Archive of Our Own

“Turn the ship around.”

Shanks swallows hard as he says it, fingering the envelope in his hand. Building Snake startles, both at his captain’s sudden proximity and the uncharacteristic venom in his tone.

Across the deck, the cabin boy whimpers, drops his mop, and loses his lunch over the rail. Benn pats him on the back comfortingly and shoots Shanks a look that says “Get control of yourself.” Shanks takes a deep breath and tries, using every scrap of his self control to reel in the Conqueror’s Haki pouring out of him in waves. 

He’s never considered himself to be an angry person. At the very least, he isn’t one to hold a grudge, with one glaring exception for the pirate who makes the tri-scar across his eye throb every time he thinks about him. 

But even the saintliest of men can be provoked. Few are foolish enough to do so. The Kidd Pirates tried not too long ago and the result was the Victoria Punk limping to the nearest port, down one mast and charred almost beyond recognition. 

Cold-blooded murderers and insolent brats he can deal with, expects them really. The anger that thrums in him now is an unfamiliar type: hot, sour, and devastating in its breadth. For the first time, he thinks he understands what drove Roger’s son to throw his life away in pursuit of his former crewmate.

Betrayal is a powerful master. 

Benn approaches with a raised brow. Shanks hands him the envelope and waits silently as he removes the scrap of paper inside and begins to read the contents aloud for the crew of the Red Force to hear. The first sentence ends with a groan and Shanks has to grit his teeth to will down the blast of haki that threatens to send the poor cabin boy to the infirmary bay.  

He’s already read the page enough times to memorize it, each word and the location of every drop of dried blood seared into his brain. 

Benn finishes with a sigh. Nearby, Lucky frowns and Yassop whistles in disbelief. “Well shit...”

Despite what’s written, his first mate looks skeptical, turning the torn leaf over in his hands as if to look for some sign of duplicity before carefully placing it back in the envelope and handing the whole thing back to Shanks who pockets it.

“A Delivery Coo dropped this off? How do you know it’s real?”

Shanks eyes him coolly. “I know that handwriting as well as I know my own.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Benn scowls, “but who would send you something like this? Surely not him.”

“Does it matter?” 

“It could be a trap.”

Shanks doesn’t reply, just palms Gryphon’s hilt where it rests on his hip. “I intend to find out. I need to be sure.”

Only three days ago, they’d set off on their long-awaited journey to find the One Piece. Normally he is not a capricious leader. This unexpected detour is not fair to them, especially considering they’ve shown him nothing but the most steadfast loyalty in all the years they’ve been together. He keeps his eyes trained on the sea beyond, nervous to see their disappointment in him. Guilty, because he knows he will not change his mind.

Relief washes over him when a few people chuckle, and then Hongo is saying, “It’s a bad situation, but honestly I’m surprised this hasn’t happened sooner.”

Benn shakes his head good-naturedly and claps Shanks on the shoulder. “Take it easy, okay? We’re with you. I’ll prepare a cabin, just in case.”

Snake is smiling at him over the shades as he cuts the helm hard to starboard. 

“You heard Cap, man the sails. We’re going to Karai Bari.”

****

The last time Shanks unleashed his haki indiscriminately it had been for his own protection. Sort of. Newgate had the annoying tendency of calling him boy, which never sat right with him. Maybe because he was already in his late thirties by that time, or maybe because Roger used to call him that, and Roger is long gone. 

Either way it had been only a trickle then, enough to incapacitate the weak and those with something to prove. No malice in it whatsoever. Newgate had called him a bastard. And Shanks laughed.

Today is different. 

Today he watches with vicious satisfaction as the Cross Guild’s port guards go limp in his presence, collapsing to the ground as the force of his will slams them into unconsciousness. At his back, he can almost feel Benn roll his eyes at the theatrics. Lucky and Yasopp snicker. The three of them together make up his strongest and most trusted companions, which is why he’s brought them along for this (un)friendly reunion. 

Despite his righteous anger, Shanks feels a twinge of softness ripple through him at the sight of the brightly colored circus city. The tight-lipped smile that spreads across his face is equal parts sadness and pride. In a different world, one where everything hadn’t gone to shit that day in Loguetown, this might be his home too. Instead he is an intruder, seconds away, perhaps, from turning his friend’s life upside down for the second time. Villainy is in his blood, after all.

