Chapter Text
The air is cold across Shanks’ bare skin when Doflamingo gets out of bed. He’s been an early riser as long as Shanks has known him, but at least Doffy has no problem letting Shanks sleep off the hangover pounding in his skull. Mornings like this sometimes make Shanks want to stop drinking entirely, but the only thing worse than a hangover is being sober, and not just because of the shaking hands or dower mood it causes. When he’s sober, he has to think, and thinking is probably the worst thing Shanks can do. If a mission doesn’t require his full attention, then Shanks will dull the edges with drink.
He can hear Doflamingo preparing for the day. The sound of the shower is followed by muffled movement in the washroom, and then the door opens, steam billowing out. Shanks shivers as the water vapour cools the room further.
Doflamingo hums while he dresses. Only after Shanks hears the rustling of feathers does Doffy perch on the edge of the bed.
“Pica and I have that meeting today. We’ll be back later,” he says, fingers trailing over Shanks’ bare shoulder because Doffy is a bastard who loves seeing him squirm.
Shanks grunts but keeps his head buried in the pillows.
Doffy laughs. “Take care, mí sombra,” he says. He kisses the back of Shanks’ neck before withdrawing. His footsteps are quiet, just like the click of the door.
Even half asleep, Shanks tracks Doffy’s progress through the base with Haki, a silent watcher to keep Doffy safe. Only when Doffy leaves his awareness does he let the pull of exhaustion overtake him again. At least Shanks doesn’t dream.
When he wakes next, the sun is shining in through a different window. Shanks squints up at it and debates whether he can justify spending the whole day in bed before sighing. Doffy will bitch about it if he does, and Shanks isn’t in the mood to deal with that. Reluctantly, he sits up. The soft blanket pools around his waist. He’s relieved to find that the room only spins a little.
Somebody—Baby 5, probably, because Doffy would never be so considerate—left a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers on the bedside table. Shanks makes use of both. When he doesn’t immediately throw up, he decides that it’s probably safe to stand, thank the seas; he needs a shower and to brush his teeth. His breath tastes like stale liquor.
Yesterday's clothes are gone from where he and Doffy left them scattered across the floor, too busy to pay much attention to where things went on the way to the bed, but neither of them are fond of messes. Doffy is nothing if not meticulous, and Shanks has spent too long in tight quarters to not keep his space clean.
The shower is hot despite Doffy’s use earlier. That is another luxury of staying in one place. Their base in Spider Miles means that Shanks doesn’t have to fight for water like on the Oro Jackson. Rayleigh had to come up with a damn schedule to keep them from trying to kill each other over it.
Shanks lets his head thump against the shower wall—a beautiful mosaic tile, because it could only be the best for Doffy. Today is going to be one of those days, when the ghosts of Shanks’ past cling to him a little more closely than usual. Fucking lovely.
He gets out of the shower and dresses. Thick pants and tall boots; a warm shirt. Even after nearly a decade in the North Blue, the weather is something Shanks has never gotten used to. He is far more used to the warmth of the Grand Line’s oceans, as long as they didn’t get too close to any winter islands.
The last thing Shanks puts on is his straw hat. It hangs off his neck, resting against his back. He doesn’t wear it properly anymore. Hasn’t in years, not since he first followed Doflamingo out of a crowded bar and into the streets of Loguetown, desperate and lonely with Roger’s dying laugh still echoing in his ears. It feels wrong to, knowing how much Roger would hate what he’s become, but Roger is dead, and Shanks is the one who was left behind. The hat is all he’ll allow himself. A symbol, a noose around his neck and a burden he carries, haunted by promises made and broken. Doffy hates it, but it is something Shanks has never bent on, even when the years have washed away what used to be lines in the sand.
When he’s ready, Shanks goes in search of caffeine. The hallways are empty. Not surprising at this time of day. Shanks stops in the kitchen to find that somebody didn’t clean out the coffee maker. He can’t be bothered to do it himself, so he makes do with the stale coffee left in the bottom. It’s disgusting, but maybe Shanks needs the sludge to wake himself up.
He takes a few sips before letting his Observation seek out the others. There is no sign of Doffy or Pica, of course, and Vergo left for his mission last year. The others are scattered, except for Trebol and Diamante up in the common area. Interestingly, there is another Voice, small and raging. A new recruit, maybe?
He follows it outside and up the rusted metal stairs. They creak beneath his feet. When he opens the door at the top, he finds his fellow executives and a boy.
The boy whips to glare at him, as if Shanks is the intruder here, but Shanks knows better than to take offense at frightened, angry children. Besides, he looks more like a feral cat than anything dangerous, though Shanks knows not to judge a child entirely by their gangly limbs. When he was this boy’s age, he was already lethal.
