Chapter Text
The waves are calm on the Grand Line by the time Drake leaves Wano. He is grateful, otherwise an escape would have been difficult.
Preparing the small sloop for sailing is an easy, mechanical motion.
Climb the rigging, take off Kaido’s flag. It wouldn’t do good to be seen after the Emperor’s defeat.
Raise the anchor.
Raise the sails.
Catch the wind.
Leave.
He doesn't take much. Food and medical supplies are most important. The latter of the two being very sparse with the amount of people who got hurt in the battle but he is a former officer. He has access to exclusive sources others might not know about. Food is easier, seeing as it isn’t hoarded anymore. He takes enough for two people.
A log pose is absolutely necessary.
As is an eternal pose to Renegade Reef. A pirates’ haven.
He doesn’t know how far the rumours of him being a Marine have spread. It’s unlikely anyone outside of Wano knows about them but he can’t be too careful.
The storm around Wano country has long since settled and the boat soon catches a strong wind in the sail.
He takes off.
He looks straight ahead and pretends he doesn’t see the other ships and boats sailing away. Kaido’s lackeys are running away now that their captain has been defeated. They all send fearful looks his way but he has other things to worry about.
He hopes the marine-issued Transponder Snail he purposefully left on the island wouldn’t ring for a couple more days at least…
Three days pass easily.
Drake is lucky. He has only encountered two storms and none of them were too harsh. The morning is cold and fog has settled everywhere but he trusts the eternal pose to lead him to his destination.
By noon the sun is scorching above his head and he shifts uncomfortably in his leather jacket. The Wano weather has been much kinder to him. A northerner like him has never been able to handle so much heat but he bears it just fine.
Luckily, there is a distraction. He senses the feeling of another person’s presence below deck before anything else, then soft sounds of swishing fabric reach his ears in between the waves hitting the sides of the hull. Drake exhales in relief and makes his way below, gripping in his hand a small silk satchel.
“You’re awake.”
Hawkins closes his eyes and puts down the glass of water he has been drinking from. His hair is bloodied as they were on the battlefield earlier, the tips looking more brown than blonde now. It’s tangled, and quite a mess really, Hawkins would never present himself in this way, but Drake couldn’t bring himself to brush his hair or wash it while Hawkins was unconscious. He knew how Hawkins would feel about it once he woke up. His face, however, is still fair and pleasant, masking away the pain he must undoubtedly be feeling.
“You shouldn’t move around too much,” Drake speaks before approaching him. “Let me change your bandages.”
“Stay away.” Hawkins’ tone is muted, defeated. He probably loathes to appear so weak in front of another person, a Marine of all things, Drake understands that. But there are matters far more important than that right now.
Without listening to his request Drake kneels beside him. He puts the satchel in his pocket and he picks up the medical kit, rummaging for some clean bandages and pain-killers. Hawkins is obivously trying to hide it but the clench of his teeth and the paleness on his cheeks are more than enough to give him away. It’s difficult to ignore it and it’s even more difficult to not show concern, but Drake knows it’s for the best that he keeps his distance for now.
He takes in a harsh breath and glances back at Drake. “What is your problem? I told you to leave. You already won, you’re already getting that prestige at Marine Headquarters, so just leave me with my dignity while I still have it.”
Drake hardly ever saw him get angry and even now he only seems frustrated while his voice remained even and calm. Hawkins never showed too many emotions in general, so him losing his composure even to this small extent meant he had to be suffering a great amount.
He reaches for Hawkins’s head and cuts off the bandage with scissors. “We’re not going to Marine Headquarters.”
Hawkins huffs. "Of course not. You're taking me to Impel Down." He finally seems to relax while Drake reapplies his bandages, probably realising he has no choice in the matter.
Once he is done, Hawkins meets his gaze. It is harsh and unforgiving, red eyes filled with contempt, void of any affection they might have shown a long time ago.
"You should've just let me die."
Drake doesn’t react and calmly moves onto his left arm. He continues changing the bandages around the stump, as he pretends he doesn’t hear Hawkins' grunts of pain. His touches are gentle and he tries to hurry in order to give Hawkins the space he’s craving.
