My contribution for RoLu week. It's… extremely late, but I was inspired by everyone else's stories.

I decided to experiment with present tense for the first time. It was a lot harder than I thought it would be.

So here we go.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail or the characters. I possess only undying love for them.

Lucy was aware that hiding underneath a table to escape the brawl the celebratory ball had become was probably not as sound a decision as she had initially believed. Fairy Tail, after all, had a history of utilizing furniture as makeshift weapons, shields, launch pads and as something to break their fall.

The table was, however, proving to be an excellent barrier against the projectiles, inanimate and otherwise, hurtling around the room and the shards of broken glass and crystal raining down.

She draws her knees up to her ample chest, hugging her legs for warmth. Although her dress is long, and the folds are wrapped around her lower extremities, she's a bit chilly. Her uncomfortable heels sit beside her, cast off long ago. It's not as if anyone is there to see her looking cute in them, so there was rather little point in enduring the blistering straps for a second longer than it took to crawl under the table furthest from the center of the maelstrom.

A long tablecloth obscures her view of the hubbub, and while she can still see, her place of repose is somewhat dim. Listening to the cacophony of sounds, Lucy wonders if any of the participants actually recall what started the half-friendly half-serious inter-Guild scuffle. Poor Yukino-chan was probably mortified by how Sting's apology had escalated.

Disinterest in participation in the brawl had prompted Lucy's hasty retreat from the conflict, or so she kept telling herself. It had absolutely nothing to do with her mounting exhaustion from fighting dragons, watching herself die, and actually dying for a full minute.

Nope.

Well… maybe it had a little to do with it. Much as she was glad to see everyone alive and by all appearances completely fine, she really did need some alone time to process the events of the last few days. Natsu's clinginess had reached new heights after the battle was over, and she honestly just wanted a chance to breathe in peace. She loved and adored her best friend, but there were limits and boundaries to be respected. Such as visiting the restroom – unaccompanied. That would be nice.

A fork clatters to the floor. Startled, Lucy watches as it rolls under the table with her. Shadows beyond the cloth barricade shift, and she recognizes the owner as a person. Lost in thought, she hadn't even noticed another presence. Someone who, if the cake clinging stubbornly to the utensil's tongs is any accurate measure, would prefer to sneak sweets while the rest of the guests are otherwise preoccupied.

It can't possibly belong to Erza, however. The crimson-haired Titania was embroiled in battle at the moment. No matter how much the older woman loved her cake, Lucy knew it was near impossible to corral the warrior when her blood was up or entice her away. Besides, the crumbs were chocolate, with not a hint of strawberry anywhere.

One intake of breath later and the tablecloth is yanked upward by a pale hand. The owner, bending down to repossess the fork, pauses upon seeing the girl beneath the table.

"Hello," she greets, as if being caught lurking underneath furniture were an everyday occurrence.

A crimson eye blinks languidly back at her. "Good evening," he returns, his dulcet voice containing no surprise or any other emotion for that matter other than polite civility. Like her, he seems unfazed by the odd circumstances. Then again, from what little Lucy had thus far observed of the man, unflappable was his default state of being. And for all she knew, this could be a common situation for the brunette.

Unsure what else to do, Lucy grasps the fallen fork and holds it out to him. "Here you go, Cheney-san."

"…Thank you." With gentleness she had not expected, the Dragon Slayer takes the utensil from her.

Though he hasn't asked, Lucy supplies, "I'm hiding."

He stares at her for a second, and then nods – an almost imperceptible gesture made with only the slightest movement of his neck muscles. "Ah."

She doesn't know where it comes from, or what compels her to do so, but she asks, "Would you like to join me?" Mentally kicking herself after the words leave her mouth, because really? Really Lucy? What sane person would crawl under a table with a crazy person they've only just met merely because they returned a dirty fork?

Observing his reaction, it doesn't seem like she's offended him. Not that she could tell if she had. She wasn't very experienced with reading unexpressive faces – her teammates were all very open people, after all (maybe Gray wasn't normally, but to her he was, and Virgo didn't count since she couldn't read the Celestial Spirit anyway).

His reply, when it comes a heartbeat later, is to the point. "I must decline." He abruptly stands, only to misjudge the location of the table's edge and smash his skull into the wooden underside.

Wincing at the noise, Lucy watches him withdraw with exaggerated care. They both studiously ignore the embarrassing scene in silence. The tablecloth falls back into place and Lucy's view of the man is obscured once more.

