Chapter Text
5
high seas, somewhere in the New World, now
“Well, we did get the scrolls,” Buggy tries to find something positive about their situation and tilts his head while he sloshes around what is left in their bottle of aged rum. The air feels sticky and the sun is low in the sky, turning the surface of the sea into a dazzling mirror. His eyes hurt from squinting against the brightness, so he’s taking a well deserved break from rowing.
Handing the flask over to Mihawk, Buggy pulls one of the scrolls from his oiled leather bag and after some rummaging also a pair of gloves. The thick parchment looks brownish and stained at the margins, but it’s tightly rolled, so he hopes for the best. Two dark red cords are wrapped around the scroll, fastened with an elaborate clasp and a large blackish seal. Buggy sets the scroll down carefully on the bench seat and puts on his gloves, then searches his bag again and pulls out a tiny lock pick.
“You came fairly well prepared to our treasure hunt,” Mihawk comments, watching him intently, and takes a sip from their rum. It irks Buggy that the praise is balm for his soul after this series of disasters. Torn between annoyance and complacency, he busies himself with his bag some more, to hide the flattered smile tugging at his lips. From the corner of his eye, he notices Crocodile take the scroll to break the wax seal and all flattery is forgotten in an instant.
“Stop!!” He yells and snatches the scroll from Crocodile, detaches his hand to hold it as far away as possible. Crocodiles eyes narrow but Buggy is too alarmed to even notice. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?”
“Watch your tongue or you might find yourself without one.”
“Oh yeah!?” Buggy snorts exasperated and waves the scroll around, just out of reach. “Ya almost overthrew a kingdom and can’t even open a self-destructing parchment!? Are you kidding me!?”
“Self-destructing you say?” Mihawk lifts the brim of his hat and sits up from his comfortable position in the bow. Of course that would capture his attention. Buggy isn’t even surprised anymore. The swordsman seems to entertain a morbid fascination for traps, hazards and other creative ways to die.
Keeping a wary eye on Crocodile, Buggy reattaches his hand and points at the clasp and seal. “See that nifty little clasp? It’ll soil the whole parchment if ya open it by force. And that ridiculous thing? Blows up right in yer pretty face.”
“I see. How would one fabricate a mechanism like this?”
“Well, the clasp is easy. Hide a tiny cartridge with ink that slips out safely when the clasp is unlocked. Clasp breaks, cartridge breaks too, aye? The blow-up seal is a lil tricky. First, you’d have to make sure that you’re using waterproof-coated strings and the fake seal has to be hermetic. Then, a little white phosphor…” He lets himself get carried away, explaining the intricacies of handling the chemicals and how to best set up the mechanism.
“All that knowledge and you’re still pathetic,” Crocodile sighs, when he finally comes to an end, sounding disgusted and almost a little sad. Buggy regrets briefly that he took the scroll away before it had the chance to blow up in his stupid face. Too sad that the contents are valuable.
“Can you open it?” Mihawk asks, unperturbed by their banter.
“Please, easy-peasy! I could build you one in the shape of a kitten, whatever floats your boat.”
Buggy grins boastfully at him and wiggles his eyebrows. It’s not that easy but he has done it before and he can’t fuck up now or they’ll never let him live it down — or, well, let him live at all.
He presses delicately on the center of the mechanism which looks deceptively like a real wax seal, then turns it ever so slowly to the right with deft fingers until the lines form one circular symbol instead of tangled spirals. It opens with the softest click and a thin shell falls out. Buggy inspects it briefly and lets it vanish in his pockets, then handles the clasp with the same care and deliberation. When clasp springs open, he catches a minuscule ink cartridge that slips from the silver. Licking his lips in anticipation, he carefully unrolls the scroll. Different styles of symbols are written all over it in black ink, running in different directions. Dots of red decorate the parchment, connected here and there by thin lines, similar to a stellar map.
“What does it say?” Mihawk asks, hovering over his shoulder, a little too close for comfort but at the moment, he doesn’t mind.
“Dunno yet,” Buggy answers truthfully. “But it’s John’s ciphers. Those two are.” He traces two sets of symbols with a gloved finger. “Gotta read them to figure out the third one, I suppose, and combine that with the red map, then it’ll probably yield the instructions to the next island.”
„You‘re an insult to the title of emperor but a real scoundrel when it comes to basic piracy and treasure hunt, I‘ll give you that.“ Crocodile watches him like his namesake, waiting for the opportune moment to pounce on his prey. A thin smile graces his lips and it makes Buggy shudder.
