Archive of Our Own

Crocodile lets out a soft breath as he leans in against Himewari's leg. The prehistoric reptile hisses in delight, her eyes blinking in the low light.

“Crocodile, sir?” The voice comes from the doorway, and he knows it well.

“How many times do I have to tell you Author, you keep calling me sir and I'm going to shove those glasses up your ass.” Crocodile smiles, his tone teasing.

“Aw but then how would I be able to read your reports? Face it, you need me sir, and besides! It helps sell the look of Evil Criminal Boss.” Author chuckles out, adjusting their glasses back onto their nose.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyways, what's this I heard about a special… party favor?” Crocodile gestures vaguely with his hand, his hook resting on his leg.

“Oh yes, that! I heard from our special Miss Halloween that there was to be a particular package delivered to our back door in about 3ish hours.” Author waves their hand back and forth when referencing the time.

“Speak English jackass.” Crocodile growls out, trying not to roll his eyes.

“Ugh, you're never any fun.” Author rolls their eyes.

“Have you ever heard of a Devil Fruit?” Author asks with a shit eating grin.

“There's a Devil Fruit in town. Which one?” Crocodile moves to stand up, his hand pushing on the desk.

“That, I'm not sure. However! It will be in the basement of Squabble and Squeak tavern at midnight.” Author grins, turning back towards the door.

“I take it you'll be heading out?”

“Have a drink ready for me when I come back.” Crocodile growls out, already making his way out of the cove that made up his office.

It's nearly midnight when he makes it to the tavern.

Fuck it's too goddamn short.

He breaks the padlock on the door as quietly as he can, the force from his hands more than enough to snap off the overworked metal.

He has to bend awkwardly through the doorframe, his body having to stoop a bit to fit in the building.

The murmured voices make him pause.

“Why'd you bring her then?” A hushed voice hisses out.

“I plan on dropping her off at the Loansmen office after this. She hasn't got any papers or nothing.” There's a second voice, deeper than the other.

“You sure she won't cause us any trouble with the fruit?” The first voice is cautious.

“Shouldn't, she doesn't even speak. We'll sell this damn fruit and be on our way to the easy life.”

He's heard enough.

The door slams open and two gunshots ring out. The slump of bodies hitting the floor means absolutely nothing to him. The blood pools and he takes a look around. There’s nothing in sight except for a little girl.

She’s dressed in rags, her eyes foggy with something flesh-colored in her hand.

Ew.

Crocodile turns towards the box. It’s cushioned with an indent where something round would go. He stares at it for a second.

Fuck!

He turns and the girl already has a piece shoved into her mouth.

The horrifying sight stops him dead in his tracks.

The juice is dark red and sticks to her. It’s all over her mouth and hands and drips down her arms in thick red streaks. The entire thing looks like a ball of flesh and muscle, but comes apart like an overripe plum.

“Hey, kid!” He tries, putting the gun down and reaching for her hands.

Her eyes are glassy. She isn’t responding.

“Kid!” He whisper yells again, shaking her hard and ignoring the red juice that gets on his hand.

Why is it warm? He tries to ignore the shiver down his back.

“Kid you gotta drop it!” He lets out a soft growl.

He grabs at her fingers, trying to wrench them open. His hand squeezes hard on the flesh of the fruit.

Nothing gives.

It’s like fucking concrete.

She isn’t even gripping it hard, just mindlessly shoving the flesh inside of her mouth like it was a lazy afternoon.

He lets out a snarl whirling around and picking up his gun.

He aims it at her hands and stops.

The barrel shakes.

What the fuck is he doing?

She shoves the last of it into her mouth and swallows. Her eyes roll back and her small body starts to fall back onto the wood table.

The gun clatters to the floor.

The back of his hand hits the table. Her head is so small in his palm, her skin red with a fever and a soft pained sound coming out of her mouth.

He can’t leave her here.

The gun fits on his belt, and he grabs her with his good arm. At the very least, he had the Devil Fruit. Mission successful.

He should have sent Mr. 1 to do this shit.

“Crocodile, sir?”

“What.”

Crocodile can already hear it, his eye twitches.

“Is there…. a reason, you have decided to pick up a small child? If you’ve been holding out on me about a wife I will be-” Author is already by his side, paperwork and clipboard in hand.

Crocodile tries not to roll his eyes, he just got back to the office.

“Shut up, by the sands you are annoying.” He hisses, opening the door to the cove.

“Send for a doctor, she ate the fruit before I got there.” Crocodile says, grabbing a spare table and setting it by the wall.

“God you’re cranky when it’s late.” Author complains, but Crocodile knows the job will get done.

She lays there limply on the table, breathing and still feverish.

Crocodile collapses into Himewari’s arm, the large reptile not having moved from her spot.

