Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"Would you come with me?"

Makino blinked, taken so aback by the question she almost dropped her hand from his. Her voice sounded breathless when she said, "Please don't joke about—"

"I'm perfectly serious."

And as she took in the set of his brows and the gaze that had seized hers, steady as steel, she found that he was, in fact, entirely serious.

Her heart leaped in her chest, and she gaped, at a complete loss of how to respond. And so staggering was her surprise that when she finally managed to locate her voice, what fell from her lips wasn't the familiar, teasing title, but something else entirely.

"Shanks—"

"There's room on my ship," Shanks continued, the earnestness of the offer strengthened by the fact that he wasn't even pointing out that she'd let his name slip. "It would be my bunk, but you're already familiar with that. And the guys wouldn't mind. As far as they're concerned, you're already one of us. All that's missing is for you to join us."

Still gaping, Makino didn't know what to say. She honestly hadn't considered it, in all their time together. She'd known he would be leaving, but even a closet-adventurer at heart, she'd never once entertained the idea of actually going with him—or that he'd ask her, for that matter.

"Speechless?” Shanks asked, smiling now. “It's good to know I've still got it."

She shook her head, scrambling to collect herself, and her thoughts. "I—"

When she couldn't muster a reply, Shanks' smile softened. "What do you say, my girl?" Her heart skipped at the endearment; her favourite among the many he'd given her. She felt his grip on her hand tighten, and heard how rough his voice sounded when he asked her, "Are you up for a real adventure?"

She considered her hand in his; the thick fingers tucked around her own, scars and sword-callouses over her gentler ones, wrought from her small, land-bound labours. She couldn’t imagine what a life like his would make of that hand, never having held a weapon, or even a ship’s rope. She had no way of knowing if she’d be cut out for it—a seafaring life, let alone a pirate’s.

She thought of the bar that had been left in her care, and the quiet, day-to-day routines she could do in her sleep. The rows of glasses gleaming in the sunlight, stacked behind the counter, and the row of bottles, not a speck of dust in sight. Little cares taken, to keep her home tidy and her hands busy.

And her life was one of quiet, of routines, and of safety. Or at least it had been, before he’d showed up and filled the quiet; before he’d disrupted her routines with lazy morning kisses, always tempting her to stay a little longer, her once-restless hands too preoccupied to even remember glasses that needed polishing, or shelves that needed dusting. And the life he promised her now didn’t promise safety.

But it promised him, and for all that she’d never been one for following her gut, at least not with the ease that Shanks did, Makino found herself doing it now—choosing, when the choice was put before her. And even a turbulent, seafaring life seemed an easy truth to swallow, with the prospect of facing it with him.

Raising her eyes from their hands, Makino sought his, calm and assessing where they held her from across the counter. Eyes that had seen the far corners of the world, and all the seas between them, but that looked at her now as though nothing could have mattered less than her, and the answer she’d yet to give him.

And watching him, she found it, settling in the lull between one steady heartbeat and the next. And she saw as realisation alighted across his face, delighted and so terribly hopeful as she drew a breath and said—

“Okay.”

—

The crew’s reactions ranged from poorly-feigned surprise to unabashed delight, and Makino had a mind to wonder if this had been in the workings long, finding a glass pushed into her hands before Shanks had even finished making the announcement, followed by more than one promise that the sea didn’t know what she was in for.

But even with their collective cheer and celebration filling up her bar, she couldn’t seem to shake the clinging nervousness, wondering suddenly what she’d gotten herself into. All she’d ever heard of the sea had come from these people, after all, and she’d revelled in the stories, safe behind the counter of her bar. Now that she was going with them, all the danger that awaited them also awaited her, and for the life of her, Makino couldn’t picture herself fitting into any of the stories they’d told her.

“Nervous?” Ben asked, after she’d spent a little too long staring into her drink.

She wasn’t surprised that he’d noticed that something was off, or that he’d known exactly what it was. And it wasn’t because she was a terrible liar that she said it, but because this was her crew now, and they deserved her honesty, including whatever doubts she’d bring with her.

And so, “A little,” Makino admitted, raising her eyes from her glass.

Ben didn’t smile, but something in his gaze softened a bit. “It’s not a small decision you’ve made.”

She laughed a bit at that. “No,” she agreed, worrying her fingers around the tumbler in her hand. She hadn’t taken a single sip, afraid it would all come back up. “It’s not.”

“Is he worth it?”

She didn’t even have to look to find her answer, and with it, the certainty that had moments before been slipping between her fingers. But then she thought Ben might have known, and that he hadn’t asked out of curiosity or lack of understanding, but because he’d already anticipated the answer, and what Makino would find in speaking it.

And looking at him now, she found her smile reflected in the barest curl of his lip, and knew that he found her gratitude in her expression, as bared as all her other feelings tended to be.

From across the room, she caught Shanks’ laughter, the warm pool of it in her stomach sharper than the drink as it chased down the back of her throat, both leaving her a little lightheaded, but her smile didn’t waver as she put her glass down with a steady hand, the calm waters of her drink settling, along with her resolve.

“More than worth it.”

—

Next time, we’re setting sail for the Grand Line, Shanks had told her, standing at the docks to see them off, in the tranquil spell of a gentle afternoon with the sun dipping towards the sea, the light touching the corners of his smile as it had stretched along the words. Are you ready?

She’d felt the tremor of anticipation at the question, watching the horizon behind him and knowing that the next time he stepped off the docks of her quiet port and onto his ship, she’d be going with him.

But even if she couldn’t quite wrap her head around it yet, just what it would mean for her to do that, her heart hadn’t even stuttered in her chest as she’d tucked her fingers around his, and said, calmly: I’ll be ready.

He’d hid his smile against her knuckles, but he hadn’t made a point of tempering his joy, worn without shame the way he wore all his feelings, and when he’d pulled her in for a kiss she hadn’t felt his departure in it but his return—and more than that, the promise that insofar as parting kisses went, it would be their last.

And she hadn’t known what awaited her when they returned next, but she’d prepared as best she could, arranging to leave her tavern in good hands, and seeing to small, private matters. She had no way of knowing what the sea would demand, but there wasn’t anything more for her to do than face it, whatever it turned out to be.

The loss of his arm was beyond any of their predictions.

It ranked at the very top of the most terrifying experiences of her life, although they were few, and desperately kind things compared to the heart-sickening feeling of sitting on her hands as the long hours dragged by, and there was no word on his condition. And like her fear that he wouldn’t make it, the relief when his survival had been declared a certainty had been without equal.

And she’d been so caught up in it—had been so busy feeling relieved that she hadn’t lost him, Makino hadn’t even thought to anticipate the question when it was offered, sitting by his bunk and with his only remaining hand caged safely between her own.

“Still sure you want to come with me?” Shanks asked, and she might have been tempted to accuse him of teasing, if it hadn’t been for the look on his face. And maybe whatever Doc had given him for the pain had loosened the few inhibitions he had left, prompting a question that he might not have allowed himself if he’d been in complete control of his faculties.

But he had asked it, and he watched her now, waiting for her answer. And Makino was surprised to find that the expression that met her wasn’t one that anticipated what it would be. In fact, he looked to be bracing himself for what it might well be.

And with a man that confident, that was difficult for her to come to terms with. “Did you think I’d change my mind?” she asked. “Because of the arm?”

He tried to shrug, but the pain that chased across his expression cut the gesture short, and he sank against the pillows she’d propped behind his back. “I don’t like making assumptions,” was all he said.

The words escaped with a breath, “Fool man.” She gripped his hand, and watched as the pressure caught his attention, dragging it back from the haze of pain that had tried to claim it. “You’ll have to try a little harder if you want to get rid of me.”

Her attempted levity was ruined by the tears she was struggling to hold back, wrapping her voice in a sob, and the quip fell with awkward weight between them.

But instead of offering a joke of his own to salvage the attempt, Shanks only matched her honesty with his, and Makino couldn’t tell if it was the medicine’s doing now, or something else. “And here I was trying my hardest for the opposite,” he said, before the corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Although I see how the sea king could cause some confusion.”

The sob that fell from her held a laugh, and she pressed the heel of her hand to her eyes. But his humour was a desperately welcome thing, after having spent so many hours suffering that yawning void of silence that had followed him losing consciousness on the docks.

And even with the physical assurance of his wellbeing, felt in the strong grip of his fingers around her own, Makino sought it in his presence as well; that familiar, warm-bright sensation that was only a little more subdued than usual.

“You’re tired,” Shanks said then, the hand wrapped around hers tightening, but Makino shook her head.

“It’s just been a long day.”

“You’re telling me. I don’t even know what time it is.”

Makino knew, but then she’d been counting the hours, but she kept from mentioning that, and scrambled to distract herself from the fact by worrying his fingers between her own.

“I had so many plans for today,” Shanks mused then, drawing her eyes back up. “So much for that.”

Despite her attempts at holding her tears back, she felt her smile tremble a bit. “Plans?”

It was hard telling if the grin he shot her was due to the pain or the medicine, but the slightly delirious slant to his mouth gave her an idea of what was coming, even before he said, “All of them included you. Some were very creative.” He raised his brows. “Just a few included an actual bed.”

Her laugh shuddered out. And oh, she was tired, but she’d endure the exhaustion twice over for a few minutes with him awake and talking. After today, she felt like she’d never needed anything quite as much. “We’ll have to do a rain-check.”

“A good thing you’re coming with me, then. There’ll be plenty of opportunities.”

And it was offered teasingly, but for some reason the playful assurance helped settle her heart in a way even his presence or the grip of his hand hadn’t managed, and she drew her conviction from the promise—not just of those opportunities, but everything else that was implied in the offer, confirmed a second time now, and perhaps more for Shanks’ sake than her own.

“That said, I think it’s a good thing you’re coming with me, period,” Shanks said, with that same note of honesty that she couldn’t help but wonder was just his own, or due to the painkillers. Head tilted on the pillow, he watched her, the light of the cabin’s lone kerosene lamp shifting across the sharp angles of his face. “What would I do without you?”

“I can think of a number of entirely reckless things,” Makino said. “But I have a feeling you’ll manage that even with me around.”

“Mm. That’s entirely possible.”

“But I’ll be there to yell at you for them.”

“Ben will appreciate being relieved of that particular duty.”

Her hands shook where they held his, but Shanks only curled his fingers around hers, until he’d covered them whole. She very deliberately didn’t look at the empty space on his left side, or the bandage cinched so tight around his chest and shoulder.

“And you’ll need someone to help you button your shirts,” she said, voice thick. “Although you’ve never really bothered with that.”

He grinned, a lazy thing, although the fleeting pain gave it a sharper edge. “For you, I’d bother,” he said honestly, before adding, “Although I’m surprised you’d want me to, given where your eyes tend to go when we talk. And it’s not my face, I can tell you that much.”

Despite the sob still lurking at the bottom of her throat, seeming one word away from falling, along with the tears she’d been holding for half a day, Makino laughed at that. “You’ve caught me.”

