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Ah, winter, a time of long, dark nights, roasted chestnuts, snow frosted mornings...
And holiday traditions of course!
It’s no different in frosty New Marineford. Pencil pushers scurry forth, scarves and mittens ink stained and eyes red rimmed from a little too much eggnog. Soldiers huddle close to fires and lanterns, noses running and using hot gossip to keep warm.
What ingredients make up the hot goss this year? Let’s listen in and find out…
“Achoo!” Aramaki wiped his nose, eyes watering. He may be a plant man, but apparently, that didn’t stop him from being allergic to pine needles. Worst part of the holidays, besides all the mushy, family friendly, lovey dovey clap trap.
Always goo goo gaga eyes everywhere and “I’m so thankful you’re in my life”. Yuck. He huffed, smoke from his cigarette swirling in the air like batter in a bowl. Who needed love anyway?! He grabbed a cookie off the plate on the meeting room coffee table and smelled it. Homemade things with peppermint and chocolate. No booze in it. Not worth eating.
Borsalino took that exact moment to materialize next to him like a ghost. “Oooooh, Ara-chan~ Do you like the cooookies? Brannew-san maaaade them you knoooow~” he said in his dumb slow ass voice. But he solved the mystery of why the cookies sucked.
Aramaki tossed the cookie back onto the plate and resumed his relaxed and totally not irritated position on the couch.
“Oi, Kizaru, you got any pirate crap to deal with?” The seas had been practically balmy the past two weeks! Boring as hell! So boring that he’d seen soldiers putting up lights and building lame snowmen instead of doing something useful, like killing bastards who needed killing!
“Huhhh? It’s the holidays dontcha knowww? It’s a ceasefire, ehhh?” Borsalino said, eating four cookies so fast that they may as well have never existed. Dumbass could eat at lightspeed, maybe he could choke at lightspeed too…
Wait a sec–!
“Ceasefire?! What?! That’s stupid!” Aramaki really did not understand what the hell was supposed to be so jolly about the stupid holidays!
Borsalino cocked his head, dopey eyes regarding him like Aramaki was in fact the idiot in the room. “Ohh, you don’t like the holidays Ara-channn~?”
“The fuck do you think? And don’t call me that!” he barked. Man what the heck was he going to do until these boring days of “peace and love for all mankind” fucked off?
“You should find a little holiday love~ Maybe that’d cheer you uppp~” Borsalino crooned and Aramaki nearly gagged. Love? Worse, holiday love? Sakazuki’s office door banged open before Aramaki could tell Borsalino where he could shove his holiday love.
The Fleet Admiral strode out, cigar tucked into the corner of his mouth, overstuffed folder shoved under his arm. He didn’t so much as send a glance their way as he left, headed for the stairs. Now that was a man with a plan, a purpose. No stupid ceasefire was gonna get in his way.
“There’s another one who needs some holiday looove,” Borsalino sighed.
“Bah humbug to that! He needs to roll some heads!”
Borsalino blinked slowly at him, his lips doing a weird little curl in the corners. “Hmmm, I have a wager for you, Ara-channnn~” Stupid nickname aside, a wager? Aramaki narrowed his eyes, but he was listening.
“I have a bottle of Baterilla 1312 you knowww,” he drawled. A 1312?! That was a damn good year, a damn good vintage, a damn expensive bottle of booze! “If you can show Sakazuki some holiday love by the time we ring in the New Year…then it’s yours~”
Aramaki stared.
“You’re on, rahahahah!”
Brannew set down a batch of ginger snaps down on the table in the Vice Admiral breakroom. This batch came out a little burnt, not good enough quality for the Fleet Admiral, but for the likes of Onigumo and Momonga? Fine.
Better still, he could surreptitiously get feedback and improve the next batch. He needed to make them perfect if he was going to beat out Smoker’s annoying little tart in the Navy Brass cookie contest. Three stupid years she’d been taking the title from him, that little air-headed brat.
