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Anchor Cove was small enough that everyone knew when someone sneezed—and yet it was draped in the protection of one of the most infamous pirate crews alive. Your island wasn't much, but you felt better having their flag hanging above the island's only port.
You also felt better because they made frequent stops.
The bell over the door chimed, and you didn’t even have to look up—you already knew who’d stroll in like he owned the place. Sure enough, a shock of red hair filled the doorway, grin already in place. You turned to greet him as he approached the counter. "Shanks, what are you doing back so soon? It's only been..." You quickly do the math in your head. "Three months? Surprised you didn't come back sooner."
He smiled sheepishly, holding up a bag. "Wondered if you could repair some clothes."
Sighing, you took the bag. "I swear you save all your repairs for me," you teased him.
He grinned. "Don’t give me that look. I swear these tears just… happen around me." He glanced around, bright sunlight shining on him through the display window. "Mind if I take a look and see what you've been doing lately?" The scent of sun-heated leather filled the room from the leather goods in the window. His gaze roamed over the bags, pouches, and satchels, the line of autumn-island inspired clothes you'd recently finished, and the racks of just about everything else that could be considered clothing.
Anchor Cove might be small, but that was only because the island itself couldn't host a larger town. Despite that, it was a popular spot, and you did very well out here.
Laughing, you headed for the back room. "You always do." You knew he'd buy at least an armful of things, some of which you weren't sure he even wanted, but he would get for the ship or crew anyway. Setting down the bag, you couldn't help but appreciate that everything was clean. You could've cleaned them yourself, but that would have added far too much time.
Sitting at your sewing machine, you checked through the clothes briefly.
Mostly Shanks' stuff, you noticed, a few pieces that looked like they belonged to Gab or Snake, Roux's favorite shirt, Beckman's sash - mostly stuff from the senior officers, though there's some pieces you didn't recognize. 'Well, at least they pay well.' It was a lot, but didn't mind. You got to work on the simple things first. You had a feeling he'd been saving up things rather than attempting repairs himself, or letting someone on the crew do it. 'Some of these are so minor, I wonder why he even bothers bringing them here.'
By the time you were done with those, you could hear a few more people in the shop. Laughter rang out, and you smiled, recognizing Limejuice's voice. Hongo's exasperated sigh followed soon after a crash, and Beckman's stern voice was met with a collective groan.
Chuckling to yourself, you stepped out of your workroom in time to see him and Shanks picking up your stand of bags. "You guys don't have to do that," you protested, moving around the counter.
Beckman's lips curved into a smirk as you approached, a cigarette between them as always; thankfully, he remembered your request and it was unlit. "Don't worry about it, doll. Those idiots knocked it down, not fair for ye to pick up after our mess." He set the last bag on a stand, then turned to where a group of them were waiting near the door. "Get yer asses outta here before I kick 'em out." He walked after them as they scrambled out the door.
Shaking your head, you tidied up the display. You were used to their attitudes by now, Beckman's little nicknames, the chaos that inevitably followed - sometimes you wondered what you'd do if they ever stopped showing up. It wasn't until you were nearly done that you noticed Shanks standing there still. "Did you need something, captain?"
He held up a satchel - one from your latest line. The fine-grain leather was embossed with swirling designs you'd seen in the clouds one afternoon. "Wanted to get this." He ran his thumb over the clasp; the gold shone in the shop's lighting.
You hum, cocking a brow and trying not to smile. "Didn't think you'd go for something like that." It was small, nearly a clutch, but you doubted he really wanted it. At least for himself. "That one's 300 beri, but are you sure you don't want something larger?" You gestured towards the hanging display of simpler but larger satchels.
He handed you a small pouch. "It's fine. I wanted something a bit smaller I could carry around the ship," he grins. "But...also wanted to ask you something."
Biting back a sigh, you pull out the correct amount, tucking it away in the till before handing the retied bag to him; he'd tried to overpay - again. "I have repairs to do," you remind him, drumming your fingers on the countertop. "And if you want me to finish within a few days," it would take at least that to get the right materials and fix the remaining clothes, "I should get back to work."