Or maybe it’s the sudden gust of wind. Tearing his gaze away from that creepy smile, Buggy looks warily at the horizon. Hazy island silhouettes in the far distance are outlined against a strangely lit sky, dark clouds billowing in yellow and purple hues, building up surprisingly fast.
“We’d better prepare ourselves,” Mihawk states, calm as ever. Another gust of wind carries the smell of rain and the temperature drops as the thunderclouds pile up higher and higher. Low thunder is rolling in the distance.
“Oh bloody hell, not now,” Buggy swears and quickly rolls up the scroll, then ties it and stuffs it back into his bag with all his other equipment, making sure it’s closed as tightly as possible. That’s the Grand Line for you. One moment you almost die of heat stroke, the next you’re freezing your ass off, if the lightning doesn’t get you first.
It’s impossible to reach one of the far off sandbanks before the storm hits — if that were any help at all. Lightning splits the sky and a wicked gale whips up the waves, causing their boat to rock dangerously.
“Fuckin’ fickle Grand Line,” Buggy curses once more for good measure and slips on his shirt against the cutting wind.
“Lie down and stay down,” Crocodile commands, his deep voice not tolerating contradiction, just as the first heavy raindrops hit. “Don’t touch the water.”
It’s easier said than done. The boat is not exactly generously cut and is just enough for three people. It doesn’t help that one is huge and the other carries an oversized blade. Buggy wriggles about on his seat and finally settles down in a cramped position between Crocodile’s long legs and Yoru’s sharp edge, leaning rather towards the sword. Being cut won’t kill him but there’s no telling what snuggling up to Crocodile’s leg might do.
Another bolt of lightning strikes near by and booming thunder rips through the air. The old wood of the dory vibrates with the force and creaks as a wave tears at the oars. Buggy groans and gets up just enough to haul them in. He’d rather get struck by lightning than being stuck on this pitiful vessel without oars.
“Lend me a hand!!” He shouts at Mihawk above the noise of the storm, and flinches as another forked bolt of lightning light up the whole sky. Thunder growls deafeningly loud only a heartbeat later.
The already narrow space is even more cramped with the huge oars inside the boat. Buggy manages to fit himself around them somehow, splitting off one leg and arm while Mihawk settles back into his quite comfortable seat at the bow. Even drenched he looks like it’s all a Sunday stroll to him — Crocodile on the other hand looks quite ready to murder the weather.
“Can’t you just, dunno, cleave the clouds or somethin’!?” Buggy turns to shout at Mihawk. “Ain’t that what ya sword enthusiasts do in yer free time!?”
He isn’t even sure if Mihawk heard him above the drumming of rain and crashing of thunder, but after a few seconds he tilts his head and runs a hand over the aged wood.
“I could, but our vessel might not be able to take the recoil.”
“Recoil? A fuckin’ sword has recoil??”
He more sees than hears Mihawk sigh theatrically.
“Yoru is not merely a sword. You couldn’t possibly comprehend.”
“Like hell I’ll tell you about explosives again,” Buggy snaps at him, disconnected upper half rearing up and floating half a meter above to shout with more emphasis. Just as another strike of lighting splits the sky, Crocodile grabs him by the neck and yanks him back down.
“Stay. Down.” His low growl can be heard even above the deafening thunder. “It’ll be over quick.”
Buggy gulps and keeps very silent. That’s definitely not what he needs to hear, squashed between Crocodile’s legs. The man really ought to watch his choice of words.
He’s cold, he’s drenched and he’s wedged in the most uncomfortable position with the prospect of drowning soon —the most miserable day of his life, that’s for sure. Or, well, of the year. The month. The week. Yes, the week. Definitely the shittiest day of the week. Yet somehow he feels more alive than he did for a long time.
***
The thunderstorm clears up just as quickly as it came and brilliant purple dusk spreads across the sky as first stars emerge. It will be a frosty night, by all accounts, and temperatures have dropped significantly during the storm. At least freshwater is supplied. Freezing and with trembling fingers, Buggy fills rainwater into the by now empty rum bottle and his water-skin. The old dory fared better in the storm than he had hoped for, but all in all, the situation is still absolutely lousy. For one thing, he is completely soaked.
“Take off your clothes,” comes Mihawk’s advice as if he had been reading his mind and Buggy stares at him incredulously. “Wet clothing will only serve to lower your body temperature further.”
“Yeah, well…” He answers hesitantly, mulling it over. His clothes are soaking wet, but it’s not exactly like he brought a spare set and it’s not particularly tempting to be stark naked here. It’s not that he’s shy, but he’s not that close to his business partners that he’s eager to take his drawers off in their company, much less on a tiny boat.
