Work Text:
The tavern was filled to bursting – a good thing, Sabo thought, given the fact that he wanted to blend in as much as possible.
The fake beard itched, and the sunglasses sat awkwardly on his nose. Koala had told him he looked ridiculous, but it was all he’d had at hand, and it was either the ugly, fake beard, or stay behind at the safe house. And he’d been cooped up there two days already – and he’d told her as much when she’d pursed her mouth and put her hands on her hips, but she’d relented after she’d pinched his ear and made him promise not to get caught.
He wasn’t going to get caught. So it wasn’t the best disguise, but it wasn’t like anyone was paying him enough attention to notice.
“Oi. What’s with the getup?”
…damn it.
Stealing a furtive glance towards the person seated at the bar next to him, Sabo was surprised to find him engrossed in his meal. His own plate was empty, finished some time ago and forgotten in favour of keeping an eye on the room; but the people he was keeping an eye out for were nowhere to be seen.
And so, “I could ask you the same,” Sabo said, taking in the wide-brimmed hat and the fake nose attached to the stranger’s own, too-large sunglasses.
He received a smirk for that, and his next words were offered around a mouthful, “I’m laying low.”
Sabo nodded, and didn’t know why he said it – Koala would have smacked him for being so careless. “That makes two of us.”
The stranger made a noise of understanding. “Marines?”
“Among others.” And there was Koala’s voice in his head, yelling about compromising himself – and her. But something about the stranger dragged the words out before he could stop himself. “You?”
A brief pause followed, wherein he flicked his gaze to Sabo, the slight inclination of his head so brief he almost didn’t catch it. And he knew he was being assessed, and wondered for a moment if he’d made a mess of things, when the stranger said, “I’m looking for someone.”
It was vague enough to skirt more than one category – undercover marine, maybe even a bounty hunter – but it was also more than he could have offered, and for some reason Sabo felt his shoulders relax a bit at the implication.
He considered him then – the bawdy floral shirt, and the freckled forearms. The sun wasn’t doing him any favours, but he didn’t seem to be bothered by the fact.
“Nice tattoo,” he said, noticing the letters, but pausing on the crossed-out S. “Did you fall asleep or something? Give the artist the wrong letters?”
A curious smile – the corner of his mouth lifting, a half-fond, half-deprecating thing of terrible feeling, and for a moment Sabo felt like an intruder on some fiercely private ground, but–
“It’s a homage,” he said simply, and left it at that.
Sabo didn’t pry any further, recognising that there was a story there, but also that he wasn’t likely to share it with a stranger – and one in a pretty obvious disguise. Although something about that crossed-out letter kept drawing his gaze back, as though he’d seen the symbol somewhere before, but when he searched his memory he came up short.
“So this person you’re looking for,” Sabo said then, fixing his gaze instead on the row of wanted posters stapled to the wall behind the bar. He didn’t like dwelling on that gap in his memory; it always left a restless itch under his skin. “I take it they don’t want to be found? Seeing as you’re in disguise.”
The slight tightening of his grip around the fork in his hand told him enough, but, “Something like that,” the stranger said. Then, lifting his eyes from the plate, although Sabo couldn’t see them behind the tinted glasses, “Speaking of disguises – if you’re undercover you’re doing a pretty shit job.”
Sabo grinned. “Speak for yourself. That nose doesn’t have enough freckles to be remotely convincing.”
The stranger raised his fork towards him, pointing. “Fake nose still trumps a fake beard. And your glasses look ridiculous.”
“At least they’re in fashion.”
“In the void century, maybe. Should have been lost with the rest of it.”
“The guy with hibiscus flowers on his shirt is giving fashion advice now?”
“Hey – I like hibiscus flowers.”
“Yeah, well that pattern doesn’t like you.”
The stranger was grinning now, too. “If I was a marine I’d cuff you for that.”
