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Kaku is well-mannered; everyone knows that.
His strength is undisputed as well, but that is not a distinction in his profession. In neither of them... All Dock 1 shipwrights are proud of their valor, of how well they can defend their city from filthy pirates (and in the case of one specific shipwright - from creditors). But nobody in Water 7 ever doubts that Kaku is fair, trustworthy, and courteous.
And that he ought not to grimace as if he has just bitten into something sour and rotting and is too polite to spit it out when Paulie buys another round of drinks and claps Lucci on the shoulder. The touch lingers. Paulie's fingers twitch minutely as they brush the skin. A calloused, broad hand pressed against Lucci's naked shoulder. A bony shoulder, hiding his power and miraculously still pale despite years spent in the sun. Not even Kaku knows the trick of it. His own face is sun-kissed and golden; his smile is not even the slightest bit crooked when he laughs together with his colleagues.
The hand remains. Even as Paulie raises his tankard; the foam boldly swaying with the upward motion. "That ship is a fucking beauty, if I say so myself! Did you see her oarlocks? The precise location? Goddamn principle of the lever in all its accursed glory."
Paulie continues shouting, his face red from his drink and the evening heat, the stubble rough like weed. Beer foam is cooling in the corner of his grin. Really, quite unattractive. Weak too. Those fingers would break like twigs if Kaku just shakes his hand and squeezes. Twisting and dislocating the little bones until they pop out of his skin.
And yet, for all his critique, it is not his hand that is resting on Lucci's shoulder. With Lucci's hair touching him in turn, like some soft, dark thundercloud. Kaku feels ticklish just looking at it. He briefly scratches the backside of his hand, ashamed of the innocent gesture. Ashamed that Lucci might see right through it.
"The calculations were terrific! And I betcha that if we put five strong men at the oars, it'll run faster than any of the light galleys."
The white strip of Lucci's shirt is slipping, every so slowly, exposing even more skin for Paulie to touch, and Kaku almost gasps at the indecency. Nobody mentions it. Nobody even sees it. They are all just colleagues, nah, friends, and everyone is happy enough that Lucci and Paulie aren't fighting. In itself, a rare enough occasion to celebrate.
Finally, after ages and decades - not even the void centuries were that long and depressing - Paulie's hand retreats. It curls around the cold glass of his tankard, and on his face glows a smug, satisfied expression. With some disgust, Kaku realizes that Paulie is…happy.
Another thing that he realizes is that Paulie has to die.
***
It is Kalifa who snorts during their quarterly mission reports and draws their collective attention to the fact.
"Damn you, Lucci. Couldn't you let the boy pine a little longer? Now he's going to be insufferable."
Her snort is utterly unladylike, unsuitable to her role as the ever-diligent secretary. But they are among themselves now, no need to pretend. Among themselves and cooped up in yet another damp fisher hut, one of the many hideouts strewed across the city. The supply seems endless, and yet the numbers are dwindling, caught between the sea level and the rising prosperity that is turning every unused piece of land into something potentially valuable.
Soon, they may need to hold those meetings up in the sky, above the dark clouds, and surrounded by stars as their only witnesses.
That would be lovely, yes.
Kaku is ready to leave right away. Take off and just ignore the fact.
"Shut up and file it." Lucci is not even looking up from Blueno's reports: A meticulous account of the regulars and guests, their gossip, and what kind of news is reaching Water 7 from the surrounding isles.
Lucci is never soft on Kalifa, and Kaku thinks she secretly enjoys his callousness. After being surrounded by men who react to her with varying degrees of lewdness, it is a rare joy to be judged solely on her actions, albeit harshly. If anything, she takes the reprimands with way too much glee, but who is Kaku to judge.
To him, Lucci is never rude. And Kaku is used to Lucci, his thoughts, the way his body moves. So that Kaku absolutely does not shiver when Lucci's thigh brushes his.
The hut is full of shadows and the rustling of paper, and a lone dark lantern on an old table. Another document passes into his hands. Over the rim of the page, Kaku glimpses the pouty downturn of Kalifa's lips as she deposes a single coin on that buttery yellow slant of light and pushes it toward Blueno. "Whatever," she comments on the transaction, and the coin glints mockingly. "Serves me right for underestimating a young fool's horniness."
Blueno is quiet, cherishing the silence. Not having to entertain his customers or carefully monitor their idle talk for grains of useful information is as relaxing to him as frankness is to Kalifa.