Naturally, Mihawk doesn’t see the issue and has already stripped down to — his non-existent underwear. Buggy files this neatly as knowledge he did not wish to possess. With a heavy sigh he gets up and starts to take off his soaked garments as well.
“Give me that,” he hears Crocodile’s raspy voice from behind and watches Mihawk hand over his coat. The garment is so wet that it drips on him, but after a few seconds in the former warlord’s hand it’s dried and billows gently in the cold night breeze, that sends shivers down his spine.
Buggy blinks. His gaze wanders from the coat to the Crocodile and back again, then back to Crocodile. Something irritates him and it takes him a few moments to notice that his business partner’s clothes are already all dry and cozy. It takes another few moments before it really sinks in what that means.
“Couldn’t you have mentioned that sooner!?” He erupts, even forgetting that he’s just about to take off his briefs and almost trips over. “Like, before we’re standing around naked like complete and utter buffoons!?”
Mihawk, of course, does not mind. With more dignity and poise than should by any right be possible in this absurd situation, he accepts his now dry coat and hands Crocodile his pants. He doesn’t even put his coat on, just stands there like a finely carved marble statue and waits.
“Worry not, you’ll soon be warm,” he offers and Buggy supposes it’s meant to sound comforting but it irks him even more.
“That’s not the issue!! He totally could’ve done that while we’re wearing our stuff!!”
“I could have,” Crocodile admits, amused, and throws a dried pair of trousers at Buggy, not even once turning his gaze away from Mihawk, who is still in no hurry to get dressed but sets the feather on his hat straight. Somehow that riles Buggy up even more. Why did he have to get naked for amusement while Mihawk gets the admiration!? Not that he cares, it’s about principle!!
A now dry shirt hits him in the face, and he pulls it on fuming. They wouldn’t even be here without him and this is what he has to put up with! It does feel nice to put on a dry pair of trousers, though. Which he wouldn’t have needed if someone hadn’t sunk the island and with it their marvelous little sailing ship. If he hadn’t seen their shocked faces, he would have suspected it was intentional. They never liked that little colorful addition to their flagship anyway. With a frustrated groan he sits back down on the bench-seat and watches the last light of day vanish at the horizon.
“We should get some rest while the weather is fair,” Mihawk suggests and nudges Buggy while pulling on his boots. “You should get some rest. Unless you’ll allow me to row for-”
“No!!”
A decisive no from both Crocodile and Buggy puts a quick end to that suggestion. The dory is in even worse state after the thunderstorm and neither of them is willing to risk it.
“As you wish,” Mihawk shrugs and takes his place at the prow again and with it the only vacant comfortable place to sleep. Buggy is just opening his mouth to protest, when Crocodile calls out to him.
“Come here, clown.”
Turning slowly, Buggy surveys the narrow space next to him at the stern and chuckles nervously.
“W-what?”
“I said, come here.”
Technically, there is room for two to sit in the stern and Crocodile has somewhat moved to the side, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is huge and it will be very cramped.
“Eh… no. No, no.” Buggy declines, shaking his head. “Much appreciated, but… no.”
“Playing coy?” Crocodile sneers and makes a little more space, grin getting wider with every second Buggy hesitates. “Didn’t take you for the type.”
“It’s not like that!!”
By all hells, he hates that grin. It irks him like nothing else. (Almost nothing else. Shout-out to Shanks for eternal first place in that ranking.) He is the emperor in this sorry lot. If the world were a better place, they would kiss his feet and take care of his physical well-being instead of constantly taunting and maltreating him.
“Stay there and freeze then, for all I care,” Crocodile shrugs and takes out another cigar. The last one, probably, judging by the disgruntled look on his face.
Buggy grits his teeth and considers his options. It is awful cold after the storm. Mihawk, of course, doesn’t seem to feel the temperature at all, but he does, and he hates freezing. He’s not dressed for a frosty night at all. It was supposed to be a nice and sunny tropical trip of half a day — and now? Fucking weather. Fucking Grand Line.
With a defeated sigh, he pulls himself together and changes his seat to squeeze in next to Crocodile.
Holy fuck! The man is a fucking furnace. Buggy immediately huddles closer in spite of himself. Crocodile just huffs, drapes his heavy cloak over both their shoulders and lights his cigar. Pleasant warmth seeps through Buggy’s thin clothes and soothes his sore muscles. He thought it would be impossible to relax, but exhaustion takes over much quicker than anticipated.