He beamed and tucked the bag into his sash. "I was wondering if you'd like to join the crew tonight at the tavern."
You paused, then looked at him. "I don't know..." You hesitated to say yes. You enjoyed hanging out with the crew, but in all the times they'd come to the island, it had always been when they came to the shop or saw you in the market and tagged along. A good amount of them were massive flirts, though they were always respectful, but you'd never been with them at the tavern.
Besides, you weren't much of a drinker, and you knew Shanks practically breathed alcohol, he drank so much. You weren't against drinking, but spending a night at the tavern had never been that appealing before.
"Please?" He flashed you what you took to be his most charming smile, but all you could think of was an oversized, excited child. "I promise they’ll behave. You can sit with me and Beckman—he bites less." He leaned back, hand hooked in his sash, eyes bright.
You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. "Shanks...I have your work to do, and I need to get out the next seasons line starting tonight." The idea of sitting with them was temping, especially as Beckman was far more level-headed and tempered the crew's antics, but still. "You can join me in the market tomorrow though. A new shipment of materials showed up and I need to pick some up that wasn't delivered here."
He pouted, shoulders slumping. "Come on, you never come to the tavern with us!"
Rubbing your face with both hands, you tried to ignore the pleading look on his face. "Shanks..." 'How in the hell is this man a Yonko?' You'd heard the stories, seen the papers, but it was beyond difficult to imagine this adult child as the terrifying monster he was made out to be. Groaning, you lowered your hands. 'If he gets drunk, I'll just steer him towards Beckman and hope he gets the damn hint!' You weren't exactly thrilled with possibly dealing with him drunk again - last time was bad enough. "Fine. One night."
"Yes!" He came around the counter, pulling you into a hug.
Giggling, you tried to pull away. "Alright, you don't have to drag me there, okay!" Grinning, you sighed as he laid his chin on your shoulder. "I'll be there about 8; I want to at least take a good look at the damage you brought me."
His grin matched yours. "Deal. And if you don't show up, I'll send Beckman to track you down."
Your face burned, and you pulled away. "Oh no, you are not doing that again!" The last time he'd sent Beckman to grab you from the shop, the older man had literally thrown you over his shoulder and carried you - laughing the entire time as you struggled - to where the crew had been partying on the beach. "I promise I'll be there, just...please not Beckman."
He laughed, heading for the door. "You better, or maybe I'll come get you myself."
You groaned, pressing your palms to your face, as the door closed. 'Oh seas, why do these pirates have to be like this?' But it was one night, you told yourself. Just one night.
---
The tavern was packed. You weren't surprised - it was always packed when they showed up - but you almost had a hard time weaving and ducking through the throng to reach where Shanks sat with Beckman.
Off-key singing from the corner, a dart game at the far side, a pirate here and there flirting with a local. You waved at Hongo, who was playing liar's dice with some of the crew; he waved back, but kept his gaze on the game. The smell of beer and ale and rum and whiskey mixed with the scent of people who'd been too long at sea and seawater and whatever was cooking in the back.
The Yonko grinned and lifted his bottle as you approached. "Saved you a seat." He got up, letting you slide into the booth next to Beckman.
The older man smirked, tapping ash into the ashtray in front of him. "Glad ye could come." His grey hair was slicked back as always, though a few stray strands hung over the scar on his temple, and he wasn't wearing his cloak for once.
"Disappointed you didn't have to come fetch me?" you tease. 'Not sure I've seen him look this relaxed before.' It was nice though, different than the usual calm, collected look you were used to.
Shanks barked a laugh and dropped back into the booth, his arm slinging around your shoulders like it belonged there. He leaned in, grin crooked, eyes glittering as he threw Beckman a look. "He did mention something about wanting to walk you here." As always, he smelled of rum and sea salt and something woodsy.
With a sigh, Beckman swatted at him. "No, that was ye who talked about doin' that." Taking a drag, he slid a drink in front of you. "Hope ye don't mind ale. Thought ye might not like the stronger stuff."
