Archive of Our Own

Outside, the day was bright and brilliant: the seagulls cried as they circled the sky, and the azure-gold waves splashed up in sparkling fountains against the ship's sides, the salty spray reaching Alber's tired face like the sea's cool kiss. The albatross flag was proudly flying over the wide white sails of their Chariot, and the wind was steadily gaining in strength, the sunlit waves dancing as Chariot cut through them, heading — fuck knew where.

They had a short break in Rocinante's world tour, and so they spent it the way they always did: following the sea breeze across the boundless depths in their never-ending wanders, looking for more undiscovered wonders in this breathtakingly vast, mysterious world — chasing their dream of seeing them all.

Unlike many dreams, this one could never come true — which was exactly what made it so magical. So romantic it was, their impossible chase, that Alber couldn't imagine himself anywhere else but here, on this ship, with his two best friends, pursuing their beautiful, impossible dream.

Even Straw Hat's dream did come true in the end, as unlikely as it had seemed at the time; and so did his crewmates' bold, brazen dreams, and even Rocinante's mad vision of world peace in a just, kinder world… where Alber could live safe and free, with his face open.

Thirty-six years ago, Alber would have never believed it was possible.

But Donquixote Rocinante was impossible made real. He made his dream come true, through just being himself — because it wasn't like he was the one actually keeping peace on the seas: rather, he somehow made Joker do it for him, when the man didn't have an altruistic bone in his body.

Somehow, he got that megalomaniac to rule the world from behind the scenes in a way that was beneficial to the larger part of all races inhabiting the seas and dry land. Somehow, he got Joker to build things instead of destroying them.

Privately, Alber believed that feat merited the epithet Miracle Worker even more than Ivankov's ability did.

Meanwhile, Ivankov openly claimed that Joker was just pussy-whipped. Even though Rocinante didn't even have a pussy. (Not that Alber had any chances to check, regrettably…)

Well, it wasn't like one excluded the other in any way. Except. Except.

If Rocinante's heart and tongue were so damn miraculous they had Joker dancing to his tune like a docile dog… how come Donquixote dumb fucking ass Rocinante couldn't make peace with his very best friend for a week and counting now?!

Alber sighed, and reluctantly let his hands slip over the rough dry wood of Chariot's railings, hot with the midday sun, one last time before going back inside.

Outside, the day was bright and brilliant.

Inside, storm clouds reigned, every now and then breaking into menacing thunder.

Donquixote Rocinante's face, which normally rivaled the sun itself — so brightly it shone with his wide, joyful smile — was now crowned with a heavy frown that was frankly disturbing to look at.

And his very best friend — Alber's best friend — looked so permanently full of fury it inevitably brought up the unsettling memories of his days back before Rocinante came, and the way he used to be in those dark, dark times: ever drunk, ever wallowing in his doldrums, and angry, so angry at the whole world at large for being so dreary and joyless.

The best, most devoted friends Alber could ever imagine — Rocinante and Kaido, the very image of loyalty to each other — were now fighting like cats and dogs, like they were each other's worst enemies… and all over what?

Alber looked at their scowling faces, Observed the doom and gloom about their souls, and the red-hot flames of their bitter ire.

He barely held back a sigh and an eyeroll.

Although, now that he thought of it, he probably shouldn't have. Of all the things to fight about, they had to pick something as petty and inconsequential as this?!

And to think it all started pretty normally, with a poker game Rocinante lost, as per usual…

…

…

"I'm not playing with you anymore!" Rocinante cried, which was pretty normal as well. "At least one of you should have the decency to lose to your captain!"

He looked so indignant, and so hot in nothing but his eternal white jeans.

The other three, including Alber, looked down their noses at him, and scoffed in a chorus.

As per usual, Rocinante ended up the only one naked after their strip poker night. Kaido was missing his jacket; Alber, his hair tie. He maintained it still counted as an article of clothing. Besides, Rocinante said he liked seeing him with his hair loose.

(For fuck's sake, Alber was eighty-two, and married. Why the fuck did Donquixote magical ass Rocinante still have the power to have him act like a lovestruck teenager? Clearly, those were his supernatural powers at play.)

Tuss, of course, remained fully dressed. When it came to poker and business, the man was unbeatable. It made Alber somewhat warm to think that at fishing, Alber and Rocinante still trumped Tuss by a wide margin: the man was a fan, but hardly a pro.

"Are you going to take those off?" Kaido inquired, amused, taking a swig of that brandy Rocinante liked.

Rocinante crumpled and sighed.

"Alright, alright," he grumbled. "Ugh, it's just so unfair I keep losing."

"You've been losing to us for fifty years straight, don't you think there's a trend in there somewhere?"

"Fuck you," Rocinante graced Alber with a brilliant, breathtaking smile. "You'll see, I'll woo Lady Luck yet, and then it's gonna be you mooning us, heh."

And he dragged off his jeans, nearly tumbling down. Alber caught him by the hair, carefully not looking at his form-fitting boxers.

"Thanks, man, you're the best!" Rocinante beamed.

After all these years, and all the kids he had with Ivankov, Alber's heart still stuttered.

Tuss eyed them, scoffed, and got up.

"Leaving so soon again?" Rocinante complained. "Aw, man, stay with us, party the night away for once."

Tuss graced him with the haughtiest look.

