notes: kind of a rewrite of 'all hail the heartbreaker' or something. which hasn't been deleted, but whatever. this is unedited for now.
disclaimer: own nothing
more notes: there is a poll on my profile where you can vote for what story you'd like to be updated next, just so you know.
summary: (spy school!au) They say diamonds are a girl's best friend, but then again, so is Kevlar and poison. Or, the troubles of being a teenage girl and student at one of the most prestigious institutions in the world, which also happens to be an academy that trains girls to be spies. (nalu, gruvia, jerza, gale, possible others)

.::.
part i

.

(cause baby now we got bad blood)

—

Someone is screaming.

That's the first thing that registers in Lucy's mind as she comes to—wait, comes to? When did she ever fall asleep in the first place?

Well, anyway, there's a hella ton of high-pitched screeches of terror coming from everywhere, her head is killing her, and her throat feels dryer than a desert during a sandstorm. Seriously, she feels like she has the worst hangover in the history of all epic hangovers. Not that she actually knows what a hangover is like, because she doesn't really drink—that's Cana's thing, after all—but her brunette friend has filled her in on the unpleasant after-effects of consuming too much alcohol.

There isn't an abundant amount of light in the room, but the small rays that leak through the cracks blind her and only serve to make her headache worse. Her eyes burn, there's this crazy strong metallic taste in her mouth, and honestly, her entire body feels like it's been run over by a train, revived, and then tossed off a twenty-story building.

Unpleasant doesn't even begin to cover it.

"Ugh."

Her eyelids flutter and she groans loudly, but not loud enough to drown out the screaming. Or even be heard over the screaming, most likely. All that racket isn't really doing her any favors either, considering her legendary hangover and massive headache.

Lucy squints and licks her cracked lips, noticing for the first time that she's not alone. Which probably should have been obvious from the screaming, but she's not exactly at her finest right now. So, she's not by herself, as there are, in fact, probably twenty other girls with her. And only a third of them are doing the screaming.

Well whatever. The combined sound is something awful that bounces off the walls and lingers, whispering insecurities in her ear and planting doubts in her mind. Some of the other girls have been crying—or still are—and a few of them are trying to comfort the distraught ones. They all seem to be dressed in formal wear, and she appears to be the only one that's been out of it.

Everything is kind of hazy, and she can't remember what she was doing before she most likely passed out. Drinking, apparently. A ridiculous amount of drinking. Which still doesn't make sense, because she's never touched hard liquor in her life, and there's no way wine could make a person feel like this.

Something bad must have happened and it drove her to do…to do whatever she did earlier. Wonderful, because now she's going to have to face the problem and it's probably going to be worse than it was before.

She's thrilled, really.

The girl next to her, who looks to be in her early twenties, glances down as Lucy stirs. She's by her side in an instant, patting her cheeks gently and speaking quietly. "Are you alright?"

"Not really," she slurs in response. Somehow she feels she's had worse. The girl helps her sit up—slowly, because Lucy feels like she's going to vomit, even though her stomach is empty. "'here are we?"

Her tongue feels too thick and like it's stuck to the roof of her mouth.

The girl shakes her head as the screaming finally quiets down. "I-I don't know. We were—we just woke up here but you wouldn't open your eyes and you weren't responding. Some of the girls were afraid that you were dead, but you had a pulse. I checked. It was slow and uneven, but it was there," she swallows and tries to smile. "I'm training to be a nurse."

Lucy manages to nod weakly and look around a little. The room they're in is dank and smells like must and salty water. Which is weird and nasty. It's also dark and cold, and something tells her that they are not in a five-star hotel, or even a seedy one. Everything looks like it's made of metal, and it's unsettling. "What happened?"

The 'to me' is left unsaid, but it's still there.

"I," the nurse-to-be hesitates, "we were all—"

Suddenly the door bangs against the wall, causing the whole room to vibrate. The screaming starts again, as the girls all huddle back in the corner and as far away from the two bulky men walking into the room as possible. But they ignore the terrified girls and instead approach Lucy and the girl still beside her.

