Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It happened like this;

Buggy had not been in a good place mentally after Roger’s death. He might even be obliged to say he was in the very opposite of a good place, and he meant that in the most literal of senses. 

He had never been one for getting into fights before, but there was so much rage in his body and nowhere to take it that he ended up causing one in a bar just an island over. No weapons besides fists, but that was still enough to do damage in the East. It wasn't like the Grand Line, where anyone who had a violent bone in their body had control over armament. 

Buggy wasn’t going easy. He was all fifteen and filled with grief and rage and questions, questions like ‘Why hadn’t he said goodbye? Why go out like that? Why tell people, why send people out? Why had no one else been there to comfort Shanks and he?’

Shanks. That rotten bastard, that rotten lying bastard. What good was a promise when someone could just go back on it? Buggy had trusted Shanks, seas damn it, he had believed in Shanks! 

Buggy wiped blood from his lower lip and adjusted his headband. His ponytail was loose and nearly falling out but he didn’t care. If anyone tried to grab his hair they’d be met with strands easily chopped off and wrapped around their throat, squeezing the life out of them. Buggy knew he looked worse for wear, but he didn’t care. He was usually so vain, but all he cared about at the moment was beating the shit out of whoever approached him next. He had already taken care of three people, only one of them truly putting up a fight, and he was itching for another. 

Luckily for him another person approached. He wasn’t too sure of their gender, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to feel the rage rather than the grief. Anything to ignore the emotions building up inside his chest. Anything to ignore the numbness that had nestled itself deep inside his body. 

He was pretty sure they gave him a concussion if the blurring of his vision was anything to go bye, but it didn’t matter now. They lay on the ground, eyes rolled back. Defeated. Buggy couldn’t be sure but he thought he saw some money being traded to someone else in the corner of his vision. They were making bets on him. Or, more accurately, how much he could take. 

He was just about to turn and threaten anyone daring to make money on him, daring to make money on this cope, this anger and rage and visceral urge for release when he heard the door slam open. 

“Oh shit, Marines! Scatter!” Someone in the bar shouted, and the dingy building quickly submerged into chaos. Bottles were being thrown from hands and people were being trampled, but Buggy- 

Buggy couldn’t breathe. Because he could see the hat towering over the heads of the seedy bar patrons. And more specifically, he could see the way the hat wasn’t moving. The marine wasn’t looking at the patrons. He was looking in Buggy’s direction. And Buggy knew that hat. He had seen it countless times on the seas, always being carried by a head that either housed an entertained grin or an annoyed scowl.

Buggy knew that hat because that hat was Garp’s. Even if the man hadn’t been wearing it when he gave the order for Roger’s execution, Buggy would know it anywhere.

The bar cleared out. Garp was alone, not even Bogard at his side. His head was tilted down. Buggy couldn’t see his eyes. He couldn’t see if he was looking down or at the teenager. He hoped he was looking at the ground. Did he even feel guilty? Buggy remembered Captain and Garp sharing drinks once, had that meant nothing? 

Why was Garp here? 

Why was Garp here, at this gross-out bar made for fighting and fucking, why was he here? Why was he at the exact bar Buggy had picked to shed his emotions?  Buggy didn’t know and he found himself not caring, either. Because here was this fucking marine that he- fuck, why did everyone Buggy think he could trust betray him? He had known Garp for years, but he had killed his fath- Captain. Garp had killed Roger, or at least gave the order for those swords to swing, but nonetheless, it was his fault. 

There was that buzzing in his veins and Buggy wiped blood from his nose. He couldn’t fight Garp. Garp was stronger than him, Garp wasn’t like these easy pickings in an East Blue bar, Garp was-

Why was Garp here again?

He still hadn’t spoken yet and Buggy’s adrenaline was starting to fade into a nervous clammering in his mind. Was Garp shaking or was that his concussion talking? No, Garp wasn’t shaking it was just his fists, why was Garp here again? 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Fuck, was that him? Buggy’s voice was a mess. It sounded like he was holding back tears, was he? He had thought he had started crying a while ago. Then again, it would sound the same even if he was crying. Was he? His head hurt. 

Garp didn’t say anything. Buggy was half tempted to conclude that the marine was a poor-taste joke conjured up but his ailing mind until he remembered that the other criminals in the bar had gone screaming and running out. They didn’t want to get captured and imprisoned-

Fuck. Was that why Garp was here?

Buggy’s heart picked up again. Why him? Why had Garp come after him? Because he was the easy pickings of the crew? Or had Garp already pinned everyone else down and was saving the easiest for last? Shit, Buggy couldn’t fight Garp! Well, he could, but he wouldn’t win! He wouldn’t last more than a few seconds! And that was being generous! And counting on the Buggy being at his best- which he very much so wasn’t! 

Nonetheless he slid his feet apart in a defensive- wary- stance. Why wasn’t Garp saying anything? Why wasn’t he screaming about how he was under arrest? 

Finally, Garp angled his head up. What the hell was that look? Buggy was reading it wrong, surely. He was shit at observation (Like all other haki’s, fuck you Shanks for being good at those too), so he couldn’t trust that to tell him if he was right. 

Again, he decided to repeat himself, “What the fuck are you-!”

He couldn’t get through the sentence before he found himself knocked to the other side of the bar. His gut churned violently and he heaved, only the booze he had been downing coming burning up his throat and splattering onto the ground. He wheezed, choking and coughing as Garp walked over to him. He was rubbing his fist. 

“You expect to be a pirate when you can’t take one measly punch?” Was the first thing Garp said to him. 

What. 

Was- Was Garp mocking him? Was Garp mocking him after having condemned his fath- fuck- his captain to death? Nausea tightened its hold on him and the teen had to resist the Unger to curl up protectively around his stomach. Instead he forced himself up. His head pounded in protest. 

“Fuck you,” He replied hotly. The next thing he knew he was face facing the ceiling, the brown remains of a table beneath him. The shitty wood grains above him swam along like the tides and he found himself getting lost in them. Where was he? Did it even matter? The water looked nice- 

He was being hefted up and held by the collar of his shirt, face to face with Garp. His vision was moving in and out of focus, but he’d know that stupid dog hat anywhere- He’d already done that thought process before, damn it! 

“Just two and you’re already almost out for the count!” Garp shook his head disappointedly. 

“You k-killed him” Was all Buggy responded with. Garp pursed his lips at that. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. Instead he grinned, “You wanna end up like him?” 

Buggy paled. The worst part of that picture wasn’t even that he’d be getting executed. The worst part was that no one would bother coming to see it. Not even Shanks, not after how they split up. He’d be surrounded by the enemy. No one to care about his last words. No lasting impression. Just an afterthought. Maybe a fact for those fun fact buffs that were probably already showering for information on all of them to show off about. ‘Hey, did you know the Roger pirates actually had two cabin boys?’ 

Garp chuckled and tilted his head down again to hide his eyes. Buggy gripped at the hand holding him up just a little tighter. He kicked just a little more. He yelped when Garp looked back at him again, face getting just a little bit closer. 

“So I’ll give you an ultimatum, brat!” 

A… A what? He knew what an ultimatum was. Like a compromise. But Garp wasn’t one for compromising. Buggy knew that. There was truces and draws every once in a while, but not ultimatums. 

“What?” He ground out. Confusion and hurthurthurtseasplease laced in his breath. 

“Give up your pirating ways,” Oh no, he couldn’t possibly be about to say it, “Join the marines!” No fucking way. 

No fucking way. No way. Not a chance. Buggy? A marine? Not happening. He was a pirate, though and through. He was raised a pirate! It’s what he was born to do! Treasure hunting and fighting other pirates! Fighting marines, except, Buggy never really did any of the fighting…At most he was used as a distraction. At worse he would be running around stabbing anyone that came too close. He wasn’t made for the fighting part…

But the treasure hunting part! Were marines allowed to hunt treasure? Buggy didn’t think so, so Buggy wouldn’t join the marines! Besides, marines weren’t allowed to just go willy nilly fighting…Except, thats what Garp did. And, again! Buggy wasn’t even that good at fighting! 

…What were the cons of being a marine again? 

Right, government dog, no treasure hunting, and the uniforms were totally not flashy! 

But…It would be irresponsible of him not to consider the pros…

Security, company, not being in hiding, probably low expectations…

Seas, captain would be cursing him out right now for even considering it. But it wasn’t Buggy’s fault! He was just…Where was he going to go from here? 

“And if I don’t?” He decided to ask. He could hear his own words slurring. The flames on the wall behind Garp kept rising and falling, Buggy felt like he was talking to the devil. 

“Then I’m arresting you for piracy!” Garp shrugged simply. 

And that was the other choice. Right. Maybe…

“Fine…” 

As Garp hefted him over his shoulder, Buggy’s vision abruptly fizzled out, but not before his last thought: 

Captain would be fine with this, right? 

Chapter Text

Buggy jolted awake. His breathing was heavy and he swallowed down the panic coursing through his veins as he gathered his bearings. The person bunked above him grumbled in their sleep and turned over on their side. In the berth of The Hound Dog, Buggy let himself relax back into his pillow. 

He was two weeks into his indefinitely long career as a marine and had yet to integrate himself into the culture of it. He still sat by himself in the mess, and he still hadn’t gone out of his way to talk to anyone. He didn’t want to. He had been invited to play a game of cards a few times but he had just shrugged off the invitation. He didn’t think Marines were allowed to gamble and that was the best part of card games, anyway. 

He did his ‘duty’ on the ship pretty well. A few of the other newer recruits were still building up the calluses on their palms while Buggy’s were well worn and tough from working on the Oro.

During his first week on The Hound Dog, Buggy had learned something. He was the youngest person on the ship. The next oldest person had about a year on him and still got mercilessly teased by the rest of the crew. When Buggy had been prodded about his age he had glared and that had been the end of the conversation. 

No one tried to talk to Buggy anymore. Not after the outburst he had during a little hazing session some of the crew had tried to put him through. 

Buggy had to be pulled off of the Marine that dared insult his nose by Garp while the rest of the group guffawed, only to be scolded later by Bogard. Apparently, hazing was also a no-no. Buggy wasn’t left unpunished for attacking ‘a fellow member of the crew’ himself, having to swab the poop deck. Yeah, he hated it, but it was a chore he was so used to on the Oro that he finished it before it was time for breakfast the next day. 

Buggy was not liking his time on The Hound Dog. 

Mostly. 

He did like the schedule they had. Wake up at four, do some watching, eat breakfast, do chores or more watching, dinner, watching, and then sleep. Training would usually be wormed in somewhere during the day. Garp had a habit of grabbing a few people at random for training. Other than that, he liked the schedule. 

He also liked the food. Sunbell had been a great cook, but there hadn’t always been access to markets and food variety for them, being pirates and all. But Buggy was eating his fill every day now, and in a variety that he hadn’t had before! It wasn’t just meat and fish all the damn time! 

He also liked how not scared he was. The first time he had seen another marine ship on the horizon he had forgotten where exactly he was and nearly ran down into the storage out of muscle memory. Years of being told to retreat down instead of fight because of his weakness. It was only thanks to his grip on the mop that he hadn’t. Just looking down at the bucket at his feet and the Marine insignia on it had snapped him out of it. 

He didn’t need to be scared of the Marines anymore. Sure, there was always the concern that he could be recognized, but whio would question a Vice Admiral? Much less the one that had given the execution order for Gol D. Roger! Why would he be harboring one of his cabin boys? 

He also wasn’t too scared of other pirates. They hadn’t run into any yet, but Buggy knew that This crew had strength. They had to be if they were under Monkey D. Garp, after all. And the chances of running into a crew that rivaled the strength of the Roger’s was slim to none! 

He didn’t like thinking about the other Roger pirates. Or wondering where they were. If they had been captured. 

If they were thinking about him. 

Stupid. 

He was on watch at the aft of the ship, midday, with clouds hanging heavy in the sky and a cool breeze blowing in his face. He had just ignored another member of the crew who had tried to invite him into playing a game of blackjack, without the gambling, of course. 

He noticed immediately when Bogard approached. 

“You’re aware you’re supposed to salute and address a senior officer, correct?” 

The fifteen-year-old grumbled under his breath and gave a lazy salute. He had been making a very clear effort to both Bogard and Garp that this was not his preferred series of events and that, even though he had ultimately agreed to go along with them, he wasn’t happy about it. 

Bogard seemed to accept this for now and leaned against the railing beside Buggy, tilting his head down so that his hat shadowed over his eyes. He was resting his hand on the hilt of his katana. Buggy tried to ignore him, pointedly looking away while still trying to keep watch. 

Why was Bogard even here? Wasn’t he supposed to be off following Garp around or something? Buggy wasn’t sure if he had ever seen Bogard not at Garp’s side. He felt like the two were practically attached at the hip. 

It reminded him of Roger and Rayleigh- nope! Stop thinking about it!

Both of them stood in that slightly awkward silence as the waves rocked against the battleship. Only, Buggy was sure Bogard wouldn’t think the silence was as uncomfortable. A few minutes later, Bogard finally spoke. 

“How are you liking it?” The man hadn’t looked up, Buggy noticed.

“Liking what,” The teen responded hotly, crossing his arms. He stooped so his forearms would be resting against the railing. 

“Marine life,” Bogard was quick to respond. Buggy considered pretending to think for a few moments but didn’t care to. 

“Better than being stuck in a brig or a prison,” Or being dead, he didn’t say. 

“I suppose it is, isn’t it?” Humor tipped the edge of Bogard’s words. Buggy stopped looking at the sea for a moment to look back at him. Bogard was more looking up now as if he was contemplating something. Buggy watched as he pulled out his kisaru pipe. He continued to observe with bored interest as the man pulled a small amount of tobacco from a bag and balled it up before dropping it in the bowl of the pipe and lighting it with a match. He took a few puffs before speaking again. 

“I was in your shoes once,” He finally looked at Buggy as Buggy blinked dumbly at him. 

“You what?” 

“I was in your shoes. A pirate given the ultimatum of becoming a marine,” He took another drag on the pipe and Buggy watched the exhale of smoke as it faded into the cool air. How was he supposed to respond to that? 

“How long ago?” He decided to ask. For as long as he could remember, whenever Garp had started chasing them, Bogard had been by his side. 

“Nearly forty years now,” The man nodded thoughtfully. 

“How long were you a pirate?” Buggy asked after a few seconds of actual thinking, not faux thinking just to seem…polite. Thoughtful? Like he cared? 

“I was practically born into it, actually,” Bogard shifted his weight, “But we were caught. Garp helped me understand that being a marine was far better than being a pirate. That the rewards you reap from saving people, the honor and pride you get in doing it? Is better than any treasure,”. 

Buggy scoffed at that. Nothing was better than treasure. 

“The paychecks are nice, too,” Bogard spoke after taking a few more moments to take another puff on his pipe. 

This caught Buggy’s attention. He perked up almost immediately, “The what?” 

“Paychecks. You get money to spend on yourself. Whether it be for civilian clothes or food. Every month. It’s a steady income to ensure the comfort of the marines and thank us for all our work,”. 

That sounded like an allowance to Buggy, but even then, it sounded…really good. Buggy would occasionally get an allowance, but there were always repairs to be done and weapons to outfit the Oro with, so it wasn’t too much. Additionally, they were children. What would they need to buy? Buggy’s frown deepened at the thought.

“How much?” He tried to prod for more. 

Bogard pushed himself up and away from the railing as he took another breath on the pipe.

“You’ll find out in a few days with the rest of the crew,” With that he began to walk away. 

“Wait! Wait, hold on!” Buggy needed a moment to think. He ran over everything in his head, but something still wasn’t adding up. 

“Why would you stay a marine?” He waved a hand like that was supposed to indicate anything. 

One of Bogard’s eyebrows quirked up, “We all have our reasons. Yours will be different than mine,”. Buggy let him walk off then, not too sure how to feel about that sentiment the other was trying to get across. 

His reason? What the hell would his reason be? 

The speaker den den in the corner of the mess hall crackled to life and Garp’s voice boomed out over them. 

“Cadet Buggy, report to my office,”. 

He wasn’t in trouble. He knew that. People had been getting called in all day with excited grins on their faces before returning and gleefully chatting with their coworkers. It must be payday. 

Buggy had long since finished his meal, years of needing to eat fast so that no one would try and steal his food enforced the habit of speed-eating into him, so he stood and made his way to Garp’s office. 

He knocked at the door, entering once he heard the muffled “Come in,” of Garp’s voice. 

He had taken Bogard’s words a bit more…to heart. He supposed, and he mumbled, “Sir,” under his breath as he addressed him. Garp grinned at that and Buggy cringed. 

“Atta boy, c’mere, sit, sit!” The man motioned for him to come closer. Buggy couldn’t help but wonder if he treated anyone else like this. He was glad no one else had seen him receiving this kind of…childish treatment. 

No. He was not still a child. No matter what anyone would argue, not after the things he had been through. He was a man.

He sat down, leaning into the plush of the chair. 

Garp pulled out a paper pouch and Buggy could hear the soft clings of metal inside. His eyes tracked it diligently as Garp waved it around. 

“Do you know what this is?” Garp cocked his head. 

“Pay,” He answered curtly. 

Garp nodded and tossed him the pouch. Buggy leaned forward to catch it, holding it in his hands. 

“Pay! Because you’re a marine! But pay isn’t what should be keeping you a marine,” Garp spoke wisely. Or, at least, it may be wise to anyone else. 

“Right. The reason I’m a marine is because it was either that or corporal punishment,” Buggy reminded him. He got up from the chair and began to walk out. 

“But that’ll help…” He muttered under his breath. 

“I heard that!” Garp shouted as he left. 

And it did help. Buggy stared at the beri in front of his eyes and blinked a few times as if it would disappear. He ran through the things he could buy with it. This was like…A quarter of the allowances he had gotten on the Oro. And this was for one month? He couldn’t help but wonder if the pay was different for different ships. For different ranks. For different efforts. 

If he put more effort in, would he get more beri? If he ranked up would he get more? He could be sitting on a veritable treasure trove if he played his cards right.

The idea of being a marine was starting to get more and more appealing to him. And he liked it. 

Wait, he liked it?

Suddenly the idea of being a marine wasn’t as distasteful anymore. He found himself thinking about it as he did his training and chores as days went on. 

He began to interact with his new crewmates, playing games with them and bantering. 

It wasn’t the same as the Oro, but he was trying to think about all that less and less these days. 