God forbid her commander ever become an Admiral, or Brannew was positive he’d have to compete with her for his very job! The Gall.
The door opened, Vice Admirals Gamakiji and Blue Grass sauntering over to the water cooler. “Aw shucks, someone switched it back to water,” Blue Grass groaned, Gamakiji too looking at the water cooler Brannew had refilled with dismay. Someone (it had to have been Lacroix, he just knew that bastard’s unassuming beardless face was too innocent) had filled it with cheap beer.
“Wish the office would make up its mind, are we getting drunk and decorating or not, ya know?” Gamakiji whined over his non-alcoholic drink.
“Aye, the holiday tree in the Admiral’s office is mixed messaging. Sengoku-san never would have allowed for it, or Kong back in his day,” Blue Grass sighed, “but the booze in the break room was a welcome change.”
Brannew stared at them from across the room. What holiday tree in the Admiral’s office? He hadn’t put one up, and who in their right mind would prank the Fleet Admiral? Worse, who had it out for Brannew to do such a thing?! He, Commodore Brannew, was in charge of keeping Navy Headquarters clean, organized, and professional!
A holiday tree with its shedding pine needles was not on his office approved decorations list!
Instantly putting his military fitness training to use, Brannew tore out of the Vice Admiral’s lounge, down the three flights of stairs to the central courtyard, across to the North Ward and up the eight flights of stairs to the Executive Lounge, in record time!
Sweating and panting, he pushed the door open, mouth dropping in horror. A massive pine tree, easily twenty feet tall –branches so green and powerful smelling as to make one believe they were in the forest proper– sat directly in the middle of the room. Worse still, it was decorated in a ridiculous number of lights, shiny baubles, and a banner. A banner that said in brightly colored paint “For YOU, Fleet Admiral Sakazuki!”
Who had the audacity to do this.
He needed to get that tree out of here. It was completely inappropriate for a professional setting. His guidelines specifically stated that only a shrubbery no taller than one and a half feet was permitted as decoration!
Brannew darted forward, rolling up his sleeves. He would get this tree out of here before the Fleet Admiral gave him so much as a raised eyebrow! Quick as lightning, he wrapped his arms around the massive nuisance to haul it away.
Except the branches moved.
“Oi! Get off me man!”
The tree was talking. That was most certainly going to be added as a rule to the decoration guidebook. No talking plants, animals, or otherwise.
He lifted the wiggling tree, the baubles jangling and clanging, pine needles exploding everywhere! “What the hell?! QUIT IT YOU MORON!” the tree yelled, followed by a bunch of expletives. Was it changing shape? What the hell kind of cursed tree was this?!
The branches receded, the truck thickened, ornaments dropping to the floor and shattering, the banner falling over Brannew’s face. Still he hung on to the struggling tree, lifting it overhead. No tree would defeat this Navy soldier! Better, the string lights seemed to entangle his unwieldy adversary.
Unfortunately, this was not a quiet process and of course, the sound of shattering glass and screeching attracted the Fleet Admiral’s attention. His office door banged open and the tree and Brannew froze like deer in spotlights.
Sakazuki stared at them, lit cigar burning more intensely than it should have been in the corner of his mouth. “The hell are you two idiots doing? Get back to work!” The door slammed shut once more as the banner fell to the floor off Brannew’s face and instead of a tree, he was looking into the face of Admiral Aramaki.
Really, what had he done to deserve this?
Winter truly was the best time for tea. Warmth from the ceramic mug seeped into Vice Admiral Tsuru’s hands, the aching arthritis in her knuckles eased for a brief moment. The steam from the hot cup of amber liquid warmed her face, the mist of it welcoming to her skin dried by the frigid air.
Her office was tranquil and quiet, snow drifting gently down beyond the windows. From here, she could watch the new recruits set about building snow forts and throwing balls of ice at one another in mock battles. So innocent, so peaceful these ceasefire days.