"Wait," the girl holds out her hands, voice desperate, "please, what are you doing—"

They each take hold of one of Lucy's arms and lift her up, so that her feet still drag on the ground but she'll be easier to move. It's not like she can walk anyway, what with her body still limp. Her limbs feel like boiled noodles. The girl is still pleading with them.

"She's hurt, please, just leave her—"

As she's dragged out of what is presumably hell, she sends the girl an It's Okay, I'll Be Fine look and a small smile. The door slams closed behind them, and the screaming slowly subsides again. Her captors aren't the handsomest men she's ever encountered in her life, she muses, what with their ugly sneers and beady eyes, but they are strong and she feels like a broken doll.

She closes her eyes and tilts her head back.

.

.

.

Headmistress Porlyusica narrows her eyes at the four of them. The older woman has an extremely intimidating stare that their fellow sisters have nicknamed the Penance Stare, because when you're on the receiving end of that look, you'll confess to a murder you didn't even commit. Or something like that. It's been said that these are the eyes that easily seduced the worst of men and then bore through their very souls. Well, that's just gossip spread by a school full of rumor-starved teenage girls, but no one doubts it.

These crimson orbs are meant to inspire fear, to lull you into a false sense of security and then end your life when you're least expecting it.

Erza has almost mastered this particular skill, and it is rightfully terrifying.

"Girls," Porlyusica begins in a slow, patient tone—which is never good, because she's usually irritable and moodily cross, and one of the first things a spy learns is to watch for changes in behavior; that they're dangerous, "a little bird informed me that you've been sighted sneaking into your rooms late at night. And someone's been messing with the cameras' frequencies on your floor."

More like a little angel with a fucking gigantic mouth, Lucy thinks in disdain.

"If I were to take a look at them, would I be seeing loop footage?"

Porlyusica watches them carefully, looking for any sign of recognition, any slip of emotion.

They don't show any and keep their expressions schooled and straight.

Impressive, and she might be convinced that it wasn't them if she hadn't already known the truth.

Because even if she were to look at the security footage, it would be difficult to tell the difference between a live feed and a loop one. Levy McGarden was a pro, after all, and excelled in anything that involved technology and computers. She was a prodigy—one that usually didn't leave any evidence of tampering.

"Ma'am, with all due respect," Lucy begins, "Angel hates our guts—well, mine anyway—and would do anything within her power to sabotage us. She's a bitch like that."

Porlyusica almost wants to smile, because Lucy's always been a character. A sometimes painfully honest characters despite passing her classes in the art of deceiving and manipulation with flying colors. "Lucy Heartfilia, you mustn't speak of your sisters like that."

She decides to ignore the dejected mutter of, 'but it's true' and returns to the subject at hand. "Regardless of any feeling of…disdain that Miss Sorano may harbor for you girls, some of your other sisters have reported that they've seen you as well. Now, would you care to explain why you're sneaking out in the middle of the night and the cameras have been tampered with?"

That does it, then, and they give in. Lucy huffs and crosses her arms before sliding down in her seat, a pout on her face. "Some sisters," she mumbles. "Whatever happened to the Girl Code? The Sister Code? The one where you cover for your sisters and not tattle on them like little brats."

Juvia fidgets something awful when she's nervous and not hiding it, and she bites her lip and twiddles her fingers, shifting in her seat. Levy lets out the loudest sigh Porlyusica thinks she's ever heard from the small girl, her head tilting backwards and smacking against the wall. Erza remains as stoic as ever, but tugs on the end of her uniform skirt, a sure sign that's she uncomfortable.

"Okay," Lucy relents, "so we snuck out to practice our skills. What's so bad about that, Ma'am?"

Porlyusica intertwines her fingers and rests her hands on her desktop. "And you felt the need to borrow a van to practice the combat skills you've been polishing up lately?"

The blonde's face falls a bit more. "We may have also returned a Baroque-era painting to the family who originally owned it?"

