Your prison is walking through this world all alone.
- Eagles, "Desperado"
5
"Remember," Gray told Luca, "to survive, the best tool you have is your team. Rely on them. Work with them. You can do magic, which is a huge advantage, but don't tryta do everything yourself. All right?"
"I got it, Gray." The boy smiled at him. "Don't worry so much. I got this."
As the other parents exchanged parting words with their kids, Gray tousled Luca's hair. "Yeah. That's what I'm afraid of."
"Hey, not the hair! C'mon!" He patted it back into place. "I worked for that. Geez."
Snorting, Gray gazed out at the sea. It was disquiet as ever. Angry waves crashed repeatedly against the distant rocks. Part of him was concerned for sending the boy out there. It was dangerous. But he also knew that Luca wouldn't be satisfied with small-time jobs anymore. The kid needed some adventure. He'd done much more dangerous things when he was sixteen.
Then again, that was a different time altogether.
"Okay, kids, climb aboard," said Pilip in Isavli. The man, though he worked as a butcher, was a champion whaler. It was his responsibility to row the children to and from the island. "Let's go before the tide comes in."
"That's low tide?" Luca asked, eyebrows raised, staring at the foam splashing over the rocks.
"Yeah. It's even worse around the poles," replied Gray and gently nudged the boy towards the boat. "You'll be fine."
"If Auntie Erza can lick this, so can I," Luca said, mostly to himself, as he made for the boat.
Gray stood on the wharf and waved, along with everyone else, as the boat slowly made its way to the rocks and then beyond it. Before long, it turned into a speck on the turbulent sea. Gray heaved a sigh, pocketed his hands and turned back with the other families. They didn't seem overly concerned. Everybody there had survived it. They let their children go through with it after years of coaching – and because they knew the mortality rate was non-existent.
Swallowing the worry in his gut, Gray walked back to Do. The ice dog, along with its recently revived brethren, wagged their tails as he approached and Gray patted them on the head.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," he told them, knowing full well that they didn't understand. "You guys've been really patient, huh? Wish I could give you treats."
The dark sky hid the fact that it was midmorning. And Ateh was bitterly cold. The sledge journey had taken them three hours – Gray had really pushed the dogs. Now, there was no reason to hurry.
What's there to go back to?
He sat down on the sledge and commanded the dogs to return to the cottage. On the way, he made quick work of the remaining sandwiches – their breakfast. Gray hummed as he chewed. Making them last night had been a good move. They'd left too early for cooking.
By itself, the journey was boring. Gray tried looking at the scenery, but it was too dark to appreciate it. Besides, it was all the same anyway. Conifers, frightened deer, and snow. So much snow. Usually he wasn't one to disparage his own magic, but he was tired of it.
"I need a change of scenery," he told himself idly. "Go to a desert or somethin'."
He'd been in Isvan, living in his cottage, doing the same things, eating the same food, seeing the same sights, for years. He remembered a time when every day, there was something new to do. Every day brought the promise of a new adventure. There were times he missed that.
Gray clicked his tongue. Snap outta it, he told himself. You made a choice. Don't regret it.
For the most part, he didn't. He really did like his life. Boring, yes, but also peaceful. Living on the edge and hunting dark guilds was a young man's game.
Perhaps it was because of Erza that his thoughts had turned in this direction. Yeah, that's probably it. She was off having a grand adventure. Mapping the pole. Changing geography books forever. While he sat on a sledge, returning to a secluded cottage. Where once there was never a dearth of chatter and adulation in his life, things he found annoying, now there was only silence. A part of him missed being the centre of attention. Back then, there was always trouble afoot and he was always, invariably, in the middle of it.
Along with Erza.
The sigh that escaped him was quickly lost to the chilled winds. Gray pulled his coat a bit tighter around himself.
Wrapping the reins around his left forearm, Gray lay down, pillowing his right hand. The dogs didn't need directions. They would show up at the cottage even if a blizzard hit them. He closed his eyes. Sleep wouldn't come for him, but at least he could escape all the snow.
He laughed at the utter futility of his desire. But then, that had always been the case for him.
Nothing ever changes.
Do sat on the porch and wagged his tail. Looking at its happy little face, Gray couldn't bring himself to dissolve its newest siblings. Rather than always creating sled dogs, it would save time to just have a pack on hand, Gray had told himself on the way.
"You're lucky you guys are cute," he told the dogs as he put away his sleigh. "Be a puddle on the ground otherwise."
He didn't know what the dogs thought about that. They all went around the cottage, doing their thing. Gray shrugged. Less maintenance.
"I'm home," he said as he opened the door and stepped inside. He brushed down his coat, took off his shoes and went inside. The coat, he draped over the back of a chair and surveyed the kitchen, hands on his hips. Pangs of hunger were bubbling in his stomach, but he just didn't have the will to cook.
"That's what I get for livin' alone," he told himself and turned on the radio. He spun the knob until he found the news channel. Whenever they decided to announce the journey, he wanted to be able to listen to it. And the news leading up to the voyage. And any interviews. Everything.
Instead, the anchor told him how some kidnappers were caught in under seven minutes after trying escape with their victim in a car and getting caught in traffic. Gray snorted. The news resembled entertainment more and more every day. Everything was so goddamn absurd, he was afraid sometimes that the world would stop making sense.