Her door opened at the same time as a body busted through her wall. She closed her eyes, counting to three as Sengoku dropped onto her couch, cackling at Garp emerging from the splintered wood and plaster. Just a scant year prior, Sengoku would have been red in the face with scolding Garp for not using the door like a normal person.
Retirement had turned him into an enabler.
She flicked a hand out, the dust and mess across the floor disappearing, Garp looking like he had forgotten what it meant to be clean before immediately dropping onto the couch across from Sengoku and diving straight into the plate of cookies on her table.
Tsuru did not bother asking what the two of them were doing here. This was their near daily routine now that they had semi-retired. Instead of vacationing on a warm summer island, picking up gardening, or getting fat and lazy, they spent their afternoons lounging on her office couches and making nuisances of themselves while she continued being productive and working.
“Oh, these cookies…” Garp said around a mouthful as Sengoku poured himself a cup of her fresh pot of tea, “are way better than Brannew’s sticky things.”
The little card next to the plate said “To Grandma, From Kujaku <3” in cute handwriting. “Kujaku made these?” Sengoku’s eyebrows went up in surprise. The fact that his eyebrows hadn’t turned grey to match his hair made him look far more ridiculous than his hideous orange puffball sweater could ever hope to.
“Of course,” she stated. Her granddaughter was an excellent baker, like she was an excellent soldier.
“Huh, coulda fooled me, they taste just like Tashigi-chan’s,” Garp dropped. Tsuru glared at him.
“Nevermind all that, I just came back from my office,” Sengoku’s voice dropped low like a teenage girl gossiping as he leaned in towards them conspiratorially.
“You mean Sakazuki’s office,” Tsuru sighed.
“Whatever,” he waved her away, “you will not believe what I walked in on.” Tsuru tilted her head, Garp grabbing two more cookies to shove into his mouth. “Let me set the scene… the couches sat in the middle of the room, the table with Brannew’s latest batch of gingersnaps in the middle–”
“He’s not gonna beat Tashigi-chan with those, he needs to try something else,” Garp interrupted.
Sengoku glared at the interruption but Garp waved him on. “The outbox was stuffed with folders, the inbox with a number of glittery invitations from whatever uppity royals were hoping the Fleet Admiral would make an appearance at their parties–”
“Oh, remember that time we went to the Taco Kingdom for their holiday extravaganza? Oh boy, they had that huge taco buffet with the sea king meat all on the–”
“Yes, and it took me three hours to get the stain out of my dress after you knocked me into the sauce table, and that was with my powers,” Tsuru muttered darkly.
“Quiet you two, I’m getting to the good part!” Sengoku scolded.
“Then tell it faster,” Garp grumbled. Tsuru agreed. It sounded like how Sakazuki’s office normally was, nothing out of the ordinary.
“Hmph, maybe I won’t tell it at all then,” Sengoku sniffed, crossing his arms in a huff. She closed her eyes, because she knew this ploy would not work on Garp. It never had.
And, as she predicted, Garp turned to her to change the subject. “Mnah, Tsuru-chan, you’re a judge on the cookie contest this year right? Helmeppo won’t let me into the contest early to taste test, you think that–”
“No.”
“Aw, come on Tsuru-chan, don’t be like that.” Garp just did not look right trying to give her puppy eyes. Like putting dryer sheets in a washing machine. Absurd.
“Alright, alright! There was mistletoe over Sakazuki’s door!” Sengoku blurted out, unable to keep such groundbreaking gossip to himself any longer.
“No,” Tsuru found herself gasping.
“What’s mistletoe?” Garp asked. They ignored him, Tsuru leaning closer to Sengoku.
“Yes,” he whispered. “A whole sprig of it. Hanging right there, on the door frame. Right before Issho and that fool Aramaki were set to arrive.” This truly was unbelievable. What brave and foolish soul would have attempted such a thing?