“A good thing you’re not, then.” He was sure of that now. A pirate, most likely – or a bounty hunter, but he’d make a good bet on the first, from the look of him.
He shrugged. “I could have been,” he said then.
“Yeah?” Sabo laughed. “I doubt they’d let you wear that shirt.”
A snort greeted that remark, and he had the sudden feeling of not being privy to some joke when his companion drawled, “You’d be surprised.”
Sabo only shook his head, but resisted the urge to rub at his neck. The mention of attire had made him acutely aware of his own, and he felt strangely exposed without the cravat. But Koala had insisted – had said that the rest of his disguise needed all the help it could get, and had confiscated it, along with his hat and goggles for good measure.
He realised belatedly that he’d let his guard down – and pretty thoroughly at that, when what he’d initially set out to do was some covert reconnaissance, which didn’t include talking to people, or making a spectacle of himself, both of which he’d managed to do in less than twenty minutes. Koala was going to have a field day when he reported back.
But the stranger was still eating, seeming entirely unperturbed, and if he found anything at all amiss with Sabo his behaviour didn’t let on. Of course, he might just be a good actor, but for some reason Sabo was more inclined to believe that he just wasn’t bothered. Or that it was a kindred thing – the recognition often found on this sea, between one lawbreaker and another.
“You know,” the stranger said then, a curious note slipping into his voice. “I can’t put my finger on what it is, but there’s something familiar about you.”
Behind the beard, Sabo smiled. “Maybe you’re mistaking me for someone else with a fake beard and glasses.”
He made a contemplative noise. “Could be.”
Sabo shrugged, considering his empty plate. “Or maybe we’ve crossed paths before. This sea isn’t that big.”
“Yeah, but I’ve only been here a few years,” the stranger said. “I’m from East Blue. Or, I grew up there, anyway.”
At the mention, Sabo resisted the urge to fiddle with his fork. “I hear it’s nice there.”
“You from one of the Blues?”
The fork making a restless clink clink against the plate alerted him to the fact that he’d picked it up, and so he put it down, and curled his fingers towards his palm to choke that odd restlessness that had sprung up in the wake of the mention of East Blue. And he didn’t know why he felt so weird about it – or why he was sharing this with someone he’d just met, but, “I don’t know where I’m from,” Sabo said at length. “I don’t remember.”
Looking over at his companion, Sabo had the impression that he was sympathetic – to the point where his personality allowed it, anyhow.
“Damn,” the stranger said, and for all that it wasn’t the usual response he got whenever he spoke about his amnesia, there was a rough sort of earnestness in that word. “Tough luck.”
Somehow, the blunt response made him smile. “Yeah.” He shrugged. “I’m hoping it wasn’t all worth remembering. That I’m better off like this.”
“You really believe that?”
There was a moment where he was prepared to say yes – the part that had fought so hard to get to where he was, and to who he was, regardless of who he had been.
But, “No,” Sabo said, after a lull. “I think there are always some good things to remember, no matter where you come from.”
His companion made a noncommittal noise at that, but Sabo had the sudden sense that he’d struck some sort of cord, and resisted the urge to ask. He’d already shared more than was strictly advisable for anyone on this sea with something to hide, but when he looked for the regret he expected he found nothing – just an odd surety that, whoever he was, the man beside him didn’t seem liable to do anything with the information he’d let slip.
And anyway, between the two of them, Sabo was the one sitting with the most information. East Blue. A pretty recognisable tattoo. And he had to realise that, but all he did was eat his food, still entirely at ease, despite the fake nose and sunglasses that were clearly meant to hide his identity.
He put down his fork then, pushing his plate away with a sigh that spoke of the contentment that followed a particularly good meal.
Then, rolling his shoulders, as though in preparation for a stretch – “You ready?”
