Author's Note: So, this originally supposed to be a one-shot but I've gotten several requests for another chapter in Gajeel's POV, so here we are. Thank you to all who favorited and reviewed, and thank you for encouraging me to add more to the story. :)

Iron Heartstrings

by: SmurfLuvsCookies

Gajeel's heart was as cold and unyielding as the iron he manipulated. He never imagined that he would join the very guild that had been the bane of his existence. He never thought he would take the master's advice and earn their trust. He never considered what would happen if he began to genuinely respect and even love Fairy Tail. And never would he have believed that the fairies would understand his twisted way of showing approval and reciprocate in their own way.

As the weeks flew by, Gajeel saw changes in the fairies where he was concerned. They were upset when he joined but their outrage quickly subsided into cool awareness, and then to lukewarm acceptance. Gajeel surprised himself by being pleased with this change of heart, though he would never admit it. After the expulsion of Phantom Lord he'd been lost, just as he'd been when Metalicana left him. Makarov Dreyar, the Head Fairy of all people, found him. Even now, Gajeel wasn't entirely sure if he was satisfied with this or not.

Slowly Gajeel noticed that the fairies were counting him among their friends. When they talked about their guild, he was included in that sentiment. He had grown to be a part of them; a part that stewed in the same corner every day with a dark cloud over his head, but a part nonetheless.

There was one person, though, that still hadn't embraced him with their heart yet, whether it be in friendship or hate. The short blunette bibliophile held him at arm's - no, at room's - distance. Whenever she crept passed, he always smelled bitter fear coming from her.

Honestly, Gajeel didn't blame Levy McGarden for cowering from him the way she did. Usually he detested whimpering people, but he knew for a fact that Levy had not started out that way. He had made her a coward; he had done that with his own two hands. Some people in the guild remarked that she would have been among the first to greet him, had the circumstances been different. Others suggested that he apologize to her for the attack. Most hinted that he should just stay the hell away from her, because even though he was now their companion he was nothing close to the precious pearl that Levy McGarden was.

He watched her from the shadows when she didn't know he was there. Gajeel recalled his first day at the guild, the way he had been momentarily blinded by the shine of the fairies. They were too much, too bright. They were sunlight in his eyes, and he had to blink away the black spots that obscured his vision. But Levy McGarden did not give off the hot, violent shine of her comrades. She glowed, gently, steadily, softly, casting balmy warmth at her huge rectangular table littered with books. Levy was not the sun on a hot summer day. She was the illumination of a candle in a dark room, and that made her all the more treasured.

Gajeel felt guilt pluck at his iron heartstrings when he came to the realization that he was responsible for blowing out that candle.

Soon he found himself collecting sheets of iron late at night when he came home from the guild. Instead of eating them, he began working with them, twisting and cutting and melting and forging until he had the correct shapes. He let his confused emotions go into the work. He didn't use his magic, but then again he didn't need to. Gajeel knew how iron worked, how it bent and moved and reacted to heat. He was iron.

Every night for over two weeks, Gajeel went straight to his small, smoldering forge outside and spent long hours hunched over the flames, manipulating the metal with his fingers like no blacksmith could do. He scowled in concentration as he worked, sweat running down his bare chest, his unruly hair tied up in a leather strip, until his muscles cramped up from being in one postion for so long.

Sometimes he thought about the short bookworm while he worked, but most of the time he let his mind drift off into that lonely realm between the earth and the clouds that is so often visited by artists. However, whenever he finished and leaned back with a sigh, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes in exhaustion, he always saw her face printed on the back of his lids.

A mistake. That was what his actions toward her were: a mistake. Gajeel had made plenty of mistakes in his lifetime, too many to count, but this was the first that he actually regretted.

Finally, after nearly a month of preparation, his masterpiece was complete. It was a bouquet of iron roses, each more perfect than the last. Every petal was parchment-thin and pristine like the scales of a silver dragon, the mock-membrane webbed with minuscule veins and ridges. These petals formed full, curved blossoms that gracefully raised their heads up toward the heavens. The stems were thin and gently arched over the lip of an iron vase, hooked briar and jagged leaves entangled into one thorny mass. The vase itself was a work of art, decorated with detailed engravings of soaring dragons and climbing ivy.

Gajeel was supremely proud of it, and in any other circumstance he would have kept his greatest work for himself. But he knew in the bottom of his cold-iron heart what this sculpture was made for, who it was made for.