“A prank like that hasn’t made the rounds since Kuzan and Borsalino’s cadet days,” Tsuru murmured. Sengoku nodded, taking a breath.
“That’s not the end of it,” he leaned even closer to her.
“I don’t get it,” Garp whined. They continued to ignore him.
“I was there, on the balcony when Ryokyugu and Issho arrived…” Sengoku paused dramatically, eyes darting right and left as if anyone would dare to eavesdrop on her office of all places. Any other time, Tsuru would have taken offense, but this was no ordinary time. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes, I never would have guessed what happened next in a million years,” he looked her right in the eyes.
“Hey come on, tell me what mistletoe is,” Garp pouted, lower lip sticking out absurdly as they ignored him for the third time. Honestly, over seventy years young and he had never heard of mistletoe?
“Aramaki pointed out the mistletoe and said ‘Check that out, think uh… think the Fleet Admiral put it there? We should call him out here about it huh?’” Sengoku put on a far better impression of Aramaki than Tsuru expected and she had to give him credit for that.
“He can’t seriously have thought Sakazuki would do such a thing,” she shook her head.
“Who knows what goes through that brat’s mind? But that’s not all!” Sengoku was almost nose to nose with her. Garp made a grumpy sound and took the whole plate of cookies into his lap. “Issho, and I can say, honestly, that that man is less predictable than Borsalino,” he let her absorb the gravity of this statement before continuing, “turns to him, and, this is the most unbelievable part–”
Garp chose this moment to choke on a cookie and erupt in a coughing fit, spraying both of them with crumbs. Sengoku closed his eyes before turning the full haki enhanced force of his glare onto him. Tsuru sighs as she wipes them all down and decides to explain what mistletoe is to head off any more interruptions. “Mistletoe is a plant with an old tradition where whomever stands beneath it together must kiss,” she states.
“Oh,” Garp says.
Sengoku resettles himself on the couch, gathering his strength to continue his tale. “Yes, anyway, Issho and Aramaki are standing there, in the office, with the mistletoe above the door and Issho turns to him and–”
“Kisses him huh? Good for him. Tsuru-chan, you sure you can’t get me in a little earlier? Even just ten minutes when they’re fresh outta the–!”
“GARP YOU!!!” Sengoku tackled him off the couch.
Tsuru sighed.
The judge’s room for the cookie contest had only one method of entry, the front door. There were no windows. Smoker sat back in his chair, the front legs lifting off the ground as he leaned back. He’d never been a judge for the contest before but he had lost a bet with Hina and this was what he owed so…
Vice Admiral Tsuru stood on the other side of the single table in the otherwise empty room. “You did sweep for bugs, correct?” An absurd question, both because he suspected it was rhetorical and also because it was necessary for him to make a sweep at all.
It was a cookie contest, not a classified top secret meeting.
Admiral Kizaru took that moment to appear in the middle of the room in a shower of sparks. “The contest this year is quuuuuuite heated, I just saw Gion-chan upstairs with a cup pressed to the flooooor~” he smiled serenely.
“There’s always someone who tries that,” Tsuru sighs.
Seriously, it was a cookie contest! Smoker reached into his pocket to pull out a cigar.
“Ah ah ahhhh, Smoker-kun, no smoking around the cookies~” Borsalino smiled like some sort of evil jester as the cigar vanished from Smoker’s fingers and reappeared in Borsalino’s hand. Smoker decided then and there that he would become an Admiral purely to change the rules of this stupid contest.
“Let’s get to judging, shall we?” Tsuru stated, taking a cookie and measuring its size. “After all, the winning cookie is the one the Navy will be offering as gifts to our various compatriots for the new year celebrations. We must take our job seriously, as the Fleet Admiral will be putting his reputation on the line.”
Quite possibly the stupidest sentence Smoker had ever heard, and he had been there while Hina’s subordinates gave her holiday gifts.
