Chapter Text
Rayleigh, years before
The seas around Alabasta are gloriously warm. Rayleigh’s an incredible swimmer, definitely the best among the crew, but unlike Roger and Gaban, he tends to run cold.
After a lifetime of visiting winter islands and nearly meeting his downfall on them, he’s learned to avoid the kind of chill that seeps under the skin and lingers. Now, though, he’s nothing short of comfortable, standing knee-deep in sun-warmed, shallow water. They’re close to the port of Nanohana, where he knows most of the crew is already in the city, hunting for food and drinks to restock the ship.
The temperature feels nice against his skin, and the sand beneath his feet is fine and soft (courtesy of the desert dunes), making the task of collecting fresh seafood surprisingly pleasant. Pleasant enough that he volunteered for it, even knowing it meant enduring Gaban’s constant stream of nonsense next to him.
A clear bag is slung over each of their shoulders, and Rayleigh’s been tossing his finds into his as he goes. By now, it's filled with splashes of orange, red, and yellow. Unfortunately, the transparency of the bag also makes it obvious that his haul is smaller than Gaban’s.
“A bit slow today, aren’t you?” comes a voice from Rayleigh’s side, laced with a familiar grin. “I wonder what’s keeping the Dark King so distracted?”
Against his better judgment, Rayleigh shoots him a pointed glance.
Gaban follows it up by letting his eyes slowly sweep across the beach, deliberately exaggerated, before flicking it back to Rayleigh with a smug expression. “Honestly, I never would’ve pegged you for someone who’s into daddies.”
That makes Rayleigh stop in his tracks, turn on his heels, and really glare at him. There isn’t much dignity in their quarrel, not when they’re both shirtless and barefoot, picking up crabs with seawater lapping at their shins.
“Well… I am married to one,” he retorts, allowing just a touch of irony to color his tone. It’s condescending, and he knows there’s nothing Gaban hates more than that. Then he scrunches his eyebrows together in mock reflection. “But given all the attention you keep throwing his way, I have to wonder… What’s your excuse for looking?”
Fortunately, it’s pretty easy to get under Gaban’s skin.
“’Cause I wanted to know why you were slacking off so bad,” he scoffs. His sunglasses cover his eyes completely, but that doesn’t make him any harder to read. Gaban, just like Roger, is a pretty open book.
“Maybe I should remind you that we’re only doing this because you wanted to? And I kindly volunteered myself for the job?”
Unfortunately, after so many years, Gaban knows how to get under his skin too.
“Ohhh! That’s rich coming from you. So it has nothing to do with the way the captain gave you puppy eyes this very morning?”
Rayleigh frowns at him, crossing his arms over his chest as a gentle wave brushes their knees. “We’re adults. There was no such thing.”
“Oh, really?” Gaban replies, a sly grin spreading across his tanned face. His expression shifts into something Rayleigh assumes is meant to imitate Roger - those supposed puppy eyes hidden under night-black shades. “Please, Ray,” he says, trying to deepen his voice dramatically. “You’re our best cook! Alabastan crab is the best crab! Can’t you make us some tonight?”
“You sound ridiculous,” Rayleigh tells him, feeling slightly aggravated despite his best efforts. “I only agreed to this because Buggy’s vitamin B12 levels are low.”
Gaban just rolls his eyes and waves a hand dismissively. “Whatever you say,” he grumbles. With one swift motion, he snatches a lobster from the water and tosses it into the bag hanging off his shoulder. “Cap wasn’t wrong anyway. About fresh Alabastan crabs, of course - you’re a mediocre cook at best. I don’t mind doing the actual hard work and picking up the food myself, ‘cause someone’s gotta do it, after all.”
Learning to resist the urge to get into violent altercations with Gaban has been one of Rayleigh’s most valuable life lessons. Just for a short moment, he considers throwing his bag at Gaban's face, crabs and all. But, as the patient father figure he now pretends to be, he waits on it and allows for the impulse to pass.
Instead, he shifts his attention to the beach ahead, to those miles of pale sand stretching all the way to the edge of the city. Nanohana rises in the distance, a cluster of sunlit buildings where most of the crew is already wandering around.
Roger, however, stayed behind on the beach to play with the kids. Or that’s what Rayleigh assumes he’s doing - the line between training, playing and rough-housing gets pretty blurred when it comes to him.
Rayleigh adjusts his glasses, a thin mist blurring his view and making it harder to tell exactly what they’re up to. There’s definitely a lot of running and, every now and then, some punching too. At one point, he sees Roger seemingly grow tired of entertaining Buggy and Shanks and actually kick them away. They come right back, of course, because that’s what kids do - and then the chaos starts all over again.
Even from a distance, Rayleigh can hear their laughter, shouts, and high-pitched giggles. And even from a distance, Roger looks really good - shirtless and flushed, tanned skin glistening under the sunlight.
“That’s a lot of energy for a middle-aged man,” Gaban whistles under his breath. “And that’s coming from me.”
“Hard to say I’m the one who’s distracted when you’re the one bringing it up,” Rayleigh points out.
“Shut up,” Gaban huffs, though he doesn’t look all that bothered this time, a little mesmerized by the three chaotic figures in front of them. “I’m not even kidding. How did you deal with that much energy on your own before the kids came along?”
Roger sends Shanks flying across the beach again. From a distance, a loud and indignant “Dad!” comes from Buggy. In a flash, Buggy is thrown away too.
