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"Regrets collect like old friends

Here to relive your darkest moment

I can see no way, I can see no way

And all of the ghouls come out to play"

–"Shake It Off", Florence and the Machine

(:)(A)(:)

To the Flame

Chapter #18: Sepolto in Profonditá

(Buried Deep)

(:)(A)(:)

It's been months since she retrieved her notebooks. Months of looking around corners and months of shadowing Natsu everywhere he goes. Spring has swept by her in a flurry of rain showers and tulips, and the humid heat of summer has settled over the city. There is still an edge of anxiety that haunts her, but it is more of a bitter thought than a persistent nipping at her heels.

Being Natsu's watch dog means that Fairy Tail has become like a second home to her – and many of its patrons like siblings. Conversation is easier than ever, and she finds herself laughing more than she ever thought possible. Not even when she was alive was she blessed with so much joy. She is happy. So happy that it becomes almost easy at times to forget about the demons hiding in the darkened alleys. It becomes even easier to pretend she isn't one of them.

Beside her Gray sips on his customary whiskey, the ice clinking against the glass. He has become a dependable (though intermittent) figure in her life. Between work and home she only sees him about once a week – usually in the early morning hours after he gets off duty. Tonight is no different. She can smell the grime of the city's underbelly on him and beneath his light jacket she knows he is wearing a cop's uniform.

"Long shift?" she asks. She already knows it was. The way his shoulders slump and the slow, careful tilt of his glass tells her as much.

His eyes slide over to hers, and for a moment he seems to consider lying (he has done so in the past), but he thinks better of it (she has already called him out the previous times). "You could say that." He swirls the amber liquid in his glass, his lips pressing together. "One missing persons and one homicide." He snorts, disgust turning his lips. "Bastard just left the body in the alley like she was trash." He gives her a meaningful glance. "Pretty sure it was one of your siblings, if you know what I mean."

Immediately she feels her body stiffen. She knows full well where this conversation will lead. Still, she allows herself to be led anyway. "Throat trauma?"

He nods. "Yeah. The body was pretty much drained dry – forensics thinks she must have been killed somewhere else but I didn't see any evidence that the body was moved."

Lucy closes her eyes, feeling slightly ill. She stirs her drink absently. "Then there will be one less monster on the street tomorrow." When Gray shoots her a baffled look she tucks a stray hair behind her ear anxiously. "Mard Greer doesn't tolerate anything that could risk exposure to the nest... The monster responsible will be taken out by the night's end."

Understanding flickers in his eyes, and he laughs bitterly at his drink. "Was wondering about the lack of bodies. Got my hopes up thinking they moved on out." A moment of tense silence passes between them before he asks, under his breath, "Still won't tell me where they hide out?"

She shakes her head. "No." Nothing has changed – Mard Greer would destroy any specialized team Gray sent in. Worse – he could send them back out. The idea of a heavily armed team of soldiers under his control makes her physically shiver. It would be a bloodbath – one that the coven would surely take advantage of. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, but she's not entirely sure if she's telling the truth.

He shrugs. He has stopped being irritated by her answer months ago. "Figured as much."

"Why do you still ask?"

"Doesn't hurt, right? Maybe one of these days you'll change your mind." He says it with a heavy smile – like a lighthearted joke trying to distract them from the fact that there is one girl missing and another dead and disposed of in a dirty alley. Lucy can't find it in herself to smile back.

"Oh," he sets his glass down and fumbles through his coat pockets. "Almost forgot. I picked you up something."

He hands her a card – a license – and Lucy is shocked to find her picture staring back at her from the rigid plastic. "How did you–?"

"I know a guy," he states simply, before downing the rest of his drink. "Figured it was about time to get you an identity. Hope you don't mind being Ms. Lucy Smith. Heartfilia would have drawn too much attention."