“What do you think?” He asks her, gesturing to the girl.

Himewari lets out an approving hiss.

“Good enough.” Crocodile pulls a cigar free from his humidor.

The door opens.

“You called for a doctor?” The man is pudgy, sallow skinned with dark hair.

“For her, she ate a Devil Fruit.” Crocodile gestures to the girl.

“Oh my, uhm, I’ve never worked on a Devil Fruit case before.” The doctor rubs the back of his neck.

“But I’ll see what I can do. I don’t know if there will be a way to undo the effects…” He continues, pulling out some basic tools from his bag.

“Just make sure she lives.” Crocodile turns towards the never ending amount of paperwork.

“Yes sir.” The doctor mumbles, and turns towards the girl.

Crocodile’s thoughts won’t stop turning in his head. What the hell was he supposed to do now? What fruit did she even eat?

“Remarkable.” The doctor breathes out, a sample of her blood in a vial.

He swirls it.

“The Devil Fruit seems to be changing her very DNA.” The wistful tone makes Crocodile’s eyes narrow.

“And that means?” Crocodile tries.

“She might not even be human by the end of it-”

The scream makes Crocodile wince, his hand instinctively covering his ear and pushing his head to his shoulder.

He doesn’t really get a good look at what happens to the doctor. The sound of ripping flesh and cracking bone more than enough to give him a play by play.

The body hits the floor with a wet thud and the girl is up, wide eyed and frantic.

She looks like a scared animal. It makes his stomach clench with memories he’d rather forget.

Their eyes meet, and he just holds her gaze steady.

He lets out a puff of smoke from his cigar, and raises a brow. The blood soaked arm jutting out from the doctor’s gaping chest flailing for a moment before vanishing.

“You’re awake.” He says simply.

She's breathing hard, her eyes are wide.

He looks at the doctor, her gaze follows before she gasps and turns back to Crocodile.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't do that to me." He says it simply, like he’s asking her to not take her shoes off.

He turns back to the document on his desk. The list of fruits that are known is short, but one matches the description of the appearance.

Blood red interior, pale outside. The Flower Flower Fruit. He looks over to her.

"You're alright here." He says after a second.

Her face hardens.

Something in his chest loosens, his eyes grow a bit softer.

"I know what it's like to have scary people after you." He offers a small smile, and turns back towards his desk.

Poor name for this fruit, considering what the power was. He’s starting to be glad it wasn’t him who ate it.

"What's your name?" Crocodile asks, still ignoring the corpse on the floor.

She just stares at him. He looks at her for a second. Waits. Then turns back towards his desk.

"I can't refer to you by nothing." He says softly.

She still doesn't say anything.

"We go by codenames here." He doesn't move when he hears her suck in a breath.

"I go by Mr. 0." He keeps his eyes on the desk.

"But you can call me Crocodile." He looks up at her.

"I think we can call you Little Miss Sunday." He offers a smile.

He winces when she shrinks back at it.

"Until you're ready to tell me what you'd like to be called. That is." He turns back to his paperwork.

"Crocodile is my name. I like it." He says simply, and lets the silence hang.

He can feel her eyes burning on him, she has questions. He'll answer, but she doesn't speak.

He looks at her.

"Are you younger than ten?" He tries.

She shakes her head no. Progress.

"Older than ten?" He tries again.

She shakes her head no again.

His lips quirk up again.

"So you are ten?"

This time, she nods yes.

"I'm thirty three." His pen scribbles across the paper.

"Old. I know." He tries, but his mouth doesn't quite match up with the joke.

She doesn't react, instead staring at her hands in horror.

"I don't think it's blood." Crocodile says softly.

"It was that fruit. Do you know what it was?" He asks, glancing at in time to see her shake her head no.

"Its a cursed thing. Thought it was a legend until I saw you, I thought the fruit could be picked." He sets the paper down and looks towards the girl.

"But I think the fruit picked you." He says softly, leaning forward on the table.

She inches backwards, her eyes full of fear and tears.

"I don't really know what's happened to you. But. If you'll let me. I'll help you find out." He says simply, holding her gaze.

"I think you need a doctor. That one won't do. Let’s try to keep the new one in one piece. Alright, Sunday?" His voice is calm.

Clearly whatever the original one was doing didn’t help.

And now they need a new one.

She nods yes, it's subtle, but it's there.

Crocodile smiles.

The new doctor, thankfully able to be introduced before the fever pulled the girl under again, wasn’t much help other than getting her fever to break in the night.

Crocodile hadn’t slept much. Barely dozing off in the crook of Himewari’s arm. The girl thankfully knew how to bathe, brush her teeth, and use the bathroom on her own when she finally did wake up in the morning.

Small miracles.