Buggy wanted to be a marine! His reason of course was wealth, but what other reason would he have other than not wanting to face prison or death? This was better than whatever he would've done anyway. He’d probably still be scraping by right about now if he hadn’t taken up Garp’s offer!

He could barely think of a reason why he shouldn’t have!

He had thought that particular thought late at night, relaxed in his rack. 

It was quickly followed by another thought. 

They did kill Dad. Captain. Roger. Buggy had watched his head roll. He had watched as people cheered and screamed in excitement, and all at once everything he had been trying to stave off hit him. 

Guilt.

He was serving under the man who had killed his father Captain. And he was enjoying himself.

Buggy felt like he was going to be sick.

Chapter Text

The next day, he was a fidgeting mess when Garp called him in for something other than pay. Every action he took was haunted by the thought of ‘What would Captain think?’ Other members of the ship had started to take notice and tried to get him to open up, but he knew better than that. They had no idea what they were asking. How the hell was he supposed to answer ‘Got something on your mind?’ 

‘Oh, yeah, actually! Garp’s the reason my captain is dead! My captain who pretty much raised me! And everyone fucking ditched me the second he died, so I lost literally everyone! Oh! I can’t forget how my best friend betrayed me! And I'm actually enjoying my time here in comparison, so I’m the one betraying everyone that has ever given a shit about me now!’

Yeah. Not happening. 

Buggy forced his hands to unclench around the mop he was holding and leaned it against the railing before making a hand sign to signal his leaving. A marine, he didn’t remember their name, but they were the only one on the ship that wore a black suit-looking uniform, looked back at him. He was trying to learn everyone’s names to better adjust, but he wasn’t exactly putting a lot of effort into it. They gave a grin and a thumbs up back and he grumbled under his breath as he stepped away. What kind of marine wore a black suit for a uniform, anyway? 

He knocked on Garp’s door. The muffled ‘Come in’, again. He was getting used to this. He entered with a quiet, “Sir,” and Garp motioned for him to take a seat. 

It wasn’t just the routine of entering Garp’s office that he was getting used to, but the whole system of the ship. To him, the ship seemed like a well-maintained mechanism. Everything moved smoothly and seamlessly with little to no upset, and when there was it was quickly quelled. 

It was nothing like the Oro- 

Again guilt twisted in his gut. Stop thinking about it. 

“We’ll be docking in a few hours,” Garp began. Buggy looked at him, breaking out of his thoughts and trying to ignore the part of his mind that wanted to remember Garp’s face as he gave the order for execution. Only, he hadn’t been paying attention to Garp at the time. Only Captain as he- 

A knock to the head had him jostled out of his thoughts. 

“I’m talking to you, brat!” The man chastised and Buggy grit his teeth, guilt momentarily forgotten as the annoyance of having to deal with Garp took center stage. 

“As I was saying,” Garp settled back into his seat, leaning into it as Buggy nursed the bump on his head, “We’ll be docking in a few hours, and as is customary I will be taking you solo!” 

Huh. 

“Solo?” He clarified. 

“Well, solo with me!” Garp mumbled something under his breath that Buggy didn’t quite catch.

“What was that?” The teen’s brow furrowed. 

“Nothing!” Garp waved his hand about as if clearing smoke. Buggy decided to let it go, figuring the old man was just losing it. 

“So what would we do?” He asked after a few moments. 

“Well, there’s reports of a small group of mountain bandits in the more rundown part of the town, so we’ll be checking that out!” He tapped a piece of paper that Buggy assumed was a report of various incidents. 

That didn’t sound terrible. Garp was a skilled fighter so Buggy wasn’t nervous about the idea. If he was doing it himself it would be a different story, there was no way in hell he would be able to hold his own against a gang of mountain bandits in the Grand Line. 

Buggy shrugged. Garp stared at him. 

Right. 

He rolled his eyes and saluted, “Yes, sir,”. 

That was probably his least favorite part about being a marine. Having to call someone ‘sir’. He remembered when he and Shanks were younger they would mock marines, and call each other sir before collapsing into a fit of laughter. 

Guilt. 

His lips tugged into a deep frown and he stood. 

“Come find me once we make landfall!” Simple enough to do. Buggy saluted again, turned, and left. 

He delayed finding Garp for as long as possible once they docked. He picked up others' work and insisted they get down on land. This had the unintended effect of everyone being excited and thanking him with too much familiarity. He would never do this on the Oro. 

He hated how often he was thinking about it, now. 

He wanted to go back to those first few days on the ship when he was starting to enjoy his time free of guilt and twisted emotions. Free of confliction. At the same time thinking about that only made him feel sicker. He had never been the type to get seasick, but he was starting to wonder if maybe he was losing his touch. Could he just pretend he was getting seasick and not that the faces of the other Roger pirates haunted his nightmares? 

Eventually, there was no one else’s chores to steal and he had to make his way down. The docks were crowded with a variety of people. Marines, civilians, merchants, and some pirates. Unknown, but pirates. They weren’t doing anything, but just the way they carried themselves was enough for Buggy to tell. The gauntness in their cheeks, the way they kept their eyes trained on marines, probably keeping an eye out for anyone higher up on the command so they can book it once they do see them. These weren’t strong pirates. They weren’t proud. They were probably just going on the hunt for the captain's treasure.

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. The gloves he had been outfitted with were nice, at least. One of his fellow marines had noticed that his gloves were too small and gave him a pair of his old ones. That wasn’t to say they were ratty or worn, more just that the other had gotten a pair of leather gloves soon after and preferred those. 

Buggy spotted Garp talking to two marines- oh. That suit-wearing one and the guy that gave him gloves. 

“-And if I find out you two almost got eaten by a Sea King again you’ll be on brig duty for two weeks!” 

Buggy’s brow furrowed as he caught the tail end of the conversation. How often could the same two people almost get eaten by a Sea King? The suit one and the glove guy saluted and quickly jogged off, just in time for Garp to look over and grin at Buggy. 

“There you are! Heard you picked up extra chores before getting off the ship, eh?” 

Buggy didn’t answer him, instead just staring at him. Garp cocked his head slightly toward him and Buggy had to resist a sigh. 

“Yes, sir,” He had to resist rolling his eyes at the same time as speaking. 

“Finally being a team player! About time!” The man laughed, deep and full. Buggy grit his teeth.

“Now, let’s get moving on!” The man spoke again and turned, walking off. Buggy followed behind, eyeing the people all around as he moved. Everyone was clearing the way for Garp, like the man was parting a sea of bodies simply by moving. He did have a commanding presence, so it made sense. 

When they finally left the more active area of the town and began walking on less maintained roads Buggy let himself speed up a bit to walk slightly beside the man so he could see in front rather than be in the shadow of his back. 

The only problem with that was he couldn’t see Garp as well as he could from behind. He was walking and suddenly all his brain processed with the man’s height and Buggy would glance over, expecting Roger despite- fuck. Despite everything, he expected Roger and he felt nauseous for getting the two mixed up. Roger never wore white and it was practically all Garp wore, and yet-

He went to glance beside himself again to look at Garp only to realize he wasn’t there. He looked behind himself. Not there either. He wasn’t in front. What the hell? 

He noticed he was standing in the middle of a street. Dilapidated wooden buildings ran parallel to his sides, some showing severe fire damage and others just suffering from aging. But no Garp. How did he lose him? 

Buggy stretched out his observation haki to see if maybe the old man had just gone down an alley after getting distracted by something and wandering off. His haki pinged back to him. And then again. And again. And again. Six pings in the surrounding buildings, but none of them were Garp. 

The teen felt his blood run cold. His breathing shook on the next exhale. A marine in the middle of a bandit outpost, surrounded and- 

He felt at his sides. Where the hell were his knives? His heartbeat picked up as he watched an old saloon door swing open, a bandit chuckling and shining her bowie knife. Where the hell did his knives go?!

The hair on the back of his neck prickled and he moved to the right just in time for a bullet to whizz by his ear. The rest of the bandits appeared, now. 

“Well, looks like a little marine decided to come out and try to make a name for itself!” 

“That or it got lost,” Another hummed. 

“First to get its heart gets the good alcohol!” Someone behind him crowed. 

This set them all off and Buggy’s adrenaline crashed into him. He dodged another bullet, just for a knife to dig deep into his hip. He let it slip all the way through, using the momentum to push himself over one of their heads while his legs slid under them. 

“Devil fruit!” One of them shouted, and there went any advantage Buggy had. They sheathed their knives and whipped out whatever guns they had, forcing him to reattach and roll as they opened fire. He sent one of his hands to grab one of the bandits, catching them off guard as he pulled them over to stand behind them as shots rang again. The wet spray of blood on his face was easy to ignore as he grabbed the knives the bandit had at his thighs. 

He pushed the dead man forward as he heard the sounds of various reloading guns, rushing at the lady that he had first seen and shoving her into another bandit as he dug a knife into her abdomen and slid the other along her neck. Her eyes went wide and shook as one of her hands flew up to hold in her wound. Buggy’s hand shot out and grabbed hers, twisting her to be another shield as further bullets burst forth. Not quick enough, he felt one of them lodge into his shoulder and he yelped, a panicked look overtaking the focused one he had just worn. 

The bandit he had pushed the lady into pushed her out of his grip and twisted his arm, kneeing him in the gut. Buggy split his arm from his body to distance himself from the man, but found himself backing into another bandit- 

A fist hit the back of his neck and a roaring sound filled his ears along with the sharp ring of tinnitus. He couldn’t hear it but he felt his mouth fall open with a cry. He could see another gun in the corner of his eye and separated his head from his neck just in time for the bullet to fly through the part. He grimaced and slammed the back of his head into the front of the man holding him, causing his grip to be released. 

He noted that the one bandit still had a firm grasp on his arm, but he ignored it as there was the much more pressing matter of the rest of the bandits. He didn’t know how many bullets they had access to, but three seemed to be out and were now falling in for close combat while the other was yelling at them to get out of their shot. Two were down, four more to go. One had his arm, Two he had just slammed his head into, Three was the furthest away and had just tried to shoot at him, and Four was approaching with a hammer. 

Fuck- wait- a hammer?! He crouched down to avoid a swing, kicking his leg forward and making Four fall to the ground. His hand still attached to his body swung down, separated, quickly and sloppily stabbing Four across their chest and stomach. 

He only really thought about his still separated arm as he felt it being raised.

It was weird to see his arm being broken. 

Pain lanced up his shoulder despite how little that made sense and he cried out, the arm doing the stabbing returning to its rightful spot to hover over where the other was supposed to be. He looked down at the spot, barely noticing when the next was coming from Three.

It was so hard to focus when his body was split, he had to directly think about what to do, and all he wanted to do right now was survive this! He needed to ignore the pain, pretend it wasn’t there. There were more important things to put his attention to. 

He split his broken arm where the break was, fist shooting up to One’s chin and delivering a solid uppercut that made them fall back. As for three, his leg flew back, slamming into their stomach. He grabbed the knife One had on them and used it to quickly skewer their neck. 

As for Three, he grabbed the hammer out of Two’s limp hand. He raised it and slammed it down onto the bandit’s head. A few times, just to be sure. 

He took deep shaky breaths, body coming back together. He held his broken arm close to his chest and whimpered between breaths. Each raise of his chest agitated the bullet wound in his shoulder. His head was killing him and his neck was twinging in a way that was not good. 

He used that one guy as a meat shield, killed the one lady, stabbed the one guy, stabbed the other guy, and used the hammer on the one person...That was five. 

His hearing was still murky but he could still make out the sound of the hammer of a gun being pulled back. 

For a moment after that, he only heard his heartbeat. The blood rushing in his body. 

And then there was the sound of a thud. 

But it wasn’t his own body hitting the ground. 

He turned to look behind himself, stumbling slightly. 

There, rubbing his fist and standing over the body of the final bandit was Garp. 

“Where the hell were you?!” Buggy yelled, tears finally breaking through the dam and flooding his cheeks. 

“Oh, calm down brat! I was just on that roof!” He pointed up to a nearby building, but Buggy didn’t bother looking. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He stalked forward, still gripping his broken arm and trying to keep his shoulder as still as possible. 

Garp had the gall to roll his eyes and Buggy had to resist the urge to grab one of the knives and stab him with it. 

“You were fine ! I needed to see you fight, y’know, never saw much of you doing that before!” He laughed and Buggy wanted nothing more than to be alone and scream into the empty air. 

Instead, he just glared at Garp, imagining his death in excruciating detail.

“You did…decent!” Garp guffawed again, approaching the teen. Buggy only had a moment to recognize what was about to happen as Garp’s open palm smacked into his shoulder and he pitched forward in a faint. 

“Whoops,” Garp said plainly. 

Chapter Text

Four Years.

Buggy had been a member of the Marines for four years. 

Not just ‘A member’, no, he was an ensign , now. 

He adjusted his uniform in the mirror, tugging at the scarf…cape…thing he had taken to wearing. He had some leniency with his uniform and had pushed it right up to the line. Vertically red and white striped pants, pointed brown boots, a classic lantern sleeve shirt ruled up to his elbows, that odd scarf he had taken to wearing, and his needlessly complicated belt with pockets and storage galore for his knives and bombs.

Over the years he managed to decrease the size of his explosives exponentially. Where he was once only able to hold one in a hand he could now hold dozens! Grape-sized red balls were gently stored within the compartments of his belt. He ensured no loose bombs were rumbling around before he put his gloves on, sheathing his knives into the holsters that rested on his forearms. 

He looked snazzy, classy, and most importantly, he looked like a marine. He gave one less grab at his ponytail to tighten it before turning out of his room- his room! His own room, he still couldn’t believe his luck! One of the higher ranks on the ship had bet his room on a game of poker that Buggy had won . Usually, betting wasn’t allowed, but an exception was made because technically the room wasn’t of value. The guy had been mad, arguing that he had been drunk and he didn’t actually mean it before eventually devolving into claiming Buggy had cheated. 

Which…wasn’t exactly inaccurate. But was it cheating if no one knew? Well, it didn’t matter, because once Garp caught wind it was ‘either you honor the agreement or you lose your standing with the crew’. Not honoring a bet was one of the worst things you could do on a marine ship- or this one at least. Since bets that didn’t technically count as bets were few and far between, everyone would know about them. It was not a good idea to go back to an agreement when everyone knew about it.

Buggy locked his door behind himself before heading down to the brig. Breakfast was supposed to be really good today with actual eggs . They were pretty far into the Grand Line and islands grew sparser the further out you were, so…Eggs tended to go fast. 

He collected his food and sat down at a random table. He found himself participating in the debate being had, how many sea kings could Garp kill in a day? There was no bringing up how many he could take in total, as the number would be insurmountable and…Well. A sea king would never be able to get the best of Garp. 

“Heard we’re supposed to make land in a couple of days,” Someone brought up through a mouthful of bacon. 

“Yeah? What island?” Buggy was the one that spoke this time, looking for the speaker, and- ah, it was that one marine who wore the black suit, Sapphire. 

“Uhhh…Like. It was either called Cladiea or something like that,” Sapphire shrugged, shoveling more bacon into their mouth. 

“Caldea?” James, the guy who was always somewhere near Sapphire and the same one who gave Buggy his gloves when he was still new to being a marine, chuckled. 

“That’s what I said,”. 

“No, it wasn’t? Dumbass,”. 

Buggy ignored them as the two began to argue, playfully, more than anything. The other marines at the table began riling them up further and Buggy took the opportunity to finish his breakfast and leave before they began wrestling or somehow ended up in the ocean- again. 

Caldea, Caldea, where did he know that name? It clicked as he was rubbing some ketchup from his glove cuff, Caldea! It was supposed to be a hub of weaponry, and beyond that, a haven for science! Which meant chemicals. Which meant Buggy could experiment with strong components for bombs! Now that would be a real treat. He hoped they were right. 

---

“Land-Ho!” 

Five days later they finally made landfall. Five was closer to several days than a few days, but that was due to the massive storm that had torn up their sails. Usually, it would have only taken a couple of hours to fix them back up but it just so happened that they had started taking water in the storage bay that held the sails. They had to hang them over the sides of the Hound Dog to dry. After the second storm passed. Their stop would take longer than originally planned, repairs and resupplying were sorely needed. 

Plus, Buggy thought as he finally hit solid ground, which gave him more time to look into the chemicals and materials he could buy for his bombs. He grinned at the thought. A store that smelt acidic and like burnt beri, heaven. 

“Buggy, there you are,” Bogard approached. 

“Bogard,” Buggy nodded at him. He had never been able to salute the man. He already hated saluting Garp just on principle, but Bogard never pushed. 

“You will be accompanying Garp and me while we scout potential merchants,”. He didn’t ask, Bogard rarely did. Though he did ask more than Garp, which wasn’t saying much. 

“Actually, I was going to-” 

“Let’s go,” The fedora-wearing marine turned around and left in the direction that he came from. Buggy grit his teeth and had to resist groaning out loud. He was half certain that Bogard would be able to hear him even over the shouting of various people in the harbor. 

He settled for a sigh and a roll of his eyes before taking a leaning stop forward and catching up. 

“You’ve been taking people’s night watches more lately,” Bogard made idle conversation, or at least his version of it. Buggy could never tell if the man knew starting a conversation like that had a habit of making others think they were in trouble. 

“Yeah, I have,” Buggy shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked. He preferred nightwatches. It was quiet during the night. He liked the way the stars and moon reflected off the sea when clouds were sparse. Being able to hear the creaking of the ship as it rocked was soothing. It didn’t hurt that it also gained him favors. Buggy had always been a night owl, it was only using what he could to his advantage. 

Bogard only hummed after that. 

In the beginning, Buggy had been concerned with the attention Garp and Bogard paid him. He was supposed to stay under the radar so his nerves were always strung tight being around the two publicly- which counted even for just being on the deck with them. 

He was right to be concerned, he knew. A few of the crew had noted that the two had an eye on him and joked about him being almost like their pet. Buggy had grown used to the ribbing after a while and it was only with some vague advice from Bogard that he didn’t punch anyone’s teeth out. So the subject was dropped. 

The attention waned some as the years passed, thankfully. He was treated more in line with the crew. It was also nice that Garp finally picked up on Buggy’s distaste for talking about the past. 

His fist clenched and he forced it to relax. That guilt he used to hold had twisted into something else over the years. Anger. Spiteful and spitting, he was angry whenever he thought about the past. It made him hate thinking about it while also burning for it, anger filled him with adrenaline beyond belief and he had always been a fan of that particular chemical.

“Ah, there you are- and you brought Buggy! The more the merrier!” Finally, there was Garp. Buggy didn’t like shopping with Garp. Mainly because… 

“Hey- A Cracker stand!” 

