dedication: still for Michelle and Les.
notes: go read a game of thrones by we had one job (aka les and rhea). GO. like, right now. Also, yes, there is going to be a good amount of nalu, because hello it is me, okay. But yeah, the main focus will be on gruvia, so don't worry your pretty little titties off.

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hollow point

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.2

Juvia has always prided herself for being a girl of actions. Although her thoughts and words may tangle in the web of her imagination and die before even reaching her lips, her speedy reactions and instinctive nature to survive have, without fail, kept her going strong for years.

Until now, that is.

As she sits on the ashen concrete, some footsteps away from a dead man, with a fully-loaded firearm pointed at her skull, Juvia finds herself completely at a loss for words, as well as actions.

What could possibly be done in this situation?

A thought occurs: perhaps it's best if she just bites the bullet. (Quite literally.)

Gray watches her through smoky eyes and presses the revolver further against her forehead. Then, he smiles, a crooked grin, and Juvia somewhat regrets that her very last thoughts will be of how captivating and alluring her hunter is.

She waits and waits for the flash to come, but then...

"Bang," he whispers, and his slight chuckle, that reminds her of thunderstorms, sends a wave of shivers creeping up her spine, almost like his fingers are threading and tearing through the skin of her back.

He lets his lips fall back to their place in neither a frown nor a smirk and finally removes the gun from its target. Juvia inhales, a sharp and sudden breath that burns her lungs. And she panics and shakes because for once, even her body doesn't know what to do. Her glassy cerulean eyes shift back and forth from Gray to the corpse and to the silver moon, shining high beyond the smog of the city.

There is a pause in the drumming of her heartbeat at the buzzing emitting from her back pocket, followed by soft strings of piano music that are anything but calming in the still and silent night.

She hesitates to even move, much less answer her own cellphone.

Gray shifts his weight to his other leg and blinks slowly before murmuring in a voice that seems to slice the air like a shard of glass, "The Girl with Flaxen Hair." He pauses and looks down at her. "Debussy."

"Yeah." Her whisper is barely audible, but she says it anyway because he looked like he might have been waiting for some form of confirmation.

The ringing does not stop.

He crouches in front of her, she who is painted with the splatters of red, while he is disturbingly spotless. He reaches out a hand, palm faced towards heaven, and Juvia isn't quite sure what he intends to do. Then, another jolt spurred by the continuous vibration in her pocket gives her somewhat of an idea, and she quickly disposes of the phone into his awaiting hand.

Gray shoots her a lazy grin and rests a hand on her head as he answers the call, putting it on speaker and dangling the device near his ear. She flinches but doesn't move away from the contact, cold to the touch.

"Juvia, I've called eight times already. What the fuck are you doing?"

Gajeel.

Involuntarily, her mouth opens to reply, but no word or sound is uttered. Gray quickly puts his index finger to his mouth, as if to say don't speak.

Juvia lips are sealed of her own accord, and she blinks at him, solemnly, in understanding.

"Hello. Are you there?"

Strings of curses are heard whispered in the background, and she doesn't know what to feel because it's so nice to hear a familiar voice, but still, she is so fucking scared.

"I'm here."

Gray's smooth voice once again breaks the silence, and although it was barely louder than a murmur, it feels like a explosion in Juvia's ears.

She cringes.

Nothing is heard from the opposite line for what feels like forever. She holds her breath and counts to ten, over and over again.

"Gray."

At this, his lips curve into a slanted smirk, eyes gleaming dangerously in the moonlight, almost feral. Juvia shudders, feeling like a prey caught in the jaws of a predator. And the only reason she is still breathing and not a pile of shattered limbs drenched in a pool of red is simply... on a whim.

"How've you been, Gajeel?"

"Where is Juvia."

"I've been good, too, thanks for asking."

"Where the FUCK is my FRIEND, GRAY."

"She's fine." And the light, joking tone in his voice is gone, up in smoke. His eyes flicker to her for a second before he shoves the phone before her lips. "Here."

What a time for her vocal chords to give out on her. She clears her throat and strains, but nothing is spoken.

Gray laughs, exhaling through his nose, and retracts his arm.

"Looks like she doesn't want to talk to you."

"You fucking liar. If she's dead right now—"

"Gajeel!" Juvia cries out, though it is more broken and feeble than she would have preferred. Gray looks at her, and there is something akin to amusement visible in his charcoal irises.

"... Juvia!"

She smiles at the relief in his voice, because it happens to be one of those rare occasions when her hotblooded roommate didn't sound like he was going to kill someone. Gray moves to pass her the phone but opts to hold it between the two of them when she fails to meet him halfway.

"Are you hurt anywhere?"

She shakes her head even though he can't see it and assures him, "I'm... okay." But her voice cracks part of the way through, and it makes her think: Is she really 'okay?'

Gajeel pauses before saying, in a low and threatening tone, "What did he do to you?"

"No, no, nothing. He didn't do anything..." Juvia's eyes trail back to Sol. Or rather, what used to be Sol. "... to me." His body has gone rigid and pale in the dim lighting of the lot, empty save for two.

"What do mean by that...?"

"Um. Well," She absently scratches her head, searching for an appropriate way to express her thoughts. Meanwhile, Gray examines his revolver, held loosely in the hand that isn't clutching her cellphone. The serial number is scratched off, and Juvia doesn't need to guess why. "Gray... kind of shot someone, and he's—I mean, was, my manager, and yeah, I don't think he's getting up anytime soon 'cause there's a—a hole... in his head..."

Don't cry, Juvia, don't cry. Don't fucking cry, because it'll make everything so much worse than it already is.