Guild members flee as they approach the main tent, though no one gets very far. Two men on a lion and a woman with a spiked mace black out twenty paces from the entrance. Shanks thinks he recognizes them, but he has bigger things on his mind at the moment. 

When he turns his eyes away from them and back to the tent, Mihawk and Crocodile are waiting for him. 

“Red-Hair?” the Sandman croaks. It’s obvious he’s trying to act casual, but Shanks hears the thinness of his tone; sees the way he struggles to keep his legs under him with the force of a conqueror’s will beating down on him. Shanks feels his blood boil at the thought that so much damage could be inflicted by such a weak man.

Mihawk stands beside him with the audacity to look irritated, despite what he’s done. Shanks sends another wave of haki in their direction, so strong it threatens to unmoor some of the smaller tents from their posts. 

Crocodile shivers and drops to one knee. 

Mihawk grimaces, unfazed by the show of power. “One emperor stepping into the territory of another without invitation is a declaration of war,” he says. “Why are you here?”

Shanks retrieves the envelope from his pocket and tosses it to the ground at their feet. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Mi?”

“What is that?” Mihawk drawls, cutting his eyes to the distinctive red cardstock.

“The end of our friendship, if it’s true,” Shanks replies, without hesitation.

Crocodile sits back on his haunches, reaching forward to grab the envelope, and pulls the paper out with shaky hands. 

***

Buggy is about to set his makeup when he feels it – a fast-moving wind that stings his eyes and blows his hair back, followed by an increase in air pressure that makes heat spread in his belly. A plume of powder erupts on his vanity where he drops the puff back into its compact, dusting the cover of a gemstone-encrusted journal on his vanity.

No way, he thinks. He knows that feeling; could never forget it even after twenty-five long years. There is no way that man would ever come here, of all places. Still, his body moves of its own accord, stuffing the journal beneath his pillow before exiting his bedroom, denial and sentiment waging war in his chest. 

In the hall, members of his crew are strewn across the floor, completely senseless. Buggy’s heart drops, and he picks up his pace, leaving his feet behind at the balcony overlooking the meeting area so he can fly towards the entrance of the main tent. 

At the flap that will take him outside, the air is so thick he can taste it, bitter and sweet, coating the back of his throat. No wonder everyone is out cold. If Buggy had not spent nearly ten years of his life becoming acclimated to this overwhelming aura, he might be too. 

He is here, and he is mad, which is unusual in and of itself. Why he has come is another issue entirely.

Buggy tears open the flap and glides outside, stopping short when he almost barrels into the business end of Yoru where she is strapped to Mihawk’s back. 

“What’s going on?!” he screeches, eyes dropping to where Crocodile is crouched beside him, smoothing out the creases on an oddly familiar piece of paper that looks like it’s been torn straight out of a book. 

His breath catches in his throat when he sees his own handwriting. Then his gaze is shifting over Mihawk’s shoulder to stare into a pair of chestnut brown eyes he knows all too well. 

“Shanks!”

“Buggy…”

Crocodile clears his throat, preparing to read the page.

“Don’t…” Buggy pleads, detaching a hand to grab it, but the Sandman catches it, holding the wriggling fingers at bay as he begins:   

“8,801~

All I said was it wasn’t my idea to print the poster like that and Croc and Hawk still beat the daylights out of me. Croc put the point of his hook right through my nose, as if it isn’t already ugly enough without being all scarred up. 

I can’t fucking stand it here! Everytime I try to build something for myself, someone comes along to ruin it. 

I thought being an emperor would be fun. Instead, I’m getting tortured by these two lunatics daily. There ain’t enough concealer in the world to hide all the black eyes I’ve had in the last two months. Al says I shouldn’t put up with it. She’s full o’ shit. She was happy as a clam to let them in until she realized neither of them wanted anything to do with her. God, I love her, but she’s such a slut. 

I wish there was some way out of this. I’d rather go back to being a nameless chump in the East Blue than live like this. 

Ack! I’m sorry, Ame, I’m bleeding all over you. Gunna go find some booze and bandages and hunker down in my room. Talk again soon.

Blue”

When Crocodile finishes he is white as a ghost. The silence that follows is a void. Buggy wishes he could crawl into it and disappear forever. Anything to make Shanks stop giving him that pitiful, doe-eyed look.

How? When? Most importantly, who?

