Chapter Text
"Are you all set?"
He turned at the sound of her voice, a grin stretching across his face. "Almost," Shanks said, shifting the little bundle supported by his arm. "You think anyone would notice if I stowed this little guy away?" he asked, gently rocking their son, fussing now, as though having sensed what was in the air; the farewells that would never be easy, even with all the practice they’d had.
"Ben would never let you," Makino countered smoothly, stepping into the warmth of his presence. She ran a gentle fingertip over that small brow, the gesture quieting the fussing a little. "You know you'd leave the brunt of the work to him."
She looked up to find Shanks smiling down at her. "Yeah, you're right. You're a natural at this. I'd have to take you both," he joked, and if she didn’t know him so well Makino thought she might have been fooled by his good humour.
"I wish I could," he added, and it was spoken with the wry understanding of a futile hope.
They'd had this conversation before—had exhausted the subject throughout the long months of her pregnancy; the unexpected but not unwelcome development that had put her fledgling career of piracy to an abrupt end. She might have adapted to life aboard his ship, but it was no place for a baby. They'd both agreed on that, even if she could still read Shanks’ half-hearted protests as far deeper things.
An idea seized her then, and she returned his smile fearlessly, heart swelling with sudden resolve, and, "Find me an island," she said, and at his raised brow, her grin widened. "On the Grand Line. When your part in this story is finally over, find me an island I've never heard of on the edge of the world." She ran a hand over the soft fuzz on the baby's head, still too light to make out what colour it would be. Red, she hoped. "And I'll make it ours."
Shanks cast a glance at the village sprawling at her back. "What about Fuschia?"
Makino smiled, eyes on the baby in the crook of his arm, before she lifted them back to Shanks. Fatherhood suited him, and she couldn't help the grip of longing, thinking about a future without leaving, and what they might make of it; the children they might have.
"It's always been my home, but as much as I love it, it doesn't have to be his,” she said at length, before adding, quietly, “And my home is wherever you are."
It was an easy truth, and she felt it keenly now, standing on the threshold between their worlds, the village where she'd grown up at her back and his ship before her, and feeling where her heart lay. But like the choice she'd made once before, she wasn't staying for her own sake.
But like before, it didn't stop her from imagining a future, or from wanting one with him.
An unnamed emotion passed across his face at that, fierce with sudden feeling, before he ducked his head to kiss her, but the abruptness of the gesture was as familiar as the scratch of his beard against her cheeks and his wilful penchant for including way too much tongue, and she laughed into the kiss, closing her eyes against the glare of the sun as she tipped her head, allowing him to deepen it. As always, his departure was greeted with cheerful weather, and Makino wondered idly if it would kill the East Blue to muster up a storm, just once.
The baby cooed softly, snug between them and safe in the curve of that strong, steady arm, and when she broke the kiss she leaned down to plant one on that wrinkled little brow. Their son blinked up at her, with those dark eyes and soft cheeks, and despite her heavy heart, the gummy smile she got had her grinning back.
"I know it's probably just gas, but he's adorable when he does that," Shanks said, and she laughed, flicking her eyes up to meet his.
"It won't be long before it's more than just a reflex."
She saw how his expression shifted at the mention; the regret that chased across his face, that he wouldn't be there to see it. "I'll try to make it back as often as I can."
Makino smiled, running her fingers along the curve of his arm, in which their son lay, his earlier discontent forgotten and looking like he was on his way back to sleep. "We'll be here waiting."
His sigh held an unconvincing chuckle. "I'd say I was sorry, but..." He looked down at their son, and the marvelling grin that stretched along his mouth left no room for apology, even before he said, "I can't really make myself mean it."
“Don’t be sorry,” she said, honestly. “I’m not.”
A crooked smile danced along his mouth. “No?”
Wordlessly, she slipped her hand under the open collar of his shirt, fishing out the thin chain holding his wedding ring and turning it between her fingers. Too large for even her thumb, she tucked it into the heart of her palm, feeling the cool metal pressing into her skin.
