thought for any number of reasons, and had long since gotten past the ridiculous notion that a facial expression could instil fear.

Snarling dogs were still just dog. Freed would not cower to a dog, no matter how loud the snarl.

After a moment of looking at one another, ego fighting ego, Freed felt his patience snap. By all rights he should be in his bed, not standing outside in the cold, rain moulding his hair to his head only to have wind set it free again. Returning to his bed, and his house, was something he could no longer do. But he could get out of the rain. So, in an action that was aggravatingly reminiscent of his father entering his own house earlier in the night, Freed walked up the rest of the steps and through the doorway of the house, pushing the criminal to the side as he did so.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Freed, having learned early the usefulness of knowing one's surroundings, gave the hallway of the house a glance over as he turned to Laxus. The hallway was large, and decorated ostentatiously; a sure sign that the money the Dreyar's now had was new to them. If they continued getting power at such a rate in the future, they would have to learn to be more subtle with their spending.

Freed also couldn't ignore Laxus' unique taste in décor; put kindly. The little statue of a golden dragon was particularly… unexpected.

As he turned, he also spared a glance at the mirror. He had been wearing a delightfully expensive tuxedo before he'd left his home, as befitting a gentleman of his status. Now, it was drenched and bedraggled, making him look like a mess. He'd need a hotel with good bathing facilities tonight.

That thought quickly was pushed to the back of his mind, as he saw Laxus' hand resting on a pistol on his belt. Not ideal.

"Get out of my fucking house," Laxus continued, his voice a low growl. He could be threatening then. "I ain't gonna ask again."

"I thought you wanted to know why I'm here, have you changed your mind?" Freed asked; it would be easy to get the power in the conversation. The blonde seemed rather oafish, even if he seemed to pull it off well.

"Shut up," The man growled again. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"At the moment it seems I'm drenching your floor with rain water. You wouldn't be kind enough to give me a towel, would you?" He sent a polite smile to the man, who brushed his fingers against his weapon. Charm wasn't going to work then. "You should close the door, Mr Dreyar, I expect the draft might soon become bothersome if you don't."

"I don't expect you'll be here long enough for it to matter," Laxus grunted.

He didn't seem perturbed by Freed's demand, nor by the admission that Freed knew who he was. That was somewhat bothersome for Freed, who had hoped for at least a quirk of the eyebrow or a twitch of the fingers as a way to read the man. The rumours had said Laxus could be stone-faced, so perhaps his reputation wasn't as exaggerated as Freed wanted.

"Well I'm afraid that I'm going to have to disappoint you then," Freed replied conversationally, watching as the fingers that had been stroking the gun now wrapped around it. He was pushing his luck. "My name is Freed Justine; I believe you've heard of my father."

The gun was pulled out and aimed at him within a second.

Staring down the barrel of a gun, a finger resting on its trigger, was a horrid experience. Because of his lot in life, Freed had found himself in the situation many times. He'd gotten as used to it as a man could get, but his heart still lurched, and mind raced. The man who didn't react like this when threatened with a gun had lost all their will to live, and Freed had not gotten to that point yet.

But unfortunately for Laxus, he had exposed a weakness. The Justine's and The Dreyar's were rival families, even if nobody said it aloud. Freed, at least to Laxus' knowledge, was a high-ranking member of his family's syndicate. Someone with power and authority, who was a threat to Laxus. So for him to force his way into Laxus' house was dangerous; not only because he could have easily spooked Laxus into killing him, but also because being an invader meant there was no murder charges if he did decide to shoot.

But he hadn't. He had clenched his gun tighter, but not pulled the trigger. And that meant, unless attacked, Laxus probably wouldn't shoot at all.

Just as they had done when Laxus had opened the door, they looked into one another's eyes and held contact. Freed knew he had to win their silent fight this time, because if he lost then he'd be thrown out on his ass and with a further bruise to his ego. He also couldn't do anything more because, although he was fairly sure Laxus wouldn't kill him for no reason, it was easy to pull a trigger on instinct. The idea sent a quick rush of panic though Freed, but he did all he could not to show it as his heartbeat rushed and his blood flowed hotly though his body.

"Why are you in my house?" Laxus' tone was still angry and filled with a threat, but the fact he spoke told Freed that he had won.

"I have a proposition for you, but we can get to that later," Freed spoke calmly, pleasantly. "I think first I should get that towel."

"No."

"You can't blame me for trying," Freed chuckled, taking a step forward. The gun followed him, and Freed paused. So Laxus wasn't ready for him to move yet. That was fine. "If this is how you wish to talk, then so be it. I believe that, as of tonight, we both have an issue that need amending. And I believe that we can help one another with these issues; I'm here to offer that help to you."

