.

Three

(In which Lyon entertains a selkie and hopes for the best.)

It took all of seven seconds to fly through the five small rooms of the cottage and ascertain that the selkie was no longer there. Lyon dropped his bag on the living room table and put his head in his hands. Where had she gone?

Maybe she had went looking for her skin? That was what captured selkies did, right? He should check if it was still there or if she'd already found it, but–

But she was a clever one and could be watching him right now to see if he'd lead her to it. That would be a last resort if he couldn't find her anywhere else. Besides, she might think he still had her skin on his person since he'd taken it just before leaving.

Was she perhaps plotting an ambush, then? Watching and waiting to catch him unawares and steal her skin back? Possibly, but he doubted it. She had fought back this morning and definitely had a stormy streak she'd inherited from the sea, but she didn't strike him as particularly violent or aggressive. And with an injured ankle, such an assault would be more difficult.

Maybe she had run off to escape him? But she wouldn't run far while he still had her skin, and she couldn't revert to her seal form without it.

Think, Lyon, think. If you were a selkie, where would you go?

The sea. Of course.

Lyon rushed back outside and picked his way through the shale and sand to peer over the side of the bluff. The beach stretched out below until the rolling waves of the ocean swallowed it whole. Lyon squinted against the glare of the afternoon sun until he spotted the small figure kneeling in the shallows.

He turned and raced back down the bluff, along the rocky pathway leading to the beach, and across the sand. Juvia sat motionless in the water a few feet out from shore, the waves lapping around her as she stared out to sea.

Lyon slowed as he approached, biting the inside of his cheek in a conscious effort to steady himself. He didn't know how Juvia would react to him after the incident this morning, and it was best to approach the situation with caution. He inched into the water, hesitated, and sank down beside her. The water was icy, seeping through his clothing and chilling him to the bone, and he suppressed a wince.

Juvia didn't look over, and they sat in silence for a few minutes before Lyon cleared his throat.

"I'm…sorry. About your skin. But the sea calls you, right? If you had your skin, you would return without waiting to heal."

The selkie said nothing—of course she said nothing; she was mute—and only watched the waves shimmering in the sunlight. Her eyes had faded to a dull blue-gray, vacant and melancholy. After a moment, she gave the slightest of nods.

"I just… I want you to heal first. It wouldn't be right to send you back out to sea when you're still injured and can't swim properly. The ocean is a dangerous place. I mean, you know that, of course. The people around here don't hunt seals because we know about selkies, but towns farther up the coast club seals to get their skins because they don't believe." Lyon flushed and scratched at his nose. "You…probably already know that too. Just… I don't want that to happen to you."

Juvia looked at him and inclined her head. Lyon wasn't sure what to make of that, if it was acceptance or thanks or just her way of trying to get him to shut up, but he forged on because he didn't know what else to do.

"It will only be a few weeks, and you'll be good as new. I got you clothes in town, and also pain relievers for your ankle. Will you…? Will you come back with me?"

He feared she would refuse, but after a brief pause, she nodded. Lyon scrambled to his feet and held down a hand, but she rose without his help despite her stiff movements and the lines creasing her brow.

"Do you want me to…maybe…carry you? To keep your weight off your ankle?"

She shook her head and didn't look at him as she limped through the shallows and onto the beach. The bandages around her ankle had come unraveled and drifted in the water behind her. Lyon fell into step beside her and kept his mouth shut. He couldn't blame her for not trusting him, so he stayed close enough to help her if need be but didn't attempt to touch her without her permission.

Her lame foot dragged through the sand behind her as she shuffled along, hampering her progress. She walked along the shoreline where the waves lapped up against her feet before heading for the path leading home.

She paused at the mouth of the pathway and looked back over her shoulder. Lyon followed her gaze and spotted a handful of seals sunning themselves on the rocks further down the beach. He bit his lip to keep himself from saying something as asinine as everything else that had left his mouth recently.

Juvia ran into trouble as she started up the trail. Uneven, rocky terrain with pebbles strewn about made walking while injured a challenge. After a brief struggle, she put her hand on Lyon's arm. He let her use him as support, pleased even though it was more out of necessity than an olive branch, and steadied her when she stumbled.