"At least one of us," he declared, "should be sticking to a sleep schedule to run this place. Or you louts will just run it down." Somehow, he managed to look down at Rocinante, Alber, and Kaido despite being just under one meter tall.

"Fine, fine, go have your beauty sleep, you boring old man," Rocinante grumbled. "Alber — "

But Alber was already pouring them some more brandy. The poker game seemed to be over, and Alber privately rejoiced Rocinante clearly didn't think to get dressed again for the ensuing pleasant talk over a glass of good liquor.

Alas, in about an hour, Kaido decided to ruin the paradise.

"Aren't you cold, Ace?" he inquired lazily, taking a sip from his crystal snifter, as big as Rocinante's head. "There are goosebumps all over your skin."

"Hmmm?" Rocinante blinked. Fuck, his eyelashes were so long and thick, if fully gray… "Fuck, it's cold!!!"

Kaido guffawed. Alber had to snort himself as he leaned down to grab Rocinante's jeans and shirt, and throw them at his face.

"As cold as the North Pole," Rocinante went on, giggling even as his teeth were chattering at the same time.

"So it's not too bad," Kaido snorted. "Now if you said the South Pole — "

"What do you mean? The North Pole is colder."

Kaido gave him the most disdainful look.

"What are you blathering about, Ace?" he inquired. "Everyone knows the South Pole is colder."

"What? No, the North Pole!"

"No, the South Pole!"

Seriously, how old were they…

They bickered away the whole night, leaving Alber to despondently sit in silence over his rapidly emptying snifter.

At first, they tried arguing and banging their fists on the table, which convinced no one. Then, they thankfully thought to look for proof in some books, overthrew a whole section in Chariot's library, made a disastrous mess, and found zero data on the lowest temperatures on the poles.

Then, they progressed — or regressed — to yelling.

The night was decidedly not going the way Alber expected or wanted. Exhausted, he patiently waited for them to run out of steam, and silently drank the brandy they all but forgot about.

Really, what did they even care about which pole was colder? If Alber were Rocinante, he'd just agree to disagree. (Or if Alber were Kaido, he'd just kick Rocinante's ass.)

But the morning came, and the sun rose, and the ship filled with the din and clamor of the crew going about their business, doing their jobs — and Kaido and Rocinante still somehow had the energy to keep shouting.

…

A whole week passed since that unfortunate night.

The two best friends in the whole wide world, who loved and treasured each other more than their own lives, were still not talking, glaring daggers at each other.

And really, what the actual fuck.

Kaido crucified Rocinante, and they didn't have a row. Rocinante betrayed Kaido, and they didn't have a row. But now, they somehow descended into a tiff, so big and so bitter that sometimes Alber feared they would never talk again…

Over which pole was colder.

And okay. Alright. Rocinante was that dumb, to fuck up a friendship this true over which damn pole was colder. But Alber really thought Kaido was better than that!

Except apparently Rocinante corrupted him to the point that now they were being damn children, pointedly turning their backs to each other, when just a week ago there could be no greater friendship in the whole wide world.

At least they both still talked to Alber, even if more often than not, it was to ask him which pole was colder, with a pointed glance at the other snooty-looking party. To which Alber always answered with a grumpy:

"I've never been to either, how should I know?"

It worked, and they left him alone.

He didn't want them to leave him alone, damn it. He wanted the three of them to drink together again, and crack jokes, and laugh till their bellies hurt… and he wanted Rocinante's songs. Out of all the wonders in this vast, miraculous world, those were the greatest miracle by far.

But ever since that dumb, ill-fated argument, Rocinante didn't sing a note, and Kaido didn't smile once.

Alber thought long and hard how to fix the situation at hand, and eventually came up with what was bound to be a foolproof, effective move: he complained to Tuss.

The man heard him out, asked a couple of questions, hummed, and went to swiftly kick both fools' asses. Relieved, Alber waited for everything to come back to normal.

Tuss came back frazzled and wide-eyed.

"They kicked my ass," he reported.

That had Alber wide-eyed too. No one ever tried kicking Tuss' ass unless they had a death wish. The man was a menace.

"They teamed up to yell at me," Tuss went on, "and then they yelled at each other till they both went hoarse. Why do they even care which pole is colder?"

"I don't know!" Alber cried.

"Rocinante is hopeless, but I'd really have thought Kaido was better than that — "

"I know!" Alber cried.

"Ah well, maybe we just need to wait till their spat blows over. And if it doesn't, we can always visit both poles and check for ourselves," Tuss snorted.

Alber laughed, somewhat hysteric. The joke was funny, but the situation wasn't.

Then he had an uplifting thought: what if it was all just some foolish, mad dream? Because this — all of this — was so surreal it simply couldn't be, well, real.

He pinched himself to corroborate his clever deduction. Then he hissed, even his Lunarian skin giving under his Lunarian strength.

Not a dream, then. Fuck, there went his hopes…

…

Yet another week passed. By now, Alber was seriously contemplating alcoholism, because this was unbearable.

Both Kaido and Rocinante looked the worse for wear, like they up and regressed half a century, to their darkest times, when one of them could find no joy in anything but the bottle and maybe murder sometimes, and the other one never smiled, never laughed, and started his stay in Wano by nearly starving himself to death.

Looking at them felt painful. Not looking at them felt impossible. Alber lived for these two men. Losing their easy company… losing this friendship, the best thing in Alber's life… no, it didn't bear thinking about.