***
The vast dark sky is filled with myriads of blinking stars when Buggy wakes sometime in the night. The dory is rocking steady on the gentle waves in a tranquilizing rhythm. He feels warm, reasonably comfortable and almost slips back into peaceful sleep again, when he hears low voices that had probably woken him up.
“Go to sleep.”
“Can’t sleep on open water. I might as well keep watch.”
He feels Crocodile’s deep baritone vibrating in his wide chest and Buggy realizes to his dismay that he must have slipped in his sleep and is now fully leaning against him. Fuck, fuck, fuck, is all his sleepy brain contributes and he forces himself to breathe evenly as to pretend to be asleep. He most certainly has no desire at all to be punished for eavesdropping.
“Quite unfortunate for a pirate,” Mihawk speaks up again and his voice takes on a teasing tone.
“Quite, yes.” Somehow, Crocodile doesn’t seem to mind the teasing at all.
“Rest. Nothing I fear roams these waters, you are safe with me.”
Mihawk states it as a plain fact, but Buggy’s heart skips a beat and he tries his hardest to keep breathing naturally when he feels Crocodile’s muscles tense underneath. Why, just why, did he have to wake up now. He knows he’s intruding on something he should not be intruding on. And he hates the fact that he does feel safe, at least a little.
“I apologize for my rash actions,” Mihawk changes the topic and Buggy stirs a little in his fake-sleep. If he’s confident in one thing, it’s his acting skills and so far, it seems to pay off. Still, he’d rather be asleep than risk their wrath and his body still feels heavy and weary from a day of rowing.
“Accepted. I apologize for calling you an imbecile.”
Mihawk laughs quietly. “I’ve been called worse.”
“Not by me.”
“No, not by you.”
The answer comes softly and the familiarity of it tugs on Buggy‘s heart. Perhaps he has misjudged his business partners and their multi-faceted relationship, but then again, he knows near to nothing about them and their past. Not a great basis for any assessment. Still, they make him realize all his shortcomings. In power. In courage. In character. Not once did he manage to apologize to the one person deserving of his remorse, instead demanded apologies and fulfillment of impossible reveries.
“To think it would come to this,” Mihawk muses softly and snaps Buggy out of his dismal thoughts. Crocodile laughs quietly and the movement of his chest joggles Buggy around a little. He does his best to mime blissful sleep and snuggles closer inconspicuously, back under the heavy coat that slipped a little.
“The clown is a surprise.”
“Always useful to have the element of surprise on one’s side, no?”
Thankfully, exhaustion wins over soon after and he slips back into a fitful sleep.
***
Next time he wakes, the sun has already risen above the horizon and paints the morning sky a light blue and hazy yellow, promising another hot day. The moment he shifts slightly to rub his eyes, Crocodile rudely shoves him off.
“Get back to rowing, we’ve wasted enough time,” he growls and Buggy curses, rubbing the shoulder he just bumped on the railing. He has the sorest muscles of his life from all the rowing and feels stiff and clumsy like an old man.
“Give a man a moment, will ya!?”
“You had more than enough moments cuddling like a sap. Now get to work.”
Buggy snorts and almost lets a choice remark slip about who’s the real sap here, but he supposes he can be glad that he was allowed to sleep till now, so be bites his tongue and moves over to the bench-seat at the oars. Last night’s overheard conversation seems like a bizarre dream now. Did that really happen? Then again, why would his brain come up with something like that. Ridiculous. His growling stomach chases the thoughts away and he looks for his bag. After some rummaging, he finds a fishhook and a suitable string.
Crocodile watches him warily but lets him do as he likes for now, so he threads the line through the fish hook and fastens it. Some more rummaging and he manages to procure a meager scrap of hardtack, that he attaches to the hook, then casts the makeshift fishing line.
“What are you doing?” Mihawk lifts the prim of his hat and sits up, watching curiously.
“What does it look like?? I’m trying to catch breakfast if you’d kindly shut up and stop moving,” Buggy mutters.
Contrary to his expectations, Mihawk does sit still and waits. It takes quite a while, then the line actually goes taunt. With a triumphant holler, Buggy pulls a sea bream out of the water.
“Stop shouting over such a small fish,” Crocodile chides him and Buggy stares at him in annoyance.
“Do you have any idea how tasty this lil’ fella is!? Roasted with a little sage, thyme and garlic or in a nice lil stew with some fennel, celery and limes...”
“I’m surprised you know about fishing and cooking,” Mihawk chips in and Buggy scowls at him.
