Chapter Text
Roger frowns in horrid concentration, once again redoing the numbers. For the fourth time now. Still, he keeps coming up short no matter how often he does it. Which obviously means the gods of the sea have indeed cursed him to be allergic to numbers, as he keeps telling Rayleigh. Sadly, his first mate keeps being unimpressed by this horrid fact of life and forcing Roger to do them anyway. At least Rayleigh rarely inflicts these horrors upon him, mostly sharing this particular task with Gaban instead. But well. Roger may have been a bit overeager on their last adventure, partied a little bit too hard even, and Rayleigh has declared the just punishment for the broken furniture that will need replacing. Now here he is now, slavering over sodden numbers, trying to make them make sense. They keep refusing to make sense.
Dratted be this whole process. He is a pirate captain! Of a mighty and feared pirate crew, daring to go where noone else ever tread, more free than anyone else could hope to be! Why should they even be forced to do numbers, they can just go steal some more gold from somewhere to make up for any losses. Sink a rival crew or two, raid a marine base, something other than this. He sighs, reluctantly resigned and deeply resentful, calculates through the whole sheet again. And again, the numbers come up short.
Cursed be every single thing on the seas that even tangentially has to do with counting!
There must be some kind of mistake that he just can't find, probably because the letters keep playing tricks on him every time he blinks. He would swear that they keep reordering themselves, it's awful. The sum over the kitchen expenses was summing correctly when he looked at it the last time! He knows it, he double checked it, why is he now a treasure chest over all of a sudden?! Awful waste of a perfectly good afternoon. There is adventure out there. That Roger could be having. But no, not until he gets the numbers balanced. Maybe he should change career. There is surely a job with less financing out there. Bar keeper, maybe. Fisher. Seas, he will even mop town floors if it means he never has to look at a balance sheet again. Anything, but this. If he has to keep at this, he is surely going to turn as insane as his crew always accuses him of being.
Curses be that he can't offload the work onto Rayleigh or Gaban, claiming to have suffered enough for the damages he may or may not have inflicted on their coffers with his antics. Sadly, Rayleigh—cunning man that he is—has claimed Shanks for a day of playing, not to be disturbed on pain of brutal and swift death for anything less than a sinking Oro Jackson. What a fool Roger was, to see not a problem with this, seeing as his other scapegoat was still free for the offloading. Or so he thought at least. Of course, Gaban—distressingly similarly cunning man—has made himself scarce the moment he realised what Rayleigh's decree would mean, and could not be found anywhere on the ship this morning. Roger would be more impressed with that—they are on high sea right now with neither land nor other ship anywhere in sight after all—if it didn't mean his friend cruelly left the numbers up to him to sort out all on his own. Alone.
Horrible man, is Gaban. Roger will so toss him overboard when he shows his mug again, with his stupid pony tail and stupid sunglasses and stupid disappearing act when he is needed most.
Torture, is what his friend has so cruelly left to him. Much deserving of retribution, is this most certainly. At dinner, perhaps. Gaban wont be found for anything less than Marx' truly excellent cooking, after all, but their cook will lure him out as sure as the sea will move. Roger will just have to set a trap for him then, won't he. Something appropriate, of course. Maybe shaving his head bald. Put itching powder into his trousers? Hmmm, mess with his food. Seeing as Gaban so loves to eat. Oh yes, what an excellent idea. He stares vacantly at the wild collage of bounty posters they've tacked onto the wall above the desk.
Oh yes, he will make it so sweet too. Gaban will think himself so save, certain Roger will have endured to finish by then. Maybe Roger will get him as he's eating, comfortably settled in and enjoying his undeserved meal. Or Roger can get Marx involved, make him do Gaban's most favorite dish just for Roger to snatch it away at the last second—
The door bangs against the wall, thrown open with enough force it bounces back a little bit. Roger twitches, frantically grabs for the discarded pencil in an attempt to pretend he wasn't slacking off. "I'm doing them, I'm doing them!"