Fairy Hills was a short walk from the guild. Gajeel knew it was protected by spells and such, but he'd caught the master shooting him more than a few curious looks as Gajeel observed Levy. Gajeel had no doubt that the old geezer knew exactly what he was up to.

His theory proved true when, the night after the roses were complete, he came to the threshold of Fairy Hills' property and saw Makarov standing there. In the light of the full moon, his angular face was thrown in sharp relief and his hair glinted like white wings on his head. Gajeel said nothing as he came to a stop in front of the master and stood still under his careful scrutiny. He felt the force of the old man's gaze like a punch in the gut. It was as though freezing water had replaced his blood. The old geezer could see through him as though he was made of glass. Gajeel had no doubt that Makarov could easily decipher his every intention, his every obsession, his every sin if he so chose. That made him the most formidable of opponents, more so than even Jose.

The master gave him a single nod and stalked off in the opposite direction without a backward glance. Gajeel recalled the old man's words when he'd come to recruit the Iron Dragonslayer: "You hurt my children, and that is something I will never forgive you for." But, somehow, Gajeel didn't want Makarov to forgive him when it seemed like everyone else had. He wanted someone to still hold him responsible for his actions, someone who could look him in the eye and tell him what he'd done wrong. He needed someone to hold him accountable.

He needed a parent.

Gajeel shook his head as he continued down the path to Fairy Hills, a smirk crossing his features. "Crazy old geezer," he whispered to himself. Down at the bottom of the hill, Gajeel could have sworn he heard a bark of laughter.

It wasn't hard to find Levy's apartment. It smelled like an old library, of paper and ink and must. Gajeel stood outside her door for a moment, holding the roses in his hands, alert for anything suspicious. Inside he heard subtle sounds of restlessness: the squeak of a mattress, the thrashing of blankets, a small whimper caused by a nightmare. I wonder what she's dreaming about, Gajeel thought sarcastically, with a bitter smile that looked more like a grimace. He paused and shuffled his feet. Perhaps this wasn't a good idea after all.

Gajeel could never remember clearly what happened next. He supposed that maybe he accidentally knocked his foot against the door or something, because his hypersensitive ears picked up a cut-off shriek from inside and heard footsteps. Cursing under his breath, the Iron Dragonslayer deposited the roses at the front door and ducked into the shadows of the dark corridor.

He heard the click of many locks and held his breath as Levy emerged from her dwelling, looking up and down the hallway for some sign of the noise. Her wild blue hair was even more of a mess than usual, sticking up in every direction just like Gajeel's had a tendency to do in the early morning hours, freed from the confines of the colorful bandannas she sported. Her small feet were bare, framed by the folds at the hems of her too-big pajamas. She wiggled her toes on the cold floor anxiously, a small frown puckering the space between her two thin eyebrows when she failed to find the source of the slight commotion.

Then she looked down and spotted the roses. Gajeel would never forget the smile that lit up her face, or the way it made his insides squirm in a not-so-unpleasant way. She sat down on the ground and tentatively reached out a hand toward the blossoms.

Gajeel watched as her smile became a mask of horror, a terror so profound that it was like a stab in the chest. She recoiled as though he'd deposited a dead animal at her doorstep instead of an extravagant gift. Gajeel swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth as he scowled at the wall. The roses were no less beautiful than they had been moments before when they'd produced such a smile from her, but the sheer fact that they were in any way synonymous with him is what made the sculpture a monstrous abomination. Even from his hiding spot across the hall he could smell fear coming off of her in palpable waves, clotting out the river of other Levy-aromas that gushed from the open door.

She will never accept me.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, Levy once more reached out and caressed the petal of a rose. Gajeel watched in morbid fascination as her features again shifted into something softer, something gentle and kind. It wasn't the radiant delight he'd procured earlier. It was more like...appreciation. Levy stood and hoisted the heavy roses into her arms, raising her eyebrows at the weight as she carefully tottered back inside, closing the door with her foot. Gajeel listened for a second, but he didn't hear her redo the locks.

Silently he stepped into the moonlight streaming from the window. He was speechless. She'd actually taken the roses inside her home. Her sanctuary. Gajeel was oddly pleased with himself, strutting down the corridors of Fairy Hills with something of a swagger in his step. Of course her second reaction had dampened his enthusiasm a bit, but in the end she had still accepted his apology. Perhaps, in the future, he could put that first brilliant smile on her face again.

Gajeel's heart was as cold and unyielding as the iron he manipulated. But iron becomes warm and malleable when held over fire. In time, the iron begins to glow like the flame itself.

Even if that flame is a candle.