Chapter Text
1.
It really starts when Crocodile, no, Sir Crocodile, as the man would insist constantly, calls Mihawk up for drinks about 20 years ago. Now this is weird for two reasons because one; Crocodile prefers to a good smoke over a good drink, and two; Crocodile less called him directly and more broke into his recently acquired castle. Mihawk found him passed out in his wine cellar, have drunk already, moaning about "stupid deep voice" and "stupid warm eyes".
Mihawk learned to stop questioning how Crocodile was able to find him when not even the marines knew where he lived. As of late, that was a castle located on a dangerous island in the Grand Line. Typically, it kept people away.
Cut to Mihawk having to drag the eight-foot tall pirate through the halls of the castle to a spare bedroom, where Crocodile begins rambling-another very unusual detail about this incident.
Luckily, Mihawk made for a good listener.
"Men," Crocodile insisted to the swordsman while he lay face first on the bed, "are useless."
"Interesting," Mihawk said as he took a sip of his own wine (because gods know he would need it to deal with the far drunker Crocodile), "See as you went through all the trouble to become one."
Crocodile makes a sound that Mihawk guess is a muffled scream. Mihawk decides that its an excellent time to go see if he has any spare clothes that will fit his "friend".
When Mihawk does manage to find a shirt that will suffice, a part of him, mistakenly, wonders about the background of his strange drinking companion. The one good thing about having a excellent poker face is that no one could tell what outlandish theories he had on them. Moria was secretly a prince, Hanafuda had a secret love child, and he was 75% certain Garp had somehow slept with the King of Pirates. He was not certain how that last one could have happened, but Garp was far too weird to have normal tastes. His weird son was proof of that (even if he found out that fact after accidentally walking into Garp and Sengoku having a very heated discussion on the revolutionary army leader).
Crocodile, of course, has also lent himself to Mihawk's theories. Perhaps he had giants blood and that was why he was so tall. Maybe his one-sided feud with Whitebeard was due to Crocodile sharing a blood relationship with him (which would also explain the height). And perhaps Crocodile unsubtlely gave routine funds to the revolution because, secretly, Crocodile had a heart.
Mihawk sincerely doubted that last one.
By the time Mihawk returned to the the room, Crocodile had managed to drag himself off the bed, onto the floor, and pull his drunken body to where Mihawk had left his wine bottle, pulled the the table cloth in an attempt to get to it, and dropped the bottle all over himself and the floor, leaving glass and good wine everywhere. Oh, and Crocodile appeared to have activated his logia before it hit him, so now Mihawk had sand all of his guest room as well.
All Mihawk can really do is stare at Crocodile as he slowly and terribly tries to reconstruct him in his intoxicated stupor. Mihawk tended to find that glaring at people was a very effective way off telling them off, as most found him intimidating and his eye "creepy". Unfortunately Crocodile feared nothing and probably didn't have full access to his sense right now, so all the latter does is look up at Mihawk and intelligently say "what?"
Mihawk, in an level of foresight that surprised even himself, grabs a broom from the closet and begins to sweep. Mihawk gently hits Crocodile with the broom to coax him up, and when the oaf doesn't move, Mihawk hits him much harder.
Although a little too hard as Crocodile is sent flying into the room's couch, which does luckily catch him and the man seems too drunk to care.
It doesn't take him long to at least sweep the glass away to at least no longer be a hazard. In that time, Crocodile had managed to hang over the back of the couch like a piece of laundry, mumbling to himself.
"Out of curiosity," Mihawk calls out as he approaches the man, "Why are men useless in this particular context?"
The only response Crocodile can muster for Mihawk is a bunch of drunken rambling and something about "dragons", but of course Mihawk is only a man and can just stare at the fellow warlord like he is a pitiful creature.
"Then can you at least tell me why you are so dead set on killing your liver this evening?" Mihawks asks with a begrudged sigh.
And Crocodile had the audacity the look up with Mihawk with the most innocent eyes the scoundrel could muster and say, "I'm cashing in on nine months worth of drinking."
Crocodile then proceeds to vomit on Mihawk's shoes before he can ask for an elaboration on that absurd statement, which has the consequence of Mihawk forgetting what's significant about that number.
--
A year after this, Crocodile properly calls Mihawk an offer him a drink. "As an apology for ruining your shoes"-the man claims.
Warning bells went off in Mihawks head at this line. Crocodile did not apologize for anything in his life. Especially when is came 365 days too late.
When they actually arrive at the bar, Crocodile is much more controlled with his alcohol, opting for a simple glass of whiskey, a contrast to Mihawks usual. Crocodile even comments on this, looking at his drink in disgust. "Do you drink anything but wine?"
"Wine is a classic?"
"I'm not say-nevermind."
Crocodile huffed, hailing down the bartender for a refill. Mihawk takes a moment to study the man. As usual, the man is impeccably dressed-nothing like the drunkard from a year ago. Nothing else unusual. Perhaps Mihawk's experience with Drunkerdile had been a hallucination.
Crocodile drags his hook across the countertop, catching Mihawks attention. When the latter glances up at him, Crocodile pretends to have not been looking at him. The man takes a sip of his drink. "So," he says in a sly voice, "Notice anything different?"
He has that shit-eating grin-a rare show of genuine happiness-further confusing Mihawk.
Mihawk looks Crocodile up and down. His eyes fall on the absurdly large hook he has. "You've taken up costume jewelery?"
Crocodiles usual frown returns. "This is the same hook, Mihawk."
"It looks cheaper."
"Its the same hook, Hawk-eyes."
"Are you sure it wasn't swapped and replaced with some poor knock-off?"
"ITS THE SAME HOOK HAWKFACE!!!"
Mihawk puts his hands up in defeat, as Crocodile grumbles. Mihawk reconsiders Crocodile's statement. Nothing immediately jumped out at him. "...Perhaps your voice sounds deeper?"
Crocodile looked disappointed now-why the hell is he disappointed?! "My voice. That's all you notice?"
Mihawk nods. "You're still the same Crocodile."
"Well fuck you."
Mihawk rolls his eyes. He takes a good helping of his wine-he was beginning to realize that he needed to be slightly tipsy to interact with Crocodile. The man hadn't even realized that was a compliment.
Then again, he wasn't certain Crocodile could take a compliment.
Crocodile traces the edge of his glass with his remaining hand. "Does Luffy sound like a dumb name to you?" He says suddenly, with no warning.
Mihawk pauses in his indulgence. He raises an eyebrow at Crocodile. "What the fuck is a Luffy?"
Crocodile rolled his eyes. "That's what I said." He hums, drinking from his whiskey once more. "Filbert is a much more impressive name."
Mihawk's frown deepens. "Filbert is still a dumb name," the swordsman points out.
Crocodile has the audacity to glare at him. "Well forget I said anything then!!!"
The man downs his whiskey, then the next the bartender had just give him. Once its finishes, the warlord shouts. "DRINKS ARE ON ME!!!"
The entire bar cheers and Mihawk thinks, in dawning horror, that he is the only well adjusted individual among the warlords-no-on this whole planet!
That, and Crocodile had clearly lost his mind.