"No."

"Yes," Freed said, adding some authority to his tone now. "This really would be a conversation more suited to a sitting room, holding me at gunpoint in your hallway isn't particularly-"

"No."

"Oh for goodness sake. Are you able to say anything other than no? Hardly the mastermind of negotiations that I was led to believe you were," Freed muttered under his breath, twitching as the gun was raised slightly higher. He continued without movement. "Fine. I won't mince my words if this is how we do this. You and your family are very quickly headed towards a catastrophe, something that I have already experienced. I can help you avoid your empire imploding, and all I wish for in return is that you help me with my… newly acquired issue."

Glancing at Laxus, Freed noticed a tenseness grow further through his posture. He had expected that to be the case; he had essentially just insulted the man and alluded to an inevitable downfall. But, even if his finger still rested on the trigger, he didn't seem close to shooting. The rigidity went as quickly as it came.

"My business is fine," Laxus growled. "And ain't none of your business."

"It is my business in every sense of the word," Freed snapped back. "And this little life you've created for yourself, if you don't change how you act, will die and will take you with it. Of course you don't know how that will happen yet, which is why I feel I can help you," He muttered the latter statement. "But the fact is, if you keep acting like you are right now, then the tense relationships you've made will turn antagonistic and will lead to a conflict that you know you can't win. You're new to this, it's extremely evident, and when people realise that they will take advantage of it. In that, there is absolutely no doubt."

He glared defiantly at Laxus, glaring straight down the gun's barrel, adrenaline replacing fear. He was desperate and needed the man to believe him – to help him – and would do whatever he needed to. But he wouldn't beg unless it was absolutely needed.

A beat passed. Neither man spoke.

"What d'you drink?" Laxus eventually grunted, and Freed almost smirked as Laxus kicked his door shut.

"Port, though I doubt you have any," He tried to keep his smugness hidden from his voice.

"Think I've got a little of it," Laxus spoke without emotion.

He motioned towards a door in the hallway with his gun, and once Freed walked through it he found himself in a sitting room. Freed no longer was paying any mind to the gun pointed at him, because the fact Laxus had conceded meant that he probably already had doubts about his standings in criminal society, and thought Freed was the answer. He needed Freed as much as Freed needed him, and that was enough to keep him alive so long as he behaved himself.

Again, after a jerk from the pistol, Freed sat on one of the ornate chairs that was both obviously new and grandiose; the house reeked of new money, it was almost embarrassing. He watched almost amusedly as Laxus walked to a drinks cabinet and pulled out a bottle and a glass while still holding the gun. At least it wasn't pointed at him now.

When a small serving of the port was given to him, Freed took a sip.

"That's rather good," Freed praised, placing the glass on a side table. He expected he wouldn't get anything more, so wanted to savour it. "Perhaps not as good as what was available before all of this nonsense began, but certainly the nicest drink I've had in a long while."

"You said you had an issue, and you needed my help," Laxus said as he sat in a chair opposite Freed. His tone was almost… patronising. "And you seemed awfully passionate about how bad things can go for me, so I'm pretty sure you're desperate. What happened?"

Freed looked towards Laxus again, and his hackles raised slightly. This had been a trap of sorts, then.

The blonde was smirking, leaning back in his large chair. The gun was resting untouched on the arm, pointed towards Freed and clearly a constant reminder that Freed was the one in danger in the situation, not Laxus. His posture was relaxed, he had a toying glint in his eyes, and he was clearly trying to emphasise how much larger he was than Freed. Which he was, with broad shoulders rounded and thick legs spread to emphasise this. If Freed were anyone else, this might have been intimidating.

But Freed knew posturing when he saw it, and this was a clear example. They were both playing this little dance of dominance, wanting to remain in control should the situation turn sour. But that couldn't last forever with what Freed needed, so he allowed himself a disadvantage.

"I have been excommunicated from my family," Freed admitted, trying to sound nonchalant.

Laxus let out a little 'heh' at that, as if pleased. Freed bristled.

"And with that comes a lot of issues," Freed continued, though his tone was a little sharper now. "One of which being that, from now on, I no longer have a job, nor a home. So, I'm coming to you as I know that your main source of income comes from your tavern, and people willing to work at speakeasies are few and far between. I wish to have a job under you, and in return I will advise you on navigating the criminal world without making yourself a target."

"Bullshit," Laxus said plainly. "You could get any job, and not risk pissing off your father if he changes his mind. And with how needy you were being in wanting my help," He smirked, and Freed tensed further. "You're clearly not telling me everything."