“I’ll have you know I make the best scrambled eggs on the Grand Line and the Red Line!”
“I sincerely doubt you’ll fish any eggs here.”
“Well, you sure as hell won’t slay any either with that oversized hunting knife of yours!!”
In one fluid motion, Mihawk reaches into the water and pulls out another fish. A bigger fish. Buggy gawks and watches in a mix of awe and disbelief, as the swordsman takes out his kogatana, then guts, cleans and fillets his catch in mere seconds.
“You don’t have plates in that wondrous bag of plenty of yours, by any chance?”
“I… er…” Buggy almost dislocates his jaw in amazement. “Uh…”
“Any kind of dishes will do, so I can prepare more for us.”
“Uhm… right…” As if in trance, he reaches for his bag and searches for a suitable utensil — then his brain kicks in. “What the fuck is wrong with you!? That’s not how you fish!! Or prepare food!! Or row!! Can’t you do anything in a normal way!?”
“I wasn’t aware there is a wrong way of catching fish while in a potential situation of starving at sea.”
“That’s not the point!!” Buggy lets out a frustrated groan, exasperated by Mihawk’s perpetually neutral tone. Then he notices the sly smile twitching around the corners of his mouth. Is he teasing him!? Seriously!? His fingers find a golden ornamented chalice that he managed to grab on the way out of the vault and, without second thought, he grabs and throws it at the swordsman. “Ya think that’s funny!? Fuckin’ hell! Unbelievable!!”
If this is Mihawk’s idea of friendly banter, he can gladly do without. He feels like a mouse a cat is toying with, damn it. However, sashimi for breakfast isn’t the worst way to start the day, he has to admit begrudgingly.
“Get back to rowing. Now,” Crocodile tells him, as soon as he has wolfed down his portion and the former warlord’s tone makes perfectly clear that there is no more room for further delay.
***
Of all people, it is Alvida who finds them around noon. Buggy wants to cry with joy when he spots a small sailing ship on the horizon. The joy fades a little when he recognizes whom it belongs to. He was there when she requested it from the shipwrights: a slender caravel modeled after a dolphin, painted in a dark purple with pastel pink sails. Apparently, she chose the perfect time to take it out on its maiden voyage.
“Yohooo~! Need a ride, gentlemen?” Her loud voice carries across the waves, long before she reaches them.
Crocodile vanishes in a swirl of sand and reappears on deck, as soon as the caravel is within range. Mihawk and Buggy are left to climbing up the rope ladder, which the sailors lower.
“My, my, what a coincidence,” Alvida greets them with a wink and looks over the railing at the old dory. “I could have bet the boat had a sail when you left. And wasn’t it a little more colorful? This one looks a bit… bleak.”
Buggy opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, she shrugs, waves and has one of the sailors bring a tray with refreshments. Bowing, the young lad offers water, rum, a bottle of wine and even some cigarillos.
“Loose tongue, but well prepared,” Crocodile comments, obviously not entirely averse to her tactics and takes all of the cigarillos for good measure.
“Well prepared my ass,” Buggy mutters under his breath. Judging from the choice of sailors she brought along, she was about to turn this maiden voyage into a huge party. He’s rather surprised Cabaji isn’t here. She did seem pretty fond of him lately.
“Much appreciated,” Mihawk gives his thanks and takes the wine and a goblet, as if he had been the one slaving away for the last twenty-four hours. “Now make way for Karai Bari.”
“As you wish.” Alvida smiles at him sweetly, then points at the dory rocking on the waves beside her caravel. “And what are we to do with that?”
“Sink it.” — “Pull it up.”
Crocodile and Buggy speak up at the same time and stare at each other. Silent seconds pass. Buggy grits his teeth.
“Pull it up,” he repeats, louder this time. His muscles are sore, his joints ache, he is dog-tired, thirsty and one hundred percent done with being treated like a stooge. He turns to the sailors and roars: “Are ya deaf!? Do as your emperor says or I’ll make you do as your emperor says!!”
Faces go pale and they scurry away to do his bidding. Alvida raises her delicate brows. Mihawk uncorks his wine. Crocodile stares at him, impassive expression unreadable.
“You’ll fare badly on the Grand Line disrespecting a boat that saved yer arse,” Buggy grits out and wants to kick his own ass for giving in to the urge to explain himself. He doesn’t have to explain shit. If he wants to keep the boat, he gets to keep the boat. It’s not like he needs the permission of his business partners for that. For anything, in fact. And he hates the cold nervousness that has settled into his bones nevertheless.