"Are they always this dumb?" Lina wondered, looking at the two fools.

Right, she joined the crew just a month ago, so she didn't know them that well yet.

"No, not as a rule," Alber sighed. "This is the second time in over fifty years that they had a row. The first time was when Rocinante decided to break Kaido's order, and Kaido got cross."

Before the Final Battle, hah. And really, Kaido should have known better than that: no red-blooded man would give up the chance to fight in a clash that momentous and epic, no matter how loyal Rocinante might be to his word, or to his overprotective Boss.

"Wow. Do they really argue so rarely?"

"Well, Kaido crucified Rocinante, and Rocinante betrayed Kaido, but there weren't any hard feelings involved, so I'd say yes."

"Wow," Lina said again, her eyes wide. "I'm not sure I want to know."

Alber just waved her off. He was in no mood to tell stories.

Now that he thought of it… looking at Nizar's daughter felt so — strange.

Alber remembered her as a tiny baby, newly born on their mother ship, their Chariot — then, as a toddler, making her first steps, saying her first words. Nizar and his wife — Alesia, was it? — left the ship after Lina turned two, to go back to Nizar's tribe in their new, old home, in the city of gold and green. They had traveled the world like they dreamed together, and Nizar had mastered all the skills he wanted to learn as a singer, and he was homesick.

Rocinante was sad to see him go, Alber remembered. He cherished Nizar as a prodigal singer, and a great friend.

He was friends with everyone, that dumb, foolish, miraculous man. Sometimes it made Alber jealous. But more often than not, it made him proud, because Rocinante had hundreds, thousands of friends — but out of all those women, men, and okama, the only ones he called his best friends were two people: Alber and Kaido.

Alber looked at Rocinante's scowl — these days, it seemed permanently etched into his face — and hastily glanced away.

Damn, it hurt. Just like him, Rocinante — most strangely for that outgoing, chatty man — was in no mood to talk to anyone, for two weeks now. Alber wondered how long it would last.

Then, he threw a furtive look at the other fool.

Kaido's scowl was just as heavy, and in his soul, he showed just as little desire to give in and concede. Over which damn pole was colder.

Alber looked away, at the distant sky. Fuck, he needed a drink.

Or a distraction.

Or both.

Right — wasn't he thinking of Lina? It was strange to think how he knew her before she was born…

Alber still remembered how Nizar first brought her mother on Chariot's board, so proud — they only just met that day, and he was already demanding for Captain Rocinante to officiate their union. Rocinante was so hungover he just went through with it, still all groggy and half-asleep, and Alber feared it was bound to end in disaster — but somehow, Nizar and the woman he married the day he met her ended up having the best marriage Alber had ever seen in his life.

He remembered seeing their child for the first time, still as a small bump in Alesia's belly. He remembered how Lina looked as an infant, and as a toddler: that tiny, funny child, with a mop of dark curls and the biggest dark eyes, playing with his wings — plucking some feathers to her mother's mortified apologies, and staring, open-mouthed, at the way they glistened in the high noon sun.

Now Lina came back to their mother ship, their Chariot, starting out on her own grand journey… already grown-up. Almost a woman.

And with a sharp pang of pain and regret, Alber thought of his own six children.

Now that he thought of it… just like with Lina, he barely saw them grow. More often than not, he wasn't there for their births or birthdays, too busy sailing the world with his two best friends in eternal search for adventure.

Ivankov never said anything — just hugged and kissed him when Alber came back, before the kids swarmed in and seized him for themselves, dragging him away to talk his ears off and show him all their latest silly obsessions. But now that Alber thought of it… it probably wasn't right.

It wasn't a good thing, that his children were all but adults now, and Alber hadn't been there to see them grow.

But they never complained, and Ivankov never reproached him. His wife just looked sad, when they thought Alber couldn't see.

And briefly, Alber wondered if this journey should be his last.

Briefly, he imagined spending all his days on Momoiro, with his family and his royal wife's subjects.

…No more sea breeze. No more blue waves.

No more Kaido and Rocinante's bickering. No more laughter, no more adventures.

No more Rocinante's songs.

That — was likely exactly what he should choose. What he owed his kids and his wife.

But as he thought of a life anywhere but on Chariot, his heart froze, and his breath stopped. His life, his soul, his destiny was the sea, and the two men he called his best friends.

Even though they could be so fucking dumb, fuck them sideways with a rusty pole, to quote Rocinante's favorite swear.

…

…

"Land ho!" the lookout cried.

Normally, the words would have Rocinante's face bloom with the loveliest smile, and make Kaido smirk and morph into his azure dragon form, to ride the flame clouds to the new land — more often than not, with Rocinante straddling his back.

Now, they both stayed on board, and silently waited for the ship to cast anchor, both looking sour, like disembarking was now a chore for them.

Alber wondered if praying to some gods could help. In the last three weeks, he had prayed to the ancestors and the spirits in the ancient Lunarian custom in all the ways he could think of, more times than he could count. Maybe he should try some human gods… at this point, he was completely out of other ideas.

The new land was lovely: all wide green plains with low rolling mountains in the distance, and fields of gold in bright patches between grassy hills and quaint forests. There was so much green around… green, Rocinante's favorite color.

