Chapter Text
The whole thing starts as something quite simple.
Captain’s leaning against the wall in the hallway reading a newspaper when Clione approaches him, handing him a bag of considerable size filled with coins.
His Captain turns to look at him as he takes it. “What’s this from?”
“Penguin and Shachi got into a bar fight again," Clione explains. "I took some money from the guys they beat up.”
“Are they hurt?” Captain asks, because he’s their doctor before he’s their captain.
“Nothing too bad, just a few minor bruises.”
“I see,” Captain says as he opens the bag of coins. Clione opens his mouth to tell him the exact amount, since he’s already counted them on his way to the Tang, but Captain freezes and Clione’s words get stuck in his throat.
“Captain?” he asks, trying and failing not to worry.
“It— it’s,” Captain stutters, and Clione’s head is already ringing in alarm because Captain never stutters, “—this,” he finishes, holding up a single coin as he looks Clione in the eye. A tight smile sits on his lips, and it somehow seems to Clione that he’s only barely holding back a full grin.
“A coin?”
“Not just ‘a coin’,” he snorts. “Look at the design, this one’s over one-hundred-and-sixty years old, not only no longer in circulation, but shouldn't have been in circulation for over a century,” he sighs dreamily. “It was minted here, in the Grand Line, which is quite rare on its own too.”
Clione can’t help fidgeting. “If its no longer in circulation, doesn’t that mean it’s worthless?”
His Captain gives him a hum. “Economically? Yes. But as I said, it’s a pretty rare coin.” He turns to Clione, then, and the tight smile he’d bore before has nothing on the soft smile and warm expression with which he looks at him now. “Thank you for bringing me this,” he tells him, and gently pats Clione’s head before moving on to do something else.
Clione stands completely still for a moment. Has he imagined that? It’s the only logical explanation he can think of.
But no, if he just turns his head backwards, he can still see his Captain turning the apparently rare coin between his fingers as he discusses something with Bepo.
He walks, feeling as though he’s in a daze, to the mess hall, and sits down on the table where Penguin and Shachi are treating their bruises. They both greet him with grunts, and when Clione fails to answer in the same fashion, they turn to look at him.
“You alright?” Penguin asks, eyebrow raised.
“You have this dumb grin on your face, it’s pissing me off,” Shachi informs him.
“Shut up,” Clione says, but now that he thinks of it, his face does feel a bit tight, so it’s probable he might have been smiling this whole time. “Captain smiled at me,” he tells them.
They share a look with each other, and then Penguin asks him, “you mean he smirked? That’s not exactly rare, Clione.”
“No,” Clione hurries to clarify, because it wasn’t just a smirk, “no, I mean he smiled. His eyes were super bright and he patted my head and he said ‘thank you’ and— and I think I might cry.” And he really might. He can already feel his face doing all sorts of weird things.
“Wait, backtrack a bit, what happened?” Ikkaku says as she and Uni sit down and join them at the table.
“I gave the Captain some coins, and apparently there was an important one or somethin’ in the bag, and he got all happy,” Clione tells them, gesturing wildly as he talks, “like, really happy.”
He’s not the best storyteller, he knows, but that’s not his job anyway.
“For a coin?” Uni asks.
“Yes, for a coin,” Clione confirms.
“He collects those,” Penguin adds, “I don’t know why, but he likes them. Has a huge hardcover book in his room where he keeps them and all.”
“He keeps coins in a book?” Ikkaku asks, frowning.
“There’s like— like little folders in the pages where he puts them. Like in a photo album. And he also writes something for each coin,” explains Shachi, who’s also not the best storyteller.
“How happy did the Captain get when you gave him the coin?” Uni asks, staring at the table like he does when he’s thinking about something.
“Really happy. Patted my head and everything.” Clione knows he shouldn’t brag, but he’s a bit tempted to, at the moment.
“That’s not fair,” Ikkaku complains. “He never pats my head.”
“Maybe because he doesn’t want to lose his hand in the bird’s nest you call hair,” Shachi comments innocently, and Ikkaku shoves her elbow into his side. Hard.