"Ah, there it is," Porlyusica nods. "Don't tell me you broke into the Magnolia Museum of Art."

All four girls' expressions turn sheepish, and Porlyusica sighs. For the fortieth time that day. "Girls, it is quite the notable cause to undertake such a venture, but you do not have the clearance to infiltrate a place like that. Or steal a priceless piece of art."

Lucy shrugs weakly. "What can we say? Juvia really likes to do research and art is her hobby."

"Besides," Levy puts in, "it's not 'priceless' per say, it's only worth like twenty-two mil."

Porlyusica stares at her. Twenty-two million dismissed so easily, good heavens. These girls really were something.

"And Juvia tailed that curator guy around for like two weeks before we pulled this job," Lucy says, casting a glance at the quiet girl. "He's cheating on his wife, by the way. But, the insurance company will pay most of the damages—I feel for them, really—and he'll be fine. He's a greedy little two-timing jerk. He'll be fine, and the family will be happy. It's a win-win if you exclude the insurance company."

Porlyusica turns to Erza. Erza, the by-the-book, no nonsense, lawful student that can always be counted on to make rational decisions and stay out of trouble. "And you willingly went along with this?"

The scarlet-haired girl's fidgeting with the edge of her skirt worsens. Porlyusica groans and pinches the bridge of her nose. Breathe. In, out. "You do not have that type of clearance yet."

"Please tell me," she starts in a strained voice, "that you haven't been up to anything else."

Juvia presses the tips of her forefingers together. "Well um, we may or may not have been tracking The Prominence—"

"The Prominence?! You've been working on—"

Lucy throws her hands up. "Just tracking, we swear!"

"Do you girls know what could happen? Did you honestly think I wouldn't find out about this? That you could hide it and get away with it? If so," Porlyusica gives them a Look, "you are seriously mistaken."

Her words make the girls deflate considerably, and it gets very quiet in the Headmistress' office for a while. Finally, Erza speaks up.

"All we wanted was a chance to prove ourselves. We thought that if we could successfully pull off a heist—"

"Don't call it that," Lucy hisses.

"—without any help from the school and catch The Prominence on our own, then maybe we could be considered for Class Four."

As soon as she's done speaking, she averts her gaze to the floor. Porlyusica blinks, and sighs. "This is about that? Well, that explains most of it, I suppose. You four are usually so sensible and rational, pulling stunts like these is out of the ordinary for you. I was wondering what could have driven you to do such a thing."

They don't meet her eyes, and she takes the time to really look at them. "Girls, you know that you're not allowed on solo missions—especially ones that haven't been cleared by either me or one of the teachers. What if you'd been caught by one of the security guards at the museum? Or one of The Prominence's men? What then?"

"But we weren't caught," Lucy says, then mutters, "at least not by those mentioned."

Levy nods. "We're at the top of our classes, Miss Porlyusica. We're ready for this! We've been ready for this for at least two semesters now, we can do this. We just haven't passed yet."

"Exactly," Porlyusica nods. "You haven't passed and that is exactly my point. You're still impulsive, sometimes you make irrational decisions, and lately you've been blatantly ignoring orders by sneaking out late at night. Which, though I'm sure there's no need to elaborate, is against curfew rules and the reasons you've been doing it are against the rules as well. You're not ready for the field."

"But what about that time Levy disabled the laser system that almost killed five of the Class Four operatives? Or when Juvia tracked down that serial murderer? They were ten and twelve when they did those things," Lucy points out. "We're good at what we do, Ma'am, that's not something you can ignore."

Porlyusica shakes her head. "I was with them then. It's different out in the field. You four are out on your own for most of the operation and backup doesn't always come right away if you need help. You have to do things on your own."

"With all due respect Ma'am," Juvia says, "that's what we've been doing."

"Against orders," Porlyusica repeats, and motions toward the door. "Good isn't perfect, you could get seriously hurt. You're dismissed for the day, girls."