Smiling at him, you took it. "Thanks. And you're right, I probably wouldn't have enjoyed it." You gave Shanks a pointed look at that, flicking your gaze from his rum-filled mug to his face. It was his favorite - 'as if I could ever forget' - and many times you'd had to get a fresh drink because he added some to yours when you weren't looking.
Looking completely unbothered by your look, Shanks threw back his drink, downing half in one go. Some spilled onto his shirt, joining the few other stains already there.
Shaking your head, you merely sipped yours. "One of these days, Beckman's going to return to Anchor Cove only to tell me your liver finally gave out because of all your drinking." You couldn't help but smile though. 'As if he'd be taken out by something so mundane.'
Seemed like nothing could take him down though.
Beckman's deep laugh cut through the others nearby as Shanks pouted. "I'll do if ye keep drinkin' like that, boss." Still smirking, he looked at you. "So what made ye agree to come out with us fer once?" Smoke curled around his head lazily.
A chair scraped against the floor, and suddenly Yasopp was there, sliding in with the smell of gunpowder still clinging to him. "Last time we suggested it, you made it clear you wanted nothing to do with us." A line of red across his cheeks, dreads pulled back by a headband, with his mug held loosely in one hand as he lounged in his seat.
"No, that was because the time before that," you tell him, shooting Shanks a mock glare, "Shanks kidnapped me while he was drunk and held me hostage on the ship for two days." It had been a lot of fun, but you wished he'd asked first.
Sticking out his lower lip a little, Shanks' eyes widened. "You said you wanted to see what the ship was like!" He pulled you closer, ignoring the way you pushed back against him.
Groaning at the overgrown child you were now beginning to think was the face of the crew while Beckman was the secret captain, you finally got his arm off your shoulders and leaned against Beckman for protection; he wrapped his own arm around your waist, chuckling. "I said I wanted to see what it was like, I did not say I wanted to stay there!" You tried to sound at least a little annoyed, but it was hard with him pouting at you.
Laughter broke out around you as he sputtered, finally tipping his head back against the seat. "You're no fun..." Right now, he looked much more like a toddler who lost his favorite toy than a terrifying pirate with a 4 million beri bounty.
Giving him an amused look, you relaxed against Beckman, preferring his steady warmth right now than Shanks' clinginess. Four visits ago, you’d never have leaned against him like this. But after years of visits, every couple of months without fail, you didn’t mind anymore.
And unlike Shanks, Beckman never got handsy when drunk. If he’d had too much, he always let you slip away.
Roux and Gab's shouts came from where they were playing darts, and you looked to see the larger man looking defeated. As always, Roux's cheerful grin was in place. Nearby, you spotted Bonk with one of the local girls; from their looks, you figured she'd be spending the night with him.
It was chaos, not much different than the times on the beach when you'd join, just contained inside the tavern. But you didn't find this overwhelming like you'd expected.
Beckman's voice sounded low in your ear. "Glad ye could come here tonight. Always funner when ye join us." He took a long drag, his gaze roaming over the rowdy scene. Smirking, he slid his gaze to yours. "And glad I didn't have to drag ye out of that shop."
You scoff, trying - and failing - not to smile. "You say that, but I think you liked carrying me to the beach."
He grinned, blowing out a smoke ring. "Aye, maybe I did."
Shanks got up suddenly, and you couldn't help a laugh as he chased Snake, who'd walked by and snatched his drink.
Shaking your head, you sank against Beckman. "How have you put up with him all these years?" From what you'd learned over their visits, Beckman was one of his first crewmembers, joining Shanks when the captain was still a fresh pirate.
An exasperated sigh left him at Shanks' triumphant shout. "Drinkin’ and smokin’. Only way I’ve survived." Taking a drink from his bottle, he tightened his grip around your waist, his arm warm. "Sanity’s overrated anyway."
Yasopp chuckled, finishing his mug. "Weren't for you, we'd all think that."
Listening to their banter, you looked over as Shanks rejoined you.
The corner of his lips curled up as he met your gaze. "You gonna sit against my first mate all night?"