“Hmm, yeah. I still ask myself how I managed that.”

She wiped at her eyes, but the tears were pressing in earnest now, and she was too tired to try to keep them at bay.

“Hey,” Shanks said then, the quiet utterance drawing her attention. “I just remembered another plan I had.”

The look she threw him was patiently fond, although she had a feeling the tears ruined the effect somewhat. “Did this one involve a bed? It better, for your sake.”

His answering grin was so bright, for a single second it banished the pain from his features. “No, but I love that your mind went there.”

Makino shook her head. The tears wouldn’t stop coming, but she found her smile without effort. “You’re a little off your game tonight,” she said. “I felt I should fill in for you.” A beat, and she had no idea where it came from, but before she could stop herself, “Since you won’t be filling anything tonight.”

He laughed at that—then winced, and she was nearly out of her seat when he tugged her back down. She didn’t bother wiping at her eyes, and despite the pain now clinging to his features, that laugh had loosened something in her chest; some tightly woven knot she hadn’t realised had been there, until it wasn’t anymore.

“Tempted as I am to take that as a challenge,” Shanks told her then, the low rumble of his voice carrying a promise, even as the rasp of pain softened the teasing lilt a bit, “I was thinking we might do something else.”

“Oh?”

Nodding to his desk, “Top drawer,” he said, and Makino blinked. But when she furrowed her brows in question, all it did was make his smile widen.

“There’s a parcel. Get it for me?”

—

One week later, they were ready to depart.

It had taken surprisingly little effort to part ways with the village that had been her home for twenty years. Although watching it from the wharf, the townhouses sitting pretty under a sky that seemed to go on forever, Makino sensed it had little to do with the actual village, and more to do with the fact that home had a different meaning now, not found within four walls in a safe port, but in the enclosure of a single, strong arm, and a presence that she could seek with her eyes closed.

She sought it now—picked him out from among the rest of the crew crowding the docks, and turned to find him standing further down the wharf, red hair freed from his straw hat, the colour seeming even brighter than usual, burnished from the molten sun that hung suspended above the port.

He’d recovered surprisingly quickly from his amputation, although Makino suspected his unique brand of stubbornness had a hand in it, as he was still prone to fevers if he didn’t pace himself.

She made a mental note to coax him into his bunk after they’d departed, and pursed her mouth with a smile, already anticipating what his answer would be to that suggestion, something entirely too glib, but if he was tired enough he’d submit to her small nudges without too much protest, and without making too many lewd suggestions.

Then again, the latter was vastly preferable to the alternative, the thought of which brought back memories of the odd moments where he’d been too fever-wrought to even talk.

A shiver crept up her back, but she rooted her heart in the sight of him now, his own back straight, and the ease in his posture. If he was faking it he was doing a convincing job, but at least he had the strength to attempt it. And Makino didn’t think he was just doing it for his own sake.

As though sensing her inspection, Shanks lifted his eyes, and the smile that found hers twisted slightly with regret. And she knew what he was asking, even as he dropped his eyes a moment later for emphasis, to the little boy with his hands pressed down over the wide brim of the straw hat, now in his keeping.

And she knew then that even if saying farewell to Fuschia had required little of her heart, saying goodbye to Luffy would not be nearly as easy.

She made to cross the docks, and caught Shanks’ look as he retreated, the touch of his gaze one of familiar assurance, before he turned to make for the gangway. Leaving Makino with Luffy, stifling his sobs, the hat pulled down as far as it would go.

Sinking to a crouch, she considered the hunch of his shoulders, and the tears she could see, gathering at the corners of his mouth. He’d always been such an expressive child — like her, in so many ways, not just unable to hide his feelings, but so often entirely unashamed of them. She’d always admired that.

And watching him now, she found herself brought back seven years, to the happy baby she’d held, tucked to her chest where she’d crouched at the top of the landing as she’d eavesdropped on the conversation in the common room below; Garp’s voice a low drum under the quiet, and her Mistress’ rising above it, her tone a sharp cut, steel wrought from anger rather than resignation—

Left?

Yeah.

Just like that?

I don’t know what to tell you, Em.

If that boy of yours was here I’d wring his neck! And what about his—

She didn’t make it.

What the hell does that mean?

Garp had been silent. Makino had wondered who they’d been talking about, but, She didn’t make it, Garp had repeated, evenly.

What aren’t you telling me, Garp?

Garp hadn’t answered, and Makino remembered thinking they’d both give her an earful if they caught her. But the baby had been quiet, busy chewing on her fingers, smile stretching, a wide, drooling thing that had no mind for the rising tension in the room below.

Then answer me this, Emiko had said, when Garp had made no move to speak. Why did you bring him here? I already have my hands full with the last one you brought me, and Dadan with the other one. Who’s to take this one? Suze is out of the question, I can tell you that much.

Don’t even joke about that. And hells, it’s just for a little while, Em. Until I figure something out. I need to go back to Headquarters to deal with this mess.

Garp, she’d said, her voice hard. If you go back to Headquarters, who does he have left?

Makino remembered looking at the baby, that gummy smile that had looked too wide for his face stretching around her fingers, and thought, her heart calm: you’ll have me.

“Luffy.”

“I’m not crying.”

The words were thick, and the tears running down his cheeks betrayed him. Makino smiled. “I know. The sun is really bright today. Brings tears to my eyes, too.” She touched her fingertips to the brim of the hat. “A hat’s a good thing to have, on days like this.”

His shoulders shook, and when she touched her hands to them she felt his rigid posture caving, but he kept himself upright, as though from pure stubbornness alone. “I’ll show you,” he told her, swallowing, and his voice quavered with the vow as he added, “I’ll show both of you.”

Makino felt her smile trembling, touching his cheek, and the scar curving under his eye. And her own voice shook, although with something kinder than conviction, when she said, “I know you will.”

Gathering him into her arms, she held him tight, but where she’d expected another protest all she got were small arms winding around her midsection, squeezing with enough force to hold her breath captive, and when she smiled Makino felt her own tears, but didn’t hold them back.

“Take care, Luffy. I’ll see you on the high seas.”

Luffy didn’t respond to that, just muffled a wordless sound against her collar, and Makino hugged him as close as he’d come, begging forgiveness in an embrace she’d thought would one day see him off to sea, not her. But he’d make it without her, she knew. There she found her conviction, even as her fingers shook where they cradled the back of his head.

But of the sea, she didn’t beg anything. Instead she demanded, a silent vow wrought from the quiet surf of what had once been her home, that those same waters would one day bring him to her, safe and sound.

Because she might not know much of the sea, but she knew this: that it didn’t matter how strong you were, or how cunning. The sea answered to only one thing, but where will was concerned, Makino had a whole world to offer.

—

“Any regrets?”

She felt him stepping up beside her, and drew her eyes away from Dawn Island, now a small blot on the horizon in the distance, gleaming pewter under a low-hanging sun.

It hadn’t fully sunk in yet, the choice she’d made, but it was starting to as she observed the ease with which Shanks held himself on deck; the comfort that was the living testimony of years as a captain. Hers now, and in more ways than just a teasing nickname.

But, “No regrets,” she said, gaze finding his, and her smile came easy despite the small discomforts that had seen her off from Fuschia.

She rubbed at her arms. With the sun sinking towards the sea-line, the air had turned cooler, although the sharp kiss of the breeze was a small mercy on her upset stomach. And of course she’d be prone to seasickness, as though her earlier vow to the sea had been accepted, but at a price. And if even the East Blue could turn her stomach, with her gentle temper…

“Just a few concerns,” Makino added at length, watching the water frothing against the hull below the railing. She had no idea how long it would take them to reach the Grand Line, but had the sudden sense that she should enjoy the smooth sailing while she could.

Shanks stepped closer, a silent invitation offered, and his warmth was a welcome thing as she slipped her arms around his waist, the cloak offering respite from the chill. “How’s the nausea?”

She didn’t know how he’d picked up on it, but found she wasn’t all that surprised. “Manageable.”

She felt his arm where it curved around her back, and heard his smile now when he asked, “And the sea legs?”

Searching out that sensitive spot below his ribs, she felt his laughter, and, “Steady, so long that I stay in one place,” she countered.

His hand was warm where it cupped her hip, and, “I can help with that,” came the murmur. “Until you get your bearings.” A kiss beneath her ear then, prompting a shiver to dance up her spine. “And then I can see about helping you lose them again.”

She pressed her laughter into his shirt, but her heart felt lighter than it had, lifted by his good humour, and even her persisting nausea felt bearable with the light, soothing circles rubbed against her lower back.

Makino drew back a bit to look at him, arm and cloak still tucked around her, only to find a strange expression on his face. But before she could ask—“You’re a pirate now,” Shanks told her, tone musing, but his smile stretched wider at the words, as though he could follow that statement into the future, and what he found pleased him. “The Grand Line won’t know what hit it.”

She sighed, “You like to joke about that, but I doubt I’ll make so much as a ripple.”

The smile she got for that seemed prompted by something only he could see. “I’ll take that bet.”

Her arched brow told him what she thought about that. “Aren’t there enough betting pools on this ship?”

“Don’t ask me—I’m not the one with the ledgers. I’m pretty sure that’s Ben.”

Makino shook her head, smile gently marvelling, and she wondered what the future would bring, aboard this strange ship with its rowdy crew, and the man at her side.

The thought kindled another, and her smile fell a bit. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” she said then, fiddling with a button on his shirt. “That being with your crew, I might—” She paused, and suddenly it was all she could think about: the fact that, even if she wouldn’t cause a single ripple by herself, just being associated with Shanks’ crew might well earn her a reputation. Maybe even a bounty.

Oh god. “Garp is going to kill me,” Makino said evenly.

She felt Shanks’ arm tighten around her back. “If it helps, I’m pretty sure I rank higher than you on that list. He’ll be too busy thinking up creative ways to end me to remember that he’s even mad at you.”

“That does help a little.”

His grin widened; that ever-optimistic smile that wouldn’t allow for defeat, even small, personal ones. She wondered if she’d ever cease to be amazed by it. “See? I can be very helpful,” he said. “In numerous ways.” He wiggled his brows, but where she might have slapped his chest for his suggestiveness, Makino found only a smile now, looking at him.

“I couldn’t do this without you,” she told him.

Shanks inclined his head, a single brow raised now, and his smile had a wry slant. “Don’t you mean you wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t for me?”

“Maybe,” she said. She didn’t look at the horizon behind her, but she knew Dawn Island would be out of sight now. Instead she looked at Shanks; the living, breathing embodiment of the life she’d chosen, and all that came with it. “But that’s not what’s important.”

His look softened a bit, the wry smile exchanged with one of understanding. The hand on her hip drifted up her back, the sketch of his fingers along her spine an easy, effortless thing. “No?”

She tilted her chin, the request silent but clear, and when he bent his head to kiss her she let it take her last, remaining uncertainties, sinking out of her shoulders with a sigh, and she let him take that, too, feeling the pleased curve of his grin as he pulled her closer to deepen the kiss.

