Hello! I hope everyone's doing good!
foxydame, thank you so much for your review! So loong, thaanks! I'm glad you liked the gifts (now I'll only have to remember them all ':D). The 'nitty-gritty' xD that's news to me - thanks :D And you notice so many tiny things like Meredy getting bolder with Erza; I'm flattered! You're right, Jellali does sound like a female version xD Haha, thanks and I'm sure we'll keep on learning new stuff from each other (like I did just now). Also you take the time to reread your reviews, that's so sweet - but I also reread a little and found heaps of mistakes in past chapters ':D
damnyousillygoose, what a super long review, thank you so so much! I'm so glad you liked it and grateful for all the details you mentioned! Haha, I hadn't even thought about that but they'd definitely go fight about that; I can already see that xD Now you've made it a head canon of mine too... You go through everything out of order which tells me you scroll back even when you're done reading and I can't tell you enough how much I appreciate the time and effort you put into reviewing! Who's your fav/are your favs in Crime Sorcière, cause then I'll think of something to give them some stage ;D
My goodness, you're so keen, I'm impressed! Yes, that was a tribute to Ultear! Man, you have a sharp eye! And my fav is definitely Erza :D
I feel a little dumb when it comes to even reading today, so forgive me if there is overcomplicated nonsense in here (and please let me know so I can change it).
Jellal sat at his desk, quill scratching over parchment. Half of his face was buried in his scarf, clouds of warm breath escaping through the fabric and into the frigid air of his office. He knew they talked about it; they whispered about his strange habit of leaving the window open in winter as much as they flashed looks at the marks on his face. He ignored it all as best as he could.
The same could not be said for the cold, making him contemplate whether to grab his thick coat from the coat hanger – never even considering to close the lowest section of the high window. Because right there on the windowsill, someone sat; someone he had had to think about over the holidays, and who had apparently awaited him, having pecked against the outside of his window upon his early arrival that morning.
The pigeon seemed rather content with its current vantage point. The, in comparison to the outside, warm office in its back, the freedom to escape and fly off anytime, as well as the chance of receiving a biscuit or two from the coffee table.
Still not knowing why the bird was so taken with his presence, Jellal had taken pity, finding the risk of a cold inferior to the animal's wellbeing. He had suffered worse, and he found he enjoyed having company, if a mostly mute one. It reminded him of his sleeping beloved – now wife – when she had infiltrated the building on numerous occasions before the holidays and slept peacefully on his couch.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and it opened following his positive hum.
"Master Fernandes," a researcher with a clipboard entered, "Master Califre wishes to see you in his office," the anthropomorphic amphibian notified. She was frowning at the open window, the expression telling him how she had known, yet not believed the rumours, now utterly confused.
"I'll be there in a minute," he said, then turned his head to properly meet her eyes as she was just about to leave. "Uh, which was it…?" He apologetically asked. She smiled a little.
"Number 281; the fourth door down the hall," she informed and he thanked her before rising from his seat. He remembered Jura's words and he took them to heart, finding truth to be ringing in them as his kindness was returned without hesitation. Frog creatures were not all ruthless torturers – though generally inclined to gossip.
The door closed with a soft thud. Jellal strolled over to the window.
"I'm sorry, but you know I can't leave the window open without being here," he told the pigeon as he cupped his hand sideways. It took the invitation, fluffing into the by now non-existent warmth of his palm. His fingers had turned white, but it did not seem to mind. "I doubt anyone jumping up to the second storey but if the wind carries out my documents, I'll get into one hell of a mess," he rubbed his finger down its back, then reluctantly pulled away, closing the window behind it.
Not a second passed before it began to peck against glass from the outside.
Grimacing ruefully, Jellal turned on the heel, striding down the hall to the designated door. He had not even started thinking about what could be asked of him. Raising his hand, he knocked on the dark wood, remembering just in time to pull down his scarf, realising to have missed the chance to leave it behind.
