Natsu watched the girl talk, watched the way she paid extreme attention when Gajeel spoke. He blinked, carefully watching how her expression twisted from curious interest into a bright smile. He watched the way her lips twisted up, watched the way she clasped her hands together as she laughed.
Mostly, he watched the calculation in her eyes. She was planning it all—it was a perfectly executed act. And maybe she wasn't aware of it, but that's what it was—an act. She read the room before her and thought before she spoke, before she moved—each laugh was careful, each twist of her body and smirk flashing across her lips was careful.
She was smart. A journalist. She knew how to get answers, knew how to say things and get what she wanted. And she could light up her eyes and flick her wrist and move her lips in just the right way, just the right way to get people to trust her and believe her. So she could get what she wanted.
He wasn't an idiot. He knew better. He knew it was an act—because he'd been taught the same thing. How to speak, how to ask questions, how to pry information out of someone. It wasn't the same for him—he couldn't flash a smile and earn someone's trust, but he could crack their skull and make them bleed until they gave him what he wanted.
They weren't that different, him and this girl. Completely opposite, from different worlds. But at the same time, similar.
They'd been kicked out of the medical ward. The nurses had heard them all talking and laughing and booted them out, saying that Natsu was medicated enough to handle the pain in the comfort of his own room. But, of course, he knew better than to believe them—he could see the anxiety in their eyes when they looked at Lucy. They didn't trust the outsider, just like the rest of the brotherhood didn't.
They didn't approve of outsiders. Especially not ones found on the floor of the shadows' home base.
So, they'd left, and began wandering the halls of the iceberg. And it felt easy, like this, just the three of them—it felt like they were normal. Like they were kids ditching school, just spending time together.
Natsu tried to suffocate the happiness in his lungs. Because something like this—feeling free, feeling normal—was something he'd thought of his entire life.
They walked around for hours, talking about nothing in particular. It was late—late enough that they rarely encountered other members. And when they did, the members would give Natsu a nod—because he was Salamander, their future king—and gave Lucy strange, untrusting looks. She pretended not to notice, and the boys didn't mention anything.
Salamander was quiet. He listened to Gajeel and Lucy talk, occasionally chiming in or laughing at what they were saying. He couldn't help it—there was something awkward in his bones, something uncomfortable that he didn't want to address.
He seemed hesitant—shy, maybe—after revealing such intimate details of his own past. He didn't appear to be comfortable with sharing information like that; even hours after he'd said it, he seemed to shift funny in his seat like he couldn't bear it.
Because he couldn't. His entire life, everyone had been in on the secret. His rough childhood, being pushed so hard by his father, being pushed to be the best—everyone in the brotherhood had witnessed it, but didn't dare speak up because any words spoken against Igneel would end in death. The brotherhood watched Natsu slowly become what Igneel wanted, slowly watched him become a cold hearted killer. They slowly watched him become Salamander.
But out of the entire brotherhood, there was only one person that Natsu had ever talked to about it. He'd made one single friend, one person he could be honest with. He trusted one single person, and that was it.
Gajeel.
Gajeel was the only person who'd known this side of his life—how much he hated it, how much he was addicted to it. Gajeel was the only person Natsu had ever trusted enough to say those things to. And he'd understood—he didn't feel the same way, but he was a good friend and he understood. And that had been that.
But now she knew too, and that was too much for him. One more person he'd confided in with his deepest, darkest feelings, and he couldn't bear it. It was too much trust, too much faith in one single person. Of course, there was no one she could tell but the fact that she knew things about him made him want to slit someone's throat.
He was vulnerable, for the first time, and he hated it.
Her act—because it was an act, and he knew it—had still got him. She'd asked questions and twisted her words and he'd given her everything she'd wanted—information. Information about him, about his childhood, about his feelings. She'd asked about intimate things and he'd just gone and told her—maybe because deep down he wanted to be vulnerable. Every twitch of concern of hers was an act, and he was well aware, but he'd given in to it. He hadn't stopped it. He didn't know why.
But there was a lot of things he wasn't sure about with her. He didn't know why he let her ask so much, didn't know why he told her everything he had, didn't know why he'd bothered saving her to begin with.
Maybe he'd been telling the truth, this whole time—maybe it was because she was weak and small and little and he couldn't stand seeing something so fragile be crushed by the force of the brotherhood yet again. Or maybe it was because, after he'd killed those men, she'd been so afraid and flinched away from him and vomited because she was so fucking scared. Scared of him, because he was a monster. And maybe, for a split second, he'd been so angry that he could scare this girl—maybe seeing her cower away from him made flames boil in his veins. Just a few flicks of his wrist, and men were dropping to the floor, and this girl was puking in fear. And maybe that look in her eyes, the horror in her gaze, made his chest burn, made him want to stop killing and kill everyone all at once.