She nods, understanding his concern. Her death is not fresh in the public's mind as it was thirty years ago, but the name Heartfilia is still a powerful one. Old money always is. She is half a second away from expressing her gratitude when she feels a heavy arm drape over her shoulder. Instinctively she knows it is Natsu – he is the only one who ever touches her so casually.

"What are you–" he pauses, leaning over her shoulder until they are nearly cheek to cheek as he gazes down at the card between her fingers. "Hey! Awesome!"

She resists the urge to close the distance – to see if the phantom heat radiating off him would be as deliciously warm as she imagines it would be. It is not the first time she has had such wonderings, and she suspects it would be far from the last.

Lately she has found herself fascinated by the defined line of his shoulders, the sinewy muscles of his arms. Sometimes, when he grins at her, she feels more than just the typical affection she has come to associate with him – more than just friendship. She yearns for his touch, for his attention, much like she did before but her motives are different. Before she craved him out of loneliness, but now – surrounded by the friends she has made at Fairy Tail – she knows it is different. Now she craves him in ways that, when she lets imagination run away with her, leaves her burning.

She is inexperienced in such matters, but not naive. Once, many years ago, she was a healthy teenaged girl with access to any book she desired. Romance novels were not an exception. Even if they were, she would be hard pressed to find a young adult novel that didn't touch on the topic of love.

Sometimes, she is certain that Natsu feels the same way. She isn't blind to the fact that he treats her differently than other woman. He is more careful with her, more considerate. She thinks about the warning Gray gave her – the one shared between cold air and cigarette smoke – and wonders if the cop had seen it all along.

Natsu plucks the card from her fingers and looks at it more closely. Straightening, he shoots Gray a skeptical look. "Smith? Really?"

Immediately, the cop stiffens defensively. "What of it?"

"Would it have killed you to be a little more original?" Natsu goaded. "There's gotta be like a million Smiths."

He rolls his eyes. "That's the point numb nuts."

"Well, I'm just saying you could have put a little more effort into it, is all. Got her something more unique."

Gray's expression turns dry. "What, like Dragneel?"

Natsu sputters, and Lucy can almost feel his embarrassment match her own at the insinuation. "No! I didn't – I never said –"

Shooting back the rest of his whiskey before he shoots Natsu a sly glance. "Wow. Didn't think you'd have such an issue with having a sister. Guess it's a good thing you're an only child."

Natsu gapes uselessly for a moment, his complexion quickly becoming red in what Lucy assumes is a mixture of embarrassment and anger. "Damn it – you – gah!" He throws his hands up in frustration, walking around her stool and deliberately getting in the officer's face. "You know, you're a real asshat!"

Gray shrugs. "Beats being a moron."

"Hey, this moron could beat your ass any day!"

Lucy rolls her eyes at their bickering, but it is with a smile. Many of their conversations end with them arguing over petty things, but Lucy can't help but feel that their disagreements are more brotherly than that of rivals. Even though she is sure both would undoubtedly grimace at the likeness and insist otherwise. Bored with the (now familiar) insults they are hurling at each other, her attention wanes and she soon finds her eyes settling on the small tv hovering in the corner with the billiards. Jeopardy is on, and it is as she's thinking over what largest toothed whale is also called a cachalot, that she hears it.

Her name.

Her family name.

She swings her head to find the source, but she already knows that it sprang from Mira's lips. She knows the bartender's honeyed voice all too well now, but hearing her abandoned surname rolling so casually off her tongue is so jarring and foreign that for a moment she is dumb with shock. In her hands her new ID card – her new identity – feels inadequate.

"What did you say?" she asks, voice small. Mira still hears her though – she always does – and she pauses the conversation with her brother beside the doors leading back into the kitchen. Behind her, Lucy vaguely registers that the boys are no longer bickering with each other. She can feel both their eyes burning into her back.

"I just heard it on the radio. The founder of Heartfilia Company passed away this morning."

The founder of Heartfilia company.

The founder.

Her father.

Mira must notice the stricken expression because she is soon taking her hands in her warm, soothing palms. "Oh dear, did you know him?"

