#andyswrite

Faye sympathized with the man. Seeing him asleep, finally buried under consciousness after hours of fighting with himself made her glad she had never fallen in love. Of course, there was the like button, the pesky infatuation that came and went as quickly as the vast amounts of alcohol Spike had no doubt thrown back, and that was only a surface level sentiment.

What Spike tried to let go of was deeper. Scarring.

His sleeping form seemed peaceful, though she supposed it would turn one-eighty once he awoke. He had stumbled in around four-thirty that morning, sloshed beyond all hope, incoherently blabbering on. It was a wonder he had made it back to the house in one piece. Spike had easily passed out with his boots still on his feet.

She stepped to the couch and pulled the folded blanket from the recliner to spread over him. He reeked of hard booze.

"What are we gonna do with you?" She murmured to herself, giving her head a shake.

"Mm… er, do what now?"

Spike's eyes were still closed as he stirred and tried to lift his head and speak. The low, cigarette and whiskey-burned groan that escaped between his dehydrated lips sounded painful.

"You look like you were hit by a train." She was ever so blunt.

What resembled a short-lived laugh tumbled out from him, ending in a cough. He winced. "You should feel it," he mumbled.

Faye rolled her eyes and left to fetch him a bottle of water.

His liver and kidneys would be working overtime for a while until his situation leveled out, those brave, little soldiers. These days she felt more like the caretaker of a twenty-seven-year-old baby than a hard-earning, semi-successful bounty hunter.

"I think I'd rather feel the emotional ass-whooping than your kind of hangovers. It'd pass faster," she replied loudly, handing him the bottle with an added sarcastic, "Your drink, sir."

Spike winced hard as he sat up. "Not so loud, fuck…" he croaked. "Trying to kill me."

One hand took the water, the heel of the other rubbed into his forehead, seeking relief from the growing ache. The pounding behind his eyes rocked his balance and sensitivity. A queasiness hit his stomach before he brought the drink to his mouth.

He heaved into the previously placed bucket below him.

"Serves you right," Faye muttered. She walked away before she heard anything else that would haunt her later.

She had never been fond of Julia. From the moment that woman stepped foot inside their abode she could tell they were in for some bad news. Spike was only now unwinding himself from around her slender fingers.

However, Faye was fond of Spike and hoped he would learn from this rather unfortunate event and the things that spurred it. She just didn't approve of his methods. It wasn't fun to tease him when he was hurting himself. If he would let her help.

"Just give it a few more hours. His wallowing's almost over," Jet announced. He stood up from the desk and stretched, his thick arms reached above his head.

Reaching into his pocket, he tossed Faye a pack of smokes as she strolled by. "Give one to pathetic over there and then suit up. We've got a job."

"Uhh, okay, but isn't he a little useless right now?"

From the couch beside her, Spike gave a rough groan and then snarled, "Cowboy up or sit in the fuckin' truck."

Jet only smiled.

"You can't possibly know how this feels," Spike monotoned, briefly closing his eyes. He plodded after the others down the sidewalk towards the pub, which happened to be the location of their next hit.

It was a first. Strolling that day into the same bar he'd gotten plastered in the night before, still hungover as hell. The dark circles under his eyes had deepened in their shade of bluish-purple on the way over.

"Psht, yea, you're right, I can't. 'Cause I'm not a drunk loser," Faye replied in kind. She threw a glance his way.

"You're both getting on my nerves. Focus," Jet grumbled under his breath. "Faye, you walk in first. Spike and I will be in after you've had a look around."

They gave it a good thirty seconds.

Nausea hit Spike as soon as he smelled the alcohol.

The drink hall harbored few patrons in the early evening. It would later fill up to near capacity as the hours wore on. Smoke and other various and unique scents floated through the stale air. The place could have used a strong breeze.

As if not affiliated with the other two, Spike beelined it for the bartop and sank onto one of the many stools. His head hit the cool, shellacked wooden surface and he went limp. All but useless.

Mentally patting herself and feeling the weight of gunmetal beneath the ridiculous outfit, Faye easily slipped into a facade. The perfect trap laid before a hungry smuggler.

