Chapter Text
Crocodile continued to puff away on his cigar until it was nothing more than a butt and stood up. He was determined to make some sort of change in himself.
It was a similar feeling to when he was brutally crushed by Whitebeard. A similar feeling to when he was defeated by that rookie Straw Hat boy in whom he saw too much of himself.
He left his tent and headed to a different section of camp, to a particularly gloomy tent.
“Hawk Eyes, I need to speak with you,” Crocodile said in a calm, but stern tone.
No response.
The anxiety of what he was about to do was slowly setting in. Again he spoke, “Hey, Hawk Eyes.”
It didn't seem like anyone was home, so Crocodile turned around to head back.
“Crocodile. What brings you over here?” Mihawk stopped him. He appeared to have been out training with Yoru, as per his daily routine. Did this man never get hangovers?
Crocodile cleared his throat, speaking in his usual booming business voice, “I need to speak to you.” He gestured his head to Mihawk's tent and waited for permission to enter, unlike someone else he knew.
“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Mihawk said in his usual nonchalant voice. Mihawk's tent was about as macabre as one could imagine. It certainly reflected his old castle on Kuraigana quite well. The swordsman went to pour himself a glass of wine, and offered some to his guest who swiftly declined.
“Not sure how you can even stomach that right now,” Crocodile said as he sat down on the foot of the bed.
Mihawk simply shrugged, taking a sip as he leaned against his dresser opposite the bed. His yellow eyes were especially striking in the low light of his tent, which, to this day, somewhat unsettled Crocodile. “I presume this is not a business related matter.”
“No, it's not.” Crocodile let out a sigh, “Listen, Hawk-eyes, you know me best of anyone here.”
Mihawk raised his eyebrows in intrigue as he let Crocodile continue.
“Last night, you…you noticed something, didn't you? About me.”
“That you're quite the partier while drunk?” Mihawk said, the slightest smirk barely visible on his face.
Crocodile did not seem particularly amused by the comment but figured it wasn't worth his time. “Aside from that. After we returned to Buggy's tent, I mean.”
The lack of expression in Mihawk's eyes was not helping to quell his nerves whatsoever.
“The scars on your chest,” he said quite matter-of-factly.
Crocodile nodded, his heart starting to beat a bit faster.
“They aren't battle scars, they're-” He took in a deep breath before continuing, “They're surgical.”
Mihawk's face did not change at all. His eyes simply beckoned him to continue if he was not done.
Crocodile thought for a minute on what his next words should be. “My chest--no, I used to look very different, before I started to make headlines.”
Crocodile looked up at Mihawk, expecting some sort of response, but none came. His arms began to shake slightly, unaccustomed to showing any level of vulnerability to anyone.
“As a rookie, I was well acquainted with some high ranking officials of the, then recently formed, Revolutionary Army who…helped me become the man you see before you.” Crocodile was usually such a concise and direct person, but, for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to be straightforward. He hoped to all hell that Mihawk would understand what he was getting at. Hawk Eyes was an incredibly intuitive individual; it's part of what made him such a skilled swordsman. Surely he had to understand what Crocodile was trying to say.
Again Crocodile looked up at Mihawk. He had begun to grip his hook tightly to stop his hand's shaking while he prayed that Mihawk would finally say something.
“You're trans,” Mihawk responded in his usual nonchalant voice.
Crocodile nodded slowly, “Yes.”
The swordsman sighed, “I had suspected as much for some time now.”
Crocodile's eyes suddenly widened. “You…what?” He had expected Mihawk to be astute but not this astute. Clearly it could not have been that obvious if other acquaintances didn't figure it out.
“Someone so desperate to hide his past while showing as little skin possible. All the while you surround yourself with as many masculine traits and associations as one could conceive.” Mihawk finished up his glass and placed it on the dresser. He continued, “‘Desert King Sir Crocodile,’ a bit redundant of a title, don't you think?”
“That is hardly evidence.”
Mihawk shrugged. “Perhaps not entirely. There's also the fact that no one has seen you use Haki. I figured there was some external Devil Fruit reason for why not. It wasn't hard for me to draw the conclusion from that point onwards. ”
Shit. Mihawk had a point there. A former Warlord like himself who was so desperate to take down Emperors of the Sea yet refused to use any form of Haki…it was unheard of. Mihawk knew Crocodile was the type to make his plans as airtight and foolproof as humanly possible, so to completely disregard something that would only serve to strengthen his defense and fighting capabilities was unlike him.
“Was it really that obvious?”
“Not necessarily, I've been told I tend to be particularly observant.” The swordsman crossed his arms. “I’m to presume you've not told this to anyone else.”
Crocodile closed his eyes and shook his head. This wasn't how he expected this to go at all, but he should have expected this much from his business partner. After all, there was a reason the man had the moniker “Hawk Eyes.” He was grateful though, grateful that Mihawk had taken it so well, grateful that he had not made a big deal out of it.
“Was there anything else you wished to speak about?”
Again, he shook his head.
Mihawk nodded and stood up straight, as if about to leave.
“There’s some business I still need to take care of. You're welcome to stay if you so desire,” Mihawk said as he made his way towards the tent’s exit.
“Hawk Eyes,” Crocodile called out, still seated on the bed.
Mihawk turned around as he was opening the tent curtain.
“...Thank you.”
Mihawk gave a slight reassuring smile and left.
This whole conversation had felt like a 10 ton sea prism stone weight was lifted off his chest. Was he about to go out and tell everyone? God no, not in a million years, but knowing there was someone in whom he could confide about this was enough for him.
With it already being quite late, Crocodile headed back to his own tent, feeling significantly better than this “morning”, and had the best sleep of his life in about 20 years.