Or maybe it was because there was something strangely familiar about her, something he couldn't understand. Something warm.
Gajeel started to yawn, exhausted, so the trio made their way back to the dorm rooms. They walked Gajeel to his room, and he leaned on the doorframe as he said goodnight to them. Lucy had smiled up at him, eyes warm, and wished him a good sleep. Gajeel had blinked—because his dad used to say that to him, when he was young, when he was staying with his parents and wasn't a gladiator—and then waved before stepping into his room and closing the door.
"So," Lucy huffed out a little breath, turning to Natsu. Her expression was soft and gentle, like it always was. It was a strange thing to see, for the boy. He was used to frowns. "I'm bunking with you?"
He looked at her. Her posture was different when she was alone with him—somehow tense, but calmer. The calculation and carefulness wasn't in her eyes anymore. She was more genuine, now, with him. She wasn't planning ahead. "Yeah," He murmured. "I'll take the floor. You can have the bed."
She laughed a little at that, then shook her head. They started to walk down the hallway, towards Natsu's room. "You don't have to do that. You should have the bed."
Natsu glanced at her. "Why?" He asked, confused by her amusement.
Lucy gestured to him, to the slight limp he had as he walked. He was looking better—the swelling in his face had gone down plenty, enough that he'd begun to look like himself—but his ribs were bruised and beaten, and his knuckles were still shattered. The drugs the nurses had given him would wear off soon, and the pain would settle into his bones. It was just a matter of time. "You're hurt."
Natsu blinked, looking down at his body briefly. He was still shirtless, and the bruises splattered across his ribcage and chest had begun to turn various color. He made a face. "This is nothing."
Compared to what he'd had in the past—this was nothing. It wasn't the first time Igneel had thrust him into a fight, and it certainly wasn't the worst beating he'd gotten from his father. Broken knuckles, bruised ribs...that was nothing.
"What?" Lucy frowned. "Look at you—you're in pain."
He shrugged. "It's not a big deal." He rarely went a day without an injury of some kind.
He could see it flicker in her eyes—the curiosity, the urge to ask further. The look of calculation snapped into place, the journalistic side of her pushing forwards; but she paused, blinked, and the look washed away. Her usual softness returned.
She rolled her eyes. "Whatever, tough guy. You get the bed—please."
Natsu turned towards the door to his room. "Fine." He grabbed the keys from his pocket, shoving it into the keyhole and unlocking the room. Every room in the brotherhood's bases had locks—members were very private. He stepped into the room, letting out a sigh.
Lucy peered around. It was very plain, very boring. A small room with a desk in the far corner, the bed against the left wall. A door leading to a bathroom to the right, the closet doors beside it. On the bed was Natsu's packed bag, where he'd stuffed all of his photos—someone must have dropped it off for him when they'd arrived.
Natsu stepped over to his bag, digging around in it; he grabbed some clothes and threw them at Lucy. She blinked, surprised, and caught them. She peered up at him, confused.
There was a flash of amusement in his eyes, and a tiny smirk worked its way onto his lips. He always seemed to confuse her. "Thought you might like some pyjamas."
"Oh," Lucy blinked again, looking at the clothes in her hands. A soft shirt and some shorts. "Right. Thank you. I'll just, uh... get changed, then."
Natsu snorted at how clearly awkward she was. He turned back to his bag, trying to hide how much his smirk had widened into a grin. "Okay."
Lucy felt her cheeks go hot, her entire face and neck flush; she spun on the balls of her feet, quickly turning and heading into the washroom. She closed the door behind her, letting out a tense breath through her lips—she wasn't sure why, but he made her incredibly nervous. Calm, but nervous. It made no sense.
She shook her head, trying to gather herself; she pulled off her clothes, quickly slipping into the new clothes Natsu had given her. They fit strangely on her—loose in some places, tight in others—but it was good enough to sleep in.
She looked at herself in the mirror and gasped audibly at how terrible she looked. Her cheeks went red again, embarrassment flushing through her. She'd spent hours with those boys looking like this? She frowned, brushing her fingers through her hair; she ran some water over her fingers and wiped her face clean.
She realized how stupid she was, trying to look nice for gangsters. Lucy paused, putting her head in her hands, realizing how stupid this entire situation was. She wanted to go home, to soak in her own tub, to make herself some tea in her own kettle. But she couldn't, and she knew that, and she shoved thought about her home and Levy to the back of her mind because if she thought about it too hard, she'd cry. She stood there, in that bathroom, for a few long seconds, her head in her hands.