"I've told you everything you need to know."

"Not if you want my help you ain't," Laxus laughed. "Why'd he kick you out."

"That's not important."

"Beg to differ."

"It's not," Freed repeated forcefully, and Laxus raised an eyebrow. How he'd lost his advantage so quickly Freed didn't know, but he knew he couldn't get it back yet without ruining his chances of getting help. He needed to concede a little more. "The reason will… it evokes strong reactions. My father will make the reason, and my disownment, known as a way to reaffirm his control. People know where I lived, will want to hurt me, and I need to make changes in my life quickly. And being the son of a notorious gangster means employment isn't easy to get in a hurry."

"That's a shame," Laxus smirked, sarcasm not hidden. "But I ain't even considering helping you if you don't tell me why he kicked you out."

"Why?" Freed narrowed his eyes. But the fact Laxus would consider helping him in the right circumstances did give Freed a glimmer of hope. "Why is it important?"

"Because you're the son of a guy who probably wants me dead, and definitely wants my business ruined," Laxus laughed, leaning further back in his chair. He was getting cocky, but Freed could utilise that. "And if you think I'm going to let some little prick in my bar who could easily be bullshittin' me, then you're fucking stupid. So tell me how you got on your daddy's bad side, I'll check it out to see if it's true, then maybe I'll be charitable."

"May I remind you, Mr Dreyar, that the reason I'm in this room is because you know you need me just as much as I need you," Freed snapped back, because subtlety be dammed. Laxus just smirked wider, and Freed knew he had shown his hand too early. "If you must know, I fucked one of his guards."

"He's guarded by women?" Laxus asked.

"No," Freed grunted.

Perhaps it was fuelled by his annoyance at losing control of the situation, but the time it took for Laxus to understand what Freed had implied was incredibly aggravating. Admitting something like that was never pleasant, as you could never guess if they'd simply be disgusted or think you're worthy of a beating.

"So," Laxus said after a moment, and there was a notable lack of disgust in his voice. In fact he sounded amused. "You fucked a guy and your daddy kicked you out? And now you're so desperate that you're coming to me."

"I need work, and doing something that pisses him off is ideal," Freed shrugged, and Laxus kept looking at him. Again, he needed to concede a defeat. "And you're more likely to overlook illegality than regular employment."

"Was that so hard to say?" Laxus taunted, and Freed was half tempted to attack the man.

But he didn't, because despite the blonde's clear cocky persona, and apparent enjoyment of the situation, Freed felt as though there was a chance he would get help now. The fact that Laxus didn't kick him out of his house, or shoot him, upon revealing he was gay was significant. Many men like Laxus would feel no guilt for killing a man like Freed, and yet Laxus maintained a conversation. The fact that he was taunting him rather than beating him was substantial, and Freed felt that as long as he didn't push Laxus too far, he might be his salvation.

Christ, the fact he needed salvation was humiliating.

Thankfully, it seemed Laxus was doing what Freed had wanted to do. He was making it known that he was in charge, but not forgetting that this was a mutually beneficial situation. And, as much as Freed didn't enjoy being the punchline of a joke, he could put up with it for now if it meant he got his way.

"What exactly did you think you could do in the tavern?" Laxus asked, and Freed had to stop hope from blooming.

"Accounts."

"Fuck no," Laxus laughed.

"Barman."

"No," Laxus repeated, and it was a word that was grating on Freed's nerves. "You ain't getting anywhere near my money."

"A server of some kind then," Freed gritted his teeth.

"Mainly have men as customers, and they like a pretty girl serving them," Laxus shrugged. "And as much as you might like flirting with men, not sure they'd feel the same way," He smirked again, a little sadistically. "How about scrubbing shit from the toilets all night?"

He almost took it. Because his dignity was nothing without his safety.

And he was desperate, he really was, even if he was trying to convince himself that he wasn't. Once his father made it clear that his gay son had been kicked out of the family, the word would spread. Employment in the normal places wouldn't be possible, and people would want to vent their anger at his so-called perversion through violence. A crime family like Laxus' could overlook crime, and people would be less likely to attack him at the risk of starting a gang war. That was why he needed Laxus' help.

As he went to speak – to confine himself to be the shit-cleaner of New York's drunkards – his eyes landed on something. A picture of what he assumed was the Fairy Tail tavern before prohibition started, sitting on the side table. People were standing around a piano, and Freed felt a further pulse of hope awaken.

"Do you have music played?" He asked, and Laxus frowned.

"Not for a while, no," Laxus shrugged, and Freed saw an opportunity. "Musicians ain't got the biggest balls really. Scared of getting into trouble."

