Ch. 03: A Woman Whose Smile, Though Only For A Moment, Graced All

Cana has taken it upon herself to sneak in my room and sit on my bed to stare at me when I wake up. I force down a scream of absolute terror—one, because there's a woman in my room, gazing into my soul, and two, because I'm half naked—but my throat knots up immediately when I see the knife in her lap. I open my mouth to speak when her gentle voice slices right in front of my words. "Look," she says, concerned and assertive, "I know at times it may seem too hard to handle. But this is not the way to confront your problems." I blink a few times to wake myself up. I'm a little insulted that she'd think I'd do something stupid like that. I've tried once when I was a dumb kid; I tried to slice every lethal vein and artery in my body, but something stopped me before I pierced skin. I already know it was Sting, Lector, and Frosch. I realize now that it was just plain selfish.

"Oh," I say, without thinking. "Uh, yeah. I was—"

"I know what you were doing. Gajeel told me." Cana remains completely still, leveling her gaze. "This isn't the way." I glance at my arm to make sure there isn't any blood. The whole thing is wrapped up with bandages. Gajeel. Crap. How am I supposed to explain this to him if he asks? What am I going to tell Sting if someone tells him?

I meet her eyes, hiding shock. "I just need time to think to myself." She cocks an eyebrow, so I level my gaze right back on her. "I'm not going to kill myself. I wasn't even doing that at all last night."

"Just in case, I'm taking this." She hugs me tightly before leaving with the knife. "Breakfast is almost ready." She's acting like I'm planning on going down to eat with everyone else. It's unlikely, especially since Sting's out. And I don't intend on hanging on Yuki for dear life. To avoid all that awkwardness, I just stay in my room with Frosch. Truth is, I need to make up for my carelessness to let someone get close to me. I'm becoming lazy with my relationships. I have to get out of here.

##

It's around ten when the coast is clear and I go downstairs to get food. Right when I start eating, Makarov spots me and starts walking towards me. I spin around and face the stove, pretending to look busy. Too busy for conversation. But he sits beside me at the island as I eat. "I have a very important mission or you, you see." He slides a paper face-down to me. Instinctively I shove my bandaged arm under the counter.

"Master Makarov," I pause. "With all due respect, sir, I'm not sure if I can afford to spend any more time here. I have to get back to Sabertooth—"

"In other words, the task must be too much for him." Laxus suddenly appears, observing a bruise in a red apple. Makarov looks rather annoyed at him when he smirks mockingly at me, but he doesn't say anything. Not that I'm depending on him to.

I've never been a confrontational person, so I duck my head and focus on a scar on my wrist. "Master Makarov, I'd be more than happy to help you, but—"

"As if we need you, hybrid." I shut my eyes to fend off a wave of anger. "Sting's guildmaster, right? Think he needs you there when all you're doing is…" His eyes burn into the skin of my back as he inspects me from head to toe. "Well, look at you."

Makarov scolds him, but I'm deaf. I've been shoved around since birth. But hearing that, even out of the mouth of someone I couldn't care less about, stabs a stake through me. No, it impales me with three. I'm speechless because I know my words can be just as deadly. I feel like my world just collapsed. I know he's trying to toy with my head, but I've always had a part of me that's doubtful of my own efforts to be a good partner and brother to Sting. I've done the best I can since day one and hearing all that makes me truly wonder if it's enough.

"Laxus, go upstairs," Makarov orders. Laxus shrugs indifferently and starts eating his apple on the other side of the kitchen. Makarov pats my arm to get my attention. "All you need to focus on is me. Now listen…" My hand grazes against my bandaged arm, and I shiver. I can feel each cut stinging against the cloth; my breath is shaky when the thought passes that I could have died last night, alone, by myself and by my own hand. What was I thinking? Yes, I would have gotten a better perspective on what my blood type is, but at what cost? "Rogue, my boy," Makarov opens one eye at me. I jump from my skin. "Are you all right? Did I hit a nerve?"