Still, it was going on into the late morning when Crocodile heard it. A rumble. Not one from Himewari, which the girl refused to go near, but from the girl herself. Right. Child. They need to be fed.

Shit.

“Alright. Come with me.” Crocodile stands up, trying to ignore the way his eyes are begging him to just close them for five more minutes.

She shivers and nods her head yes before following, her “dress” hanging down past her knees.

He hadn’t had much to dress her in, just one of Author’s old shirts.

The thought of Crocodile even trying to put one of his shirts on her was immediately vetoed. It wouldn’t even begin to fit, but a slimmer person like Author? Fit like a dress.

She hesitates, staring at him with those wide fearful eyes.

“We’re going to my house. I’m going to feed you. You want food, don’t you?” He tries, raising a brow at her.

She shakes. Then looks at the ground, before trailing her eyes slowly back up to meet his.

“Do you like eggs?” Crocodile tries again, looking down at her.

She manages a tiny nod.

“Alright then. I’ll make you some eggs. Come on.” He places his hand at her back, his finger tips barely touching.

She leans away like he burns.

His house sits above the cove, built to someone of his size. Single story, and with tall enough ceilings that even he doesn’t feel cramped.

She looked like a fairy in a giant’s house.

He puts on the record, letting crackling music fill the silence of the kitchen. She stares wide eyed and terrified. The table is much too tall for her, as are the chairs. He’ll have to fix that later, food first.

-just to hold his hand and sing. Oh Johnny! Oh Johnny Oh! crackles softly and catches Sunday’s attention.

“You can sit on the table for now. I’m going to pick you up.” He leans down slowly, onto his knee and holds out his hand.

“That okay, Sunday?” He asks, and doesn’t move to pick her up.

She doesn’t respond, her eyes wide and terror written across her face.

“Alright.” He stands up, not touching her.

Crocodile turns back towards the kitchen, but he takes off his hook and sets it down on the table where he would sit eventually. He rolls his sleeves up, struggling with the right side for a second.

The stove kicks on with a few clicks and the hiss of gas. He grabs a pan, and heads over to the fridge pulling out bacon, eggs, and some bread. She’d need a big portion, she was so thin, like when he’d first gotten Cruiser.

The bacon hissed as he tossed it onto the pan, letting it fry alongside the eggs. He sets the coffee to be made, knowing he’ll need a strong cup for today.

She still hasn’t moved, hands up at her chest twisting the fabric in her hands out of nerves.

Crocodile pulls one of the chairs out, just enough for her to try and climb up if she wants. He turns back to the food, pulling the bacon from the grease and draining it into an old coffee tin.

The eggs crack and sizzle as he throws them in.

“You want them scrambled?” He turns to look at her.

She’s managed to climb up onto the table, staring at the edge with a strange look. There’s an arm there, flexing and small like hers.

“Neat.” Crocodile says simply.

She stares at him, the hand vanishes.

“You want your eggs scrambled?” He tries again.

She gives a tiny nod.

“Alright.” He turns back to the pan.

“I like em’ scrambled too.” A small smile twitches at his lips.

She eats without using her fork. Instead using her hands to nearly crush the food into her mouth. She gets it all over her face and the table.

Crocodile pays it no mind, ashtray on the table with a cup of coffee. His own breakfast a much larger portion than hers, and being consumed at a much more reasonable pace.

She coughs while trying to drink her water.

“Careful.” Is all Crocodile says, finishing his meal off with raspberry preserves spread on toast.

She doesn’t even react, slowing down a little bit but still stuffing the last of it in her face. She chugs the water and licks her fingers clean.

“Glad you liked it.” Crocodile takes a sip of his coffee and lights a cigar.

She doesn’t respond, instead staring at him.

He sets the paper down.

“You need to clean yourself up. I’ll get you some water.” He stands, walking over to the sink and getting her a small bowl of water and a washcloth.

“Here, you can use this.” He sets them both down on the table as well as a bar of soap.

He sets a folded hand towel down by her as well, before taking a seat back where his coffee and newspaper lay.

The paper crinkles as he turns to the next page.

She makes it until dinner that night. Content to just sit down and stare at him in perfect silence. As far as captives went, she really wasn’t that bad. Or at the very least Crocodile could tolerate her.

Dinner was cooked for them this time, a personal chef hired to give her a proper meal. She was a growing child, and with a Devil Fruit power like that she would make an important asset.

Steak, potatoes, greens with dressing, a proper dinner.

The table was still tall to accommodate Crocodile, but she seemed content to sit on the table for now. He’d have to get her a custom chair at some point.

She ate like she had before, once again making a mess. Crocodile allows her, reading over a report.

Mr. 10 walks in, holding a few documents.

“Ah, is that the reports from the West Blue Trading Company?” Crocodile asks, turning towards Mr. 10.