She gathered her worn, crumpled clothes from the floor in her arms and returned to the bedroom.
To her surprise, the boy had already made himself a bed on the floor. A thin blanket sprawled out on the middle of the ground, a flat little pillow beneath his head. He was shirtless, now, and in a different pair of shorts—the fact that he'd stripped and changed here made Lucy's neck go red again—and laying flat on his back.
When Lucy came out of the bathroom, he tilted his head back, peering up at her. And even though she'd nearly had a breakdown in the bathroom five seconds ago, his innocent little glance made her laugh. He looked like a little kid here, like he was innocent and he'd never been hurt.
She shook her head. "You were supposed to take the bed."
A small smile touched his lips, made it past his mask of emptiness. "Oops."
Lucy pressed her lips together, trying to stuff away the smile breaking onto her expression. "Lights off?" She asked, looking down to him.
He hesitated for a moment, and that hesitancy flickered onto his face. His eyes shot to the light switch by the door, his eyebrows pulling down for a split second. He seemed to be arguing with himself internally about the lights being off.
Because she was an outsider. Not a member of the brotherhood. And he'd been taught his entire life that outsiders were risks, that he could only trust the brotherhood. It had been propaganda, he was old enough to understand that—but it still stuck with him. The lessons he'd been taught were manipulative, but they weren't wrong.
She was an outsider and he'd saved her even though he didn't know why, and now he'd have to be alone with her in a room with the lights off. His mind did calculations, running through every risk present in the scenario. He thought about every possible outcome, and nearly all of them ended in him being killed or attacked or something—because that's what he was taught to do. Eliminate as many threats as possible, and be prepared for what you can't stop.
"Um," He sputtered out after a long few moments. "Yeah, sure."
He bit the inside of his cheek. He didn't trust easily, and this was certainly pushing it. But he did, and he gave his trust to her, and he still didn't know why. Half of him was furious, screaming mad at himself for letting something so risky happen—the other half desperately yearned for vulnerability, for honesty and closeness and her warmth.
She nodded, smiling, and flicked off the lights; the room fell completely dark.
His body was tense and he dug his nails into the side of his leg to keep from pulling into a defensive stance.
Lucy felt her way to the bed, unable to see in the complete blackness; she stubbed her toe on the wire frame, and let out a gasp of pain. "Ow," She muttered, grumbling under her breath. She hobbled forwards toward the bed, sprawling out on it while the pain radiated from her toe. "That hurt."
His voice was quiet, reserved. "You okay?" There was darkness in his voice—like the darkness from the room had awoken it in him.
Lucy winced, holding her toe as she flopped onto her back in the bed. "Yes—just stubbed my toe."
It was quiet for a long moment before she heard him chuckle; it was a warm sound, something she wasn't really used to hearing from him. She couldn't help but smile in response. He breathed out through his nose, laughing. "You're clumsy."
"Not everyone can be a trained ninja."
"Ninja?" He said with a laugh, and the darkness seemed to slip from his voice. She almost wished she could see his face—she wanted to see his expression, his eyes, when he smiled. "I couldn't be a ninja."
"Why not? You basically are one, aren't you?"
He snorted. "I'm not so good with the sneaky stuff."
Lucy thought back to each time she'd witnessed Natsu kill someone. He was right—each time it had been very noisy, very vocal, very not-ninja like. "That's fair."
A gentle silence fell between them for a while, as they both settled into their beds. Lucy shifted, throwing herself beneath the blankets on the bed; Natsu rolled onto his side slightly, then rolled back, wincing in annoyance as his bruised ribs protested.
"You okay?" Lucy asked, voice small. She thought back to each punch to his body, reviewed the footage of the fight stored in her mind. It made her cringe into her pillow. How could he handle this pain so well?
He grunted as he flopped onto his back, returning to his previous position. It was uncomfortable, too—the ground was hard against his injured frame. "Yeah."
Lucy flipped onto her stomach, turning to face him. It was dark, still—too dark for her to see. But it felt right, facing him like this. "Are you worried?" She asked.
"About what?"
"About the war," She murmured softly, "And dealing with all of that when you're injured."
Natsu fell quiet. Of course, he'd taken that all into consideration—he'd been thinking about his injuries affecting things ever since they'd happened. But he'd fought with injuries before, and it was nothing new. That was part of the job. Igneel had prepared him for this long ago.