They made it back to the house, exhausted but in one piece, and Lyon helped Juvia to the chair. She sank down with a soft sigh and watched him listlessly. He shifted in discomfort, wondering what it would take to bring life back to her eyes.

"Here, let me…rewrap your ankle for you."

He found a towel and dried off her foot before smearing the poultice over her swollen ankle and wrapping a length of linen around it. As he treated her ankle and measured out a dose of the painkiller, he rambled about how often she should take each medicine and what they should do, just to fill the silence.

Juvia didn't seem to be listening, her gaze distant as she stared through him, but when he asked if she'd eaten anything yet, she shook her head.

"I'll go put dinner on, then." Lyon coughed and looked away as he remembered Juvia still wore only one of his overlarge shirts, now soaked through and clinging to her legs. "I also picked up some clothes for you. They're in the bag. You can, uh, get changed, if you want. While I get food."

He hightailed it out of there and began digging through the pantry and icebox. He wasn't honestly sure if Juvia would take to the idea of clothing. Did selkies wear clothes? Seals wouldn't have any use for them in the sea, and most stories placed them as notably clothes-less when caught on the beach. Which he supposed made sense, because where could you store human clothes when you were a seal?

Juvia hadn't seemed overly modest or concerned about the whole clothing issue and might be able to deal well enough without them, but Lyon most certainly could not. His face was still hot—and, he despaired, most probably an unattractive shade of red—even from having a half-dressed selkie in the other room. No, he needed his brain functioning properly, thank you very much, and as much as Sherry and the boys might tease him for being a bit of a prude, he was not okay with having a naked girl around. His mother had lived in this house.

Shaking his head, he got a broth started and pulled out bits and bobs of anything that wouldn't taste too terrible in stew. Unfortunately, he hadn't remembered to get groceries while in town. He would have to pick something up tomorrow to make a proper meal.

He wasn't a superb cook to start with—something he blamed on his bachelor's lifestyle and his mother's impatience for his incompetence in the kitchen—but he could make soup. All he had to do was dump a bunch of vegetables and meat into a pot and hope they leached some flavor into the water to make a broth.

He scrounged up a few scraggly carrots, a potato with enough eyes to see into the next century, something green that was probably some shade of edible, and the last of the fish. He didn't know if Juvia would care for the land vegetables, but at least the fish seemed like a safe bet. Seal diet and all that.

He prepped the vegetables and fish, made some arbitrary guesstimates as to when each component needed to be introduced into the cooking process so that everything finished at the same time, and formulated a rough game plan that was unlikely to come to successful fruition since he was horrible at keeping track of time.

Only then did he slink back into the living room. Juvia had, thankfully, slipped into a brown, ankle-length dress that fit her surprisingly well—thanks more to Sherry than to Lyon's own unhelpful estimations—and appeared more lively. Her gaze was sharp as she studied the picture she had picked up from the side table.

One corner of Lyon's mouth quirked upward into a melancholy half-smile. The frame was crafted of weathered wood and decorated with sea shells. The craftsmanship was shoddy, because he had made it himself. He could mend a torn net or patch a small hole in a ship's hull with ease, but creativity and aesthetics had been Gray's purview. Lyon could never make heads or tails of them.

The picture ensconced lovingly in the wooden monstrosity was a colored pencil drawing of two small, laughing boys. The elder had white hair, a puffed-out chest, and a wide smile, while the younger had tousled black hair, dark eyes, and an impish grin.

"My mother drew that." Lyon circled around Juvia's side to get a closer look. "She was tough love and practical and no-nonsense sometimes—she had to be, raising two troublemaking boys by herself—but she always had an artistic eye."

Juvia looked up, eyes still alight with curiosity, and made a sweeping gesture that included the entire room. Lyon frowned, not understanding, but took a guess.

"Where is she?" When Juvia nodded, he sighed. "Oh. She died a few years back."