"A shame. Most of the reason people go to taverns rather than drinking at home is the atmosphere," Freed mused aloud, hoping to get a small amount of control in the conversation again. "I assume that you've still got that piano, correct? I'm classically trained, and can play a variety of genres."

"You wanna be a pianist?" Laxus asked, amused.

"It's a skill I have, more dignity than cleaning bathrooms, and is beneficial to your business," Freed explained. "And since you clearly don't trust me, it allows you to keep tabs on me. Most of the night I'll be in the middle of the floor playing, and when I'm not it'll be obvious by the lack of music. It seems good for both of us."

Laxus seemed to consider this, and Freed said nothing, not wanting to risk ruining his chances. He noticed that, during their conversation, Laxus was no longer resting his fingers against the gun and his posture had changed slightly; a little less domineering than it had been at the start. This was all promising to Freed who, despite having insisted on seeing him immediately, had been pessimistic about his chances with Laxus.

Looking directly at the man, it was clear to see when Laxus had made a decision. The slight conflicted look lessened and his eyes narrowed a little as he looked straight into Freed's eyes. He didn't speak, waiting for Laxus to reinitiate conversation.

"Six AM," Laxus stated. "You're at the door at six AM. I hear how good you are. If you ain't good enough, you ain't getting a job and you leave me alone. For good. You understand?"

"Yes," Freed said.

"Then you'll leave," Laxus stood up, picking his gun up again.

He motioned with it for Freed to walk out into the hall again. Freed did as he was instructed, knowing that Laxus' charity – because that's what it was really – was tenuous at best. He walked to the door and opened it, sighing slightly at the heavy rain and wind that was still roaring. Previously he had been too engrossed in his anger at the situation to care. But now the idea of walking to the nearest hotel in this was repellent.

That sensation quickly died when a large hand wrapped around his neck from behind and a gun was pushed firmly into his spine.

"You even think about fucking me over," Laxus growled into his ear. "You make one mistake, you give me any reason to mistrust you, you take advantage of this kindness, then you're done. Your body gets discovered washed up and found by a guy working the docks, and your cock is sent back to daddy wrapped up in a pretty fucking bow. You understand me?"

"Yes," Freed growled back, glaring forward while gritting his teeth.

Laxus said nothing else, pushing Freed forward and out of his home. The door was slammed behind him, and Freed ground his teeth, fist clenching as he was left in the storm battering New York. He walked forward with a glare, deciding to go to a hotel that he knew always had rooms, the anger that had been steadily boiling up through the day coming to a rise.

But in the back of his mind, he had hope. And at that moment, that was all he needed.

~1 Week Later~

Walking into Fairy Tail always gave Laxus a small, perhaps arrogant thrill.

He'd grown up there, essentially. His grandfather owned the place before alcohol had been outlawed, and the tavern was part of who he was. He had always known that one day it would be his, given his father was no longer part of their family and he was the only other successor. But having it as his, being able to call it his own and do with it what he wanted, was so much better than he could have imagined.

When he pushed through the doors of what appeared to be an old, unused music store – they'd had to relocate for obvious reasons – he was met with the sound of people talking, laughing, and drinking. To know that he had facilitated this – that he was the reason for them being there – was addictive. He was in charge, and he loved it.

And really, who wouldn't?

Because not only did his new place in life give him a thrill, but it also filled his wallet and offered him a level of respect he'd never gotten before. Previously he'd been the grandson of Makarov Dreyar, just the young relative of the man who owned the famous tavern. But now he was Laxus, criminal and provider of alcohol during prohibition. People looked to him as someone not to be reckoned with, someone to both fear and adore simultaneously. He was the man holding his middle finger up to the unjust bullshit that his country had turned to, and the innate rebel inside crooned silently at the praise that got him. He was a man of power now, and it was incredible.

As he walked through Fairy Tail, people greeted him. Those who knew him were trying to get in his good graces, and weren't subtle about it. Laxus didn't care, he enjoyed the grovelling if he were honest. He didn't think he'd get used to it, and doubted that it would stop anytime soon, and he was content with that.

There was one outlier to this trend of respect: Freed Justine.

Now, Laxus hadn't surrounded himself by bootlickers and ass-kissers. While he got a rush by strangers scrambling over themselves to get on his good side, he wanted kickback from his staff. If someone was pissed off at him, he wanted to know; better to have honesty from his workers than have them attempting some sort of coup behind his back. So almost all of his staff had backbone, and voice their opinions when it was appropriate, just like Laxus wanted.