He still takes the coin.
Did they just wager on how fast Lucci and Paulie would…?
Damn.
Kaku looks away. He quickly scans the page and Lucci's sharp writing, while adding his own observations to the stack. The words flash before his eyes; his mind already decrypting their meanings despite his best attempts to read fast enough to outpace his understanding.
'… established an intimate relationship with Iceburg's closest apprentice…'
The statement is simultaneously earth-shattering and sparse, omitting all the important details.
Yes, but is he any good? — Kaku wants to ask. He does not, and the words bite his tongue, rattle behind his teeth, multiplying.
It is only work, right?
I could please you better
Let me prove myself to you
Anytime you like
Anytime
Kalifa takes the papers from him; encryption and communications are her forte. The director will receive the encoded reports, and they — the new instructions, should they be any.
Whatever good it will do for the World Government to know who is allowed to lick the sweat from their favorite weapon. To moan his name while they inhale his scent and burrow their face in the crook of his —
Lucci is gone. Silent as a ghost, the memory of his shape dissipating into the cold mist, just one more shadow among many.
Kaku is almost out of the door himself when a thought occurs. His friends did not invite him into their little game, does that mean… He swiftly turns, raising a finger to indicate a question, polite as ever. "Actually. That wager of yours, does it — "
Kalifa's smile is chilly as the night air when she shuts the door in his face.
***
The house calls are useful to gather intel, and everyone is nice to their favorite mountain wind boy. They fill him up with cakes and castellas and idle gossip that he makes sure to memorize even as he swallows the sweets and flutters his eyelashes.
Grannies and small children are particularly fond of him. Old Alice here just can't get enough of his wide-eyed attentiveness, even long after her boat is fixed, re-painted, and adjusted to be easily steerable by her arthritic hands. One of which is now resting upon his own, while the other is shuffling sugar into his cup. The vines on old Alice's hands run dark and heavy under her papery skin, but her prying eyes seem to notice everything. As blue as the day when she was a little girl.
"'Tis so, pumpkin, truly 'tis so. They fired him for his critique of the… Well, let's not invoke their names here, shall we?" A tiny teaspoon (its handle — a filigree yellow flower) is clinking against the thin porcelain of a teacup, and Kaku smiles, understanding, and nods. Really, no need for more sugar, the milked tea is plenty sweet.
"And then Iceburg, sea goddess bless his soul, made sure to hire Jacob as one of his artillery masters. Poor lad had no one else to turn to, all those powder formulas or such secret nonsense, weighing heavily on his mind… You like the touch of lemon there, sweet? Don't tell Maria, that hussy from across the street, yes, her. I have my special recipe for that, just come to me when the next time when you want something tasty, will you? And tomorrow my niece is going to visit from San Faldo, silly girl but so pretty, could really use a nice, respectable lad…"
The sun is heavy and purple, sinking into the horizon and leaking all over the city, when Kaku finally manages to say his goodbyes to the old lady. He feels just as fat and full as the sun when he takes off, and the cool wind finally clears his head from all the nonsense. The husk of cake recipes and petty rivalries, the many nieces and nephews — it all scatters in the wind until only one piece of information remains. He should report it, truly, or else why did he sit so unreasonably long in old Alice's overly warm parlor and take his sweet time with the old lady. Jacob won't even know what hits him when Corgy's people arrest him the next time he sets foot outside of Water 7 jurisdiction. A tragic accident at sea. The naval voyages are dangerous; best to stay put and not say that your government is evil.
Not because they aren't. But because they might be listening.
The clouds are frothy and pink-tinged, and the buildings are casting long, dark shadows, making jumping between the rooftops a game of checkered pieces in red and black. Kaku just lands on a rounded arch of a pastry shop when he hears a familiar cooing.
Hattori is wistfully picking around the edge of the roof, looking for any stray crumbs that might be blown up from the shop downstairs. He does not look particularly hungry; his feathers are gleaming white, and his belly is plump and soft. His grazing seems more bored, absentminded. As if a human were waiting on some tedious task and leafing through a novel they already know the end of.
The more excited he is to see Kaku. A soft coo and a flap of his wings, and Hattori is perched on his shoulder. His little black eyes are full of expectation as if it's on Kaku to provide entertainment.
It is then that he sees the two men down in the narrow street, deep in the shadow and plastered against the stone wall. The dark-green water of the channel is lapping almost at their feet, the edge mossy and dangerous, and they would be sensible to step up and go inside. But they are too busy kissing, soft gasps echoing from the murky water.