And instead of the seasickness and her unsteady legs she focused on the promise she felt in the press of him against her; the solid shape under her fingers never wavering, even as the deck under her feet shifted and swayed. One certainty that she could hinge her life on, in all its newness, and without a single shred of doubt.

“I think that if you’re planning on helping me lose my bearings, I’d rather it not be out on deck,” she said then, the low murmur tucked beneath the din of the busy ship. “Or the others will get a bigger show that they have already.”

God, he could laugh, and Makino tried to remember what her life had been like without the sound of it, but came up short. Although watching Shanks, wheezing as he tried to catch his breath and yielding some of his weight for her to carry now, the realisation was anything but a loss.

—

He asked her to marry him before they’d even reached the Grand Line, and Makino thought that if anything was proof of what dangers awaited them, it was that: the desperately hopeful light in his eyes, tempered by the sobering weight of honesty in his voice as he told her that, whatever the sea had in store for them, he wanted to greet it with her beside him. Properly.

“Partners,” he said, gripping her hands in his own, big enough to dwarf them both with ease. Behind him, the sprawling rooftops of Loguetown basked in the sun, the slanting tiles catching the light where it poured from the open sky, to spill across the winding streets. She’d never set foot in a town this big—or a town, period. And it had been a feat dragging her eyes away when they’d stepped off the gangway.

But then Shanks had tugged at her hand, drawing her attention from the towering buildings, and under the thriving din of the docks had dropped his voice for her ears and said: marry me, Makino.

Going by the entirely knowing smiles that left them standing by the ship as the crew left to make the most of their shore leave, the only one who hadn’t expected the proposal was Makino, and it had taken her a full second of just staring at him before she’d been able to manage a reply.

“Are you sure?” she asked now, even as she couldn’t quite tempt her heart back from where it had leaped into her throat at the proposal, offered out of the blue, as was his way. “This is more than just asking me to join your crew. This is—'til death do us part.”

“Yeah,” Shanks said, not a single beat missed. The smile that had stretched across his face dared the sun to outshine it. “That’s what I’m counting on.” Then, a twinge sheepish, “Although hopefully, it’ll be a long life together before that happens.”

She was only vaguely aware of all the people around them, the milling crowd of dock-workers and sailors, and other pirates preparing to set sail for the Grand Line. What held her attention was the gentle grip of his fingers around hers, and the weight of his gaze, revealing more of the thoughts behind it than he no doubt wanted, she knew, from the look on his face.

The anticipation was the brightest, but the one she found underlying it was what made her decision—the calmer waters of his conviction, running deeper than his teasing humour suggested, but she felt it in the way he looked at her, all the way to the bottom of those calm depths.

This wasn’t a decision made lightly, no matter what its out-of-the-blue offering suggested, but then he wasn’t the kind of man who made his decisions without first considering all the outcomes.

She realised she hadn’t spoken in a while, when Shanks said, “I didn’t ask you to join my crew just because you cook a better breakfast than our chef. Or because you’ve somehow managed to learn how every single member of my crew prefers their coffee. And it wasn’t because you keep a more organised ship’s log than I’ve ever managed. Or that you keep better track of our supplies than even Ben does.” He blinked, before his brow furrowed. “What did we do without you?”

At her barely-repressed smile, his grin widened, and he squeezed her fingers. “I asked you because whatever future lies ahead, I want you in it. And if you’re willing, I’d want it to be as my wife.”

The effortless way he said it hinted at a prospect that had been given much thought, and Makino was surprised when she mustered the voice to say, “Nothing less, huh?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I don’t do things by halves. Ask anyone.”

She shook her head, as though to clear it. “I think you’ve already demonstrated that sufficiently. And then some.”

His hand was warm where he’d tucked his fingers around hers, and she considered them, all their sharp contrasts, and the people they belonged to, who, although different, had more in common than their outward appearances suggested.

Because she knew his heart, as strong-feeling as the one she’d known her whole life, although hers gave quietly while his gave with loud, unabashed proclamations. And she knew his temper, a thing not easily ignited, and his sense of honour and duty, which, although manifesting in different choices and actions, weren’t all that different from her own. He was bright — like the sun was bright, the kind of relentless warmth it would take nothing short of an ocean to contain; dark, quiet waters to swallow up the sunlight, to keep it.

She caught his frown then, and realised she’d been staring at him without saying anything. “Makino, if you’d rather not—”

“No,” she cut him off, and wasn’t surprised at the strength in her voice now, for all that it had seemed beyond her just a moment ago. “I just—you need to give me a second,” she laughed, a little breathless. “I wasn’t expecting a proposal when I woke up this morning.”

That only made him smile, although some of the uncertainty that had bled into his eyes remained. “You know I live to keep you on your toes.”

She was about to answer—something clever seemed fitting, like a soft quip about how he could now look forward to doing that for the rest of their lives. Or maybe that just sounded clever in her head, and she should go for something more heartfelt instead.

But she wasn’t given the chance to decide before Shanks was saying, eyes sparking with an old joke that only managed to mellow his nervousness a little, “This might finally suffocate those murmurs of mutiny. You’ll be my equal, and even Ben can’t complain that he’s the one doing all the captain-wrangling. Unless you decide that you’d rather have the post all to yourself.” He raised his brows. “You’d get the whole bunk.”

Her smile had only grown wider, and it hurt her cheeks now, looking at him. She knew he ran at the mouth when he was nervous; a rare occurrence, but the thought slipped in, an intimate detail among many that were hers, that she’d collected and treasured since those first months where all she’d known about him had been his name and his preferred drink.

And she felt a pang of regret for making him doubt what her answer would be, although it was hard holding on to it, with the rambling speech that let slip so much of all that lay behind the proposal. But Makino knew that her expression had given him her answer, from the look that had settled on his face now.

She tasted the hum on her tongue, feigning consideration. “That’s a tempting thought, given that you take up the whole mattress.”

“And I snore,” Shanks pointed out.

“Mm. And you’re too warm.”

“I hog the blankets. And the pillows. And you.”

“And you sleep completely naked.”

His brows shot up at that. “This is the first complaint I’m hearing about that.”

Her stupid grin gave her away. “It’s very distracting.”

“Is that right?”

“I don’t know how you expect me to get any sleep at all.”

“Sounds like quite the situation you’re up against,” he mused. “That’s a lot of things to accept for any one person.”

And even if she knew he was teasing, there was a note of earnestness there, nothing to do with him as a bunkmate or his sleeping habits, but numerous, unspoken things that she found between the lines.

And so, “Maybe for some. But then,” she said, softly, voice little more than a murmur, “I don’t take up a lot of space. And you’re too warm for me to need the blankets. We’re a good match, that way.”

Shanks’ eyes glittered, and oh, she’d be hearing about that quip about him sleeping naked, Makino knew, and had to fight to stifle her rising blush. “That we are,” he agreed.

It was far from that simple in truth, but it was a fitting description, she found, and maybe the truth didn’t have to be complicated. 'A good match' implied more than it suggested, after all. A heart might seek its kindred, but differences could make good matches, too, like a presence that claimed space, and one that welcomed it. And he might be loud where she was quiet, but she had a whole soul’s worth of room to fill the sound, and peace to offer in turn, to a weary soul who craved it.

She looked at him then—considered him where he stood, the sun at his back, on the wharf of a strange port that she’d only ever heard about before today. This pirate that she’d only known for a year, who’d whisked her off to a life she’d never imagined for herself outside of her books, but faced with the reality of it now, on the threshold of the Grand Line and with his offer in her hands, Makino found she couldn’t imagine a different life than this.

“Yes,” she said. Nothing clever, and no grand declaration of her feelings; just a quiet acceptance, but she knew it was enough as his grin widened, prompting her own, and when he pulled her to him her laughter was so loud it soared above the din of the wharf, a sound almost too bright to come from her.

But then his relief was a quiet thing; a soft, laughing sigh pressed to her ear. And maybe that was the biggest testament to their match—the small things they’d imparted on each other already that hinted at a greater truth, the full scope of which it would take years yet to see in its entirety.

—

“I don’t know what Garp is more likely to be angry about,” Ben told him, two sake cups into his wedding. “That you spirited her away to be a pirate, or that you somehow convinced her to marry you.”

Shanks lifted his third. The galley was awash with familiar sounds of celebration, the sheer volume of it paired with the sake and the temperature serving to make him more than a little lightheaded.

His new wife wasn’t helping, the tiny shape of her a small warmth against his side, and going by the roses in her cheeks, either one or two cups ahead of him.

“The second,” he said, cutting his first mate a droll look as he downed the cup. “The first doesn’t imply that I spirited her into my bed.” Then with a glance at Makino, who met his look with a tipsy smile that couldn’t seem to decide if it wanted to be embarrassed or coy, “Although to be fair, I wasn’t the one doing the spiriting.”

Ben grinned around the rim of his own cup, but it was Yasopp who cut in, throwing an arm around Shanks’ good shoulder, “I think Garp would appreciate that excuse as much as he’d appreciate knowing that it wasn’t your bed so much as the floor of her bar.”

Makino choked on her drink, before rounding on him. “You told them?”

Shanks winced, then threw a glare at Yasopp. “That is the last time I tell you anything.” Makino was gaping now, but her expression seemed to have finally settled on a feeling, although mortified wasn’t exactly what he’d been hoping for, today of all days.

“Don’t worry, he skimped on the details,” Yasopp assured her, cheerfully unaware of Shanks’ plans of tossing him overboard later. He slapped him on the back then, and Shanks’ drink spilled over his fingers. “And in Cap’s defence, the poor bastard was pretty heartsick. Can’t blame him for reminiscing.”

Shanks made to reach for him, but he was quick, and he lamented his only arm when he received a cheeky grin in return, before Yasopp was making his way across the galley, to where an off-key chorus was in the midst of butchering a sea shanty too quick for drunken tongues to follow.

“Sorry,” he said, the word escaping under his breath, and he saw as Makino lifted her gaze to his. Her cheeks were still flushed, but it was hard telling if it was from the drink or Yasopp’s declaration. Knowing her though, probably a little of both. “I swear I didn’t tell him anything incriminating.”

Her expression softened a bit, the mortification giving way to that too-patient understanding he wasn’t sure he deserved. “It’s okay.”

“You sure?”

Her eyes gleamed at that, lovely and dark in the low light. “I think it helps that I’ve had three of these,” she said dryly, lifting what Shanks was pretty sure was her fifth cup, but he tucked that fact under his tongue, and tried not to smile too much.

He watched the bob of her throat as she drank, and it was an effort dragging his eyes away when her tongue darted out to lick her lower lip as she put the cup down. And he’d lost count of how many cups he’d had, although he had a feeling it wasn’t the sake that was making him so dizzy.