“WE’RE LOOKING FOR CHICKEN, NOT CRACKERS!” 

Garp was the worst. If anything caught his eye and Buggy didn’t immediately steer him away from it they could be there for way longer than Buggy had the patience for as Garp haggled for extraordinarily low prices. Even with Garp’s status they rarely went through just because they were nearly just robbery. 

Bogard sighed somewhere behind them as Buggy stood before Garp, keeping him from getting too close to the cracker stand. Buggy glared at him, trying his best to send the message ‘You could help, you know!” 

Bogard didn’t roll his eyes, but it was a near thing with the slight dip and rise of his hat. 

“Garp. We can come back later. Perhaps a better deal will come our way in the next couple of days,” Finally Bogard intervened. Garp thought for a moment before grinning. Buggy let out a sigh of relief, a waste of time successfully avoided. 

“We just need to find a vendor for the chicken and we’ll be done,” Buggy said out loud, mainly for himself. It should not take this long to shop, but Garp made things more difficult than they needed to be. 

He stood to the side as Garp and Bogard spoke to a vendor. Bogard looked over the chickens and their quality while Garp worked out a price. It didn't matter whether or not an item Garp was seeking was for himself or for everyone, the prices he whittled with were absurd. It was in Buggy’s opinion that whenever someone agreed to sell to the man they did it just to get him out of their hair. Garp could haggle for hours if left unchecked and if faced with someone stubborn. 

They always fell to his haggling prowess. 

Finally, Buggy focused back on the conversation just as Garp shook hands with a now begrudged merchant. 

“Are we done?” He asked. 

Garp nodded, “No one can out-bargain me!” He slapped a hand on his bicep and let out a hearty laugh. 

“More like no one has the patience for it,” Buggy tutted. Garp smacked him on the head for that one. He would have dodged, but he had learned that dodging only made Garp more determined to land a stronger hit. He rubbed the spot on his head. 

Leaving the merchant alleys was simple enough. Plenty of people still mulled about. Buggy watched criminals slink off into the darker areas as he walked along with the two. He remembered what that felt like, avoiding marines. He pursed his lips, looking back at where he had been. 

There was a soft metallic clinking behind him that his ears instantly picked up on. He grinned, the sound of a dropped beri. If no one noticed it had fallen he could keep it for himself, if they did…Well, he would have to return it, but he’d seem like a good guy, yeah? 

He turned and searched the ground for that familiar shine of gold but his smile fell as he saw someone bend over and pick it up, tucking it back into their pouch before laughing to the person next to them. Buggy kissed the back of his teeth and rolled his eyes. He had plenty of beri now, but one more was always better than nothing. 

He turned to follow Bogard and Garp, they were fast walkers, and he’d have to jog to catch up. 

That red. 

He stopped, heart shuddering. Sometimes when he saw a familiar shade of red he would feel cold in the chest. He glared at the crowd of people suddenly walking by until they cleared up again. 

If his heart was shuddering before it had stopped now. That wasn’t just a familiar shade of red. 

Shanks. 

His eyes grew wide yet they were still tense, a tornado of emotions. His hands felt clammy and twitchy. A knot in his throat. He couldn’t look away. 

He didn’t know how long he stood there. He should have turned around. If only, if only. If only that storm hadn’t torn their sails, if only the sails hadn’t been soaked, if only that second storm hadn’t come through, if only Bogard hadn’t nabbed him for shopping, if only Garp hadn’t taken so goddamn long, if only that idiot hadn’t dropped their beri, if only that crowd of people had walked a little bit faster. 

He wouldn’t have seen him. 

And Shanks wouldn’t have seen him. 

Shank’s eyes widened. Buggy felt like the air was being strangled out of his lungs. He kind of wished it was. Dying would be preferable to this.

Chapter Text

“That’s enough for you,” Benn Beckman, a man he had met decently soon after Buggy and he separated, grabbed his cup from him. Shanks let his head smack the table. If it weren't for him Shanks would probably be sleeping in an alley until he got his shit together. 

And he would get his shit together. He would. Just…Not right now. He needed some time to think. And get drunk. Very drunk. He was a pirate and pirates drank. 

“C’mon Benn, just let me finish the cup…” He made a poor attempt to reach for the cup before his arm fell limply to the table. 

“We really should be leavin’ soon. The island is crawlin’ with marines. They’re searchin’ for people who are lookin’ for supplies for piratin’. Lots of folks headin’ into the Grand Line,” Benn tapped at the end of his cigarette. Shanks groaned, pressing his head into the grains of the table. 

Benn was right. They had only known each other for a week, but Benn, Shanks had come to find out, was pretty damn smart. 

“Yeah, we should,” He nodded and took a deep breath before sitting upright, squinting into the dim light over their table. 

“What's the plan, Captain?” Benn finished off his drink and Shanks frowned before standing. 

“We head out to the Grand Line. Hide in the chaos of it. I might know where a boat with supplies is,”. 

He had hoped it wouldn’t be there. If it wasn’t there it meant Buggy took it. But it was still there. He pursed his lips. If the boat was here, where was Buggy? Maybe he had hidden with other people and taken a bigger ship. Yeah, that was like Buggy. 

“This thing’ll get us over Reverse Mountain?” Benn knocked at the glorified dinghy. 

“We’re not going over Reverse Mountain,” Shanks motioned for Benn to hop in and he did so. Shanks unmoored the line and the boat began to drift. 

“But then…?” Benn’s sentence trailed off. 

“We’re going through the Calm Belt,” he smiled at the other. Benn merely blinked before grumbling under his breath and nodding. 

Shanks had rambled a lot to Benn while drunk during the past week. He had dumped pretty much everything about himself, who he was, what he wanted to do, what he didn’t want to do, his favorite color, even, to the man. He was lucky, Benn had been somehow inspired by something he had said and joined his crew as his first mate. It was that easy. 

He entered the small cabin and felt that empty ache in his heart when he saw Buggy’s hammock. He looked in his drawer and- yeah. There were his headbands. His beanie. Fuck, even a few of his bombs were in there. Some of his shirts were folded neatly in the lowest drawer, pants next to them. The drawer still smelt like him. 

“That your friend’s stuff?” Benn startled Shanks, shit, he really couldn’t let his observation slip like that. 

“Yeah, yeah. It’s Buggy’s,” He closed the dresser and took a breath. 

Benn took a look at his side of the room, “I’ll sleep on the floor,” He offered. 

“Nah, sleep in his hammock. He’s not using it, it would be a waste to just let it sit there,” he chuckled sadly but Benn nodded. 

“Where’s he gone off to, ya think?” Benn put his bag of things on the ground against Buggy’s dresser. 

Shanks pursed his lips and leaned against the walls of the cabin, “He’s either gathering a crew or already in the Grand Line. He’s determined,” Shanks smiled at the thought, it made him feel a bit better, picturing Buggy already on the hunt. Even if it was without him. 

“I’ll probably see him in the newspaper once we’re over there, he’s got a thing for being ‘flashy’,” Shanks wiggled one of his hands around at that. 

That seemed to make Benn also feel a bit better about staying where Buggy did. At least until they got their sizable ship or something else when they got more members, this was going to be it. 

“I’ll take the first watch and steer us towards the Calm Belt, I’m guessin’ you got some way to get us across it?” The man cocked his head to the side slightly. 

Shanks nodded, “Yeah, wake me up when we’re there or almost in it. I need to sleep off this buzz,”. Less of a buzz, and more of a stupor, but Shanks would be fine. 

And then, when they were over, Shanks would wait for news on Buggy. 

—

He never got news on Buggy. 

He kept his ear out. He read the newspaper more than he had in his life. Three months into the nothing he began seeking out information a little more intentionally. Maybe Buggy had stayed in the East Blue? But no, nothing. It had been a year and nothing.

One year since he had last seen Buggy. One year since he had heard his voice. One year and he was wrong he couldn’t find anything. It wasn’t like Buggy to just…drop off. No one knew anything . And he had asked! How hard could it be to find a blue-haired, red-nosed, bomb-throwing, clown?! If Buggy had heard him mention his nose he would have been furious, but he wasn’t here so…It didn’t matter. He didn’t like that. 

“Yo, captain,” Limejuice knocked on the door to his cabin. 

“Come in,” He took a breath and closed the drawer he had been looking into, the one with Buggy’s headbands and beanie and a few of his bombs (carefully turned into duds…at least he hoped so).

Limejuice entered, scratching at his head under his beanie, “We might be about to have a problem,”.

“What do you mean-?” A ship entered his range and he stood. He could use a distraction, “Well, let’s introduce ourselves,” He grinned. Limejuice grinned back. 

—

He didn’t want to think Buggy was dead- but it was just. It had been two years now. Nothing, nothing? No, it wasn’t like Buggy. Buggy was loud, he was out there. He still made it a habit to check the East Blue for something, maybe he missed him? Maybe someone figured something out? But no, every time, nothing. 

He felt a bit guilty lately. A few days ago he hadn’t thought about Buggy even once during the whole day. It had been a good day, a busy day with pillaging another pirate ship. They had a party after and it was only the next day that he realized the lack of a certain other in his mind. 

He tapped his quill against his logbook. It had been a calm day. Hardly a cloud in the sky today, one of the rare days when the Grand Line’s weather took a break. He had fished in the morning, played some card games in the afternoon, and after dinner, he began writing in his logbook. It was his second one, the one detailing his first year was already done and tucked away. This one was a red-hued leather, he thought it was funny. He didn’t mention Buggy too often in his logs. Only when he raided a marine base looking for information. He wasn’t sure why. 

He put his quill down and leaned back in his chair, dragging his hands down his face. 

He had theorized that Buggy was perhaps working underground. Maybe he was an assassin, that could be flashy, right? But, no, that didn’t make sense. Buggy was a pirate, through and through. He wanted treasure more than anything else in the world, no way in the seas would he be an assassin. 

He leaned forward again, elbows on his desk as he rubbed his eyelids. 

So he was starting to lose hope. Had Buggy gotten caught? Did the ship he escaped sink? Buggy couldn’t swim, had he screamed under the waves as he sank deeper and deeper and deeper- No, stop. He was alive. He had to be. Shanks would know if Buggy was dead, he would. Right? Yeah, he would. They were connected, he and Buggy. 

Maybe he had been captured. Was he in some brig somewhere? In some prison? Shanks had started looking into that too, having snuck into a few Marine bases and stolen their records, burning them down on the way (It had been an accident the first time, but…Well. It would be suspicious otherwise). 

But still, nothing. No Buggy. One night the fear that somehow Shiki may have gotten to him popped up and that was terrifying . Shiki was insane, literally, Shanks was pretty sure the man was clinically psychotic. He hated the Roger pirates, and if he had gotten his hands on Buggy…? Shanks didn’t know what he would have done. Shanks didn’t like thinking about it, but he had started looking into it. Shiki was still quiet. If he had Buggy he would have bragged about it to attract the others. 

Shanks wasn’t sure how many of the Roger Pirates would act, even if he did. He was pretty sure Crocus was still blackout drunk like he had been every day for the past two years. Or at least, he assumed so. He sure had smelt like it the last (and only) time Shanks had dropped in. 

He had no idea where Rayleigh was. Where Gaban was. Sunbell, Mr. Momora, Petermoo, Bankuro, Taro- none of them. They had dropped off the face of the planet when Captain died. He was 78% sure that a majority of them were taking after Crocus and drinking themselves right up to that line of death. So they were also going to be no help. 

Shanks was worried . He often lost sleep thinking about Buggy. He was stressed out, who knew being a captain was this harrowing? Stupid question, he knew what he was getting into. He just. He had always thought Buggy would be by his side to help with it. He missed him so much. 

“Hey, captain! Come out here, look at what Monster is doing!” 

It was only then that Shanks heard the sounds of laughter and cheering outside. He rubbed the bridge of his nose before smiling warmly. His crew…He was lucky to have them. He didn't know where he would be without their support. 

—

More years passed. Shanks…He still listened. He still held out hope. But there was really nothing. No Buggy. When he was drunk he would cry about it to Benn who would just sit there and smoke, patting his shoulder. He had more responsibilities now, though. So the frequency of that had lessened. He had a crew to handle and the more people that joined it, the more he had to do. The more people he was in charge of. He couldn’t be crying over Buggy anymore. He began to wipe his tears less. He opened the drawer that he kept Buggy’s things in less. He thought about Buggy less. He still thought about him on quiet nights, when he was looking out at the sea. He would remember how much Buggy loved the ocean. How much he enjoyed swimming. He remembered how broken he’d been after eating his devil fruit. Besides Sunbell, Buggy really may have been the best swimmer out of all of them. 

They would be docking at Caldea tomorrow. Restocking and the like. Maybe pick up another crew member if someone caught their eyes and sounded right. He didn’t go out of his way to pick up new crewmembers, but if someone wanted to join? He’d think about it for a bit and decide. He had never been wrong about someone. 

—

He had spotted the familiar figurehead of the Hound Dog as they neared the island. Garp’s ship. He pulled in his voice . He did not want to see the man. He didn’t know what he would do if he did. His crew, he wasn’t sure if they were ready to face off against a Vice Admiral. He didn’t want Garp to even get a faint prickle at the back of his neck. This was going to be a quick in and out. They were closing in on their destination, Water 7. They were going to commission a new ship. This was going to be a quick in and out, just enough to hold them over until they got to Water 7. 

When they docked Shanks was glad to hit solid ground. He gave everyone their tasks and sent them off. He stayed behind a few minutes longer to ensure everything was all together before walking off himself. He wasn’t sure where, but he could probably find some good sake. Yeah, that would be his task. 

Was someone watching him? The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he stopped, brows furrowing. His hand moved to rest on Gryphon’s hilt. It felt like there were eyes on him. Deliberately. Had he not hidden his voice well enough? No, he definitely had. So it couldn’t be Garp. Shanks did have a bounty, though. Perhaps a bounty hunter? He looked in the direction of where he felt the eyes. He scanned the crowd, but he didn’t have to. 

He knew that blue. 

Buggy. 

Buggy. Buggy was right there. Buggy was there and alive . Overwhelming positivity flooded his veins. The pomegranate of worry tore open and the sweet seeds popped, pure and utter joy flooded his senses. Buggy. Buggy, Buggy, Buggy. 

Years he had spent worrying himself to tears, years he had spent fearing and wondering if the worst had happened, but it hadn’t and there he was! There was Buggy in a…marine uniform? He was probably undercover, the long con, waiting to burst out in a flashy explosion like Shanks knew he always would! 

His heart was soaring, the most elated it had been in what felt like forever . So much energy was now in him, his hands shook. He felt like he was vibrating! 

He grinned, bright, relieved, so many things and all of them were so exhilarating! He laughed, he couldn’t help it. Of course Buggy was okay, how stupid he was to think anything different! This was Buggy he was thinking about, after all! Buggy was resourceful and smart! 

“Buggy!” He took one step forward and then another. He pushed past the crowd towards Buggy, he was within arms reach, finally, finally, years! He felt like he was flying, were his feet even touching the ground?  

“Buggy! Buggy, I can’t believe it, it’s really you!” He was close enough now to see the whites of Buggy’s eyes, those great round blue eyes that he missed so much, open with surprise- 

Buggy’s fist, meet Shank’s stomach. 

Buggy had just punched him in the gut. 

Chapter Text

Shanks. That rat bastard, no, Shanks was lower than a rat, Shanks was the shit on his shoe he would scrape against the stone street. Seeing Shanks’ name in the paper never failed to sour his mood. Seeing Shanks’ picture, be it a bounty poster or newspaper clipping, never failed to ruin his week. And now here he was. 

He hates Shanks more than anything. More than anyone. 

That guilt he had felt in the beginning, he had come to realize it was Shanks’ fault. It was Shanks who took his freedom away from him. Shanks who made him eat his devil fruit. Shanks who betrayed him. It was Shanks’ fault, everything. Shanks who didn’t fight for Buggy to go to the end of the Grand Line, and Shanks who was selfish and stayed behind to gain favor with Buggy. Shanks who broke their promise, Shanks who ruined everything . 

Shanks who was still a pirate. Shanks who was making a name for himself, Shanks who had replaced him. Shanks was a liar, Shanks was a betrayer, and Shanks was a bastard who deserved nothing. He never would have felt this guilt for being a marine if Shanks hadn’t gone and lied . 

Years of hearing about the Red-Haired rookie who was making a name for himself while Buggy swabbed the deck of a ship he hadn’t ever wanted to be on. That guilt and anger twisted and festered until it overboiled. Flattening. Waiting for something to disturb it so it could explode and burn everything. 

He had Shank’s posters in his room. He threw knives at them, he tore them to shreds. His knives drove deep gouges in his eyes, scratching down his face and turning that intense look into nothing . He hated Shanks. He blamed him for everything. Every painful and agonizing thought he had, every guilty feeling, he blamed it all on Shanks. 

His bombs were filled with anger. Every pinch of potassium nitrate, every squeeze of hydrogen peroxide. 

He wasn’t angry all the time. Of course not. Over the years he had gained friendship- But he could never put his all into it. Not like he had with Shanks. Shanks had ruined him. 

He could never trust anyone ever again. And there was Shanks, smiling and running towards him like nothing happened. Like he had no idea how much Buggy despised him with every fiber of his being. If Buggy could cut himself into the molecular level and stack himself upwards he could reach the moon and onwards- He hated Shanks thousands of times that length. 

But that feeling had never had a true outlet. He hadn’t been sure if he would ever be able to release that pure anger. 

But here he was. And suddenly, everything that he had been stuffing down, everything that he had been bottling up was breaking out all at once. He was flooded with so much that he was struggling with controlling his body, controlling his thoughts. 

He was shaking. His eyes were wide but he couldn’t blink. He never wanted to see Shanks again. But he did. He hated how he felt, so he took that anger, balled up his fist-

And punched Shanks as hard as he could in the gut. 

And it felt. Amazing. 

Shanks took a shaky step back, reeling from it. He coughed a few times. But he still looked back up at Buggy with a smile. One of his arms stayed pressed against his middle.

His brows were furrowed as he spoke again, “You’ve gotten-” He coughed, “Stronger! Good, that's good,”.

Buggy didn’t respond. He felt weird. So he went to hit Shanks again. 

Shanks blocked this way, raising an arm and using his forearm to push Buggy’s next strike back. 