“No,” she said, gripping the ring once, before she let it go, tucking it back under his shirt. Her own still sat, wrapped around her finger. The privilege of her unassuming, land-bound life, to demonstrate her happiness without fear there might be anyone looking to exploit it for their own gain. All Makino had to contend with was village talk, but even that had softened over the years, not so much gossip now as fondness. Their odd, bookish barmaid with her pirate lord for a husband.
“You’ll call,” Shanks said then, the sudden note of seriousness in his voice making her eyes lift. “If something happens, or if you need me to come back. And if you hear anything—”
She curved her palm over his hand where it supported the baby, soft callouses against scarred knuckles, and the gesture stilled the words on his tongue. "Garp will make sure I know, if there's anything from Headquarters. I'd be long gone before they even got here. Fuschia is pretty far out of their way." She looked for a reassuring smile, to ease the heavy slant of his brow. "And I've got a village at my back. And Dadan. I'll manage, one way or another. We both will."
His nod was long in coming, and didn't seem wholly convinced. And when he looked at her now she saw in his eyes all the things he'd told her, of the sea he was setting out for. The people on it; the enemies who had no love for him, and would have none to spare her, if they knew.
"I would have you safe," Shanks said, voice wrought with something that rang like a vow. "More than anything."
Her throat felt like it was closing up, but Makino nodded, fingers trembling where she'd tucked them around his.
And this was another thing they'd discussed to death—the possibility of history repeating itself. It had been more for Shanks' sake than her own, Makino felt, but then he'd witnessed first-hand what the world was capable of; the little mercy it had had for the son of a wanted man, and with his own tucked safely in the crook of his arm, the comparison carried more weight in his heart than it did in hers. The war had left more scars than just physical ones, not just in Garp, but in her husband, too. And with their shared history, Makino wouldn’t begrudge them their wariness, or their precautions.
She thought suddenly of the freckled face she'd never see again, and something fierce took hold of her heart, a conviction so severe it left her short of breath; the chilling resolve that she'd do whatever the sea demanded, to keep their son safe.
She turned her gaze to their slumbering baby, those big dark eyes hidden under closed lids now. Hers or his, like his hair it was too soon to tell, although Shanks had jokingly said they were far too compelling to be anyone's but hers.
"Ace is a good name," she said then, stroking a thumb over the curve of a smooth cheek, too soft and new for the little signs that life left, freckles and lines and scars. "I'm glad we decided on that."
Shanks smiled an odd smile. "Captain Roger would have liked it, I think. He always had an appreciation for things like that." He gave a fond roll of his eyes. "Ben calls me a sentimental sap, but I think he agrees. He just needs to disagree for the sake of disagreeing."
Makino laughed. "That does sound like him."
He was silent a moment, gaze once again fixed on their son. "A parent’s legacy can be a burden, so I hope this will be a good one where mine isn't."
"I can't think of a better legacy to pass on," she agreed, before curling her fingers around his in a fierce grip, making him look at her. "But I won’t accept that your own is anything but worthy.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners, although his smile held a familiar edge of self-deprecation. “If I couldn’t read your face like a book, my heart, I’d be tempted to call you on your bluff.”
Makino pressed her lips together, and lifted her chin—something that didn’t go unnoticed, by the way his brows quirked upwards. “You've done good things in this world, Shanks," she said, unyielding in that conviction, and daring him to contradict her. She remembered what he’d told her, about the war, and the aftermath. The graves of an old rival, and a boy he'd only met once but who'd made an impression that had lasted, long after he was gone. A legacy they’d passed to their son now.
She smiled down at him, safe in his father's hold. "And I can't imagine that he'll grow up to be anything but proud."
Shanks’ smile was dubious, but he didn't correct her, even as she could see the uncertainty that still lingered behind his eyes.
Well. She could match that stubbornness with her own, as she’d proven more than once.
“And I hope he’s like you,” she said then, making Shanks’ eyes lift back to hers. She let slip a cheeky smile, coaxing some of the regret to ease from the air. “It means I'll have my hands full, and won't have time to wait."
"Oh yeah? Is this one of those cases where he'll be your son only if he behaves and mine when he doesn't?"
“Hmm, we’ll see. If he takes after me, I’ll probably have something else to contend with than feet that won’t sit still.”