He still missed the way Ur would scold them for getting into trouble, patiently teach them how to survive in their world, occasionally turn a blind eye to their mischief with a sly smile tugging at her lips. She had been tough on them, but her praise was worth its weight in gold. She had always sat up with them when they had nightmares, teased them about their misadventures, encouraged their projects and dreams. She still lingered here, somewhere in the air, in the furniture and knickknacks Lyon hadn't had the heart to throw away, but he missed her terribly.

Juvia bit her lip and reached out to rest her hand gingerly on Lyon's arm. He startled out of his thoughts and smiled at her. That was worth something, her silent gesture of comfort and the way her eyes had gentled. They'd had a rocky start, but maybe they could get through these next few weeks together.

When she withdrew her hand, Lyon retreated to sink into his own chair. Juvia pointed at the boys in the picture.

"Yeah, that one's me, when I was a kid." Lyon propped his elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his cheek against his fist. "And that's my little brother, Gray. I say little, but he was only really a year younger. But a younger sibling is always little to you, right? He was always a pretty serious kid, but he was a dreamer and had a mischievous streak. Goodness knows his sharp tongue and stubbornness got him into trouble more than once.

"We fought a lot. He annoyed me because I didn't understand how anyone could be so wrapped up in ideals and their own little world when there was a whole world of work to be done right here, but maybe that's why he always ran around with Natsu and Lucy, going on adventures and reading stories. This isn't the kind of town that people grow up to leave, but he always seemed like he'd be too big for it when he grew up."

Juvia's brow furrowed into a thoughtful frown as she ran her finger over the dark-haired boy's face. Lyon liked that picture because Gray was smiling. His brother had switched fluidly between his mischief-making and somber moods, but he had always been a little too serious and withdrawn and downright sulky for Lyon's taste. Maybe that was part of what Lyon had found so frustrating about him too, that he was rarely so openly happy even though he'd had a family who loved him. But however much they had bickered and gotten on each other's nerves, Gray had always been his baby brother and Lyon had only ever really wanted to protect him. That was one failure that still stung like acid.

Juvia tore her gaze away from the picture and gestured around the room again.

"He doesn't live here anymore." Lyon grimaced and let his gaze drift away. "We…had a falling out. After our mother died. It was my fault, really. I took my grief out on him when he didn't deserve it. We had some nasty fights, and one day he just…disappeared. Took off without a word. At first I thought good riddance, but he was still so young and I worried about him running off on his own. Sometimes I think he might have told his friends something or sent them letters afterwards, but they've never admitted to it so I don't know for sure."

Juvia waved her hand across the room again, and Lyon turned his gaze back to her. His frown deepened. Hadn't he already answered that question?

She seemed to sense his confusion and tried a different tack. Holding her hand over half the picture to cover Gray, she looked up at Lyon.

"Yes, he's gone."

She removed her hand and pointed a finger at each boy, drawing them together to meet at a point.

"Did I ever find him?" Lyon suggested. She nodded. "I did, actually. It took a couple of years, but I tracked him down a few months ago. I searched for a long time, and eventually a chain of fortuitous coincidences and lucky finds gave me enough of a hint that I took a trip inland. He must've thought it dreadfully entertaining: dull, pragmatic Lyon going on an adventure instead of sitting at home day in and day out. He always thought I lacked imagination, and I thought he had more than a touch too much.

"But I did find him. Turns out he wrangled an apprenticeship to an artisan in a city a few miles inland. It's…just as well, really. It's probably the easiest way for a kid to survive on his own. I suppose I underestimated him there. I worried he'd never been practical enough to know how to survive."

Juvia set the frame back on the table and leaned forward, studying Lyon with frank curiosity as she swept a hand across the room again.

"He didn't want to come back," Lyon said, his lips tightening. "He…wasn't necessarily happy that I found him. We talked over lunch, but in the end he stayed there and told me that I shouldn't come back. He thought it better that we didn't meet in person again yet, but we write letters now. It's something. I'm hoping that I can fix things with him eventually. It might just take some time."

That particular memory was still hard to swallow. That had been the most awkward meal ever, with the most stilted conversation. Lyon had been elated to finally find Gray and have the chance to apologize, but Gray was, perhaps understandably, wary. Gray's reservation stung, but Lyon couldn't blame him for still being hurt and resentful. And if he had truly been that unhappy to make contact, he would have disappeared once more instead of agreeing to open up the lines of communication with letters.