Sabo blinked, and for a moment he had no idea what he was referring to, but at the sight of the grin stretching under that ridiculous nose, and the two empty plates sitting on the counter before them, it clicked.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Sabo asked, tossing a casual glance towards the exit – then back to the barkeep, polishing a glass behind the counter. A big guy, and the amount of wanted posters stapled to the wall behind him suggested a part-time job that brought in more cash than tips. And if Koala had been with him she would have shot down the suggestion before he could make it – would have told him in no uncertain terms that it was the furthest thing from being covert, and that if he wasn’t careful he’d get himself into trouble with more than just a bounty-hungry barkeep.
But the stranger’s grin made him, inexplicably, think that it was going to be fine. And he didn’t know where that surety came from, or why he didn’t feel like questioning it, but the jittery excitement he felt now had chased away his earlier restlessness, and hadn’t left room for regret, either.
“I’m thinking,” his companion said then, the words quietly musing, “that I’m not going to find who I’m looking for sitting here all day. And whatever the hell you’re supposed to be doing, you haven’t been doing it for the past ten minutes.” Then, dropping his voice, “And since they’ve seen us talking, if I bolt now without telling you they’ll probably make you pay for both our meals.”
Sabo grinned. “So this is you showing goodwill? That’s a risk, given that I could be a marine in disguise.”
He snorted. “With that beard? You’d be demoted just for thinking you could actually pull that off.”
“Hey, this is a nice beard.”
“Please. It’s giving me fleas just looking at it. And it’s not even your colouring – you’re blond.”
“Are you going to keep giving me flack about the beard or are we doing this?”
A flash of teeth – a smile that looked suddenly, strikingly familiar, like he’d seen it somewhere before, but before Sabo could even consider the thought fully the stranger had slipped from his chair, making for the door, and before his thoughts could catch up with the rest of him he was following suit.
The barkeep was shouting after them before they’d made it across the room, but the two who rose from their chairs to block the exit were taken down without pausing, a near-synchronised ease to the joint effort that came without thinking. He had the sudden thought that he knew what his companion would do – a curious sense of premonition that sparked, a second before he’d tripped the first of their opponents, and before he could think Sabo had grabbed onto the back of the man’s shirt and shoved him into the second.
Then they were out the door, laughter trailing in their wake and the barkeep on their heels.
And – there was something; an inkling of familiarity, sprinting down the maze of side-streets, laughter pushing up his throat and his fake beard askew. And they could have gone their separate ways from the get-go, but for some reason Sabo found himself following, his body acting seemingly of its own volition, until they both came to a stop, several streets over in a dirty alley shoved between two brick buildings.
“Hey,” Sabo said then, when he’d caught his breath. Resting his hands on his knees, he dragged air into his lungs, but his grin felt like it couldn’t be stifled, and for some reason his heart sat feather-light in his chest. “Thanks.”
The stranger inclined his head. The fake nose was coming loose from his sunglasses, and the cord hanging from his hat had gotten tangled in the beads around his neck. “For what?”
Sabo shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. Just felt like saying it.”
The stranger was quiet for a moment. Then, “You’re a bit of a weirdo, aren’t you?”
Sabo laughed. “This coming from the guy with the crossed-out tattoo and orange cowboy hat.”
“If anyone’s in need of a hat here it’s you. Cover up that dandelion head.”
There was a remark on his tongue – that he did in fact like hats, but before he could speak the words the baby Den Den Mushi in his pocket gave a loud chirrup, and he winced, remembering suddenly what he’d been doing – and what he was supposed to be doing.
Pulling it out, Sabo was about to speak when the line crackled, and Koala’s voice came through–
“–bo-kun,” the snail said, his name cut in half, the syllables mangled with static, but the disapproval in her voice was perfectly discernible. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Er – saving you the trouble of paying for my meal? I left my wallet in my coat.”
“You know you’re up for a promotion, right? This kind of behaviour isn’t doing you any favours!”
He was keenly aware of the stranger listening to the conversation now, and despite his earlier ease, he felt the sudden necessity of keeping certain things under wraps.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay? Just sit tight.”