“Given your proclivities, I wager he’ll have his nose stuck in a book before he even learns to read,” Shanks agreed, although he sounded nothing but delighted at the prospect. His eyes had a familiar gleam in them now, as he quipped, “A good thing he won't be able to for a few years yet, considering what kind of books you’ve got tucked away. Might want to relocate that hidden library under our bed, somewhere well out of the reach of little hands. I’d hate to have to explain all the shirtless guys on the covers.”
She knew he was prone to be entirely casual about monumental things, but the effortless our that had slipped into his vocabulary lately still managed to catch her off guard. And from the wink he slipped her, Makino had no doubt that he was more than aware of what he was doing.
“I don’t think you’ll have to explain anything,” she told him primly, “given that he’ll be growing up with you for a role model.” For emphasis, she put her hand against his chest, most of it exposed, as usual. His skin was a shock of warmth under her palm, and she brushed her fingers over a familiar scar, feeling his heart leaping to meet her touch. Ignoring the responding curl of heat in her belly, she allowed a single brow to lift. “Indecent exposure, dear husband? Aren't you a little old for that? You'll be forty next year, you know.”
“I’m sorry, I was distracted by you pawing at me in public,” Shanks said, grin shameless, and she didn't doubt that he'd caught on to her reaction. “What was that you were saying about role models?”
She gave a playful tug at his shirt, before smoothing her hand down the front. “Maybe if you didn’t flaunt everything, I wouldn’t be so tempted.”
“Tempted, huh? Those are dangerous words, wife.”
“You’re about to set sail,” Makino reminded him with a laugh, and marvelled slightly at the good humour that followed the remark. She figured there would always be part of her that would feel sorrow at him leaving, but it wasn’t the same as it had been. His departure now held the promise of a return—not guaranteed, given the sea he was setting sail for, but it was a different separation they faced now, bound together by more than just affection. Now they had their marriage vows, and the little life that was their creation; the sum of their wholes.
“Five minutes,” Shanks said, lifting his brows meaningfully, the well-worn joke dear and familiar, and Makino shook her head when he grinned. “Come on, now. You’re thinking about it, don’t lie. What do you say? A quickie in the captain's quarters while the others finish with the rigging?”
“Careful,” she warned, and she saw from his widening grin that he was about to quip that he hadn’t heard her turn down the offer. “At this rate we’ll have another one on our hands. Five minutes is all it takes.”
She was teasing, but the expression that settled on his face was startlingly genuine. “I wouldn’t mind another one,” Shanks told her honestly. Another monumental truth, offered without embellishment. “A little girl, maybe.”
She felt her smile soften. “A girl?”
“She’d have to take after you, though. Even if I am the prettiest man you’ve ever met, I doubt she’d appreciate inheriting any of my features.” He looked at her, a familiar, intimate weight behind his eyes where they took her in, “But yours, now…”
Makino ducked her head, a soft laugh pulling free of her chest. "Smooth-talking the mother of your child, Captain? One would almost think your intentions weren't entirely innocent."
His grin was fairly roguish. "They're not. And don't tempt me into proving just how much they're not," he said, the deep quality of his voice sending a shiver across her bare arms. “You know, the promise of five minutes still stands—”
"Captain," Ben's voice cut in, as though on cue, and Shanks lifted his eyes to the sky with a dramatic sigh. Makino didn’t bother to hide her smile, and Ben’s expression held bemusement of the ‘do I even want to know?’ sort when he came to stand beside them, although from the light winking in his eyes Makino had the impression he knew exactly what he’d interrupted.
"We're all set to depart,” he said, gaze shifting away from them, and to his godson in Shanks’ arm. And there was a trace of something rare on his usually unreadable face as he spoke the words—regret, or something close.
Makino hid her knowing smile away, although by the look Shanks shot her it hadn’t slipped his notice, and she felt his amusement as it rolled off her. She seemed to be handling their impending separation better than the crew as a whole, although she wisely tucked the laughing remark behind her cheek.
But she allowed herself to feel it—the fierce swell of fondness that accompanied the thought of too many uncles for one little boy to one day count. And at its heels, the sting of bitter melancholy, remembering the loud, rousing lullabies that had kept her tavern filled with sound for the past eight weeks. All they knew were sea shanties and tavern songs, but that hadn't made a difference; and wouldn't, for the baby who'd one day remember the melodies.