They stand, straightening skirts and biting back crushing disappointment, and head to the door. Lucy pauses, hand on the knob, and decides to say one last thing.

"Nobody's perfect, Ma'am. Even the best spies make mistakes, and yes, they could be killed. But they still go on anyway, don't they? We're not normal spies, Miss Porlyusica."

She turns the knob and is about to take a step out of the door when Porylusica sighs again.

"Normally, I should stick you three with stable duty or have you wash all the chalkboards after school and clean the showers for your actions. But," she says, and they hardly dare to hope, "but you make a fine point, Miss Heartfilia. I'll make an exception this one time, under one condition."

They all hold their breath.

"You bring me some salted taffy back from Hargeon. Nobody else makes it like they do there."

.

.

.

part ii

(i'm the baddest baby in the atmosphere)

—

SUMMARY OF SURVEILLANCE

OPERATIVES: Erza Scarlet, Class Three; Lucy Heartfilia, Class Three; Levy McGarden, Class Three; Juvia Lockser, Class Three.

Because Headmistress Porlyusica is always ever the gracious leader of Fairy Tail Academy, she has granted us the permission to undertake this case, just in case anyone is wondering or snooping in places they shouldn't be.

Operative Levy M. hacked into the academy's database (oops?) and pulled up any and all information on Michael Bora, aka The Prominence. There is surprisingly little known about the criminal, and so in response Operative Juvia L. tracked the suspect and trailed him for the time period of two weeks.

A summary of the information obtained by Operative Juvia L. is as follows.

The Subject: Michael Bora, twenty-seven, goes by the alias 'The Prominence', residence unknown but is staying at the Crown Inn in Hargeon Port. Subject suspected of kidnapping young women before proceeding to auction them off to the highest bidder. (Here Operative Lucy H. would like to contribute, "What a complete scumbag.")

Known Contacts: Operative Juvia L. intercepted several calls to and from the Subject's cell phone, and has identified at least seven different associates, none of which go by their real names. Typical.

Operatives were unable to fool everyone, unfortunately, which resulted in them getting the scolding of the century and Operative Erza S.'s cake privileges being revoked. Also, the Operatives were sentenced to two weeks of not leaving the grounds except for missions, and a six pm curfew.

.

.

.

This is how it goes.

Erza is the leader of their extremely competent team. She's the weapons specialist, and can expertly wield around thirty different weapons, and that's excluding the ones that shoot bullets. She doesn't really prefer bullets—that's more of Lucy and Juvia's thing—but instead likes the hands-on approach. Literally. She also has a particularly soft spot for blades, if her extensive sword collection and the three daggers and army knives on her person at all times are anything to go by.

She gives the commands and guides the team, and naturally beats the bad guys into next week. She's really good at that.

Lucy is the honeypot, the pretty distraction. She's the girl next door with looks that can literally kill. Your caring, sweet-smiling girlfriend who knows how to French kiss like an expert and breaks your legs when you're least expecting it. She knows over a hundred ways to potentially kill a man. Sometimes how to kill and person without actually killing them, bring them back to life, only to kill him again. She knows poison, deception, and manipulation.

And yet she's usually stuck as the blonde trophy girl with the killer curves. They claim it's because of her pretty, winning smile—it's infectious, or so she's heard—and peppy attitude.

Levy is the Girl Wednesday, of sorts. She knows computers and programming like she knows Shakespeare—which she totally does, by the way, because she's also a major bookworm. She stays on the sidelines most of the time, but she could ruin a person's life in a few simple keystrokes. She sets up their comm links and cameras (the special connection she's set up is her pride and joy), and basically runs the whole show from behind the scenes.

Last but not least, there is Juvia. Her field of expertise is reconnaissance and uncovering secrets that others usually like to keep buried. Of course, Levy can do that too, but Juvia is different. She's quiet and deadly, and blends in with the shadows enough to actually be one. She's handy with a camera and is proficient in twenty different languages. She also has sniper training, and never miss her target.

In essence, they are not normal teenage girls.