Rayleigh shoots Gaban a sidelong glance. “Are you sure you want the answer to that?”
Gaban stares at him for a few seconds, then throws his hands up in frustration. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
Rayleigh swallows a laugh but can’t stop a grin from spreading across his face. He considers goading Gaban a bit more - until he notices Gaban’s expression brighten into a delighted smile. He isn’t even looking at Rayleigh anymore.
“Oh look!” he says cheerfully. “Guess the captain’s finally gonna start training them for real!”
The words set off alarm bells in Rayleigh’s mind. He whips his head around just in time to see Roger teaching Buggy how to handle a knife. Where the hell did that even come from?
“Oh my god,” he murmurs, freezing for a brief, incredulous moment.
Gaban shoots him a confused look, and Rayleigh presses the heel of one palm against his forehead.
“What?” Gaban asks, frowning.
“Gaban,” Rayleigh says slowly, enunciating each syllable, “they’re six. Six-year-old brats shouldn’t be running around with knives.”
Gaban just stares at him, still seemingly not getting it. Then, with total sincerity, he asks, “Why not?”
Unbelievably, it’s a genuine question. And by the gods, it annoys Rayleigh to his very core.
He smacks Gaban on the side of the head, earning a loud yelp of protest. Rayleigh just stares him down. “Because they’re six! Buggy still chokes on his own saliva and Shanks still trips on flat ground!” He shoves his bag of seafood into Gaban’s chest. “Their heads are huge, their legs are little, and they don’t have the coordination to be running around with knives in their hands!”
If Gaban says anything in return, Rayleigh doesn’t hear it - too busy charging toward the sand, where Buggy’s now brandishing not one, but two knives, one in each hand, much to Roger’s innocent and utterly delighted amusement.
Gods. They’re all idiots. He lives with a bunch of complete idiots.
Then, to Rayleigh’s horror, he sees Roger make a throwing motion with his hand. It’s not even the right technique. Roger’s never cared about knives in the first place.
Rayleigh takes off running, water splashing behind him.
“Roger!” he shouts. “I’ve already told you! No goddamn deaths on this crew!”
…
Rayleigh, when they find out
When Crocus delivers the bad news, his eyes find Rayleigh first - not Roger.
“Sick?” Rayleigh echoes, a wave of dizziness hitting him. He feels frozen in place, every muscle taut. “Roger doesn’t get sick.”
No flus, no colds, no infections. For decades, illness has never touched him. So why now?
Crocus’s hands twist together in silent distress. Again, he glances at Rayleigh - then at Roger. Both he and Rayleigh have to look up to meet their captain’s eyes. Roger stands like a giant in the center of the sickbay, his red coat draped heavily over his shoulders.
Roger is the perfect image of a king, imposing and undefeated. Larger than all of them, in size and everything else. And yet, the evidence of his fall lies in his right palm, a subtle stain, but one Rayleigh easily recognizes: as red as his coat, born of the blood that keeps coming up straight from his lungs.
The atmosphere in the small room is suffocating. None of them is naïve enough to think Crocus is talking about a simple case of pneumonia.
“Tell me what you really think,” Roger says to Crocus, his voice clear and gentle.
Something passes between them at that moment that Rayleigh can’t access. Roger has a unique and specific bond with each crew member - with him, words are merely the formalization of a deeper communication.
“I’m sorry, Cap. There's no cure,” Crocus says. Rayleigh hears the words but can’t fully comprehend them. They sound so distant, as if reaching him through glass.
There is an unusual seriousness on Roger’s face. “How long, my friend?”
Crocus sighs and wrings his hands. He shrugs off his jacket and sits on the stretcher behind him. Never before has a crew member entered the sickbay unconscious on that very stretcher and failed to leave walking upright, far better than when they arrived.
“A year, I’d say. Maybe less.”
Irrationally, Rayleigh feels a strong urge to leave the room, walk out to the ship’s deck, and throw himself into the sea. His body, however, remains stiff, his hands glued to his sides. He looks at Crocus, just so he won’t have to look at Roger.
A heavy hand lands on his shoulder. “A year?” Roger’s voice sounds, inexplicably, excited. Beneath it, there is an undertone of relief that Rayleigh finds incomprehensible. “Man! That’s a blessing!”
Rayleigh feels dumbfounded. He closes his eyes tightly, Roger’s hand burning like a bonfire through the fabric covering his shoulder.
A disbelieving, amused huff comes from Crocus in front of him. “Only you’d find blessings in the worst situations, Roger.”
“Isn’t that better than most get?” Roger insists. “In a world where deaths are sudden, violent, cowardly - you’re giving me a whole year!”
Roger’s arm moves fully around Rayleigh’s shoulders then, pulling him into a side hug. He tilts his face down, resting his cheek on top of Rayleigh’s head thanks to his height advantage.
Rayleigh finds himself unable to return the affection, rooted to the spot, his thoughts spinning.
Crocus laughs, a hint of pain threading through the sound, mixed with a resigned lightness. “Gotta admit, there’s never a dull day with you, Captain.”
These days are numbered, Rayleigh thinks but doesn’t say. Even if he wanted to, his voice wouldn’t come out, trapped as it is at the bottom of his windpipe, blocked by the knot of grief beginning to take its shape.
…
Shanks, pushed to breakthrough
“Again.”
“Dad—”
“Again.”
Shanks stands up, his scraped knees burning from the fall. He tries to ignore the pain, closing his eyes and turning his focus inward, just like Rayleigh taught him.