“Yes Mr. 0.” His voice is strained.

Crocodile’s eyes narrow.

“That thing is a mess.” Mr. 10 scowls at Sunday, before turning on his heel.

“You don’t get to make a judgement call.” Crocodile says slowly.

The gunshot makes Sunday jump, freezing midbite.

Mr. 10’s body falls to the ground, the gun still smoking in Crocodile’s hand.

“Finish your meal. You’re fine.” He holsters the gun.

“You’re far more important than him.” Crocodile takes another bite of his steak.

She stares at him for a minute, before stuffing her face again.

“Do you want seconds?” Crocodile asks softly, ignoring the staff coming to drag the body away.

Sunday nods, this time a bit bigger.

“Alright.”

An hour later they’re back in the office. She’s settled down, but curled up on the floor. Crocodile doesn’t say anything, but something nags at the back of his mind.

She’s up like a shot, and gone before he can react.

“Hey!” Is all he can say before Himewari lets out a calming hiss.

He turns to his pet bananawani.

“What?” His voice is softer now, she hisses again.

And that’s when he hears the retching and a foul noise from the bathroom.

“Oh. Thanks.” He pats Himewari’s side and stands up.

He walks slowly over to the bathroom, the sounds seem to have at least stopped.

But she’s crying, and trying hard not to.

He sits down cross legged in the doorway, leaning on his hook.

“You’re alright.” He reaches for her, but a hand shoots out from her back and slaps his.

She sobs harder.

He knows the feeling.

“I’m not upset. You scared me.” He reaches for the hand sticking out of her back.

It’s tiny in his, soft and cold. He gives it a gentle squeeze, and it vanishes.

He lets his arm drop back to his lap.

“You need to throw up some more? It’s okay.” He sits up, bringing his knee under him.

She shakes her head no.

“I’m gonna pick you up so I can put you on the counter. Okay Sunday?” He rests his hand on her back, she trembles underneath it.

She nods, slowly.

“Alright.” He picks her up, slowly, and sets her on the counter.

“Clean yourself up. Let me know when you want down.” He turns his attention away from the mirror, leaning against the doorframe.

It takes her two more days before she uses the silverware.

It’s dinner when it happens. Again in the office only this time her custom chair seats her perfectly at the table.

It’s a lighter dinner, shrimp alfredo, garlic bread, and greens with dressing.

She needs a well rounded palate if she’s to infiltrate anywhere. It makes sense to have her share her meals with him. Besides, they still don’t have any idea how to control her power.

She picks up the fork, and Crocodile’s eyes find her immediately.

She slowly wraps the pasta around it before taking a bite.

Crocodile smiles softly. She doesn’t throw up that night.

It’s the end of the week when she finally sits close enough for him to keep a proper eye on her. She stays near his desk, dressed in the new clothes he’d bought her, but still avoids touching Himewari like the plague. What does he have to do to get her to realize Himewari is just his pet? Cruiser is the one who decides that red meat needs to be on his menu every once in a while.

Speak of the devil.

The giant black, orange, and red bananawani surfaces in the gulf of his office. She gasps and huddles against the flat of his desk.

“Cruiser.” Crocodile greets the ship sized creature currently hissing from the water.

The bananawani blinks slowly at them, lazily opening its jaws.

“Yeah, yeah.” Crocodile stands, and Sunday stares at him horrified.

“You want to help give them a treat?” Crocodile asks, extending a hand to Sunday.

She stands up slowly and cowers behind his leg, not quite touching him. Hiding away from Cruiser who watches her almost lazily.

“Cruiser likes watermelon, see the growth on his head.” Crocodile points to the watermelon shaped lump on the bananawani’s forehead.

She nods, very slowly.

A cart is wheeled in by the chef, two large watermelons sitting on the top, and beneath a large bushel of bananas. The chef doesn’t say anything, just bows his head in acknowledgment and leaves.

As it should be.

Crocodile grabs the watermelon and turns to Cruiser.

“Cruiser, open.” He doesn’t need to say it twice.

Sunday gasps as the reptile opens its mouth, flashing a row of sharp teeth and flat ones on the roof of its mouth.

Crocodile tosses the watermelon into Cruiser’s mouth gently.

The fruit crunches solidly as the bananawani chews.

Sunday just stares at the reptile with wide eyes. Right. He is kind of big.

“Watch this.” Crocodile picks up the other watermelon and holds it out.

Cruiser swallows, then leans up and takes the watermelon without touching Crocodile’s hand.

“They can be really gentle.” Crocodile says, a soft smile ghosting across his lips.

Sunday’s eyes relax a little as Cruiser chomps on the treat before submerging again.

Crocodile grabs the cart and begins to walk over to Himewari, Sunday follows close behind.