"U-uh, no," I stammer, rubbing my eyes. "Sorry, I was just zoning out. Can you please repeat that?"

Makarov's voice is drowned out by his grandson's. "You can't even understand the simplest task? Honestly, what does that Mermaid Heel lady see in you?" I pick up the cleaver that Cana left with earlier this morning, slowly, making such small movements that no one notices. "And don't think I didn't see that stunt you pulled with Mira."

"She's a free woman. You can't control who she speaks to," I say, clenching the handle.

I pray my words stop his verbal assault, but, as I feared, it only encourages it. "Maybe she wants something from you." He smirks wider until he sees the blade twirling through my fingers like a drumstick. "She's just wasting her time talking to lowlife trash—"

"Laxus!" Makarov intervenes as I become stone. He stands and goes over to his grandson, lecturing. Both of them, however, hit the deck when a knife comes spiraling through the air and lands handle-deep in the wall right by Laxus's scarred eye.

"Trying to get under my skin by speaking ill of your own guildmate?" I say. "Pathetic. Watch your back, lab rat." Laxus stares daggers through me before he is shooed away by his grandfather. Yeah, that's right. Protect him from me. I snap out of this ugly trance and look at my hands. Did I really just do that? And about MJ…doesn't he respect her? She's not the type of person to lead someone on for personal gain. I've know her for only a few weeks and I know that for a fact. Maybe he's just jealous or something, but of what? He's known her much longer than I have. Maybe he's just some jerk who doesn't think straight. Still, the words he spoke about how terrible a mage I am remain under my skin, right where he intended them to be. I clench my fists for letting him get to me. But if he's right, then at least I'll know what not to do.

My all-too-familiar display of homicidal behavior just merits me a long stare from Makarov. He comes slowly back over to me. "You've been trained." I nod slowly. I don't recall there being anything in the Reassurance Act that prohibits two dragon-slayers from fighting. But then again, Laxus is a second-generation—more to the point, a de facto human who was pumped with artificial steroids. So then it's just a hyper dragon-slayer against a tipsy human. In other words, I'm going to be executed in about five minutes. Makarov reads my mind. "No harm will come to you unless you do something stupid like break the law."

"I won't do it again. I'm sorry."

"Try to control your temper. Laxus is an ass, but don't let him get to you."

"Yes, sir. You have my word." I sit when he does.

Makarov slips me a sideways glance. "Mind telling me where you received training?"

"O-oh, um," I go on a voyage to find the right words. It's a long story; too long and gruesome to tell just anyone. "Just some old academy." Before he can ask which one and before I panic just thinking about it, I add, "If you don't mind, that's all I'd like to say about that."

"I understand." He jumps up and sits on the counter before me as I stuff my face with a cinnamon roll to cut off conversation. "Seeing that gives me an idea of which mission would be perfect for you, my boy."

"What?" I watch him tear up the old job request. I didn't even read it. With my cheeks completely full, I ask, "Master Makarov, I really think I should—"

"Didn't your dragon teach you not to speak with your mouth full?" The instructors at the academy did, but I don't mention it.

I swallow hard. "Ow…Sorry. I was saying that I think I'm overstaying my welcome here. You have plenty capable mages to do whatever it is you're assigning me." I take another bite, expecting this conversation to be over.

He leans in close to my face as I pull away, getting uncomfortable. Regardless of this, he smiles enthusiastically. "I'm looking for someone who's had experience in this kind of work. See, I need this mission to run smoothly."

"If you're searching for perfection, perhaps Erza or Mirajane or even Laxus—"

"You're still here on business, remember?" I nod. "I'm asking you personally, child. I dislike taking bigger risks than necessary, and you seem to fit into that category."

"Master Makarov, you need not explain more. I understand where you're coming from, and I'll…do my best to complete this task to your liking." I stuff more food in my mouth, not because I'm famished, but to return to the comforting solitude of my room.