Remember he'll be armed, Jet's voice said to her through the earpiece connecting the three bounty hunters. Name's Merle. His crew smuggles drugs and other goods into the country through the underground. Not unlike them to enjoy the spoils.

He adjusted his sunglasses to sit further up on his nose and peered at their target as he sat down two stools from Spike's seemingly knocked out form. He raised his hand at the only bartender, who stood directly in front of him, looking oddly at him as he wiped down the bartop.

"Uh, what can I do for ya, sir?"

Jet nodded. "Iced tea, please."

"Is that all?"

Spike let loose a series of quiet snores. A drop of drool slid from the corner of his mouth.

"And a protein shake. If you've got them," Jet said.

The bartender shook his head. He dropped the wet rag into a sani-bucket. "Don't got those. But there's ingredients for a milkshake?"

Jet glanced at Spike, then nodded to the employee.

Faye said nothing as she roamed about the great hall, her gaze hitting everything that could be used as a weapon if the need arose, all of the exits should they have underestimated their target.

If Merle was easy to catch, he would already be in police custody. The profile stated he'd been on the run for four years, successfully evading cuffs and a comfy cell. Within that time, due to the extremely toxic purity of the illegal synthetic drugs he often smuggled and sold, many innocent lives were needlessly lost. The bounty on his head paid a hefty price, dead or alive.

But preferably alive to watch his freedom turn to cash.

Large, green eyes gave a sultry flash at the giant of a man sitting in the corner intent on the brown bottle in between his fingers.

His expression never faltered. His grip on the bottle loosened a bit when Faye swayed near and laid a hand on the only other chair present at his table. She made a point to throw her shoulders back and jut out her ample breasts barely covered in the low cut of her dress.

"May I join you?" She purred.

He stared at her. First at the twin fun sacks staring back at eye level, then up at her expectant, smiling expression. "I'm meeting someone," he simply stated, his voice gruff.

She gently pressed. "I could be that someone… if you have time," she said, the words rolling off her tongue like a satin sheet.

"Time for you to fuck off," he said, shifting in the chair.

Faye grinned.

He played hard.

She opened her mouth to respond in the same smartass, sarcastic tone when the establishment's glass door swung open once again. Her eyes darted to it.

In strode three buff, ruffian-looking men, one right after the other. The didn't try to hide their full sidearm holsters conspicuously hanging from their clothing or the fact they all knew the dark man in the back. They sneered when they saw Faye.

"Looks like Boss has a customer, heheh," one of them chuckled. With one arm in a fluid motion, he snagged a chair from another nearby table and unceremoniously sank onto it.

The second did the same, but with the chair Faye had her hand on. "A lady friend," he commented.

The remaining man still standing peered closely at her, leaning down so he could breathe on her cheek as he inspected her.

Straightening her back, Faye loosened the hold she subconsciously had on her features. She tried not to tense. She had to act like a whore, not be one. All she had to focus on was getting them happy and cooperative, Jet -and hopefully Spike- would do the rest, with her lending a helping hand should the need arise. The moment they caught wind of her unwillingness to indulge in their scumbag needs and desires, she would be outed as a cop or worse -what she really was- and the bounty-op would be eighty-sixed.

Jet's voice was low and steady in the earpiece. "Hm. This might've turned into a four man warrant..."

The man with his face next to hers smelled like tobacco and grease. A throaty hum of approval thrummed in his chest. He turned to the man who had first occupied the table. "This yours?"

Merle took a swig of his drink. He said nothing, only his dark eyes moved to inspect Faye once again, sizing her up, himself unsure of the answer.

She shifted her weight, making sure her breasts jiggled a bit to keep their attention. Her fingers pushed some of her violet hair behind her ears, her gaze quickly shifting from all four with a mysterious grin sliding up on her red lips. "Well. How about I buy rounds for you. And you can buy for me… and then we see where we stand?"

The three disgusting bastards were instantly hooked, line and all, at her innuendo. They automatically turned to each other and then to Merle, who had yet to give the okay for the extra person to accompany them for the evening.

Jet kept his head down, seemingly staring at the bartop under the dark of his glasses and intently listened in on her conversation. He breathed from his seat in surprise at Faye's words. "Geezus, you don't have to go all out," he said quietly.

