Chapter Text
Gray considered himself to be one of the milder members of Fairy Tail. His extended tenure there, combined with the normal worldview that his childhood in Isvan had inculcated, made him both prepared to respond to the daily hazards of guild life while distanced enough to recognize its essential absurdity. Aside from his stripping habit, which he conceded distinguished himself from the typical civilian, Gray thought that his judgments were well-aligned with those of regular people.
This was not incidental: it was, indeed, a conscious effort on his part to retain what he thought best and most inimitable about his former life. The dragon slayers had their sense of smell, Lucy had her spells of money-blindness—and Gray had his vertical multiplication skills and investment in Fiore’s soccer leagues, his occasional inclination toward reading, thoughts about proper etiquette and grade school crushes. He preserved them although they were useless now, and perhaps much wiser to abandon himself entirely to the chaos of Fairy Tail instead of always resisting parts of it.
“The two of you will be attending the ball as Mr. and Mrs. Fullbuster,” Mirajane said.
Gray stopped drinking his coffee and, after hacking into his elbow, said: “What?”
When Gray had arrived at the guild that morning—which, for him, occured between the hours of eleven thirty and one in the afternoon—Mirajane had motioned for him at the bar. It was standard for him to begin his mornings reviving himself on one of the bar stools, listening to her share guild gossip as he fortified himself with caffeine and a slice of toast. However this time, Erza was already in his seat.
“Morning,” he said to her.
“It’s a quarter past noon,” she said, watching him with as he rubbed his eyes.
“I didn’t sleep that great.”
Mirajane poured him coffee and handed him a plate with two fried eggs and bacon. “Now that you’re both here, I can tell you about the mission.”
“Natsu and Lucy aren’t here right now.”
“It’s not a team mission,” Erza told him.
Gray paused and then asked: “So it would just be the two of us?…and Wendy?”
“No, just the two of us,” she replied. She popped a triangle of blueberry pancake into her mouth, then cleaned the corners of her lips with a handkerchief. “What of it? Are you afraid that we’ll need Wendy’s medical assistance?”
“Well no, not exactly…” Since Natsu and Lucy had made it official two years ago, team missions had changed. There were now the emergent couple activities to account for, the date nights that were not just evenings invading Lucy’s apartment, the fishing trips with Happy, the lower stakes missions that they took as a three-person unit of which the rest of them were not informed. This meant, for Gray, an increase in solo missions and rekindling old partnerships. He joined Cana on bounty hunting quests and cooperated with Lyon on assignments in the Northern Continent. He was also Erza’s second on the more hazardous S-Class missions. However, he tried to limit these. The time alone with her always took it out of him. He thought that the strain would resolve after she and Jellal had split six months ago, though it had only lessened.
“What’s the mission?” Gray changed the subject.
“There’s a retired mob boss at the heart of Crocus who stole some confidential Council documents twenty years ago. One of the librarians just noticed it missing in their databases,” Mirajane answered him. “It’s a simple retrieval assignment.”
“Great. We’ll just bust in there, get the documents, and leave,” Gray said, looking to Erza for approval.
“Mira said that it would be a little more complicated than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Master has been quite unhappy with the number of damage reports recently,” Mirajane said, with a tone that was part apologetic and part reproachful. “Particularly from your team.”
“…And he’s bringing this up now? After six years?”
“I believe he’s mentioned it many times already, to little effect.”
“The point is that Fairy Tail is on thin ice with the Council at the moment,” Erza said, ostensibly repeating what Mirajane had told her earlier.
“Right. He wants the two of you to infiltrate the Don’s manor when the risk of discovery will be lowest,” Mirajane said. “Lucky for us, there will be a ball hosted there sometime this weekend. I’ve secured you both invitations.”
“Alright,” Gray said. The anticipation of another undercover mission made him weary. It excited memories of Avatar—the worst eight months of his life since Ur died—and though he had always been a good actor, it was not a skill that he liked using anymore.
“I signed you up as Mr. and Mrs. Fullbuster,” Mirajane said.
Gray no longer felt “alright” about the mission.
“What?”
“It’s just a precaution, Gray,” Mirajane said, lips schooled into a peaceable smile. “Most people come to these events in pairs.”
“Wait a minute. I don’t understand why any of this is necessary. Why can’t we just—”
“It’s necessary since your team is responsible for razing four towns and accruing four hundred million jewels in property damage in the past six months.”