"Enter." A scratchy voice bid him in. Peeking inside, Jellal took in his surroundings. Opposite the door, just like in his own office, was a high window, just in front the desk, facing him. In the corner behind the desk, there was an antique cabinet, displaying ancient tomes of immense size, withering and with yellowed pages from what he could tell. Pretty much every other piece of furniture looked just as ancient – the bookshelves along the walls as well as the seating area to the left. It made him wonder how it was possible, seeing as the Magic Council's building had burnt down completely not too long ago.
"Sir?" Jellal raised his voice when Ambrose kept on writing at his desk, just as intently as Jellal had before being disturbed. The old man turned a page, scribbling onto the corner of another document, then set it aside onto another stack. In between leafing through a file and taking another note elsewhere, his left hand gestured at the chair in front of the desk.
Jellal closed the door behind him. Self-consciously tugging on his scarf, he sat down where he was wordlessly told to. Another moment of busy silence passed, the occasional crackling of paper the only thing to interrupt. The handwriting Jellal caught glances of was not only tiny and almost illegible, but blurry from where he sat, reminding him of Meredy's scrawling.
"So," Ambrose aligned a stack of papers by tapping the shorter end onto the wooden surface twice. He rose from his seat, a flash of light reflecting in his half moon spectacles for an instant. "Home office, huh?" He asked, his voice firm where he loomed in front of the window's light. Jellal gulped.
"Yes, Sir," he disclosed, ducking his head while at the same time intrigued about how the old man managed to perk a single eyebrow that pointedly. He winced when Ambrose erupted with laughter. The old man then encircled the desk. Slapping a well-meaning hand down on Jellal's shoulder, he surprised with a force the Heavenly Body Mage had not expected from a hand that bony.
"Already receiving special privileges – and what a privilege – speaks in your favour, son, speaks very much of your qualities here within the Council. I'm impressed. Better keep up the good work then, I can see it's doing you good to be home, you're not as pale as you were at the gala," Ambrose went on as he clasped his hands behind his back.
He did have a point, Jellal admitted to himself. He could not even recall his senior to have been such a waterfall the last time they had talked, most likely out of having been so nervous.
"One should always take care of one's private life; be prudent it does not drown in work – and of course, not forget about work then," he went on, chuckling to himself as he gazed out the window. Jellal had to smile a little, the lack of prying eyes easing his stiff posture.
"I see you've been faring well over the holidays," he dared to note.
"Oh, no, everything's a proper disaster," Ambrose said with as much humour as before. Only now did Jellal catch the slight edge to it, the quick and cheerful demeanour overplaying stress. So, in response, Jellal adapted a decidedly calm poise.
"Then I assume this to be a distress call," he dared again, meaning the joke just as clandestinely seriously.
"Quite so," Ambrose honestly agreed. He turned to twinkle at Jellal from over his shoulder, almost like a teacher who was proud their student had understood. It was as rewarding as it was embarrassing, but Jellal accepted the challenge like he had that of biting the bullet when it came to his prejudiced attitude towards his non-human colleagues.
"What are we dealing with?" Jellal asked, having long given up on trying to decipher the writing in front of him.
"Burglaries, and lots of them with everyone celebrating in restaurants or at a family member's home," Ambrose leaned over his desk rather than sitting down to swipe through a few files. "Hardly any of them our concern – that would be the police's – but a handful of them involved magic and," he paused, keeping Jellal in suspense as he slid out a single sheet of paper with the tips of his fingers.
Frowning at the lack of explanation, Jellal regarded the sheet. He had already started sweating when realising how he would have to admit not to be able to read the terribly messy writing, when he found a drawing in the place of text. A sketch to be precise.
His mind clicked before he was presented with the solution.
"A bomb," Ambrose illuminated. It set off too many alarm bells in Jellal's head to listen properly, so he tore his gaze away from what he had already studied briefly in that old factory. The factory he had deliberately blown up – alongside a considerable part of the nearby mountain – where he had decided against telling the Council. A queasy twist formed in his stomach. Yet, it was more pensive regarding his decision than it was penitent.