But the was Freed did it was… different. Maybe Laxus felt that way because of how they'd first met, where Laxus really had held all the cards in terms of power. He had expected that Freed would be so thankful and gracious for Laxus' display of pity – because he really did pity the man – that he would be obedient and wouldn't dare speak out of turn.

That had not been the case. There was no pretence with him, nor bullshit about what he was feeling. He felt as just comfortable speaking his mind as any of the staff members, many of whom who had known Laxus not as a criminal but as a kid.

Laxus was conflicted between wanting to threaten the bastard or to laugh at his arrogance.

He did enjoy pissing the guy off, though. Maybe Freed had realised that Laxus wasn't a killer unless truly pushed towards it, and that his threats were mainly empty, but that didn't make him a saint. The guy needed him and had a lot of pride, meaning Laxus could have some fun with him. For example, while he had told Freed to arrive at six AM for his audition, Laxus had shown up at eight-thirty, and Freed had been waiting in the cold for him. The glare and clipped conversation had been hysterical. It also showed Freed his place.

Though that had been somewhat diminished when Freed started playing, and Laxus felt his stomach flip at the slow melody that Freed had chosen to perform. He was an undoubtedly good pianist, and because of that Laxus had honoured his part of the deal.

As he walked to the bar, he spared the man no glances.

He walked behind the bar, where Gray Fullbuster and Lucy Heartfilia were working. They both greeted him while keeping their focus on customers. Good; he'd hired them not just because of their proficiency and making drinks, but because a flirtatious wink from some pretty young thing could sell a drink at a higher price. Gray had some young woman blushing as she nursed a glass of overprices booze, and Lucy had three men – and interestingly, a woman – enraptured as she poured them all drinks she would readily overcharge for.

"You kept an eye on him like I asked?" He murmured as he walked behind them.

"Of course," Lucy said as she slid over a drink, smiling at the older man who was ogling her. Laxus would have to get Elfman to keep an eye on him, he was almost drooling. "He's been fine. Hasn't done anything you don't pay him to do."

"As if he could," Gray laughed, walking from his customer to place used glasses under the counter. "He's literally the centre of attention, nobody can take their eyes off him. If he wanted to sneak off or whatever you think he's gonna do, his plan backfired."

"I don't trust him," Laxus muttered, glancing towards Freed again.

"Really?" Lucy said in mock surprise. "I thought having everyone spy on him was your way of welcoming him as part of the family. You really are subtle."

"Watch your mouth, woman," Laxus grunted.

"Why don't you make me," Lucy countered back, turning to face Laxus with a grin on her face. "Sir."

Laxus broke her gaze, and hoped that she wouldn't see the small, embarrassed flush spreading across his cheeks before he willed it away. This was a new thing the women of his staff had begun doing; anytime he did something that pissed them off, all they needed to do was flirt even slightly and Laxus' innate discomfort when it came to people overtook him, and he became awkward and a little embarrassed.

He could only hope that the men didn't try it because that would be… that would be another problem entirely.

The embarrassment wasn't helped by the now ever-present sound of Freed's music playing. Freed being there made Laxus very aware of how he treated his staff. The Justine's were renowned for brutality and ruthlessness, so Laxus doubted any of their staff would dare to treat the headman like Laxus was treated. He wondered what Freed thought about it whenever he saw it.

"I've got shit to deal with upstairs," He muttered, and Lucy laughed. "Don't know when I'll be down again, so make sure you keep an eye on him. And once he's finished, you kick him out. No exceptions, okay?"

"Yeah, you've mentioned it once or twice," Gray chuckled. "He only gets to be here when he's working."

"And I mean it," Laxus said firmly, and both of his employees nodded. "And if any shit starts to happen, you better call me down to deal with it okay. No matter how…" He paused, glanced at the older man still ogling Lucy, and grit his teeth slightly. "Pathetic it is, I'll deal with it."

"We know," Lucy laughed, turning to the customers again. She looked over her shoulder and grinned. It was the same stupid flirtatious grin she used to taunt him. "Goodbye, sir."

Laxus glared at her, cheeks going red again as he walked to the rickety wooden staircase that led to his office. As he walked he overheard his employees talking to one another, Gray telling Lucy that if she kept calling Laxus sir in that way then he might start acting on the flirtations. Lucy had laughed, saying that Laxus didn't seem the type.

There was a slight falter in Laxus' step as he heard that. While what she said was true – he really would never act on any of the flirtations from his female workers – he had to wonder if she knew why. Hopefully, she just assumed he wouldn't fuck an employee.

He couldn't fixate on that, so he pushed it to the back of his mind.