He had a mind to suggest they retreat from the party, feeling that acute, near-breathless need to touch her and knowing she wasn’t comfortable with too-public displays. But something made him pause, watching her now where she considered the empty cup held between her palms, slender fingers curved around the rim and her gaze far away, as though she was seeing something other than just the bottom of her empty drink.

“Good wedding?” he asked then, and watched as her eyes lifted to his.

The combination of that smile and the bright flush to her cheeks was making it hard to concentrate, at least beyond the fact that he was hard. “A very good wedding,” Makino agreed.

“Was it far from what you’d imagined it would be?”

He didn’t know where that question came from, only that it was suddenly there, pushing off his tongue, seemingly of its own volition. And it had been a running joke between them, that she might have preferred a quiet melon farmer for a husband, and the life that came with him. That although his arrival in her life had invoked more than one of her favourite romances, the real thing had subverted her expectations somewhat.

But he couldn’t help it now, watching her, newly married but her wedding amounting to little more than a simple exchange of vows before a Loguetown magistrate who hadn’t asked questions, and a party that was still ongoing. No pretty dress, just a loose shirt and trousers, the former one of his, and although the sight kept threatening to claim his breath every time he looked at her, Shanks had the thought that, insofar as every woman’s dream went, it was probably vastly off the mark.

Makino shrugged, and Shanks watched as she fiddled with the cup in her hands. “I’d never really given it much thought,” she said. Not a lie, but he could see by the soft slant to her brow that she was thinking about it now. “If I’d married someone in Fuschia, it wouldn’t have been much bigger than this.” She cast a glance about the galley, and the tilt of her eyes was a pleased thing, for all that he could tell she was imagining it; what a different wedding might have been like. “Probably a lot smaller, actually. And not nearly as loud.”

She didn’t sound upset about either of those things, and maybe that was what gave him the incentive to ask, “How would it have been?”

Her smile was quick, embarrassed. She was considering the droplets at the bottom of her cup, worrying the small, ceramic disk between her hands. “It would be at sunset,” she said at length, a small smile playing along her mouth. “I’d wear flowers in my hair.”

He felt a pang of regret at the words. She didn’t ask for much, but he had the thought then, that he could have managed those things. Would have, if she’d asked.

But she hadn’t asked, because of course she wouldn’t. And he should have asked, and would have, if he’d had a thought to think past the mindless, self-centred happiness that had claimed all his focus when she’d accepted his proposal.

A small hand covered his then, the curve of her palm unbearably soft but her grip surprisingly strong, and his expression must have let slip some of his thoughts, because then Makino was saying, “I’m happy, Shanks.”

Extracting his fingers from hers, he touched them to her hair, curling below her ear. Free of her kerchief, she was growing it out. He tried to imagine it with flowers, and what it might have been like, the embers of a Fuschia sunset burning on the horizon, and the deck of his ship under the open sky. In another life, and maybe that would have been the case.

But watching her now, that rosy flush to her cheeks and her dark eyes alight, it wasn’t regret he found. Not in her expression, or within himself.

He refilled their cups, and tipped his against hers, the soft clink falling under the din, caught in that strange pocket of quiet that had her at its heart, and that always seemed to follow her around, as though her presence could will all the noise in the room to relent, just a bit. “Wife,” Shanks said.

“Husband,” Makino named him in turn, and when she lifted it to her lips, was grinning so badly she spilled most of it down her chin, and the quiet strained against the sheer volume of his laughter at the undignified display.

But it didn’t shatter, just made room for more of the sound, smoothing out the harder edges, and he wasn’t surprised that what he found where they converged was peace, at once shameless and unassuming. It was just there, a truth as simple as her presence at his side, although for all its simplicity, Shanks suspected it would take time yet to fully wrap his head around the magnitude of her choices, him being only one of many, but also, undeniably, the crux of them all.

—

The Den Den Mushi stared up at her, no judgement in its blank gaze, but Makino felt it anyway, that coiled ship’s knot of blame and guilt in the bottom of her stomach that seemed to tighten with every breath as the prolonged stand-off with her indecision continued.

She’d thought it would get easier—that the more distance they put between themselves and Fuschia, she’d finally gather up the courage and make the call.

Her hand hesitated over the receiver, lip worried between her teeth until it hurt. Her wedding ring sat, still a foreign sight against her hand, the simple band telling a complicated truth.

She knew Garp’s number by heart, but beyond that she had no idea how to go about this conversation. What would she even say, to the man who was as good as a father to her, and who’d only ever wanted her to be safe, with a kind, boring husband and a gaggle of kids in tow?

I’m sorry for falling in love with a pirate.

I’m sorry I ran away with him to be one.

Her hand shook, poised over the snail, and she knew the source of her guilt wasn’t either of those truths, because even considering them now she couldn’t make herself regret the choice she’d made.

No, the source of her guilt was something else, and there she found regret, bright and living, and the knot tugged and twisted, tighter and tighter until it was hard to draw breath.

I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye before I did.

She left the receiver where it was, and dragged her eyes away from the Den Den Mushi as she made for the door, the lump in her throat feeling too thick to swallow past.

And the excuse might be petty, but Makino didn’t think she could have found the voice to speak, even if she knew the words that needed saying, seeming to ring a hollow echo in the space in her heart that remembered gruff laughter, and a hand ruffling her hair, tugging at her kerchief and you’ll be a damn fine woman, Makino.

I’m sorry.

—

It took time, adjusting to a life at sea.

She’d expected it would. Having never set foot off the Fuschia docks, she hadn’t expected to take things in stride. That was Shanks’ forte, and Makino had known even before they’d reached their first port that there would be more to contend with than bouts of nausea and a persisting sunburn.

Of course, there were things that had taken little effort to adjust to: small routines that she made her own, and she was nothing if not a creature of those, and happy to claim something familiar for herself, in a life she was still learning to live.

There was waking up beside him every morning, and that quiet lull spent coming awake to the sound of his snoring, a body used to rising earlier but unable to shake off old habits, however tempting the warmth beside her, and the enclosure of his arm, which always seemed to find her during the night.

But she didn’t mind what her new mornings were like—that first, brisk walk from their quarters to the galley rousing her fully, and those rare, entirely quiet hours spent with Ben before the rest of the ship stirred to join them. A cup of freshly brewed coffee always waiting for her, and the morning song of the ship coming slowly awake. A book in her lap, and the kiss to her hair that would lure her back from her mind’s wanderings, to find the sun risen and her husband putting a plate of food before her.

Those things had been easy, but there were others, still, like ever-shifting weather that gave no warning, and a sea that had no sympathy for those whose legs were still adjusting to not being on land.

And they’d run into their share of trouble so far. Inevitable, Makino suspected, with a crew like theirs, and the sea they sailed. But they hadn’t suffered any major casualties, barring some damage to the ship, and a sprained ankle when she’d taken a tumble during a close encounter with a small navy platoon.

But she knew it wasn’t going to be any safer where they’d set their course. The New World, Shanks had called it, and on their whole ship there were just a handful, her husband included, who’d actually sailed it.

And Makino was revisiting the realisation every single day, looking out across the open water beyond the bow and feeling just how woefully unprepared she was, to face that sea.

She was returning to their quarters after breakfast, the tempting promise of a scalding bath seeking brittle limbs. They were sailing close to the magnetic field of a winter island, and the temperature had dropped to the point where she could see her own breath. Beyond the railing, a thick cover of mist lay draped over the surface of the sea, beneath which she could spot the occasional sheet of ice bobbing in the near-black water. The navigator probably had his hands full keeping them clear of any bigger icebergs that might be lurking in that same mist.

She didn’t want to think too much about that, and the warm safety of the cabin was a welcome distraction as she closed the door behind her, and she’d just put the book away when she paused.

There was a parcel sitting on their bunk.

It seemed cheerfully inconspicuous, and had it been sitting anywhere else Makino thought she might have missed it, but the placement of it seemed too deliberate to not have been meant to catch her eye.

She hesitated, considering it from across the cabin, before moving closer. Long and rectangular, it was wrapped in layers of brown paper, but with no further ornamentation, and nothing to suggest what was inside. She couldn’t even make a guess.

The door opened then, a cut of the chill sneaking in from outside raising the hair on her arms, before Shanks closed the door behind him. “Shit, it’s cold. I’m actually considering buttoning my shirt.”

She turned to find him grinning. “I’ll see it before I believe it.”

Coming up beside her, she felt the touch of his fingers brushing over her hip, before the weight of his palm settled on it. “You know, gifts are much more fun when you open them.”

When she looked at him, she got a wink. “It’s for me?”

Features bright with familiar eagerness, “A belated wedding gift,” Shanks told her, nodding to the parcel. “I wanted to give it to you in Loguetown, but I had one of the guys tweak it a bit first.”

She blinked. “Tweak it?”

Dark eyes curving with a grin, his nod this time of the 'have a look and you’ll see what I mean' sort, before he squeezed her hip, a half-teasing gesture telling of an eager gift-giver’s thinning patience.

Curiosity having sparked in earnest now, the look she shot him failed at being convincingly wary as Makino moved to pull off the wrapping, the paper yielding no clues, before she’d lifted off the last layer and her hands stilled, along with her heart.

It was a sword. Small and dainty, it was no longer than the length of her arm from hilt to tip. For a moment, Makino was so surprised all she did was stare at it.

She raised her eyes to Shanks then, watching her curiously, his expression betraying nothing, for all that he hadn’t bothered to curb his earlier excitement. But he seemed to be gauging her reaction now, searching her face, which Makino was sure conveyed everything. “A sword?”

His eyes shone with that gentle mischief that was so uniquely his. “Unless you’d rather learn to shoot? Yasopp offered, but I was kind of hoping you’d let me teach you.”

For a whole heartbeat, all she did was look at him, before she turned her gaze back to the sword, looking up at her from its confines within the brown paper. It was laid out alongside its scabbard, made of black lacquer and a beautifully burnished metal that shone a deep, dark green, and set with silver details. Around the scabbard had been tied a length of red silk rope, braided in an intricate knot.

She hesitated, a single second where uncertainty reigned over her actions, before tentatively slipping her hands beneath the sword, pausing only at the strange sight of her palms, soft and pale under the naked blade, utterly perfect, before pulling it towards her.

It weighed less than she’d thought it would, and she spent a moment just looking at it, the hilt in its tight wrappings of sea-glass green, a carved lotus blossom in the metal crowning the top, and the whole of it small enough for her to curve her fingers around it without trouble.

Brushing her fingertips over the silver collar, she considered the engravings beneath, near the hilt. She almost hadn't noticed them at first, before the blade had caught the light as she'd tilted it, revealing the hair-thin lines in the polished metal. At first it seemed to be a random design, but at further inspection she found her eyes widening, recognising the delicate lacework of waves, seamlessly intertwined with a figure that was now very clearly a sea-siren.

It was breathtakingly intricate work, and no wonder it had taken time, if he’d bought the sword in Loguetown, weeks behind them now.

Her mouth worked. “This is—”

“Do you like it?”

