Another take on Gray's answer at the end of this arc.

Also, I will probably use this title as an archieve for my short one-shots from here on. Irregular updates, though.

Disclaimer: Fairy Tail belongs to Hiro Mashima. I win nothing by writing this thing.

bargaining conditions

Where Gray is too old for dolls and plushies; Juvia disagrees.

Gray is nervous. Sort of. He can admit that to himself.

He has not planned this, exactly—hasn't planned anything beyond surviving the war, winning it— but the idea's been there since a while now. Since quite a long while, actually. He can admit that, too. He has been doing that a lot, admitting things he wouldn't have admitted in another time.

It takes a bit of time, a bit of bravado, a bit of alcohol, but he does.

And Gray is sure it has to count for something.

So he makes up his mind, chucks down a whole glass of whiskey and saunters through the after-party and the drunken mates towards Juvia.

He doesn't stop.

(Except he does, for a second—then Juvia looks up and at him, because she always, always finds him, somehow, and he says fuck it.

He's doing this.)

. . .

"Juvia doesn't… understand."

"What's there not to understand?"

"That's not it," she mutters. "Juvia's asking if Gray-sama is sure."

Gray scoffs, frowns, lowers his hand and the key. Juvia fidgets, uneasy. He wasn't expecting this—she disbelieving, and it occurs to him that he might screwed up somewhere along the line. Maybe he's a bit too late and a bit too arrogant. Maybe he's doing this all in the wrong way although that wouldn't have mattered because they, this whatever it is, has always been done in the wrong way and it's worked.

(Gray discovers he doesn't care either way. He'll do what he really wants to do and that's that.

Right now, he wants to press on.)

"Yeah, sure. I wouldn't ask if I wasn't," he says, and hands over the key again. "It's not like, say, we haven't done this before. We already lived together for half-year, it's nothing new, nothing different, and… I'm asking, no?"

Juvia smiles. She smiles, soft and excited and red, and he inflates—not sure why, he just does, and his shoulders feel light. He feels proud and flustered suddenly, looking at her hopping on her own seat, looking how hopeful she looks, looking how thrilled she is. He feels alive.

"Gray-sama is."

"I am."

She snatches the key from him. "Juvia wasn't expecting this," she croons, biting down on her lower lip. "Juvia expected confessions and promises and flowers. But she thinks this might be fine, too. She likes it."

Gray hums. "Good." He holds up his hands. "So—that's a yes?"

Juvia looks at him slyly. "Only if Gray-sama buys the flowers. Juvia really wants them."

. . .

He buys her carnations and roses.

Juvia puts them in a pretty china base as soon as she moves in, sets them in the coffee table for the world to see.

She also brings plushies that find their way into their bed and swirly, useless ornaments that Gray doesn't know what to think about, and he realizes that he was wrong—it's different. He's all of a sudden aware of it now, aware of that sharing a house with Juvia Lockseris completely different from living with her, and it scares the shit out of him.

It's good, though—good the feeling and good the company, and Gray's…happy.

Honest to god happy he hasn't felt like in a long time.

Well—mostly.

"We will not have dolls of myself lying around, Juvia. No way in hell."

"But they are Juvia's," she argues. "What is she supposed to do with them?!"

Gray chokes. "Throw them out, maybe?"

The look she gives him is absolutely withering, and the first time he sees it directed to him.

"Juvia will not, under any circumstance, throw them out," she says, severely. "They're Juvia's creation—Juvia's children! That'd be immoral."

"That makes it creepier, actually."

Juvia huffs. "Gray-sama."

"Juvia. They have my face."

Her eyes narrow when he crosses his arms, and her lips quiver when he frowns. It's not a look Gray's particularly seen before, but it's almost enough to disarm him—to make feel him bad.

Except he can't—she gets up from the chair, goes to the door and has the last word.

"No," she says and leaves their home to go who knows where.

Gray's left with a half-decorated living room and a good deal of closed packages, a burning sensation in his stomach that doesn't go away even when a hour passes. He's frustrated, he knows, so he does the next best thing and kicks the table.

"Bullshit."

. . .

It's almost night when Gray gets out to search for Juvia, and the moon is high when she finds her. Magnolia Square is cold and empty when he arrives, and he finds her sitting over the fountain, shivering. She also has one of those dammed dolls with her—it rattles him.

It takes Gray three breathes, a sigh, before he approaches her.

"Why did I know you'd be here."

Juvia looks up, smile weak, and shrugs. "…because Gray-sama loves Juvia?"

Gray pauses.

He…lets that slide.

"Let's go home," he decides to say instead. "I'll let you keep the dolls if that makes you happy. Just keep them away from the bed."