"It has nothing to do with magic – on the contrary; there was no Ethernano used, nor did the users emit an aura of being magic-wielders to the witnesses we questioned." Ambrose explained, his voice allowing more and more of its strained coating. "The Royal Palace thought it too important to leave the case in the hands of the police," he added.
"So then the witnesses are Mages – and the victims of the robberies?" Jellal concluded, seeing as only those harbouring magic could feel Ethernano in another person or object. At the lack of response, he glanced up again, being met with a smile. He was still unsure whether to be glad about the pride in the old man's eyes or bashful, choosing to overplay it for now. It was awkward enough how Jura kept on praising him whenever he said something remotely smart – then again, it had earned him home office so who was he to complain?
"Both Mages and those without Magic fell victim to the burglaries, but an explosive was used in a bank and large mansion respectively," he wandered over to what might have been an umbrella stand, now used for large scrolls Jellal suspected to be maps. Ambrose froze in his actions, hand hovering over the second scroll when his eyes had caught sight of something outside.
Dropping all previous thoughts, he somewhat skipped over to the door.
"Excuse me," he sang, his steps echoing down the hall in a pace Jellal would have, again, not expected from someone with a physique such as the old man's.
A minute passed, so Jellal stood and – not without another glance towards the ajar door – strolled around the desk and over to the window.
The snow was even thicker in Era, the ground completely covered, as were the roofs all the way down the mountain. There were footprints along the path from the entrance, lots of footprints. A figure followed them on their way back from the main gates; a postman, so Jellal guessed. The gates were now further away from view, and Jellal was tempted to press his face against the window or perhaps open it to see whether the pigeon was still in front of his own office down the façade.
He turned to the door but there were merely the squelching steps of the researchers walking to and fro. About to grab the window handle, something else caught his attention. With slightly widening eyes, Jellal approached the desk.
There was a picture he had so far only seen the backside of. Now, behind the glass, he could recognise who he would have bet was Ambrose. However, in the photograph, he was by far younger, a few decades to say the least, his smile bright and shining where he had his arms around a young woman. She had darker hair than his, auburn perhaps, but the photo had been developed in black and white. She was wearing a white dress and veil, a baby of a couple of months, maybe one year on her arm. All three were laughing, a sense of warmth emitting from the scene.
Jellal had not yet summoned the courage – or found it appropriate – to survey his colleagues face up close to know for sure if it was him. Then again, a picture of a freshly married couple with their baby of anyone but himself prominently placed on his desk would seem a strange thing to do, even for someone as hard to figure out as Ambrose.
"My sincerest apologies, but this could not wait," Ambrose burst back into his office, startling Jellal. He held a box in his hands, a package the postman must have handed over to a messenger at the entrance. "I have run short of my favourite tea, you see," he explained before following the path of Jellal's gaze. A smile formed on his dry lips. "Ah, yes, my wedding picture," he nodded fondly.
"It's lovely," Jellal heard himself say, too taken with the image as not to openly admire it. Politely glancing up, he was granted permission to pick it up by another short nod. With Ambrose's face now so near the one of his past-self, Jellal could easily recognise him. In front of his inner eye, he imagined the young woman, all wrinkly now and just as merry as back then whenever her husband returned home after work. And with a wit as sharp as her husband's, too. It was easier to picture than Ambrose to have had a skin that smooth.
The baby caught his attention again, the sight of its gleefully puffy cheeks sending a few panicked zaps through his veins, leaving a lurching feeling in his stomach. The fact that it looked like its father unconsciously terrified him.
"Is this…?" He asked before his mind had the chance to analyse his own reaction.
"My son, yes," Ambrose confirmed. He had set the box down on the neatly tidied side of his desk, walking around to spy at his own photograph.
"So you had him before you got married?" Jellal could not hide his astonishment. He knew Fiore was a rather developed country when it came to social structure. From what he had heard, many countries of Ishgar and other continents still practised men's superiority over women or arranged marriages and similar traditions – not the same as having an illegitimate child, though, which was still frowned upon albeit not illegal. To think someone as composed and proper-seeming as Ambrose had had a child before marriage felt like a strong wave against the bow of the ship in his mind.