Crocodile stares him down a few seconds longer, then he lights his cigarillo and grins.
“About time you start growing into your role.”
Not for the first time since they embarked on this trip, Buggy is at a loss for words. Do they actually want him to step up to the title and act the emperor for more than the show? If so, they have a marvelous way of showing it. He can't think of a good riposte for the life of him, so he turns abruptly and goes below deck, heading straight for Alvida’s cabin. If he is to act the emperor, then this is technically his ship and his cabin. And it is a nice cabin, equipped with an even nicer bed. Never mind what these sheets might have seen, it’s pure bliss to lie down comfortably after this ordeal he’s been through.
Pure bliss lasts for exactly one minute, then Alvida enters the cabin and shuts the door. Taking off her huge pastel pink hat, she sits down on the bed next to him and crosses her legs, casually bopping an equally pink shoe on the top of her foot.
“Come on, my dear, entertain me,” she nudges him. “How come I find the three of you in such a sorry little boat, lost on the big wide ocean?”
“None of your business,” he mutters into the pillow. Nosy as always. All he wants is to sleep off the last twenty-four hours. Feels like it’s been a lot longer.
Alvida brushes her lush hair off her shoulder and leans in closer. He has to admit, she looks fantastic in her new outfit. A multitude of tiny cut-glass dolphins glitter on her revealing robe and the colors match her new private boat perfectly. Seems she benefited more from his emperor title than he did.
“Let’s be frank, Buggy darling,” she says and looks him straight in the eye. “I’d abandon you in a heartbeat in a hopeless situation and we both know you’d do the same to me.”
Buggy huffs but there is no denying it. Surviving has always been top priority for both of them. You don’t get second chances. You retreat, lick your wounds and wait for new cards to be dealt. Yet, there is a special kind of loyalty in knowing you can count on everything except being saved.
“In the grand scheme of things, though, I’m rooting for you.”
“You’d better.”
It comes off spiteful, to hide the way her words secretly warm his heart. It’s nice to know that someone is rooting for him. Someone who isn’t fooled by carefully acted out public appearance but familiar with his shortcomings. He knows that he is the weakest of the emperors, the least likely to acquire the One Piece, but he has defied fate countless times. Why not try it once more?
“They didn’t drown you to make more room on that lousy vessel, so you must have a few more aces up your sleeves.”
That’s what he likes about her. She knows exactly how to play the pretty fool, but she’s a clever one. Too clever to be trusted with everything, but that’s a pirate’s life for you. Wrong choice of profession if you expect trustworthy fellows.
“Remember when we looked for John’s treasure?”
“Oh, when you ended up in Impel Down? Sure, I remember.”
Buggy scowls. “No, not that time.”
Alvida laughs heartily and nudges him in good humor. He truly wants to sleep but he can’t resist the temptation of bragging a little, so he does tell her about the sinking island, the rowing incident (she loves that part) and, most importantly, the possibility of poneglyph copies. It would seem like a tall tale to him if he hadn't experienced it himself and it reminds him of his youth in a bittersweet way. He almost falls asleep when his story ends and Alvida keeps quiet for a while, mulling it over. Then she speaks up.
“Sooo… did you fuck?”
“What!?!” In an instant, he is wide awake again.
“I know what I would do to keep warm on these cold harsh Grand Line nights, stuck on a tiny boat,” she explains nonchalantly, playing with a strand of hair.
He knows it too, everyone knows it. This voyage is probably more about trying out the shipwrights than the boat. He’s not judging, it’s just a fact.
“No!!!” He answers, mortified by the insinuation.
“Did they fuck?”
“What!? No!!!”
“Hmmm… are you sure?”
“Why would I care about that!!!”
“Uh-hu! Not denying it, I see! So you do know something!”
“I don’t know shit, now leave me alone!!!” In a desperate attempt to gain some composure, he throws the pillow at her. Not exactly a great idea if you want to come off convincing. Alvida just laughs and puts the pillow back down.
“I’m surprised he didn’t throw you over the railing for defying him about the boat.”
“Hmpf.” Buggy snatches the pillow back and buries his face in it.
“I think they’re warming up to you.”
“Sod off and let me sleep!!!” He shouts into the pillow with frustration and Alvida laughs, but then she actually gets up, pats his shoulder and makes for the door.