At the same moment, the bartender gave him a quizzical gaze, one eyebrow raised as he set the glass full of iced tea down in front of him. "Um. Uh, w-would you also like ah, a lemon wedge? Or two?" He stuttered in his confusion.

A choked sound akin to holding back a burst of laughter came from Spike. He wheezed, his lips turning up at the corners before going back to his expressionless, slumber-like state.

The bartender reappeared with a handful of lemon slices and a milkshake in the tallest glass he could find. He set the tiny fruit bowl and the shake next to Jet.

Jet slid the drink to Spike.

"Finally…" Spike uttered. He unfurled his limbs from his lap and inched the straw to his mouth and sucked down a large mouthful. He frowned. "Hmm, it's missing something… what's it missing?"

"Sour wedge?" Jet sarcastically offered. He dropped a small piece of lemon into his tea without looking at him.

Merle straightened his back at Faye's suggestion.

"You're pretty. Too pretty for a dump like this shithole," the bossman grunted. His eyes bore a hole through her dark red dress. He spat, "How do I know you're not a cop?"

Faye blinked. "I'm not," she replied as a confused question.

She didn't look like one, that was for sure. But they couldn't be too careful these days. Highly sought after criminals could not let their guards down, especially around a woman, no matter how pretty. They were sly. They were just as capable of manipulation as men.

Merle snapped his fingers and pointed. "Vic. Search her."

"Heh. With pleasure."

Faye swallowed.

Through the earpiece, Jet heard the demand. She had a Glock and a pair of cuffs strapped to the inside of her leg. If they found those, she was as good as dead where she stood.

"Ahh. I see." Spike hailed the bartender. With a raspy voice and a fake smile, he asked, "Do you have any eggs?"

"Eggs?"

"Yea. Eggs. You know. Chickens shit them out. Can I have one?"

The perpetually perplexed employee headed for the back with his strange request, oblivious to the growing tension in the place.

"What are you doing, Faye needs us. Now," Jet said. He was already turning in the stool to free the handgun at his side.

"Relax. Everything's fine." The hungover bounty hunter lazily sipped at the whipped cream on top of the milkshake, seemingly uninterested in the fate of his female friend. Or any of their fates, for that matter.

The employee came back and handed him a white egg.

Jet slid from his stool and took a long step in the smugglers' direction, in his hand a grey and silver Walther P99.

Faye backed away from the table as two of them approached her. A quick glance to the bar area at Jet and she reached down under the hem of the dress. One hand made a fist, the other gripped the black, fully loaded Glock.

She landed a swift uppercut into the soft underside of the ruffian's jaw and pistol-whipped the back of his head with the butt of her gun. He landed on the ground a shove. She shook her hand in the air and cringed.

Jet fired the Walther at the other man standing between Faye and the table, the explosion of contained gunpowder slicing through the previous quiet. As soon as the man fell to the floor with a shout, he shifted his aim toward the two still seated.

Distance offense strategy was now useless; Merle and his thug friend were already up and closing the space that separated them.

Merle rushed Jet. He knocked into him before he could bring his pistol around to aim. The Walther flew from his hand and a fist connected into the side of his face.

Throwing a glance towards Jet, Faye knew she wasn't equipped to fight like him or Spike. She wasn't trained in hand to hand, but in the close quarters of the small pub, the Glock was still her only defense. She didn't want to flat out kill them, they wouldn't get their money if the smugglers were dead.

"Spike! You idiot!" She called in frustration.

Hunched over his drink, Spike concentrated on cracking the missing ingredient into his shake. He was terrible at cooking anything, having relied heavily on Jet for sustenance for most of his adult life. He winced from the gunshot, which only added to the ache behind his tired eyes. Behind him, all hell broke loose, the sounds of struggles and gunfire ringing in the stale air.

Jet blocked another fist aimed for his gut and connected his own to Merle's temple in return. The smuggler stumbled backward. Jet shoved him hard in the chest and the muscled man toppled over the table and his unfinished beer.

"Faye!" Jet shouted in warning.

The woman turned at his voice, seeing one of the thugs ball his fist and advance to pummel her. She ducked and threw her shoulder into his gut, using the Glock's barrel to assist her in tagging him in the process.