But her asking this question, asking about the war—it made him realize that she'd been worried about it. He'd figured she'd forgotten about the shadows and the impending threat—because she was an outsider, she wasn't used to this, she'd be overwhelmed with everything else going on.
But she wasn't. She took in everything—being taken by the brotherhood, the confusion behind all of that, the attack from the shadows, the war, the fight with Igneel, the move from base to base—and kept it locked in her memory. She didn't forget. She didn't get overwhelmed.
He'd underestimated her.
"No," He responded, and it was the truth. "It won't slow me down."
"Oh. Okay."
His eyebrows pulled down as his expression morphed into a frown. "Are you worried?"
"Of course," She said, like it was obvious. "The shadows are coming. And I can't protect myself."
"Hey—that's not true. You can disarm someone now."
"Yeah, if they move extra slow and practically let me do it." She sighed. "I'm not good enough."
Natsu blinked up at the ceiling. "We'll practice more, if that makes you feel better."
Lucy nodded. "Can you teach me some more moves?"
His voice was softer than it normally was, and it made his jaw lock tight. Because he shouldn't be soft, he shouldn't be comforting—that was weakness on display. But he couldn't help it, because she was here in his room and afraid, and for whatever goddamn reason, he had to protect her, like he had been since the start. "Sure."
She let out a breath, and she felt a bit better now. "Thanks."
"You've still got that knife?"
Lucy nodded. "It's with my other clothes," She replied, "By the bathroom."
She heard his body moving, heard the blankets shuffle as he went to the pile of clothes. When he spoke, his voice was close to her head; he'd made his way over to the bed. "Here," He spoke, voice deep. He held the handle of the knife out, touching her arm with it. "Keep it with you at all times."
Lucy pulled herself up onto an elbow, turning to face him. It was still too dark to see—her eyes were adjusting slowly. She reached out and touched the handle of the knife, grabbing it. The small details felt familiar on her fingertips. "Even when I sleep?"
"Put it under your pillow. Then you'll have it nearby if you need it."
Lucy nodded. "Okay." But she didn't put the knife under her pillow; she kept herself propped up and ran her fingers over the delicate carving in the base of the knife. The knife made her feel...better, somehow. Like she was capable of protecting herself if she absolutely needed to. It made her feel strong. "Thank you for giving me this, by the way. I don't think I thanked you before."
She heard him shift back to his bed on the floor. "You're welcome."
"And I'm sorry I tried to stab you with it," She murmured, glancing down at her hands. She could barely see the outline of the knife, now—but her eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness. She could see faint shapes in the room. "I shouldn't have done that."
Natsu laughed. "It's okay."
"And—And I'm sorry I took the knife to begin with. I just—I thought you guys had abducted me, and I needed something to protect myself, and—"
He snorted, cutting her off. "Quit apologizing, Lucy."
She fell quiet, surprised by how much she liked the sound of him saying her name.
She heard him roll to face her, then huff out a breath when the pain kicked in from the movement. "It was my mom's."
Lucy frowned. "The knife?"
"Yeah. She gave it to me when I was three." He paused. "Told me it would keep me safe."
Lucy blinked, eyes falling to the blade in her hands. She gripped it tightly. "Three," She murmured, still shocked by how young he'd been indoctrinated into this life. "Did you get along well with your mom?"
Surprisingly, the question didn't make him go tense like he'd expected it to. But it was because there was no journalist in her voice—she wasn't prying for information, wasn't conducting research into a subject. This was Lucy asking him honestly—because she wanted to know. It was the first time discussing his mother hadn't made his muscles ache or made his blood boil.
He wanted to fight it, wanted to keep these things secret. But even Gajeel didn't know about this kind of stuff, and it gnawed at his soul. So, he said it. Gave it to this girl. Gave her a bit of trust he'd never given anyone else.
He hated that. He hated that she had bits and pieces of him—but he still gave them to her willingly. It was like...he couldn't help it. She was warm and she was soft and she was listening as if he mattered when no one else really had.
"Yeah, pretty good," He admitted. "She tried to give me a little bit of normalcy—I think she felt bad, deep down."
"Normalcy?" Lucy repeated. "How so?"
Natsu shrugged. "She'd just...be affectionate sometimes, when no one else was." He let out a breath, like he was embarrassed. "She hugged me, once."
Lucy frowned. Being hugged was a notable thing for him? She couldn't imagine how loveless a life had to be for an occasional hug to be noteworthy, something to remember. But this was the brotherhood, and Igneel wasn't exactly a father to his son—he'd taken on the role of a coach more than anything.
It made her feel sad, to imagine sweet young Natsu getting a hug from his mother and clinging to the memory like it was special.