“Himewari, open.” Crocodile grabs a single banana and places it on the cart.

He grabs the bushel and Himewari takes it gently from his hands. She chews slower than Cruiser.

Crocodile turns to Sunday and kneels, the last banana in his hand.

“Tell you what.” Crocodile holds out the banana to Sunday.

“If you give her the treat, I’ll give you a treat.” He gestures to Himewari with the hook.

“Anything you want.” He bounces the banana in his hand.

“Deal, Little Miss Sunday?” He offers a soft smile.

She grabs the banana slowly, her eyes wide and terrified. Crocodile just stays kneeling next to her, opening up his left arm so she could creep closer.

“It’s alright.” He says softly.

He’s glad Himewari moves as slowly as she does, lazily reaching her jaws over to the girl and just barely catching the end of the banana. She doesn’t even chomp on it loudly, letting it fall to the floor and picking it up just as gently.

“See. Himewari is nice.” Crocodile says softly, and Sunday spawns an arm out of her hand.

It flexes towards Himewari, patting her scales rather limply before vanishing back into Sunday.

“Yeah. She’s a good girl.” Crocodile says before standing, pushing the cart back to its original spot.

He takes a seat back on Himewari, and opens up the newspaper. She comes over, staring daggers into the side of his face.

“Tell me what you want.” He says simply.

“A deal is a deal.” He nods, lighting a cigar and taking a puff.

Sunday points to the ad in the newspaper.

“Use your words. You’re now a young lady of Baroque Works. Act like it.” There’s no sternness to his voice, just a matter of fact.

She’s still so tiny against his desk, something in his chest loosens.

She stares down at the floor, a furrow in her brow. Her shoulders are up by her ears and that’s when Crocodile lets out a sigh.

“Hey.” He puts the newspaper down.

“I meant what I said.” His eyes are on hers now, and her face softens a little.

“History book.”

Her words are mumbled and a little hard to understand.

But Crocodile closes his eyes and nods.

“Have you ever been to a library?” He asks, and her eyes go wide.

She shakes her head no harshly, her hair slapping her in the face.

It takes everything in Crocodile not to let out a soft huff of air at that.

“Try again.”

Her eyes shimmer with tears this time, freezing up.

He doesn’t even breathe.

She nods her head yes this time, tentatively.

“Nope.” The word feels strange in his mouth.

“Words. Try again.” Even he notices the warm note to his voice.

She shakes her head no again, but this time it’s accompanied by a soft nuh-uh sound.

“Better.” He folds the newspaper back up, setting it back down on his desk.

He turns towards her slowly. Lowers his body down onto his knees and tries his best to close the height difference without straining himself.

“Would you like to go to the library? I’ll take you there.” He says softly, his eyes meeting hers.

“Please.”

Crocodile smiles.

“Alright. Let’s go.” Crocodile is already standing before she manages to gasp.

The library he takes her to is just a bit too small for him. Thankfully the doors and ceilings were, but everything else was fit more to an average person.

Leaving him standing there and staring at the chair that was more than likely going to destroy his back for the next few hours.

Sunday stares at him.

“Go on. Anything you want to read you can. Just don’t break anything or be loud.” He waves her off, walking towards a small adult section.

Sunday follows him for a step.

“I’m just getting a book for myself, I’ll be sitting in that chair.” He reaches out, palm facing the ceiling.

An arm extends itself out of her hand and gently touches his.

“You can go. I promise.” He gives her hand a slow, soft squeeze.

She takes off almost like a shot towards the history section.

Crocodile doesn’t stop the huff of air he lets out as she starts off at one end and grabs three books before collapsing against an empty table in the corner. He turns back towards the bookshelf and looks for a moment before finding a new romance novel.

Got another one of your dirty girl books again, sir?” Author’s voice echoed in his head, making his eye twitch.

Why he ever let that bastard find out about his reading habits he will never understand, even if the recommendations had been decent from the idiot.

He manages to fold himself up into a chair, crossing his legs and pressing the book against them to keep it open. It was comically small in his hands, so he had to put on his reading glasses.

Still, the library was calm, quiet, and Sunday seemed to be completely engrossed.

He reads for a couple hours, getting halfway through the book rather quickly, far too used to skimming over documents in record time. He glances at his watch, already time for lunch and Sunday needed to eat.

His spine stretched as he stood from the chair, working his shoulders back and pushing his chest out forced a few cricks out. He turned to look over where Sunday had ended up, a bookmark in his own novel.

She was already through two of the three books she had picked. Her eyes wide as they scanned over each page. Good, knowledge fed and created a healthy mind. She would be smart, a useful asset.

“Sunday.” He says softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

She looks to him, and already he can see the fear and grief in her eyes.