"Thank you."

She doesn't move. It's strange.

(She's strange—always been. But there's something now, something there, different from her usual self.

Gray feels kind of lost.)

"O-kay." He sits down next to her. "What's with this?"

She sniffs. "Juvia doesn't follow."

"You've been fingering that doll, which is, by the way, hella weird, since I got here," he says. "So what's up with them?"

Juvia sighs without spirit, turns to him and takes the doll with his face within both hands. "Juvia made them. They're hers." Her frown is dark and trembling, and looks up with eyes so dim that Gray can only read the plea on them. "Juvia made them because she felt it'd be a way to have Gray-sama with her. Before. Juvia knew—knows Gray-sama's going to be with Juvia always, as a friend. But… but that isn't the same from what Juvia wants."

Oh.

"Oh." He makes a noise and swallows the lump in his throat. He is blushing, pretty sure of that. "But you got me, as in flesh and bones, here. Now. No need for those dolls anymore."

"Juvia knows."

"So."

Silence.

Gray fidgets.

"S'okay if you don't wanna answer."

She shakes her head earnestly. "No. Juvia wants to do this" she says, breathes in deeply. It takes one, two, three seconds. "Juvia doesn't want to throw them because they're insurance."

He blurts. "What?"

"In case… in case Gray-sama doesn't…" She blushes a deep red, and Gray knows her enough, has seen her blush enough, to know that it's not out of shyness, but shame. "In case it doesn't work out."

"In case we don't work out, you mean?" Gray rasps out.

His tone is a lot harsher than what he intends to, and she flinches away from him, but it chills him to the bone.

Juvia's always been positive, upbeat, absolutely lively—she never ever would consider failure, not with him, never with him, and it hurts that she's considering now. It hurts because, in some ways, he cannot blame her.

Cannot blame her when he's indecisive even now, even when he asked her to come live with him, because it's true and it's been so long for her, probably, which is ten things of fucked up, and—

Gray groans.

This wasn't what he'd hoped, at all.

And worst of it is that he could fix it, right then and there, just by telling her what she needs to hear, but he still wouldn't.

He cannot do this.

He knows.

He just cannot say it yet.

Instead: "I'm sorry."

"Gray-sama shouldn't apologize," she says in a beat. "Juvia is being irrational."

His head shakes. "You aren't. That's the problem."

"Hmm."

Gray pauses, huffs and decides.

"Gimme that."

She looks up with wide eyes. "The doll?"

"Yeah, the doll." She gives it to him, and he takes a moment to inspect the carefully made stitches, the good quality of the fabric, the smell of her on it, and his chest tightens. "Let's do this. You can keep this one. The rest? You throw them out."

"But—!"

"And. You create another one, like this one. But it's going to be a doll of you. With your face," he says firmly. "And once you do that, we'll put them on a shelf at home, together. I think that's something we can do."

When he finishes, Juvia is mute. Her eyes blown wide apart, mouth open and she sits very, very still. For a moment, Gray fears the worst—fears that he's miss stepped, that it's not enough, that he cannot fix this like he has hoped to do. Then she takes the doll from him, cleans out the dust until it's all prim and looks at him with curved lips and blissful eyes, and Gray unwinds.

Her smile is tiny, but so promising there's no mistaking it. It reaches her eyes, makes wrinkles appear around them, and there's something there that absolutely tugs at his heartstrings in all the right ways.

Gray holds his breath.

"Juvia'd like that," she says at last.

He sighs in relief.

"Nice."

She giggles. "Juvia thinks this is our first argument."

Gray blinks. "Uh. You right. It is."

He smiles. She smiles.

There is another blush on Juvia's cheeks, still red, but this one reaches her ears and Gray knows which blush this is. He has seen it too many times not to know. She even squirms as if holding herself back would make her combust right there—the not-so-subtle side glances she sends him being hard to miss, too.

Juvia looks at him, hopeful.

Gray rolls his eyes.

"Just do it," he says, opening his arms. "I haven't ever stopped you before, I'm not gonna start stopping you now. Not like I could."

The squeal is loud. Her hands are around him in an instant, her head tucked under his chin, and Gray's pretty sure he's going to get a bruise from that.

It's good, though— feels good, at least, so he doesn't mind much.

What he'll mind is Natsu's reaction once he finds there are forsaken dolls of them hanging out in their apartment. Gray can already imagine the mockery and the laugh and all the teasing he is definitely not looking forward to, and cringes. Hard.

Juvia hums in pleasure.

But—

But he's pretty sure he's in love with this woman.

He can admit that to himself— or has been trying to for a while now.

So.

He's ready to deal with the teasing. It'll be worth it.