He would love the landscapes — he would love the whole place — if he weren't scowling so severely, alternatively glaring at Kaido, or pointedly not looking at him as he stomped over the quivering shamrock.

The other man-child was acting the exact same way — and really, it would be hilarious if it weren't so heartbreaking.

All caught in his petty sulk, Rocinante couldn't even see all the beauty around him — the way Alber couldn't, fifty years ago, before Rocinante showed him.

Fuck, it hurt. Alber just wanted his best friends back.

Or a pint, if the former wasn't feasible.

But… they used to be such true friends. Could it be their friendship was now broken forever… over which pole was colder?

They didn't even explore the land first. Normally, they'd do a bit of sightseeing, ask around some — Rocinante was great at talking to strangers — and then, they'd go to the nearest tavern that "had a good aura," according to Rocinante, Observation master extraordinaire. He was never wrong with his psychic shtick, too: more often than not, the taverns he sought out were cheap and lowbrow, exactly the kind of places his arrogant brother looked down on — but never anything less than merry. Just the thing for a break before they headed out into the heart of the land, to discover and truly know it.

This time, they went straight to a tavern, all in funereal silence.

Rocinante grumpily led, and Kaido grumpily followed, and Alber just trudged after them, exhausted, along with the rest of the crew — morose and subdued, exchanging meaningful looks.

Once there, Rocinante belted a cross:

"Beer!"

…Just as Kaido said the exact same thing, in the exact same tone.

They glared at each other, huffed — at the exact same time again — and turned their back to each other, moving in perfect unison. Alber wanted to cry.

"Are they dumb?" Lina hissed at him — a bit too loudly, because Rocinante and Kaido heard her.

They looked daggers at her, both at once, in perfect accordance — and they were admittedly scary, but Alber honestly couldn't blame Lina when she failed to hold back her snort.

Well in line with the kind of places Rocinante enjoyed, the pub was cheap, noisy, and merry. A horribly off-key singer was belting out a horribly jolly tune:

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And it would all be delightful — if it weren't for those two idiots, who managed to ruin the whole night by not saying anything, and not doing anything but drinking and giving each other the death glare.

Then, after a few mugs of beer, their tongues loosened, and Alber wished in vain that they'd go back to the silence.

With every new mug, their voices were growing louder and angrier. Lina was looking distinctly embarrassed — wait, what was a sixteen-year-old girl even doing here with them…? Rocinante'd have never let her —

Ah. Right. Rocinante had been too busy sulking at Kaido.

Although now that Alber thought of it, better they brooded in silence than yelled like this. By now, it felt like the whole pub was looking at them, and — sure enough, the ruckus they were causing promptly garnered some outside reaction.

"What are ye fighting about, lads?" a cheerful voice rang through the din of the crowd, barely audible over the two fools' whinging.

Kaido and Rocinante turned to look at the daring intruder, both at once, their eyes burning with the same hellish wrath.

With a sinking feeling, Alber wondered if tonight, there would be casualties.

Maybe they shouldn't have come to this merry place… maybe they shouldn't have disembarked at all. Maybe on the ship, Kaido and Rocinante would eventually go back to being on speaking terms…

"Did I hear, the North Pole?" the voice prattled on. Alber nearly slapped his palm to his face, because right now, the stranger was just digging himself deeper into the ground.

Then, he glanced at the speaker, and gaped.

Alber hadn't been aware that people with hair this red even existed. It wasn't even red per se: it was orange. The thick hair, the thick beard, the thick eyebrows, even the thick hair in his nose — with that red hair everywhere, the man looked like he was on fire.

"I've been to both," the fire man meanwhile oratorized, "and lemme say — ain't none of them colder than the other! Bitterly cold, both of them — so cold me bones froze in me body!"

"Really?" Rocinante blinked.

"Aye, cross me heart!"

Rocinante and Kaido — looked at each other and —

Grinned in unison…?

Oh fuck. Alber nearly died of relief.

"Thanks, good man!" Rocinante enthused. "Why don't you come drink with us?"

"Indeed, why not take a drop of the pure in such distinguished company," the man said modestly, eyeing the mugs and bottles on the table.

In less than a minute, the three of them — Kaido, Rocinante, and the red-haired man called Paddy — were embracing, laughing, and clinking their mugs, while Alber was still reeling and trying to make sense of everything that just happened, because it made none.

"Booze this good deserves a good song!" Paddy declared meanwhile. "Oi, me lads, come play with me!"

Apparently, Paddy didn't come here alone, because magically, three more men materialized around him, one holding an accordion, one a guitar, and the last one a drum.

Alber surreptitiously shook his head. Was he drunk or something…? Things were making increasingly little sense.

"Come, me fiddle!" And Paddy petted his violin like it was a woman. How the fuck did he even have a violin? Alber never saw it on him when Paddy came by. "Sing for me, sister!"

And the violin sang, and six more voices with her: a drum, an accordion, a guitar, and three men.

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Alber's foot started tapping away on its own. With the widest smile, Rocinante was nodding his head to the catchy tune, and even Kaido was grinning, his fingers tapping out the infectious rhythm on the booze-stained table — because this here was a song no one could not dance to, even while sitting down.

When the song was over, the whole pub blew up in clapping and whistles. Rocinante, of course, clapped the loudest, leaning into Kaido's side, the way he always did — like no row ever happened at all.