"We're not going to Impel Down either,” he finally says once the bandages are safely secured around the other man's arm. He grabs a pill and hands it to Hawkins. It’s the strongest one he has, but if it’s not enough he will give him another later.
Hawkins holds it dumbly in his palm as he stares at Drake with shock. "Then where? Aren't you a Marine?"
What point is there in denying anymore? Hawkins already holds nothing but contempt for him, Drake’s made his peace with that. Plus, it’s just the two of them here and despite everything, Drake still trusts him. Perhaps now more than ever, after his secrets have come to light.
“I am, but I’m not arresting you. We’re going to Renegade Reef.” He nods towards the glass of water. “Take the pill.”
Hawkins seems to have no intention in obeying as he clenches his fist and looks straight at Drake with his eyebrows furrowed. “Why did you save me?”
Without hesitation, Drake replies, “You know why.”
Hawkins laughs soullessly and leans back slightly. “Quite the short replies today, huh?” He finally throws the pill in his mouth and swallows it without water. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Once we get to Renegade Reef, I’m leaving.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Drake leans on the mast. He knows well the look in Hawkins’s eyes, the same look he gives to enemies that he is chasing down. It is a look that promises pain and punishment and Drake is more disheartened than he’d like to admit seeing as that look is now directed towards him. “You won’t last a day, you can’t even kill a fly as you are.”
“And that’s none of your business. Not anymore, …” He puts a finger to his chin. “What’s your Marine rank? Captain? Probably not. Commodore? Could be. Vice-admiral? I can’t give you that much credit.”
Drake looks away. “I won’t even have a rank after this, so it doesn’t matter.”
“Traitorous to the bitter end, can’t say I’m surprised.”
Hawkins knows how to hit where it hurts, Drake has had enough time to learn that about him. For once, he deserves it. He reaches into his pocket and throws the satchel into Hawkins’s lap.
Without saying a word, he picks it up and spills the contents on the floor next to him.
“These are…”
“Your cards.”
Hawkins glances at him, confused, before he picks up the deck to look through the cards. Some are stained with blood, Drake didn’t have enough time to clean them, but Hawkins doesn’t seem to mind. He is unable to shuffle them with only one hand but he soon summons his straws to his aid. His expression is not pained or angry anymore, he’s simply reading his cards as he usually does.
The sight is one that Drake is well accustomed to but this time it feels way more bitter than before.
“They predicted your death, how can you continue to handle them so easily?”
Hawkins raises his gaze. “I’m not dead, am I?”
And yet as he speaks one card falls from the deck. It lays on the wooden floor facing downwards. He picks it up and almost as if on cue, he reveals the death card. Hawkins chuckles.
Drake shakes his head. “Just toss them away.”
Raising a tattooed eyebrow in his direction, Hawkins places the card on one of his straws. “The death card rarely means anyone will die. It shows the end of a phase in someone’s life. Fitting, I would say. Don’t you?”
The conversation seems reminiscent of the many they used to have in the past. Maybe Hawkins’s patient explanation is his way of showing gratitude to Drake for returning his cards. He knows that gratitude would be short-lived but he also knows how much the cards ease Hawkins’s mind. That is something he learned over the past months… He couldn’t ever think of taking that away from him.
So he risked his life gathering all the damn 78 cards from the floor (yes, he counted) because he knew it would make it easier for Hawkins later. At that point he realised that he was too far gone, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“And yet some things remain the same…” He muses out loud, almost like he didn’t mean to.
Without looking up from his cards, Hawkins continues, “More things changed than you realise.”
Drake doesn’t doubt that, although the way Hawkins says it… It’s as if he’s trying to make Drake accept something. Something that he had long come to terms with.
Picking up the medical kit, he turns his back and opens the door.
“I’ll come back later with lunch. Let me know if you need anything.”
There is no response and Drake has to suppress a sigh. He moves to take a step forward when…
A razor sharp straw pierces the wall, missing his ear by mere centimetres. He turns around abruptly to look at the man behind him.
Without missing a beat and without looking up he replies, “There was a fly.”
As Drake turns to look back at the straw, true enough there is a fly stabbed perfectly in the middle. Holding back a smile, he just shakes his head and walks through the door.
Maybe it isn’t perfect… but after that exchange, Drake thinks that maybe it’s fixable.