His journal had been well hidden beneath loose floorboards and in tightly locked drawers in all the time he’d had her. He never took her out unless he was sure he was alone. Not even Mohji or Cabaji knew about her and they’d been with him for years. The leather-bound book is so thick with yellowed pages and additional inserts, he hadn’t even noticed that someone had torn a page out. 

He isn’t quite sure what’s happening, or why Shanks would even care. Based on the look on his face, he cares a lot. 

Heat crawls up Buggy’s neck. He finally gets his hand free to snatch the page from Crocodile and rips it to shreds. 

Mihawk clicks his teeth in annoyance. “Really, Shanks? This is what you’re so upset about?”

Another spiteful wave of haki pours from the red-haired emperor. The three men behind him tighten their grip on their weapons. Crocodile gags. “Fuck! How are you even standing right now, Clown?”

Shanks’s expression is caught somewhere between demonic wrath and genuine pain. “I might have expected something like this from him,” he says, gesturing to Crocodile, “but you, Mihawk? You hurt him! Why would you send me something like this?”

“Strange that you assume it was me when I’m implicated. There are thousands of people here who could have easily found what I’m assuming is the Clown’s diary. And since when did you become the arbiter of my actions? This doesn’t concern you.”

Shanks’ eyes flare. “You’re serious? After everything we’ve been through?”

“You aren’t special to me because we used to duel, or because you have that face. You’d do well to mind your business.”

In the time it takes Buggy to blink, both men have drawn their swords. The impact of the blades meeting shakes the entire island, uprooting distant palms and blowing several of the smaller tents into the foothills of the mountains beyond the city. Buggy digs his fingers into the soft earth and hangs on for dear life.

“Give him to me or destroy the island trying to stop me,” Shanks snarls in Mihawk’s face. “Choose quickly.”

Buggy blanches, finally finding his voice. “W-wait what? You can’t just–”

“Take him and go!” Crocodile shouts. 

Mihawk looks at his ally impassively. “If he leaves, this ceases to be an emperor’s territory. We’ll be hunted.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Crocodile groans. “Just get them out of here.”

Slowly, Mihawk and Shanks withdraw, resheathing their weapons with practiced ease. 

“Do I get a say in this?!” Buggy laments as he picks himself up off the ground. 

“No!” Crocodile and Mihawk bark at him in unison.

Sweat drips down his forehead and into his eyes. He rubs at the droplets with the back of his gloved hand, remembering too late he never got around to setting his makeup. When he pulls his hand back, face paint comes with it and he knows Shanks can see it. New bruises on top of old, the delicate skin around his eyes a mottled ombré of yellow, green, and purple. Yes, they had hurt him. Yes, he had wanted out. But not like this. 

Shanks approaches warily, sole hand reaching out to touch his face. Buggy slaps it away before he can do it. 

“I ain’t going with you,” he says firmly. 

“Buggy,” the man sighs. “I won’t leave you here with them.”

The words are soft-spoken, but edged with clear finality. Sure he could kick and wail and scream, but what good would it do him in the end? He hadn’t been strong enough to fight off Hawk and Croc. What could he possibly do with Shanks and his crew added into the mix?

The laugh that tears from him is bitter and humorless. “So you’ve decided for me again.”

He knows the words are a dagger and he smiles cruelly when he sees he’s drawn blood. Shanks’ face twists in agony, and Buggy turns his back before he can feel bad about it. Serves him right. 

The Red-Hair Pirates escort him back inside where he packs several bags with only the necessities: 

Every piece of clothing he owns, accessories, cosmetics, his entire collection of throwing knives, and at least fifty pounds worth of loose treasure and paper money. As much as he resents Shanks for bringing along an entourage to witness his greatest humiliation, he is glad to have the extra hands. When he is done he slides his journal out from under his pillow and slips it into the breast pocket of his coat. 

The men all stare at it as it is tucked away. 

“I didn’t believe it was real,” Beckman says. “You’re a pirate. You really keep a diary?”

“Filled from cover to cover by the looks of it!” Yasopp chortles.

“That’s a fat amethyst embedded in the cover,” Roux adds. “How many carats is that thing?”

“C’mon guys…” Shanks says wearily, kneading the bridge of his nose.

Buggy flips them off and storms out of the room.