One day, Lyon hoped to coax him home again. Or back for a visit, at least. Gray could hold a grudge, but Lyon had the patience to wait him out.

Juvia gave him a sympathetic look and reassuring half-smile, and he realized that he'd just spilled half his life story to a complete stranger. There was something about her candid curiosity that made him want to satisfy it, and something about the silence that wanted to be filled. The easiest way to make him crack and spill all his secrets was to stick him in a room with someone who was utterly silent, apparently. He would spill his guts just to fill in the empty space.

"What about you?" he asked, eager to learn more about his more intriguing companion both because she was likely more interesting than him and because he was tired of talking about himself. "Do you have any siblings?"

Juvia nodded and held up one finger.

"Brother?" he suggested. She shook her head. "Sister?" A nod. "Younger?" Another nod. "Are you close?"

A wistful smile tugged at Juvia's lips as she nodded again. She reached her arm down and held her hand parallel to the floor at the approximate height of a ten-year-old. She then bounced it up and down and around in a fair approximation of a rambunctious child and drew a smile across her own face with one finger.

"She's hyper?" Lyon guessed with a smile of his own. "And happy?"

Juvia's eyes sparkled and her chest moved in a silent laugh. She pointed to the picture on the table and mimed drawing.

"She's artistic too?" he asked. She nodded. "Huh, I didn't think you could really do art in the sea. Or maybe it's when you come up on land? Oh, duh." Lyon rubbed at his nose as he realized how stupid he sounded. "I'm sure you guys have your own kinds of art and stuff."

He wasn't sure what kind of art seals would do, but thought it impolite to question her. Juvia nodded. She held up her hand again and mimed rapid-fire speech.

"She talks a lot?" Lyon asked. She smiled and nodded. "You must miss her."

Juvia's eyes dimmed, and she looked away. Lyon winced. What a stupid thing to say. There was no point reminding her that she was isolated from the sea and her family while he had her skin.

"So," he said to fill in the gap, "she's not mute, then?" Juvia shook her head. "Were you born mute?" She shook her head again. "Oh. Was there an accident? You got injured? Or maybe you were sick or something?"

Juvia shook her head again, and Lyon was stumped. How else could someone lose their voice if it wasn't due to genetics, injury, or illness?

"Can you talk while you're a seal? Or, you know, communicate or whatever. Make seal noises."

Juvia actually smiled at that, and some of her seriousness faded away again. She wiggled her hand in a so-so gesture but shook her head. Lyon interpreted that as some communication but not much vocalization.

"Is that common with selkies? To be mute like that? I haven't heard that before."

Juvia shook her head emphatically.

"So…like…" Lyon flushed and coughed awkwardly, because this was a stupid question and he was going to ask it anyway. He blamed everyone at the bar for this. "This is going to sound silly, but… Are there such things as curses?"

Juvia started in surprise and stared at him with wide eyes, and he hurried to defend himself.

"I mean, I've never believed in them, but there are stories, you know. And there has to be some kind of magic for selkies to exist at all, right? Mostly you hear about it in mermaid stories…although I've never seen a mermaid either. You know, she makes a deal with some magical sea creature to get legs and gives up her voice in exchange, and then has to get a human to fall in love with her if she wants to stay human and get her voice back. Or something like that. I know that's a silly idea, but…you aren't cursed, are you?"

The selkie stared at Lyon like she'd never seen him before as she nodded.

His stare was just as blank. "Wait, really?"

Juvia grinned, an impish little smile that reminded Lyon too much of Gray, and then started laughing silently. He blinked at her for a few seconds and then laughed too.

"Ha ha, you got me. I guess I walked right into that one."

She looked much too pleased with herself, and Lyon couldn't help but smile. It was nice that she had a sense of humor, even if she teased him with it. Even if she couldn't talk and was still unhappy that he'd taken her skin…maybe they could make this work.