As he collapsed into his office chair, he sighed and ran a hand over his face and through his hair. He flicked open the top button of his shirt and opened one of the small windows, allowing the dank New York air to cool him slightly. With a yawn, he let his eyes close for a moment. He loved his work in Fairy Tail, and the benefits that came with it were undeniable, but it was exhausting.

Especially when one of his suppliers decided that he would bust Laxus' balls by raising then price of his booze. Of course that hadn't gone down well, and with Gajeel and Evergreen there to help make his point, the supplier had quickly changed his mind. Funny what a gun could do.

But it had been a stressful day, and Laxus wanted a break. He walked to the drink's cabinet in the back of his office, unlocked it and poured himself a glass. Like most of the drink's manufacturers, his favourite whiskey brewers had closed down during prohibition rather than going to the underground market, meaning this particular bottle of whiskey was a rarity. Laxus didn't sell it to his patrons; branded drinks were his and his alone. Though, he supposed if someone was desperate enough, he could name a price.

He tapped his fingers against the glass, the smooth brown booze gently jumping with each strong clink. He closed his eyes as he brought the drink to his lips and gulped down half of it, groaning as he allowed himself to relax. His drifting mind lingered on the gentle music.

Freed really knew how to play. It was astounding.

Although he claimed to be classically trained, he wasn't limited to old music, and he used his variety to his advantage. Laxus, after spending the first few nights of Freed's employ essentially spying on the man, had realised Freed had finetuned his song choices to fit with the different types of audiences. At the start of the night, he'd play understated music as an accompaniment to people's drinking. As it got later, and people got drunker, the songs became more interesting; something to dance to for those who wanted. By the end of the night, when the booze had truly taken effect, he went for fast paced jazz that elected cheers and hollers late into the night. He worked the crowd well without saying a word to them.

He was still at the first stage of his performance as Laxus relaxed in his office, playing light and inobtrusive songs that were pleasant to the ear but not taxing or overpowering. It was nice, and Laxus enjoyed listening to it.

When he'd been watching Freed, he hadn't been able to concentrate on the music.

Freed really was gifted musically.

Shaking his head to wake himself up, Laxus sat up straight and finished the rest of the drink. He needed to be awake, both because he had work to do and just in case any of his customers got rowdy; he couldn't leave his bouncers to work alone while he napped in the office after all. With that in mind, he unlocked his desk draw and pulled out some financial paperwork he needed to finish before the end of the week. This too was a downside of being a businessowner, even if not a legitimate one.

As he worked through his paperwork, he found himself absently humming along to the music slipping through the crack in his office door.

And in the few moments where he let his eyes close as a quick rest, he found himself imagining what Freed looked like as he played. How his hands would dance across the keys and his face would go into that relaxed expression that was such a contrast to the manic and almost feral look that he'd shown when they had first met. He considered why he couldn't decide which version of Freed he preferred; the calm musician or the bedraggled gameplayer. He asked himself why he should have a favourite version of the man that he didn't trust.

But, when a yawn split his lips, he found that he didn't care. Instead, he listened to the piano playing with contentment, and got on with his work.

~Two Weeks Later~

"You know you're allowed to drink an actual drink, right?" Bickslow laughed. "He doesn't mind."

Freed smiled a little at the comment, cupping his glass of water. He sat at one of the many tables scattered around Fairy Tail's main room, sharing it with both Bickslow and Evergreen. They were looking at him with amusement as they drank their beer – well, moonshine was a closer term for the drink – while Freed drank his water. They were teasing him, as they had been from the moment he arrived, and he accepted it; the two of them were the closest things to friends he had found in Fairy Tail, and he was enjoying them for their eccentricities.

They'd met one another a week back, where the two of them had arrived at Fairy Tail late and began working. Freed had noticed them beforehand, seeing that they had unusual work hours compared to others in the tavern, but were always there. Freed had assumed that they were more intrenched in the criminal aspects of the tavern, and their work hours were unusual because they were on the streets, working for Laxus in ways other than serving drinks.

He didn't pry into it; he knew better than that.

By happenstance, he didn't have to. Apparently his observations of the two of them hadn't gone unnoticed, and they had approached him after a night at the piano asking if he wanted a drink. He'd complied, understanding that this was some kind of test; one he had passed. They had tried to intimidate him, make it clear that if he wanted trouble they would happily oblige, and when Freed didn't cower nor clam up at their threat, they seemed to have respect for him.

At the time Freed had thought nothing more of the situation, but as the two continued inviting him to drinks after he'd finished work, they'd formed a friendship. He enjoyed their company, and not just because losing his standing in the Justine family – and the money that came with it – also made him lose his so-called friends. At least Ever and Bix didn't seem scared of him, like his old friends had; it was refreshing.