Natsu picked up on her silence, seemed to realize that what he'd said wasn't normal at all—and he stammered over his words, flustered. "I mean, uh..." He swallowed again. "I don't know."
Lucy's voice was quiet. "Could I come sit with you?"
Natsu swallowed, eyes still on the ceiling. "Uh, sure."
She breathed in through her nose, the sadness in her chest weighing her down; she moved quietly, carefully, and pulled herself from the mattress. She lowered herself to the ground and scooted close to him.
She didn't know why, but this was all she could think of doing. Because she felt horrible for him, felt horrible for the life he'd lived, deprived of love and affection and normalcy—this was all she knew how to do. It was what her dad would do for her, when she was sad—he'd sit with her. He wouldn't say anything, wouldn't talk about anything until she was ready—but he'd just sit with her. His presence was her comfort. And so, that's all she knew to do for Natsu: sit with him and be there.
Natsu pulled himself to a sitting position, nose wrinkling as stabbing pain spread through his ribs, his wrist. Lucy scooted closer, directly beside him. Her elbow touched his.
"You don't have to feel bad for me," He said with a sigh, "I'm fine."
Lucy swallowed. "I know you are." She paused. "I just...I'm sorry you weren't loved."
Natsu shrugged. "It wasn't so bad."
"You don't know what you're missing."
"Tell me, then," He murmured, bringing his knees up and resting his arms on them. He laid his head on his arms, turning his neck so he was looking at the blonde. "Tell me what it's like."
"To be loved?"
He blinked. "Yeah."
"Well, it's..." Lucy inhaled, leaning back and thinking to her childhood. "It's wonderful."
His dark eyes watched her, now able to see her relatively clearly, as his eyes had adjusted to the dark. He watched her carefully, breaking down her body language as she spoke, trying to make sense of her words.
"My mom—she was the best," Lucy began. "She'd paint and color, and she taught me how, and we'd spend so much time together just making crafts. And whenever I made something, she'd tell me how wonderful it was—and she'd hang it on the fridge."
Natsu frowned. "The fridge? Why?"
"That's where you put art that you want to show off—so everyone could see it." Lucy smiled to herself, thinking about her mother. "She was so gentle. Just...a gentle person. She cared about everyone she met, and she loved everything with her whole heart. She was just so, so kind."
Natsu watched Lucy's lips twist into a sad, nostalgic smile.
"She passed away when I was seven," Lucy said, voice going small and quiet. "She got sick a few years earlier. But right up until the end—she was so kind. I miss her everyday."
He blinked at the girl, confused by the look of adoration on her face. He'd never felt that way before in his life, and it was hard for him to comprehend. He'd never had a mother that wanted to spend time with him, and he certainly never made arts and crafts.
He'd loved his mother, when he was young. But as he grew older, he'd realized that she wasn't as loving as he'd first thought. Sure, she was kinder than Igneel and she'd given him that hug one time, after Igneel had been furious with him for losing a fight—but she hadn't been gentle or soft, like Lucy's mom. She'd always been stern, always been on edge—probably because she was worried about getting caught, since she was a traitor. His youth had blurred the truth, but the older Natsu grown, the more he realized that his mother hadn't loved him. Cared, maybe—but there was no love in her eyes.
But the look on Lucy's face, the smile touching her lips...that was love. He'd never really seen it before, not in the brotherhood. Maybe bits and pieces of it, like Gajeel's parents—but it was always tainted by the brotherhood's influence. But Lucy's love was pure and untouched and honest, and he didn't understand.
"It was different with my dad, though," Lucy murmured, her smile fading; she swallowed, fumbling with the edge of her shirt. "We used to argue so much—we'd fight about everything. But even after we fought...he loved me. He just showed me through actions, not his words."
Natsu frowned. "What do you mean?"
"He wasn't around a lot," Lucy explained. "He was a journalist, always off researching for a story. After mom died, he travelled a lot—to get his mind off of it, I think. But he'd always come back with a souvenir from his trips. And he'd always smile when he saw me, and tell me about his journeys and who he met." She paused, smiling. "He inspired me to be a journalist, too. And when I first got into it, he'd edit all my work and tell me how to improve because he wanted me to be successful. He just cared a lot, even though he wasn't as vocal about it, y'know?"
Natsu nodded, understanding more, now.
Lucy fell quiet again, and her lips twisted downward. "He died two years ago. Car accident."
Natsu looked at her, saw the sadness in her eyes and felt it reflect in his own chest. "Lost both your parents," He murmured. "I'm sorry."