“You’ve already felt that Haki is like a tangled ball of energy inside you,” Rayleigh says patiently. “Reach for that power again.”
Shanks reluctantly obeys, searching for that strange feeling of knotted energy he now knows lives inside him. He tries to picture a ball of yarn, with a loose thread sticking out, just like Rayleigh told him to. He feels something bright and pulsing, but like before, it’s really hard to get close to it. It’s like a pretty trap, shiny and tempting, but that will burn you as soon as you touch it.
There’s something inside him that fights against something else inside him - it doesn’t make any sense, and the thought makes Shanks' head hurt.
“Did you find it?” Rayleigh asks.
“Yeah…” Shanks replies, frowning.
“But?”
“But it’s even more intense than last time, I think,” Shanks says. Just lingering around it makes his brain go all fuzzy again. “Feels like I’m gonna get electrocuted.”
“Haki is very dependent on strong emotions at first,” Rayleigh explains. “Your body connects the dots and remembers it as something dangerous.”
Now that Rayleigh has said that, Shanks can see that he must be right. It’s like all the knots in that bundle of energy carry heavy emotions with them - anger, grief, fear - memories of pain Shanks has felt before. It makes sense, in a way, because Shanks’ Conqueror’s Haki has only ever shown its teeth when he’s been very upset.
“So what do I do now?”
“Your body might link it to negative experiences, but Haki itself is neutral. It’s a power you’re born with, living inside you. It can feel intense, but it’s not bad - it’s just yours. Try to think about how natural it really is, understand it, and only then reach out for the thread.”
Shanks tries to do as he’s told, but it feels like he’ll get burned, and that stops him in his tracks. His scraped knees and palms are already aching from all the falls he’s taken since they started training today. And blacking out feels awful. He doesn’t want his own brain turning against him again - it just feels wrong, like some sort of deep self-betrayal.
“I can’t!” he yells, throwing his arms in the air.
“You can. And you will,” Rayleigh says, his voice firm and serious. “Take your time, son. Get quiet if you need to. Focus, and then reach for that loose thread in the yarn. Pull on it slowly.”
Shanks grits his teeth and tries to sink back into that feeling. He gets quiet and dives deep inside himself. It’s kind of like meditating - something he’s always been bad at. But he gives it another go. When he finally feels a bit calmer, he reaches for the thread, hoping his body won’t fight him this time.
He touches it.
And then his face smacks into the ground.
“Goddammit!” Feeling very frustrated, he pushes himself back up on his hands, settling on his knees.
“Language,” Rayleigh chides, but Shanks is way too upset to apologize.
“I’ll never get this right,” he groans. That stupid energy - he hates it. It’s his, isn’t it? So why the hell can’t he even ‘touch’ something that lives inside his own head?
Rayleigh walks over to him, sandals slapping against the wooden deck. He’s wearing a loud printed shirt, half-open and slipping off his shoulders, and Roger’s straw hat sits on his head. He crouches down in front of Shanks, watching him patiently. “It’s not like you to be so pessimistic,” he comments.
The wood feels rough and hard against Shanks’ knees. He’s sweating so much it’s getting uncomfortable, and the sun beating down on him just makes everything worse.
“Yeah, I’ve been stuck at this for days! Maybe you’re wrong, Dad. Maybe I’m just not meant to do this.” He knows he sounds dramatic, but he really hates feeling this useless. He’s good at fighting, so why is he so terrible at this?
Rayleigh’s face looks amused, much to Shank’s dismay. “That’s a little hard to believe, considering you awakened Haki even younger than your Dad.” And by that, Shanks knows he doesn’t mean himself. No - Rayleigh means Shanks awakened Conqueror’s Haki even younger than the Pirate King himself.
That would usually make him very proud, but not today.
“What’s the point if I can’t even use it!?”
“You’re impatient,” Rayleigh says with a tut. “Your dad and I didn’t even dream of Conqueror’s Haki at your age. Actually, we didn’t even know what it was.”
“But you figured it out on your own and mastered it,” Shanks mutters. “That’s way more impressive! I’m being taught by one of the only Haki masters in the world and I still can’t learn.”
Rayleigh flicks Shanks’ forehead. “Stop sulking,” he says, but his expression is kind now, unlike the serious and scary way he gets when they’re actively training. “You’ll get it eventually. If it were easy, it wouldn’t be the greatest ability in the world.”
Shanks pouts. He knows he’s being childish, but he can’t help it. He just wants to move forward with this training already. Usually, he really likes training, and he doesn’t even mind how hard Rayleigh pushes him. He knows Rayleigh just wants to make him stronger, and Shanks likes that his dad never goes easy on him.
What he loves the most, though, is hand-to-hand combat and practicing with his sword, not all this mentalizing stuff they’re doing now.
Still on his knees, he looks back to where he knows Roger and Buggy are sitting together by the garden. Roger is braiding Buggy’s blue hair - something he learned specifically because Buggy asked him to, since Buggy refused to cut it but didn’t really know how to take care of it either.
They look so peaceful and not-sweaty that Shanks feels almost jealous. Buggy rarely gets himself into situations that require him to sweat, but Roger is obviously a whole other deal. It’s kinda crazy how their Dad can go from releasing his Haki - his mind-blowing, will-bending Haki - on thousands of people, making them pass out immediately, to sitting cross-legged on the ship’s floor as he patiently braids Buggy’s hair.