Alber still wasn't sure if this was real or just a beautiful dream, but he still applauded the bowing singers. The song was simply too good not to clap.

By his side, Lina was clapping too, but about her soul, Alber Observed a strange blues.

Then, in unison, Rocinante and Lina spoke:

"What a joyful song!"

"What a sad song…"

Lina even had actual real tears in her eyes as she said that. Honestly, that kid.

"How is it sad?" Rocinante blinked.

"Well, the guy in the song, he had to leave his mom and dad — "

It was Lina's first time away from her family and her homeland of green palm trees and golden sandstone since she could remember, and for all that she clearly loved sailing on Chariot with her jolly captain, she was a bit blue.

"…And then he got robbed, and then he got mocked, and he had to sail in a storm in the hold, with the pigs, with water up to his waist, and then he got sick, and then he got beaten!" Lina's eyes were getting large and even more watery, and her voice trembled — and with faint chagrin, Alber remembered how her mother complained: That girl is far too sensitive for her own good.

Rocinante said it was good on her — said she had an ear and a heart for song, all because she was so emotional. Alber, on the other hand, thought it was foolish. Even now, Lina looked just about ready to cry over a guy from a song. Not even Rocinante was quite as — peculiar.

"So what's so joyful about that song?" Lina demanded.

"The guy is," Rocinante said.

"Huh…?"

"He's been through some tough shit, but he's not complaining, isn't he? This song is one for dancing, not crying. You know, kid… even the darkest night seems a bit less dark when you face it with a smile and a laugh."

Lina's eyes somehow got even more tragic, but she said nothing, thank fuck.

It was a good thing the kid had enough reason not to ask, 'What was your darkest night,' or something. Sometimes she really could be a bit too perceptive.

Meanwhile, Paddy's group of four started a new merry tune that had all the visitors jumping up from their seats, and the waitresses dropping everything they were doing, to — randomly burst into a dance…? The fuck was up with this island…?

Not that Alber complained. How could he? The music was lovely, and the dance stole the breath from his chest, and left him gaping.

In over thirty years of traveling on their Chariot, with Donquixote adventurous ass Rocinante, Alber saw many kinds of dances. Some of them were fascinating, some mesmerizing to watch, some so erotic Alber could barely look at Rocinante for the rest of the evening, and some seemed frankly impossible to perform — like the dancers were some supernatural creatures rather than regular people of flesh and blood.

But even after the many dances he saw, he'd never have thought feet could be this hypnotizing — especially given above the waistline, the dancers' bodies barely moved.

Lina gaped, open-mouthed. Alber just knew that later, she'd be bothering the dancers to show her the moves: the girl was mad about dancing like that. Just like Joker, she danced because she couldn't not.

Rocinante and Kaido looked at her, then at each other — talking with their hearts alone, as they were wont to do. Their eyes laughed in unison, like their row never happened at all… and really, Alber couldn't with them.

Rocinante glanced at him with a smile, asking a silent question, and Alber wordlessly shook his head. Rocinante shrugged with a mysterious half-smile, and rose, nearly stumbling over absolutely damn nothing — and really, the greatest mystery about that man was how he could be that graceful when he fought, danced and, apparently, fucked, if Donquixote Doflamingo's loud, shameless public account was to be believed. In the rest of his life spheres, Donquixote clumsy ass Rocinante was as useless and hopeless a klutz as they came.

Reading Alber's thoughts, Kaido snorted, and got up to follow his captain who still called him Boss, after all these years.

They were lucky to find a tavern that could fit his form: normally, for people of Kaido and Alber's stature, it was a problem. But this tavern's ceiling was high enough, and Alber sincerely hoped the building itself was acceptably sturdy and wouldn't shake apart and crumble when Kaido and Rocinante really got going. Heated up by good booze and their ardent friendly love for each other, those two were unstoppable.

Now, on what passed for a dance floor in this smelly old tavern, they weren't even trying to do this mysterious tapping thing. Instead, they just grabbed each other's arms high — well, Rocinante's hand only reached as high as Kaido's forearm, but it was still something — and then, they trailed their hands down each other's arms, as firm and intimate as was their friendship, and locked them together as they whirled in circles: Kaido's feet shaking the floor and making the windows rattle, and Rocinante's leaving white Geppo marks all over the air as he danced up there under the ceiling, his eyes level with Kaido.

Those white burst traces looked vaguely like seagulls, and they faded faster than tobacco smoke; and Alber couldn't look away.

There were many miracles in the world, miracles that had left him breathless or even crying. And none of them could ever compare to one Donquixote stupid ass idiot Rocinante — the dumbest, clumsiest, most amazing man in the world.

Alber watched that swarm of ghostly seagulls, and the man dancing on air for a very long time, mesmerized and bewitched — till he felt someone's heavy gaze.

He looked up.

Kaido was smirking at him, and Rocinante was beaming at him…

And suddenly, his feet itched.

And his lips — why, they were stretching in a wide, wide grin, all by themselves: Alber didn't tell them to smile, yet here they were, smiling against his reason and will.

Well, it seemed like Kaido wasn't the only one Rocinante managed to corrupt with his dumbassery.

Alber stood up, shook off his wings, and let flames burst on his back. His nakama were in the mood to dance — so tonight, they were damn well setting the floor on fire.