Shanks laughed, though it was more strained, “Missed you too! Are you, uh, undercover or something? Pretending to be a marine is pretty crazy, the long con-” 

How dare he. Buggy unsheathed one of the knives holstered at his forearm and drove it towards Shanks’ chest, right where his heart was, and Buggy knew where his heart was. Nights spent when they were younger, huddled together, heads pressed to each others chest and hearing them beat-

Shanks brought up the scabbard of his sword now, a cutlass, of-fucking-course it was a cutlass, and deflected the hit. Buggy watched his eyebrows draw closer together, more confusion. His smile dropped just a bit more. 

“Bugs?” 

Buggy narrowed his eyes. He threw the first knife up and twisted to Shanks’ side. He pulled the other knife free from its holster and moved to stab again. He detached his other hand and grabbed the knife that was falling now. It shot forward to stab Shanks but he smacked it away again, dodging Buggy’s next strike and pushing him back as he did so with his scabbard. 

The people around them began to realize that a fight was building up. The area quickly began to clear out, people pushing past each other to get away. 

“Bugs? What are you doing?” Shanks’ face was falling more. Good. 

Shanks was a pirate. Buggy was a marine. There was only one thing to do. 

“Red-Hair Shanks, under the authority of the Marines, you are under arrest,” He himself had never said it, but he had heard it from Garp whenever they took down a group of bandits or crew of pirates. It felt wrong on his tongue. He had heard it so many times directed at his former captain. Oftentimes from Garp himself. 

The clouds that had been drifting in covered the sun. It was like the sun was running too. 

“What?” 

 “For the crimes of piracy, thievery-”

“Buggy what the hell are you talking about-”

“and conspiracy against the World Government,”.

“Gol D. Roger, under the authority of the Marines, you are to be executed for the crimes of piracy, thievery, and conspiracy against the World Government,” Garp had said those years ago. He and Shanks had cried, desperate for it to not be true. But it had been…necessary. 

“Buggy, this isn’t funny, stop,” Shanks lowered his scabbard slightly and Buggy took the opportunity to hit once more. He sliced open the skin on Shanks’ arm and the redhead jumped back, looking at the wound and then back to Buggy. Buggy knew the look that he had on his face and it was laughable . Shanks looked betrayed as if he hadn’t done it first. 

As if it couldn’t get worse, the clouds had grown darker and it had begun to drizzle. Just like at Roger’s execution. They faced each other. Buggy wanted to laugh in Shanks’ stupid face. Now he knew how Buggy had felt that day. 

 “We can do this the easy way. Give up now. Make this easy for yourself, red-hair,” Buggy moved one of his knives into the other hand so that both were clenched in between his fingers. The free hand drifted down to his belt, twitching over one of the compartments. 

Shanks breathed out. For a second, Buggy thought he would repent for what he had done. He was a pirate. He needed to be put behind bars. He needed to pay. He needed to pay . But of course, he didn’t. Shanks was selfish and Buggy hated him. 

“You know that's not going to happen,” Shanks looked at him. Less confused, less hurt, more determined. Buggy hated it. He hated so much and all of it was Shanks . 

“Fine,” Buggy flicked open the compartment, the cool weight of a bomb falling between his pinched fingers and he flicked it at him. Shanks raised his scabbard to try and bat it away but it exploded in a fiery blast before he could. 

Buggy grit his teeth and dashed forward, swinging his arm in a short arc to stab. Shanks darted out of the way, tucking into a roll. He looked conflicted, thumb pushing at the hilt of his blade. But he knew that wouldn’t work against Buggy. And that filled Buggy with a new feeling, power . Shanks’ blade was useless . 

He shot forward again, the one with the knives detaching and swerving around to Shanks’ side as Buggy took out another bomb. Shanks turned at the last second to let the hand fire past and ducked under the bomb so it would soar over his head. 

Buggy was closer now and swept Shanks’ feet out from under him. The other teen grunted and fell back but caught himself, using his hands to flip himself backward and gain more distance. 

But he wasn’t fighting back. He was dodging and blocking but he wasn’t fighting back and Buggy hated it . So Buggy opened a different pouch and tossed the little shards of pure sodium toward Shanks, quickly flying back. The rain hit the small shards and burst into balls of flame, violently exploding. Buggy used the smoke to his advantage, splitting apart. 

The limited visibility was perfect for him. His hand burst from the smoke, catching Shanks by surprise but he just barely managed to move, the knife catching against his shirt and ripping into it. 

Shanks had always defended Buggy’s habit of fighting dirty. Buggy would overhear him trying to tell the crew that Buggy fought to survive and that doing anything to survive was the best thing you could do. 

He wondered if Shanks felt the same way now that he was on the receiving end. 

He managed a few near hits and a few scratches, barely anything, and if that didn’t piss him off more than he already was he would be dead. Even now, even after all the training Buggy had done, Shanks was still getting the better of him. 

An opening, Buggy’s fist flew forward towards Shank’s face only to be caught at the wrist. Shanks’ grip tightened and Buggy hissed, the rest of his body coming together as he ran through the dissipating smoke to collide with Shanks. His hand was released and twinged with the pain of a now broken wrist. 

In a surprise attack, Buggy’s hand smacked Shank’s face with a pillow.

They fell to the ground and finally, Shanks fought back. 

Shanks fell back into the pile of blankets and pillows and Buggy followed. 

His fist collided with Buggy’s side, pushing Buggy off. Buggy grabbed at his ankle before he could stand up, pulling him back down,

They laughed, wrestling. Buggy grabbed Shank’s ankle and pulled him back as the other boy reached for the largest pillow. 

He got atop him, taking his knife and bringing it down.

He grabbed a pillow, smacking Shanks in the face with it. Shanks’ laughter was bright.

Shanks turned his head out of the way and twisted his body, momentum forced Buggy to fall to his side. 

Shanks bucked Buggy off and he fell into the mess of pillows.  

Shanks grabbed the knife where it was stuck in the cobbled street. 

Shanks grabbed the pillow.  

Buggy growled, scrambling forward. He still had his other knife and he swung it up only for Shanks to block it with the other knife, the force causing both blades to shoot from their hands and clatter noisily onto the stone. 

Buggy crowed triumphantly, taking another pillow and hitting Shanks with it. Shanks smacked him with the other pillow and the two got up, hitting each other with the soft items as they giggled. 

Shanks' brows were furrowed in concentration now, no emotion present. His hair was plastered to his face, the rain had begun to pick up. Buggy knew that his own flyaways were now stuck to his face. One of them was in his mouth but that wasn’t important right now. They were both breathing heavily, mud from the streets smeared on their faces and clothes. Blood dripped down Shanks’ arm where Buggy had gotten that singular good hit. Buggy’s wrist pulsed with pain and the spots where Shanks had punched him were aching. 

“Bugs,” Shanks began, but Buggy cut him off. 

“Don’t call me that, pirate filth,” he spat. 

“I know you don’t mean that-”

“You know nothing . I mean everything-”

“I think we need to talk, you’re not making any sense-” 

“Don’t fucking interrupt me, there’s nothing to talk about because you’re a pirate and I’m a marine and I’m arresting you !” 

“Bugs, what-” 

“Bwahahaha! There you are Buggy-” Garp, rounding the corner. He stopped when he caught sight of Shanks. Bogard was right behind him. 

“Got a criminal on the ropes, do you?” Bogard had his hand on the hilt of his katana. 

Buggy looked from them back to Shanks. 

Shanks was looking at him with a different look, now. 

And as with all of Shanks’ facial expressions, Buggy knew this one too. 

Understanding . 

Like he could see exactly what happened. Like he knew now why Buggy was here, why he was a marine. Like he could see right through Buggy and deep into the ball of guilt and desperation that had started all the rage. 

Buggy clenched his fists and grabbed his best bomb. His newest, one that he had never tested out. 

He threw it. Shanks lowered his stance, gripping his cutlass. He unsheathed his blade with alarming speed, slicing the bomb in half before it got within range. 

It exploded into a massive cloud of acrid smoke. A second later the particles within began to explode, clearing the nearly black smog to reveal- 

No one. 

Shanks was gone. 

Shanks had fled . 

“COME BACK HERE YOU FUCKING COWARD!” Buggy screamed, running to the spot where Shanks had been and frantically looking around. There was no sign of where he could have gone. Tears swam in his eyes, he blamed it on the chemicals. 

He pressed his head into his hands and cried out into them. 

He felt a large hand clap onto his shoulder, forcing him to tilt at its weight and pressure. Garp didn’t say anything. Buggy was glad. 

Chapter Text

It was times like these that had Garp reflected on his choices. 

He had just been following the complaint of a brawl in a bar, he hadn’t been purposely seeking out the brat. And yet he had somehow stumbled onto one of Roger’s apprentices, just his luck. Whether it was good or bad was still left unsaid. At first he hadn’t been sure what to do, but that instinct Garp always carried had kicked in and he realized that there was only one option. The kid was a bundle of aggressiveness that, unchecked, could become a problem in the future. The solution to this was simple, Garp wouldn’t leave him unchecked. He could reshape the violence and grief the boy harbored, make sure he made the right life choices. Make him a marine . 

For a while after taking him in he carried…concern. Garp watched the brat eye someone’s pouch of coins and was forced to give him a good smack to the head too often. Whenever another Marine ship sailed by Garp would watch Buggy, watch the way he tensed up and eyed them suspiciously. 

Garp had known that it would take time to kick the pirating habits out of the boy, seas only knew how long he had been sailing with Roger. He knew it would happen though. Once the boy had started settling in more and didn’t treat everyone like they were going to tackle him to the ground, Garp felt more confident. Not that he had ever been worried. 

He knew Buggy would be a marine, but he knew he would be a good marine when he sent Buggy off on a sort of solo mission. Not the one that he did to assess his skills, but one on a frigid island. Buggy’s mission was to set up explosives around a bandit base and hook them to a detonator. He had come back holding the explosives he had been given, much to everyone's confusion before he explained that his would be ‘far more effective than these hunks of junk’. Which turned out to be true. He took initiative and that was one of the most important skills a marine could have. 

Over the years Garp had witnessed the boy really coming into his own, befriending his fellow marines and participating twice as much in bonding activities as he had when he started. Garp had fed into his penchant for explosives, an explosives expert was something his ship lacked and Buggy was definitely an expert. 

He had assumed that the grief and anger from that bar all those years ago had gone into being a Marine and he was mostly right! 

Looking down at the report that Buggy had written of his encounter with Red-Hair Shanks, his former fellow apprentice, he discovered where the rest had gone. Several long sentences were scribbled out. The sides of the paper were stabbed with the quill Buggy had used. Everytime the pirate’s name was written it was after a scribbled out word. Sometimes a few words. It wasn’t difficult to figure out which ones. There were long blotches of ink at the bottom of the page where Buggy had dragged the quill, tearing through the paper. 

He looked from the paper to Buggy. He sat before his desk, clenching the fabric of his pants. His wrist was bandaged tightly, but other than that he was just bruised and battered. That was more than any other marine who had gone up against Red-Hair could say. 

Garp sighed and put the report down. He grabbed two crackers and began to munch at one before offering the other to Buggy. 

Buggy’s shoulders slumped slightly but he took the offer, nibbling at it. 

“I’m guessing this was the first time you’ve seen him since Roger’s execution?”

Buggy bit through the cracker with a snap. Yes, then. 

Garp considered something for a moment. 

“What are you going to do?” He leaned back, giving him a bit more space. 

He watched Buggy’s eyes dart from him to the paper. To the floor, to the wall, to the floor again, to his hands, to his wrist, before staying at the floor. His brow furrowed. 

Buggy was volatile. Garp thought it was fitting that Buggy had such a skill for bombs as he could easily compare him to one. Buggy was easy to set off, one wrong sentence could set him off, one that many of the crew had found out the hard way. The goal was to control Buggy’s explosions, he needed to be able to use them rather than let them rule him. 

Buggy’s voice was like a wildfire most days, it rose and fell like it was the fire of an engine being stoked. There were times where it was like a campfire, times when Buggy would be chatting with other marines or was on night watch. Then there were times where it was an inferno, suddenly rising upwards and yelling. Times when someone mentioned his nose or when he read the paper. He had never quite figured out that last one, but now he theorized that Red-Hair had been mentioned those times. It also explained why Buggy had a drawer full of the shredded remains of Red-Hair’s wanted posters. 

…Maybe there had been more signs than he had thought. 

Buggy opened his mouth before closing it, seeming to be mulling things over one last time. Buggy’s voice had been high all day but it suddenly dropped, cooling into a controlled blaze. 

Buggy looked back up at him, eyes set with conviction. 

“He’s a pirate. He needs to face Justice for his crimes. He will pay,” And that was a tone Garp had yet to hear from Buggy. The determination for justice. But there was something else underlying it. Garp couldn’t put his finger on it. 

Garp nodded, “Good,”. 

Buggy finished his cracker. 

“You are going to have to rewrite this report,” He raised a brow and pushed it over to Buggy. 

“I figured,” The teen grumbled, grabbing the report and stuffing it into his pocket. 

“Get some rest!” Garp told him as Buggy reached the door. 

“Yes, sir,” and with that he was gone. 

Garp leaned back in his chair and sighed. More gray hairs on the way, that was without a doubt. 

—

Buggy closed his door quietly, rather than slamming it like he had earlier when he returned. 

He had been brought to the MedBay by Bogard and was still seething, practically shaking. The nurse had to remind him to stay still multiple times throughout the splinting of his wrist. 

He was lucky , they told him. It was only a hairline fracture. It would be easy to heal. 

He didn’t feel lucky. He felt pitied. He felt like he hadn’t been taken seriously. He knew what Shanks was capable of. He had seen the reports of Shanks burning down entire Marine bases. He decimated ships, both pirate and marine, he was capable of murder with the swing of his sword. With one punch he could kill someone. 

And he hadn’t even tried with Buggy. The bruises from the punches wouldn’t even be all that ugly, damn him. 

When he went to his room after that he had slammed the door, grabbed a pillow, and begun stabbing it over and over again, slicing deep gaping holes into the item as though it had personally offended him. When he finished he picked it up and threw it against the wall, feathers exploding outwards in a mocking explosion of white. He grit his teeth before turning and falling face first into his bed, screaming into it. 

He wrote his report not  long after. His desk was a mess of spilled ink and gauges in the wood now. That quill was ruined. 

But now? After his talk with Garp he felt weird. 

Numb wasn’t the right word. He felt like he needed to move. He needed to go catch Shanks, slam his head into the ground and arrest him. And if he died…? 

Buggy looked around his room and grimaced. Feathers and spilled ink, right. Now he had to clean up the mess. 

Shanks was gone. Shanks had practically run away, gathered his crew and left. Like Buggy knew he would. He needed to gather his thoughts and…everything else before he could go after him.

And Buggy would go after him.

He got down and began to pick up the feathers, wincing when his injured wrist gave an uncomfortable twang. 

Buggy would capture Shanks. His resolve was set and he could feel its truth far more than he ever had felt anything. He would capture Shanks. He would make him pay. 

—

Before they set off again Buggy went back to the infirmary to get his splint removed. 

Buggy watched the bandages come off. Not even a trace that it had been broken. Shanks didn’t even leave a mark . He clenched the hand a few times, the chemical burns on his fingers warping and stretching tightly as he did. This particular nurse had likely mapped out his hand so often that they could recall it from memory. They’d likely be able to point out any new scarring or scratches. 

And where once Buggy would have thought about Shanks, thought about how he would have been able to notice too. Probably would have grabbed his hand and looked it over before insisting he takes better care of himself? Where once he would have thought about Shanks and everything that could have been? 

Buggy’s mind was blissfully quiet. 

Chapter Text

Two years into being a marine. Two years before Buggy’s goal came to be. Two years. 

Buggy cursed as snow managed to slip into his boot. 

“Fucking- Stupid boot,” he hiked the bag on his hip up a bit, gripping the strap a bit tighter. 

“Stupid snow,” he cursed again, squinting as he stomped further into the storm. 

“Stupid, fucking, mission!” He kicked at a drift, biting his lip as his toes made contact with a covered tree stump. He grabbed his ponytail and pulled on it to distract himself from the throbbing. 

He hadn’t known what he was signing up for! Garp had been way too vague about the stupid mission!

He had been all like ‘We need people to go onto the next island and take care of a bandit outpost! There’s a lot of them and you have to be quiet!’ 

Buggy had thought, ‘Hey, sounds right up my alley! I can blow it up!’ 

There had been no mention of a fucking snowstorm . 

Worse, the other people that had volunteered for the mission insisted that since the explosives were of his making that he should be the one to place them around the outpost! 

So now he was covered in a white coat that did not keep the cold out with boots not made for snow! 

Also, his bombs were heavy! He was working on making them lighter, but it was a work in progress. This was making him wish he had spent more time on doing that.

He shivered, narrowing his eyes further before taking out his map and turning around. It was pretty much impossible to tell where he was thanks to, again, if he can, the snowstorm , but he had been through storms before and had been fine. 

He tucked the map away and turned around again to continue-

He plunged waist deep into what had been a frozen creak. His skin prickled instantly and the air was knocked from his lungs at the shock. 

He quickly crawled out, checking his bag and sighing with relief. All dry. 

But now he was certainly not. 

His shivering increased and he grit his teeth, trying to decide his best course of action.  His feet and legs were soaked, he needed to get out of his wet clothes but he couldn’t do that now. He didn’t have that sort of time.  He couldn’t detach from the waist up to fly, the winds were too strong. He could potentially get blown away, s o his only option was to keep going, despite it all. 

He grabbed at his bag tighter, gritting his teeth as he continued. 

Stupid snow. Stupid creak. Stupid mission. 

At least he had a better idea of where he was now. There was only one creak on this side of the island, and as long as he hadn’t strayed from his path he was closer to the outpost than he suspected. Small mercies. 

Of course, that's about where his luck ended. 

It started slowly, a slight pink tinge to his vision that he blamed on the bright snow. 

But then it got brighter. And deeper. 

Localized entirely at the center of his face. 

He shoved down the urge to yell and scream furiously, his stupid fucking nose . Of course he was going to get sick from this, of course. Just great! 

He ducked his face down into the collar of his jacket, breathing out in a poor attempt to try and warm it up and reduce the glow. 

Someone in the sky had to hate him. 

He could hear voices and they were getting closer. They were alert. Something had grabbed their attention- 

He took out his knife and cut his nose off his face, shoving it into the bag with his bombs. They were still coming, he needed to hide, but he was surrounded by only snow. 

He spat curses under his breath as he dug a pit into the snow and huddled into it, covering himself with it. He split off one of his ears, wiggling it out to be able to listen. 