“Behehe, there you are, Shanks,” Trebol says, leaning back in one of the chairs. “This here is Law. He wants to join our crew!”
“Is that so?” Shanks asks. There is an odd feeling in his stomach, the same he gets whenever he thinks too hard of Baby 5, Buffalo, and little Delinger. It feels wrong to let children be here, but wouldn’t they be worse off elsewhere? At least Doffy protects them. Who knows where they would end up on the streets, starving and vulnerable. Besides, Shanks grew up on a pirate ship. He can hardly fault Doffy for allowing the same.
“I’m from Flevance,” Law says like that explains everything. In some ways, it does. A country burned for the crime of existing. It reminds Shanks of Baterilla, of the blood of infants seeping between cobblestones. Of Ohara and its Demon Child somewhere across the seas. Atrocity after atrocity.
Shanks doesn’t get a chance to respond. Baby 5 and Buffalo appear in the window, all sunshine and excitement. He knows what they’re here to report before they say it, his Observation telling him that Corazon is at the base of the stairs, closer than anyone else can get without Shanks noticing.
Corazon is quiet in more ways than one, not that anyone else on the crew is good enough at Observation Haki to notice. He must have learned young to hide his presence, and Shanks knows enough of Doffy’s story to guess why.
It’s almost enough to make him feel pity, and maybe he would, if not for the children.
“Diamante, Trebol, Shanks! Corazon is back!” Baby 5 says.
Shanks schools his features into an impassive mask. It’s a pity Corazon is back so soon; Shanks would have liked to avoid him for a little longer.
The door opens. Shanks sees a flash of the future: Corazon tripping over nothing, as per usual. He doesn’t say anything, settling instead into one of the free chairs and drinking his coffee.
“You tripped, you tripped!” Buffalo and Baby 5 taunt when Corazon crashes to the ground. Shanks’ hand tightens on his cup as Corazon’s strike sends them each flying onto opposite walls. He reminds himself in a voice that sounds like Doffy's that this is a lesson. The world is full of pain. If they want to survive, they must learn to withstand it. Besides, they wouldn’t keep teasing Corazon if they truly felt they were in danger.
As usual, Corazon says nothing. He sits and accepts a cup of coffee from Baby 5, who doesn’t seem any worse for wear. She laughs as he spits it out, no doubt too hot even for him to tolerate.
“This is Law, our new recruit,” Trebol announces before things can continue spiraling, since Doffy is the only one who can handle Corazon while angry. “Law, this is Corazon, another executive. Be sure to show him the proper respect! Behehe. He might be a fool, but he’s Doflamingo’s little brother! Be careful though, he hates kids.”
Shanks moves when Corazon does. He catches Corazon’s wrist as it reaches for Law.
“That’s enough, don’t you think, Corazon?” Shanks says lightly. He tightens his grip with just enough armament to be painful for any normal person, though Corazon is hardly that.
Corazon’s expression doesn’t change, his eyes obscured through his pink lenses. Shanks’ expression remains perfectly polite.
A tense moment passes. It isn’t the first time he’s come between Corazon and one of the children. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s led to a fight either.
Thankfully, Corazon seems to decide that this isn’t worth it. He drops the boy. The fall is still several feet due to their height difference, but it’s better than being thrown from the room, maybe even through a window.
Law hisses. Shanks lets go of Corazon and offers him a hand up, but Law bats it away. “I’m fine,” he spits. “I don’t need your help.”
Shanks shrugs. “We can’t do anything about you joining until Doflamingo gets back, but I don’t see why he would turn you away,” he says, instead of addressing what just happened. He glances at Corazon, who has retreated back to the chair, and grits his teeth. “Baby 5, show Law one of the spare bedrooms.”
“Okay! Come on,” Baby 5 says. She grabs Law’s arm, who immediately jerks free with an angry curse, but Baby 5’s smile doesn’t waver.
Shanks waits until the kids are gone before he turns on Corazon. He glares. As usual, Corazon seems entirely unaffected by the situation.
“I don’t know what your problem is, and frankly, I don’t care,” Shanks hisses. He clenches his fists. “Those kids have done nothing to deserve your shit, so stay the fuck away from them.”
“Ooooh Shanks is angry! Behehe,” Trebol says.
Shanks ignores him. He steps closer to Corazon and pitches his voice low. “You might be Doffy’s brother, but I’m the one with his ear. Don’t forget that.”
The blood law applies to them all, but Shanks knows that Doffy would forgive him. He has in the past when they fought.
Corazon blows out a breath of smoke. Shanks waits for a beat longer before turning and leaving the room. He needs a fucking drink.