"I think it's best if I don't," Freed chuckled. "He practically salivates at every opportunity to get rid of me. Essentially stealing from him would be pushing my luck."

"Yeah, that's why he's salivating," Bickslow mumbled, and Freed frowned at him.

"You really shouldn't pay too much mind to Laxus," Evergreen laughed. "He's just quite territorial, that's all. But he wouldn't have let you here if he didn't trust you. I doubt he'll care if you get something to drink."

"I'd rather be cautious. Given the situation I doubt that I can risk getting on his bad side," Freed shrugged slightly; most likely everyone knew why he was there, so why be subtle? "And then there's the fact that I haven't drunk anything other than a half-glass of port since the beginning of prohibition. I've probably lost my tolerance for it, and I doubt anyone would appreciate me drunkenly screeching showtunes though the night."

"I dunno," A deep, gravelly voice from behind spoke, and Freed tensed. "Pretty good blackmail, I'd say."

The three gathered people turned to see Laxus, and Freed was trapped into a stare down by the smirking gangster. His hackles raised slightly at the look of amusement that was clear on the blonde's face – the same expression that Laxus got whenever he seemed to wrongfoot Freed. Admittedly that didn't happen often, given how careful Freed needed to be in his precarious situation, but it had always served to antagonise Freed. He promised himself that, should he ever have the same effect on Laxus, he would be equally smug about it.

"Hey man," Bickslow grinned. "You need us for anything?"

"Not tonight," Laxus dismissed. "You can be on the door with Elfman. Ever, I want you as a waitress tonight. Some creep's been after the girls, if he tries any shit with you I want you to deal with it. Do whatever, just make sure you can pass it off as an accident."

"Sure," Ever grinned, and Bickslow nodded. "Settle an argument for us. Freed gets free drinks like the rest of us, right?"

"Not if he doesn't wanna be thrown out on his ass he doesn't," Laxus replied, and the presence of that damnable cocky expression told Freed that he was probably joking. Still, he probably shouldn't risk it.

"You're fucking stupid," Bickslow laughed up at Laxus, shaking his head.

There was probably a subtext to Bickslow's words, and if Freed wanted to, he might have been able to figure it out. But, as had happened over the last few weeks, Freed found his mind preoccupied with how causal Laxus' workers acted around him. He was the head of both the Dreyar Family and the Fairy Tail business, which should have given him unrelenting respect. And he was by no means a pacifist, should the stories about him be true, so there should be a certain of level of fear aimed towards him. Nobody working for Laxus seemed to show it.

His father wouldn't have accepted any of that. If he heard so much as a whisper behind his back then he would have acted swiftly and with violence. Freed, as part of his ridiculous training for when he would replace his father, had watched as a man's fingernails were ripped out simply because the man completed an assignment an hour later than expected. It had been a long night full of shouting and screaming.

Would Laxus ever do that? Freed couldn't be sure yet.

"Justine," Laxus raised his voice slightly, and Freed looked to him. "I wanna talk to you. My office, come on."

"Of course," Freed nodded, and stood.

As he walked behind the bar and towards the staircase that led to Laxus' office, he missed the shared look of amusement between his two friends and Laxus' quick glare at them both. His mind was too busy fighting off the dreaded possibility that he might be losing his job.

Because it was almost inevitable that his father knew Freed was working for Fairy Tail at this point. He probably had informants keeping tabs on Freed and watching wherever he went, it was why he was keeping a steady rotation of hotels to stay at rather than finding an apartment to rent. That might have been a good choice, because if he was about to lose his job then he'd be without the protection of the Dreyar name, making him vulnerable to his father's whims.

Again, Freed wondered if taking that charming, barrel chested guard to bed was worth it.

"Take a seat," Laxus offered, motioning to the chair that sat opposite his desk.

Freed pulled it out and sat down, watching as Laxus relaxed into the large leather chair that had been tucked behind the desk. It was a grand and obnoxious thing, and it reminded Freed of just how new to having large amounts of money was to Laxus, because one of the few useful things of note his father had taught him was to spend modestly. The more evidence of illegal earnings the police could find, the larger the risk of repercussions.

He tried to relax into the seat as best he could, and watched as Laxus opened a small drinks cabinet from behind his desk. He pulled out a bottle of what seemed to be port – a cheap brand, but the fact Laxus had any branded alcohol at all was now a luxury – and poured some for Freed. He placed it before him and looked at him expectantly.