Looking at Ben now, she allowed a deep breath to fill her chest, the fresh sea air lifting her spirits somewhat, and enough for her to put on a smile as she said, "Take care of him for me, Ben?"
Ben returned the smile, although a tinge drier than hers. "It goes without saying."
Shanks sighed. "You talk like you're my mother, Ben. I'm your superior."
Ben was looking at his godson. "He's quiet."
"Mm. He was fussing a bit earlier, but it looks like he's asleep now. He seems to like the sea air."
"Hey. I'm right here," Shanks reminded them.
"You think he'll be crawling by the time we get back?" Ben asked.
Makino didn’t answer at once. She didn’t want to linger too long on how many months they might be gone this time, but knew it was Ben’s way of preparing her for it. Subtly, but without coddling.
"That depends on how long you're away," she said at length, and let him make what he wanted of that statement. "He might."
She found a smile then, imagining what it might be like—small, eager feet running ahead of her own. Maybe even more than one pair.
As though having read her thoughts in her smile, "Between the two of you running to meet him, he'll have his hands full," Ben said, before that clever mouth quirked. "Correction: hand, singular."
Shanks rolled his eyes. "Twelve years and we still haven’t retired the amputee quips? I don't know if I'm more insulted by the joke or the lack of creativity—”
"If he's anything like me, he'll be fast on his feet,” Makino mused, breezing right past him. “I'll have to try and keep up."
"Guys."
Ben threw him a look. "That you think we can actually tune you out astounds me."
Shanks grinned, the feigned offence shucked with a breath. "You're always trying, Ben."
"Trying, yes. Succeeding?" He shook his head, and gave Makino a meaningful look, before he turned to walk towards the ship. He didn't repeat his earlier reminder, but it rang loud and clear in his straight-backed posture, and his heavy footfalls across the planks as he made for the gangway.
Watching him go, there was a moment where she was abruptly brought back twelve years, and recognition skittered with unease across her skin as she thought about the ocean they were departing for. Back then, she'd been ignorant—had only known the New World through hearsay and the occasional newspaper article, and the little Garp had shared. But the war had changed things, along with her marriage, and the last two years had forged her innocence into something else; a wary wisdom that rested, heavy as an anchor at the bottom of her stomach. She knew what kind of man she'd married; knew his enemies, and how far they were willing to go to tip the scales of power, one man more than any other.
"Be careful," she said, drawing Shanks' attention from where his gaze had once again been focused on the baby, a new father's delight in every little breath and noise, and she knew he was trying to claim as many as he could to take with him, not knowing how long it would be until he saw him again. But he shifted his focus to Makino now, when she said, "The papers—"
She stopped herself, before she drew a decisive breath. "I don't know what it's like first-hand, but if the papers are any indication..." she trailed off, but knew that whatever she told him, it wasn’t anything new. It wasn’t anything he didn’t already know, or hadn’t already considered. If anyone knew what was at stake, it was Shanks, and he'd told her what he planned to do, appealing to the Gorosei, although it didn't ease her worries, exchanging one enemy with another. He had pull with the World Government, she knew, but even if the Elders gave him the time of day to heed his warning, they might just as easily turn on him. Pirates were pirates, and even her husband, for all his diplomacy, was still on the wrong side of the law.
But rather than rehashing well-visited concerns, she settled for a different route. "Just be careful,” she repeated, and wrapped the words tight with a resolve that wouldn’t have it any other way, even if she knew she could only make so many demands, safe in her little port, on her quiet, peaceful sea. She couldn't follow where he was going; couldn't predict what would happen any more than she could change it, but even helpless, she refused to let it drag her down.
“All of you,” she added. Unnecessarily, maybe, as it was already implied, but this wasn’t just her crew; this was her family. Big and loud and unconventional as it was.
Her look softened then, and her smile when she gave it was small and and private with something old and theirs. "That's an order, Captain."
The pleased curve of his eyes highlighted his laugh-lines, but the smile she found in them was decidedly wry. "Aye." Then, tenderly, hers, "My girl."