“Let’s seeeee who our contestants are this yeeeeear,” Borsalino walked the length of the table.
“Some familiar faces, Commodore Brannew, Captain Tashigi, Vice Admiral Bastille…” Tsuru listed off as she continued her absurd activity of measuring cookies.
“A few newbies hmmm? Ohhh, newly promoted Captain Koby, Rear Admiral Grus, and–?” Borsalino stopped mid sentence which sounded like a slow car crash. “What’s this…? Ara-chan has entered…?”
Tsuru stopped her measuring of Brannew’s cookies to look up, eyebrows furrowed. “Ara-chan? You refer to him as Ara-chan?”
Smoker imagined the feeling of arresting a certain pirate in a straw hat to get through this farce as he reached for the cookie plate provided by Vice Admiral T-Bone.
“Ohhh yesss, a special name between the two of us~” Borsalino smiled, eyes turned up into little creases. “Buuuut don’t worry I won’t be biased~”
Smoker placed the pale cookie in his mouth and immediately regretted it. He spat it out from reflex, gagging. God lord, what even was this cookie?! It tasted like sand! Like… slightly flavored sand!
“Ooh, you found T-Bone’s cookies, we should have waaaarned you,” Borsalino sent that sinister smile his way again.
“He never gives up,” Tsuru sighed. “More importantly, get to measuring, boys. The cookies need to be all the same size, color, shape, and of course, they need to be flavored well.”
Borsalino saluted and Smoker vowed to get Hina back for this.
Four hours and nineteen minutes later, Smoker was on his feet, red in the face from arguing with Borsalino over the consistency of Tashigi’s peanut butter cookies versus Brannew’s simple gingersnap cookies.
“Clearly Tashigi’s melt in the mouth more consistently than Brannew’s! His flavors, while good, don’t hold up as well in the after taste category!” he shouted.
“Brannew-kun’s are less sweet buuuut have better mouthfeel than Tashigi-chan’s, they also don’t stain your teeth~” Borsalino responded cooly, but he was tapping his fingers on the table in rapid succession, tiny chips of wood splintering under the onslaught of his speedy fingers.
“We could always go with the wild card, as you two can’t seem to make up your minds,” Tsuru sighed and pointed at the only other remaining contender on the table.
Ryokyugu’s chocolate chip cookies.
“Ara-chaaaaan’s? But chocolate chip is soooo…”
“Basic. His cookies are as basic as you can get,” Smoker growled. They were however, he would concede, all the same exact size, shape, and color. The flavor was the same across the cookies. Smoker was positive that he had had better chocolate chip cookies, but these were so inoffensive and exact in their flavor as to be…
Well, decent. Good even. The guy had even added just a hint of brandy to them.
“They lack in creativity yes, but we aren’t here to judge based on creativity alone or the winner would be…” she jabbed her thumb at the unmentionables. T-Bone’s cookies, the label with his note about what inspired his process and the ingredients five times as long as the other contestants. Only to end up with sand. Crumbly, almost sweet sand. Like if sugar had existed once a thousand years prior and that remembrance of sweetness had been added to the batter.
Borsalino tilted his head, clearly contemplating the importance of this decision. Smoker looked between Brannew’s and Tashigi’s cookies. If Brannew won, Tashigi would take it well in public, but woe be unto the heads of any pirates they would come across for the next few months, and his too, because her bad mood would mean she wouldn’t do his paperwork. And if Tashigi won, he’d be forced to eat so many of these cookies that he risked smelling like them when in his smoke form. A cloud of cookie smelling smoke was not particularly conducive to striking fear into the hearts of his opponents.
“I’ll give my vote to Ryokyugu,” he grunted. Tsuru nodded and the two of them turned to look at Borsalino.
“Hmm…quuuuite the choice…”
At five hours on the dot, the door to the judge’s room opened and Smoker staggered out, the first hit of nicotine smashing into his bloodstream from a cigar nearly making him tear up on the spot. He followed Tsuru and Borsalino, the winning plate of cookies guarded carefully between them out to the massive ballroom.