Lucy's mouth feels dry. Her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth and it takes longer than it should for her to answer. "Yes, from a long time ago..." Mira's pity is tangible, but before she can respond Lucy is standing. The urge to run away is too real, and too strong for her to fight. "I need – I need some air," she murmurs. "Excuse me."

She can feel everyone's eyes at her back as she walks away from the bar – a blessed few since they are fast approaching dawn. When she opens them, Fairy Tail's wooden doors feel heavier.

The night air is warm and thick with humidity. Lucy gasps it in, feels it filling her lungs, but no matter how many strangled breaths she takes she still feels like she's suffocating. Shock. It must be shock. Warm arms wrap around her, and her face becomes buried into a masculine chest. The familiar spiced scent of his deodorant fills her nostrils as he murmurs soft words into her ear. The steady beating of his heart – louder in her ears than anything else – slowly coaxes her own to calm.

"Natsu?" Her hands grip the soft fabric of his t shirt – red, his favorite. "I want to go home."

Around her, he stills. The hand that was gently combing through her hair pauses at the nape of her neck. "Luce... I don't think we can get in. There's probably security all over. Even if there wasn't, if someone recognized you..."

It takes her longer than it should to realize he is talking about the Heartfilia Estate. She doesn't have the energy or the strength to explain to him that the marble palace she grew up in was never so much a home as a prison. She shakes her head, pulling herself away from his chest. "No, Natsu. Home. Our home."

His eyes lighten with understanding and the tension in his limbs seems to ease. "Oh, yeah. Of course."

On their walk home, their normal chatter is replaced by quiet apprehension. Natsu's uncharacteristic silence tells her that he is at a loss for what to say. Lucy doesn't know that to say either – she isn't even sure how she feels. The fact that the man she once called 'father' is gone is slowly sinking into her bones, leaving a chilling numbness in its wake. She could have gone to see him. After Natsu reawakened her – she could have at least taken the time to investigate if he was still alive. She could have had the opportunity to mend their fragile, familial bond.

She could have; but she didn't.

Regret should follow swiftly behind the admittance, but it doesn't. The truth is, she didn't want to see him. Even now, knowing that he is dead and gone, she still doesn't find herself wishing for one last conversation, or one final look at his features. Growing up, she recognized her father's features more from the oversized family portrait hanging in the foyer, than from any personal interactions with him. He was her father in name and by blood, but beyond mapping out her education and future within the family business he was hardly a parental figure. There was a time, when her mother was still alive and Lucy was too young too clearly remember, that he was the father she longed for. She knows because there is proof of him playing on the floor, and even sipping tea with her circle of dolls, in the family photo album her mother started but never got the chance to finish.

There was a time – but snapshots don't make up for years of neglect. Still, the thought of him being gone jars something in her. There is a dark revelation stirring in the the pit of her stomach; an admittance she can't bring herself to accept quite yet.

When they arrive home, Natsu seems to struggle with her continued silence. He asks her simple questions – if she is hungry, if she would she like to watch a movie. He seems to grow anxious when she answers most of them with "no thank you." He rubs the back of his neck, fidgeting and looking so completely lost that she can't help but offer him mercy.

"I think I would just like to rest." It is partially true, but mostly she understands that the excuse would give him the opportunity to avoid any and all awkward formalities. She knows that he is trying, but she also knows that he is struggling as much as she is with what to say – what to do.

Instead of seeming relieved, Natsu seems to deflate. "Luce... you should really talk about this. You shouldn't..." his hands gesture searchingly as he struggles to find the words he's looking for. She can tell by the frustrated pull of his mouth that he can't place it. Instead he says, "You shouldn't try to run from it."

"Run?" she repeats, skeptical but not offended.

He misunderstands her, though. He clarifies, "I mean you shouldn't try to ignore the fact that –" he hesitates, and Lucy is quick to finish his thought.