“Dude, are we insane?” 

“I’m not your dude, and no, I’m not. You may be, but I’m not,”. 

“Okay, then what did we see, smart guy?” 

The sound of someone hitting someone else, “a cardinal or something, obviously,”.

“But- It was glowing !” 

“The snow makes shapes unreliable, moron,”. 

“But…” 

“Shut the fuck up and get moving, nothing’s out here in this storm and I need a smoke,”. 

Buggy waited a few more minutes until he was certain they were gone to pop back out.

The air stung his face and he took a deep shuddering breath. 

He half wanted to fall asleep and that was a terrible sign. 

He squinted as he stared at the snow, trying to pick out their footprints. Like a lightbulb went off he dug around in his bag and pulled out his nose. It was warm in his hand and was glowing brighter than he had seen it last.

Using the light to cast shadows he was able to see the faint footprints and grinned, letting out a tentative laugh. Small mercies. He put his nose back in his bag and set out again. 

Eventually, thank the seas, he stumbled onto the building. Wood walls, snow piled high. He stayed low to avoid the windows. It was easy to turn his brain off now as he set up his explosives, wrapping the wires around the building. He wrapped cloth around the explosives to keep them dry and increase flammability. By the end of it his hands were frozen stiff and he stuck them into the bag as well to warm up with his nose. 

He trekked off after, breath fast and hurting in his lungs. He fumbled with the control switch behind a tree, peeking out from behind it as he flipped it on. 

A few seconds passed. It would be delayed, of course. It was cold, but- 

The explosion rocked the island, a golden plume billowing upwards. Wood shards on fire rained outwards and Buggy ducked fully behind the tree. Screams were drowned out by the howling winds and Buggy chuckled. 

Now for the hard part. Walking back. 

The walk back was harder. 

He almost stepped into the creak again. At some point he stopped shivering and knew that he didn’t have much time left to dally. 

It didn’t stop him from cussing out every name he could think of. 

Garp got most of the cussing. 

When he finally, finally found his way back to the post they had set up he had all but collapsed into a chair. The coat he had been given was quickly taken off and a thick blanket was thrown on. People were talking to him and there was a hand on his forehead but he shook it off, glaring blearily at whoever dared touch him. 

He wasn’t in the post. 

When had he moved? 

Everything felt fuzzy and he recalled the last time he had this sick feeling. 

Years prior. 

The Oro Jackson’s infirmary. 

Red-Hair beside him, hate, hate, hate- 

And he was out. 

–

He woke up in the infirmary, wrapped in blankets and shivering like a chihuahua. His nose was glowing brightly on his face and he groaned, weakly grabbing the blanket and pulling it over his head. It was much warmer under the blanket. 

He shut his eyes, trying to focus on going back to sleep before he heard the curtain that surrounded his little area be pulled back. 

“You’re awake,” Bogard spoke. 

Buggy pulled the blanket back down so he could see. He furrowed his brow as he looked at him, “Yeah?” 

“Good,” The man nodded and just. Left. 

The teen groaned again, pulling the blanket over his head and curling up under it, trying to stop the chattering of his teeth and go back to sleep. 

Despite the bright light he couldn’t turn off that joined him under the blankets. 

“Petty Officer Buggy!” And there was Garp. 

Buggy practically whipped the blanket off of himself, glaring daggers at the man, “Seas damned, bullshit snow island?! Practically a solo mission, are you shitting me?!” His words came out shaky but no less angry. 

“You did it, didn’t you?” Garp laughed, approaching with a familiar envelope. 

“My paycheck?” Buggy grabbed at it, looking it over. 

“Last month’s! Better get back to work, you’ve been out for a week!” 

“Wh- a week?! Why am I still shivering after a week, come on!” He fell back onto the cheap pillows. 

“Probably has to do with the ice bath they gave you yesterday!” More laughter and Buggy had to reduce the urge to reach out and strangle him. 

“I never want to step on a winter island ever again,” He griped, rubbing at his forehead. He could feel a headache coming. 

“Guess where we’re headed,” Garp had a shit-eating grin on his face that Buggy didn’t like. 

“No,” Not another one, why couldn’t he have been stuck and passed out for longer? 

“That’s right! A tropical island!” 

“You’re evil!” He, once again, had to keep down the urge to strangle him. 

Garp only laughed.

Chapter Text

Years, back and forth.

A twenty-two year old Buggy expertly climbed down the rigging of the Hound Dog, jumping into the rowboat that had been set for him. He looked up at Bogard who gave him a silent nod before turning back to his duties. Buggy pushed a few stray strands of hair back, it had only gotten longer over the years and he had switched from a simple ponytail to a braid to keep it out of the way. That didn’t stop it from being unruly. 

He took a deep steadying breath before setting his bag down and untying his boat from the ship, coiling the rope perfectly in a way that only years of practice could manage. 

He grabbed the oars and set off. 

Today, Buggy was tasked with something that he wasn’t not used to. It was just a bit…different. 

He stepped onto the docks of Marineford and stared up at the hulking building before him. 

“Garp...you fucking owe me,” He steeled his nerves, grabbed his bag, nodded to the marines working on the dock, and began making his way into the building. 

He had received a vague idea of where he was supposed to go and he was grateful for his memory and the signs that lined the corridors. 

Eventually, he found his destination. 

Fleet Admiral Sengoku was on a metal plate on the door, a uniform yet embellished sign. 

Buggy felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. 

He straightened his back and forced himself to slow his breathing before knocking on the door in the specific way Garp had told him. He had at least had the decency to do that. 

“Enter,” An older male voice from inside.

Buggy mentally cursed Garp out. If he had a beri for every time he cussed out the man’s name he would have enough treasure to pile up to the moon. He grabbed the door and walked inside. 

“You’re early for once, whats-” Sengoku took a second before looking up, his somewhat relaxed (albeit annoyed) face turning to a bit more serious when he saw Buggy. 

Buggy did a mental checklist to ensure he looked how he was supposed to. 

“Lieutenant Junior Buggy, Fleet Admiral,” He had always been good at feigning confidence. His voice was strong, no weakness. That didn’t mean his knees were the same. He saluted. That still never felt right, but he had shoved it so far down inside of himself that he hardly noticed anymore. 

“At ease,” Sengoku sat up straighter. He was tall, but Buggy thought that maybe Garp was taller. He relaxed a bit. 

“Garp sent me to take his place for the Warlord meeting,”. 

It had been very last minute. Very last minute. He only had about eight hours to mentally prepare for…this. He had been pulled to the side when returning from a watch. Literally, grabbed by the shoulder and pulled off into a hallway. His fight or flight response (mainly flight) had been about to kick in before he saw Garp. 

His explanation had been iffy, but Garp had told him that he was to ‘help out’ with the Warlord meeting. 

“Is this an order?”

“Of course!” He laughed and laughed and laughed…

Buggy had asked why. The answer to that had been: 

“Family emergency!”

Buggy didn’t even know Garp had a family. 

Bringing himself to the goings on at hand, Sengoku’s face had grown an exasperated look and he was pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Family emergency, he said. It was very last minute,” He reiterated his thoughts to the man. 

Sangoku murmured something under his breath that sounded suspiciously similar to what Buggy had been thinking before entering his office. 

Sengoku ran his hand over his eyes and sighed, leaning back in his chair before pulling himself back together, “What did he tell you?” 

“How to knock on your door,”. 

It was quiet for a few seconds. 

“That’s it?” 

“With all due respect, have you met Garp?” 

That earned an amused huff from Sengoku, “You’ve known him for a while, then,”. 

“...I’ve served under him for seven years,” And known him for much longer, he didn’t say. 

“Seven years, huh?” 

“Yes, sir,” He nodded. 

“Right. I’ll give you the rundown then,” He made a head motion to one of the chairs in front of his desk. Buggy approached gratefully, his legs still feeling like jelly. 

“Has Garp told you about the warlords?” 

“No, but I keep my ears out. I know who they are,” Something that he had learned while being in Garp’s…tutelage? Sure, under his tutelage, was that Garp didn’t explain things that Buggy could figure out on his own. The main thing being what he could figure out, not exactly what he didn’t know what he should be finding out. Garp didn’t exactly go out of his way to educate. 

“Good. You will be standing guard at the interior doors for the duration of the meeting,”. 

“How long do the meetings average?” He kept his eyes trained on Sengoku but took in the surroundings and objects on his desk. The man had more on his desk than Garp, but it was tidy and well-kept despite that. 

“This specific meeting should last for two hours with a break in the middle,”. 

Buggy pursed his lips. Garp was an impatient man, whenever he was tasked with ‘guarding’ a meeting with Garp, they would last about thirty minutes before the man got bored and claimed some sort of excuse or decided the meeting was done. 

Two hours, even with a break, in a room with some of the most powerful pirates on the seas? 

Buggy was going to need a lot of strength for this one. 

“Understood,” he nodded. 

“Good. Do you know where the meeting room is?” 

Buggy frowned in a non-response and Sengoku sighed, knowing the unspoken answer. 

“Right. Come with me,” He stood, instantly towering over Buggy even further. The bird on his hat made him look taller than Garp, but imagining him without it proved his little theory that Garp was, indeed, the taller of the two. 

It was just something to distract himself with. 

“Yes, Fleet Admiral,” Buggy stood, watching Sengoku round his desk, grabbing a few sheets of paper.

“There will be three other marines besides you guarding the doors. Two on the exterior, two on the interior. You will be taking Garp’s place as an interior guard,” Sengoku led him out of his office and Buggy followed behind. 

“Understood,” he affirmed. 

“Good,” Sengoku stopped outside of a door, a singular one, and knocked before opening. Three marines were loitering inside, one with a donut hanging out of their mouth and the other two in the middle of drinking coffees. They quickly stood at attention, dropping what they were doing to salute. 

“Fleet Admiral Sengoku, sir!” Their mouths moved in near sync- except for the person who’s cheeks were puffed out with the quick chewing of the food still in their mouth. 

“At ease, Vice Admiral Garp was unable to make it to join in today's meeting, but he has sent his Lieutenant Junior. I expect you to be at your posts in…” He checked his watch, “Ten minutes,”. 

“Yes, Fleet Admiral,” They all nodded, and with that, Sengoku left to do whatever it was a fleet admiral did. 

Buggy eyed the door as it shut before looking at the marines. 

“Lieutenant Junior Buggy,” He introduced after a few seconds of silence.

“ Buggy ?” One of the men grinned in amusement. Buggy could feel a coil of annoyance being to ready itself. 

The other man, the shorter of the two, elbowed him in the side, “ Asshole ,” He hissed through silver teeth. 

The person finally swallowed their donut, “Ignore him, I’m Commander Nana,”. 

“I’m Lieutenant Commander Rum , and this is Lieutenant Commander Daniel,” the shorter man introduced. The taller, Daniel, rolled his eyes. 

“If you’re taking Vice Admiral Garp’s place, does that mean you’ll be with me at the interior doors?” Nana leaned against the table, kicking their steel-toed boot at the ground. 

“That's what the Fleet Admiral said,” Buggy confirmed. The room they were in resembled what he assumed to be a break room of sorts. He had dropped in to a few whenever they were stopped at a base, mainly to grab a snack of some kind. This one was nicer than the ones he had seen, decked out with a big fridge and hanging cabinets that lined the walls- and was that one of those new coffee machines in the corner? 

“Oh come on , what's the world coming to?! We’re letting Lieutenant Juniors into the meeting room now?” 

“Fleet Admiral’s orders, dick. And this shit is why you’ll never be on the interior,” Rum rolled his eyes.

“It’ll get ya killed in there!” Nana shot, much to Rum’s amusement judging by the snort of laughter he let out. 

“ Has someone died in there?” Buggy crossed his arms across his chest, head tilted to the side, the very picture of uninterested curiosity. 

Internally, of course, was another story. A warlord couldn’t kill a marine on World Government premises, right? Especially not in front of the Fleet Admiral, right? 

“Well, no…” Rum huffed. Some of the tension in Buggy’s body bled out and he leaned against the wall behind him. 

“No, but, but !” Daniel quickly began to amend, getting a bit excited now, “Listen to this!” 

“Oh, gods, Daniel, he doesn’t want to listen to your batshit theories!” Nana groaned, head falling back in what was a clearly commonly occurring motion. 

“It's not batshit! Look, Nana’s last permanent, or who was supposed to be permanent, interior door partner pissed off one of the Warlords somehow-” 

“She bumped into him by accident, that's hardly pissing him off!” Nana quickly tried to correct, though Daniel did not seem like he would be slowing down anytime soon. 

“She pissed him off and- sure she wasn’t killed during the meeting, but!” Daniel lowered his voice into a mock whisper, “She went to go fishing after the meeting…And the next morning?” He took a step back and wrapped his arms around his med-section, “Her upper half washed ashore!” 

Buggy furrowed his brow and crossed his arms, “Really?” 

“Well, yeah, her upper half did wash ashore,” Rum reluctantly agreed. 

“But there were reports of a sea king around the area, too. The weather wasn’t great that day either, I don’t know what she was thinking,” Nana sighed and grabbed their hat from the table, placing it over pink and green hair. 

“She was forced too! He probably threatened her! Told her he’d kill her family or some shit!” Daniel grabbed a rubber band from the counter and pulled his hair back, grabbing his own hat and threading the ponytail through the gap in the back before settling it on his head. 

“Stop trying to freak him out,” Rum tutted, “We better get a move on if we want to arrive before the Fleet Admiral and the warlords,”. 

“Yeah, ready to go, new guy?” Nana grinned at him and Buggy had to knock himself from his thoughts. 

“Aye,” He nodded. 

There was no way that guy's theory could hold ground. Bumping into someone couldn’t get someone that pissed off- Well. Buggy used to get very pissed off when people bumped into him. He hated the idea that he was being ignored or overlooked back then, so being unnoticed and bumped into was usually enough to set him off in a tirade- 

But not anymore! 

But, again, the Warlords are pirates . What would be stopping them from behaving like that? 

Buggy felt the nervous knot in his gut grow and he had to straighten his shoulders to make himself feel more confident. 

He did not like Daniel, he decided. 

Asshole. 

“Alright, we’re here!” Rum moved to the side of the door while Daniel shuffled to the other. 

Buggy really did not want to be here anymore. He had already had the idea in his head that one wrong move could lead to his demise, but he had been trying to practice some of the techniques he had read in a self-help book to keep himself from dwelling on it for too long. 

They weren’t helping much anymore. 

He and Nana moved inside the room. A long wooden table with chairs of various sizes surrounded it. There was a sleeping projector den at the center and a large white tarp hanging from the ceiling before it. It was a blissfully sunny day, so the room was lit brightly by the floor to ceiling window on the opposite side of the doors. 

Notably, it smelt like an absurd amount of cleaning product. 

“Fleet Admiral Sengoku isn’t always the first to show up, he always gets here right on time,” Nana made idle conversation while Buggy looked around. 

“Who gets here first?” He raised a brow. 

“Usually..? It's a toss up between Moria and Hanafuda,” Nana hummed. 

“Who gets here last?” 

“Oh, Mihawk, and it’s not even close,” Nana chuckled, leaning against the wall beside the door. 

He hummed, trying to imagine where everyone would sit. 

“Also, just a bit of a warning…” Nana seemed to really think about whether or not they should tell him this. 

“A warning..?” He repeated, eyebrows coming together. 

“Yeah. It can sometimes turn into a bit of a shitshow,”. 

What. 

And with that the door opened and the first warlord entered. 

Chapter Text

All the warlords were in their seats. 

Sengoku had just entered. 

The meeting was underway. 

Buggy wasn’t sure where to keep his eyes, so he settled on keeping them trained on the patterns of the wood that made up the ceiling beams. He would follow them until they reached their end, only to jump over and begin doing the same on the opposite way. 

It was exceedingly boring. 

He was somewhat listening to the meeting. He didn’t know if he was supposed to, but he had tuned in just a bit anyway. 

Something about some new guy hanging around the Sandy Islands, talks of political unrest and general public fear, things that he had heard a million times from a million different people. 

Surely this could have been a letter. 

Dracule Mihawk must have thought the same thing, feet propped up on the table and hat tilting down for what must be the third time within the hour. He only pushed it up again when Sengoku cleared his throat pointedly…for what was also the third time within the hour. Mihawk just sighed and looked away. 

Catching Buggy’s eyes. 

Buggy looked away quickly, eyes going back to the ceiling. Mihawk’s didn't, they were still trained on him, looking at him. Buggy could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise. 

Even just in his peripheral vision, Mihawk’s eyes were soul-piercing. Were they just always that wide or did he do that to freak people out on purpose? He wasn’t looking away, still, damn! Did he really not being looked at that much? 

It took a few more moments for Mihawk’s eyes to slowly drag away from him and Buggy let out a slight sigh of relief. 

The guy definitely just wanted to freak him out. 

Buggy didn’t have much of an opinion on the warlords except for the main one: Pirates are scum. 

These ones were just. Less scummy? For agreeing to assist the Marines? 

A part of him, that little traitorous part that he had shoved into a glass bottle, corked, shoved into a safe and buried into the ground, laughed at that. 

Moria was some sort of necromancer-type.

Hanafuda was…Well Buggy didn’t know anything about that one other than his obsession with rare devil fruits. 

And Mihawk was just plain creepy- and looking at him again . 

Buggy kept his eyes firmly planted on the ceiling beams. Nervous beads of perspiration were building along his browline. What was this guy’s problem! 

Mihawk’s eyes left him again, lazily trailing back over to the board Sengoku was pointing at. 

Once again, Buggy felt the tension leave his body. Seriously, why was Mihawk staring at him?! 

He looked over at Nana, finding them to have zoned out at some point and that they had blankly stared forward. 

Damn, he wished he was that good at that. 

What if he needed to scratch his face? He fidgeted with his hands behind his back. He didn’t need to, but still. 

How long had it been? He looked at the clock. 

30 minutes. 

He shoved down the urge to sigh. 

For the next thirty minutes he cycled between nervousness and being bored, praying to the sea that the meeting would just end. 

When it finally did and the Warlords left the room, he and Nana let out a breath. 

“How long is the break?” He asked them, running a hand through his hair and tugging out the knots. 

“About fifteen minutes, we can grab a coffee or something, but we gotta drink it fast,” they shrugged, opening one of the double doors. 

Daniel and Rum seemed to have been chatting quietly and turned to face them. 

“Dibs on the last caramel cream!” Daniel stuck his tongue out at Nana, speed-walking down the hall and towards the break room. 