Resisting a grin, you purposely shifted closer as Beckman's chest rumbled from his laugh. "Maybe. Least he's not running off after someone."
Gasping in mock surprise, Shanks reached over and pulled you away from Beckman; the larger man shook his head, smirking as he tapped ash into the ashtray.
You giggled, not resisting as you were pulled against the captain's side. "Why do I always have to sit with you?" You didn't move away though as Shanks' arm replaced Beckman's around your waist.
Sitting his chin on your shoulder, his breath smelling heavily of rum, Shanks pulled you into his lap after a moment. "'Cause Beckman always steals the girls, and I’m the captain, so I get the leftovers."
Beckman rolled his eyes, taking a drink from his bottle. "'Cept the leftovers don't usually glare at ye."
Shanks stuck his tongue out at him, making you giggle, then turned his gaze to you with a grin. "You know...you could enjoy more of this if you came with us. It's clear you're having fun."
Scoffing lightly, you took a drink of ale. "Right, like I'd become a pirate."
Shanks leaned back, still holding you in his lap, his grin only widening. "Why not? You’d get the sea, the stars, adventure—" he gestured broadly with his free hand, nearly sloshing his mug before taking another swig "— and me, of course."
You arched a brow. "That last one’s hardly a selling point."
The crew howled with laughter at that, Roux nearly choking on his drink.
Beckman smirked around his cigarette. "Careful, lass. Keep talking like that and he’ll start a whole speech about the glory of freedom."
"Oi!" Shanks protested, though his eyes sparkled. "It’s not a speech if it’s true." He tightened his arm around your waist, his voice dipping closer to your ear. "Wouldn’t you like to see what’s out there instead of being stuck in one place?"
Something about the way he said it made you pause—his tone softer beneath the rum-soaked bravado, almost earnest. 'Well...I have always wanted to see more than Anchor Cove.' You wanted to see fashions from other islands, find where the different fabrics you bought came from, see more people than just the ones here or that came through port occasionally. "I'm not sure..."
"Ye wouldn't have to worry about fightin', if that's what yer concerned about," Beckman commented after a moment. "Not everyone on the ship fights."
You tilted your head toward Beckman, curious. "Really? I figured pirates all had to be fighters."
"Aye, most of us are," Roux piped up cheerfully, raising his mug in salute. "But not everyone. Some cook, some mend sails, some just drink and look pretty." He winked, earning another round of laughter from the table.
"Guess which one he does," Yasopp muttered, and Roux threw a peanut at him.
Shanks chuckled, squeezing your waist. "See? There’s a place for everyone. You could sew, bargain with merchants, keep Beckman from going gray so fast."
"Not possible," Beckman said dryly, though his lips twitched; his hair was already entirely silver.
You swirled the ale in your cup, pretending to think, though your heart gave a small, traitorous flutter. The idea of leaving was absurd…wasn’t it? This was your home, your shop, your life. Yet the thought of open seas, new sights, and being swept along in this kind of chaos—it wasn’t as easy to dismiss as you wanted it to be.
"You’re ridiculous," you muttered, though softer this time.
Shanks leaned forward until his forehead brushed your temple. "And yet…you’re thinking about it."
You groaned, tilting your head back. "Shanks...I belong here, in Anchor Cove. Me? At sea? I'd never make it." You shot him a smile. "Besides, I know if I tag along, you'll just make my work even harder." You let out a light laugh. "Fixing your clothes every day?"
Beckman huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, smoke curling from his lips. "Wouldn’t hurt to have someone who can actually sew. Roux once tried patchin’ a sleeve with rope."
"It held!" Roux shouted defensively, slapping the table.
"For all of two hours," Yasopp deadpanned.
The table erupted again, the tavern shaking with the crew’s laughter. You shook your head, trying to hide your smile in your drink. 'How have they survived?'
Shanks took the opportunity to lean closer, lowering his voice just for you. "See? We’d take good care of you. Better than this lot of landlocked fools."
"You’re drunk," you countered, though your pulse betrayed you, quickening under his arm.