He was out of the fight, down for the count, dry heaving with his hands on his junk.

The man she had earlier pistol-whipped rose and ran at her, the bloodlust apparent in his angry eyes. She promptly ducked again and stuck out her leg, which he ran right into. He was sent stumbling into the bar and smacked right into Spike.

The still unbroken egg slipped out of his hand to bust on the floor.

"The fuck," Spike barked. Anger boiled inside his chest.

The pub's door flung open and four more similarly dressed men ran in, all familiar with Merle and the two men sprawled on the floor. They looked around at the fray, briefly orienting themselves with the situation. It took only seconds, but Jet and Faye knew they couldn't hold off the newcomers.

"My egg! I needed that," Spike seethed. "Everything's so not fine!"

He jumped and shoved the stool away from the counter, standing up and tugging out his Jericho 941 from its holster. He snarled, racking the pistol and without aiming, started firing off round after round directly at the smugglers who had just entered the building.

They scattered to hide behind anything they could find, knocking tables on their sides to use as makeshift shields as he channeled his frustrations into the gunmetal.

Spike turned to the downed man who had run into him. He smashed the man's bloody face into the egg mess with his boot. "That's for ruining my milkshake," he hissed.

Behind him, Jet's left fist smacked into Merle's jaw, his torso bending in half at the waist with the momentous effort. He breathed out, struggling to catch his breath with the strain.

The drug smuggler bounded into the back wall. His head shot side to side, looking for a way out while Jet was preoccupied with the small group of his followers that had come in to join them.

When his attention returned to their main target, Merle was nowhere to be seen. Their intended target escaped.

Faye dove for Jet's discarded pistol as the newcomers began to retaliate. She threw herself back on the floor. With her own gun, she covered them with gunfire until she could return Jet's firearm to him. Her dress hitched up her legs, the thigh holsters now in full view. Vibrant green panties peeked out from the inside at the apex of her legs.

Spike barreled out of the way of blazing bullets zooming past. "Shit!"

Lying on the ground next to Faye, he ejected the empty magazine and inserted a fresh one into his black pistol. From his position, he spied the material. "Really. Lime green, huh," he stated casually. A smirk showed up on his mouth.

Faye pursed her lips and cow kicked him in the chest. "Stop looking, pervert."

"We gotta get, fast," Jet grunted. He caught the pistol Faye tossed up to him.

"What about the bounty-" Faye started, the surprise coating her voice.

The big man shook his head. "It's no good. Let's go before we're shot all to hell!"

With Jet laying down cover fire, Spike hauled Faye to her feet, then angled his body to pop off a few rounds at their opposition. He snatched up the milkshake on his way and followed the other two out the back exit and into the alley.

Outside next to the dumpsters, Faye watched for any signs of their fleeing quarry while Jet fetched the car parked on the other side of the alley. She turned at the door opening, relaxing when she saw Spike. He made a face as he sucked up the shake.

"You went back for that?"

He swallowed. "It's not as good without some egg in it. No tip for him."

Faye tried to hide the smile he unknowingly put on her face. Though the man liked to mess around, making light of certain situations, never mind how dire they may be, he made her heart a little lighter. Every day. His presence settled her. His lack of emotional awareness, however, would get him into serious trouble someday.

Jet drove the car up to them, skidding to a halt.

Pulling at Spike's shirt, Faye dragged him to the car, pushing him through the now open door. She shoved him further to climb in herself.

The junk car didn't look like much, though it got them from point A to B with no hesitation. The engine's rumble turned into a roar as Jet sped away. "Watch for that slimebag," Jet said.

They entered the main, busy streets, blending in with the locals. People walked along from one area to another. Other vehicles on the streets passed by in a rush. There were so many, Faye couldn't distinguish after a certain distance. "I don't know, Jet. I don't see him. Sorry."

"Hmm. Well. This blows. Not what I expected." Jet made a sound with his mouth and flicked the air freshener hanging under the rectangle mirror.

Faye nodded. "We'll try again. Another day, sometime."

"Sometime," Jet repeated. He looked at her in the mirror. "You mean another year. That guy's evaded the cops and bounty hunters alike for half a decade. He's not stupid."

There was an empty, sipping sound.