6
Karai Bari island, evening
Buggy rubs his sore throat and takes a sip from the bottle of rum he brought along. Despite his little nap on Alvida’s ship, he is still bone-weary, his muscles ache, his joints feel stiff and he should be on the way to his bed by all that is right and fair. Their return, of course, called for a speech, so he told their men how they are one step closer to the One Piece, putting everyone in high spirits. He also instructed the shipwrights to build more sailing vessels. Inconspicuous sailing vessels, just to be clear.
“The men liked your speech. You inspire them,” Mihawk speaks up out of nowhere and falls into step beside him on the way to the meeting room. By now, Buggy is too exhausted to even flinch at the sudden appearance.
“Treasure inspires them. They like dreams they haven’t had to work for yet.” Like me. But he’s making an honest effort. For the first time in ages, he’s making an honest effort towards his very own dream — and he hasn't quite come to terms with it yet.
“Roger’s legacy inspires them,” Mihawk replies. “And you are part of it, are you not?”
Buggy grimaces and takes a few more sips from the bottle. Am I? He certainly doesn’t feel like he has earned his name in that legacy, lately. But now that things have been set into motion…
“You are more loyal than I deemed you to be,” Mihawk states and opens the heavy door to the meeting room for them. Crocodile isn’t here yet and Buggy is glad for the breather. Then what Mihawk just said gets through to him.
“Huh??”
“You met with Shanks,” Mihawk explains himself and Buggy freezes. “Even so, you came back to us. I admit, that was quite unexpected.”
“W-what!?” Buggy looks around nervously and scratches his neck. That was days ago! Why bring it up now? Deny it, deny it, his sleep deprived brain chants, but it’s probably too late for that. There’s no telling how much exactly Mihawk knows. He shouldn’t know anything! That was a private meeting! Private!! Best to buy some time.
“How would you know about that!?”
“I could smell him on you.”
“What!?” Buggy almost drops the now empty bottle, face turning bright red with embarrassment. “It’s not like that!! What are you insinuating!?!”
Mihawk blinks slowly, then taps his hat as if in an apologetic gesture. “My sympathies.”
“It’s not like that either!!!” Buggy fumes, face almost as red as his nose. “Stop assuming!!!”
“You’re easily embarrassed for someone who embarrasses himself so frequently,” Crocodile comments from right behind him, making him jump. What the hell! One day all this sneaking up on him will give him an heart attack. Glancing nervously from Crocodile to Mihawk, he wills his rising temper to cool down a notch. If they both know about that secret meeting, it’s bound to have repercussions and he hates how cornered he feels once more in this damn dungeon.
However, Crocodile just smirks at his shaken composure and refrains from commenting further on the issue. Instead, he lights a cigar and takes a seat.
“What is the progress on the scrolls?”
“W-what?” Buggy takes another nervous look around. Mihawk reaches for Yoru’s hilt and he flinches involuntarily, expecting to be sliced out of habit, but Mihawk just leans her against the wall and fetches three glasses plus a bottle of wine. The hospitable behavior does not help Buggy relax, on the contrary.
“The scrolls,” Crocodile repeats impatiently.
That’s it? he wants to ask. No punishment for meeting one of their greatest enemies? No lecture? No questions asked? It seems so absurd that it almost makes him laugh, but he had better not push his luck any further.
“Er… right, yes, the scrolls.”
Buggy hesitantly steps closer and empties out the contents of the bag he brought with him on the table, all the spoils of their little venture: an elaborate necklace with gems in red, green and purple, a ceremonial dagger with translucent blade attached to a mother of pearl handle, a ring in the shape of sloshing waves adorned with sapphires and diamonds, a shiny bronze telescope with a set of colored glass lenses, four golden chalices — and five scrolls. They all bear the same sigil and silver clasp as the first one he opened on the dory.
“You did get quite a bit out of there, given the situation,” Mihawk commends him and reaches for the dagger while Crocodile grabs the jewelry for closer inspection.
“Shame we couldn’t take all,” Buggy mutters, still sincerely sad about the lost treasure and quickly grabs the telescope before they divide all the booty among themselves.
“Did you defuse the scrolls,” Crocodile more states than asks.
As if I’d let you touch them again without safety measures, Buggy thinks to himself, but nods.
“You promised us poneglyphs.”
“Aye, I did,” he agrees, slowly relaxing a little and picks up three of the scrolls. Unrolling them one after the other, he places them on the table and weighs the margins down with the chalices. The parchment is covered all over in minuscule characters, looking a lot like ancient poneglphy runes. Buggy grins as Mihawk and Crocodile rise to have a closer look.
“Didn’t promise too much, did I?”
“How can we be sure they are authentic?” Mihawk asks, looking up at him.