Breathless and sweaty, they dropped back into their seats to refresh themselves with a swig of good beer. Surreptitiously, Alber prayed the merry amateur band didn't play yet another irresistibly catchy song. The three of them were all in good shape, and he was a Lunarian, but he was eighty-two, damn it. He wanted to rest his ass, and just watch his friends' smiles.

Of course, of course his silent prayer ended up being futile.

Of course those chippery, eye-burningly red-headed people had to start yet another song that sent his foot tapping.

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As the song went on, Alber saw Rocinante leering at Kaido. The fool was clearly up to no good.

Alber preemptively frowned at him, as Kaido heavily scowled in turn. Rocinante snickered and stuck out his tongue.

Huh. It seemed like they were doing this talking-sans-any-words thing again, and this time, Alber wasn't in on the silent joke.

Kaido scowled heavier and said:

"No."

Then, Alber got it.

"Please," he rolled his eyes, "Rocinante gets drunk twice as fast as you do. If anyone's going to get his belly shaved with a rusty razor, that would be you," he pointedly gave a dirty look to Rocinante, who didn't seem scared in the least.

But before another fight could erupt, this time over whose belly was going to end up being shaved, Paddy plopped down by their side, and unceremoniously appropriated Alber's mug. It was as big as Paddy's violin, but the man seemed unfazed.

"So," he picked up cheerfully after gulping down half the beer, like their conversation was never broken by a nightful of dancing, "ye strong fighters, lads? Which one of you is the strongest?"

"He is," Alber and Rocinante chorused, pointing at Kaido.

"Ye so sure, heh. Did you check?" Paddy gulped down some more beer, oblivious to how Rocinante and Kaido were eyeing each other.

"Hey," Alber protested, offended at being excluded. Alas, no one paid him any mind.

"It's on, Ace," Kaido rumbled.

"It's on, Boss," Rocinante grinned savagely.

That grin on his face burned hotter than Sunset rum, and Alber hastily looked away. It was so damn unfair that a gray, wrinkly, seventy-five-year-old guy should be that hot — but then again, when was life ever fair?

Thank fuck, even aflame with the fiery passion of fighting, the two still had enough presence of mind to get out of the pub and pick an empty field for their brawl. The crowd spilled out of the pub doors, dogging their tails: the visitors, the waitresses, and the pub owners themselves all looked excited to see the fight.

Alber couldn't lie — so was he. Even if the fact that Kaido never considered fighting him smarted.

The two smoothly slid into a battle stance, like it hadn't been thirty-six years since their last real battle, and looked each other up and down.

Their faces split in identical grins.

They struck — both at once, in perfect unison.

When the sun was kissing the horizon goodbye, ready to rise and shine in the pale blue sky, the transfixed audience collectively gasped.

In the middle of the charred, blackened field, the blazing crimson star of a man went at the half-dragon once again, his black fist engulfed in roaring fire and flying straight at Kaido's chest — and everyone, Alber first and foremost, could immediately see two things.

First, there was no way Kaido was avoiding that blow.

Second, if it landed — which it would — it was going to leave a deep, bad wound, and later, a prominent scar.

Kaido didn't have many of those, because there weren't many people in the world who could deal him a blow that strong. Apparently, Donquixote Rocinante was one.

The fist flashed through the air like a swift trail of flame — and stopped a handbreadth from Kaido's chest. The Armament fire blew out, and the black receded, revealing the fair scarred skin.

"Whew," Rocinante declared, walking down the air to the ground — his eyes smiling, his chest heaving, his cheeks flushed, "that was a good fight. Way to go, Boss!"

"So who's the strongest?" Paddy wondered. "Ye didn't even properly hit each other once."

Both Rocinante and Kaido looked at Paddy like they forgot he existed. Then Rocinante chuckled:

"Of course he is," he slapped Kaido as high as he was able to reach, which was, as usual, Kaido's butt. "Very few people can best Boss in hand-to-hand combat, and I'm not one of them, ha ha ha!"

Meanwhile, Kaido was — scowling so stormily Alber almost heard thunder.

"Why didn't you hit me?" he demanded.

"Why would I?" Rocinante blinked. "There was no need. We both could Observe with our Future Sight there was no way for you to avoid the blow, there was no need to go all the way."

"No true man holds back his blows."

"This true man bullshit again," Rocinante rolled his eyes. "Maybe I'm no true man, but I'm your nakama. Like fuck I would ever fight you for real. I'd rather cut off my own hands, ha ha ha!"

Honestly, the things Donquixote fucking ass lunatic Rocinante found funny…

But Rocinante was already heartily slapping Kaido on the thigh, walking back into the pub, and accepting a mug from a sleepy waitress — and out of his smile, spilled a toast:

"To friendship!"

"To friendship," Kaido agreed, clinking his own mug against Rocinante's.

"And to daft masculinity-obsessed friends who still don't know how to friend properly!"

"Are you saying I'm a bad friend?" Kaido rumbled, his mug freezing halfway to his mouth.

Alber wasn't proud to admit it, but he got scared. He did not need another moronic row between his best friends, no thanks.

But Rocinante just blinked again, and laughed some more, like the dumb thing he was.

"You, Boss," he sniggered, "are the best friend ever. But somehow, you're still dumb enough to expect me to actually seriously hit you, after I told you I wouldn't ever raise a hand to you. Did you perchance forget what nakama means in your advanced age?"