As if noticing Rayleigh and Shanks’ eyes on them, Roger whips his head around and meets their gaze. A big grin splits his face and he gives Shanks a thumbs up. “Good job today, son!”
Shanks grimaces and thinks about arguing. He doesn’t feel like he did a great job. But then he sees pride shining in Roger’s eyes and finds he doesn’t really want to keep that attitude, ‘cause Roger really hates it when he starts doubting himself. So he swallows his insecurities and waves a hand to them. “I’ll master this Haki thing soon, Dad! You mark my words!”
Buggy gives him a very unimpressed side-glance, muttering something under his breath, but Roger just laughs. “I know you will!”
“Quick change in attitude there,” Rayleigh remarks, amused.
Shanks’ ears go red, but he stands by his words now. For whatever reason, looking at Roger rekindled his inner fire a little bit. There’s just something so optimistic about his energy that it makes it hard for anyone to get all mopey around him.
Shanks looks up at Rayleigh. His dad’s golden hair shines bright under the sun, a stark contrast to Roger’s dark curls. They look like opposites and yet, just like Roger, Rayleigh also looks really strong, really dependable. Shanks hopes one day he’ll get to be as strong as them.
“Yeah, well,” Shanks mutters, now feeling a bit embarrassed about his previous outburst. “I can’t afford to be weak, can I? After all, I was raised by two of the most powerful people in the world.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he adds loudly, “And I’ll need to be strong so I can protect Buggy. Since he’ll always be weak ‘cause he doesn’t train.”
“Hey!” Buggy protests, outside Shanks’ field of vision.
“He does have a point, son…” he hears Roger intervening, but then he doesn’t catch what follows, because Rayleigh’s eyes suddenly go very soft and, for a frightening moment, Shanks thinks he might actually start crying.
Thankfully, he doesn’t. Instead, he removes Roger’s straw hat from his head and places it on top of Shanks’. “Roger’s right. The hat does look good on you.”
Shanks just blinks up at him, feeling slightly wrong-footed. “Thanks?” he says. “But I think I like the way it looks on Dad better?”
He likes the red one that Roger now wears more often too - his Pirate King hat - and he also likes seeing the straw hat on Rayleigh’s head. And, of course, it goes without saying that he loves wearing both. But there’s just something about Roger in his straw hat that brings a lot of affection to Shanks’ chest. It brings back memories of being very young and looking up at a gentle, smiley Roger, who always seemed to have that hat perched on his head.
Rayleigh flicks Shanks’ ear this time, but it’s an affectionate gesture. He smiles down at Shanks and then glances back at Roger and Buggy. “Well,” he says, “I really like the way it looks on him too.”
…
Rayleigh, between hell and heaven
Rayleigh understands that, since it’s Roger who is facing impending death and not himself, it’s part of his responsibilities to offer Roger comfort. It helps that Roger has never feared death, but it's impossible not to feel shaken by such a definitive diagnosis, as it's a clear break in both expectations and continuity. Roger is damn strong, but he's still only human.
Unfortunately, Rayleigh’s body refuses to cooperate.
Two weeks after the diagnosis, Rayleigh finds himself quietly watching Roger as he fishes - something Roger has always loved doing. It’s an activity that brings booming laughter from him, his arm muscles flexing while he fights the strength of a sea king. From a distance, everything seems normal. The day is lovely by Grand Line standards, with clear skies and calm seas. Roger’s laugh cuts through the air, loud and full-bodied; he laughs with his whole being, with a passion many men only find after a bottle of rum.
He looks happy, Rayleigh thinks. He doesn’t doubt Roger will laugh all the way to his grave. How many more times will he be able to hear that laugh before it fades? How many more sea monsters will Roger catch before the coughing worsens, before his lungs burst under the pressure of an illness they didn’t even know existed until recently?
Rayleigh feels the weight of the world right in the pit of his stomach. It hurts to the point where standing becomes uncomfortable, because it shakes the sensation loose inside his body, makes it slide through his veins and poisons him from head to toe. It’s a grief so heavy, like liquid lead, that it reaches his eyes, and he starts watching Roger through a thin layer of tears.
Annoyed, Rayleigh rubs the tears away from his eyes, shifts his gaze to the sky, and tries to steady his heart for a moment, just enough so it’s not obvious to everyone that he’s breaking down in a messy and inelegant way.
No one knows, besides the two of them, Crocus and Gaban. This means Rayleigh can’t stand alone on deck, crying, while watching Roger engage in one of his hobbies. He’s fairly certain some crew members have never even seen him cry.
Sighing, Rayleigh turns on his heels and seeks privacy in his workroom, a cabin on the ship that Roger requested to be built for his individual use. Not that others are forbidden from going inside, but the place is respected as his private work environment. Thus, it’s the only place on the ship that guarantees Rayleigh some level of solitude - a luxury rarely found at sea.
Inside his office, Rayleigh rummages through his drawer, pulls out a pack of cigarettes, and lights one. It’s his emergency pack, the one he’s saved for moments when crying and shaking aren’t enough to calm him down.
Something that hasn’t happened in years.
The first drag sears down his throat, a numbing mix of relief and pain that dulls, for a moment, the sharp stab piercing his chest. Rayleigh lets out a ragged breath and taps the ash from his cigarette by the window. He closes his eyes but doesn’t fully escape himself - or rather, doesn’t escape Roger.