It was packed with marines, many of them holding flags or banners with their preferred contestant’s names on them. He saw Tashigi waving at him from near the erected stage, Captain Koby next to her giving him a smile. T-Bone had a caucus of nearly skeletal people all cheering for him on the opposite side.
“We have made our decision,” Tsuru announced into the microphone. The next half hour was a blur as the audience alternated between losing their minds, cheering, and booing. It was all enough to give him a splitting headache, and worse, since all he’d eaten in the last 6 hours was sugar sweet cookies, he felt slightly ill.
Thus, he was one of the few quiet and calm people sitting at the table on the stage, where the Fleet Admiral, the cookie winner, the runner-ups, and the judges had been placed. Tashigi was jabbering away a mile a minute to Admiral Kizaru who responded as slowly as she was speeding to his left while Brannew was drinking himself under the table as Tsuru patted him consolingly on the back.
So of course, he was the only one to witness the devastation that came next.
“Hey, Sakazuki, you tried my cookies yet? I made ‘em with you in mind, rahaha!” Aramaki nudged the Fleet Admiral with his elbow, who looked like how Smoker felt.
“I don’t like chocolate,” Sakazuki stated, before excusing himself from the table.
Wow, Hina was going to regret not being the one to witness that.
DAMMIT. SHIT. THIS SUCKED. The holidays were lame! Why had he agreed to Borsalino’s stupid bet?! Aramaki huffed in irritation as he leaned against the wall of the ornate ballroom that just a couple days prior had been host to the cookie contest, but now had been completely redecorated for the biggest holiday celebration of the year.
New Year's Eve. And Aramaki’s last chance to somehow imbue Sakazuki with the holiday spirit. Or something.
He tapped his foot on the floor, little thorny vines spreading up the wall. Impersonating a tree in the hopes of getting the Fleet Admiral to smile? Nope. Mistletoe to get him to uh… partake in a timeless holiday tradition? Bust! Getting him to even eat cookies had been impossible!
Aramaki was out of ideas. He could admit that.
An image of the shiny bottle of Baterilla 1312, the winery’s logo and design directly printed on the bottle in beautiful letters on that antique glass floated before him like some kind of holiday spirit. “Don’t give up on me Aramaki!” it seemed to moan.
He wasn’t giving up, he just needed some other kind of inspiration! A flower bloomed on one of the thorn vines. Inspiration… well now. Here he was, surrounded by people who actually seemed to like the holidays. Maybe by watching them, an idea would come. Yeah, that could work. Totally!
He nodded to himself. Reconnaissance he could do.
He left the wall to mingle with the crowd, the first group of revellers he came upon being those old fucks who retired and yet were still around for some reason. Vice Admiral Garp was laughing loudly and slapping Former (read: loser) Fleet Admiral Sengoku on the back hard enough to make the guy stumble. The goat that always hung out with Sengoku was being pet and admired by Vice Admirals Tsuru and Blue Grass. And then, there was Kong, the reason Garp was cackling so loudly as Kong was doing an impression of the King of Gorilla Island.
Make Sakazuki laugh maybe? That was an idea… Aramaki stroked his chin, ignoring the waiter who stood near him panicking as a vine pinned him in place to take the tray of champagne from his hands. But how? Sakazuki was not some simple minded fool like Garp!
Alright, this group of old fools was a bust, next!
He spotted Borsalino surrounded by a number of the lovely ladies who staffed Tsuru’s department and that one Vice Admiral chick who looked hot in her spiked collar, which was red instead of its usual black. Damn lady, tone it down, some guys might get ideas ya know!
Oh, and Issho was there too. Heat flared up the back of Aramaki’s neck, a purple lily blooming over his shoulder. The nerve of that guy, screwing up his mistletoe plan like that!