“You want to eat?” He asks and she glances down at the book before looking back at him.

“You’ll be able to come back after we eat. We can ask the librarian to hold your books.” He points to the two she’s working on, then to the little cup of bookmarks in the center of the table.

She quickly sticks one in the book she was reading and hauls the two up to her chest.

Crocodile smiles and leads the way, her trailing like a baby bananawani behind him. It takes everything in him not to smile, her eyes still glued to the cover.

The librarian has an uneasy smile on her face when they approach, Sunday barely peeks over the counter.

“Tell her.” Crocodile nods to Sunday.

She freezes for a second, holding out the books slowly.

“Hold. Please.” Her voice is so soft and shy, Crocodile can’t help the way his lips twitch.

“Oh! Are you looking to check them out?” The librarian asks, looking to Crocodile.

Her nametag reads Margot, her curly brown hair sits in a bun at the top of her head.

“I’m actually just going to take her to get some food.” Crocodile points to the small café connected to the library.

“Can you hold those for her?” His voice is soft.

He missed coming here.

“Of course! We can hold them for about an hour.” Margot takes the books and has a glance at the cover.

“Oh my! Aren’t you a bright little girl?” She says, her voice and face relaxing despite Crocodile’s presence.

“The Age of Exploration. The Kingdom of Alabasta from 1204 to 1438.” She actually smiles wide at that.

“Are you planning on being an explorer?” She asks genuinely.

Sunday shakes her head no.

“Hm, and Histories of the Ancient World?” Margot smirks, leaning down on one hand with her head in the other.

“You sure you don’t want to be a historian?” She asks, the smile never leaving her face.

Sunday smiles softly, shaking her head again.

“What do you wanna be?” Crocodile asks, a brow raising.

“Archeologist.” Sunday says softly.

“Well! Isn’t that a great goal!” Margot claps her hands together and beams at Crocodile.

“You’re daughter sure is a bright one! I’m sure she’ll do great things when she’s all grown up.”

Wait. Daughter?

Right. Cover story. Shit, it would be weird if he denied it.

“Yeah. Come on, let's get some food.” Crocodile starts to lead the way, trying not to think too hard about it.

Sunday stares at him with wide eyes.

“Bye now! I’ll make sure these are right here for you when you get back.” Margot waves.

Sunday doesn’t say anything but is staring at him like he’s grown a second head.

Crocodile knows she wants to say something, but instead he just gestures to the menu with a sigh.

“Whatever you want to eat, just say.” He takes a glance at the menu.

She pulls on his pant leg and he looks down at her.

“Sandwich. Please?” Her eyes are big and determined, like she’s figured out some sort of code.

He grins.

“Yeah. What kind?” His smile grows with her frustration.

“That kind.” She points at the display case.

“Alright.”

They’re both sitting down at the little café table, although Crocodile has himself stretched out to the side so his knees wouldn’t pick up the table. She’s eating properly with her hands instead of shoving it in her face. The sight makes Crocodile’s shoulders relax a little, her little milk carton perched on the table next to her.

He ended up ordering two sandwiches himself, eating silently with Sunday as she swung her legs beneath her chair.

Crocodile’s eyes can’t help but notice the door. A door he’d been through once before. The plaque on it said “Debtor.” Nothing else.

He remembers his first reading lesson there.

“Am I…. your daughter?” She asks slowly, making his eyes snap to hers.

She’s staring at him with something underneath her question that he doesn’t know what to do with.

“Depends.” He says slowly, turning the idea over in his head.

“Do you want to be?” He says it simply, like asking her to choose between pink or purple.

“So… we’re not related?” She says slowly, her voice still incredibly small.

“Not by blood. No.” He continues, taking another bite.

“Why?” Is all she says.

He pauses. She’s an asset, he wanted her Devil Fruit power.

She’s expendable.

A debtor.

His eyes meet hers, and her big brown eyes peering into his. Something tightens in his chest.

“Because I took you in.” Is all he can say, his eyes drifting away from her.

She doesn’t say anything else as they continue to eat.

He’s glad.

They stay for a few more hours, or at least until the crick in Crocodile’s back starts to become too much to ignore. This time Sunday reads closer to him, picking a table that was near where he was sitting.

He had continued where he left off, but finds his attention stolen after a little while by a small hand pulling on his sleeve.

Crocodile turns to see Sunday staring at him, a book in her hands.

“What is it?” He asks, putting the bookmark in his book and turning towards her.

“Bananawani.” She says softly, holding the book open and facing him.

His eyes scan over the page and it has a large detailed drawing of one. It looks almost like Himewari.

Crocodile smiles.

“Yeah it’s a bananawani. Cool.” He says simply, and Sunday’s eyes go big.

She hands it to him, and he takes his time scanning over the page reading the information there.