She inhales, a shaky breath, and holds it, closing her eyes when they start to sting and burn. (There is no need for her eyes to resemble the sky and the clouds and the rain right now.)

"Shit. You fucking offed someone, Gray!?"

At this accusation, he merely cracks his neck, massaging his trapezius muscles, and comments, "Phantom."

The line falls silent, and Juvia's mind is a tornado of questions with no answers.

"Well, time's up," Gray stands from his crouch on the ground and lightly dusts of his jeans, that are perfectly clean save for some dirt and ash. "I'm keeping Juvia until you decide to stop your cowardice and make up your fucking mind."

She shudders at the way he speaks her name, so casual and possessive like she is nothing but an object, a toy, a bargaining chip.

"Damn it, I already have!"

Gray's eyes narrow and flash alarmingly white, and the drafty air around him seems to drop several degrees. "Try again," he demands in almost a harsh growl and abruptly ends the call.

He peers down at her, still perched on the ground in a storm of her own emotions, and pockets both his gun and her phone, flicking his head towards the deserted street. "You're free to stay, but I'm sure they'll be interested in what happened to your friend over there."

She isn't sure how much of that statement is true, but one thing was certain: she is anything but free. He spares her one lingering look before turning to exit the parking lot.

Juvia gasps, the color draining from her face, and quickly pulls herself up, gravel crunching beneath her feet as she scrambles to catch up to Gray, feeling much like helpless Bambi marching willingly into the jaws of a tiger. She makes sure not to look back, at the shop, at what life she had, and at her former manager who lies face down, hole in his cranium, like he's drowning in a pool of red.

Gray gives her a sidelong glance and says, "Good. Thanks for savin' me the trouble." She isn't sure what he means, and then he offers her a crooked grin that would have made her heart flutter had this been any other situation.

The misty air kisses her cheeks as she closes her eyes and says goodbye.

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"Who are you?"

Lucy watches her captor anxiously from the passenger seat. His dark eyes flicker to her as he leans a cheek on a fist, steering nonchalantly with a single hand.

He ponders her inquiry for several moments before answering, "Not a friend. Probably. Or could be. We'll have to see."

She almost sighs at how vague he remains, but his previous threat still swirls around her mind, nipping at her courage.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

Nothing is spoken for a while afterwards, and Lucy wonders how thin she can stretch his patience.

"What's your name?"

"Natsu."

She tries the name once and lets it roll on her tongue. It tastes like leaves dying, red and orange and wilted, when summer ends. Lucy studies Natsu's side profile; his jaw is sharp but with hints of lingering baby fat, nose straight and pointed at just the right angles, and eyebrows to match his hair usually scowling in concentration. And when he is particularly focused, his lips, set in a tight line, would sometimes push outwards in almost a pout of sorts.

"Is your hair natural?"

She nods towards his tousled, pink tresses.

"Mm, yeah, I don't usually style it much," he says absently, taking another turn on the dark road.

Lucy frowns, raising a delicate blond eyebrow.

"I meant your color," she quickly corrects. He glances at her, almost pointedly. "Okay, I guess that answers that question," she mumbles in return, turning to stare out the window aimlessly at the unidentifiable shapes and forms that zoom by.

"So, why—"

"You ask too many questions."

Natsu's sudden stern interjection surprises her, to say in the least. She quickly closes her mouth, reminded of the current predicament she is in.

This guy kidnapped her.

The car turns into a remote and secluded area, and immediately, alarms are blaring in her mind, and her thoughts are flooded with 'what if's.

And only then does Lucy truly realize that her fate lies in the hands of another person.

"Where..."

Her voice disappears into the back of her throat, arms tensing, when they pull in front of an abandoned warehouse, with only trees and clouds as company. There is an ominous feeling about this place that screams of death and ends.

Natsu kills the engine, gives her an apathetic look, despite her eyes that plead in desperation, and says, calm and smooth, "Home."

Then, with a heartbeat that feels like thunder, she grasps the hem of her shirt with shaking hands.

This is no home.

"Sorry, Miss Lucy," though there is no sign that he is, save for the arguably minuscule traces of what appears to be an apologetic expression on his otherwise uncaring face. "But my job is to deliver you."

Her eyes sting. They sting so much, and he's starting to blur, but god damn it, she will not allow herself to weep and bawl like a child or a damsel in distress. Her fists clench harder.

"Why...?" She grinds out, because that is one question that ceases to pick at her temples.

Natsu pauses. And then, in almost a whisper, he explains, "Your father."

Lucy flinches visibly.

"He sold you. To your new husband."

And just like that, her world finally crumbles.

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Juvia blows on the window of the passenger seat and draws abstract designs on the foggy glass, wishing she could have spoken with Gajeel more.

And then, she leans her head against the cold surface, wondering if anyone out there is going through the same thing she is.

Gray pays her no attention from the driver's seat, even when she openly stares at him through long, blue lashes, eyes tired but sleepless.

She feels numb.

Maybe it hasn't truly settled in yet, that Sol is dead, and Gray killed him, and she probably won't ever set foot in that tea shop after this. Maybe she'll never again see Gajeel or their abysmally small but cozy apartment. Or maybe she won't ever feel anymore.

The window is cold, still dewy from the rain. (At least she can still feel that.)

Something lands on her lap. Juvia's eyes shifts downward.

A bag.

Chamomile tea.

"I hear it helps you sleep," he drawls, voice deep and clear and bored.

Juvia wants to laugh and cry at the irony of it all.

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[You are now leaving Oak Town]

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