“Borsalino-san, thank you so much for the lovely watch this year!” cooed that blonde chick Hotogisu. Ha, the guy had gotten all the ladies the same watch as gifts. What a chad, making them all feel special but they totally weren’t. A boss move that Aramaki could respect. Get Sakazuki a gift? Kinda late for that, and besides, what the hell did the guy even like anyway? Everytime Aramaki killed a guy, he didn’t so much as even get a good boy for it, man.
“They’ll look great during the Spring Games,” Vice Admiral Doll grinned, showing off her matching watch.
“Anything for my favorite roller derby teeeeeam~” Borsalino smiled. Nevermind, respect taken back. The sincerity made Aramaki cringe, for a moment remembering a happy smile and warm laughter from years he wanted to forget. His tattoo suddenly itched fiercely and he hastened to get away from that group but not before Borsalino’s shifty gaze landed on him and he surreptitiously tapped his watch.
Fucker.
He grabbed another tray of champagne and glowered as he searched for another group to observe.
The damn ballroom was crawling with people so it didn’t take him long.
“Stop fussing, you look foolish,” Vice Admiral Hina barked at her compatriot, Smoker, who was tugging at the collar of his button-up shirt. The guy rolled his eyes and if anything, seemed to take her irritation in stride as instead he set about yanking the collar open.
“Smoker-san! Please don’t break rules here!” squeaked that little chick in glasses who always followed the guy around. Dude was always surrounded by hot women and paid the price with their nagging.
Hina sighed, tossing her long pink hair over her shoulder while grabbing a whole bottle of champagne. “Fool, what will Hina do with you,” she sighed.
The shortie, glasses slipping off her nose, grabbed the champagne bottle from Hina and instead handed it to Smoker. “That’s enough drinking tonight Hina-san!” Both Smoker and Hina looked put out at that but neither of them stopped her from dragging them out to the dance floor and it made Aramaki gag as he watched small smiles appear on their faces.
Wait.
Dancing. Maybe the Fleet Admiral liked to dance? Though Aramaki had no idea how to dance. Shit this wasn’t working. All these fools sucked! So much for reconnaissance helping him out. Fuck, it was almost midnight too! He took a page from Hina’s book and snagged a whole bottle of wine and left the ballroom, not able to stand it anymore.
He took a long swig of wine as he wandered upstairs. It was quiet, even the pencil pushers celebrating and having the night off.
Thus, the open door that led to a conference room caught his attention. All the other doors were closed and locked up for the night. But not this one. Aramaki peeked inside and froze. There was his quarry. All alone…
This conference room has an attached balcony and Fleet Admiral Sakazuki was standing outside, looking out over the island that made up Navy Headquarters. New snow gleaming in the moonlight, the whole world looking quiet and clean, like for a moment as if evil didn’t exist.
Aramaki glanced down at the open bottle of wine in his hand. He didn’t have a gift, and from here he could only just hear the live orchestra playing music. But he wasn’t a quitter dammit.
“Uh, hey Boss,” he said, approaching to stand at the railing next to him.
“Aramaki,” Sakazuki nodded at him, the moon glinting off his dark eyes.
“You uh… having a good night?” Aramaki felt like an idiot, scrounging for something to say.
“Are you?” Sakazuki countered.
“Not uh… not a big fan of the holidays actually, rahaha,” Aramaki scratched the back of his neck.
“Oh? Could have fooled me, you seemed to enjoy the festivities this year,” Sakazuki raised an eyebrow. There was no way he could tell him that it was all because he was trying to get Sakazuki to feel the holiday spirit!
“Um… I uh, guess?” Aramaki mumbled. Fuck he was saying so many uhs and ums too, like a fool! He wanted to crawl in a hole.
“Good, that’s what I want for my subordinates.” Sakazuki turned back to look at the view.
“Huh?” Aramaki blinked. Sakazuki seemed to dislike the holidays as much as he did so this was news to him.