“We can’t,” Buggy shrugs and traces a gloved hand over the runes, grin fading to a genuine smile. They look like the real deal. They feel like the real deal, although he can’t quite explain it. Seeing the symbols spread out in front of him reminds him of happier times and evokes an air of youthful enthusiasm.
“It’s a gamble. But I’ve never encountered a convincing fake.”
“Me neither,” Crocodile agrees and takes out a fresh cigar to light. Having to budget for a day seems to have made him an even worse chain smoker. “The representation seems genuine.”
Mihawk makes a thoughtful noise and reaches for the bottle to pour them some wine.
“We will need one more.”
“On the next island,” Buggy says and collects the other set of scrolls. “There’s a map hidden in here, leading to the next island. The copy will be there.”
He tries to sound reassuring, mostly to reassure himself. Apart from almost dying multiple times, it all went smoothly and that makes him wary, but there is no reason to distrust his own theory. All indications are that it is indeed as he suspected. Mihawk hums and hands out the wine, then sits down and takes a sip before speaking up again.
“I’m afraid, however, that we have neglected to talk about a detail that is not entirely unimportant: No one but Nico Robin can decipher this writing. So what are we to do when we have all four copies?”
Buggy’s heart sinks at the mention of that particular issue and he takes a sip of his wine, so he doesn’t have to answer right away. He had known it would come up eventually, but he had pushed it to the back of his mind, telling himself that they would find a solution once the time came. While he is still fumbling for words, Crocodile starts to laugh, a deep and hearty sound that resonates in the dungeon they call meeting room.
“Don’t worry your pretty little heads,” he grins at them through the smoke of his cigar. “There are more ways than Nico Robin. The dead are easier to deal with than that woman.”
Buggy chuckles, bewildered by the joke, before realizing — it is no joke.
“The dead??”
“First, we will need Gecko Moria,” Crocodile deigns to explain, taking another drag on his cigar. “And some Ohara bones, which I happen to possess.”
“Which you happen to possess…”
“Naturally. Research has led me to this theory: When someone has devoted his whole life to a single purpose, such as science, the determination should be strong enough to be preserved even in his mortal remains. That leaves us with a narrow time frame for Moria‘s shadow resurrection, where the inherent ability to decipher the poneglyph is still available before the shadow overwrites it.”
Buggy blinks. Fine. This is fine. Just… fine.
“However, as I recall, that bungler Moria recently let himself be caught by Blackbeard. It would be inconvenient if he loses his powers,” Crocodile ends his talk and Mihawk slowly nods in agreement.
“Indeed. I shall retrieve him for us.”
What.
What!?
His tone makes it sound like it's merely a quick errand. Crocodile frowns slightly and Buggy lets out a nervous laugh. He can’t be serious, can he?
“Ya can’t just waltz into Blackbeards base all by yerself and take one of his captives,” Buggy tries to reason. This is getting more and more absurd. “Not even you.”
“I won’t waltz in, that’s ridiculous,” Mihawk says to Buggy’s relief — but it doesn’t last. “I will sneak in. That should not pose a problem if I go alone.”
Mihawk’s and Crocodile’s eyes meet over the table, and the atmosphere suddenly feels tense, as if an unspoken challenge hangs in the air. Crocodile stubs out his cigar, slowly takes out a new one and lights it, all the while holding Mihawk’s gaze. Then his tense posture relaxes almost imperceptibly.
“Agreed.”
Are you out of your fucking mind!? Buggy wants to scream at them both. A mere week ago they told him straight to his maltreated face that they have no interest whatsoever in fighting the other emperors and now waltzing — pardon, sneaking — into Blackbeard’s base has suddenly become the equivalent to a field day? Listening to a bloodthirsty stone was fun, so lets talk to the mortal remains of some long dead scholars!?
“Where is the next island?” Crocodile interrupts his spiraling thoughts.
“I — uh … — what??”
“The next island. Where,” Crocodile repeats with a sigh, drumming his fingers impatiently on the table.
Give me a break!! You wanna talk to the dead and raid on an emperor!? is what he wants to say but instead he stammers: “I … uh … haven’t fully deciphered the map yet, there … er … seems to be some kind of trick to it, so …”
With a huff, Crocodile turns towards Mihawk.
“How long will it take you to get Moria?”
“If I leave tonight…” Mihawk contemplates for a moment, sipping his wine. Buggy could swear he looks downright anticipatory. “Five to six days. No longer.”
“There you have your deadline, clown,” Crocodile turns back to Buggy, grinning. “Get to work. And don’t disappoint.”