"Always," he admitted cheerfully, brushing his nose against your cheek as his voice softened, "but I mean it." The scent of rum on his breath grew stronger, and you resisted rolling your eyes.
Beckman gave his captain a long-suffering look. "He’ll keep on, ye know. Once Shanks gets an idea in his head, there’s no shakin’ it out." He shook his head and muttered, "She's too smart fer his nonsense..." His grip tightened around his bottle almost subtly.
You tried to wave him off, but Shanks' grin relaxed at the edges, his voice low enough that only you could catch it. "I’m serious, though. You’d fit in with us. Maybe better than you think."
You hesitated, fingers tightening on your cup. That spark in his tone—it wasn’t just rum talking. And that made it harder to laugh it off.
---
The salty air seemed harsher today. Pulling your cart along the road towards the docks, the wind kept tugging towards the open sea. Ignoring that as much as possible, you headed for the Red Force. It had taken all day yesterday, and most of today, but you were finally done with the repairs. Ahead of you, Shanks stood with Beckman; both men were deep in conversation.
Until Shanks saw you.
Grinning, he met you before you reached Beckman. "Have you thought about it?"
You slowed, fingers tightening on the cart handle. "About what?"
He gave you a look that said he knew you were stalling. "Joining us. The sea, adventure, me—" his grin widened, teasing, "—don’t tell me you forgot already."
Rolling your eyes, you tried to keep your tone light. "I had work to do. Unlike some people, I don’t get to spend every day drinking and chasing trouble."
Beckman’s low chuckle drifted from behind him. "She’s got ye there."
Shanks shot his first mate a mock glare but leaned closer to you, lowering his voice. "You did think about it though."
You hated that he wasn’t wrong. The wind catching your hair, the endless horizon beyond the docks—it had whispered possibilities all day while you stitched. "Maybe," you admitted, so quiet he almost missed it.
Shanks’ grin softened at the edges, turning less like a tease and more like an invitation. "Then come see the ship, proper this time. Not just your repairs. Let me show you what you’d be trading for Anchor Cove."
Beckman stubbed his cigarette out on the crate beside him, giving you an assessing look. "Careful. He’ll have you convinced before you realize it."
"And you wouldn’t mind?" you asked, glancing between them. You didn't want to admit you'd already made your decision, but you weren't about to say it yet.
Beckman shrugged, though his eyes lingered on you a beat too long. "Yer choice. Always has been. Just know he doesn’t give up easy."
Shanks beamed, already reaching for your hand. "So? One little tour won’t hurt."
You hesitated, but the warmth of Shanks’ hand around yours pulled you forward before you could think better of it. The boards of the dock creaked beneath your boots as he led you up the gangplank, his grin so wide you suspected it hurt. 'Please tell me I'm not going to regret this...'
“Welcome aboard the Red Force,” he declared dramatically, sweeping his arm out like he was unveiling a palace. “Here we’ve got the finest crew, the best rum, and—” he leaned close enough that you felt the brush of his hair against your cheek, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper— “a captain who’ll spoil you rotten.”
You snorted. “Pretty sure you just mean ‘a captain who’ll drink all my ale and ruin all my stitching.’” You'd been wondering when he would start flirting with you - he'd started a little at the bar, to the point Beckman even teased him as they walked you home.
“Details,” he said breezily, tugging you along toward the deck.
Beckman followed at a slower pace, shaking his head as if already resigned. “Don’t let him fool ye. It’s less spoilin’, more causin’ trouble.”
The deck opened before you, sails furled but ready, ropes coiled neatly, the scent of tar and sea salt filling your lungs. From here the horizon looked endless, the water glittering like it was daring you to step further. Wood creaked beneath your feet, the sounds of the crew working in the rigging reached your ears, you could smell Roux cooking something in the kitchen.
Your chest tightened, not unpleasantly.
Shanks noticed—of course he did. His grin tilted softer, eyes catching the way yours lingered on the sea. “See? Feels different up here, doesn’t it? Like the world’s just waiting for you.”
You shook your head, though a smile tugged at your lips. “You’re dangerous.”