They both turned to Spike, who had finished his mediocre milkshake. He seemed to be doing a little better than earlier in the day. His eyes were a little brighter, almost back to normal.

From the other side of the backseat, Spike peered at Faye from his position, his head resting on the armrest. He took in her ragged appearance after their small bar fight.

Bounty work did a number on her.

Once they were on the shore, both teams worked to bring the equipment to solid ground. While they hauled the last of it, Gajeel let the gentle waves lap at his boots as he surveyed the length of the beach.

Most of it sand as far as the eye could see in either direction. Not more than forty yards inland the sand gave way to grass and trees. Further in was a mixed mass of rock and greenery of which the top could not be seen.

He slowly started up the sand towards a fallen tree trunk.

"Where are you going?" Levy asked. When he didn't answer, she pursed her lips and trudged after him, incoherently muttering along the way.

When she caught up with him, he was standing with one foot up on the log looking down at the map of the island in his hands.

"It's supposed to be here," he said to himself. His finger swirled over an area on the unfolded paper.

Levy peered over his arms to see where he was pointing. "How long do you think it'll take?"

"Dunno."

"Well, what do you think we should do first? I mean," she paused mid-sentence to swat at a flying insect crossing in front of her face. "Taking account for everyone on the payroll who follows us there."

Gajeel bit his cheek and then turned his head away from her to spit. "Dunno yet."

"I mean for tonight. For dinner and sleeping arrangements. It's not going to happen over-"

Cutting her off with a huff, Gajeel turned his head to her, the map crinkling in his fists. He seethed, "I don't know, dammit! And I'm not gonna know if you keep runnin' your piehole. I've never been here before, ya know."

Levy scowled at him and at the tone he used with her. She blew out a breath. "Neither have I but I did research before my approved documentation was stolen."

That piqued Gajeel's interest. He calmly looked at her.

"What kind of research?"

Levy opened her mouth to speak but promptly shut it. She gave him a sarcastic look -a wag of her eyebrows and a head tilt- and crossed her arms over her chest. She wasn't going to oblige if her questions would be waved off and ignored.

He shook his head, his eyes narrowed. "Naw, don't give me that bullshit. Since we have to work together, it's in your best interest to tell me everything you know. To help the rest of the crew. For a successful excavation."

She waved a hand out in front of her face and looked at him in her peripheral to see what he would do while she kept silent on her secret knowledge.

He didn't wait long. He breathed a rough sigh and let slip a quiet curse before going back to the map.

And she wouldn't tell him either. If he was going to be an asshole on all fronts, then some secrets were worth keeping to herself. And right now she was the only one she could trust. 

The sun disappeared beyond the horizon when the crew finished settling the main camp. Small tents were pegged in the stretch of green vegetation between the beach and the rest of the jungle-like terrain. The night air cooled the island considerably. It was something which Levy had forgotten to take into account when she bounded off in search for Gajeel's ship.

She sat shivering on the same log from earlier in the day in front of the lively fire. Focusing on the orange flames, she jumped when something soft dropped onto her head.

"Put it on before you freeze." Gajeel sat down unceremoniously beside her.

She uttered her thanks and pulled it over shoulders. Warmth quickly seeped into her bones. A deep breath drew in a fresh manly scent, which told her he had recently worn it.

A coffee mug in his hand, he sipped at it and cleared his throat, keeping his eyes on the burning wood. The two of them sat in silence for some time, listening to the camp crackle with the crew's intermittent conversations and the nightly music of the island's various insects and other wildlife.

Levy looked over at the expedition's captain. Her fellow relic hunter seemed to be the type to hate waiting on others but also refused to ask for help or directions. As much as she hated the idea of him taking her claims for himself, he had a point in that they were now in it together whether it was desired or not.

They had to work as a cohesive team.

"You wouldn't like it even if I told you." Her voice cracked when she finally spoke.

His immediate response to her statement told her he had indeed been waiting on her said research.

"That so. And what would that be?"

"It's said there's a curse on the gold, any who open the chest or touch its contents are doomed for eternal misery in Davy Jones' Locker."

Gajeel coughed down the hot liquid. He snorted back a laugh and caught her gaze, her eyes alight from the glowing fire. He asked simply, "And you believe that shit? Are you an archaeologist or a superstitious historian?"