“That’s all the flame brain’s doing, and you know it!”
“And nine charges of public indecency.”
Gray groaned and sunk his head into his hands, in part to conceal the rising blush on his features. He knew that Mirajane, and perhaps the old man too, were meddling in his affairs—however their alibi was ironclad, and he could find no means of calling their bluff. He had not looked at Erza yet and did not want to.
“Don’t be such a prude, Gray,” Erza said. “This is the safest method to approaching this mission, and besides it should be quite easy for us: we’ve known each other for years, after all, and are both proficient actors.” Gray was too indisposed to mention her chronic bouts of stage fright.
“Besides, I’ve already made the arrangements. You just need to hop on the train of Crocus tomorrow morning and head to the hotel.”
“Wow, thanks,” Gray said, as he narrowed his eyes at her. Mirajane countered with a serene smile.
Afterward, Mirajane left and Gray and Erza remained at the bar finishing their meal. Silence had settled between them. Occasionally, Gray glanced at her to ascertain her mood: Erza seemed unperturbed, and thus the most salient features were the physical features that had first drawn him to her, after the mystery of her armor had been resolved. The fair skin, that resisted a tan, and the steely, dark eyes; the scarlet hair which he’d never seen knotted, only disheveled after battle; all those traits that made loving her raw and masculine, without the history and soul that made it hard.
“Thinking about the mission?” she asked him.
Gray startled, and then admitted: “A little bit.” He was suddenly grateful for Erza’s inability sense embarrassment in him or anyone else, and let himself linger in that hot and frazzled zone. “Are you sure about this?”
“About the plan? It seems pretty fool-proof to me.”
Gray sighed, almost laughed. “That’s good.”
“What, should we role play it a little first in preparation?” Erza asked, clearly stimulated by the idea. “Or hammer out some details about our shared past? I—”
“No, it’s fine,” Gray interrupted. Shaking his head as she began to object, he said: “Let’s just wing it. It’s worse if we sound rehearsed.”
“Ah…I see.” Erza failed to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “I trust your judgment, Gray: it’s the mark of a true professional.”
Gray laughed and rested his head on his palm. “You make it sound as if we’ve done more than a couple plays together, and that it wasn’t many years ago.”
Erza smiled, with a crinkling of her eyes. “Not that many years.”
His grin widened, and Gray could feel a good time with her beginning. It was often like this: she would first immobilize him, then bring him back with that old muscle of friendship that made him forget about the rest.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked.
“Of course,” Erza said. Then: “I wouldn’t do it with anyone but you.”
Gray let his face colour and rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah. Same.”
“It’ll just be one night of pretending.”
Erza rose from her seat and left the guild. Gray watched her exit through the guild doors and then ordered himself a gin and tonic. The strong liquid electrified and then dulled his senses, with its old, friendly reliability, and with a deep breath he circled the narrowed gambit of his other concerns.
“It’s a bit early for all that, Gray,” Cana said. She leaned on her shoulders as she joined him at the bar.
He poured her a portion from his glass and pushed it toward her. “Don’t start holding out on me now.” She accepted the drink with a cackle, and then they were alone.
Gray was stretched out on his bed as Cana emerged from the bath, toweling her hair dry in a faded t-shirt of his and old netted shorts. He closed the book he was reading and regarded her.
“The two of them got you good,” she said.
“I’m used to this from Mira-chan, but the old man really needs to get a hobby.”
Cana opened one of the cabinets and brought down a glass bottle of rum. “You know he just wants you to be happy.”
“I’m already happy, and he doesn’t need to drag Erza into it.”
She opened the bottle and poured some into a fresh glass that she’d taken from his dishwasher. Gray made a noise of disapproval, though was too tired to stop her, and watched as she downed her first serving and fixed herself another one.
“I thought that we were leaving that at the guild,” he mumbled.
“The rum’s for my sleep.”
He groaned and closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his own consumption settling behind his eyelids. Some of his most specific childhood memories—painting nails and pinkie swears, stealing into the ladies’ dorm after midnight to build a blanket fort and trade ghost stories—had happened with her many years ago, and now what they shared felt darker and more charged. Although she would always be his best friend.
“I give up,” he said, as he turned off the lights.