He has nothing to say to his former allies, not even “bye” sans the “good”. Crocodile frowns deeply, chewing his cigar restlessly. Mihawk’s got his arms crossed, watching him with an ambiguous smirk on his face. He pushes past them with his head held high, clinging to whatever scraps of dignity he might still possess. Just a few feet away, he stops short, staring at a group of unconscious bodies laying right off the path to the docks. 

“Grab them too,” he says to Shanks’ men, pointing to the prone forms of Alvida, Mohji, Cabaji and Richie.

Roux pulls a face. “Even the lion?” he asks quizzically. 

“Especially the lion!” he hisses.

Shanks shrugs at them, and they each stoop to throw one over their shoulders. 

Buggy knows he shouldn’t look back, but he can’t help it. He gives one final look to the city he helped raise with his own hands, the men who’d followed him, the island he’d claimed as his own. His legacy. Beautiful and fleeting, just like every other wonderful thing in his life.

He turns away before anybody can see him cry. 

***

The Red Force is not what he expected. 

Shanks is one of the most influential people in the world with more than twenty islands under his control, last time he checked. Wealth comes with the territory, so if he had to hazard a guess, Buggy would assume he’s also ridiculously wealthy. Not that it prevents him from dressing like a bum. 

The ship is massive, though desperately lacking in pizzazz. Things are more orderly than he expected, particularly since Shanks was a notorious slob when they were kids, using every excuse in the book to get out of doing chores. 

Members of the crew wave to him fondly as he is steered below deck to the sleeping quarters. His lips curl down when the door to the room swings open and he sees it’s barely larger than a broom closet, with only one narrow bed.

Between the amount of stuff he’s brought with him and the drooling figures of his friends, there’s hardly any room to move. Buggy scoots Mohji over to lay on top of Richie, and plops down on a tiny corner of the bed, feeling more exhausted than he has in a very long while. 

They’re already stuffed in like sardines when another one of Shanks’ men pushes into the room with a large medical bag. He kneels in front of Buggy, hands surprisingly soft as he turns his face this way and that. 

A dirty-blonde with an undercut and kind eyes. This must be Hongo, the ship’s doctor. Although he’s never met any of them, Buggy had made it his business to know the names and faces of each of Shanks’ top officers by heart. It was an easy enough thing to do, considering they’ve all been with him for over a decade at this point. Based on their enormous bounties, he’d thought they’d all be blood-thirsty killers or something, so he is surprised to find that they’re all kind of okay. More in the category of “general dickheads”, much like their captain. At the very least, his reception onto the ship had been more warm than he anticipated. 

“I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do about these bruises except let them heal on their own. Should take about a week max, but until then you should lay off the heavy makeup to let the skin breathe,” Hongo says, giving a pleasant smile. 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Buggy grouses. “Check on my friends, will ya? They’ve been knocked out for an hour.”

Hongo obliges him, checking heart rates and temperatures, blushing like a damned teenager when he presses his stethoscope to the mound of Alvida’s ample breast. 

“Sorry the sleeping arrangement isn’t ideal,” Beckman says. “I didn’t think there would be so many of you.”

“Plenty of space in the bunkroom if you want to spread out,” Lucky suggests. 

Buggy bares his teeth at him. He hasn’t slept in a bunk since the Oro Jackson, and he has no plans of going back. 

“Lucky, buddy!” Yasopp admonishes, sounding more than a little sarcastic, “You’re talking to an Emperor of the Sea here! No shot we’re making such an esteemed guest sleep in the bunkroom with the cabin boys. There’s plenty of space in the Captain’s Quarters. I’m sure Shanks wouldn’t mind. Would you, Shanks?”

If looks could kill, the Sniper would’ve evaporated into a fine red mist. 

“Everybody out,” Shanks rasps, eye noticeably twitching. “I need to speak with Buggy alone for a moment.” He closes the door behind them much harder than necessary, leaning back against it heavily. 

Two or three feet is all that separates them, yet the space is laden with so much history and regret it feels like an endless gulf. The last time Buggy had been this close to Shanks was at Marineford. They’d barely spoken more than a few words to each other at that time and somehow Shanks had managed to piss him off, as usual. 

The man looks much as he did then, except markedly more tired. There are deep shadows beneath his eyes, and four or five days worth of stubble on his jaw. Buggy feels his stomach twist, because somehow he still manages to look amazing – a rugged, manly beauty, reminiscent of Roger, Rayleigh, and Gaban. Aside from the news articles and bounty posters, it’s only the second time he’s seen him with the scar and the missing arm. Not the boy he remembers, but the man he missed out on. 