They are exemplary and exceptional.

.

.

.

"What a pretentious name for an asshole that kidnaps unsuspecting young girls and then sells them to the highest bidder," Lucy huffs as she examines her nails. They're painted a deep burgundy, the same color as Flare's favorite cure for what ails—a glass of Merlot.

Juvia is cleaning her rifle, but spares her friend a glance. "I'll feel safer just knowing this guy is off the streets."

Erza steps back and gives the blonde a once-over, taking in Lucy's dark dress with a dangerous slit up the side, a deep-cut neckline, and impossibly high burgundy stilettos to match. Her lips are stained a dark red, and her eyes are smoky. The perfect femme fatale, Juvia thinks to herself as Erza nods to herself. Another job well done.

Their leader has some weird thing with clothes—well, maybe they all do, they are teenage girls after all. She has a keen fashion sense and likes to double-check any disguises or outfits before an op. Everything has to be perfect.

Levy leans back in her rolling chair and claps her hands, letting out a low whistle. "Nice job, Erza. You look gorgeous, Lu."

The blonde smiles coyly and brushes the ends of her hair with the back of her hand. "I know. I'm hot."

They laugh, but then Erza puts a hand on her shoulder. "You remember the plan, right Lucy?"

"Of course. Slip in, charm the bastard out of his wits, subdue him, and then call it in. We've gone over this a hundred times," she taps her right temple, "I have it memorized."

Erza nods. "I know, I know. It just—it has to be perfect. This is our in, we have to take it. And please Lucy, be careful. The Prominence is a dangerous man, and you could get hurt."

Lucy winks and taps her dark red lips with her forefinger. "Don't you worry, doll. I've got this. Class Four, here we come!"

.

.

.

In hindsight, she had not really expected him to single her out. That was her job, but he was persuasive and coy. The party was on his yacht, and he led her to a private room, away from the guests. They talked and she smiled and played along, telling him she was hoping to study art in Paris one day, that she thought he was perfectly charming and it was very generous of him to throw such a lavish event. He laughs and claims it was nothing, pouring her a glass of wine while she bats her lashes.

It's darker than her finger nails.

She's technically still underage, spy or no spy, and is trying to put off taking a sip as long as possible. He starts to show signs of impatience—it's the little things, like the way the muscle over his brow ticks, or the clench of his jaw—but he's very good at hiding it. But she's better at reading the signs. He starts to try and coerce her into taking a sip—"just one won't hurt, right?"—and she's about to take a small one just to appease him when someone starts screaming outside.

And in that moment, she knows how he manages to catch all his victims. Particularly when there's a sudden lull in conversation out there, and she throws the glass to the floor. It shatters and she snarls at the startled man across from her.

The comms are down for some reason, and all she can hear in her ear is static. That's not good—this wasn't part of the plan.

"You really think I wouldn't notice that you poisoned the booze at this party? I may be blonde, but I'm not that blonde. It's probably not harmful, am I right? A small dose of it and bam, the girls are out for the count and ripe for the picking. Or kidnapping and selling."

He doesn't even stand like she does. "You're not one of my usual guests then, I take it? Shame, you would have made a pretty artist. I could have taken you to Paris."

"Yeah right," she shoots back, mind switching over to Plan B because this wasn't supposed to happen.

Her fingers itch to reach for the .45 hidden under her dress. She doesn't, not yet. "I'm not letting you get away this time, or take those girls."

Michael sends her a horrible smile before she feels something being stabbed into her neck.

.

.

.

Levy frowns at the screen as the camera feed turns to static. She hasn't heard from Lucy in a while, and has spent the past ten minutes watching a girl stuff her face with shrimp puffs. And now she's hungry. "Miss Universe, I just lost visual from your camera, what's your status?"

Nothing.

"Miss Universe, if you're eating anything at the moment then swallow already and report."

Dead silence.

"Miss Universe what are you doing."

So she switches tactics, and decides to check in with Erza and Juvia. "Fairy Queen, Rainmaker, have you talked to Miss Universe?"