"I do not care what you think you are doing," Rayleigh grouses as he hurries in, carrying their most favourite little red head in his arms.
For a moment Roger just blinks owlishly at them both, not quite sure he believes that claim but game to do it anyway. Rayleigh always has very intent opinions on the numbers getting done on time, but maybe Roger can weasel out of it if his words are true? Even if said opinions frequently involve a very sharp sword, it would still be so worth it not to have to slave over these cursed things anymore.
"Capa!" Shanks cheers enthusiastically, thus breaking Roger out of his gloomy contemplations of any and all numbers.
Roger grins at him, eager to be distracted even more, before Rayleigh hip checks him to the side, forcing him to lean half out of the chair he's been confined in for so long now.
"Wow, rude," he grumbles playfully, having to fight to maintain his balance.
Rayleigh makes no comment, just starts pushing paperwork away with a carelessness that's very unlike the usually diligent first mate. Especially as Rayleigh knows it will just fall to him to sort that back out. Roger eyes him apprehensively, leery of whatever got his first mate so harried.
Before he can make comment Shanks waves in front of his eyes, demanding to get his attention back. "Capa Capa Capa! Hi Capa!"
"Why, hello, little pirate!" With another grin he grabs one of those busy hands, gently wraps his own around the little fingers.
They are still so tiny despite how fast their kid is growing up, it's amazing. Shanks laughs cheerily while he grips tight in turn, blabbering something that is too hindered by the toddler's still clumsy tongue for Roger to quite make out, but sounds very happy at least. It's so cute, Roger feels himself tear up, entirely besotted with the little boy. He certainly wont mind playing with Shanksy instead of doing stupid numbers, not at all.
"Yes yes, he's incredibly cute," Rayleigh mutters, pushing the last few papers into a hazardous stack.
Then he plonks Shanks onto the desk, right there in front of Roger. Not that Roger minds this at all—Shanks is so much more awesome than numbers—but this is really very out of character for Rayleigh, who will usually try to skin anyone making him redo paperwork already done because they crumbled it, as he also hates doing numbers. Some of those pages are now definitely crumpled up due to the rough handling, and need to be done again. Roger calls not it. He did them the first time, it's only right someone else does them the second. Accursed things, rightfully to be dismissed now that there are far better things to concern himself with. Like playing with Shanks. And finding out why Rayleigh is behaving so strange and what it has to do with the kid, actually. And why his instincts tell him life is about to get very interesting indeed.
He gives Shanks a placating grin when the kid looks around in confusion, then turns to ask his first mate what the fuck—uh, frick. Right. He was thinking frick. Not fuck. Yep. Honest.
Oh, who is he kidding, Shanks never had a chance to grow up without a dirty mouth on him. What the fuck it is.
Rayleigh glowers in answer—possibly because he knows what Roger just thought about, possibly for reasons unrelated, Roger will never know—and points at their little boy. "Watch him."
Obliguingly, and very gladly, Roger does. Shanks, in lieu of getting any attention from them, is currently reaching for one of the sheets close to him. The supply list Roger has slaved over all morning, in fact. Roger wishes it a very swift death at the hands of their precious toddler.
"Colour?" Shanks asks while he pats along the paper, looking a bit like he's feeling out the graphite strokes with his fingertips. "Me can colour? Yes?"
It's so incredibly cute, Roger will just have to gobble him up. He is already reaching into a drawer to grab a handful of the coloured pencils Taro found a few months back before he even thinks about it. The bright pens were an instant hit and now they're everywhere on the ship so the kid can always use them to colour on anything not snatched away fast enough. Including the floor and walls. Which was how they found out the things aren't so easy to wash off of wood, and got a lot more careful to always give the boy something else to draw on. Too late for the wall above Gaban's hammock, though. It's forever going to bear that bright yellow scribble Roger is pretty sure is supposed to be Sunbell. That or an actual sun. Or maybe a fish…
Rayleigh does not seem so inclined to let this play out as usual, as he pushes Roger's arm back down before he can even reach the pens, leaning over to catch Shanks' eyes instead. "Hey, Shanksy?"