“I don’t think sorry is going to cut it,” he says, voice just a click above a whisper. “I never thought Mi would do something like that to you. I trusted him. He knew that–”

“Save it,” Buggy growls. “I dont…I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Blue, they were abusing you.”

“Shut up!” he screams, jumping to his feet. “And don’t call me that! I was doing fine on my own. I had finally made something real for myself! I am not as weak as you think I am. I didn’t ask you to rescue me!”

“You’re not weak,” Shanks murmurs hastily. “I don’t think that. I never said that.”

“Then what the fuck am I doing here, huh?! Why did you sail across the New World and kidnap me? Do you think this is a game? This is my life!”

“No, I would never do that to you. I needed to see you. I wanted to make sure you were alright. You weren’t…”

“But I was!” Buggy spits, detaching his hands to fist Shanks’ cloak. “You don’t care about me. All you want to do is play the hero. You win, okay? You’ve made your point. Take us to the closest port and leave me alone. After that, I never wanna see you again.”

Shanks groans, reaching up to cover one of Buggy’s hands with his own. “Please don’t say that. I don’t want you to go. Come with me. It’ll be like old times.”

Buggy rips his hand away. “Why the hell would I do somethin’ like that?!”

“Because I’m going after the One Piece.”

It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. Buggy takes a step back, stumbling over a bag full of hats and hair pins, landing on top of Cabaji, who groans in his sleep.

“You’re lying.”

“No. We were already on our way there when I got the letter in the mail.”

“Why now? You said you didn’t want it.”

“I didn’t. I don’t. But things have changed…”

“You mean we’ve changed. You never wanted to co-captain with me. You wanted me under you. The moment I became your equal, you found a way to cut me down and force me to follow.”

Shanks looks mortally wounded. “Of course not! How could you even say that?”

“Get out!” Buggy snarls. “And have one of your men come tell me the moment we spot the next island. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

***

If Shanks had to rank the worst days of his life, this one would be pretty high on the list. Above his fight with Teach but below Loguetown. He doesn’t think anything will ever be worse than that.

He sits with his back against the rail of the ship, watching Karai Bari disappear over the horizon, trying to pick apart the tight ball of misery and fury still lingering in his chest. 

Mihawk is not exactly what you would call a nice guy, but Shanks had never doubted for a second that their friendship was real. There was a bond between them; the type that could only be forged by vast, world-altering secrets or mutual longing. They’d shared both. What upsets him the most is that Mi knows exactly how he feels about Buggy. He’d certainly cried to him enough, sloppy drunk and baking under the sun on whatever uninhabited island they’d decided to meet up on. He admits he’d felt a twinge of discomfort when he’d first seen the Cross Guild poster, specifically because Mi hadn’t even bothered to call and tell him about it. And then to find out that he was putting his hands on Buggy? They hadn’t had a proper duel in years. If they ever had the misfortune of crossing paths again, only one of them was coming out of it alive. 

His conversation with Buggy plays on repeat in his head, making him cringe at the glaringly obvious misstatements he’d made along the way. He can’t bring himself to regret pulling him out of there against his will, though asking him to come along on the journey to the One Piece was way out of line. There’s no way Buggy would say yes to something like that now, after what he’d done to him, or when he’d been the one to throw away their shared dream in the first place. 

Benn appears out of the trapdoor to the hold, carrying dusty bottles of sake under his arms. He sets one in front of Shanks and comes to sit beside him. 

“You broke out the good stuff from the West Blue. I thought you and Hongo said I should cut back.”

“We’ll make an exception for today,” Benn chuckles. “How did it go?”

Shanks shakes his head.

“That’s too bad. I wouldn’t worry about it too much though, there’s still time to change his mind before we get to the next island.”

Shanks rips the cork out with his teeth and polishes off half the liqour before he replies “He hates me! I don’t blame him, but still, it hurts. Did you see what they did to his gorgeous face? I should have leveled the city before we left.” 

“He seems like a tough guy. He’ll heal in no time.”

“I don’t think he hates you,” he adds quietly.

“You didn’t hear him,” Shanks laments. “He said he never wanted to see me again. What am I supposed to do? Drop him off at some random port and give him my best? I took everything from him.”

“Seems like he’s still got plenty of stuff to me,” Benn deadpans. Shanks punches him in the arm. 