She looked at him. And there was something acutely familiar about the whole scene, down to the detail where she couldn’t seem to make her mouth form words, but, “It’s beautiful,” she said.

And it was. Like that priceless book he’d given her that she’d read to him while he’d recovered from his amputation. And she’d wondered where it had disappeared off to, but had her answer now, the engravings invoking the cover, although it still bore the obvious personal touch of the engraver. She wondered who’d been the one to do it.

But, “Shanks,” she said then, lifting her eyes back to where he was watching her. “I don’t know the first thing about using a sword.”

He gave her a patient look for that. “Hence the teaching,” he quipped.

Her mouth snapped shut, and she found his smile widening, unduly pleased at having caught her so off guard with the gift—and the offer.

Makino considered the weapon—the gentle weight of it in her lap, and the delicately curved blade. The slender hilt, which she curled her fingers around, tentatively testing the grip.

She couldn’t even picture herself using it, but for some reason, it didn’t look as out of place as she’d thought it would, when she’d first picked it up. It was obvious a good deal of thought had gone into the choice—the size and the length, and the weight. Not to mention the careful details, which had nothing to do with practicality, but which Makino knew he’d included just because he knew she’d like it.

There was something that felt like a lump in her throat when she raised her eyes to look at him again, still regarding her with that carefully searching look, but she saw how it softened as he read her reaction across her face.

And she shouldn’t be surprised. A year at sea, and a year as his wife, she shouldn’t be surprised that he thought about things like that.

And even if she still couldn’t picture herself actually wielding it, “Okay,” Makino said, and watched as his smile brightened. Then, “Wait—you’ll be teaching me?”

Shanks lifted a brow. “You doubt my teaching methods?”

“Aren’t you still adjusting to using your right hand?”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t have some basic skills to impart,” he countered. Then, eyes glittering, “And right hand or not, I’ll still pose a challenge in a fight.”

Makino huffed a laugh. “I wasn’t implying that you wouldn’t. Or that I’d somehow pose a challenge for you.”

He hummed at that, his smile quietly musing. Like it had been over a year ago, Dawn Island behind them, when he’d looked at her and said I’ll take that bet. “I’ll wait to make my judgement where that’s concerned.”

She didn’t know how he managed it, that seemingly effortless faith in her, when she could barely muster up a shred for herself. As though he could see it clearly, all the things she could be. Or maybe it was just that he saw who she was, better than what her insecurities allowed herself to do.

She looked at the blade in her lap, running a fingertip over the waves, following the design where it overlapped with the siren. Such a wholly personal gift, and given with the full belief that she’d learn how to use it. Like the man himself, it was difficult wrapping her head around it.

“Shanks, I don’t know if I’m cut out for this,” she said then, looking up to find his eyes. “What if I’m terrible at it?”

She could picture that without trouble. It involved a lot of stumbling. Accidentally impaling herself wasn’t beyond imagining.

Kneeling before her where she sat, he curled his fingers over hers, and Makino realised she’d been worrying the tight wrappings around the hilt. She considered his hand, large and broad against her own; a swordsman’s hand, for all that he was still adjusting to using it. And she glanced at Gryphon on his hip, taking in the wide, curved handle, and the wide hilt it would take both her hands to wrap around.

But...she looked at her own hands then, curled loosely around the slender hilt of her sword, like it had been forged with them in mind. They didn’t look wrong. Not exactly right, but not wrong, as she’d first thought.

“Practice makes perfect,” Shanks said then, and her breath caught with her laugh. “Wasn’t that what we agreed on?”

Despite herself, Makino found her smile refused to be contained. “So the same rules apply to sex as to swordsmanship?”

He gave her a droll look for that. “I’m tempted to make a really lewd comparison. It’s taking so much restraint.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t already. I’ve given you so many openings.”

His grin flashed, wicked with sudden promise. “Oh, I’m tempted to make an even lewder one from that,” he rumbled, and when he reached for her she came, laughing into the kiss. “Something about swords,” he mused, grinning against her mouth. “And sheaths.”

The gentle weight of the sword left her a moment later, but before she could question where it had gone he’d threaded his hand into her hair and dragged a soft, shuddering sound from her chest.

“Or I could just demonstrate what I mean,” he murmured, the curve of his smile marking a path down the column of her throat, seeking the soft dip of skin at the juncture of her collar.

She’d tilted off the edge of the bunk, braced against his shoulders, but it was hard deciding if she wanted to sink into him or pull him onto the mattress with her when she couldn’t seem to think past his mouth on her neck. “If this is your idea of training I don’t see how you expect me to improve.”

She felt his grin, holding an open-mouthed kiss, and the warm ghost of laughter that followed the deliberate attentions that had her slowly unravelling. His arm tightened around her back, and when he gave a tug she followed, sinking against him. “Maybe not in handling that sword.”

Knowing him, Makino thought she should have expected something along those lines, but the remark caught her so unawares she snorted against his mouth, before her laughter followed suit, until she was collapsing against him, unable to hold it back, but all he did was match it with his own, kisses sloppy from her giggles and the grin that wouldn’t stay off his face.

“I’ll refrain from pointing out how that could be taken as an insult,” she said when she’d reclaimed her breath, before it hitched as he slid his hand under her shirt, the warm cup of his palm around her breast making it suddenly difficult to remember what she’d been about to say, and when she spoke her voice sounded too breathless for convincing cheek, “Suggesting that my handling needs improvement.”

“No insult intended,” came the rumble against her skin, the light scratch of his beard drawing a small, contented noise beckoning a whimper, only to catch with her breath as he moved his mouth lower. A tug at her shirt saw the buttons yielding, the kiss of the cabin air making goosebumps rise across her chest, before he covered them with his mouth, warm and inviting, and another offer that had nothing at all to do with teaching—

“But I’d be happy to beg forgiveness.”

—

Teaching her turned out to be more fun than even he’d anticipated.

“Shift your weight a bit—no, that’s too much. You won’t recover in time.”

“In time for what?”

Grin flashing, he moved, and her startled yelp was an endearing thing when knocked the wooden blade out of her hand and swept her legs out from underneath her in the same breath, the soft oof! that pulled from her punctuated with the sound of her back hitting the deck.

Shanks grinned down at her, and chirped, “For that.”

He got a glare for his cheek, but she didn’t move to get up immediately. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I am enjoying this exactly the right amount.”

“That's the fourth time you’ve done that exact move!”

“Well, then you should know it’s coming by now.”

She huffed, and he laughed, discarding his practice sword to help her up, the tuck of her small hand in his a softer truth that the rough wood, and when he pulled her to her feet he stole a kiss before she could bat him away, although the smile on her face betrayed her attempted irritation completely.

The sun bore down on the deck, and Shanks watched as Makino wiped the sweat from her brow, a ragged sigh loosed that lamented more than just the exercise. The callous caress of the heat had left a bright red testament across her cheeks and shoulders, and he spared a moment of sympathy for her complexion, still at the tender mercy of the sun on the open sea.

But she looked...there were no words for it, one of his shirts hanging off her tiny frame, unbuttoned to the heat. Her hair was gathered at the nape of her neck, a few loose strands clinging to her sweat-slicked skin where it had escaped the cord. Her breaths weighed heavy with exertion, and the slight parting of her mouth as she ran her fingers through her fringe pushed an exhale past her lips as she tried to work a kink out of her shoulder.

It brought to mind entirely different thoughts than training, and he had to take a moment to remind himself what they were supposed to be doing.

“Shanks?”

He blinked, and when he focused on her it was to find Makino watching him. “What?”

The smile sitting on her lips told him that he wasn’t being very subtle in his ogling. But then, was he ever? “I asked if you wanted to go again, but now I’m thinking you might have something different in mind.”

Clever girl. “Hmm, no. Nothing different.”

“No?”

“Just thinking about stances.”

“Stances?”

“Mm. Weight distribution. Flexibility.”

Her mouth had pursed with a smile that hid absolutely nothing, and her eyes looked bottomless in the soft reprieve of shade offered by the main mast. “Flexibility, hmm?”

“It’s very important.”

“Oh I bet.”

“Could give you the upper hand.” She’d stepped closer now, and it was an effort not to reach for her. “The element of surprise, if you’re quick.” He let his smile tilt, tellingly crooked. “And creative.”

Yasopp’s voice drifted towards them from across the deck, “Where this conversation is going, I’m wondering if I should take my chances in the galley.”

Makino’s cheeks flushed, the combination of sunburn and embarrassment a brilliant thing, and Shanks stuck his tongue out at Yasopp. “I don’t remember inviting you to watch.”

Yasopp just grinned. “Keep it to the bedroom, Cap. The swordplay, at least.”

“Oh god,” Makino murmured, pressing her palms to her cheeks, and Shanks threw his head back with a laugh. But when he glanced at her she was smiling, although it seemed to be in spite of her better judgement.

Giving her a wink, he caught the fond roll of her eyes as she made to put down her practice sword, tugging her hair loose to retie it, and he watched, slightly mesmerised by the movements.

Her eyes flitted to him then, a look stolen from under her raised arm as she worked the cord around her hair, and the knowing grin he shot her had the colour in her cheeks deepening, before she ducked her gaze. With the warm weather, he’d forgone wearing a shirt, and although she was far subtler in her appreciation than he was, it was no less earnest for it.

A small marvel, maybe, but Shanks didn’t look at the stump as the thought resurfaced, keeping his eyes instead on the girl who looked at him as though she didn’t even see it. Or maybe it was that she did, but didn’t consider it to be any less a part of him than anything else—or any less desirable.

Strange, that. But the awe he found was too familiar to prompt disbelief, watching her now.

Hair securely in place, she seemed to consider the practice blade she’d put down, and the one he’d given her, sitting next to it. Then, that little hand hesitating only a moment, she made to reach for her blade, and Shanks watched as she took a moment to consider the different weight, and the grip.

He had half a mind to tell her that just that gesture alone suggested a growing ease with the weapon, but he tucked the impulse away. He wanted to see if she’d notice the changes for herself, and how long it would take her to pick up on it.

She raised her eyes to his then, the light of teasing dimmed, leaving an old worry. “I still don’t know if I’m cut out for this.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, stepping towards her, he reached to adjust her stance, offering gentle nudges at her posture that she submitted to with less resistance than she had when they’d first started out.

He allowed his hand to linger, her skin soft and inviting, and there was another ease in the way she yielded to those touches, but this, too, as though instinctually. The realisation made him smile.

“Give it some time,” he said, eyes on the blade in her hands, and he wondered suddenly how she’d look when she’d mastered it—all that lithe grace, honed and sharpened, as though its own blade’s edge. She was tiny, and had the advantage of size and speed on her side. She might not have the disposition for seeking battle, or a thirst for competition, but if she could protect herself if the need arose—

As though having read his thoughts, “I just can’t see myself actually drawing it,” Makino said. “At least not—not outside of practice, anyway. And not with the intent to hurt.”