"You're going to do Fiore a great service, young Rogue. Just a quick in-and-out scavenger hunt for information on a Boscan nobleman. You know, look for his motives in his documents." He doesn't even let me swallow. "How's that sound?"

Sounds like trouble, if you ask me. But as I'm well-known for being a master of espionage by some lands, this shouldn't be so hard. I reply with a face full of food, "I'll do it."

##

When I agreed to perform this job, I never suspected anything like this: a three hour full body pampering leading up to heavy-ass makeup on every inch of me to layers of skin tight clothes with some heavy-ass robe and the kind of gel and hairspray that makes your hair puffy like a cloud. He never told me I'd be disguising myself as a foreigner attending a nobleman's party. He never said anything about having to seduce a man for info. When I asked him why I had to be the one to do this mission, without knowledge of my objective, he pretended to be too busy to answer. Looking at myself now, I guess he wasn't too far off when he said I could pass for Japanese—not exactly something a Russian-Chinese MAN would hear every day. Groaning and leaning against the wall when no one's looking, I take one last calming breath and dredge up my façade, forcing Rogue down and letting Natasha take over. Well, long enough for people not to suspect anything. Just when I have the utmost confidence in her, I lose it the moment I hunch my shoulders. It's not that I've never disguised myself for a mission before, but I should've known something like this was bound to happen when— "Ow," my ankle twists out of the heel, almost hitting the floor with the rest of me. "Shit. Son of a…" I stand up again and take another step only to fall on my target, straight into his arms.

"Whoa," he says. "Are you okay?"

I push off him and stand straight. He puts his hands up defensively. "I-I'm fine." I brush off my robe and continue in a woman's voice, "You really should watch where you're going."

"Are you…" he reads from a laminated amethyst card with a black butterfly on it, "Natasha?"

I clear my throat quietly as he talks, then fan myself the way a woman tends to, biting down my pride, provided there's any left. "I see you've received my card."

"Yes, I have." He smiles. I bet all the girls back at Fairy Tail would swoon over him. Extending his hand, his smile widens with confidence. "Kroff Ortega." He reeks terribly of vodka. If he's supposed to be a highly-respected nobleman, a man of class and a strong sense of dignity, I think he's doing it wrong.

I look at his hand and then his gray eyes, and tentatively give a dead fish handshake. He takes my hand and kisses the flat of it, keeping his eyes on me. I stare back at him until he starts GOING UP MY ARM…?! Out of instinct, I rip my arm back with a parting step and turn around to compose myself. "No." I'm using all the strength I've got inside my entire being to refrain from ending his life. By the jittering and clenching of my hands, I know my patience is wearing thin. "No."

Ortega chugs champagne, humiliated. "I'm sorry. That was rude—"

"Quite. If you don't mind, Mr. Ortega," I say, losing my cool. "I'd like to get straight to business." He cocks an excited eyebrow and comes closer, slowly. "Don't you look at me like that," I growl through clenched teeth. "I may be a woman," I don't realize he's coming closer until it's too late, "but that doesn't mean I'm going to let you," he's in my face, "take me," with my sudden gumption draining, I lean back as he inches to my face, "right…here." My back touches the wall. My knife pricks the skin on my thigh and instinctively I reach down to feel it secured by a band to my body. As long as I have it here, I'm still in control of this situation.

"The feisty type." I flinch back, turning my face away from his breath. It doesn't take a dragon-slayer's nose to know how putrid the smell of must is; in fact it's ten times worse. My stomach churns. I stifle a gasp and the urge to punch him when he sniffs the perfume on my neck and speaks heavy in breath on my bare skin. "I like it."

My skin rises with goosebumps. Nothing I was taught at the academy and from Skiadrum could have ever prepared me for this. Happy place, Rogue. Find your happy place. After a deep, deep breath, I gather the shattering pieces of my composure. "Mr. Ortega, I understand you have recently settled a business deal concerning the transportation of Boscan goods, and—"

As I speak, he downs the alcohol like no one's business. "Shut up and get over here."