Shachi winces. “Hey! I’m hurt there.”
“And you got hurt because of being an idiot, I’m guessing?”
Shachi opens his mouth to retaliate, but then seems to consider it and closes it again.
“What even happened to you two?” Uni asks.
“Bar fight,” they both answer.
“If you think we look bad, though, you should see the other guys,” Penguin smirks.
“Six against two and we still beat them all up,” Shachi tells them proudly. “Clione could’ve helped but he’s a bastard,” he adds.
Clione shrugs. “Someone had to rob those guys of their money.”
“Rob is a strong word. ‘Relieve’ fits more nicely,” Ikkaku comments.
“We’re pirates, who cares?” Shachi rebunks.
Uni shakes his head. “Whatever. We were talking about the Captain being happy about coins.”
“What about it?”
“When’s the last time any of you saw the Captain laugh? Have you ever, even?” Uni asks.
No one answers for a moment, as all of them take turns looking at each other.
“Well, of course we have. He does laugh sometimes,” Shachi tells him, nervously.
“I mean a real laugh. Not because of mocking someone or snickering. A… happy laugh, let’s say,” Uni clarifies.
“I’m sure he has laughed,” Penguin starts, “just because we can’t think of any specific example doesn’t mean he hasn’t.”
“He didn’t ask if the Captain has laughed, though, he asked if we’ve seen him laugh,” Ikkaku points out, “and a lack of examples does mean something there.”
“What’s your point?” Clione asks him.
“My point is,” Uni says, leaning forwards and lowering his voice, “if there’s something that can make the Captain smile a real smile, there should also be something that can make him laugh a real laugh.” He pauses to steal a glance outside the mess's door, making sure that no one’s overhearing them, and then looks back at them. “The first one to make the Captain laugh a real laugh gets a full month free of chores. Deal?”
“Deal,” the four of them answer him instantly.
“It has to happen somewhere where the whole crew can see it, though, otherwise it doesn’t count,” Shachi points out.
“And we’ll have to get the rest of the crew in as well,” Penguin adds. “It’s not like we can change the chores’ order by ourselves anyway. I’m assuming we’ll repart the winner’s chores between the rest of us equally, right?”
“Right,” Uni nods.
“Just putting this out there, but drugging him or using laughing gas doesn’t count, either,” Ikkaku says.
“Of course,” Clione agrees. Then he hesitates. “What about getting him drunk?”
Ikkaku hums in consideration. “Depends on how drunk.”
“Intentional intoxication of any kind doesn’t count. But if he gets drunk of his own will... well, I guess it wouldn’t be our fault,” Uni sighs.
“What are you talking about?” Bepo asks, entering the mess hall, and wasn’t he with Captain?
Sure enough, Captain trails right behind him.
“Chores,” Penguin tells him, the mink’s interest in the conversation dropping as soon as he hears the word.
Clione guesses they’ll get him in on the game later, but the Captain is kind of present right now.
“How are your injuries?” Captain asks, and both Penguin and Shachi lift their heads towards him.
“One of the bastards managed to get their sword on my arm, but it’s a pretty shallow cut. Shachi slipped and hit his head against a wall. Might have a concussion.”
“Don’t say it like that!” the other chides. “You’re making me sound like an idiot!”
Penguin ignores him.
Captain sighs. Then he forms a room, and shambles a first aid kit onto the table. “What did you two even get into a bar fight for, anyway?” he asks them as he takes over cleaning Penguin’s cut.
“They were being annoying,” Shachi offers as an explanation. Penguin doesn’t disagree.
Captain just sighs again.
Clione opts against telling their Captain they’d been defending his name after a bunch of brutes had the brilliant idea of insulting him within earshot of his two first mates. If he knew, it’d only start an argument between the three. Again.
He mutters something about the immaturity of two certain crewmembers, the same tired and sleep-deprived look on his face they’ve all long-since known to be his default, and his subordinates share a look with each other.
They’ll make their Captain laugh. It’s a promise.