Her sigh fell, a long-suffering thing, but he heard her yielding even before she said, “If you get back here in ten minutes without causing any more trouble I won’t mention it in the report.”
“I owe you one.”
“You owe me at least fifteen and you know it.”
“Then this makes it sixteen.”
“That’s nine minutes.”
“Okay, okay – I’m on my way,” he laughed, as the Den Den Mushi went quiet in his palm, and he tucked it back in his pocket.
When he looked up, the stranger was smiling. “Promotion, huh? Not a pirate, then.”
“No,” Sabo agreed, with that curious certainty again, that he could. “You are, though.”
He shrugged, but didn’t deny it. “You’re not a marine, either,” he said. “But promotion suggests an organisation.”
“You don’t know. Maybe I work in a really boring office.”
“Can’t be that boring if they send you out to do reconnaissance. Even if it’s in an shitty disguise.”
Sabo grinned. “It’s worked pretty well so far. You don’t know who I really am.”
“You say that like you’re famous.”
“I could be.”
“So could I.”
They were both grinning now, and Sabo took a moment to consider the scene. And he did wonder then, just who he was talking to – if their paths had in fact crossed before, or if he’d seen his face on a wanted poster somewhere.
“I never asked your name,” the stranger said then, still grinning.
“Neither did I,” Sabo countered.
“You’re going to give me a fake one if I do, aren’t you?”
Sabo laughed. “Probably.” Then, although he already suspected what the answer would be, “And if I asked you for yours?”
“You’d get one faker than my freckle-free nose.”
“Glad we’re on the same page.”
The stranger held out his hand then, the gesture clear, and for a moment Sabo only watched the offering, before reaching out to take it. And his hand was warm – enough so that he felt it through his glove, and for a moment that curious detail held his attention, before he let it go, along with the hand.
“I hope you find who you’re looking for,” Sabo said, eyes glancing off the log pose on his wrist. If he was a pirate he probably wasn’t the captain. The navigator, maybe, but he wouldn’t be alone if that was the case – unless he just knew how to navigate, but didn’t hold the post.
“Yeah,” the stranger said, a dark note sitting in the word, and an ambiguity that told Sabo enough about what kind of person he was searching for. It was personal – and fiercely so.
But then, his mouth lifting with one of those strange smiles, “I’m actually thinking I might take a break for a bit. There’s been a lot of dead ends, and today made me remember something.” He didn’t elaborate on what he meant by that, but the smile softened a bit, and, “I’ve actually got someone that I’m waiting for. He should be turning up any day now.”
Sabo tilted his head. “Popular guy, are you?”
“You mean you can’t tell just by looking at me?”
“Seeing as your ensemble makes you look like you robbed a thrift shop, not really.”
“Who would rob a thrift shop?”
“You tell me,” Sabo laughed. “You’re the one who suggested a dine-and-dash from the cheapest tavern in this place.”
Another of those strange smiles flitted over the stranger’s face at that. “Maybe I was feeling nostalgic.”
Sabo was suddenly tempted to agree, although he had no idea where that feeling came from. The same place as that curious surety that kept making him let his guard down, maybe.
“So, this person you’re waiting for,” he said then. “Enemy or friend this time?”
That prompted a grin, but it wasn’t an ambiguous thing now, Sabo saw. This one was staggeringly sincere. “Little brother.”
“Yeah? I hope for his sake he dresses better than you do.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“Runs in the family, huh?”
Another strange smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Something like that.”
“You have a lot of siblings?”
He realised the moment the question was off his tongue just how intrusive it sounded. And he hadn’t even thought twice before speaking it.
The stranger fell quiet, and there was a second where Sabo wondered if he’d thoroughly overstepped.
Then, “Two,” he said, after lull that had stretched just a little too long for the ease that had preceded all his earlier responses.
Sabo tried not to wince. “Sorry. I don’t have siblings, so I was curious.” At least – he didn’t think he did. “Must be nice.”