For once, Paulie is without his cigar, so that he can smudge his face against Lucci's. With little finesse and a deep, hopeless grunt that echoes from the walls like a sea monster's cry. His hands are grabbing Lucci's biceps, roaming up and down, over those ridiculous tattoos, over Lucci's bare skin. His grip looks desperate enough to bruise, but Kaku knows that he can't. Does it frustrate him? That he will never be strong enough to mark Lucci.
He sure as hell tries. His solid body is pushing Lucci against the wall, deceptively strong against the willowy figure that does not resist. The rough denim of his jacket keeps scratching on naked skin.
Blunt fingernails uselessly glide off Lucci's upper arms and instead curl around his waist. The white shirt is but a flimsy guard against the passionate onslaught; it is pulled even higher as Paulie gathers confidence - or succumbs to madness - and there are rough hands on Lucci's ribs, palms splayed out in greed, a finger almost touching a nipple…
Heat is pooling under Kaku's high collar; his cheeks are flushed red from the setting sun.
Hattori coos again, bored and loud, and Kaku blinks. Repeatedly and angrily, and finally tears his gaze away.
"Me too, my friend, me too. Shall we fly a quick round while our favorite human is…occupied?"
***
It is spring. The sky turns from black to gray to silver, and Kaku is in the air again.
His destination is nearby, and he could take a short walk instead, but there is a certain joy in landing on Lucci's rooftop. His apartment is on the upper floor, overlooking the cascading tiers all the way down to the azure waters of the coastline. The rooftop is slanted and narrow, making that landing spot inaccessible to everyone except him (countless pigeons notwithstanding), so that when the morning sky lightens, so does Kaku's mood.
His landing on the terracotta tiles is hushed. A familiar pattern of heavy boots and soft steps.
Some mornings, Lucci greets him with a spare cup of coffee, perfectly balanced in sweetness, no milk. Others with a genuinely grumpy look of someone who is very much not a morning person, but first and foremost, a killer of all things that annoy him. Kaku cherishes all of his moods.
The window is dark; there is no tantalizing smell of coffee from the open shutters. Not a noise, in fact. One of those mornings, eh?
Kaku drops to the windowsill, crouching to look inside, and the smile dies on his lips. His grip leaves small dents on the window frame, suddenly brittle under his touch.
Paulie never stays the night.
Never.
And yet, there is a familiar shape in Lucci's bed. Holding him. One tanned, muscular arm, encircling Lucci as a trophy; a lick of blond hair sticking up from behind dark curls.
Paulie's face is tucked in between Lucci's shoulder blades, his expression obscured, not mocking, and yet, for a heartbeat, Kaku feels Paulie pushing him out. His fingers are numb, as weak as any civilians. Any moment now, they will open, and he will fall backward onto the stone-paved streets.
The pain of broken bones is blood-red and angry as it cuts through Kaku's mind.
Yesterday was a long evening at Iceburg's, and Paulie was the only one invited to attend to him, so it makes perfect sense to allow the boy an indulgence tonight… The stick and the castella. It is all reasonable. The way their bodies are intertwined — rational. The way Lucci's hair is curling all over Paulie's arms — understandable. The way Paulie's hand is resting over his naked chest —
Lucci opens his eyes.
There is not a trace of drowsiness in them. He locks his gaze on Kaku as he glides out of bed. Shrugging Paulie's embrace off as casually as any dirty sheets.
His pale eyes are burning in the twilight of his room.
He comes nearer, hooking Kaku's attention as if piercing his guts with a harpoon. He tugs on it, and Kaku bleeds. A bit more with each step that Lucci takes toward him. His dark hair smells like cigarette smoke and cheap beer.
"Nothing useful." Lucci's mouth is barely moving, a sigh from his kiss-stained lips. He is naked, and his hair is tousled from sleep, but the annoyance between his eyebrows is as present as ever, as alert as during any of their mornings.
Kaku wants to lean in and catch Lucci's breath with his lips so badly that he is light-headed with need. The twilight in the room is closing in on him until only Lucci's pale face remains. Cruel lips and narrow eyes. Forever and always the center of all things.
Paulie yawns loudly.
He stretches his arms, rubs the sleep from his eyes, and Kaku is gone. Gone so fast, he can barely hear Hattori as the bird takes up his spot on Lucci's side, loudly cooing and providing them with a perfect alibi.