The image of his captain is etched behind his eyelids like a scar. Rayleigh wonders if Roger’s laughter will also be permanently recorded in his ears, or if, at some point, held hostage by the fragility of human memory, he will forget its cadence.
Maybe he should record Roger’s laughter, Roger’s voice, in a small den den mushi that only he can access. Something he can carry inside his pocket and play on eternal repeat, while his heart thumps against his ribs. Maybe he should take photos, or record videos, ask Roger to say “I love you” so Rayleigh can fall ill right after him, poisoned by memories he won’t ever let go of.
Another stubborn tear runs down his cheek. Rayleigh takes a long drag and collapses into his chair. He stays there until the sun goes down and the moon becomes the only source of light in the dark room.
…
Rayleigh wakes up to the gentle sensation of fingers stroking his hair. He opens his eyes, sticky with dried tears, and finds Roger’s tall figure leaning against his desk.
“You know you can’t sleep in here,” Roger reminds him. “You’re gonna throw your back out again!”
Rayleigh takes a moment to grasp the situation. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, though that's clearly what happened. His back is, indeed, painfully hunched, and his cheek is pressed against an open notebook. Somehow, his glasses have managed to stay perched on his nose, though Rayleigh has no doubt the frames have left marks on his skin.
Feeling groggy, his head throbbing, he lifts his face from the pages, taking notice of the mess around him - the result of a mix of anger, grief, and what looks like a lot of crying. He groans, embarrassed, and presses his head into Roger’s palm, like a house cat seeking comfort. Roger smiles at him in return, brushing blond hair away from Rayleigh’s forehead.
“Want me to take you to bed?” Roger asks.
“I can walk,” Rayleigh replies tiredly.
“Not what I asked.”
Slowly, gently, Roger lowers his hand from Rayleigh’s hair to his cheek, brushing the soft skin there with just the tip of his knuckles. Rayleigh looks up at him, pleasure flooding his body, while trying to blink the sleep away from his eyes. With more gentleness than one would expect given his size, Roger removes Rayleigh’s glasses from his face, carefully placing them on the desk.
“Yes, please,” Rayleigh gives in. He’s far too old to be embarrassed by it.
Unceremoniously, Roger pulls Rayleigh into a standing position, and right in the next second, he finds himself curled against a broad chest. Rayleigh is not a small man by any means, and almost all his weight is made up of solid muscle. Most men wouldn’t stand a chance carrying him.
But Roger has never been like most men. To him, Rayleigh might as well be as light as a toddler. Roger’s bare chest, exposed by his half-open shirt, is scalding hot against Rayleigh’s own skin. From his position, it’s easy to listen to the constant, reassuring beat of Roger’s heart. Seeking that sound further, Rayleigh thumps his forehead against Roger’s sternum.
As promised, Roger takes him to their bed. He chooses the longer route, which passes through some of the innermost rooms of the ship, undoubtedly chosen to avoid unexpected encounters. Not that Roger isn’t perfectly capable of sensing someone approaching, but Rayleigh appreciates the care taken to avoid it as much as possible, since being seen in the captain’s arms would no doubt be a blow to Rayleigh’s carefully cultivated reputation.
Roger has no trouble opening and closing the door to their cabin, one arm being more than enough to hold Rayleigh safely against him. Once in complete privacy, Rayleigh gives in to the urge to rub his nose along the delicate skin of Roger’s neck, allowing himself to inhale Roger’s fresh, earthy scent. Beneath it, he can hear that quiet rhythm again, the ever-steady pace of a healthy heart. Roger pauses for a moment, giving Rayleigh more time to savor that small comfort from him.
Eventually, he lowers Rayleigh on the bed. The sheets smell similar to Roger’s neck - that more basal scent, immune to sweat or cologne, that tends to linger in someone’s clothes. Once Rayleigh settles, his back against the mattress and his head sitting comfortably on a pillow, he realizes just how much his back actually aches. A small groan leaves his mouth as he shifts his body, trying to get comfortable. The mattress really is a blessing, supporting his spine after so many hours in a shrimp-like position.
“Told you!” Roger exclaims cheerfully above him.
Rayleigh doesn’t bother trying to argue, just reaches for Roger with an outstretched arm. Roger isn’t one to be asked twice, so he promptly laces his fingers with Rayleigh’s and climbs on top of him. He’s careful enough not to further aggravate Rayeigh’s aching joints, although the sheer size of him is enough to take Rayleigh’s breath away. Roger shifts his limbs until he’s comfortable. Most of his weight, thankfully, isn’t pressing down on Rayleigh, but he still rests his cheek against Rayleigh’s chest, their legs tangled together.
“I hate lying in bed in daytime clothes,” Rayleigh mutters to the ceiling, voice muffled against Roger’s hair.
“I can take your clothes off if you want,” Roger says, undoubtedly grinning, though Rayleigh can’t see it. His free hand finds the exposed skin of Rayleigh’s hip, tracing his thumb across the hipbone there.
“It won’t help at all,” Rayleigh sighs, ignoring the innuendo. It’s only half a lie. “Dirty clothes have already touched the bed, so there’s no going back. The sheets will need washing.”
Roger looks up at him with bright eyes, hooking his chin on Rayleigh’s chest. “You’re such a freak.”
This time, it’s Rayleigh who smirks down at him. “You love it.”
Roger grins in return and lunges up, catching Rayleigh’s mouth in a kiss. When he pulls back, Rayleigh releases a quiet sigh, keeping his eyes closed.
“I do,” Roger agrees.