They also haven't heard anything from Lucy in at least half an hour. The last time Juvia saw her, she was headed into a room with their target.

And that's when the bodies start dropping and girls start screaming—the guests are all women, the guy clearly has class. Lucy is still nowhere to be seen, and Levy gets a sick feeling in her stomach.

Damn it.

.

.

.

Lucy takes back what she said earlier.

This is hell.

Currently, she's tied to a chair, her neck is killing her—they stabbed her with a fucking needle to drug her, the bastards—and she must've collapsed into the broken shards of what used to be her wine glass earlier because she's covered in cuts. And her head still hurts. It's a bitch, really.

Michael grins at her, and she's more than ready to rip him a new one. "You're going to make me a rich man, you know."

"You're already rich, you sorry excuse for a human being," she spits back.

He is unaffected, apparently. "Well, a richer man, then."

She sits there and stares at him with narrowed eyes. She's cold, she's tired, she's hungry, she's hurt, and her wicked awesome shoes are missing. Erza is going to throw a fit.

"You fucking drugged me," she accuses, tone dripping with venom.

He shrugs as he steps closer to her. "You should've been faster."

She grins at him, then, looking up through her lashes. "You mean like this?"

Lucy stands and, still tied to the chair, uses the article of furniture to ram into him. The force of the blow knocks Michael off his feet with a yell, and she licks her lips. Some of his goons come running, but she's ready for them, and takes them straight on. She launches herself off the platform and executes a front flip, landing on her back and smashing the chair. She's back on her feet before they can blink, pushing off the ground with her bounds hands and feet, and sprinting towards them.

She jumps and wraps her legs around one of the men's necks before tightening them and twisting, sending him sprawling to the ground. She snaps the zip tie around her wrists with ease, ad cracks her knuckles. The rest are easily disposable, and by the time Michael makes it to his feet, she's pointing one of his own men's gun at the back of his head.

"Told you I'm not just a dumb blonde," she grins smugly, and wipes some blood leaking from her mouth on the back of her hand.

.

.

.

There's someone else outside, she notes as she guides Michael to the deck with the gun firmly pressed to his skull, and they're disposing of the other henchmen. Namely though, it's not her girls. Instead, he's a mess of wild rosy hair, a manic grin, and bloody fists. There's a trail of bodies and blood, and she spots a discarded—wait, is that a flamethrower?

She prepares herself for a fight, but when he sees her, he just nods in her direction before proceeding to suckerpunch a man in the face.

Lucy is bewildered, but decides to just leave him to continue in his destruction. Erza was supposed to let the girls out when Lucy had located the place they were being held, but she'll just have to do it herself. And she does, then after they're all off the yacht, she steps onto the deck and is immediately bombarded by her friends.

"Lucy!" Levy shrieks. "The comms were down and you weren't responding! Michael used a scrambler but he didn't turn it on until right before everybody started dropping."

Erza claps her on the shoulder, and Lucy winces. "Good job, Lucy. You did it."

Juvia cracks the man she'd been pushing along on the back of his head with the butt of her rifle, and smiles. "Congratulations, Lucy. I took out all the sentries," she sends a pointed look to the man now crumpled at her feet, "so we're in the clear."

"Don't be ridiculous," Lucy scoffs tiredly, "I couldn't have done it without all of you. We're a team. You're my girls. Now," she takes a breath, "we just have to wait for backup."

Levy grins. "I called it already, they should be here soon."

"I'm gonna need like, a large cheese pizza, two gallons of ice cream, and a night of Sixteen Candles and The Princess Bride to recover," Lucy moans, lightly touching the puncture wound in her neck.

Erza smiles. "That can probably be arranged."

.

.

.

end notes: this was a beast. in case it's unclear, codenames are as follows: lucy—miss universe, erza—fairy queen, juvia—rainmaker, and levy's wasn't mentioned yet. also, lucy kind of pulled the black widow's moves from the avengers, but.