“Oh, you shit !” They hissed, following behind, trying to catch up with longer strides. 

Rum threw his hands up incredulously, “What the hell, sure, don’t worry about locking the doors, I’ll do it,”. 

Buggy looked at him, brow arched. 

Rum looked right back at him. 

“What?”

“What?” 

Rum shrugged, locking the doors and heading off down the hall.

Buggy followed. 

Entering the breakroom, he bore witness to Nana with Daniel in a headlock and Daniel holding the creamer cup in his hand, holding it out away from Nana. 

“I got here first, it’s mine!” 

“Like hell! You use two in every coffee, you’ve overused them! It’s mine!” 

Buggy decided to grab a banana from the bowl on the table. 

“So how was it inside?” Rum asked, holding a cup of water and leaning up against a counter. 

“Mihawk kept…looking at me? Not sure how else to describe it,” He answered. 

The commotion near the fridge stilled for a moment as Daniel made a noise of protest, “Hold on, hold on- Nana fucking pause!” They did just that, but didn’t remove their arm from around his throat. 

“ Mihawk was glaring at you?!” Daniel whispered like saying the man’s name would summon him. 

“I didn’t say glaring , he was just looking over at my direction once or twice!” Or thrice, or fource, or fivce, or how whatever the words were up to a lot more than that. 

“He’s the one that killed the last guy!” 

“Allegedly!” Nana interrupted, finally snatching the creamer cup from Daniel’s hand and puncturing it with a sharp nail, pouring it into their coffee, “No, not even allegedly! There is no proof at all that it was him! Again, a sea king was way more likely!” 

Daniel rubbed at his throat, “Deny it all you want, deep down, you know it's true!” He then turned to face Buggy, “What did you do to piss him off?” 

“Literally nothing !” And that was what was bothering Buggy. 

He had done nothing but stand there! Sure, he had been looking at Mihawk, but he had looked at all of the warlords, there was nothing special about Mihawk! 

“Well. I hope you have your favorite flowers picked out for your funeral,” Daniel shook his head. 

“Seas, stop that!” Nana smacked Daniel in the head. 

“Stop freaking him out!” Rum tsked, flicking a soda can tab at Daniel. 

Buggy scoffed, “I’m not freaked out,”.

“Really?” Daniel prodded. 

“Yes,” Buggy lied. 

“Well, then there’s no reason to keep throwing shit at me!” The marine glared at Rum, “And stop hitting me!” He pointed at Nana. 

“Whatever, we should start heading back to the meeting room now,” Rum rolled his shoulders, neck cracking. 

“Ugh, these breaks need to be longer,” Nana quickly poured the rest of their coffee down their throat, huffing to cool themselves down after. 

“Hey,” Daniel put a hand on Buggy’s shoulder and Buggy had to resist the urge to shrug it off, “I’m sure you’ll be fine,” he said in a way that clearly betrayed those exact words. 

“Daniel!” Nana raised a fist and Daniel cackled, distancing himself from both of them. 

“Okay, okay! Let’s go!” 

The walk back to the meeting room was one that Buggy was now especially dreading. Another hour feeling the penetrating gaze of Mihawk on him sounded like a nightmare (and Buggy knew nightmares). 

As they drew near, Buggy began thinking about a will he should have written (not that he had anyone to send things to). 

As he entered the room, he once again cursed Garp out in his mind. 

And as the Warlords entered Buggy mentally gripped himself by the shoulders and screamed at himself to get a grip. He was fine! He just had to get through this meeting and book it to his boat to get back to the Hound Dog. 

The meeting began and Buggy started going over how it would happen. The meeting would end, he would bid farewell to his…interesting fellow marines, and he would call Bogard. He would tell Bogard that he was on his way back and rush out of there.

Then, he would hop in his boat and row like his ass was on fire! He’d be back on the Hound Dog in no time! He’d eat some food, do his chores, maybe take a nice hot shower..yes, yes, yes…That sounded very nice. 

And when Garp got back he would rip his stupid dog hat off his graying head and shove it down his mouth. Then he would tie Garp up and hang him from the mast, declaring himself as head of the ship. 

Well. Maybe not that last bit. He would get court martialed for that. Probably. 

Although, Fleet Admiral Sengoku seemed similarly annoyed with Garp, so maybe…? 

No, no. 

He would just have to settle for being more sarcastic and passive aggressive than usual. 

He bided his time with fantasizing ways of secretly making Garp’s day just a little bit more annoying, minor inconveniences that would make the man think the sea had cursed him. 

Gull poop on his hat or shoes or jacket or shirt or pants or just him in general, pulling a nail out of a floorboard just enough to make it trip him up a little, ink on the inside of his office door handle. 

Fun little pranks like that that Garp would have a hard time pinning down on one particular marine. 

(Though, Buggy would likely be on the top of his suspect list.) 

Finally, the meeting finished. Buggy nearly startled as the sound of chairs pushing against the hardwood floor occurred in sequence. He was just a bit behind Nana as they both opened the doors, the warlords leaving without sparing either of them a glance. 

Including Mihawk. 

Weird. The guy couldn’t seem to get his eyes off Buggy before, and now nothing? What a dick. 

They waited until Sengoku packed up his files, saluting him as he left. 

Leaving was similar to the previous time in how the other three marines started quietly chatting. 

“Great meeting you all, but I need to head back,” He quickly spoke, starting to walk backwards. 

“Wh- really? What's the rush dude?” Daniel cocked his head to the side. 

“Got some good grub waiting for me back on the Hound Dog!” He gave a quick lazy salute before turning his back on the others. 

“Well, alright then! Great working with you, Buggy!” Nana bid. 

He rounded a corner, first part of the plan done. He had mapped out the perfect way to leave already. 

He pulled out his den den mushi from its pouch, ringing Bogard. 

Puru, Puru, Puru…Puru, Puru, Pur-  

Gachak . 

“This is Bogard,”. 

“This is Buggy, I am returning to the ship,”.

“Very well, how did it go?” 

“Swimmingly, see you in approximately ten minutes,”. 

“See you then,”. 

Gachak . 

That was the nice thing about Bogard, he never tried to push for more conversation when it was very clear Buggy didn’t want one. 

As he gently placed his den den mushi in its pocket he turned another corner. He bumped into someone else as he did so, jostling the snail awkwardly. 

“Watch it-” He cut himself off as he looked up to see who was before him. 

Mihawk. 

He was so incredibly dead. He was going to die. Mihawk was going to cut him in half just like that other marine with his massive sword- hold on a moment. 

Mihawk was a swordsman. 

Buggy couldn’t be cut. 

It only took him a moment to come to that realization and he relaxed near imperceptibly. Only so as he hadn’t quite had the chance to tense up yet. 

Play it cool, Buggy. 

He nodded at the man and pursed his lips before stepping around Mihawk and starting to walk away. 

“Do I know you?” It was the first time Buggy had heard Mihawk’s voice the entire time. He hadn’t spoken during the meeting, only nodding or shaking his head when prompted. His voice wasn’t…quite what Buggy was expecting. More accented then he thought it would be. He hadn’t met too many people with accents that strong before. 

Which is why he paused and said, “You must be mistaken, then,”. 

The click of shoes behind him as Mihawk turned around now, “My apologies, then,”. 

He continued walking until he was right beside Buggy, only then did he slow down to say: 

“I believed you were an apprentice on a certain crew,”. 

He continued walking, but Buggy..

Buggy felt like his heart stopped as he stared, wide-eyed at Mihawk’s back. 

There was no possible way. He had covered his tracks, he had made sure there was no information easily accessible by anyone in the government. He was sure Garp had done the same. 

How. How. 

There was a deep pit of dread in his gut and he felt cold, like he had just taken a plunge into the north blue sea. He was clammy, hands suddenly slick and perspiring in his gloves. 

He was so careful. He wasn’t too loud, he wasn’t too much, he didn’t think he had attracted any attention. 

How did Mihawk know? He didn’t remember Mihawk, he didn’t think they had ever met during the worst years of his life. He would remember someone like him, someone with an accent like that. 

He felt like he was going to be sick. 

How had he slipped up? Everything he had worked for, all of it, was it about to crumble? 

He finally broke from his stupor, taking a few steps forward and grabbing Mihawk’s shoulder, pulling him to face him. 

“You’re mistaken,” He told him. 

Mihawk smirked- actually smirked , and said, “On the contrary, I got my information from a very reliable source,”. 

A marine then? A marine that knew? Who beside Garp, Garp wouldn’t say anything, right? Bogard wouldn’t say anything, right? Could Garp have blabbed to someone else, who, who had told Mihawk? 

Mihawk’s smirk fell as he seemed to sense Buggy’s confusion and sighs. 

The swordsman then lifts a hand with three fingers extended and makes a motion over his left eye, “Ring a bell?” 

Buggy remembered when he had seen Shanks’ wanted poster sporting that scar for the first time. 

He had been enraged that someone else had damaged Shanks so visibly before him. 

His grip tightens on Mihawk’s shoulder before he lets go and instead grabs the lapels of Mihawk’s shirt, wrinkling the pristine fabric. 

This makes Mihawk’s eyes narrow dangerously, but as he always is whenever it comes to Shanks, Buggy was blinded by his anger. 

“That piece of shit pirate scum , as all pirates are, will be arrested by me and answer the call of justice by me . He will be punished exactly as he deserves,” His voice was unwavering. 

Mihawk and Buggy glared at each other for a few moments before Buggy finally relaxed his grip. Mihawk reached up and brushed off his lapels like Buggy’s gloves disgusted him. 

Maybe they did. 

Mihawk chuckled, one of those rich people laughs that made Buggy feel like he had to fork up beri to a loan shark. 

“He wasn’t lying then,” Mihawk then turned to continue walking in the direction he had come from. 

“You really do hate him,” he finished before turning the corner. 

Buggy didn’t turn around to look at him again. 

Instead, he continued walking. 

He needed to get to the training room on the Hound Dog. 

He had to stab something. 

—

“Holy fuck, holy fuck !” Daniel rushed into the break room, out of breath. 

“What?” Rum didn’t even look up from his snack. 

“Buggy is hardcore dude, I was going to go down to the docks to talk with Rick-” 

“Awww!” Nana cooed. 

“Shut the fuck up!” Daniel threw his hands up, “I just saw Buggy grabbing Mihawk by his like- shirt- jacket- thing!” 

“What?!” That got both Rum and Nana’s attention. 

“I mean, I saw that and like, turned around, but I saw that ! Buggy is hardcore!” 

“Holy shit…Does he have a death wish?” Rum raised a brow. 

“I don’t know…but damn,” Daniel sat down. 

“He must really hate pirates,” Nana tutted. 

Chapter Text

He was pretty sure Garp just enjoyed fucking with him. 

A spy mission? 

He had dressed in his darkest clothes and brought a pouch of his smallest bomb- barely the size of his thumb tip now. 

He docked in a small bundle of mangrove trees, tying his boat up to the roots and then covering it with a tarp. 

There was supposed to be an outpost of sorts, temporarily set up, just for this mission. Inside was supposed to be his ‘debrief’. He was at least a little grateful that Garp had given him that this time around. 

He finally noticed it, a small wooden building concealed by branches and leaves.

He opened the door, only to be met with the face of a very absurdly tall half-naked blond man. 

“Oh, good! You’re here early!” 

“Who the hell are you?” Buggy’s eyes narrowed, hand hovering over his knife. 

“Your…mission partner?” The man smiled nervously, scratching at a barely healed over knife wound unconsciously. 

“Mission partner?” Buggy repeated. 

“For the infiltration and information retrieval mission? At the uh. Gala?” 

The gala? What the fuck kind of spy mission happened at a gala? 

Why was this guy wearing purple suit pants and not all black.  

Buggy took it back. He was not grateful to Garp. 

“I fucking hate Garp,” Buggy groaned, dropping his bag. 

“I’m going to pretend I didn't hear that!” The other marine chuckled as he put on a pair of white gloves. 

“So who are you?” Buggy huffed, pulling his black beanie off. 

“Were you..not debriefed? Actually, no, Sengoku told me that might be the case. Okay, uh. I’m Rosinante, marine code 01748!” The man went to salute which made the half put on glove fly off his hand and smack Buggy in the face. 

Buggy pulled the glove off, tossing it back to him, “Buggy, marine code 01928,”. 

“Oh hey, joined right after Roger’s execution then, huh?” Rosinante commented as he put the glove on. 

Buggy nodded, looking around for an extra suit. 

“Oh! Right, here!” Rosinante grabbed a duffle back and tossed it to him. Buggy caught it, placing it on the small table in the room and unzipping it. 

Inside was a shimmery green dress. 

“This is a dress,”. 

“Um…yeah. I guess Garp really didn’t tell you anything then…” Rosinante grimaced. 

“No way,”. 

Rosinante nodded. 

“No,”. 

“Yeah…” 

“I’m going to make him eat his hat,” Buggy whispered a bit maniacally. 

He pulled the dress out of the bag, revealing a pair of fake tits beneath. 

“Actually, I’m going to poison his hat before I make him eat it,” He grit his teeth. 

“If it even means anything, I am sorry,” Rosinante pursed his lips in sympathy while he pulled on his button-up. 

“Your words do not right this wrong. He will pay,” Buggy murmured as he began to undress. 

The dress was fine, if not a bit tight. What was more annoying was that the fake chest was way too tight and Buggy could not get a full comfortable breath in. It was like someone was pressing down on his lungs. 

He also had to shave his stubble. 

“This fucking sucks” Buggy pulled at the neck of the chest.

“You’re going to stretch it out!” Rosinante worried. “

“Can you do your hair?” Rosinante was now tying his shoes, leaning against a wall. 

“I don’t need to,” Buggy huffed, taking out his hairband that had kept his braid in. He ran his fingers through it, his long blue hair coming out in pressed waves that gave off the impression of time spent in grooming. 

“That works,” Rosi nodded, “What do you use for your hair?” 

Buggy grinned. That was something he prided himself with. He spent a lot of time on his hair (mainly because he couldn’t cut it- even if he wanted to). 

“Various oils and moisturizers, of course,” was his oversimplified answer. 

“...Right,” Rosinante sighed before grabbing a box and tossing it to Buggy. 

He held the box, running his fingers over the grooves of wood before opening it. 

“I might be okay with this actually,” He grinned, lifting an ornate necklace from the box. Its jewels were bright and real, Buggy would know, and the gold was a perfect orange-yellow that would complement the dress. 

“What’s the gala for anyway?” Buggy hummed, holding the necklace out to Rosinante while lifting up his hair. 

“Oh!” Rosinante stumbled over himself as he grabbed the necklace. He placed it around Buggy’s neck, fastening it, “Criminal empires supposedly. We just need to get some incriminating information, should be easy enough,” The taller shrugged, “Done!” 

Buggy let his hair drop and rummaged through the rest of the box. 

White silk gloves, bracelets, earrings, makeup. He put it all in, obviously he was supposed to play the role of trophy wife. 

“Why can’t we be gay?” He huffed, removing his current gold earrings to put in emerald ones. 

“Gay couples are more notable, we’re trying to be under the radar,”. 

Buggy supposed that made sense. People love a gay couple, and with a lot of eyes come a lot of questions. He grunted his understanding as he dusted on some gold eyeshadow. 

“Okay, so!” Rosinante pulled out a sheet of paper, “My name is Jack Rip Carlisle. Your name is Belle Gunness Carlisle. We’re from Jackpot island in the northern isles on the farther end of the Grand Line. We’re new to the drug smuggling game. Our name probably isn’t going to be on the list,” Rosinante added to the end, tapping the edge of the paper against his knee. 

“So? We’ll do what every rich person does when they’re embarrassed and insist the other is wrong,” Buggy shrugged. He smacked his lips together, a deep red lipstick now upon them. 

“And if that doesn’t work?” Rosinante raised a brow. 

“I’ll cause a distraction or something and we’ll sneak in,” Buggy grabbed his headband from his own bug and doubled it over around his thigh, sheathing his dagger in it. 

“Ah. I probably should have done something like that,” Rosinante hummed. 

“So do it, you have a coat jacket. Just sew a scrap of fabric in to holster it real quick,”. 

Rosinante seemed to mull it over for a second before placing a hand against the side of his chest and grimacing, “Something is telling me that wouldn’t work out great for me. I’d probably end up stabbing myself…” 

Buggy let out a bark of laughter at that. He stepped into a pair of long green heels, a darker green than the dress, and not as much as heels as boots with a lift. He supposed this guy was more of a gunman. 

“Alright, let’s go,” he straightened, wiping off the front of the dress to remove setting powder that had dusted onto it while he had been applying his makeup. 

“Oh, I think you forgot to take off your nose,” Rosinante chuckled. 

“What,”. 

“Your..clown nose?” 

“What the fuck did you just say about my nose?!” Buggy stomped over, grabbing Rosinante’s lapels. 

“Wh- It’s real- No, wait- I don’t- I didn’t mean to offend you! It’s just! It’ll attract attention! We have to make you like- uh- um- a mask or something-” 

Buggy pushed Rosinante back, the man nearly toppling over but managing to catch himself on the wall. He stepped his leg onto the table, pulling the dress back and taking out the dagger from its sheathe. 

“W-wait!” Rosi cried out, clearly believing Buggy was about to hurt himself. 

Buggy made quick work of his nose. Two clean slices turned it into a more normal point- albeit sharp. 

“There. Happy?” He put the knife back in its spot, nestling the pieces of his nose alongside it. 

“You…have a devil fruit?” Rosinante sighed, sagging, “Oh thank the seas,”. 

“Yes, yes, let's go,” He grabbed the clutch provided to him and began walking out. When he didn’t hear Rosinante following him he turned around, “What now?” 

“It’s. still red,”. 

Buggy let out a scream of frustration. 

—

He was going to seriously murder Garp. 

He had to be carried through the groves of trees to the path by Rosinante. He was not going through the trouble of putting the heals back on, and he was not tripping. 

Though, maybe it would have been worth the trouble with just how slow Rosinante was going. The man was moving at a snail's pace and his grip on Buggy was bruisingly tight, like he was afraid of dropping him or tripping over the sparse roots. 

“So how are we supposed to communicate if we get separated?” Buggy questioned, looking up and watching the stars through the leaves of the trees. 

“Oh, right! Better to get these in now then later,” Rosinante slowly, very slowly put Buggy down and rummaged through his pocket. He pulled out a small mini den den box, opening it and placing the snail in his ear. He then pulled out another box, going to hand it to Buggy before- 

Dropping it. 