“Then kiss me again,” Rayleigh demands, and, as usual, Roger doesn’t need to be told twice.
…
Buggy, facing new beginnings
“You tricked me!!” Buggy screams, his voice cracking. Panic bubbles in his chest like something alive, sharp and unfamiliar, digging its claws into his heart.
“I didn’t mean to!” Shanks shouts back, eyes wide with shock and guilt. “I didn’t think you’d actually eat it!”
Buggy’s mind spins, everything burning red. He grabs Shanks by the hem of his shirt, yanking him forward with trembling fists.
“Then why the hell did you give it to me?!”
“Because I didn’t think you actually would!!”
“Is this funny to you, Shanks?!” Buggy yells, tears streaming down his face. “I’ll never swim again! Never find my underwater treasure! You ruined my dream!!”
Shanks starts crying too, panic all over his face, but Buggy couldn’t care less. Not now. Not after what he’s done.
“You’re so damn selfish!” Buggy snarls, shaking him hard, anger and fear pouring out like knives. “You already have everything! Isn’t that enough?! Did you really have to take the one thing that was mine too?”
The hurt flashing across Shanks’s face is palpable. His lips tremble as he hangs there, limp in Buggy’s grip. One of his hands reaches up to hold Buggy’s wrist, pleading.
“I’m sorry, Bugs!” he begs, voice shaking. “I’m really, really so—”
“Stop apologizing!! You—”
“That’s enough!” Rayleigh snaps, and they’re suddenly being yanked apart forcefully by the collar of their shirts. “Buggy, stop before you say something you’ll regret!”
Buggy gasps, looking up at him, stunned and betrayed. But of course. This is so typical. Of course Rayleigh would take Shanks’ side, even though he’s the one ruining everything. Shanks is practically a miniature version of him - with his advanced Haki, his sword skills, the same awful flashy clothes, and those lazy sandals they both insist on wearing.
So this time, Buggy doesn’t stop his snarl. “Let me go!” he screams, and starts pulling on Rayleigh’s grasp when it doesn’t relent. “Let me go, Rayleigh! Why do you even care?? Let me go and keep Shanks around, I’m sure you won’t even notice I’m gone!”
Surprise and hurt flash across Rayleigh's face. His grip slackens - just a little, but enough for Buggy to twist out of his grasp. Once free, he runs and runs and runs. He doesn’t know this island, doesn’t know where he’s going, just knows he needs to get away, to find somewhere Shanks and Rayleigh can’t follow. Somewhere he can be alone.
He wants to grieve his loss in peace. He’ll never feel the sea against his skin again. Shanks took that away from him.
Tears stream from his eyes and end up scattered by the wind. He keeps running until he finds a cave complex, slipping inside one of them. It’s going to get dark soon, and he doesn’t want to be completely unprotected, especially now that he doesn’t have a crew anymore. He’ll probably be alone for the rest of his life.
In the cave, he sits down and curls into himself, pressing his forehead to his knees. And then he cries some more, until he feels dry and hollow. Gods, this sucks so bad.
It feels like the end of his life. The end of his dreams. How could Shanks be so careless? So selfish? Buggy would have never done that to him. But that’s Shanks for you, Buggy supposes, a cunning, calculating, mean bastard.
He really is Rayleigh’s son, Buggy thinks bitterly, trying not to notice how much the thought hurts.
He stays curled up, alone, until the sun sets and the cave grows as dark as the night outside. Animal sounds echo from the forest in front of him - he hears growls, far away, but still too close for comfort. Buggy’s starting to realize he didn’t think this through very well. He has no fire, no food, no water.
He starts to wonder how he’s going to take care of his basic needs. Or if they even still apply to him. What if the fruit messed something up inside him? What if he doesn’t need to eat anymore?
But he feels hungry. He feels scared. So he figures things haven’t changed all that much.
His parents find him like that: miserable, bitter, cold, and alone. He’s curled up into himself when Rayleigh and Roger step into the cave, holding up a dial that pushes the darkness away, casting sharp light over the walls of solid rock. Buggy recognizes that device, because it’s one of the high-tech ones they got from Skypiea.
Buggy looks up at them, heart pounding in his throat. The light from the dial stings his eyes.
“How did you find me?” he snaps, layering his voice with as much irritation as he can muster. Maybe if he sounds pissed enough, they’ll take the hint and leave.
Roger just blinks at him. “We always knew where you were, son… We were just giving you some time to cool off.”
Goddamn stupid powerful pirates with their goddamn stupid Observation Haki. In all his stress, Buggy had completely forgotten about that.
“Well! I haven’t calmed down!” he shouts, bristling. “So you two can just leave!”
Roger's face falls instantly, but Rayleigh stays composed. He’s the first to approach Buggy, crouching down beside him. He doesn’t try to touch him, leaving a bit of space between them, which Buggy both likes and hates at the same time.
“We’re not going anywhere, Buggy,” Rayleigh says gently. “Not until you talk to us.”
Buggy clicks his tongue. For some reason, Rayleigh is only making it worse, stirring up something heavy and knotted in his chest. Something that makes him think of Shanks.
“We’re talking. There. You can leave now.”
This time, it’s Roger who moves closer, sitting down right beside him. Unlike Rayleigh, he immediately places a hand on Buggy’s shoulder. Buggy wants to shove it off, wants to push him away, but can’t really bring himself to do it. He wouldn’t be able to take the way Roger’s face would crumple.