"I don't suppose mermaids are real either?" he asked in a teasing tone, trying to smooth over his stumble.

Juvia winked and held her finger to her lips.

"That's a secret too, huh?"

She went back to that odd but endearing silent laughter, and Lyon escaped to the kitchen to pull himself back together and check on their dinner. What had he been thinking, asking something that silly? Of course she'd laugh at him.

Oh, Gray would laugh so hard to see Lyon now. Lyon, his feet always placed firmly on the earth, was now fantasizing about selkies and curses. His boring little world had just gotten a lot bigger and more interesting, that was for sure.

By now he had forgotten all those carefully laid dinner plans and gave up on the whole idea. He tossed all the remaining ingredients into the pot, figuring they'd cook eventually.

When he returned to the living room, he spent some time trying to discover more about his mysterious guest. This was easier said than done, given that she couldn't talk. He found their game of charades as frustrating as it was interesting, and concluded that it was easiest to stick to yes-and-no questions. He could make out some basic, concrete things, but learned little after all that effort. Hopefully, they would figure out better ways of communicating as they went.

After giving up on that for the moment, Lyon told her about his world instead. It was easier to do the talking himself and occasionally decipher her questions. He told her about Natsu's eternal quest for his selkie father and the time, sometime before his claim that he could tell selkies and normal seals apart, that he had come back to town battered and with his tail between his legs after trying to haul a full-grown bull seal off the beach. In retrospect, the kid was lucky to still be alive.

He told stories about Erza, the tomboy who liked to play rough with the boys and declared that she would grow up to be a warrior—princesses and fairies and mermaids were for girly-girls, and she was not a girly-girl, thank you very much—until her sweet tooth won her a place in the bakery. She'd settled into it well enough, although she preferred baking cakes to the more practical bread that everyone needed. But she still wasn't afraid to whack around troublesome boys if they made too much mischief.

He didn't say much about Gray or his mother and avoided the stories that involved them, but he had plenty of other tales. Juvia listened with rapt attention, signing questions and laughing in delight.

He entertained her this way until he decided the stew was ready. He offered her his arm, and this time she accepted without hesitation and let him help her to the table.

Lyon was all talked out and Juvia was necessarily quiet, so they ate in companionable silence. It actually wasn't so bad. Lyon was used to living on his own, and Juvia clearly didn't mind some peace and quiet either. Without wary or inquisitive eyes on him, Lyon didn't feel the need to ramble.

He stayed quiet until he'd finished eating, and then leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "Sorry, I'm not a great cook. I hope it wasn't too bad."

Juvia flashed him a small smile and gave him a thumbs up before drinking down the rest of her broth. He wondered if she was just being polite.

"I'll have fresh fish tomorrow, and I'll pick up groceries in town so we can have a proper meal. You can eat anything in the kitchen while I'm gone, though."

Juvia frowned and tilted her head.

"I have to work," Lyon explained. "I work with some friends on a boat. We fish. So I always have more fish than I'd ever want to eat and sell the rest. Which I guess works out now, since you like fish, right? I'll be gone pretty much all day, but I'll be back in the evening after I pick up the groceries. You can do whatever you want, although you should rest your ankle."

Juvia nodded her understanding, but she didn't seem pleased by this turn of events. Unfortunately, there wasn't much Lyon could do about it. He couldn't just skip out of working, so she'd have to make do on her own for a few hours.

"I'm going to turn in for the night. I have to get up before dawn for work. I don't know what kind of schedule you follow, but feel free to stick to it. I'll try not to wake you up when I leave." Lyon pushed his chair back and stood. "Sorry if I bored you with all my rambling. I'm sure your life is a whole lot more interesting than mine."

Juvia shook her head, blue tresses swaying, and offered him another smile. He smiled back and headed for the door.

"Goodnight, then. Let me know if you need anything."

He didn't even change clothes before collapsing onto his bed with a wide yawn. Today had been exhausting, and he couldn't imagine getting up and going to work tomorrow like nothing was out of the ordinary.

Lyon rolled over and pulled his pillow over his head. That night he dreamed of beautiful blue-haired selkies standing in the waves, beckoning him into the sea.