She lets out a long, quiet sigh, though she's quite certain he's heard it anyway with his keen hearing. That was… awkward. Enlightening in its own way, but… still awkward. The encounter had served to highlight to Lucy the differences between Rogue and Future Rogue more than the similarities. The current era's Rogue Cheney was much quieter and soft-spoken than his future counterpart. In fact, Future Rogue's arrogance, casual cruelty, and delusions of grandeur reminded Lucy more of Sting during the GMG than it did Rogue. Had Future Rogue absorbed part of Sting's personality along with his magic?

A thought to be filed away for later analysis.

Sudden wind ruffles Lucy's hair and the tablecloth flaps violently as a hefty projectile whooshes past her hiding place.

And apparently Rogue has reconsidered her earlier offer of shelter, because his hand has reappeared on the cloth edge.

She wonders if it's creepy that she knows the appendage belongs to him without further clues.

His head pokes underneath the table. "Does your offer still stand?" In sharp contrast to his countenance a mere few minutes ago, he now seems distinctly… scorched.

Oh dear.

Scootching to the side to make a scant few inches more room for the man, she pats the floor next to her in invitation.

He needs no second, and before she knows it he's beside her.

There really isn't enough space under the smallish table for the both of them to maintain any personal boundaries they may have set. They aren't even moving, and their shoulders are practically touching. Somehow, it seems darker under the table than before Rogue joined her.

Oh.

Shadow Dragon Slayer.

Right.

What strikes Lucy as most odd about this already very strange situation is that this time it doesn't feel awkward at all.

After a few minutes pass in comfortable, unassuming silence, Lucy yawns. Hastily, she covers it up. Even in the dark, though, she can feel Rogue's scarlet eyed stare focused on her. Giving up, she leans forward and rests her head against her knees. A shiver wracks her body and she squeezes her eyes shut as if it will help.

She almost jumps out of her skin as a warm, soft weight settles across her shoulders. Lifting her head, she turns in the dark to peer at Rogue's silhouette. A glance down reveals object now resting on her to be his cloak. "Thank you," she whispers.

"You're most welcome, Heartfilia-san." His response is unfailingly polite.

The fact that he knows who she is without her having to introduce herself is of some interest. However, the use of her last name as her identifier irks her. "Lucy."

He seems honestly perplexed by her statement. "Come again?"

"Lucy," the blonde repeats, drawing the warm cloak around her form a little more snugly. "Please call me Lucy."

"…Very well," he acquiesces to the informality (although Lucy thinks he sounds a little reluctant). "Then, from now on, please address me by Rogue."

"Okay." She yawns again in the middle of the word.

"Are you tired?" the Dragon Slayer ventures.

Lucy makes a noise in the back of her throat. "Yeah. I haven't been sleeping well the past couple of days."

"Neither have I."

The admission from her future murderer shocks her into trying to see him through the dimness again. Her breath catches in her throat, and she hopes that the poor lighting and her bleary, sleep-deprived eyes are playing tricks on her because holy hell is that a smile? It's not a particularly happy one, more a wry thing full of regretful sympathy. Still, it is a smile.

'It looks good on him.'

She quickly buries that thought in a shallow grave.

He shifts somewhat under her intense scrutiny; it's the only outward sign of discomfort he allows himself. It's a futile effort, however. There's no place to move to under the cramped confines of the table. Instead, all he succeeds in doing is brushing his arm against the other mage's.

She sighs and lays her head down on his shoulder, causing him to stiffen in acute, silent alarm. She doesn't know what is prompting her to trust him, and yet she does. Honestly, what could he do to her that his future self hadn't done already?

Actually, no. She wasn't going to think about it. Not when she feels so warm and comfortable for the first time in days. Even the din of her guildmates' ongoing festivities seems distant.

"Do you mind?" she asks, voice slurred with weariness.

Two deep, calming inhales and exhales later, he replies with, "It's fine." It takes him a couple minutes more to actually relax, but by then she's fast asleep.

Gentle shaking forces her into wakefulness once more, and she groans at the interruption of her rest.

"Lucy-san," a quiet, male voice in her ear says. "The party has ended. We should return to our inns."

She grumbles at him, and he shakes her shoulder again. Screwing up her face to show him her distaste, she raises her head. Blinking does nothing to clear her eyes of sleep gunk, so she reluctantly removes a hand from the secure warmth of Rogue's cloak to rub at them.

While she's distracted, he's already moved to the tablecloth. With one smooth motion, he rises to his feet (clearing the table this time) and pulls the cloth away for her to exit as well.

Only he receives a hiss instead. "Why is it so damn bright?" Lucy mutters, crawling on her hands and knees out from under the table in a fashion that would have had her father foaming at the mouth. She refuses to relinquish the cloak and its warmth as she stumbles to her feet, and Rogue doesn't demand its return.