He pulls away faster than I can protest and throws me over his shoulder. "Hey!" I smack my head on his stone-like shoulder blade. My nose is numb for a moment. "What the hell are you doing?!" He just laughs as if I'm playing hard-to-get. I try to push off his back, almost planking across his shoulder, trying to knee him in the face. "Put…me…down, you drunk bastard!"

"Easy, darling." This escalated faster than I expected. What do I do? "I'll take good care of you." I'm hyperventilating. I'm panicking. Makarov said it'd be best not to use magic here, so I'm trapped. If he tries anything—no, when he tries something, the only hope I have at freedom is hand-to-hand. So there's no real need to panic, right? "Jeez, missy. You're much heavier than you look!"

"Eat me," I threaten.

He moans with a full chest of air. "Oh, I will. Don't you worry about that."

I smack my forehead and bang it against his back. Why'd I have to say that, of all the comebacks in the world? "Put me down." I've never been much of a screamer, even though right now would be a fantastic time to start, so I close my eyes and breathe. People tell me I have a trademark grimace; that being said, I have to tame my face and sport a lighter, less threatening expression if I don't want to get caught. Shut up and put up, at least until we get privacy. I could giggle or smile at his teasing, but why stomp on my already-shattered pride?

Ortega suddenly smacks me on the ass, and I leap from my skin. "Hey, are you listening to me? You're a hard one to please, aren't you?" People start to turn their heads at us, muttering behind their hands. "You won't be once I get you all to myself."

"There goes Kroff Ortega again," another says, "stealing another heart!"

My thoughts grow ever-louder, repeating the same prayer that they'll turn around and let us be. But they remain and watch us, watch me. Taking out the damn fan again and shielding my burning face, I barf out a convincing impression of a shy giggle that makes Ortega grunt in approval. Everyone returns to their private conversations, allowing the two of us to have the privacy we need. The moment they all turn, I duck my head behind the fan entirely and hit it against my head. Why, dude? Why did you let this happen to you? Why, why, WHY, WHY?! I've never wanted to punch myself as badly as I do right now. This is humiliating. But like I said, if I have to fight my way out of here, there's no need to worry. Right?

Wrong. He brings me to this palatial master bedroom with a spa and a huge king-sized bed with gold-rimmed bay windows on the outside wall. Seductive music plays from the speaker positioned in the corner. I give a weary, disheartened sigh and slouch. Is this what Makarov meant by a quick in-and-out? He throws me on the bed roughly and towers over me. My solo title as a mage is the Shadow Dragon, and yet here I am trembling under the shadow of a normal civilian. "Uh…" I claw at the sheets to get away when he inches in closer, probably trying to be playful or something. I keep backing away, losing my act, my voice slipping between sexes. "I-I-I—…How about we not—" My head bangs into the headboard, but I try my best to sink into it. "Let's not do anything we might regret."

"I thought you wanted to get straight to business, Miss Tasha." He forces his way between my legs, feeling them up and down. This is definitely something I'd never picture myself doing. It's been decades since I last disguised myself as the opposite sex; and it didn't require me to get in bed with anyone. His nose stabs into my cheek when I recoil again.

"Yes, but this isn't what I meant by that!" I push his face, but he's way stronger than me.

He gets even closer. "You're mine."

I'm trapped with his arm wraps around my ass. He yanks me closer and starts slobbering over my neck, then down to my rib, cupping the artificial breasts made of cloth. "I said no," I choke. "You're very aggressive. Allow me to at least prepare for—"

"Sorry." No, you're not. "But I prefer to do this my way."

With that, he bites harder on my hip after halfway undressing me. My gasp echoes off the walls. Here rises another problem and I'll admit this once and only once: I'm insanely ticklish. He gnaws on my skin from my rib to my hip, and I'm forced to stifle an involuntary laugh. Not soon enough I get considerably pissed off and retaliate by kneeing him in the gut. He coughs and falls back as I regain my composure. I freeze, watching him. He's making stealing the stupid envelope such a goddamn pain. It's right there in his vest pocket—so in-reach yet so incredibly impossible not to go unnoticed.