“Look, I know this isn’t how you envisioned your grand reunion with him, but I think you did the right thing. I’m just as surprised as you are about what happened with Hawkeyes, but that greasy-haired bastard Crocodile has never been any good. Buggy’s a fighter. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t trapped. If you take the time to explain to him why things happened the way they did in the past, he might come around.”

“Oh sure, you think he hates me now?” Shanks groans. “He’ll go running to the south pole if he ever finds out about that.”

“You won’t know unless you try. I think you owe it to him.”

“You’re persistent, you old geezer.”

“You love me.”

“You know I do. Cheers.”

They clink their bottles together and drink deeply before falling into a companionable silence. After a few minutes, Benn says:

“So if Mihawk or Crocodile didn’t send you the letter, who do you think it was?”

Shanks discards the empty bottle and pulls the red envelope from his pocket, looking it over again. Other than being distinctly luxurious in appearance, there’s no name or markings of any kind. The torn remnants of the journal entry that he was able to find are sealed inside.

“I’m not sure. Maybe some guild member who saw what was going on and decided to do something about it. How they would know to send it to me though, I’ll never know. I don’t think it matters at this point.”

Benn nods his head solemnly. “True. I think we’ve got enough on our plates already without trying to solve a mystery.”   

***

With Shanks gone, Buggy is left to stew in the offensively small cabin. 

He huffs looking around at the bags on the floor, thinking about how he'd most definitely underpacked. He hasn’t got any rope with him, so his neckerchiefs and sashes will have to do. One by one, he ties everyone up as tight as the fabric will allow, then grabs the carafe of clean water on the bedside table and dumps it over them. 

The three humans gasp awake, sputtering and coughing. Richie flops onto the floor, hissing more like a house cat than the king of the jungle. 

“What the? Buggy what the fuck?!” Alvida shrieks, shaking the water from her dark curls.

“Why are we tied up?” Cabaji groans, pulling at the sash on his wrists.

“And where are we? Richie you okay, pal?” Mohji asks. Richie whines in response. 

Buggy pulls the journal and a throwing knife out of his coat, brandishing both at his crew menacingly. “Alright, which one of you was it?!”

Alvida looks from the book to the weapon, pursing her full lips. “You had better not be threatening me. I’ll beat your ass. What the hell are you even talking about? What is that thing?!”

“It appears to be a diary of some sort,” Cabaji muses. “That’s a lovely jewel, by the way, Captain.”

“Right?!” Buggy beams. “I stole it off of some rich merchant jerk in – Wait a minute! Stop trying to butter me up! I asked you a question.”

“Uh, could you elaborate?” Mohji frowns.

Buggy sighs impatiently. “Which. One. Of. You. Foundmydiaryandruinedmylife!”

“Oh, it’s your diary?” Alvida scoffs. “That’s gay.”

“Cram it, Al! Journaling is healthy. And I am gay, you know that! All of you do, which means one of you had to be the person who ripped a page out and sent it to Shanks!”

“Shanks?” the three of them balk.

“As in Red-Hair Shanks, Emperor of the Sea? Your long lost teenage love who you haven’t gotten over in twenty years? That Shanks?” Mohji continues.

“The same,” Buggy growls.

“Hold on,” Cabaji says. “Is that where we are right now? On the Red Force? You’re kidding me, I’ve always wanted to see it up close.”

“Could you not fanboy over him right now? This is serious.”

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Alvida starts. “You keep a diary (because you’re a pussy). Someone found it, tore out a page wherein, I suppose, you described your unending suffering,  and sent it to Shanks who then…what? Came racing across the Grand Line like a knight in shining armour?”

“Fuck off. But pretty much, yes.”

“That’s great, Captain! I’m so happy for you,” Mohji says. Richie flicks his tail in agreement.

“No, no, no. What is wrong with you people? This is a nightmare! We’ve been kidnapped! Everything we’ve worked for on Karai Bari is gone.”

The trio shares a look.

“I don’t know,” Cabaji says. “It was great being so famous and all, but you hated it there. We all did. None of us wanted to see you get beat down by Mihawk and Crocodile anymore. Maybe this is a good thing.”

Buggy’s brows furrow as he presses the blade to his throat. “So it was you?”

“No!”

“Wait!” Mohji cries. “He has a point! Haven’t you always wanted to reconcile with Shanks?”