“All the work I’ve been doing during this time has been to keep these days peaceful and calm, so that our soldiers can spend time with their loved ones,” Sakazuki explained. “Most days of the year are fraught with battle, evil never sleeps, so it is important to take time for days like these.” He gestured out over the balcony, the sound of laughter and ringing bells echoing up from down below.
Aramaki opened his mouth and then closed it, thinking of Smoker and Hina and Borsalino and the old farts living it up downstairs. “And uh, what about what uh, what you want for the h-holidays?” Aramaki wanted to punch himself. Now he was stuttering? Why was it that whenever he was around the boss, that he became so lame?
Sakazuki looked surprised by his question, and Aramaki rushed to fill the sudden quiet. “Ya know, e-everybody is doin’ all this celebration’ and you’re workin’ your ass off. You should have a break too, ya know?” he laughed, his ears feeling like they were steaming. A few ferns sprouted, curling around his arms for a comforting hug… not that he needed it!
Sakazuki gazed off into the distance again, a thoughtful expression on his face. “This,” he said after a long moment, “is good enough.” Wow, what a guy…
“That’s uh, yeah. That’s– you wanna split this? I grabbed it from downstairs, it ain’t half bad,” Aramaki stumbled over his words. Of course the Fleet Admiral didn’t want to share the shitty wine he’d been drinking straight from the bottle. Not after being all noble and self sacrificing!
Sakazuki’s lips thinned and Aramaki continued to wish he’d crawled into a hole instead of come out here and made a fool of himself like this. But then Sakazuki took the bottle from his hand, warm palm touching Aramaki’s like sunlight, tiny pink carnations blooming across Aramaki’s fingers.
He swallowed as he watched his Fleet Admiral take a swig, moonlight glinting off the damp lip of the bottle, speechless. Suddenly there came a great cheer from below and then booming out over the bay! Dazzling reds and blues, pinks and greens, spirals and bursts in the freezing air.
Oh. New Years.
“You know, Aramaki, this is the first time I have rang in the New Year with company in many years,” Sakazuki chuckled, passing the bottle back to him. Aramaki thanked his years of training for not dropping it because his hands were trembling. “It’s nice.”
Nice, he thought being here with Aramaki was nice. The light inside him could have bloomed a thousand flower fields.
An idea came to him, like a bolt of lightning.
“You know, ya still got time to participate in a h-holiday tradition,” he rushed through the words, because if he stopped now he’d look even stupider. “There’s the uh, ya know, ringing in the New Year t-thing, I mean you can go downstairs and find someone, doesn’t gotta be me, you can have the pick of the whole ass Navy, know what I mean, but it’s uh, an option, for uh, you. Not that I don’t wanna, I’m game if you are but like I said you’ve got the whole–”
The Fleet Admiral took that moment to blessedly shut him up by pressing his lips to his. Fireworks, loud and boisterous, the big bell by the harbor singing out, someone somewhere was firing off a cannon, and the whole damn world coulda ended right then and Aramaki would not have given a single fuck.
As quickly as it happened, his Fleet Admiral pulled away and clapped him on the shoulder. “Happy New Year, Aramaki,” and left him to go give a speech to the partygoers.
Aramaki watched the snow falling and the fireworks blooming, sunflowers and roses sprouting in his hair. From here, the holidays didn’t seem so bad, and he’d even given Sakazuki some holiday love.
Wait, how the hell was he going to prove it to Borsalino?!
“Fuck!” Aramaki cursed!
The snow continued to fall as gentle as a kiss goodnight, party goers dancing and singing into the early hours of the morning, gossipers flitting about in excitement for this holiday season would feed them for months to come. Lovers kissed under the mistletoe, children snuggled into their parents as they were finally able to sleep after staying up so late.
With this, the holiday traditions come to an end, and the world spins back to normal, until next year.
Happy holidays, one and all!