"In that case, ya picked a helluva place to settle," he said, ambling into his room and opening the liquor cabinet. "Away from the world, ya won't hafta worry about a damn thing."
He took out a bottle of whisky and brought it to the dining table. True, it was mid-afternoon, but who would tell him no? There was nobody.
"Nobody to tell you what to do," he muttered, pouring a nip into a crystal glass and downing it immediately. He sighed and titled his head back, hands hanging by his sides, staring at the ceiling blankly. "Exactly like you wanted."
It was. It was what he wanted. He'd worked hard to build all this. Really, really fucking hard.
So why did it feel so shallow?
He poured another nip. Paused. Poured some more. In his left hand, he made two cubes of ice and dropped them in the glass one after another. Any more would be a crime.
Ice tinkled against glass loudly as he twirled the whisky a little. Then he sat down, glass held loosely in his left hand, and took a small sip.
The whisky was expensive. Smooth as silk. A novelty. He only brought it out a few times a year. He took care to preserve it – and keep it hidden from Luca. The kid always wanted to share.
Maybe after he comes home, Gray thought and took another sip. To celebrate.
That kid grew up too fast for his own good. Gray remembered a time when Luca couldn't even make an ice cone. Now he was off raiding some island. Gray had no doubt he'd pass. That ensured he'd be away for another couple weeks on a whaling trip. He couldn't be called a kid anymore. But really, for someone who couldn't boil an egg-
His right hand moved.
Gray sat stock still, the glass pressed to his lips, and watched his right hand move slowly towards the whisky bottle. The movement seemed mostly natural to him. Others probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference. But he knew.
He wasn't moving his hand.
Very slowly, Gray got up, glass in hand. He kept his eyes on his right hand, which moved this way and that, and went back into his room. He put down the glass on the nightstand and pulled out the middle drawer. Took out a fresh syringe. Held one end with his left hand and bit into the other and tore it open.
His right hand jerked back, clawing for his throat. It was so sudden, Gray barely had the time to catch it with his left hand. Holding the syringe between his teeth, he sat back on the bed and brought his legs up. He trapped his writhing arm between his legs and took the syringe out from his mouth.
"Fuck me," he said, shooting a withering look at his clawing hand. Never got any less weird, this. But now that he had restrained himself with his legs, there was a different problem. Gray sighed. "Do! Re!"
Within moments, the two dogs came in, tails ever-wagging. Glad I didn't dissolve them, after all. He motioned the dogs closer.
"Do, there's a glass vial of medicine in the open drawer. It's the only vial there. Re, my glass of whisky. On the nightstand. Go, fetch."
Without skipping a beat, the dogs went to work. Re brought him his glass first and Gray patted its head. "Good dog."
Then he dipped a finger in the whisky and dabbed it on the crook of his right elbow. The spirit cooled almost immediately and when Do returned, he asked the ice construct to tilt its head sideways so he could stick the needle into the vial.
As his right hand thrashed more and more violently, Gray measured the dose carefully. He asked one of the dogs to hold the prepared syringe and chugged down the remainder of his drink.
"Now then," he said, putting the glass down on the floor. Taking up the syringe, he jammed the needle into the crook of his elbow, his well-practiced hand finding the right spot with ease. He gave it a second before pushing the drug into the system. Then he took it out and, with unerring accuracy, flung the syringe into the dustbin.
Once it was all done, Gray took a deep breath. He sat there, legs grapevined around his violent arm until it got over its destructive ways. It took almost five minutes for the thrashing to turn into gentle twitching. Only then did he let it go. He tried moving his hand, rotating and stretching. Closed his fist. Wiggled his fingers. Everything seemed responsive enough, but he frowned nonetheless.
The medicine was taking longer and longer to take effect. And greater doses. Gray sighed.
A wave of nausea hit him then and he lay down on the bed. The medicine always did that. After the nausea, came the drowsiness. Now that, he didn't mind. He could use some.
Laying his head down on the pillows, Gray let his right hand, now quiet, hang off the side of the bed. One of the dogs, he couldn't say which, came over and nudged his knuckles with its nose. Gray patted its snout.
"Just you and me, bud," he said aloud. "Make sure… nobody breaks and enters."
The cold touch of its nose was gone. Gray, through lids almost too heavy to keep open, looked around the room. Only a single dog remained. It sat by the foot of bed. Its tail wasn't wagging.
He was touched by its loyalty. Don't worry, buddy. I'll be fine. He wanted to reassure the dog. Then he chuckled. There he lay, drugged and half half-asleep, with only a dog of his own creation for company.
Pathetic.
Unable to keep his eyes open, Gray trailed off. Sleep had come for him. His final seconds before he succumbed to it he spent wishing that someone – anyone – was there for him in times like these, wishing for the presence of another human being near him. Maybe, with some chatter and laughter, the house wouldn't feel so cold.
I hope I remember this feeling when I wake up.
But he knew better than anyone that it was not to be.
A/N: This marks the end of part 1, folks. I wanna thank anyone who read and reviewed, especially you, Nastja. Your input is really appreciated. That said, enjoy the festive season, everyone. Cheers!