And if you’re the one at risk of being hurt? But he kept the words to himself as he reached to cover her fingers where she’d curled them around the hilt. A slant of sunlight caught the delicate lines engraved on the blade, giving the illusion of gold plating.

It wasn’t a sword designed to do damage, although Shanks knew that even a dull kitchen knife could do damage if the intent was there. An easy grip and a light wield, it might well amount to little more than a kitchen knife to some of the people he knew on this sea, good for blocking and parrying, but little else. But his intention in giving it to her hadn’t been to force her to change to adapt to the sword. He’d wanted to give her something that would suit her.

“It’s not the times you draw your sword that are important,” he told her then, brushing his thumb over her knuckles, bleeding white under her skin where she clutched the hilt, and he felt her grip loosening a bit under the touch. “It’s the ones where you choose not to draw it. But sometimes, knowing when to draw, that half-second between fight or flight, might mean the difference between life and death.”

She looked up at him, eyes seeming to swallow him up, but he saw as understanding came to settle in them. And they’d been lucky so far, but he knew what awaited once they made the crossing into the New World. And he saw the same, sobering awareness in her eyes, even if she didn’t know just what they were up against.

“What if I can’t draw it, even in self-defence?” she asked then, her voice quiet, and the question tucked between them where they stood. A private fear, Shanks saw, and understood. But like the sword he’d had made for her, he hadn’t asked her to come with him hoping she’d change who she was.

Still. “You don’t give your instincts enough credit,” he said, considering the small hands tucked around the hilt, her wedding band catching the sunlight. Seeking her gaze, he allowed a smile to touch his mouth. “Take it from someone who’s constantly on the receiving end of your pinches. I rue the day you discovered that I was ticklish.”

Her smile stretched, and she ducked her head, as though embarrassed by her own satisfaction. Of course, Shanks had no such qualms, wholly pleased at sparking that reaction, and when she looked up to meet his eyes again he let her see it.

“You don’t draw your sword often,” Makino said then, eyes dropping to where he’d put it down earlier.

She was right. And even if they’d been at sea well over a year together, an occasion had yet to present itself requiring him to go all out. And once he might have been glad of it. Back when their worlds had been different ones, there’d been no urge for her to witness that part of him, and what he was capable of.

But his world was hers now, and even if he had no desire for bloodshed, she deserved to know that he didn’t shy from it.

“Only if I have a good reason,” he told her, and knew even before her breath caught that she heard what he didn’t say: that there was one thing that would always answer to that description.

To emphasise his point, all the while holding the wide eyes watching him from an expression of such earnest surprise (and if he hadn’t been so intent in showing her, he might have derived some satisfaction from the fact that he could still catch her so wildly off guard), Shanks reached to tuck her hair behind her ear, fingers lingering by her cheek, the gesture wholly deliberate, and utterly unapologetic.

—

“Haki?”

“You know what it is, right?” Yasopp asked.

Makino frowned, considering him where he stood; that too-eager expression that promised nothing good, and that usually had Ben reaching for his cigarettes. But a glance at Ben found no suggestion that stress-smoking was imminent, although somehow, that didn’t make her feel better.

“Shanks explained the concept,” she said, warily. It hadn’t been in much detail, but she’d gleaned the basics, and from it, a small relief that it wasn’t something she would have to contend with, at least not beyond others using it against her.

Yasopp nodded. “Then you know there’re different kinds, yeah?”

She wondered where he was going with this. He seemed strangely intent. “Yes.”

“Did he also tell you which one you have?”

She blinked. “I don’t have haki,” she told him.

Yasopp was grinning now. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” he said. “Mah, he probably didn’t want to overwhelm you, given that he’s got you suffering through his teaching already.” He nodded to Siren at her hip, and her hand flew to the hilt—a strange act of comfort that had somehow manifested since she’d taken to wearing it.

But, “Yasopp,” Makino said, patiently. “I don’t have haki. Where would I even have learned something like that?”

“Not always something you learn,” he said with a shrug. “Sometimes it manifests on its own. Observation’s like that, at least. But the subconscious stuff needs work if you want to use it for all it’s worth.”

She shook her head. It seemed absurd. She’d seen Shanks use it, and for different purposes, and even though she knew the kind he threw about him wasn’t the same as most people had, it still seemed like such a fanciful thing. Like devil fruit powers; a part of the world that was hers now, but that didn’t really have anything to do with her. “I still think you’ve got the wrong—”

“Where’s Boss now?” Yasopp asked.

A bit taken aback by the question, Makino felt her brows furrowing, but all Yasopp did was watch her, as though waiting to hear her answer.

Then, “Belowdecks,” she told him, carefully. “Towards the stern. What—” She looked at him, struck suddenly by a question that didn’t make any sense, and she knew her expression gave her away, wariness yielding to genuine surprise. “You can’t sense him?”

“I can,” he said. “But that’s because my observation’s one of the best on this ship, barring the Bossman himself.”

“You—wait, what? But I thought everyone could sense him.”

Yasopp shrugged. “If he’s actively using his haki, yeah, but when it’s idle? It’d take another proficient observation user to pick him out as fast as you just did.”

She stared at him. When she tried to locate Shanks’ presence again, the familiar warmth of it all but leaped out at her. She couldn’t understand how anyone could ignore it, let alone not pick it out. “But—it’s so loud.”

Yasopp grinned, and shared a look with Ben. “Did you know?”

Ben had been observing their interaction, a familiar, assessing expression on his face, along with a hint of amusement sitting at the corner of his mouth. “I had my suspicions,” he said. Then to Makino, “That’s why you couldn’t bear to be on the ship during the surgery. You couldn’t feel him anymore.”

She closed her mouth, whatever protest she’d prepared forgotten at the mention. And she remembered that night all too well—the pressing quiet that had seemed so wrong, weighing down over the galley, as though the only thing missing was for the planks to groan under the pressure. She’d assumed they’d all been able to sense it, and that she’d just been the only one who hadn’t been strong enough to bear it.

“Describe it,” Yasopp said then, sounding curious. “What it feels like.”

“Bright,” she said, before she could think. It wasn’t so much that she sought his presence anymore, it was just there, seeming always at her fingertips. “Like a sunburst.” Then, the corner of her mouth lifting, a small smile of bemusement, “And a little like a hangover, sometimes.”

She looked between them, taking in Yasopp’s ever-widening grin, and Ben’s now open amusement. “Are you sure you’re not just pulling my leg?” she asked, gesturing in the direction of where she could still feel Shanks. “It’s right there. It takes effort not to notice.”

The grin that had stretched along Yasopp’s face seemed more delighted than teasing, and turning to Ben, asked, “Who gets to tell Cap she’s a natural?”

—

The Den Den Mushi perking into awareness dragged him away from the report on his desk, and he rubbed at his eyes. The sun sinking beyond the bank of windows alerted him to the fact that he’d missed lunch—and dinner, and his stomach responded in turn, a sinking clench that twisted in a grimace across his face.

The snail was still warbling, and he shoved the report into the nearest stack, reaching for the receiver as he rifled through the bottom desk drawer for the sandwich he had a vague notion he’d hidden there somewhere.

“Yeah?”

There was a long pause, and Garp felt the fragile patience already worn thin by hunger shooting cracks as he turned his eyes on the snail. If it’s that damn goat again, Sengoku, so help me...

Then—"Garp.”

It might be ironic to say he saw red, but there was a second Garp thought he might have blacked out, the unbridled fury that shot through him short-circuiting his brain for a single instant.

He was so angry he felt breathless. “You’ve got some nerve calling—”

“I know,” came Red-Hair’s voice, cutting him off. “But I am calling, so either take it or leave it.”

“Brat,” Garp said, entirely calm. The edge of the desk strained under the pressure of the grip he had on it. “You better give me a damn good reason why I shouldn’t hunt you down like the crook you are and toss your ass in the deepest level of hell in Impel Down.”

There was another beat. Then, “She’s doing well,” Red-Hair said, breezing right past the threat, and if it hadn’t been for what he said, Garp might have pointed it out.

But as it was, the mounting tide of fury that had felt like it had been about to burst through his chest released him, and so fast he was left reeling from the momentum.

“I thought you’d like to know,” Red-Hair continued, when Garp hadn’t spoken.

It was hard to breathe again, but it wasn’t anger clogging up his throat this time. And it wasn’t hunger now, the sinking hole below his chest. A year and a half without so much as a word, but he didn’t know if relief was the right name for the feeling that cinched tight around his insides. Relief didn’t bring so much pain.

“If she’s doing so well,” Garp said then, and knew his voice was too rough for even the static over the line to hide what sat in it. “Why the hell isn’t she the one calling?”

A pause followed, and there was a moment where he didn’t think Red-Hair would answer. Then, “She holds you in high regard,” came the response, and Garp was tempted to call it damn diplomatic shite, but Red-Hair didn’t sound like he was faking.

And that was all he said. There was nothing else, no further explanation offered, just a single string of words that said more than Garp was willing to deal with. Because he heard the implication behind those words as clearly as if Red-Hair had shouted it.

And if he’d been a bigger man, Garp might have told him he wasn’t angry. Not with her. And if she’d been the one to call he might have, but Garp couldn’t overlook the pirate on the other end of the line, who swept in wherever it pleased him and without a mind for the wreckage left in his wake.

He didn’t want to think about it—the girl whose thirst for adventure had never gone beyond the books she’d always had her nose in. The kind-hearted little thing who’d been too sweet for Emiko’s temper, but who’d flourished in spite of it. The girl who deserved a doting husband and a quiet, peaceful life, far away from the horrors the sea dredged up in abundance on the Grand Line.

“I’ve been teaching her,” came the voice then, and he didn’t specify what, but Garp had a fair idea, although he had a hard time picturing it. “She’s not going into this unprepared.”

A laugh sounded then—a soft thing that seemed at odds with the loud, cheeky brat Garp remembered from Roger’s ship, and, “She’s got a knack for observation haki,” Red-Hair said. “It’s a little terrifying.”

Garp stared at the snail. And he thought of the girl who’d only ever been gentle, hands and heart and disposition, and wondered what would be left of her, when Red-Hair was done, and the sea had settled on the choice she’d made.

But he remembered then, the girl who’d fancied herself a princess in disguise, who’d climb down the drainpipe to skip her morning chores, and who’d asked him once if he could teach her how to throw a punch, just because.

There were things that needed to be said, but he didn’t have the energy to look for the words. And so he stared at the snail instead, and tried not to think about that little girl who’d never known the world of pirates from those in her books, and who he’d hoped never would.

“There’s one more thing,” Red-Hair said then.

“What?” Garp snapped, but he thought it sounded too tired to make much of an impression, even over the line. And he felt tired, long beyond his years.

Another pause followed, but this one was different, and for a single, terrible second, Garp thought he knew exactly what words were about to come out of Red-Hair’s mouth—

“I married her.”

He slammed the receiver down so hard cracks shot through the desk. And there hadn’t been a shred of gloating in Red-Hair’s voice, but the silence that tolled between the walls of his office left an imprint, like a loud, mocking cackle.