“Only in the best ways,” he quipped instantly, winking.
Beckman groaned under his breath, lighting another cigarette. “Knew bringin’ ye aboard would end with him usin’ every line he’s got.” His gaze flicked between you and Shanks; partly annoyed, partly exasperated, but also curious.
“Every line until one works,” Shanks said cheerfully, tightening his grip on your hand. Then, quieter, for you alone: “Tell me you don’t want to see what’s out there, just once.”
Your answer caught in your throat, because the truth was…you couldn’t. You wanted to see the world, but you wanted home. Safety, quiet days in just your studio, mornings where you could enjoy not having to worry about anything until you had your coffee.
But you couldn't ignore the fact that every time they left, at least in the last two years, you'd watched their ship until it was out of sight. You would have never asked to come aboard - that wasn't your style - but you'd also never dreamed Shanks would ask you to join.
Shanks' gaze softened, as if he could sense your inner turmoil. "If you really don't want to come, you can tell me. I'll understand."
Beckman's hand landed on your shoulder. "The seas not easy, and not always kind. If ye want to think about it more, we can come back in a month."
Your throat felt tight. 'A month?' That sounded like forever. You’d lie awake every night, staring at your ceiling, wondering if the Red Force had sunk into the horizon for good. Wondering if you’d just let the chance slip by.
Shanks’ thumb brushed over your knuckles where he still held your hand, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “Or you could come now. No waiting. No wondering. Just… see what it feels like.”
Beckman’s sigh came out like smoke curling through the air. “He’s right ‘bout one thing. Seas won’t wait. It moves on whether ye’re ready or not.”
Your gaze drifted past them, over the rail. The waves slapped lazily against the hull, endless blue stretching until it bled into the horizon. Anchor Cove suddenly felt very small, very far away—even though it was only a few steps back down the dock.
Your heart thudded unevenly. “If I did…” you swallowed, “what if I can’t keep up? What if I don’t belong out there?”
Shanks leaned closer, his grin softer than the ones he flashed in taverns. “Then we bring you home. Simple as that. But at least you’ll know you tried.”
Beckman’s hand gave your shoulder the faintest squeeze before he let go. “And if ye do belong… well. You’ll never look at Anchor Cove the same again.”
The sea breeze tugged your hair across your cheek, salt and possibility stinging in the air.
Your lips parted before you could stop yourself. “...Alright. I’ll come.”
Shanks froze, as if he hadn’t heard you right. Then his whole face broke into the widest grin you’d ever seen, so bright it made your stomach flip. “You mean it?”
A shaky laugh slipped out. “Don’t make me say it twice.” 'Please tell me I made the right choice.'
He actually whooped, loud enough that a few of the crew on deck leaned over the railing to see what had happened. Without warning, Shanks scooped you up off your feet and spun you in a wide circle, laughter bubbling out of him, hair flying wild in the wind. “She’s coming! Did you hear that? She’s coming with us!”
“Captain’s gone mad,” Yasopp called from above, but his grin was just as wide.
“Thought it'd take longer!” Roux Limejuice, already raising a mug in your direction.
You clung to Shanks’ shoulders, half laughing, half mortified at the scene he was making. “Put me down! You’re going to drop me!”
“Never,” he said, and set you on your feet a little too gently, like you might vanish if he let go. His hand lingered at your waist, his grin boyish and unrestrained.
Beckman pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Like a kid in a toy store,” he muttered, lighting another cigarette. “Knew this’d be trouble the second he spotted your shop.”
You met Beckman’s eyes over Shanks’ shoulder. His expression was weary, but not disapproving—steady, grounding, almost protective. And for the first time, you let yourself exhale the nerves fluttering in your chest.
You also didn't miss the implication behind his words. Or the protective gleam in his eye.
It wasn't when Shanks spotted your shop, it was when he spotted you.
Shanks kissed your temple so suddenly you startled. “Best decision you’ll ever make, sweetheart. I promise.”
You tried to roll your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. The waves lapped against the Red Force’s hull like applause, and you couldn’t help but wonder if the sea had been waiting for you all along.