"I thought if I drank without paying then I got fired," He phrased it almost as a joke, but there was an edge of caution in it.

"I'll dock yer wages," Laxus shrugged. "We need to talk."

"I suppose so," Freed agreed.

There was a beat of silence.

"Look, part of the reason I hired you was because you said that you'd be able to help me deal with the politics of crime, and so far you haven't," Freed went to speak, but Laxus raised a hand to stop him. "And that's my fault, because I don't trust ya and I wouldn't take advice from a man I don't trust. But you've been here a few weeks now, and the numbers of people coming in have gone up since you've been playing," Freed felt a small flicker of pride at that. "And I'm pretty sure you realised that I've been having people make sure you don't pull any shit. And you haven't."

"Your bar staff aren't entirely subtle," Freed commented, and Laxus chuckled.

"Yeah, they ain't spies," He let out a small sigh. "Look, I think at this point I can trust you, at least a little. Not as much as the rest of my people, but more than I did at the start. But I wanna ask you a few questions before we do, because there's a couple things about your story that don't add up."

"If that's what you need then okay," Freed agreed. "But I didn't lie."

"Maybe, but you left shit out," Laxus rebutted, and Freed didn't argue the point. "So, you told me yer dad kicked you out of the family because you were fucking a guy, right? I'm pretty sure that the whole 'family is everything' bullshit is important to him. So even if he didn't like ya bein' gay, I wouldn't have thought he'd disown you just for that. So what's the real reason?"

"That was the real reason," Freed responded.

"The whole reason?"

"No," Freed conceded. "There had been others. He had a habit of hiring attractive men, and I had a habit of bedding them. Sometimes they confessed to it, sometimes they left his employ and he figured out why, and one on occasion he walked in on me in the act," Freed chuckled at that. "He was horrified, it was very gratifying. The attempt at beating me was less so."

"Attempt?" Laxus frowned.

"He expected his 'queer of a son' wouldn't fight back. He was wrong," Freed smirked. "But there had been warnings, demands and threats against me, to stop me from continuing. I didn't of course, and it seemed his bedding his most loyal guard was the straw that broke the camel's back."

"Right, I guess that makes sense," Laxus said with a small nod. "I'll believe that, but I still don't think you've told me everything. Because my address ain't common knowledge and you knowing it, and going there ain't an impulsive decision. So why did ya do it?"

Freed sighed a little.

"It wasn't impulsive, you're right," Freed admitted. "My father and I have never gotten along well. We have opposing values on a lot of things, and we've butted heads more than once. Recently I'd gotten tired of remaining chaste for his reputation, and perhaps spitefully I decided to indulge myself. There has been a tension growing, and me leaving the family in some way seemed inevitable. He, and the people he surrounds himself with, are violent and cruel, I needed protection. You were the obvious way to get it."

"How'd ya come to that?"

"Politics," Freed shrugged. "My father excels at reputation. He's not as influential and strong as he makes people believe, and nowhere near powerful enough to start a gang war. You've been gaining power and influence at a fast rate, and his information on you is limited, so he's cautious. He wouldn't risk anything and therefore if you took me as an employee, then he would have to leave me alone."

"You've given this some thought," Laxus chuckled, leaning back in his chair was a somewhat amused expression on his features.

"I expect most people working for my father have considered how they'd disappear if they fell on his bad side," Freed shrugged. "I thought that was the same in all criminal syndicates, but it seems that the people working here actually like and respect you."

"And what about you?" Laxus asked. "What d'you think about me."

"I think you need to keep your employees loyal, because if anyone defects to another family and tells them how you act around your employees they'll assume you're weak and see an opportunity," Freed said honestly. "I think you're perhaps in over your head and don't know what you're doing, though maybe that's because I've only seen the side of you that owns a bar rather than the side that threatens people into silence. But I think as a person and a boss, you're perhaps quite kind. Which is unusual."

"I guess that's fair," Laxus nodded slowly. He didn't seem insulted, which Freed felt somewhat surprised by. "I like to think I ain't some dumbass kid who fell into a world he ain't ready for, but like ya said, you ain't seen me in action."

"No, I haven't," Freed agreed. "And what do you think of me?"

He might have been pushing his luck by asking, but he felt he needed to know. Laxus was something of an enigma to him, given that he seemed to reject every stereotype of a gangster that Freed had come to know. But he was at Laxus' mercy, and knowing where he was standing with the man could mean life or death.

"I think you play the piano really well," Laxus shrugged, raising a glass towards Freed. "And I think we could work well together, eventually."

"Yes," Freed agreed, lip curling up slightly. He raised his own glass in toast. "I think we could."