The sun is rising over the skyline. It is brilliant, gleaming white.
***
His Cipher Pol uniform feels tight after the loose shipwright attire. Restricting, like a hand squeezing his throat. But it suits the cool Enies Lobby splendor, its marble walls and polished surfaces.
And maybe some restriction is exactly what he needs right now. Discipline. A clarity of mind.
The sun never sets in Enies Lobby. It pours in through the high windows, blinding and bright, and reflects off his shiny new shoes, smearing tiny lights over the black polish. Kaku sits in a chair in his assigned room, up in the Tower of Justice; his body is all angles and lines, with one ankle resting on top of the opposite knee. His eyes are closed as he embraces the darkness behind his eyelids, erasing five years of his life from his memory.
Except that the memory refuses to die.
It crawls back, leaving a trail of blood and muttered curses in its wake. The high door creaks, and Kaku opens his eyes and clears his expression of emotions. Every single feeling has plummeted down to his guts, hiding there, heavy and cold like seastone.
"Traitor." Paulie spits blood on the marble floor, not so much a gesture of disgust as an unavoidable consequence of his inner injuries. His spittle leaves a red-tinged glint on his chin, badly shaven as ever. "Where is the bastard hiding? I want to see him!" He is shaking, clamping the door frame for support. How lucky should a man be to make it this far? How stupid.
"Why? Did not Lucci hurt you enough?" Kaku asks, but does not reach for the katanas leaning on the side of his chair. No need to mix business and pleasure. And it's not like he does not understand the urge. He would also prefer that Rob Lucci hit him rather than not touch him at all.
But in his chest pocket sits a key, a tiny piece of metal, blessed with the lingering warmth of Lucci's hands. The thought itself is warm, melting the heavy cluster of emotions in his guts. Rob Lucci has trusted him enough. Has chosen him.
Kaku's posture is relaxed, almost bored, when Paulie charges toward him like an enraged, bleeding bull. Expect — he was never fast enough for Kaku, not even when it was only Kaku, the mountain wind. Now, bruised and bleeding, driven mad by pain, Paulie does not have a fraction of a chance.
And Kaku is not a cruel man — not by the standards of his owners anyway — but does not hold back either. Fighting feels like therapy. The only way they know how to fix something that is broken.
His forefinger sinks into the same open wound that Lucci has left, chasing the long-gone warmth of his touch. A shared intimacy inside another man's body.
"He has no desire to see you." Kaku's whisper is reluctant and very quiet. It does not need to be loud; the only sound in the room is a slow trickle of blood and Paulie's heavy breathing. His face hovers merely inches away from Kaku's. He has heard him, alright, Kaku can feel the twitch of the warm flesh around his finger as he speaks.
"You were just another mission objective to him, nothing more." He did not plan to say that, but the envy that he has been carrying around for 5 years must have finally found his tongue and laced it with viciousness. Or with hope. With desperate hope for it to be true.
More blood gushes out the moment Kaku withdraws his hand, taking the memories of Lucci's parting touch with him. In a way, he is doing Paulie a kindness, taking the heaviness of those memories away, leaving him with scars instead of open wounds. Paulie disagrees with this definition, but Kaku slaps his fists away with ease. The ropes are coiled at their feet too, bloodied and tangled, but ultimately useless. Kaku has no patience for this now; he is focused on his task. He still hasn't fully traced the afterglow of Lucci's game. The next spot is in Paulie's side, just a grazing touch of a cut. What was Lucci thinking, toying with the boy like that?
Hit — and the pain spreads all over the memory of their evenings in Blueno's pub, claiming all the accidental touches.
The next one is on Paulie's thigh, dangerously near his groin, such a cruel tease. Hit — and all the kissing and grouping in the narrow streets gets murky as blood in the water.
And the last one, just a breath away from his heart. Hit — and the memory of Lucci's eyes fades. The way they glowed in the dark, that night that he shared with Paulie.
Paulie crumbles to the floor, and Kaku does not feel angry or jealous anymore, just hollow. There is new space inside him, where fresh feelings could rise up and fill the void. "Go home, Paulie." His voice is free of malice or tension. "Go home to the people who need you."
Paulie will survive and maybe, someday, even forget them. If not forgive. So, Kaku does not look back when he leaves the heaving wreck of a human behind, instead, he pats the key in his pocket, the one that Lucci gave him. He will just have to go out and leave his own marks on his man.