"Technically, no, not quite," Ambrose stroked his bristly white moustache with two fingers. Not for the first time, Jellal thought how people with moustaches must only be growing them to do exactly that. "Legally, we had been married, but the ceremony only took place several months after his birth – over half a year."
"If I may," Jellal waited for an inviting gesture before continuing. The question was burning on his tongue, his heartbeat accelerated. "What happened?" He asked, fascinated while at the same time not sure whether to be relieved or not when it came to his own worries.
"He was a piece of work," Ambrose confessed, "but truthfully, it was I who delayed the ceremony numerous times – I was a no-show,"
"No-show?" Jellal tilted his head, tearing his gaze away from the happy faces to watch a humoristic smile form.
"I was too nervous to show up at my own wedding," Ambrose's eyes sparked. Jellal was gobsmacked. So gobsmacked, his brain shortly ceased to function.
"Really?" He lost his cool, making his co-worker laugh wholeheartedly. It was that distinct 'hoho' Jellal had already assessed at their first meeting. It brought out those wrinkles around his eyes, those that told of amusement rather than age. "Then we have more in common than I originally assumed…" Jellal muttered, more to himself, but Ambrose heard, raising an intrigued brow. The smile the Heavenly Body Mage returned was more sheepish than joyfully basking in long-ago memories. "I locked myself into the bathroom," he admitted, not only embarrassed but a little excited, too. Relieved to be telling it to someone who understood.
Ambrose laughed again.
"She had to talk me back into it,"
"My wife was also the one to drag me down the aisle," the old man nodded, eyes distant while his smile broadened. "Had my sister not been occupied with my son, I think she would have booted me every metre of the way," he laughed and Jellal felt his own smile grow. His mind unconsciously added Meredy into that mental image.
"You have a sister?"
"Four brothers and one sister – my mother's favourite," Ambrose disclosed.
"How inequitable,"
"Oh, she was my favourite, too," Ambrose snickered and Jellal found himself less and less afraid to keep on asking questions. Apart from the following one.
"Is she…" he did not venture to finish but Ambrose read him easily.
"Dead because I'm old?" Jellal shrunk, caught. He might have thought to have been good at deciphering people but the old man was by far superior, something he had not quite expected. He had always deemed himself as rather hard to figure out. Apparently, that was not the case, at least not when it came to his colleague.
So he pursed his lips in slight discomfort, flashing a glance.
"While I find your mind-reading powers most wondrous, I must requisition to have you phrase my thoughts in a politer manner," he demanded, earning himself another fit of laughter. This time on purpose.
Ambrose patted his stomach.
"I am no Mage, I have no magical mind-reading powers," he said, "but I do still have a sister whom I visit her from time to time so she can nag about my every breath,"
"Charming," Jellal grinned.
"In every aspect of her toothless being," his senior returned the gesture, somewhat boyishly, almost seeming young again. "Pardon my not asking for permission as politely as you do – which you really ought to scale down when it comes to me, son – and do feel free to deny me answer but I cannot lie and say I'm not curious," he raised his brows as if in question. Jellal, not sure there had been one, blinked in puzzlement. As relaxed as the man could make one feel, one could also feel very stupid once he started galloping away with his train of thought, never quite seeming to stop at Jellal's desired station.
"I'm sorry," he excused, receiving another smile.
"You're not such an old hag as I am; your siblings must still be around," Ambrose rephrased. Jellal's mind clicked.
"Oh," he nodded, feeling almost more stupid, "yes, right. Well, no, I mean they probably would if I had any." He stated.
"No siblings?"
"Not that I know of,"
"Complicated marriage?" Ambrose conjectured sympathetically, but Jellal shook his head.
"I'm afraid I don't know that either; I cannot recall having known my parents,"
"An orphan,"
"Yes."
"Alone at a young age, becoming one of the bravest men in all of Fiore and yet backing out of his wedding,"
"Bravest men…?" Jellal frowned fiercely, something that lured out a chuckle from the old man.