He chuckles in amusement with a hand over the spot that I hit him. "You're an interesting one." He strokes my face. "Never met a woman who denied me as much as you do."

"Maybe you should reconsider your methods of picking up women." He tries to touch me again, but I shove him away. "Don't you understand no?!" I forget to mask my voice.

"How strange." He leans in close and sniffs my hair, apparently not getting the hint. Maybe he likes being rejected and hit. He doesn't seem sober enough to notice my sudden voice drop. "You must smile more, darling. A woman as beautiful as you should never frown, for a smile as heavenly as yours can grace every soul, should they have the honor of admiring it." Well, aren't you the damn poet… Considering he used my own words, I'm torn being disgusted or offended. It was in one of my earlier novels. It's a risk every writer takes the moment he publishes his work. You get dirtbags like Ortega quoting your book and using them as their own words to pick up women.

I roll my eyes. "Lovely." He leans in towards my mouth, and I move back again, faster. When I hear his lips parting and feel his tongue slip out, I snatch a huge bottle of some heavy expensive wine and two glasses. He stops when I shove them between us and offer a forced smile. I don't know how much longer I have to complete this job, but it sure as hell better be done in the next hour. I can't be in the room with this creepy ass for much longer.

If I can say one thing for sure, this is absolutely the last time I allow a mission to force me in a dress.

##

In the shower room, someone strolls by, whips me with a towel, and carries on his merry way. I wince and, my immediate response, hit the deck and cover myself. My face flushes more when he says, "Nice ass, Cheney! Very manly!"

"Elfman, I thought we talked about this!" I yell and sit there for a while before Sting comes in. He takes one look at me before bursting out in uncontrollable laughter. I frown. "I take it you heard," I guess, letting the water run down my back.

"Heh, yeah. I heard." He strips and takes the shower behind me, twisting the nozzle. The water washes away another day of work. "You looked pretty, man. I saw the pictures Cana took."

"Shut up, Sting."

"Did you have to shave your legs?" I hear a smile in his voice.

I roll my eyes and pour shampoo in my hand and massage it in my scalp. Feels better if I at least smell like myself. "No, actually. I had to get everything waxed." I've never been hairy, but enough for a wax job to hurt.

"How was that?"

"Torture. I don't know how girls do it."

"Now you do." He smirks tauntingly and turns to me. "Don't you, Natasha?"

Fed up, I lash around and glare at him. "Shut it."

He recoils and continues laughing. "Someone's awfully tired. Your dark circles are out of control."

I sigh and turn back, washing my face harder this time. "It's mascara, genius."

"You would know the name of it." I rinse my hair, scratching my scalp, ignoring him. "So now what?"

The water runs down my face when I finish. "Now what, what? Damn it, they don't make water hot enough." I twist the nozzle more towards the on the right while he waits for me to answer. I meet his eyes and smile a little. "I think I'll go chop wood or call Kagura over here so I can get that bastard's face out of my head. Kill something with my bare hands, maybe." Oh, that's right. She's on a date with some guy I've never met. I let out a dragged out sigh. "Maybe I'll just drink a beer and shave or look for a steak to grill."

"You hate steak," Sting says.

"I hate the fat. The meat itself is fine."

"How about we go for some burgers tomorrow?" He rinses the suds from his body. "I could use some animal-style fries!"

"Yeah, that sounds like heaven."

He snickers sinisterly, "I'll make sure to get you the low-calorie meal, ya lil bitch!"

"Jesus Christ, leave me alone, will ya?!" I shut off the water. "We haven't seen each other for a while and you're already being a dick!" Grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my waist, I step out and stand at the mirror.

"All right, all right." After a few laughs, Sting is quiet for a bit, washing his face and hair. "Yo, Ro?"