Buggy glares at him and presses the knife to the hollow between his ribs.

“Bugs,” Alvida says seriously. “None of us would ever do that to you. Your secret has always been safe with us.”

Buggy lets the knife clatter to the ground and unties them. Once they are all free, he gets onto the bed with them, curling around the journal still in his hands.  

“What are we going to do now?” he asks sullenly.

Mohji slaps his thigh cheerfully. “Don’t look so down, Captain. We can always start again. We’re good at that.” 

“Are we not staying here?” Cabaji asks.

“Fuck no,” Buggy spits. “Shanks had no right to come along and destroy all of our hard work. He’s always been like this. He thinks he can do whatever he wants to whoever he wants because he’s stupidly strong and way too sexy for his own good. He can go die in a hole for all I care. The minute we get to the next island, we’re out of here.” 

“That’s the spirit!” Alvida chirps. “I say we rob them blind before we go too. What do you say?”

“Oh hell yeah,” Buggy snickers. “Not like they'll miss it anyway since they’re on their way to go find the One Piece.”

Four pairs of eyes shift to him in utter disbelief. 

“Pardon me?” Mohji says.

Buggy shrugs nonchalantly. “The two of us used to talk about finding it together someday. After Roger’s execution, Shanks changed his mind with no explanation. He claims things have changed and he wants me to–”

“What are you stupid?!” Alvida cuts in. “Nevermind, don’t answer that. Can’t you see what an amazing opportunity this is?”

“To sail with Shanks?” Buggy says. “I’m done with him, I don’t care about that anymore.”

“No, you idiot! To hitch a ride to the treasure aboard the safest ship on the seas. And when we get there,” she purrs, walking her fingers up Buggy’s shoulder, “we steal it right out from under them.” She pulls the elastic band from Buggy’s hair, smiling salaciously as his long hair falls down his back in waves. “All you have to do is play nice with your handsome narcissist until then.”

“Oh,” Buggy sighs, finally grasping her meaning. An evil grin starts to form on his lips before he remembers himself and it turns downward into a frown. “That’s genius, Al, but we aren’t even friends anymore and he definitely doesn’t want me like that. I’m not you, after all.”

“Don’t worry about that,” she giggles. “I can teach you a few things that will have him wrapped around your little finger.”

Buggy’s still uncertain, but he looks to Mohji and Cabaji who give him a thumbs up. It’s a good plan. He’s good at pretending. He always has been. This might just turn into his greatest performance of all time.

***

It’s been far too long since he was out at sea. He’d forgotten the way the stars look on a clear, moonlit night with no artificial light to muddy their shine. Like glitter stretching across the open sky. Very flashy. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it until it was right there in front of him.

Shanks is standing at the rail, looking out into the blackness, a bottle of liquor hung between his fingers, with several more at his feet. Strange, how Buggy can tell by looking at his posture that he is upset. Bold of him, considering the stunt he pulled today, yet it tugs at something inside nonetheless. 

That face was made for smiles and laughter and fun. Buggy always thought he’d be the one to give them to him. Some things just aren’t meant to be.

He doesn’t have a lick of haki that he knows of, but Shanks must feel him anyway, because he turns around, eyes softening at the sight of him.

“I thought you were mad at me.”

“I am.”

“I didn’t do it to hurt you.”

There’s a nasty string of profanities right on the tip of his tongue. Ugly comments about his mother and where exactly he should put his apologies. Buggy swallows them down and tries to stick to the script.

A couple of things surprise him: the way Shanks leans in as he enters his space; how his expression changes when he sees his face up close. Freshly painted against Hongo’s wishes, his hair loose and windswept. He tilts his head like Alvida taught him, looking up through his lashes to hold those fathomless brown eyes.

“I-I think I wanna stay. We can start again, just like old times.”

It looks like a physical weight drops off Shanks’ shoulders. He gathers Buggy to him in a bear hug that nearly lifts him off his feet. The smell of him hits like a cannonball to the face. Sake, seaspray and cedarwood, and Buggy finds himself fighting a tidal wave of nostalgia he was not prepared for.

He is a half a second from pushing him away when he feels the tears dropping onto his shoulder. 

“I messed up, Buggy. Let me make it up to you. We’ll find the final island together, like we were always supposed to.”

Suddenly, he can’t remember which one of them was supposed to be the asshole in this situation.