The woman was slightly taken aback. "Do you really think I'd be telling a made-up story? There's proof in the texts I found in Port Royal."

His hard stare bore a hole into her skull. Ha ha. She was pulling his leg. She had to be. When she stared back just as hard, he knew she was serious. Turning back to the fire, he gave a smile and said, "There's no such thing as curses."

A cold wind brushed through the camp. It stirred the fire and blew the hair from both of their faces.

"The ocean wind from the beach," he said, a matter of fact. He sat back and stretched out his legs.

Levy pursed her lips and stood up. She raised her chin but squinted down at him. There was no way the impossible man would believe it without physical evidence, and there was no way of obtaining it.

He stared back with a smug expression and put his hands behind his head.

"I know what I read, Mr. Redfox, captain," she said, holding her arms tightly over her chest against the cold air. "I don't need or want your condescending-"

In her rush to leave, the toe of her boot caught part of the log that had rotted off. Before she could throw her arms out to catch herself, she stumbled forward in the direction of her broad-shouldered rival.

The coffee mug spilled its contents on the ground beside Gajeel as Levy's weight dropped straight down into his lap.

Standing one moment, the next she was gazing up at the surprise plastered on him. She was well aware of his arms tightly folded over her body.

He gaped wide-eyed. "You ok?" He asked.

"Y-yea," she murmured, still shocked at the sudden change. Her nose briefly grazed his cheek and she could smell the dried sweat on his skin.

And for some reason, it smelled good.

A blush crept into her cheeks. She scrambled to her feet, left as quickly as the dark would let her and hoped he wouldn't bring it up in the morning.

***

Gajeel observed with a heightened excitement as the last bit of debris was removed from the roped-off digging area. Three full days of digging away as much dirt as possible in the humid air had taken most of the remaining patience he had left.

The deep pit revealed what appeared to be broken bits of old pitch-covered wood. Pieces of frayed rope and other non-degradable material surrounded an old, half-buried chest. 

"Break out the cooler," Laxus called out. He stood above on the topsoil. He tossed their leader a glass container which sloshed with golden-brown liquid.

Gajeel untwisted the cap. "A round of Captain Morgan!" He exclaimed, then brought the bottle to his mouth for the first sip. He passed it to the closest man.

As he and the others celebrated their discovery, Levy felt an uneasiness. She had suspected some kind of supernatural boobytrap, but none came to slow down their progress. The lack thereof made her become overly cautious.

"Come on," Gajeel said to her without looking her way. No trace of their brief conversation the few nights before -and what had accidentally occurred between them- appeared to be of any concern to him.

Levy watched from her perch above them on the ground untouched by the digging equipment. Glancing around at the surrounding environment, she couldn't shake the odd feeling. She wanted to warn him again, but would her heed only fall on deaf ears?

"Gajeel, wait," she called anyways.

Standing by the chest and posing for pictures with other crew members, he seemed not to notice her. Only when the pit cleared away did he remember she had called to him.

He put one large hand on her shoulder and said, "We found it."

"Yes, I can see. Please don't touch it yet."

He huffed. "Levy, I'm telling you, there's nothing going to happen."

Despite his rebuke of the truth and reliability of her "research", he took his hand from her, but kept his other hand on his hip. With her experience in professionally recovering lost artifacts for science and the occasional museum, he let her take point to inspect it.

Levy approached the chest, assuming control of the situation. Bending at the waist, she put her hands on her knees.

Behind her came a clearing of a throat. Gajeel shifted his weight. He tried to not notice her short blue jean shorts rising up the underside of her thigh. His gaze averted, but only for a second. An inaudible grunt of slight arousal settled in his chest.

Oblivious, her eyes roamed over the old wooden box. Rusty iron strips were nailed into the decaying wood at the corners. Bugs crawled over parts around the bottom. It looked like anything someone could dig up if one went deep enough. The closer she got to it, the more it revealed of itself.

Walking around it and without physical contact with it, she closely inspected the front side. The standard keyhole lock from the era was missing. Red crumbly bits of rust settled on the iron rest where it would have been. A faint inscription was etched on the domed lid above the iron edging. A black substance stained its surface.