The box clattered to the forest floor, the little snail flying out and smacking against a rock. 

“Seriously?!” Buggy bent down, picking up the poor thing. It shook its head a few times and wobbled a little, but otherwise seemed unharmed. 

“Is it okay?! I’m so sorry, I can be a bit clumsy!” He leaned in closer to the snail, petting it gently on its shell with an oversized finger, “I’m sorry little guy!” He whispered to it. 

Buggy rolled his eyes and pressed the snail into his ear. He shook his head a few times after- and the snail fell out. Great. He was going to have to be subtle with his head movements. A mini den den falling out of his ear while he was talking to criminal overloads would not go over well. 

He pressed the snail back in, finger pressing the connection button until Rosinante did the same. The snails purred, signaling the connection. 

“Can we please go a bit faster this time?” Buggy asked as Rosinante scooped him back into his arms. 

“I’ll uh. Try,” the other anxiously replied. 

—

They watched from the forest for a while, seeing the people move and walk. When they felt comfortable, they emerged. The pathway was cobbled, so Buggy grabbed Rosinante’s arm. Partly to sell the whole partners in crime thing, but also to steady himself in case his heels caught the edge of a stone. 

“Looks like whoever planned our outfits was right on the money…” Rosinante murmured quietly. 

Buggy hummed in agreement. He was trying to figure out a voice to stick with. 

They approached the bouncer. She was short and pudgy, dark glasses on her face with a thick head of wavy black hair. 

“Name,” She grunted. 

“Carlisle,” Rosinante huffed, throwing on his best rich guy voice. Buggy was surprised with how good it sounded. He likely did undercover work often, then. 

“You aren't on the list,” she reset herself, raising her shoulders. 

“I’m afraid you must be mistaken, take another look. We’re the Carlisles. That's C-A-R-L-I-S-L-E, my dear,” Rosinante insisted. 

She didn’t even look again, “You ain’t on it. Scram,”.

Buggy took that as his cue, “Scram?! Do you know who we are?! How dare you speak to us like that! I am Belle Carlisle- Belle Gunness Carlisle! You better think twice before making the biggest mistake of your life!” His voice came out a bit more accented, disguising the natural scratchiness of his normal voice with a roll that accompanied his words. 

“You’re not-” 

“TK, what’s going on over here?” A man, dressed finely in a suit, came up behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. 

“We’ve got another couple who think they belong here,” she crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Name?” The man hummed. He looked at the two of them up and down. He then looked at her paper. 

Buggy feigned annoyance, raising his shoulders as he spoke, “Carlisle,”. 

The man scanned the paper before pointing toward the bottom, “There, last minute addendum,” he smiled. 

“Ah. There,” the bouncer stepped out of the way, “Enjoy,”. 

“About time!” Bugy huffed. 

“Come, dear,” Rosinante led forward. 

As they entered, Rosinante bent down slightly, “Looks like we’ve got an insider that helped us out…Better than forcing a distraction,”. 

“Was that in the debrief?” Buggy whispered. 

“No, but that guy said ‘last minute addendum’, so I can only assume,”. 

“It would've been nice to know ahead of time. I put a smoke bomb in my tits,”. 

That got a laugh out of Rosinante and Buggy grinned. 

The main room was massive and they were not ready for it as they turned the corner. 

“Must be built into the mountain…” Buggy muttered off-handedly, looking up at the ceiling. 

“Must have taken a while too,” Rosinante whistled low. 

“So what now?” Buggy asked, looking around at the groups scattered around, chatting. 

“Now? We blend in,” He began walking, so Buggy followed.

“Waitress!” Rosinante approached a woman with a tray, “What do you have here?” He hummed, straightening to his full height. The waitress hunched in on herself a bit. 

“Crab rangoons, sir…They’re shaped to imitate the local flora,”. 

“Intriguing,” Buggy purred. 

“That will do, remake them to be vegetarian,” Rosinante ordered. 

“Y-Yes sir,” She bowed her head, quickly running off. 

Buggy had to fight back his laughter. 

“Such a shame they don’t take those who’d rather eat healthy into account, hm?” A voice from behind. 

The two of them turned. Another couple stood there. The man was shorter, his hand resting on his partner’s hip. 

“It’s rather inconsiderate,” Buggy tutted. 

“Indeed,” the tall woman nodded. Buggy could see a large scar bisecting her face. 

“Rottington,” The man held his hand out to Rosinante. 

“Carlisle,” Rosinante accepted the handshake, gripping it. 

“Quite the grip, my good man!” Mr. Rottington laughed. Every guffaw sounded like he knew something they didn’t. Or at least, believed he knew something they didn’t.

To be fair, everyone there likely did know something that Buggy and Rosinante didn’t. They were criminals. Every pirate was a criminal, but that didn’t mean all criminals were pirates. Buggy was certain the place was crawling with illegal activity. 

“Yes, he is rather strong,” Buggy crooned, leaning into Rosinante. The heels were frankly killing him, where the hell was the support? 

“You flatter me, my dear,” Rosinante smiled right back. 

This sucked and was awful. 

“Sit with us, I insist,” Mrs. Rottington offered, waving a hand toward a table that held a few people at it already. 

“How kind,” Buggy commented. He was already trying to get a gauge on the conversations he would have to have. 

“I suppose we have no choice then,” Rosinante joked. Everyone laughed. 

Buggy really hated this. 

There were two other partnerships at the table when they sat down. An even taller man with pink hair and a fluffy sat beside a woman with an antlered helm, wings folded against her back. Next to them were two men who looked to be twins, both with large drooping mustaches and large cowboy hats- bejeweled in emeralds and sapphires accordingly. 

“Everyone, meet the Carlisles,” Mr. Rottington introduced.

“A pleasure,” Rosinante nodded. 

“Carlisles? Ain’t heard of you before,” one of the brothers huffed, crossing his arms. 

“Don’t be rude, Dallas,” the other rolled his eyes before taking a drink from his wine glass. 

Rosinante pulled the chair out for Buggy to sit before pushing the chair back in. He then sat down himself.

“We’re new to the scene, you could say,” Buggy smoothed at his dress as he settled into the chair. Sitting was not much better than standing. He was going to send a very strongly worded letter to whoever made the fake chest. 

“Where around?” The winged woman cocked her head to the side. 

“Jackpot island,” Rosinante answered with a simple wave of his hand. 

“Damn, we were hopin’ to get a piece of that place soon!” The second brother laughed. 

“Not too late for a business deal,” Rosinante shot back, this made the table chuckle all around. 

“We’ll get back to you on that,” Dallas winked. 

The conversation was stale and boring to Buggy. Rosinante seemed to be getting what he wanted out of it though. Buggy was less of an ‘undercover’ spy whenever he had to do spywork and more of a ‘hold onto the ceiling while criminals say incriminating information beneath you’, kind of spy. 

He bid his time by eating some of those vegetarian rangoons Rosinante had requested. He would have much preferred regular crab rangoons, but if this had gotten them into the spot that Rosinante wanted, then it was fine he supposed. 

The only problem was the damn chest. It was not getting any looser and Buggy needed a damn break. 

He stood, “Pardon, need to pardon my n- cheeks,”. 

Rosinante’s head whipped around to him like he was trying to figure out what Buggy was up to. 

“I’ll be right back, dear,” He giggled before walking away. 

He looked around until he found a familiar face, the man from the dor that had made sure they were on the list. 

“Pardon, where are your… uh… powder rooms?”  

He smiled at him, large and bright, “Just around that corner over there, my lady,”. 

“Much appreciated, my good man,” He smiled right back, letting the face drop once he turned around to hurry to the restroom. 

The second he entered the women’s bathroom he locked the door, popping his hands off and leveraging them into the crevices of the chest, pulling it away so he could get a full breath. 

He pressed a finger to the mini den den, “This chest is going to kill me,”. 

He received no response, but he didn’t expect one. 

He shook his head a few times, splashing water onto his neck and jostling the chest to make the liquid slip down to cool his sweating body. 

Breathing made him feel like a new man and he relished the opportunity. If he had known this was going to be how this mission went he would have faked being sick or some shit to avoid it. 

How long until this event ended? How much evidence was enough? Did they need to arrest someone? Take someone's head in? He was secondary here, the support for Rosinante’s operation, but that did not mean he had to be happy about the crushing pressure on his chest. 

He took another deep gulp of air but nearly choked on it when the door to the restroom opened. 

He let go of the chest, feeling it squeeze around his ribs again, forcing a squeak out of him. 

“This is the woman’s restroom!” He hissed, fists clenched at his side. 

“Oh, my apologies madame, I was just wantin’ to check up on ya’,” It was that one cowboy guy from the table, the one with the emerald encrusted hat. Dallas, was it? 

“Well, I’m doing just fine, thank you very much!” he turned his back towards Dallas in a dramatic twist. 

“Well…that’s just swell, ain’t it? I s’pose I’ll be on my way now…” He drawled slowly. 

Good! What the hell was wrong with this guy, thinking he could just go into the women’s restroom? Men weren't allowed in there! Buggy didn’t count, he was technically a woman right now. 

He paused. This could be a golden opportunity for that information he needed. 

“W-wait!” He turned, quickly making his way over to Dallas before he could leave. 

“Hm?” Dallas turned with a cocky smirk. Gross. 

“Since I have you here…You’re clearly the boss, not your brother, right?” He crossed his arms across his chest, shifting his weight to be on one foot. 

“Why, I am,” Dallas’ smirk grew into a toothy smile. His canine was golden. 

“I had a feeling,” He giggled, “He offered us a deal, but that’s not something we should go through second hand for, hm?” He pouted out his bottom lip, laying on the charm thickly for the man. 

“Hyehyeh, no it ain’t…”

“Now look Dal, can I call you Dal?” 

Dallas nodded, placing his hands behind his back. 

“Look, Dal…me and my partner are rather new to this whole game…But that doesn’t mean we aren’t good at it. We’ve made a poor man gouge out his own eye just for some of what we’ve got once,” He placed his hand to his chest, “But here’s part of the problem, Dal. We’re running out of…the good stuff. We need something new to sell, and that’s part of the reason we came to this whole shindig, mkay?” 

“I think I know what you’re asking, pretty lady…” Dallas purred, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, “I know just the people for you to talk to,”. 

“Just the people to talk to, hm?” He cooed, raising his hand to pretend to tuck hair behind his ear- 

The mini den den was gone. 

He strained his head, searching the restroom desperately for the den den- only to see it slowly crawling up the sink faucet. 

He had shaken his head earlier. 

He began cussing and spitting in his mind, could nothing go his way? 

“That’s right. And, pardon the assumption, but you seem to be far more analytical than your…partner. He’s just the frontman, ain’t he?” 

Oh hell no, this guy was not using his own method. Buggy knew that, but would Belle Gunnes Carlisle? At what point did he drop the act? 

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” he snittered. 

Dallas took him out of the restroom, idly chatting while Buggy tried desperately to catch Rosinante in the crowd. The restroom had already been farther away from the table than he would have liked, but now he was getting even further, rounding another corner. 

“Everyone you need to talk to is just through this room,” Dallas hummed after hardy a minute of walking into a hall. 

He took out a pair of ornate keys, pressing them into the lock. He opened the door and Buggy felt his heart drop. 

He couldn’t even gasp before something hard cracked into the back of his head. The smell of perfumed carpet was the last thing he registered. 

—

Rosinante watched Buggy leave with a worried glance. Where was he going? They were in the middle of a conversation. It was important to be consistent and visible for this kind of mission. 

“Dear, why don’t you go fetch another bottle of wine for us, hm?” The pink-haired man looked down at his partner, who diligently stood, smooching his hand before beginning to walk off. 

“Would you mind accompanying her, my love?” Rottington looked up at his own partner. She rolled her head before standing, following the other woman. 

All the men at the table chuckled. Something about it made Rosinante feel uneasy, but he always felt uneasy during these types of missions. 

“So! Carlisle, what is it that you and your lady did to get invited to this gathering?” Rottington asked, taking a bite of a fluffy roll. 

“I suppose it was largely thanks to luck! Jackpot is rather secluded and we noticed there was an opportunity being missed. After that we just chanced upon meeting the right person to get us started!” 

”This chest is going to kill me.” The sudden comm broke his concentration, he had to resist the urge to laugh. 

“And you actually let your wife help?” Dallas asked, laughter tipping his words. 

“Oh- I mean she’s not really- I mean she is my wife-” He stumbled over his words, trying to get back into the mindset. 

Rottington made a noise of understanding, quickly followed by a nod from the cowboys. 

“Hey, we get it partner. I’ve got my own similar situation,” The sapphire bejeweled man chuckled, running a hand across his mustache. 

“Ah, pardon me brothers. I gotta use the restroom,” Dallas stood, stretching his hands up as he walked off. 

Rosinante sat there for a few more minutes, laughing at the correct cues and making idle chatter with the sapphire cowboy and Rottington. When their ladies came back, he nodded at them. They ignored him. 

It shouldn’t take this long for Buggy to resort himself. Rosinante bit the inside of his cheek before taking his glass, quickly drinking the rest while the others weren’t looking. 

“I’m feeling champagne, I’ll go get us a bottle,” He offered, much to the delight of the others. 

He eventually spotted a waitress with a bottle of champagne balanced on her tray. 

“Waitress,” He called. 

She dutifully walked over, “Sir,”. 

He removed his glove. The silk would make it difficult to hold onto the bottle and there was no way he was going to be risking dropping the bottle. Too much of a scene, that's what that would cause. He needed a good grip. 

He reached over to grab the bottle- the waitress’ hand shot up and gripped his wrist. Her brown eyes were wide as she looked over his hand before looking up at him. 

“You don’t belong here,” her voice was low. 

“What- I- How dare you say that to me-” 

“You’ve got a working man’s hands- you don’t belong here. You need to leave, get out while you still can,” Her voice was frantic and she let go of his wrist, looking around like she was afraid of being overheard. Which would make sense. 

This was his chance, finally a way to get direct information. 

“Why? What’s going on here?” He prodded. 

“Just- Please, please just trust me. You need to leave- wait- shit, did you come here with anyone else?” 

“My… uh. Wife?” 

If possible, her eyes got wider but she ducked her head. Her short brown hair shaded her face. 

“You came here alone. It’s too late. Get out while you still can,”. 

Rosinante felt his heartbeat suddenly pick up. Where was Buggy? 

She grabbed the champagne and thrust it at his chest. He managed to grasp it just barely as she hurried off. 

He needed to find Buggy. 

Still holding the champagne, he found a less populated area and pressed a finger to the mini den den. 

“Buggy?” He received no response. 

“Buggy, respond immediately," Nothing. 

He cursed under his breath. Something had gone wrong. 

—

Shit. He had been hit in the head. 

He knew that because the second he gained consciousness his head was pounding, an awful migraine throbbing at the back of his skull. 

The ground beneath him was hard but the light was mercifully dim on his aching eyes.

There were various sounds around him, he next noticed. Sniffling, shuffling, and the rattling of chains. 

The door had been opened and inside was a roomful of women. Trafficking. 

He sat up, rubbing his head before severing his limbs so he could stand. 

Attention was immediately on him as people began calling out to him, begging for him to help them, to get them out. He ignored them, stalking over to the door and feeling around it. 

A lock, not a particularly complicated one, but one he didn’t have a way to pick. He reached down, pulling up his dress to grab his knife- 

Disgust rolled through his body as he found it gone. 

“Shit,” There was only one way out.

“What are you doing?! Get us out!” One of the women demanded, voice hoarse. 

“Do I look like I have a lockpick?” He hissed back, stomping back over to his shackles and slipping his hands back in. 

“We’re going to die…” Someone whispered, causing a loud clamor from everyone else. 

“No one's going to die other than these criminals!” Buggy shouted over the noise. That seemed to calm everyone down a bit. 

“Listen up! My name is Buggy, I am an undercover marine. I am not alone. You will be rescued!” 

More crying, but this time, hopeful. 

“What the hell are you going to do?!” The angry sounding woman shouted. Buggy could hear her chains rattle. 

“Knock out whoever comes in next,” he answered simply. He was grateful for how dark it was in there, no one could see the nervous look on his face. 

He tried to remember his hostage training. This was a bit of a different situation, not quite hostages, more human trafficking victims. 

He asked for everyone's names, where they were from. He tried to keep their minds off the situation. More people started crying, the idea that they were getting rescued sinking in as more realistic for many. 

It wasn’t too long before the door jingled with the tell of someone putting a key into the lock. 

He looked to the woman next to him, “Tell whoever is coming in that I’m not breathing,”. 

“Wh-what?!” 

He laid down, head against the ground and hands behind his back. He popped his hands off, floating them up and over the door. 

Light flooded in but he kept his eyes shut. 

“P-Please! She’s- she’s not breathing! You have to help her!” The woman’s voice was shaky and accurate. Good acting, or she really was afraid. Likely the second more than the first. 

“Fucking- shut your mouth, damn it!” A hand touched Buggy’s shoulder and he acted. 

His hands flew down, gripping the man’s neck tightly, thumbs pressed deep into his arteries. 

“What- the- fuck’ng!” He reeled back. Buggy detached his leg, tripping the man. His head hit the ground with a crack and he went limp. 

He was fast. The door was still open and anyone could walk by and see. 

He shuffled over to his body, rifling through his pockets until he found a ring of keys. 

“Now free us!”

“Free us!” 

“Please!” 

“Please, get us out!” 

They were whispering, also all too aware of the danger that the open door held for them. 

The man on the ground groaned suddenly while he was releasing a few of the women. He came back into consciousness quickly, rolling over and grabbing a button from his pocket, pressing it. 

Nothing seemed to happen for the moment, but the uncertainty of the button was more threatening than hearing something like an explosion in the distance. 

He gripped the key ring and used as much force as necessary to stab the keys into the man’s neck. Over and over and over again. The arterial spray coated the front of his dress, but the familiar smell of blood made him feel a bit more in his element. 

“Fuck you asshole, you get what you deserve!” The pissed off lady screeched. She had been one of the first he freed so she limped over, kicking at the corpse. 

“Let me get in on that!” Another shouted, laughing. 

“Hey, count me in!” 

He was glad to hear them in better spirits. 

He tossed the keys to the angry lady, “I’m going to scope the outside. I’ll be right outside the door, can you unlock the others?” 

“How hard can putting a key in a hole be?” She scoffed. 

He rolled his eyes, pulling his heels off one at a time as he hopped out of the room. 