Lucy shook her head, brown eyes turning to him. "Don't be," She whispered. "Because I had a life full of love with them. They gave me everything I ever needed."
Natsu turned his head so that he was facing forward, his chin still resting on his arm. "I've never felt that," He admitted, and it was true—because he hadn't. His entire life, he'd been yearning for something more, for affection or love or something, but he hadn't known what. He'd strived for greatness because he thought maybe that's what he was missing—he wasn't the best yet. He strove to impress his father because maybe that's what he needed to do.
But it wasn't greatness he was missing. It wasn't his father's satisfaction. It wasn't overcoming his mother's betrayal. He'd been missing this—what Lucy was describing—his entire life.
Love. He'd never been loved. And sure, he had Gajeel—but Gajeel wasn't wired the same way as him. Gajeel was loved; he had a father that cared with his entire heart and a mother that chose love over the brotherhood. Gajeel didn't quite understand the yearning, the thirst, that Natsu had. And that was okay, except now Natsu knew what he was missing and it made him stomach hurt and his ribs ache, because he'd never gotten what he needed.
Lucy watched the boy's face crumble down, break down into something between fury and absolute devastation, and she couldn't help but throw her arms around him. He went tense and froze, but she didn't care—she hugged him tighter, wrapping her arms around his bare shoulders.
She felt warm against his skin and his heart ached, and he turned his body, about to wrap his arms around her torso—but something interrupted him.
Gunshots. Gunshots in the hallway, close by. Yelling, the voices of men yelling, and more gunshots following.
Lucy gasped, the sound so loud and sudden her heart nearly stopped.
Natsu was up in an instant, his body pressed against the door. All of his muscles were taut, prepared for action; he listened closely, trying to understand what was going on in the hallway without opening the door.
"In the drawer," He whispered, voice strong and firm. "There's a gun."
Lucy nodded, her hands shaking as she quickly dove to the desk; she pulled open the drawer, her eyes instantly falling to the handgun laying before her. She grabbed it quickly, but her hands were so shaky she dropped it instantly back into the drawer; she reached for it again, swallowing, trying to control her movements.
It was heavier than she'd thought it would be.
Quickly, she ran over to Natsu and passed it to him. He took it, his dark eyes looking to her. "Do you have your knife?"
"Oh," She sputtered, dashing to her pillow and grabbing the knife beneath it. She held it in her shaky hands, nodding at him. "Yes."
He wasn't shaky at all—in fact, he seemed incredibly calm. "Okay," He nodded back to her. His big hand reached out and held hers, trying to get them to stop shaking. "Relax. You stay here. I'll be right back." He turned to the door.
"Wait, wait, wait!" Lucy spat. "You're going out there?"
He shot her a look. "Yes?"
Lucy swallowed. "Be careful."
He exhaled through his nose, as though her statement was funny. That cocky, lopsided smirk that he tried so hard to hide split onto his lips, and he snorted. "I will."
Natsu opened the door and disappeared into the hallway, and Lucy stepped back from the door, knife held shakily in her two hands. And she should've stayed there and waited patiently, like a good girl—but she felt anxiety bubble up into her, worried about the boy, and she couldn't help herself. She couldn't stay here, hidden from the action. As much as it terrified her, she needed to see what was going on.
She cracked the door open and peeked out.
Three dead bodies laid on the ground. Natsu stepped past them as he made his way down the hall.
Two men were at the end of the hallway, guns raised at Natsu as he jogged towards them. He seemed to realize when and where they were going to shoot—he took two quick steps, making a sharp turn to the right, missing the bullets they sent flying towards him. He ducked, missing another immediate shot from one of the men. He stepped towards the man on the right, his right fist throwing a deep punch to the man's stomach. The enemy keeled over, groaning; Natsu kicked his left foot out and swept the man on the left to the ground.
Natsu shot the man on the right in the foot; the man screamed and fell forwards, the pain sufficiently taking his focus off of Natsu. Immediately, the pink haired boy dove forwards and threw a sharp right hook to the man on the ground's face. The man struggled against Natsu, tried to shove him off—but Natsu was too fast. Another swift punch to the gut distracted the man for the half second needed to cock his gun. A shot rippled through the air, making Lucy shiver; the man went limp below Natsu.
He turned to face the man on his right; Natsu's hands reached out and grabbed his leg, flipping the man to the ground. The man punched Natsu's already busted hand, making him drop his gun.
He gripped the man, twisted his feet around him—some form of martial arts, Lucy seemed to realize. Jui Jitsu, maybe?—and cinched his legs tight. A crack burst through the air, and the man screamed in agony. Lucy flinched, the bone clearly jutting out of the enemy's now broken leg.