"From what I've been told, you fought the fearsome Acnologia head-on," Ambrose illustrated.
"Who said that?"
"Is it untrue?" Ambrose smirked, and Jellal hardly noticed to have been deluded from the question, realising only after another moment, deciding not to insist. Gently, he placed the photo back onto the desk.
"No, though I'm sure it was not as dramatic as it is rumoured," he imparted.
"No 'head-on'?"
"That, yes," Jellal shrugged, "so head-on, in fact, he almost squashed it between his claws," he put his hands on either side of his face to demonstrate, more laughter erupting from his colleague.
"That must have been quite the story,"
"The way they tell it, I reckon it is," Jellal said with the same lack of enthusiasm as before when it came to his own achievements. He did not have the heart to play it down by arguing how his wife had 'fought' a gigantic meteor head-on, and then a dragon, so he remained quiet.
Ambrose cleared his throat, his hohos having developed slight cawing.
"Well, this has been very insightful, and I sincerely regret that we don't have the time for more chinwag during work – how about lunch?" He proposed. Jellal straightened his back, hands at the seams of his trousers.
"I'm flattered," he said with a straight face, "but I'm a married man, Sir," he briefly closed his eyes. Both of them had to laugh, Ambrose even wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.
"One of these days, I am going to die at your hands – die of laughter, that is," the old man coughed, then cleared his throat, gaze falling back onto his package of tea.
Jellal turned to sit back down in the opposite chair, his heart light and his shoulders at ease. He was handed another file, squinting hard at the tiny writing until the title betrayed the case to be the same as before – non-magical explosives.
"I was wondering whether you were going to tell me about that," Ambrose raised his voice again after having sunk back into his own un-cushioned chair. His eyes were fixed on the case, but his finger tapped the other; the one with his own, golden ring. "I do not recall to have seen it during the gala," he added.
Scratching his calve with his foot beneath the table, Jellal looked from the golden ring to his argentine one.
"In all honesty, I would have bet my every acid drop on the enchanting Titania to have been the lucky one," Ambrose chortled. And, in a way, that tiny word 'lucky' got stuck in Jellal's negligible budget of confidence.
"No, no, you're quite right," he insisted, "it is Erza," he confirmed. Feeling eyes on him, he blushed, realising too late how his voice must have given that idiotically adoring smile of his away. An amused yet fond one shone back at him, so Jellal averted his gaze, pretending to focus on the bomb's sketch.
The mere thought of Erza – his wife – was sending butterflies loose inside of his chest. With a glance at the clock, his mind conjured up the image of her complacently munching on whatever she had treated herself to for lunch – most likely cake – followed by the usual afternoon nap. She would most likely choose their bedroom, the one they had elected during their last stay.
He had been surprised when having called Jura, though positively surprised when being informed about allowance to the luxurious manor once more.
"Then I must have missed the engagement ring," Ambrose remarked with the same amusement as before. He was digging, Jellal assumed, reading more than there was wilfully disclosed – starting to catch on.
"Actually," Jellal leafed between the report and sketch, deciding on the sketch when the writing was still too much of a nuisance. "I chickened out there, too, my guts having waited until just after Christmas to propose," he conceded. He did not notice to be fiddling with the ring while speaking. "My maid of honour planned everything within hardly three days for us not to overstretch my holiday," he exhaled strongly in silent laughter.
When he looked up, Ambrose's icy blue eyes watched him, seeming truly impressed for the first time. The closest to Jellal's flabbergasted outburst earlier.
"In that case," he remembered the map he had been meaning to consult, leaning back to retrieve it. "I would be interested in that contact – should the Council decide to host a spontaneous celebration sometime," he jested, though intent resonated in his tone.
He spread out the map over the stacks of neatly organised files, beginning to explain the burglaries in detail. It did not take long until the hands of the clock pointed northwards. Jellal hustled back to his own office as they waited for lunch to be brought in, sending off the bouffant ball of feathers on his windowsill with a rolled-up message around its leg.