The kid looks up from his perusal of the numbers—is it just Roger's imagination, or was he hovering over the kitchen expenses?—and blinks a wide smile at them. "Ray Ray!"
"Yep, Ray Ray," Rayleigh agrees, giving a gentle grin at the enthusiasm. "How about you repeat what you just showed me, hm? When you didn't want the broccoli to touch you?"
Broccoli? Roger thinks at him, bemused. What broccoli?
The red head tilts curiously, papers completely forgotten. "Me do 'gain?"
"Yep. You do it again." Rayleigh gives a very deliberately encouraging nod, hand settling on Roger's shoulder to squeeze tight as if demanding his complete focus. "You did so well, we want to show Roger, right? Show Capa what you can do?"
"Show!" Shanks cheers and then... turns black.
Armament black.
Splotchy and all over the place and really more greyish thin than the usual deep black of proper Haki armour. A bit like what beginners get, before they manage to pull up enough power to coat themselves properly. But that's definitely Armament Haki covering their kid from head to toe now. Covering the three year old kid from head to toe. In Haki.
Roger's mouth falls open and his eyes go wide as he watches the grey slowly, ever so slowly darkening. Not by much and not everywhere, but it's definitely slowly getting thicker. Like Shanks is continuously pulling up and distributing more Haki, presumably because he realises what he has seen them do is much more concentrated than what he is managing and is determined to get there too. His face is a frown of concentration, his fists balled like he's trying to physically pull the power up. Then, like he's noticed Roger's incredulous attention, he blinks his eyes, then grins proudly, eager for more praise. "Show!"
"Is that—" Roger starts, and then breaks off abruptly because he has no clue what to say to all that.
Shanks tilts his head, blinks expectantly. "Show, yes?"
"Yep. That's awesome, Shanksy!" Rayleigh praises the kid, too tight voice showing his own shock.
Still, he reaches out to pat the red hair, and Shanks lights up in turn. Figuratively and literally, considering the Armament disappears again. The Armament on the little kid that's not even tall enough to see over the table yet.
Okay then.
Rayleigh turns to Roger—hand still mechanically patting the hair—and demands, "so, my dear captain. Care to have an explanation for that?"
Roger does not care to have an explanation for that. He would love to care to have an explanation for that, but well. He sure doesn't.
"… what the fuck," he says instead, still at a loss. Then he laughs, because really, this is the funniest thing that's happened all day and their kid is supremely awesome, as Roger always knew Shanks would be. What else is there to do, than laugh at the little three year old boy using an advanced New World technique with no instruction or guidance whatsoever, seemingly having learned it just from watching them do it. "Aww, that's so awesome Shanksy! You're the best, wahahaha!"
"Best!" Shanks agrees, as is only right.
"This is not a laughing matter, Roger!" Rayleigh protests, but his lips are twitching too, even if he tries to hide it.
Roger can easily see through his blustering. He laughs even louder, pulling the little boy of much awesomeness off the table and into a bear hug. "Yes it is, Ray! It's the best kind of laughing matter! Look at our awesome kid! He's gonna grow up so strong!"
Rayleigh just scoffs the—if Roger may say so—incredibly sound words away. "He shouldn't even be able to conceptualise what Haki is, he's three!"
"Pretty sure he still doesn't, actually." Roger peers down into the wide guileless eyes beaming up at him. Yeah, there's definitely not much understanding of what he is actually doing in there. Just a boatload of instinct. "Wahahaha!"
"Whahahaha!" The kid imitates. And really, that's that isn't it.
Roger grins, utterly delighted by life and the sea and their little boy most of all. This is the best thing ever and he really can't wait to see what Shanks will do with his Haki next.
"Oh, shut up." Rayleigh slaps him on the shoulder in one last affected censure, clearly knowing where Roger's thoughts have wandered off to. Roger can still see that proud grin he's trying to hide.
Well, this surely demands for a celebration! And no more numbers.