Lucy heard something to her right, from the other side of the hallway; three more men were creeping down towards Natsu, guns raised and aiming. But Natsu was too focused on the man at hand; he punched the man's face repeatedly, his screams slowly gurgling out.
Lucy felt her heart stop as the men on her right aimed their weapons at the unknowing boy at the end of the hallway.
The words spat from her lips before she understood the repercussions. "Natsu, look at out!" She screamed.
Natsu spun quickly on his heel, quickly diving to the ground as soon as the men pulled their triggers; he was up instantly, on his feet and running full speed at the trio.
Lucy turned to look at the man, eyes wide.
Only two stepped forward, headed toward Natsu; one of them turned to face her, stepping at an angle in her direction.
Lucy swallowed, holding her knife tightly. "Oh, fuck."
The man began to sprint towards the doorway, pulling his gun up, aiming at her. Lucy gasped and stumbled backwards, slamming the door shut quickly; she locked the door and ran to the far side of the room, gasping for air.
The two men ran towards Natsu; one reached down and grabbed a knife tied to his ankle. He flicked his wrist forwards, snapping the knife through the air, hurling it at the pink haired boy. Natsu rolled to the left, effectively avoiding the thrown knife. By the time he stood, the two men were upon him; he got a punch to the cheek, to the rib.
Natsu grunted, blocking a shot to his left shoulder. He forced his right fist forward, connecting with one of the men's temples. He leaned back, twisting away from the other enemy's punch. He kicked his foot out, his hands wrapping around one of the men's shoulders; he took him to the ground, quickly flipping and twisting his body so that he'd gotten the man in a chokehold. The other man raised his gun, aiming it at Natsu's head. Natsu increased the pressure on the first man's throat, quickly choking him out; his body went limp in Natsu's arms. With every bit of control he had left in his battered right hand, Natsu pulled the dead body up and ducked down.
Gunshot rang through the hallway; the bullet connected with the dead man's body, into the human shield Natsu had just created.
Natsu threw the dead body off of him, at the other man's feet; the man jumped out of the way, avoiding the touch of the corpse. Natsu lunged forwards to the dead body, patting the dead man's ankles in the hopes that he had a gun tied to him; feeling something hard, he pulled up the dead man's pant ankles. Natsu let out a sound of annoyance, finding only a small blade strapped to the corpse's ankle.
Figuring it was better than nothing, Natsu grabbed the knife and leapt towards the remaining enemy. As he did so, he glanced back, realizing that the third enemy was slamming himself into the door, attempting to get into the room where Lucy was hiding.
Gritting his teeth, Natsu gripped the knife tightly. He tossed it up a little, trying to adjust to the weight of the blade. The enemy raised his gun yet again, this time attempting a headshot; Natsu stepped a half-step to the left, ducking out of its way. As soon as the bullet passed, he lunged forward quickly, the blade sinking into the man's left shoulder.
Behind them, the man was busting through the door rather successfully. His feet were smashing through the door effectively, and within a few seconds, he'd be in the room with Lucy.
Natsu could hear her screaming.
He pulled the blade out and stabbed it forward again, the blade now sinking into the man's other shoulder. The man growled out in pain, punching Natsu in his right eye; Natsu's free left hand came forward, hitting the man back just as quickly.
The man stumbled back, and Natsu took this opportunity quickly, realizing how much danger Lucy was in. He threw the knife forward with precise accuracy, hitting the man directly in the chest; without hesitating, he stepped forward and kicked the man in the stomach. The enemy fell to the ground, still scrambling and attempting to fight back; Natsu lunged onto the man's body and grabbed the knife, pulling it out and stabbing it into the man's heart.
Still not satisfied, Natsu pulled the knife out again and sunk it into the man's forehead. He looked down at the man, at his dead, unmoving face, and felt fire in his stomach.
Natsu spun quickly, turning back to the man going for Lucy.
He'd finally kicked in the door, and was stepping through it into the room where Lucy was hiding.
"Help!" Lucy screamed, eyes wide, knife held in her hands. "Help, please!"
"Shit," Natsu muttered, pulling his body up and pushing it towards the room. He had to get there faster. Faster.
The man stepped towards Lucy, grinning at her as her shaky hands held the knife up. He laughed, not bothering to raise his gun at her. He didn't need a gun for this—this he could do with his bare hands.
"Stay back!" Lucy screamed, voice shaking. "Stay the fuck back!"
"What are you gonna do, missy?" The man stepped closer to her, cornering her against the wall.
"Stay away from me," Lucy hissed, holding the knife up. "Stay back!"