He also doesn't deign to answer her, admittedly, facetious query. Bowing slightly, he says, "I wish you well, Lucy-san."

"Mmmn," Lucy murmurs back. "You too, Rogue-san." And she means it.

Now that she can see him a little more clearly, her sleep-addled brain tries to convince her that the new, small, thin scar across the bridge of his nose is quite dashing. Oh, and that his eyes are really pretty, like autumn leaves.

With bleary eyes, she watches him pivot away and stride towards his partner and new Guild Master. She almost chokes on her spit, though, as he raises a foot and slams it into the unconscious Sting's stomach.

Strangled sputtering erupts from Sting's mouth and he rolls to his side, coughing. "Fucking bastard," he moans. "Do you have to do that every time?"

So this is normal, then? Maybe she was starting to see a little of Future Rogue in the current. Maybe just a smidge.

"And yet you persist in drinking to excess," Rogue extols; sparing his friend none of the kindness with which he'd treated Lucy.

Shaking her head in amusement, Lucy wanders away from the scene, through the maze of slumbering party guests to locate her own idiots.

"Luce, you smell weird."

It's all Lucy can do not to order Taurus to drop her best friend. "Don't say my name when you're about to vomit." And honestly, he shouldn't be talking. He absolutely reeked of sake. How could someone with that keen a nose be unable to smell themselves?

Before leaving the party, she had come to the conclusion that no one on her team was allowed to partake in alcohol ever again. Summoning Loke and Taurus to haul the half-conscious male dimwits of her team was one of her better ideas. The two were being carted around like sacks of potatoes – and Natsu wasn't taking the jolting rhythm of Taurus' footsteps well. Motion sickness would always be his greatest weakness, and alcohol was not improving his condition. Gray, thankfully, had passed into complete oblivion some time ago, so he was rather quiet at the moment. Erza was glaring at innocent shrubbery like it had done her great personal harm.

Lucy spares a thought for poor Wendy, being carried by Virgo – the Celestial Spirit having summoned herself. Someone'd spiked the punch at the celebration, the alcohol's scent concealed by the fruity drink Wendy had guzzled.

When Lucy manages to discover the culprit (and she would, mark her words) she was going to strangle them. Celestial Spirit Mages never broke promises, after all.

Taurus adds a skip to his step to prevent further pestering to his Master and a wave of sickness overtakes Natsu, cutting off any further interrogation.

She's glad that he hasn't seemed to notice the cloak (although, judging by the way Loke is smirking at her, he clearly has).

She makes a mental note to return it to the taciturn Shadow Dragon Slayer at some point in the future. But until then, contrary to Natsu's opinion on the matter, she was keeping it until it lost its nice, mildly musky smell.

"Rogue, you smell weird."

"Shut up." Rogue's teeth were grinding together in a manner that would alarm most dentists.

"Like a girl."

"I said, shut up."

Drunken Sting had issues when it came to listening to others, but possessed impressive enunciation skills. "Where's your cloak?"

"None of your business."

"Who was the Blondie?"

Rogue almost groans at his friend, his irritation is so great. Sting is singularly persistent, even when sober. Get him drunk and the most Rogue could reasonably hope for was that the blonde man would choose not to crank the shit out of his asshole dial. Best get it over with and hope the Dragon Slayer is too inebriated to remember much later. "A friend." He hopes. The blonde Fairy had tunneled under his skin while he wasn't paying attention, and he really does want to meet with her again.

"Whoa," Sting mutters, incredulous. "First time meeting you and you're friends already?" It had taken a younger Sting several weeks' worth of pestering before Rogue had even acknowledged his existence. Almost a year before they became partners. It took even longer for friendship beyond semi-patient tolerance to form. The Dragon Slayer was almost jealous of the other blonde.

Rogue blinks at his partner's question. "I've met her before."

After that admission, he refuses to answer any more of Sting's inquires. Luckily, the blonde man has a short attention span and his bed at the inn sang him a siren's song he couldn't possibly ignore, leaving Rogue to his own thoughts.

As he settles into his own bed, the Shadow Dragon Slayer mulls over his interaction with the blonde at the party.

Truth be told, Rogue's glad Lucy doesn't seem to remember the first time they've met. It was long ago, and it wasn't a flattering experience for him.

He would much rather her think of him as he is now; a strong, adult Dragon Slayer and not the lost little twelve year old boy she once helped. Twelve year old Rogue had developed a frankly horrifying crush on the older girl.

One that he… didn't quite seem to be over.

Rogue grabs his pillow and buries his face in it, hoping to smother himself in his slumber.

I stayed up way too late writing this last night. Only got about 4 hours of sleep.

This is… not proofread.