Kaido scowled at him.

"Shut up and drink, squirt," he ordered. Technically, he was twenty years older than Rocinante, but with how gray they both were, it sounded rather comical.

"Yes, daddy," Rocinante rolled his eyes, and — fuck, it still sounded as hot as ever. Why didn't he ever call Alber daddy? Life was so damn unfair. "Brüderschaft?"

Kaido snorted.

"Why not," he said.

But before they could brüderschaft, Paddy came up with a brilliant idea again:

"Oi, lads. Why don't ye go visit both poles to check just how cold they are? Nothing like seeing things firsthand!"

Alber silently hid his face in his palms. His heavy sigh was swallowed by a supportive roar all over the pub.

"That's — " Rocinante blinked. "That's — " He looked at Kaido, as Kaido looked at him.

Then, they chorused:

"That's a good idea!"

Of course. Of fucking course.

"Now that's me lad!" Paddy rejoiced, drunk off his pins and a little bit teary. "You do that! Sail on, lads! Sail on!"

"Sail on!!!" the pub hollered, and the wave of their voices crashed through the windows and spilled out into the rising day.

Behind the window, Alber could see the distant silhouette of their Chariot where the sea met the sky. Rocinante's eyes were glowing brighter than any sunrise.

"What do you say, Boss?" he asked, his voice and soul brimming with excitement. "Now?"

Kaido smirked, and said nothing. But it was fine: between the three of them, there was no need for words.

Alber shook his head with a fond smile, and thought he likely wasn't seeing Momoiro for a while.

Ah well, the adventure was worth it.

"First," Rocinante declared meanwhile, "we go to the North Pole!"

"Why there?" Kaido rumbled, obviously ready to defend his pole of choice again.

"Uh. Because the name sounds nicer…?" Rocinante blurted, clearly unable to make a sound case for his suggestion. That dumb idiotic man, always doing whatever his left buttcheek wanted.

For a while, Kaido pondered his words. Even though there was nothing to ponder. Alber wondered if Rocinante even had any brain in that fluffy head of his.

"Fine," Kaido allowed magnanimously in a minute or so.

"Really?! You're the best, Boss!" Rocinante glowed.

And there they went yet again, back to their old normal: Rocinante forgetting, again, that he was the goddamn captain of their goddamn ship, for over thirty years straight, and Kaido just — doing whatever Rocinante wanted.

Of course, if Alber ever brought the latter fact to their attention, they'd be sincerely surprised for a moment or two… and then Rocinante'd just use his almost-unlimited power over Kaido's heart to demand him to shave his belly with a rusty razor or something.

Honestly. That dumb, stupid, beautiful man.

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It was very stupid, what Rocinante wanted to do — it was stupid and reckless and irresponsible, and Tuss was so chewing them out for breaking his plans.

It was so damn romantic, for a true man.

And Tuss could well see it — under all his external dourness, he was just like them.

Besides, if Rocinante brought up fishing at the North Pole, Tuss would so fold in the blink of an eye. Alber just knew it: the man was a right fishing maniac.

In fact, now that he thought of it, Alber wouldn't mind fishing at the North Pole himself. Alright, they decidedly needed to talk this over…

…So what if like a hundred of Rocinante's concerts were getting postponed now, because Donquixote birdbrain twit Rocinante wanted to go see the North Pole? They only lived once, and they didn't die on schedule. So as far as Alber was concerned, fuck schedules and plans: the one life they had, they needed to live to the fullest, as long or short as it turned out to be in the end.

Rocinante grinned at his thoughts, and shot into the sky, soaring like a big white seagull. A split second later, a great azure dragon followed in his white footsteps.

Alber grinned — wide, free, and maybe just a tad mad — and let his wings beat up the dust before he, too, was up there in the sky, awash in the clear morning blue, together with his nakama.

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As he stood on the deck of their Chariot, looking at the pub crowd — cheering and whistling and waving the ship goodbye — he couldn't help but smile as he heard…

…Hitting the sails and splitting the seagull cries, rolling down the worn wooden deck and rising all the way up to the wild blue sky…

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"Set saaaaillll!"

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The sails rose and sang, and the breeze was salty and strong.

It was time for some manly romance.

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The wind thrummed in the flying linen sails over the deck of their Chariot — and Alber's heart beat faster, as he felt his nakama's hearts pound in unison, and looked at the man who showed him:

The world was wide and full of wonders.

And here they came yet again, to discover them all.

Alber smirked, Kaido grinned, and Rocinante looked up at them — and he laughed, all alight with the buzz of a new adventure…

And their ship spread her wide white wings, carrying them into the endless blue.

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"You're not coming back home in the next few months because he vants to go vhere…?"

"To the North Pole," Alber said, deadpan.

"…Oh my. Vell, that's Bird-boy for you," Ivankov chuckled smoothly. "Tell him hi from me, and have fun on your travels. And take care, vill you, honey?"

"Will do," Alber snorted, as the line went dead after a loud mwah.

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"…That moron wants to go where?!"

"To the North Pole," Tuss said, deadpan.

"…Fuck me sideways with a rusty pole."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Is he out of his damn mind?!"

"Has he ever been in his right mind in the first place?"

"No," Doflamingo snorted, slowly calming down, "no, you're right, my man, that's Roci for you. The next time you see him, tell him I'll fucking shred his dumb ass to microscopic pieces when he gets back home."