“Don’t be mad, son,” Roger says, his deep voice softened to a near-plea. “Let us help you.”
“Help?” Buggy yells, frustration boiling over. “Where were you when I actually needed help? When Shanks gave me that damn fruit?”
“Buggy—”
But Buggy’s words come fast and raw, spilling out without filter. “I don’t even know what you want from me! Or why you’re here at all! I’m sure I’m useless to you now that I’m even more messed up. So why bother?”
“Useless?” Roger roars just as Rayleigh starts, “Why would you think—”
But Buggy cuts them off. “’Cause I can’t even swim anymore! I’m totally useless!”
“Buggy…” Rayleigh’s voice is filled with genuine concern. His eyebrows knit together as he reaches out to gently rest a hand on Buggy’s knee - a calming gesture that Buggy surprisingly allows. “What are you saying? Why would it matter to us whether you can swim or not?”
Buggy snorts, tears welling up again. He raises his palms to wipe them away, frustrated with himself. “I’m even more of a liability now.” His voice muffles behind his hands. “I can’t use Haki, I’m no good with swords, and now I can’t even swim.”
“We don’t care about any of that,” Rayleigh says, giving Buggy’s knee a light squeeze.
“You do!” Buggy cries. His face flushes, warmth spreading from his cheeks as pain churns in his stomach. “You do! And I’m not even saying you’re wrong, okay? I get it! I hate to admit it, but I think Shanks is awesome too! I’m just saying I don’t belong on a crew this strong, especially not anymore, when I can get thrown into certain death so easily! I don’t wanna be a burden!”
Buggy realizes he’s ugly crying again. His little speech had stunned Rayleigh and Roger into complete silence. He glances between them with tears spilling from his wide eyes, daring them to contradict him, to say something, anything. When they don’t, it only makes him angrier, confirming that he’s really right and that they don’t care about him—
He's suddenly pulled into a tight, overwhelming hug.
Buggy freezes under the weight of four strong arms. Roger presses his forehead gently against the top of Buggy’s head.
“I’m sorry, son,” Rayleigh whispers into his ear. “I’m sorry we were so careless we didn’t even realize what was going through your head.”
Roger cups Buggy’s face in his large hands, his eyes glistening with tears. “Buggy, we’ve really failed you if that’s what you think! That you need to be useful for us to care about you!”
“Uh,” Buggy mutters, feeling oddly uncomfortable, like he’s been turned inside out. He hadn’t expected this reaction, and the surprise actually calms him down a notch.
“We love you unconditionally,” Rayleigh tells him earnestly. “We don’t care if you can't fight or if you can’t swim. You’re smart as a whip, incredibly perceptive and you’ve got the biggest heart, but more importantly than all that - you’re our son. We love you for that.”
“You can’t tell me that’s really true,” Buggy says faintly. “You’re always on my case ‘cause I don’t train like Shanks does.”
“Buggy!” Roger exclaims. “‘Course we want you to train. Every parent wants their child to be as safe as possible!”
“But we respect your choices,” Rayleigh adds carefully. “And we’d never force you to do anything you really don’t want to.”
“Well,” Buggy sniffs, caught off guard. “I really didn’t want to eat that fruit.”
“I know,” Rayleigh says, sighing deeply. “We’ve already talked to Shanks. What he did was inexcusable, but he really didn’t mean for it to happen.”
“He’s been crying nonstop for the past two hours,” Roger adds. “He’s wrecked with guilt ‘cause he loves you to the moon and back, you know that. He said he wants to apologize.”
“I don’t want him to apologize,” Buggy mutters quietly. “He ruined my life. I’ll never be able to do the things I wished I could have done before.”
“Life is unpredictable, kiddo,” Roger says easily, shifting beside him to place one hand on top of Buggy’s head. It makes him feel a bit childish, but he doesn’t push Roger’s hand away because it also feels kind of nice.
“You won’t always follow the path you planned,” Rayleigh adds. “An important part of being a pirate is being able to adapt to unexpected circumstances.”
“This is a pretty unexpected circumstance alright...”
“I agree,” Rayleigh concedes. “But you can trust us to make it easier. We can help you learn to control your fruit. I know you never asked for it, but it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Devil Fruits can be pretty powerful on their own, you know?”
“And we’ll haul you aboard if you ever fall into the sea!” Roger says.
“...Do you guys even know how the fruit works? What it even is?” Buggy concentrates for one second and promptly chops his hands from his wrists, watching how they eerily fluctuate in front of him. It’s incredibly disturbing. “Great seas… now I’m really a freak.”
“Buggy,” Roger tells him solemnly. “We’re all freaks here.”
But Buggy gets distracted by how Rayleigh’s eyes suddenly deepen with emotion.
“I've heard of a fruit called the Chop-Chop Fruit before,” he says, because of course he has. “But we can learn more about it together, if you want? We can visit specialized libraries - I know how much you love those.”
There’s something in Rayleigh’s gaze that Buggy can’t quite put his finger on. It’s… weird.
He decides to point that out.
“Dad —” he points to Roger — “has always been sentimental. But not you, Dad.” He’s talking to Rayleigh. “What’s going on here?”
Rayleigh sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “I’m just an idiot, Buggy. You’ve shown me how I’ve failed you in more ways than one, so I’d really like it if you gave me another chance. I hope you can do that.”