"What, T-bear?" I answer, running a comb through my tangled, wavy hair. Yes, my hair is naturally wavy. I straighten it most of the time, yet another reason Sting likes to make fun of me. But it does feel nice to have the product out and just let my head cool.

"So how'd you…y'know." He pauses. "You were a chick, so you had to—"

"I didn't do anything." I apply lotion onto my body, trying to get Ortega's nasty scent off my skin. "Put this together: a bottle of vodka, a blindfold, a dog kong, and watered-down lotion. I kept that in my dress to make sure it was warm."

Sting slowly turns to me, disgusted. His blue eyes darken to a gray with discomfort at the visual. "Ew," he chuckles.

"Yep," I reply. "Got him completely trashed, and then I just covered his eyes and faked it all. Took the files and left before he sobered up."

"Vodka? You didn't look so drag-faced when you walked in."

I chuckle, "Yeah, I didn't have the luxury of drinking much. Imagine that, keeping a good bottle of vodka from a Russian."

"Yeah, you looked totally over it." He rings water from his hair and grabs his towel. "Like an abandoned prom date."

Slipping on boxers and a shirt, I correct him, "No, I was over it when he kept touching me. I wasn't having it when he tried to kiss me. I definitely wasn't having it when he put my foot in his mouth."

"Dude…" Sting shivers, clothing himself. "So then, why'd you agree to go?"

I keep pulling a brush through my damp, unforgiving hair. "Makarov gave a vague description of the objective. Yes, I agreed to go perform a job for him, but not to be felt up for three to four hours." It's a little humorous that, the moment I choose to go outside my comfort zone and leap headfirst into a mission, this whole ordeal happened. "I already complained to him, but then again, I guess it was better that I went in place of one of the women. If one of them got hurt, I don't know if—" I flinch when he snickers. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Maybe a little."

"Asshole."

"Cross-dresser."

"Don't think I don't know about your special missions, you damn stripper."

"Better than cross-dressing." He shoves me once before heading to get his clothes and hairbrush.

I'm tempted to hit him upside the head with mine. "Sting, back it up."

His dimples appear once more in a mischievous smirk. "That's what Ortega said."

"Fro thinks so, too!"

"Frosch!" I snap, then point at the door. "Room."

"Aye aye." He raises a paw to me and goes on, smiling the same way like I didn't just holler at him.

"Harsh," Sting comments. We're both quiet for a minute, brushing our hair and drying off. "So how'd he…y'know, not know you were a guy?" I open my mouth, believing that I can just talk to him without hearing a Sting-like remark. I lose it when he smirks. "I mean, you do have a girly face and—"

"You're doing a crappy job at trying to cheer me up!" I snap, then compose myself by turning my back to him. "I improvised." I glare at him from the side. He blinks, dumbfounded. "And no, I didn't enjoy any of it."

"That's nasty, Roro."

I pause and take the deepest of breaths, relieving my burning face. "I'm going to bed early, T. I'll tell you more in the morning."

Just like always since we met as kids, I storm out to pout on my side of our two-part room on my bed. Frosch immediately crawls in my lap with his eyes wide. "Rogue?"

I pat his head. "I'm fine." I hold him close and lay down on my side, suddenly feeling the heavy weight of today's mission, and try to not to fall asleep before Sting comes back in. I don't want him to go to sleep tonight thinking I'm angry at him when, really, I'm just taking it out on him. I'll make sure to apologize to him. My eyelids start drooping, no matter how I will them back up. "Hey Fro," I feel his head tilt upwards. "Do me a favor and—" There's a heavy click on my wrist in unison with the sound of metal securing into bolts and screws. When I move my arm, it remains close by the bedpost. "Thanks bud."

He whimpers as a response, so I move my pillow to hide the chain and cuff. I know Sting doesn't like to see it either.

My last thought: none of this would've happened if I didn't come downstairs for breakfast, damn it!