He might as well take the books with him, he’s most of the way through the other one anyways.

“Sunday.” He says softly, and she looks up at him.

The grief is back, and he can’t help the small quirk to his lips.

“Which ones do you want to bring back?”

The look she gives him is priceless, and this time he can’t help the soft huff of air that escapes him.

“Bring back?” She asks softly.

“Yeah. Can’t keep them. But you can check some out.” He gestures to her table, littered with the corpses of her knowledge conquests.

“I’ll bring you often.”

The sun is setting on their way out, the single book she picked out huddled to her chest. He doesn’t comment on why she doesn’t take more. He only took one himself anyways.

“Thank you.” Comes soft from beside him.

“No problem kid.”

The next morning after breakfast they’re relaxed in his office. She is sprawled on the floor, her book spread out in front of her.

He’s busy with work, as always.

Then he feels it, her eyes staring daggers at him again. He swears he can feel the hole burning into the side of his face.

He puts the document down and turns to look at her.

She’s standing there, her book open but facing her chest and her lower lip caught between her teeth.

“Need something?” He asks.

She glances down at the book before holding it out and looking at him.

"What's this word." She says very softly.

He looks down at the word she points to.

"Cephalopod, like a squid." Crocodile says, looking back at her.

She pauses for a moment. Her eyes watering.

“What's a cuttlefish?”

That makes Crocodile pause, he pushes up his reading glasses.

“Not sure how to describe one. Never seen it. Does your book have a description?” Crocodile looks to where the pages are.

She shakes her head no.

“It just says they're a cephalopod." Her pronunciation struggles over the l.

Crocodile can't help the way his mouth twitches into a smile. Something warm blooms in his chest.

“Alright then Miss Sunday, we'll have to go get you a book on cuttlefish later. After lunch. Then you can tell me what they look like.” He turns back towards his paperwork.

“Robin.” She says softly.

“Hm?” Crocodile looks at her.

“Nico Robin.” She looks at him, her eyes still on the verge of tears.

But this time there’s a soft smile on her face.

Crocodile smiles back.

“After lunch, Robin.” Crocodile turns back towards his paperwork and she goes back to her spot on the floor.

He’ll need to get her a bookshelf… for her… room.

Shit she doesn’t have a room.

He glances over at the cot in the office, they’d both been sleeping here for the past week. Crocodile on Himewari and Robin on the cot.

They’d both been sleeping in here, just periodically popping upstairs to eat. Hell he hadn’t actually slept on his bed in a week. He was sure the couch in the living room was probably more comfortable than the cot.

“Robin.” He says softly, looking to her.

She stares at him wide eyed.

“You’re getting a room. I need to get things ordered for it.” He pulls out a spare pad of paper and a pen.

“What do you want in it?” He pauses, giving her his attention.

“A bed.” She says softly.

He smirks.

“A bed. Would you like a desk? And a chair?” He points to where she had been reading on the floor.

“Yes.” Her head nods quick.

“Anything else?” He quickly scribbles down the items listed already.

“Bookshelves. Please?” She asks softly, holding onto her book tight.

“Sure. I’m also having a bathroom built.” He quickly scribbles down some rough estimations in size.

She looks at him curiously.

“Mine’s not exactly fit to your size, now is it?” He holds his hand out above her head, then raises it to his own.

Her lips twitch into a ghost of a smile.

“It’ll still be a bit big for you.” He turns back towards his note pad.

“But that’s because you’ll get bigger.” He scribbles the last few things down.

He hears a soft huff of air from her, a near laugh.

He wasn’t using that room for anything anyways.

“Hey.” He asks softly, already knowing the spare room that would become hers.

“You want a telescope?” His eyes soften at her confusion.

“What’s a telescope?” She asks after a moment.

“It lets you look at the stars.” He points up through the hole in the cove above the gulf.

“Yes.” She nods again, this time her eyes wide in excitement.

“Alright then. Let me know if you think of anything else.” He turns back to his work this time.

Author was happy to take the notes with him as he got the orders and construction right away.

By the evening the contractors had been hired, the design finalized with materials ordered.

Another thing checked off his long to-do list.

He’d actually brought her into the house this evening. Forgoing another night asleep on Himewari. She was more than comfortable, but he had a bed and he would use it.

She was currently at the kitchen table, her new book on cephalopods spread open on the table.

He’d finally found a moment to breathe, instead just taking a minute to sit back in his chair and have a drink and a cigar. The music was soft on the record, old songs from when he was young that he remembered hearing in the soft quiet of the night. The light drifting in from the Belacroft house.

Just the sound of my heart’s refrain~

One of the many small galas they liked to have. One he wasn’t serving, just able to lay down on the slotted wood and hear the noise come up from the floor in the attic. It was so hot that night. His sweat soaking through the floor. The other debtors packed in close around him.