Buggy is taken slightly aback. His heart feels heavy but also lighter than a feather at the same time. Suddenly, he realizes he wants to go back to the ship. He wants to visit those special libraries. He wants to go with Rayleigh. But…
“I don’t wanna see Shanks again,” he blurts.
Inexplicably, Rayleigh’s eyes soften as he looks at Buggy. “That’s really too bad,” he says gently. “Because right now, all he wants is to see you.”
C’mon! We can find the One Piece together! All I want is to sail the world with you, Buggy!
Buggy feels tears welling up again, just like before. Gods, this is getting tiring.
“It’s really hard to give up on a dream,” Rayleigh says carefully. “But you don’t have to give up on everything. Not even on Shanks.”
Buggy pauses, then grimaces. It’s painful to be clear-headed enough to realize Shanks really didn’t mean to hurt him. That damn idiot.
“Ugh, okay. Fine. I can’t handle you two being so mushy. Let’s go.”
“Yes!” Roger hauls him up and presses a quick kiss to Buggy’s hair. Buggy yelps, but it all happens so fast he barely has time to protest. When Roger sets him down, Buggy just frowns at him. “You’re so weird, old man.”
“Don’t call him that,” Rayleigh chides, apparently back to his usual self, but one of his hands rests on Buggy’s shoulder, guiding him forward. “Your dad was worried sick about you.”
“And you know how much I like kissing your heads,” Roger says dreamily. “Reminds me of the baby smell you two used to have!”
“Dad… that’s so gross.” He says it to Roger, but it’s Rayleigh who flicks him on the left ear. Nevertheless, he presses Buggy forward with a steady hand on his back, and then they’re out of the cave.
The night feels especially dark around them. The forest they have to cross would be unbearably spine-chilling if his parents weren’t there. Not that Buggy would ever admit it, but the buzzing insects and the long shadows cast by the dial make fear squeeze his stomach.
But that’s the good thing about being a Roger pirate, Buggy figures - he never really has to be scared, not with people like Gold D. Roger and Silvers Rayleigh around.
And Shanks too, he supposes - although it seriously pains him to even think about it.
Still, thoughts keep spinning inside Buggy’s head, and when he realizes they’re close to the ship, he stops in his tracks. His parents just glance back at him, both wearing questioning looks.
Too late to back down now.
So Buggy lowers his eyes to the ground, unable to stop the flicker of shame curling inside him. “I’ll. Uhm. Also accept the offer you guys made me,” he says quietly, looking down at his feet. “To help me control my fruit. ‘Cause I know I’ll need to train so I can actually control it.”
Tentatively, Buggy looks up. Rayleigh’s smiling proudly at him. “You and I will study really hard together, Buggy. I’ll buy all the books we need.”
The thought, which would probably be extremely off-putting to both Roger and Shanks, is exciting to Buggy. That’s something he really does have in common with his dad. Roger, however, obviously finds that incomprehensible. He looks at Buggy, then at Rayleigh.
“That’s really nice and all, Ray, but what about actual training? Hands-on stuff, y‘know?”
Rayleigh just rolls his eyes and pats Roger on the shoulder. “I know you’ve always wanted to train him, so I was thinking of leaving that up to you. What do you think about that, son?”
Warmth spreads inside Buggy, almost sickenly sweet.
Still, he takes a moment to think while he scratches his head. “That does sound nice. ‘Course it does! But Dad—” he says to Rayleigh — “before all… this… there was something I wanted to ask you.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I found out I kinda like knives. Which is good ‘cause I’m now immune to them. Just the other day, I threw some at Shanks’ head—”
“What—”
“And thought it was really neat! And I know just how skilled you are with anything sharp. So I was thinking… maybeyoucouldteachme?”
The last part comes out in a frenzied rush, Buggy’s cheeks burning with embarrassment. It takes a while before he finally musters the courage to look up.
For a crazy second there, Buggy thinks both of his parents might burst into tears.
“Of course,” Rayleigh says, his normally steady voice clearly choked up. “But, son… you don’t need to train if you don’t want to. I love training Shanks, and I know you’ve noticed that - but one Shanks in my life is more than enough. I don’t need another Shanks, I also need a Buggy.”
Gods, Buggy thinks, wiping away a tear from his eye, his dads are so damn embarrassing.
“Alright. Okay,” he mutters, extremely flustered. “But I think you guys might be right when you say I need to be better at taking care of myself...”
Roger and Rayleigh shoot glances at each other. Something passes between them that Buggy can’t understand. It’s quiet, but it’s definitely there.
“We’re actually… really glad to hear that, Bugs,” Roger says. “On these seas, it’s nice for us to know that you’ll be able to handle your own weight… Especially in the future.”
Buggy sniffs, still a little self-conscious. He can see their ship from here, and he’s not too ashamed to admit he’s missed it. Living alone in a cave definitely isn’t for him.
“Yeah, I mean, I feel really safe around you guys, but you know… I want to be a captain someday, so I’ll need to train. At least a little. And I can’t depend on Shanks for that. Not that I ever would! But, you know.”
Roger doesn’t say anything this time, just crouches down to Buggy’s eye level. Then he removes his red hat, his Pirate King hat, and places it on top of Buggy’s head. It’s way too big for him, but Buggy can’t even be upset about that right now, raising his hands to keep the hat steady.
Roger beams at him, and Buggy’s heart swells so fast it almost hurts.
It’s Rayleigh who breaks the silence.
“You’re right, Roger,” he comments, looking at Buggy with a really soft gaze. “The hat does look good on him.”