The sun sank into the sea beyond the windows, but Garp didn’t move, no mind for hunger and reports forgotten. He wanted to be angry, craved it, but even the craving felt half-hearted, as though he just didn’t have it in him.

He wished he had, because even resentment would have been kinder than what he was left with; the memory of a girl who hadn’t been his, and a wide, yawning hole that felt like it would never be filled.

—

Two whole years spanned their crossing of the first part of the Grand Line, before they docked at Sabaody, on the threshold of the New World.

Evening’s quickening approach threw long shadows across the deck as they set about shoring the ship to the wharf, the sun hanging low in the sky’s cradle beyond the looming grove spilling dappled light on the grass. A brilliant necklace perched on the sea’s lovely collar, bathing everything in gold.

A deceptive vista, Makino knew, because she’d heard the stories. Being a port that all pirates had to come through who had their sights set on the New World, Sabaody was a confluence of unsavoury truths, the greatest of all being the human market, the existence of which she could have lived a long and happy life without knowing about.

She watched from the deck as the crew disembarked, the promise of an extended shore leave sitting bright in eager voices and in their laughter as it nipped at their heels, following them into the grove. But even longing for solid ground under her feet, Makino couldn’t muster the same cheer, remembering Ben’s uncharacteristically sharp warning that if she was going anywhere at all, to get someone to go with her.

There was a prickling across her arms now as she considered the massive trees, roots buried deep in the seabed, and the milling people going about their lives as though living souls weren’t being bought and sold in their midst.

She felt Shanks approaching, before the steady weight of his presence wrapped around her, and she welcomed the relief it offered, and the anchoring touch of his hand to her elbow, both tentatively asking, and reassuring.

“Ben is off making arrangements for supplies,” he told her, when she turned to look at him. “The guys will probably find somewhere that serves drink and make camp, since we’ll have to wait until we’ve got the ship coated before we can set sail.”

She nodded absently, and tried not to let her thoughts latch onto the last bit—what it would meant to set sail this time, remembering what Shanks had told her about ship’s coating, and Fishman Island. She’d resolutely decided to greet that obstacle when it was upon her, and not a moment sooner, fearing that if she did she might just go back to their quarters and refuse to emerge until the crossing was over.

Fingers wrapping around hers then, and he gave a tug at her hand, drawing her out of her thoughts, and when she looked at him there was a strange smile on his face. “Come on.”

He was leading her towards the gangway, a destination clearly in mind, and her earlier reluctance lingered only a second before it let go, the promise of his company dispelling her worries, as it tended to do. But she still stayed close—a little more than usual, and she doubted it went unnoticed, but Shanks only tightened his grip on her hand as he helped her onto the wharf.

“Where are we going?”

He threw a grin over his shoulder. “We need a ship coater, and there’s only one person I trust with that job.”

She tilted her head in question, and whoever he was talking about, Makino saw from his smile that it wasn’t just any old ship coater.

“Also,” Shanks said, giving her hand a squeeze, something at once fond and clever in that word, along with something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “I want to show you off.”

She blinked. “Show me off?”

His smile was still that nameless thing, the one she’d never seen before, but, “You remember I told you about Rayleigh?” he asked, as they made to cross the sprawling expanse of green, no streets to name, but there were little buildings tucked between the towering trees, lining the path.

Makino tried not to let herself be distracted too much by the scenery, although the sight of a bubble rising out of the ground at their feet startled her so much she let loose an involuntary yelp, a wholly undignified reaction to which Shanks had the grace not to laugh. Too much.

Having gathered herself enough to coax her heart back down from where it had lodged in her throat, she paused, remembering his question, and the name, recognisable from so many of his stories. “Your old captain’s first mate?”

Shanks smiled. He let go of her hand, but she felt the touch of it a moment later, a warm weight against her back as he directed her towards a small house sitting by itself some ways off. Although Makino had the sense there was more to the gesture, as they passed a group of what looked to be sailors, although their ensemble hinted at another truth, and she felt more than saw several leering gazes sliding her way.

Shanks didn’t even falter in his step, and, “Yeah,” he said, and his voice let nothing slip but its usual warmth, even as she felt the reassuring press of his fingers to her lower back. And he didn’t even bat an eye, but she felt the sinking pressure—and the tell-tale thud-thud of at least two unconscious bodies slamming into the ground behind them, followed by a shout of surprise from whoever was left standing.

She didn’t turn to look, but tucked the glib remark under her tongue, remembering those leers, and Ben’s warning, and found no sympathy—or even the urge to tease him for his penchant for dramatics.

The reprieve of the group felt palpable, but she pressed herself a little closer, anyway, welcoming the distraction of his familiar frame, as they walked deeper into the grove.

“He settled here a few years back,” Shanks said then, as though nothing had happened. “He’s a ship coater now.” Catching her gaze, his eyes twinkled. “Well. Ostensibly, at least. You know, I’ll just say he’s ‘retired’, and that should cover all the things he gets up to.”

She frowned. “You make it sound like what he ‘gets up to’ is trouble.”

The grin he gave her said enough. “Something like that.”

Makino looked up at him, brows still furrowed. “But from all your stories he always seems so—serious.”

She’d heard them all, every anecdote spanning the gap from mild reproaches and choice words to more serious forms of punishment that usually involved someone suspended by their ankles from a considerable height. All from the man who’d been his captain’s counter-weight, and who’d taught Shanks everything he knew.

She had a thought to say that she was glad Rayleigh hadn’t imparted all his teaching methods, as she didn’t think she’d take well to hanging upside-down from the rigging for her mistakes, but curbed it, already anticipating what his response would be. And Makino didn’t think she was up for facing this person who Shanks clearly held in high regard, wearing a brilliant blush and all her thoughts on her face.

Of course, thinking about it now, Makino knew she gave herself away, but if he found her poorly-contained smile at all telling of the thoughts behind it, Shanks kept his thoughts to himself. For once.

“I think retirement allowed him the teenage rebellion he never allowed himself,” he mused instead, prompting her laugh, a softly startled sound.

“And he’s the one you’ll be showing me off to?”

He looked at her, his humour giving way to something suddenly earnest, and when he paused in his step Makino followed suit. The sinking sun caught in his hair, gold bleeding into copper, and the sight distracted her eyes from the trees. Around them, the gentle cacophony of a hundred bubbles popping at intervals softened the other sounds of the grove; a muted, almost cheerful susurrus at odds with all the dark truths the island promised.

“I don’t have any living parents left,” Shanks said. His thumb did a sweep across her knuckles, a gesture she recognised from when he let his thoughts wander, as though mapping the shape of them helped root his mind in the present. “I told you about my mother, and I don’t know what happened to my old man.” He nodded towards the house. “They’re the closest thing I have. But then it’s more than most people have on this sea.”

She tilted her head curiously. “They?”

He only grinned, and raised his eyes to the sign mounted above the front door. Makino followed the line of his gaze, taking in the large letters cheerfully announcing the proprietor’s not-at-all subtle intention of ripping off their customers.

She felt a pang of something in her chest, thinking of her own bar—her mother's business that had been left in her care, but that she’d left behind, along with that whole life, and everything it might have brought her, good or bad.

“You okay?”

Dragging her eyes away from the sign, she found Shanks watching her, and from the look on his face Makino knew he must have realised where her thoughts had gone.

“Homesick?” he asked, the lilt of his voice giving him away even before the slight furrow of his brow did, and Makino let a smile touch her lips.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Just—thinking about how things turned out.”

He didn’t look convinced, and, “Shanks,” she said then, fingers twisting to curl around his, so small in comparison, and two years hadn’t changed them much. Her callouses might be harder, her tentative attempts at learning to wield a sword having left their mark, although they were still gentler than the ones pressed against them where she’d tucked her palm to his.

She felt his wedding band, the metal warmed by his skin, and rubbed her thumb against it. “My home is wherever you are. I’ve never doubted that.”

His unease surrendered to a flicker of something that promised nothing good, and, “Never?” he mused, the corner of his mouth quirking. “Not even when we hit that first cyclone right after entering Paradise?”

She pressed her lips together. “I—you said you wouldn’t bring that up.”

“Did I say that?”

“You promised.”

He grinned, but when her frown deepened, his mirth softened into something kinder, although it didn’t wipe the smile off his face. “Hey,” he laughed, lifting her hand to brush a kiss to her knuckles. “You’ve been nothing short of remarkable on this voyage so far. I know people who’ve sailed these seas for years who would have pissed themselves at that cyclone. The fact that you spent most if it yelling at me was pretty impressive.”

Makino turned her eyes away, cheeks warming at the memory. She’d been so terrified that day she’d spent an hour throwing up afterwards. After she’d screamed herself hoarse at his recklessness. “I apologised for that,” she murmured.

Releasing her fingers, she felt his own under her jaw, thumb sketching a familiar path along the curve of it, before pausing at her pulse-point. “I don’t remember asking you to,” Shanks said. “I’m pretty forgetful, but of that I’m fairly certain.”

Before she could say anything else, he’d let his hand drop, and then he was holding the door open, allowing her to step through it and into the establishment.

It was empty, no customers seated at the tables or at the bar, behind which stood a woman reading a newspaper, a cigarette tucked between her lips.

She glanced up at the sight of them, dark eyes widening, before a smile bloomed along her face, and, “Red-chan,” she greeted, something bright and pleased turning her surprise warm with delight.

She was beautiful, dark hair framing her features in a sleek, simple cut, although Makino couldn’t have placed her age if she’d had a gun to her head. It seemed an indeterminable thing, shifting like the soft shadows playing on the floorboards, one moment young, but a flicker of the light and she’d find a different truth in the gentle lines writ at the corners of her eyes, which again looked older than her outward appearance suggested.

“Shakky-san,” Shanks said, a smile stretching along the greeting, and Makino felt his hand on her back, warm through her shirt. “Are you open?”

Makino recognised the name as the one from the sign out front, and the woman’s smile widened. “For you, Red-chan? Always.” But she put two glasses down on the counter, an invitation to take a seat found in the silent offering, and Makino curbed the flicker of nervousness as Shanks nudged her towards the bar.

Sliding the glass into Makino’s hand, “And who is this that you’ve brought?” Shakky asked, her open curiosity punctuated by the elegant sweep of her hand before she rested her elbow in her palm, the cigarette plucked from her lips and perched between her slender fingers.

Makino wasn’t sure if the question had been directed at her, although she thought the woman already had her answer, from how those dark eyes lingered on the ring around her finger, before they shifted, spider-light, to Shanks’ hand where it was wrapped around his tumbler.

But if she was expecting a verbal answer to confirm what she’d probably already gleaned from observing them, they weren’t given the chance to provide it before the sound of footsteps reached them through the door behind the bar, followed by a large shape ducking beneath the doorway.

Silver hair gathered at the nape of his neck, and the round glasses perched on his nose lifted with the smile that stretched across his face, and, “Oh?” came the laughing remark, warmth kindling in a kind voice, and Makino watched his smile widen, emphasising the weathered lines of his features.