And his humour would have been of a different sort, Makino knew, if she'd been preparing to set sail with them, trading quick and playful remarks about her usurping of his position as they stood on deck together, watching Dawn Island disappearing in the distance, maybe for the last time. Fate had dealt them an unexpected hand, but neither of them would have chosen differently—that was a truth she felt, and with more conviction than any other.
"Boss!" The call drew their eyes to Fen, leaning over the railing, cheeky smile tinged with a flicker of regret. "We're raising the anchor now, so unless you want us to leave you...?"
Shanks sighed a laugh at the implied honesty in that suggestion. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Sheesh." Turning towards her, there was a vivid reluctance to his movements as he extended his arm, and Makino lifted the baby from his grip, tucking the gentle warmth against her breast. Ace didn't stir at the exchange, unaware of the goings-on around him, and too young to understand the significance of what was happening, or that there even existed a world beyond the cradle of his father's arm, or hers.
She knew Shanks worried about it—that his absence would be remembered, or that the next time he saw him, their son wouldn't recognise him from a stranger. Or harder still; the understanding that he might never see him again.
When she lifted her gaze, Shanks was watching her, the corners of his mouth downturned, and she knew he was preparing himself for the possibility that it might be the last time he ever saw her.
And Makino couldn’t blame him, having spent the morning preparing herself for the same thing, after dawn had roused her to find him watching her, not unlike he did now. But he hadn't allowed her worries to get comfortable, kissing her out of breath, before taking her, and harder than he usually would, the knowledge of their impending separation imprinted on her hips with his fingers.
But even more afraid than she'd ever been, she wouldn't admit defeat without a fight, and so, “Come back to us,” she said, and put all of her conviction behind it, as though daring the sea at his back to offer her misgivings. A challenge offered to a heart that thrived on them, and she saw by his smile that he’d heard it, and accepted.
"Sea-maiden," Shanks returned, an endearment that was also a promise, remembering a different leave-taking, although she found it to be true, still. Now more than ever.
You'll have me forgetting the horizon yet.
His fingers curled around her chin, tilting her head for a parting kiss, and they’d had their share of those, but this one felt different, somehow. His shadow was large and familiar, but there was nothing reckless about this embrace, ever-mindful of their son, tucked between them where there once wouldn't have been room for thought.
Seeking his mouth, his bread rough against her cheeks, she murmured the words, an easy truth after so many years, exchanged between them often but every day sounding a little bit new, spoken softly and fiercely, with laughter and without breath, "I love you." And when he drew back, she felt his answer in the trembling touch of his lips to her brow, a silent vow that allowed her breath to come a little easier.
Then with a touch to the small head resting against her heart, Shanks spared her a last meaningful look, before turning towards the gangway. Makino watched him go, the rustle of his cloak where it wrapped around his broad shoulders, and the red of his hair.
She heard his voice, loud and commanding where it called for the anchor to be raised, but her sorrow was an easier weight to bear this time, observing his crew as they moved to follow the order. She wasn't the girl who'd stood here twelve years ago; was older and calmer, and a little more pirate than she had been, even with her choice to remain. And the heart that had once given her so much grief was quiet now, forged with steel and patience over many years. She knew what she wanted, now more than ever, and didn't flinch away from what was asked of her, for making that choice.
And it wouldn't be forever. It wouldn't be ten years. It would be time, but she didn't mind that. And he was a man worth waiting for.
"Hey, you," she murmured, as Ace made a noise of distress, that tiny, button nose wrinkling with displeasure. Pressing a kiss to his brow, she rocked him gently. "Don't worry. Your dad will be back." One hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun, she watched his ship as it pulled away from the docks, and Shanks regarding her from the railing, before he turned with an order to unfurl more sail, the tether of their gazes breaking, but not the one within her. In the distance, the horizon opened welcoming arms, the surface of the water a blinding lustre of silver-white.
Their son was crying, like she had once, but her smile remained, steady on her mouth now. "He's a man who keeps his promises. And he promised me an island," Makino told him, as he wailed in earnest, and her grin grew wider, boldly uncaring of who she challenged by speaking the words. Let the Fates hear them, and the truth as she felt it. She wasn't afraid of hoping, or of gambling her heart on it. Or him.
"And I'm holding him to that."