Singing like a million little blue birds~

The window was open though. He remembered the blissful breeze.

After the blue, blue rain~

A small hand was at his thigh, forcing his eyes open.

Robin was at his side, the book in her hands. The hand on his thigh sprouting from the floor vanishing.

“What is it?” He asked, his voice soft.

“I found it.” Robin says softly.

“Found what?” Crocodile turns towards her, resting his arms on his knees.

“The cuttlefish.” She says, opening the book and holding it out.

The picture was another detailed drawing, although smaller than the bananawani picture.

“Huh. Funny looking things.” Crocodile says simply.

“I see why you couldn’t tell me what they looked like.” Robin says softly, looking at the book.

Crocodile nods, before his eyes catch the time. Nearly ten. She needed to go to bed.

“Alright. I think it’s time you get some sleep.” Crocodile stands up, gesturing to the table.

“You can keep your books there. Read more tomorrow.” He stretches, putting out the last of his cigar.

He downs the last of his drink and sets the cup in the sink, his hook already off and on the coffee table. He turns out the lights, and kills the record player.

The silence is deafening.

“You okay to sleep on the couch?” He asks, looking at her on the comically large cushion.

She nods yes.

“You want a blanket?” He asks.

“No. It’s hot.” She tosses the decorative one up more onto the back of the sofa, laying out on the cloth cushions.

“Alright.” He moves to his own bedroom and grabs a decorative pillow.

Too small for him, a little bit big for her, good enough for now.

“Here.” He hands it to her and she stares at him wide eyed.

“If you don’t want it, don’t use it. I’ll put it away in the morning if it’s uncomfortable.” He yawns and gives a stretch.

He doesn’t blame her, he’s thinking of throwing the skylight open for even more air. Alabasta was unbearably hot even in the wet season.

Crocodile sets a glass of water down on the coffee table for her, not wanting to risk her tripping on something at night.

He just doesn’t want to be woken up.

Though he doesn’t neglect himself, making sure he has some by his own bedside. He made sure to grab his hook and put it on his bedside table.

His suit vest goes as well as his slacks, opting instead for a cotton sleep shirt and pants before climbing into bed.

The sheet already felt like too much, a suffocating layer of heat in the already hot desert. He threw it off of him, turning over onto his side.

The sound of crickets echoed softly outside, his open window allowing a soft cool breeze to blow over the room. He let his eyes slide shut, wanting sleep to take over.

It didn’t come easy, but eventually the pull became too much.

The scream made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

His eyes shot open, that was Robin! He turned, grabbing the hook off of his nightstand and throwing it on. His footsteps sounded loud even to his own ears as he took off down the hallway.

“Robin!” He nearly screamed, his eyes wide as they scanned the room.

What was trying to take her, Loansmen? Pirate? Marine?

The floor came up to meet him as he crashed down. Small hands pulled at his mouth and head, he could see them sprouting from the floor and his own body as they grabbed at his shoulders, waist, and legs. He was pinned to the floor with a resounding THUMP.

Ow. His fucking knees.

The room was empty, except for Robin sobbing on the couch.

He felt the panic release in his chest. She’s alright.

Crocodile managed to wrangle an arm free to take his hook off, placing it on the floor.

The hands slowly faded, one by one back into his body or the floor.

“Thank you.” HIs voice is barely above a whisper.

“Are you hurt?” His feet are a little wobbly as he stands.

She shakes her head no.

“It’s okay. I have bad dreams too.” His eyes hold hers.

He reaches out with his hand towards her, palm open and facing the ceiling.

She places hers inside of it, shaking and still crying.

“Come here.” Crocodile’s voice is somehow too soft and too loud all at once.

He pulls her against his chest, picking her up and cradling her close with one arm. She sobs softly against him and he can’t help the way he brings his other arm up to press her closer. He can keep her safe tonight.

The bed gives as he lays down with her, bringing her pillow with them from the living room.

He can’t help it, he remembers too much and not enough. He hums. Soft, low, probably a little off key. It quiets her immediately.

He can’t help but rub her back with his thumb, letting his voice fill up the quiet of the room.

“....you’re so sweet, goodness knows…” He can’t remember the words.

He just remembers the woman who sang it to him. Her dark skin and kind eyes being the only memories left. They sold her so quickly.

Robin settles in, her breathing evening out. She doesn’t say anything, instead her eyes shutting and her little fingers uncurling from his sleep shirt.

“So precious to me… baby mine….” He slowly whispers out, trying to not let his eyes mist over.

The song fades both from his memory and his voice, listening to the crickets and Robin’s breathing. His own eyes slide shut and let sleep take over.

He can’t remember the last time his bed felt so comforting.