The smile that followed wasn’t asking for an apology, Sabo was surprised to see. And, “Depends on the siblings, I think,” the stranger said, still grinning. “It’s mostly troublesome.”
Sabo felt his own smile curve, without really knowing why. “You don’t sound very upset about that.”
The grin was still in place, and, “Nah,” he said. Then with a shrug, “Worrying comes with the big brother gig. But he can take care of himself. For the most part.”
“And the other one?”
Another laden pause, and Sabo had the distinct feeling that he was trespassing again. But then the stranger said, around a grin that looked like the manifestation of a weight lifting off his shoulders, “You want to talk fashionably challenged?”
“Looking at you I’m not sure I should take your word for it.”
He laughed. “Yeah, he’d probably say the same thing.”
“Your family sounds…eccentric.”
That earned him a snort. “You don’t know half of it.”
Sabo was about to respond when there was a commotion at the mouth of the alley, and then a voice, cleaving through the air down the narrow street–
“That’s them! The ones with the godawful disguises!”
“Godawful?” the stranger muttered.
“Yeah,” Sabo agreed. “Rude.”
“Anyway, that’s my cue,” the stranger said. Then to Sabo, “I hope you get that promotion. Maybe they’ll give you a decent beard with your new pay-check.”
Sabo laughed, as they took off running. “I’ll put in a request!”
They sprinted down the length of the alley, the barkeep and a small group of navy wranglers at their heels, before they cleared the mouth, the cramped shadows giving way to brilliant sunlight and a wide promenade curving along the shore. And without another word they took off in separate directions, parting ways with the same ease that they’d first struck up conversation, their entire acquaintance having lasted less than an hour, for all that it felt like it’d been much longer.
He probably should feel some concern that he’d given away more than he should have, and to someone who might well put the pieces together if given the right information, but his heart felt too light for remorse. And he couldn’t explain that feeling – the one that felt like trust but that had to be something else, because trust wasn’t a commodity on the high seas, especially in his line of business.
But even if he couldn’t explain it – or the laughter that still threatened at the bottom of his gut, Sabo let it fill his chest to bursting, and the whole street.
It took him fifteen minutes to shake off his pursuers, but he was still grinning when he returned to the safe house. And something about his good humour must have made Koala feel inclined to overlook his dawdling, because there was no mention of his dine-and-dash in the final mission report.
But, “That’s the last time I let you pick your own disguise,” she said, tugging at the ratty beard, and considering it like she might a dirty dish rag.
Unfastening it, Sabo stuck his tongue out. “I think it worked fine. No one recognised me.”
The look she gave him was entirely dubious, but then the corner of her mouth quirked, her expression bleeding from suspicion to a lighter kind of bemusement. “Why are you smiling like that?”
Sabo felt his grin stretch wider. “I have no idea.”
Her sigh held a laugh. “You’re so weird sometimes, Sabo-kun.”
He laughed, turning the beard over in his hands. It really was an ugly old thing. “Yeah,” he agreed, but the stupid grin stayed, despite his best efforts.
“So I’ve been told.”
—
It will take years before he finally makes the connection – that sunny day with the beard that itched, and sprinting down the street with his belly full of food and laughter. It’s years before that strange trust finally makes sense, but it’s not sadness that greets him when it does, and it’s not loss that he feels, remembering the stranger who hadn’t been a stranger at all.
And when he meets his little brother at Dressrosa and finds him wearing a disguise so ridiculous he doesn’t know which is worse, the fake beard or the gladiator helmet, Sabo laughs so hard he thinks it must carry – hopes it does, to wherever their brother is; to whatever quiet waters await them all in the beyond.
Or maybe it’s not a sea at all, but three cups and two empty seats at a bar – the third already filled, and a grin that sits with ease now on a freckled face he’d recognise anywhere, long years and death and truly terrible disguises be damned.