She frowned. Her stomach threatened to empty itself. The ancient documentation in Port Royal had to be accurate.

"What is it?" Gajeel asked.

Pointing, Levy read aloud the message carved into the rotten mahogany, "'Gold, silver, all treasures this chest has carried now lives to tell of souls long dead and tarried'."

Gajeel's brows furrowed. "The fuck," he grumbled. He quickly moved to her side, his eyes on their prize. "What does that even mean?"

He reached out a hand to flip the lid away to peer inside. Levy gasped and caught his arm, pulling it towards her.

"No! Don't do that!"

"Levy!" He roared in frustration.

One of the crew members hopped down into the pit. "If you two aren't gonna, let me, for fuck's sake..."

He quickly threw the lid back.

Levy, still clinging to Gajeel's arm, shut her eyes. Gajeel glanced down at her as she squeezed his limb tighter. Her forehead brushed against his bicep.

The crew member fell silent. No one spoke. The seconds that ticked by seemed more like minutes. Gajeel shifted his weight once again in his impatience.

"Well?"

The crewman's shoulders fell. His tone was one of shock. "It's empty."

Levy's eyes shot open. She spoke at the same moment as Gajeel.

"It is?"

"Come again?"

He shook off Levy's hold and was beside the brave crew member in one stride, dead set on seeing for himself. It had to be a joke. They spent way too much time and effort to come up short.

There was nothing inside. Not even dirt or sand.

Levy had hoped that despite the warning that there would lie some kind of treasure. It didn't have to be gold or other precious jewels or the like. She would have been ecstatic with an old half-filled journal. Or a comb. Or even a spoon.

She looked at Gajeel, defeated. "Now what?"

A dull, dumping sound filled the pit, like a pile of dirt dumped onto concrete. It gradually became louder.

A surprised cry spouted from the only person known to have touched what was supposed to have been a bountiful riches.

Gajeel looked in disgust at the crewman's arm as it turned a pale green with a shattered cracking pattern snaking across the skin right before his waking eyes.

He put his arm in front of Levy and backed them both to the excavation pit's edge. "Lax, are you seeing this?" His voice seemed both distant and as if he were shouting at the same time.

Laxus replied. "Yea…"

The others were watching the scene unfold, not knowing what was going on or what to do; obviously, no one had trained for something such as this.

The first mate hesitantly pulled the pistol from his holster and brought it up. He didn't want to point it at his friends, but what was happening below to one of them was not normal by any standards. "And I don't like it."

The man's skin went from the pale green to gray, the cracks webbing out began to widen, until one of his wrists severed from the rest of the lifeless limb. The man who had opened the chest was decaying at an unbelievably fast rate.

Levy abruptly turned upon the realization. She made a grab for the hanging rope ladder. Her breaths came shallow and hurried, her only thoughts were of getting out unscathed.

The crewman's face began to change colors. He twitched and jerked while the deterioration accelerated. One of his kneecaps slid diagonally down to the side, causing his leg to turn unnaturally when he attempted to take a step. When he moved his head, the gray skin cracking like dried mud broke loose. The mandible beneath unhinged itself from the skull, permanently propping open the man's mouth.

"Climb faster," Gajeel murmured.

The undead stepped out in his direction.

"Faster, Levy," he repeated with more force.

His colleague was halfway up the ladder. He shoved his hand upwards and cupped one of her ass cheeks, pushing her the rest of the way so he could begin his ascent to get the hell out.

Once she was at the top, a gunshot fired once and echoed into the rest of the island. Levy turned to see Gajeel hurrying up the ladder and the undead shipmate now without an arm on his way towards them.

Laxus fired another shot that missed.

"Has anyone else touched the chest?!" Levy shouted. Goosebumps traveled down her arms and legs. She hoped and prayed it was just the one.

If others had as she suspected, no one confessed. A commotion of mixed shouts and warnings came from the campsite. A few crew members cleared out of the way before the same thing that had just occurred in the pit began to eat away at two more.

Morgan's curse was spreading.

Gajeel scrambled to his feet once he reached solid ground. He yanked the ladder out in case the undead could come up after him. The rotted body loosed a sound that would have been a snarl and clawed at the dirt wall.