"You don't need me as an intermediary to do your sex talk thing," Tuss said dryly. Doflamingo guffawed.

"In fact, I do," he drawled when the last of his laughter died town, "I do need your help, my man: kick his ass for me, will you?"

"Always," Tuss swore, true fervor blazing through his normal no-nonsense tone. "Why don't you just chew him out on the snail, though?"

"Can't," the Doflamingo-faced snail slumped. "He picks up and says hi, and poof! All my anger is gone, just like that. That damn supernatural idiot."

The Tuss-faced snail judgmentally shook its eye stalks.

"So pussy-whipped," it said gravely.

And both snails sighed in unison.

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"You went to the North Pole without me?!"

"Uh — sorry, sorry, my precious Princess. Worry not, we've yet to go to the South Pole, so if you'd like to — "

Yamato's lips stretched in a wide, joyful smile, just as Ivankov and Joker's turned down real fast. Then, the two chorused:

"Like hell!"

Then they glanced at each other.

"But we need to take the temperature on both poles, for scientific accuracy!" Rocinante explained very earnestly, somehow heedless of the two death glares being thrown his way.

"Is that so," Joker ground out. "Say, sweetness. What exactly is the temperature on the North Pole?"

Rocinante looked at Kaido. Kaido looked at Rocinante. Alber silently hid his face in his palm.

First thing they were on the North Pole, they sort of — went fishing right away. The rest was a blur.

"You never took it, did you?" Joker hissed with that terrifyingly amiable smile. "Of course you forgot."

"Uh," Rocinante said, "um. That's no biggie, we can tell which pole is colder without any measurements, we just gotta get there — "

"Vhy do you even care vhich pole is colder?!" Ivankov howled.

Alber had rarely ever seen them this agitated. Was Ivankov — unhappy with his continued absence or what…?

"Four things cannot be stopped," Rocinante spoke meanwhile, in that grave, solemn voice that made him sound like a prophet, "inherited will… the ebb and flow of time… people's dreams… and human curiosity."

He looked up at Ivankov. His eyes shone like two supernovae.

"What kind of man would I be," he went on, his voice rising, "if I had the chance to go to the very ends of the world… and never took it?"

Ivankov had nothing to say to that. Well, no one in the room did: sometimes Rocinante really seemed supernatural, like a seer or some kind of god — and when he got like that, no one dared oppose him.

Alber discreetly heaved a sigh of relief. Ivankov threw him a sharp glare that instantly had him on his toes again. Ugh, women.

"I hope you have some extra room on that giant washbasin of yours, then, my joy," Joker spoke through clenched teeth, his smile very wide, very fake.

"What, do you want to come with us…?" Alber still had no idea how someone could even be that clueless. "That's great! That's so great." Aaanddd now Donquixote mushy ass Rocinante was making cow eyes at Joker.

Someone who didn't know the World Union's Commander-in-Chief as well as Alber did would have never noticed how that look affected him. Pussy-whipped, indeed.

"But," Rocinante remembered, "don't you have work? Running the world and stuff." Even as he asked, his hands were holding on to Joker's, seemingly of their own will.

Joker scoffed: the very picture of easy confidence. With some schadenfreude, Alber noted to himself how Joker was visibly balding.

"I suppose I can work remotely, for a short while," he offered magnanimously. "After all, Den Den Mushi do exist. It will be a bit troublesome, but now…" He drew Rocinante closer, holding him by his butt. That shameless, tasteless swankpot. "…Now, you really got me curious, precious. Let's go see the South Pole together," he murmured, his hands in the back pockets of Rocinante's jeans.

That was everyone's clue to leave the room, because it was excruciatingly obvious that Joker was about to see Rocinante's — south pole right here, right now.

The two of them were so taken with each other they didn't even notice Yamato snailing — someone, and animatedly talking into the receiver. But no one, even the two wanton lovebirds, could possibly miss the cry from the snail:

"Uoooo, fishing at the South Pole!"

No one even said a word about fishing the entire conversation — but somehow, Straw Hat cut right to the chase.

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As Chariot slowly approached the South Pole, Ivankov got progressively grumpier. For some reason, the garments they brought with them were all extremely impractical — far more suited for a posh soiree or a BDSM swinger party than a trip to one of the world's coldest places.

Alber rolled his eyes, and strode up to his visibly shivering wife.

"Are ve there yet?" they complained, sourly watching the white expanse from the fore. "This place is so boring, there's nothing but vhite."

"We should be very close by now," Alber confirmed. "Aren't you cold here?"

Outside, in the freezing weather, sans any proper outerwear. The South Pole cold was so piercing the Chariot's residents kept bundling up in their warmest clothes, even in their well-heated cabins. Alber was a Lunarian, so the cold wasn't a problem for him, but the humans, the ogres, and even the skeleton all kept sneezing non-stop.

"Vhat do you think?" Ivankov asked, their voice bitter for some reason. Women and their mysterious grievances…

Alber managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes again, covered their petite frame with his wing, and lit up his flame.

"Better now?" he asked with great patience.

"Mmm." His wife smiled alluringly, and pressed their soft curves into his side, hugging his waist and seemingly not as cold now —

…But then, Rocinante triumphantly brought out the fishing poles — and the rest was a blur.

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