—

Rosinante had just finished calling in backup, emerging from the bathroom just in time to witness a large portion of the men in the dining area look down at something. They began looking around before about about 20 of them stood, running off down a hall. 

Something was happening, and even though he barely knew him, he had a feeling Buggy was at the center of it. 

He followed, running along with the group until he could hear the sounds of fighting and yelling. 

He was able to look over people’s heads, finally spotting a bright blue wave of hair. 

“Buggy!” He shouted. 

Buggy looked up as he slit someone’s throat, “Fucking finally!” 

Rosinante reached out, grabbing someone's jacket and using it to strangle them. Buggy was right- he really should have packed a gun or knife or something. 

After strangling that guy he hefted him up and over, using the unconscious man’s weight to crush the people in front of him so he could make his way over. 

“DIE RICH BOY!” He only really recognized the words that were being said after he was stabbed in the side by a very pissed off looking woman. 

“Wh- NO! He’s my partner!” Buggy quickly finished off the man he was tusseling with to rush over. He took off Rosinante’s jacket, using it to bandage the area. 

“Oh- shit, uh! Sorry?” She instantly looked guilty, which Rosinante supposed was nice. 

“It’s alright- uh- I’m used to it?” He tried to joke. Once Buggy finished bandaging the wound he spun around, kicking someone in the gut with the sharp front of his shoe. 

He was used to getting stabbed. Honestly, his pain tolerance was pretty high so one stab wound wasn’t going to slow him down. Just another scar for the collection!

A gunshot rang out from somewhere and Rosinante was quick to spot whoever had the firearm. They had missed, shooting one of their comrades again, but next time there was no guarantee of that. 

“Buggy!” He shouted. 

“On it!” His partner responded, ducking beneath a punch and making a beeline for the gunslinger. 

Rosinante set himself on protecting the women who had abrasions on their wrists, some on their ankles. It wasn’t too difficult to tell who he should protect and who he should attack. There weren’t that many women at this event. 

His table that he had sat at- It had a solid ten percent of the women at the entire event. 

It wasn’t for another ten minutes or so that there was a lull in the rush. The group that had attacked them were all down, but he knew it wouldn’t be for long that they were alone. 

“We need to call for backup,” Buggy huffed, pulling one of the knives he had stolen out of some guy’s skull. 

“I already did, just before everyone in the main room got some sort of message or something,” Rosinante explained. He pressed his hand to the stab wound. He had a few scratches and bruises, but that was the only stabbing wound he had. 

“So that’s what that button was for…” Buggy mused. 

“Button?” 

“A guy pressed a button. Nothing seemed to happen around us, but I assume that's what it did. Especially considering all those people showed up right after,”. 

“Mm. Okay, we need to find a way out of here. We can’t just sit and wait for reinforcements,” Rosinante switched the topic, looking around at all the women around them, “Is everyone alright? Can everyone walk?” 

“We’re fine! Let’s just get moving!” The lady that stabbed him groaned, groaned, like she was being inconvenienced. 

“Alright! The front door is not an option. Too much security. I can go ahead and scout out paths while we run,” Buggy offered.

“Sounds good,” the taller one nodded.

Buggy rushed off around the furthest corner. When he saw no one was there, he took a moment to himself. He split apart, shrugging the shoulder straps of the dress off. He pulled the chest off, throwing it to the ground with a plop. 

“Sweet fucking relief,” He sighed with contentment, itching at his own chest as he continued forward. He split a hand off, sending it back to signal the follow of Rosinante and the women. 

Another corner, the same thing. Another, the same. Buggy furrowed his brow. Where was everyone? 

He waited for his partner and the ladies to catch up. 

“What’s the hold up?” Rosinante trotted up beside him. 

“I’ve got a bad feeling. There’s no way they left these corridors empty,” The blue-haired man frowned. 

“I did think it was odd,” The other agreed, his own mouth twisting downwards. 

“Keep your guard up,” Buggy told him before running off again. 

It was as he rounded the next corner that he realized something. The building was in a cave. A back entrance was absurdly unlikely. They were just going in a big circle- and their captors knew that. 

He doubled back, relaying the information to Rosinante. 

“Shit,” Rosinante sighed, leaning against a wall. 

“Wait- so- so we’re not going to be able to escape?!” Someone questioned shakily. 

“No, you will get out. We just have to wait a bit for the reinforcements. I don’t think we’ll have some sort of big flashy escape…” Buggy almost pouted. He had grown fond of the idea of bursting out in a heroic finale. Even if he was in a dress. 

He supposed the color did suit him. 

“We’re prioritizing your safety,” Rosinante told them, smiling softly. 

That seemed to make sense to them and a few settled on the ground, laying or sitting on the carpet. 

Buggy stood next to Rosinante, also leaning against the wall. 

“You know something?” Rosinante hummed. 

“What?” 

“This is going to be one hell of a report,” He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. 

Buggy groaned, “I hate writing reports, don’t remind me,”. 

Rosinante laughed. 

—

They were standing in front of the entrance, watching as the captives were given blankets and water before being ushered toward a marine ship. They received smiles and ‘thank you's plenty. 

“You should get that stab wound looked at,” Buggy told him, looking up at him. 

“Ah, it’s not that bad. It’s pretty small compared to me,”. 

“It was used to stab other people. You could have caught something,” Buggy rolled his eyes. 

“Ah..shit,”.

“You didn’t think about that?!” 

“I’ve been a bit preoccupied!” 

Buggy ran his hands over his face, “Just get that checked out, man. You’re a good marine. It would suck to lose you,”. 

“Careful, you almost sounded like you care!” Rosinante teased. 

“Oh, shut up,” Buggy gave him a weak jab to his side. 

Rosinante looked down at him with a grin and Buggy looked back up at him with his own smile. 

“They’re probably going to put us both in the infirmary- you probably have a concussion,” Rosinante slowly told him. 

“What? How did you know I got hit in the head?” Buggy blinked. 

Rosinante reached over Buggy, pressing a hand to the back of his head. Buggy flinched, ducking and having his hands hover over the impact area. 

“That hurt, asshole!” 

“Sorry! Just- look?” Rosinante held the hand he had used to touch Buggy’s head to him. 

It was dusted in dried blood. 

“Ah. That explains why I feel lightheaded,”. 

“You feel lightheaded? Sit down!” Rosinante lowered himself slightly. 

“I’m fine,” He rolled his eyes again, but a headache was starting to smart him and he winced. 

“Fine, sure!” Rosinante laughed. 

They were broken from their conversation as they were approached by rear admiral Pierrot. 

“Sir!” They both saluted the man. 

“At ease…” The rear admiral drawled slowly, his voice gravelly from a past injury, “Well done…We were expecting a drug ring…You uncovered something worse…” 

“Thank you, sir,” Rosinante nodded. 

“Just doing our duty, sir,” Buggy went to nod, but now that his attention had been brought to his head wound it was becoming hard to ignore. Moving his head was making him feel nauseous.

“Are either of you injured?” He stooped further down, if that was possible. The man looked like he was practically bent in half, hanging onto his scythe like it was all that was keeping him up. 

Buggy and Rosinante pointed at each other. 

“He got stabbed!” 

“He has a concussion!” 

They glared at each other. 

Rear Admiral Pierrot sighed, “Report to the Dancer…I’ll inform the infirmary that they should expect you…” With that he turned on his toes and stalked away, swaying ever so slightly. 

“Snitch,” Buggy and Rosinante told each other at the same time. 

Chapter Text

Buggy was doing very good. Very good indeed. He had a nearly perfect success rate on off-ship missions, he received glowing reviews in reports with any partners he had, and he somehow had a fan club. 

Garp was doing his damndest to make sure he wasn’t getting promoted. 

It was getting harder to explain why Buggy hadn’t been promoted yet to other people. He wasn’t able to use the excuse of inexperience anymore. He wasn’t able to say Buggy didn’t work well with others- because, well, even if the brat did prefer working alone, he had proven himself to adapt to teams easily. 

He was pretty sure Buggy was trying to get promoted too, which didn’t help. 

Normally he would be excited at the idea of a student trying to climb the ranks, but Buggy was not a normal student. 

Garp had stolen and burned quite a few of his own reports that mentioned the ‘blue-haired, red-nosed kid’ on Roger’s ship. But it would be impossible to get all of them. 

If Buggy were to keep rising through the ranks he would gain notoriety. 

It would take one person perusing through the Roger files and making the connection to the blue-haired, red-nosed marine that had joined up right after Roger’s execution. 

And they wouldn’t get rid of him right away, of course not. He would be watched and they would wait for him to mess up. Say the wrong thing to the wrong person, make a large mistake, disobey orders. They would wait for him to do something incorrect and then they would get rid of him. 

Garp regretted making that promise to Roger. He was getting more and more gray hairs as time marched on. 

And maybe Roger had only been referring to the baby, but Garp had somehow got it twisted up in his mind that he had meant his sons- plural. Garp had failed to locate and grab Shanks, but he had been able to get Buggy. He wouldn’t have been able to drop him off in Dawn like he had Ace, Buggy wasn’t an unknowing baby. 

He had thought about sending Buggy on a babysitting mission to keep him from promoting. Send him to watch over Luffy or Ace. He’d tell him he was watching over his grandson- but Buggy wouldn’t like that. He’d get fidgety, need something more to do. 

Garp was sure either of the kids would be a handful, but Buggy would want more. 

He would end up exploding something. Keeping him from doing things would ultimately have him doing things under the table, so to speak. 

Pirating would be the worst, but if Buggy were to find loopholes with more criminal elements..? Also not very good. 

He was thinking about trying to shift Buggy’s desire to run after Shanks and catch him into something more akin to what Garp and he had had. 

Because Buggy and Shanks were nothing like how Garp and he had been. Sure, Garp had hunted him around when he got the chance, but he didn’t go absurdly out of his way to track his movements. He didn’t need to do that. If he was in the area, sure, Garp would go. 

But Buggy obsessed. He didn’t take opportunities when they appeared, he clawed them out of the ground until his gloves were torn and his fingers were raw. 

And yes, Garp was glad to see that kind of determination. That kind of drive- but- and Garp would not tell Buggy this- Buggy was not strong enough to go against Shanks. 

And Garp- despite hating the restriction and trying to find away around it- didn’t want him to because there were eyes on Shanks. Eyes in very high places. Eyes that Garp couldn’t tell Buggy about because if he did- if he did, Buggy would try even harder. 

Garp knew the kid, and he knew that he would do that. 

Garp could only keep an eye on him. Reel him in when he strayed too far- and do his damn best to make him behave. 

—

Bogard saw a younger version of himself in Buggy. 

Not exactly, of course. He had not been that explosive and aggressive, certainly. Garp may jokingly disagree, but they would both know that Bogard had been able to reign himself in significantly better than Buggy had. 

Besides, Bogard had mellowed out significantly as he aged. 

It was more of a relatability within their youths. Buggy had been raised a pirate just as Bogard had. He had also joined the marines at around the same time, although the difference with that was that Bogard had done so a tad bit more willingly than Buggy. Bogard hadn’t needed a concussion, ultimatums, and what was likely quite a few drinks to be convinced to join. 

He had only needed a concussion and ultimatums. 

Very different. 

He also found that Buggy and he were on similar wavelengths when it came to education. 

Similar, not the same. They had both been raised on ships until around the same age and joined the marines at around the same age as well, he was sure Buggy had about the same amount of education that he had had. 

That was to say, not very good. 

Despite that, Buggy had a surprisingly diverse and strong grasp on chemistry, of all things. 

Bogard himself had taken to oceanography as a boy and continued that interest over the years. 

Bogard had been able to talk with the navigators and occasionally the cooks about the ocean when he got the chance. 

Buggy had tried to talk to the cannon operators once and had been met with cupped ears to hear him and blank stares. 

Bogard had been a bit concerned in the early days, Buggy was going to need something to ground him, something that wasn’t quite as negative as the threat of imprisonment. 

Bogard started small and almost by accident. On an island they had docked as he had been purusing a used bookstore. He enjoyed the smell of old books and he would occasionally find a book on the local sealife. 

He hadn’t found what he was booking for, but something had caught his eye. The shape on the cover was odd so he had looked closer- only to find the title both alarming and intriguing. 

It would be better for a book like this to be in the hands of the marines, rather than a pirate that may randomly stumble upon it. Now that would have become an issue. 

He purchased the guide and the next time he cornered Buggy, he presented it to him. 

He had said, ‘you are a chemicals expert, correct?’ and Buggy had nodded, still not having reached the point of looking him in the eyes. 

And so he gave him the book.

‘The Handbook on Chemical Warfare Agents?!’ Buggy had grinned, bringing the book in closer to himself. Bogard had felt rather proud at that moment, he had thought right. 

He had somehow been lucky enough to witness something far more important happening soon after. Buggy had been reading the book, thoroughly entrenched in it, missing his bites of stew, too focused on the pages. Someone had come up to him and asked him what he was reading. Ten minutes later he was the center of a small group, talking animatedly about explosives and chain reactions. 

Buggy had become a teacher. 

Buggy had created his own audience. 

It was good. More education for the marines was always a good thing. Marines understanding chemicals, what to mix to get what reaction, what not to mix when cleaning the bathroom- It was very good. 

It was also very good to ground Buggy. The kid needed to associate positive emotions with the marines, and Bogard had accidently kick-started that. 

As time passed, Buggy became more cemented on the boat. He wasn’t just a chemical expert anymore, he was Garp’s chemical expert. He was the Hound Dog’s chemical expert. 

Bogard found he was proud of him. 

–

James had been a marine for a long time and thought he was pretty good at reading people. One of the first impressions that Buggy left on him was that he did not like owing people things. 

James remembered that he had seen Buggy picking at the skin around his fingers, his very scarred fingers. That had been an issue James had had, once upon a time, and he had just gotten a new pair of gloves, so he gave Buggy the older pair. They weren’t a shitty pair of gloves! In fact, they were pretty much new! He had just been given a new pair of gloves by Sapphire, and he didn’t like having duplicates just sitting around when they could be being used, so…yep! 

He didn’t expect anything in return, and yet about a month later Buggy had tossed a new sling for his sniper at him, thanking him for the gloves while he did it. 

Sapphire’s first impression of Buggy came while he was beating the snot of an older marine for insulting his nose. This was in the very early days, when Sapphire could tell Buggy was on a hair trigger. 

They had actually been there when the other marine did so, swamped by his little group. Sapphire had watched from a distance, watching as they tried to engage in a bit of hazing. 

Ultimately it had failed, and when Bogard had appeared to break the fight Sapphire had gone out of their way to inform their superior of the events leading up to the beat down. 

And it had been a beat down. It was quite funny. Sapphire had liked Buggy ever since. 

It was said a lot whenever the topic of Buggy came up, but seas, his explosives! He was a damn genius. They felt comfortable saying that the whole crew believed that! Sapphire had tried reading a book on chemistry once and…well, never again. 

And sure, Buggy had caused an on board explosion once- but that had been once! Somehow he never caused another explosion. It had been, oh, how long? At least eight years since Buggy joined the Hound Dog’s crew, and only once had he caused an explosion. 

That was probably more impressive. 

There was a reason most marine ships didn’t have an explosives expert. 

James was just happy that Buggy didn’t make a habit of falling into the sea. He had to dive after Sapphire at least once a day, and he didn’t know if it was him, them, or just the ship, but there was always a sea king waiting on standby to try and take a bite out of him. 

Buggy was a devil fruit user like Sapphire, but unlike Sapphire he actually avoided the rails. 

James had a collection of sea king knives that he had whittled from the teeth that got stuck in his body when he dove for Sapphire. The less knives he had, the better! 

Sapphire really liked that Buggy was easy to read. Sure, he seemed like he was trying not to be, but he was. 

They had a suspicion that he was a pirate for the majority of his life, if not all of it up to this point. He was too good at ship life, he hadn’t needed any down time to get his sea legs. His knots were perfect, his calluses were thick, and he could fight like someone who received training- but notably not marine training. 

There was also his general dislike of other marine ships that he did not hide as well as he thought he did at the beginning. 

Sapphire had considered ringing their boss to try and dig for information, to see if there were any records of a cabin boy with a red nose on any ships. The only reason they hadn’t was due to…overhearing a conversation between Garp and Bogard about keeping Buggy underwraps. 

They had been intrigued, to say the least. 

Buggy wasn’t a threat, Sapphire was confident in that. 

Besides, it never hurts to have the opportunity to blackmail people. 

—

The Hound Dog was a great example of a ship that had been fixed up so many times that it barely had any remnants of its original body. That didn’t mean its spirit was any different. It still retained the memories of every second spent on the sea, of its captain's words, fights, and various experiences. And Garp was its captain. The Hound Dog is a ship, it needs a captain, and that's what Garp is. It was an argument it liked to have with itself. 

Its best friend had been The Oro Jackson. The Hound Dog itself wasn’t a marine, merely a ship for them, and the same went for The Oro Jackson. Oro was just a ship, not a pirate. 

The Hound Dog enjoyed chatting with The Oro Jackson when it could. Albeit the words were quick and soared with cannon fire, it happened enough that it grew to learn of the crew The Oro Jackson carried. The Oro Jackson spoke fondly of its crew, of the ambition of its captain and the antics the adults got up to. 

The Hound Dog remembered when The Oro Jackson raved about the baby on board, red haired and able to see it. The Oro Jackson mourned when he would eventually lose this ability, but had enjoyed it nonetheless. 

The Hound Dog remembered when The Oro Jackson laughed, telling The Hound Dog about a new child that had joined the crew, one with blue hair and a red nose. It spoke about the child’s reservations and anger, but also his desire for more. 

The Hound Dog thought that The Oro Jackson would be happy that The Hound Dog now could say the same. 

The Hound Dog missed The Oro Jackson, but at least it had something from its dearest friend. 

It perhaps showed some favoritism. 

It creaked loud enough to wake him from his nightmares, when he swabbed its deck it rocked a bit more, spreading the water and soap further for him. It forgives him for throwing knives at the wanted poster tacked to its wall, when he was done he always pat its walls, repairing it himself. 

He had been working on a bomb early on and The Hound Dog had gotten distracted, rocking a bit too suddenly and causing an explosion. It regretted it deeply, the child did not need more scars on his hands. The Oro Jackson made sure to smooth its rocking as much as possible when he was experimenting. 

The Hound Dog wished it could be physical, for Buggy to hear it. The Hound Dog yearned to ask questions. Where was The Oro Jackson? How was it? Was it safe? 

But it wasn’t and it would never be. So it satiated those dreams with caring for the boy the same way The Oro Jackson had.