“A rare visit to an old man,” he said to Shanks, before his eyes went to Makino. They crinkled behind his glasses, curiosity winking in quiet waters, but where the barkeep had eyes older than her face suggested, Makino found his to be the opposite case, something startlingly young and mischievous in the gaze holding hers. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

Shanks was practically beaming. “My wife,” he introduced her, smile as wide as it would go, and even if she’d had two years to grow accustomed to the epithet, which he made use of often and liberally, Makino still felt her cheeks warming, followed by that entirely-too-silly smile that needed so little prompting where he was concerned.

It didn’t help that Rayleigh threw his head back, a loud laugh rolling out of him, a sound of unbridled delight, and when he looked at her next his eyes had curved with a smile that held a whole lifetime of different things, but his words held only fondness when he said, “Is that so?”

“Makino,” she offered, and fought against the urge to fiddle with the tumbler in her hands. She’d never been good at introductions, and the implication of this meeting felt suddenly momentous, remembering Shanks’ words. The closest thing I have.

But she shoved down her rising nervousness, and was glad her voice didn’t stutter when she said, “You must be Rayleigh-san.”

Those eyes hadn’t lost their too-clever gleam, as though he read all the stories Shanks might have told her into that greeting. “I am.” Then to Shanks, “The tide has brought more than one rumour about you, but this one must have slipped my notice,” he said, taking a seat beside them. He shared a look with the woman behind the bar, who only smiled around her cigarette, and lifted her brows, as though to say don’t look at me.

Makino watched his gaze shift towards Shanks’ left side then, and thought he might ask about the arm, but what he said instead was, “I sense that there’s a story here.”

“It’s a long one,” Shanks said, sounding entirely pleased by the fact.

“Only because you go into exaggerated detail,” Makino pointed out, before she could stop herself.

But Shanks only threw her a grin. “Then you can steer me back on course when I digress.”

Rayleigh laughed. “I see some things haven’t changed where you’re concerned, Shanks.”

Shanks was still looking at Makino when he said, smile private and knowing, “Some things.”

Sensing Rayleigh’s eyes on her, Makino wondered what he saw, and wondered what she looked like to these people, who lived in this thriving conjunction of the sea, where pirates came through every single day. She’d been a pirate only two years, and it was easy among her crew, to feel like one of them, and to feel like she belonged, but she had to wonder now with these strangers, what they saw when they looked at her, still-soft callouses and no notoriety to her name.

She felt Shanks’ fingers brushing against hers, and some of her nervousness fled at the contact, leaving a smile. And she watched as Rayleigh’s eyes curved further, a look stolen across the counter, to the woman who was quietly observing everything, delight dancing over her ageless features as Shanks geared up for a story.

“So we arrive at this village in the East Blue…”

—

“She’s lovely.”

Shanks dragged his eyes away from where he’d been watching the ship—or to be more specific, the girl busy going over the supply list, who’d just shouted an order down the deck that had left what felt like a permanent grin on his face.

“Your wife,” Rayleigh elaborated, eyes crinkling behind his glasses, no doubt at the sight of the smile. “I never thought I’d live to see it.”

Shanks threw him a look, grin still in place. “Yeah, I remember you saying something like that, once. That it’d take nothing short of a saint to put up with me.”

Rayleigh laughed, a loud, keenly pleased thing. “You know,” he mused, “I said the same thing to Roger.” His smile held a long life in it. “I guess all it takes is the right sort.”

Looking back towards the deck, Shanks felt his smile softening. “She’s pretty incredible.”

Rayleigh seemed to take a moment to observe him, no judgement in that old gaze, but something like curiosity. “I forget sometimes, how many years have passed. You’re not a kid anymore,” he said then. “You were always restless when you were. Too much energy to sit still, and already eager to move on before you’d even set foot somewhere. There’s a calm about you, now.” His eyes twinkled. “Her doing?”

Shanks’ smile twisted, something rueful pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Not entirely, but I wouldn’t disregard her influence completely.” A pause followed, and then, “You’re right, though. When we parted ways, I was...restless. Angry.” He shrugged. “Didn’t sit still for five years. Got into a lot of trouble for it.”

He didn’t mention the scars, but he felt Rayleigh’s focus, and wondered if he’d heard the story. “Some of that anger is still left,” Rayleigh said.

Shanks sighed, “Yeah.” He didn’t reach to touch the scars, but he could feel them, the way they pulled on his skin if he furrowed his brow. Sometimes when he smiled, which seemed the cruellest punishment. But always, they seemed to sit on the edge of his awareness.

“I don’t need to tell you to be mindful of that,” Rayleigh said.

He found a smile at that, but it held no derision now, remembering softly calloused fingers tracing the grooves in his skin; touches that had become as familiar as the scars. He thought of the gentle cadence of her voice that had carried a note of anger he doubted she’d even been aware of, and you’re not done with this fight, are you?

“Makino said the same thing,” Shanks said. He’d told her of that fight; had told her everything there was to tell, and she hadn’t shied away from any of it; had just dug her heels in and told him to be careful.

And he didn’t know where Teach was now, but he carried this knowledge like he did all his other ones, and didn’t question it, the sense that there was unfinished business to be dealt with, but in what capacity Teach figured into all of it, Shanks couldn’t yet guess.

Rayleigh was watching the ship now, having followed his gaze. The morning sun perched high above the grove observed their preparations, the light dancing off the tell-tale gleam of the coating, giving the impression that it glowed.

“There’s a quality of quiet about her,” Rayleigh said then, making Shanks look at him. “Roger would have the same, sometimes. Moments of utter stillness, like everything around him held its breath.” He tilted his head, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “Hers is different.”

“It’s the opposite.”

Rayleigh looked at him, and Shanks shrugged. “Nothing ever stops, but around her there’s…room to breathe.” And then, wryly, “And for the record, Captain Roger’s moments of quiet were terrifying.”

Rayleigh laughed at that. “You might be right.” He looked at the ship again, and something chased across his expression, an old thing Shanks had no name for, before Rayleigh said, “There aren’t many on this sea who’d welcome the pirate’s life.” He looked at him, the weight behind his eyes meaningful. “However much they love the pirate.”

“No,” Shanks agreed, quietly.

“I take it you’re aware of the position you’re putting her in.”

Shanks lifted his eyes to the deck again. Ben was, for once, enjoying a cigarette break instead of trying to make sure all the preparations were underway, and happening as they should. He had a thought to marvel at the small change, one of many that had slipped in without his notice.

But he’d caught the underlying warning in Rayleigh’s words, and, “Yeah,” he said at length. And he didn’t wonder at the conviction in his own voice when he said, “But I’ve got her with me. And if anything should happen to me, she’s not alone.”

Rayleigh was quiet a moment, although Shanks had the feeling he knew where his thoughts had gone. “A wise decision,” he said then.

Shanks felt a smile tug at his lip. “I can think of several people who’d call it the opposite.”

Rayleigh looked at the ship, and for a moment seemed to see something else. “Perhaps. But I’m old. I’m allowed to say things like that and get away with it.”

Shanks grinned. “You’ve changed, Rayleigh.”

Rayleigh only smiled, and said, wryly, “I retired.”

Shanks laughed at that, and watched as the sound of it drew her gaze from the deck above. At his widening grin, she gave a small wave, before her attention was claimed by one of the crew, busy securing the rigging for the crossing.

“Turbulent waters ahead,” Rayleigh said then. “But I take it you’re prepared.”

“As well as can be, given where we’re going,” Shanks said. He cut Rayleigh a look. “And you?”

Rayleigh’s expression didn’t budge. “I’m just an old man enjoying his retirement.”

“Coincidentally settled on the one island every pirate has to pass through to get to the New World.”

“Nothing on this sea is a coincidence.”

“Those are Captain’s words.”

“Are they? You’ll forgive an old man for forgetting.”

Shanks shook his head, but kept his thoughts about that to himself. There were things the future promised that they had no answers to, and he’d hinged so many of his choices on his gut. The sense that he had something to do, that he had somewhere he needed to be, when the time came. He had no idea when it would be or how he would know it, just that he would.

And looking at Rayleigh now, he had a thought that he wasn’t the only one. Or maybe Rayleigh knew more than even Shanks did; that it wasn’t his gut he followed, but something else.

And maybe that was the one legacy of Roger they all shared; the last of the Pirate King’s crew.

“The kid you told me about,” Rayleigh said then, expression brightening, and surrendering whatever thoughts had weighed on his brow a moment before. “I’ll be interested in seeing what becomes of that one.”

Shanks felt his own grin widening, seeking Makino’s presence on deck, somewhere beyond sight now, but easy for him to pick out. And he thought of what it might have been like, if she’d turned him down two years ago; if she’d stayed behind, to oversee the legacy he’d left on the Fuschia docks, as he knew she’d considered.

He wondered sometimes, if their choices made lasting effects, or if the sea had a plan that would come to fruition, no matter how many ripples made by individual decisions. But he had no way of knowing. All he could do was follow his gut, and hope that whatever future lay ahead, they would be granted some measure of peace when the coming storm had settled.

Whatever shape that coming storm took remained to be seen, but Shanks had a fair idea of what it might be.

“That makes two of us.”

—

“Ready?”

She was glad he didn’t mention the death grip she had on his arm, although Makino thought she detected amusement in the question. But she wasn’t the only wary soul on deck, and there was some comfort in that, if in nothing else beyond the solid assurance of Shanks’ steady frame beside her.

A nod was her answer, which was all she could seem to manage, the morning’s preparations complete and her fretting hands having nothing else to occupy themselves than digging into Shanks’ arm. Because only now had she let it sink in, exactly where they were going, and how they were getting there. Down under the sea, as though it didn’t completely beggar belief.

Shanks made the order to drop the sails, and Makino kept her gaze resolutely fixed on the figurehead rising beyond the bow, wondering if she could just keep her focus on that, then everything else would fade beyond her notice.

But as the ship began its slow descent into the water, she felt her carefully contained panic rising, pushing up her throat in what she prayed wasn’t vomit, the sense of the whole ocean closing in the single most claustrophobic experience of her life.

She maintained her regal composure of obstinate dignity for a whole, proud minute, before her face fell, and, “I’m not ready,” she croaked, clenching her eyes shut as she hid her face in his chest, pressing herself close until she’d shut out everything else and all that was left was the steady beat of his heart and the enclosure of his strong arm where it came to wrap around her, the tight press punctuated by the laugh that lifted from his chest, to fall against her ear, not in mockery but in delight, and she felt it like she felt his warmth, the only thing she cared to feel in that moment, as the dark enveloped them.

And the sound of his laughter marked their passage into the deep, but Makino was glad of it as the sea swallowed the sun whole, and the bright lilt of his mirth cleaved through the dark and the eerie silence that descended over the deck, heralding their passage with the promise that whatever awaited them on the other side, it would take more than a little rough sailing to shake the man beside her.