"So much for buried treasure, shoulda known," Gajeel roughly spat. In two quick strides, he was right next to Levy. 

She gave him a disapproving look. "I tried to tell you."

"Yea, yea." He took her hand and swiftly guided them away from the excavation pit.

The main camp was in disarray. The undead was numerous, turning the others who had ignorantly treated the dig site as every other they previously created.

"We gotta get to the ship before they do."

A half snarl growl from the freshly dead warned Gajeel of its proximity in time for him to snatch up one of the cooking pans by the fire and connect it with the side of its ugly, deformed face. The remnants of their earlier breakfast unstuck itself to snag on the zombie's protruding nasal bone.

It fell to the ground, but of course, nothing could kill an undead in this case, given that it was unleashed via a curse.

He picked up another pan and shoved it into Levy's hand. "It won't kill them, but it'll keep you alive," he stated. He gave her a hard, meaningful gaze, shifting to both of her eyes. "Stay on my ass, Lev."

At her nod, he looked both ways for incoming bogeys and then rushed forward in the direction of the beach.

Gunshots echoed, screams and shouts of men running for their lives met their ears. They lept for the grassy trail which led straight for the ocean. Skinny tree trunks and other tall plants flashed by in a blur as they hightailed it, as fast as the overgrown vegetation would allow.

Gajeel used his pan like a sword and wacked two unsuspecting undeads clear off their broken feet. Bits of dust plumed out in small clouds from the contact made with his makeshift but effective weapon.

When they reached the beach's hot sand, he looked over his shoulder. The fierce little woman abruptly stopped and swung her frying pan like a baseball bat at the zombie following close behind her.

She gave a short grunt with the effort. The bottom of the weapon smacked the unnatural creature, its head popped off and flew back the way they came. Dust clouded the air in her wake. The undead body crumpled in a heap to the ground.

A clean headshot.

The display of power greatly impressed Gajeel.

Her next step onto the beach was a stumble, but he was there to catch her in one of his arms.

"Careful," he murmured. His gaze lingered on her face as he set her upright.

She saw the look in his eyes. A red-tinged her cheeks. Before he could see it, she grabbed his arm with her free hand and gave a tough tug. Her voice was breathless, "We can't stand around, come on!"

They ran for The Sea Wither still at anchor a distance away in deeper water. The smaller boat they came to shore in sat untouched on the dry sand, the motor flipped upside down inside for storage.

When Levy bounded into it, Gajeel started to shove the boat towards the water. They heard a loud shout for them to wait.

Laxus lead a few others out of the fray. They wielded various objects from camp, frantically booking it over the loose sand. The first mate slowed to a stop and immediately helped Gajeel in pushing the large vessel.

The others threw themselves into the boat, breathing heavily, scared out of their wits. Odd weaponry lay on the boat floor: another frying pan, a shovel, a machete, a long stick, a foldable chair. She gave credit for creativity within the group of people still alive.

"Alright, let's get the hell out of dodge," Gajeel said to Laxus and nodded.

Two other crewmen pulled their leader into the boat while Laxus readied the motor by securing it onto its mount. He yanked the pull cord and it suddenly came to life. 

"What about the equipment? Everyone else still out there?" A man asked. He gripped his crowbar white knuckles.

"It's not worth the risk. Not right now."

With the motorboat gaining speed towards their ticket home, Gajeel looked back to see more decomposing bodies now emerging from the cursed island. He took a breath and turned to Levy. "Whoever's left isn't going to last," he admitted aloud for everyone to hear above the motor's roar.

Biting her lip, Levy had to turn away from the beach. She shook from adrenaline still coursing through her veins. The cold sea air didn't help either. She felt the warmth radiating from Gajeel when he sat next to her. What comfort she could feel came from him.

The boat slowed when they arrived at the ship. One by one they wasted no time in boarding the massive ship. The first thing he did after making sure what remained of his crew were safely aboard, Gajeel entered the bridge and created a distress call on the appropriate channels.

Levy sat in one of the main chairs and listened as he successfully made contact with the mainland. In her relief knowing there would be a rescue, her gaze shifted from the ships controls to the beach.

"Gajeel, y-you need to s-see this," she stuttered. Fear was again present in her voice.