The man kept laughing, kept walking towards her. Lucy felt her back slam against the wall, running out of space to go. Her heart was beating fast, her breath coming out in shallow gasps. She didn't know what to do. She couldn't do this—she couldn't fight a man this size. She was going to die.
She threw her hand forward, attempting to stab him—the man slapped the knife out of her hand. It clattered to the ground a few steps away from her.
Giving up completely, Lucy curled up into a ball as the man dove towards her, slamming her eyes shut. "Natsu!" She cried, flinching as the man's hands wrapped around her throat.
And she waited for the pressure, for the pain to come—but it never did.
Natsu was there, his hurt body pushed forward out of sheer will, and his hands were around the man's neck. And just as quickly as he'd arrived, he snapped the man's neck back, and his body fell to the ground, slamming against Lucy's.
Lucy peeked up, out of her small ball of fear and horror, shocked to find the enemy dead against her ankles. Her big brown eyes peeked up, saw Natsu panting above her, his right hand completely shattered, his torso covered in blood that was not his own.
They looked at each other for a long second, and then Natsu was beside her on the ground, shoving the dead body away from her. He hesitated for a long second before he threw his arms around her, hugging her tightly.
She didn't care that blood was smearing across her clothes. She didn't care.
She hugged him back, her chin tucking into his shoulder, her chest heaving as she breathed heavily. And she could feel his heartbeat against her chest, could feel how absolutely calm it was—but it didn't matter. Maybe he could kill without hesitating. Maybe he was a monster. But he'd saved her, yet again.
She didn't know how long they sat there, on the ground, hugging. It felt like hours and seconds, all at once. But the bubble of relief and fear around them was burst when a familiar voice burst into the room.
"Natsu, there's a—" The voice was in the hallway. Silence followed as footsteps quickly ran to Natsu's room. Gajeel skidded past the door, his big hands catching the door frame, pulling him into the room. "Hey, guys, are you—"
He fell quiet again, seeing the two on the floor, hugging beside a dead body.
Gajeel frowned. "Are you guys okay?"
Natsu turned to him, his warm body pulling away from Lucy. "Shadows. Just a group of them here—alarms didn't go off. They found us."
"I know," Gajeel hissed back. "Mord's are fighting a group in the left wing. I came to get you. Sorry I'm late."
"It's okay." Natsu stood. "They must've known we would come here. They must've had control of the alarms before we even arrived."
Gajeel nodded. "They let us think we were in hiding," He grumbled. "Let us stay for a few days so we though we were in the clear."
"But why?" Lucy asked, not understanding. "Why would they let you stay in the base for a few days before attacking?"
Natsu's voice was dark. "Because they're fucking with us. This wasn't a strategic plan—they wanted us to feel secure."
"Assholes," Gajeel spat.
"So...they waited to attack to insult you?"
Natsu looked at her. She was still curled up on the ground, still shaking. "Yes." He paused. "This means they knew our location the entire time—they could've attacked immediately. They would've had a better chance if they had. But they waited...it's a message."
"A message?"
"For Igneel," Natsu muttered. "For me."
Gajeel crossed his arms. "We better get up there."
Natsu nodded. "I know. He'll want to make a move fast. We can't let this go without a response." He turned, squatting back down so he was on the same level as Lucy. "You're coming with me."
Gajeel seemed surprised. "You think that's the best idea? Igneel will—"
Natsu looked at his best friend over his shoulder. "She's not leaving my side."
He couldn't leave her there, sniffling and shaking on the floor of his bedroom beside a dead body. He couldn't. She was scared and she was afraid and he wasn't going to leave her. If he was going to the Drache, she was going to the Drache. That was the end of it.
Just like that damn dog, so many years ago. He wasn't leaving the innocent to die.
Gajeel's eyebrows shot up. "Jeez. Fine." He walked to the door. "Let's go, then. He'll kill us if we're late."
Lucy hauled herself up to a standing position, her knees still a bit shaky. She reached over and grabbed the knife on the ground, holding it tight in her hands.
Natsu turned to her, the darkness growing in his eyes. "When we get up there," He murmured. "Don't speak."
Lucy followed him as he left the bedroom. "Why?"
"They'll tear you apart."
Lucy swallowed, fear flushing through her body. They turned left, and she watched as the boys step over the dead bodies without concern. She closed her eyes as she passed the bodies, as she stepped through the puddles of blood, holding the knife tightly.
She gritted her teeth.
The war was happening, and she was in the centre of it. And now, she was headed to the heart of the brotherhood, the core of its evil.
She was going to meet the Drache.