"That my father is dead?" she says cooly. Natsu's face falls, his expression open and taken aback. Lucy sighs, slowly sinking onto the sofa. Her gaze shifts to the large window to her left – lingering on the flickering lamplight above what was once "her bench". When she finally speaks, her voice is scarcely over a whisper. "What else is there to say?"

After a long moment she feels a dip in the cushion beside her. When she glances over, his elbows are braced on his knees – his hands hanging limply between them. "I don't know. Anything, I guess?" He sighs, raising one hand to thread through his hair. "I just – when I finally realized my dad was gone I was really upset. I didn't talk to anyone about it but I should have. I... I think it would have helped. I think I wouldn't have been so angry all the time. And I know it's not the same as what you're going through, but I – I just think I could relate, maybe? I just want to help. I just want to be there for you for whatever it is you're feeling right now."

For a long moment she is unable to answer him – unable to look at him. It is only when she feels him shift his weight, as if to leave, that the words she's been dreading giving life to spring from her lips. "I don't feel anything," she admits, her voice trembling. "He's my father and he's dead, but I don't feel anything." She shakes her head, willing herself to look at the man beside her. She is relieved to find no judgement in his eyes, only a mixture of concern. Something in her slips, the dark thing she has been so carefully containing escapes and fills her veins with frigid horror. "I really am a monster."

Immediately his hands are cupping her cheeks, his firm palms like fire on her cool skin – undead skin. "No, you're not." His voice is low, but its tone and the sharpness of his gaze is vehement. He brushes a thumb under her eye before holding it up to her for inspection. She's confused to find it wet. "Look! You're crying." His expression softens as she hiccups a small sob, gently forcing her eyes back to his when she tries to look away. "So, see? You have to be human, Luce. At least where it matters."

She sniffs, feeling more tears catch on his calloused fingers. "What are you –"

"Crying makes you human, remember? You told me that."

It feels more like a lucid dream from a lifetime ago than a memory, but she recognizes the words as ones she has uttered and remembers them as being her mother's. It soothes the stinging in her heart, but it is only balm on an open wound. Still, for now, it is enough. His arms incase her much as they did in the alley outside of Fairy Tail, only this time she holds on and doesn't let him go.

When the sun rises she is still wrapped in his warm embrace, his heart beating under her ear and his chest rising and falling in slumber while her own continues to wander in tortured circles. The morning news runs the story of her father's death repeatedly. When his name is first mentioned, Natsu reaches for the remote to turn it off but she quickly stays his hand. She wants to know who her father became after her death – wants to know who he was when he left this world. The program doesn't (can't) tell her everything, but it tells her enough.

She hears words like philanthropist, generous, and donor; sees photos of him in schools with dirt floors, passing out books to excited, barefooted children for the charity he funded. The charity he named after her – in her memory and in her honor. Fresh tears streak her cheeks, but the dark thing gnawing at her heart is silent. A small smile curls her lips before she gives a watery laugh, and then Natsu is holding her all over again as it escalates into uncontrolled sobs.

The following week, Natsu helps her break into the cemetery and her knees sink into freshly tilled soil. Beside her father's tombstone is her mother's and, on the other side, her own. She wonders if the thought of her grave being eternally empty ever made him sad. She thinks it must, because there is an ache in her heart when she thinks about it.

The cold, hard nothing she felt is gone. Regret fills her; it weighs her down and makes her arms and feet feel heavy. She wishes so many things were different. She wishes she could have known the man he became instead of remembering the man he was. She wishes she had the opportunity to love him; that she could remember him with fondness instead of associating him with hard scowls and painted portraits.

She wishes she could feel like she was saying goodbye to her father instead of a stranger.

AN: I know, I know. It's been forever (and a day). I'm still plugging away at a snail's pace. As always thank you to everyone who reviewed, without you this chapter would have likely taken another six months. You can expect a one shot of the nalu variety sometime next week as my valentine to you!

Also thanks to madartiste for catching all my mistakes and giving much needed encouragement!