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the-bar-sinister · 2 days

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Crimson Sunset, Azure Dawn (19735 words) by VickytheSnake, thesavagesabretooth Chapters: 5/8

Summary: Mihawk would have been content to finally give Shanks the duel long owed him. Buggy swore he simply wanted to give him a piece of his mind. Crocodile just wanted the pair to have some measure of closure, difficult as it might be. No one expected the rising star of the scarlet emperor to crash so suddenly and violently to earth. No one expected to fish a lost and broken Shanks out of the wreckage of his ship.

But maybe it takes disaster for old flames to flicker back to life, and for Cross Guild to bring in its most surprising member.

catch up here

Mihawk and Crocodile sat in the captains' quarters at the table where the open transceiver was broadcasting. Crocodile was on his second cigar, and mid way through a glass of brandy, with his hooked arm solidly around Mihawk's shoulders. It had perhaps been the most awkward black transponder snail conversation he'd ever had the displeasure of listening in on. Buggy was close to tears the whole time, the argument cyclical and seemingly never ending…and now this.

It was…distressing. Distressing and difficult to listen to Shanks this way, so sure that he'd thrown his life away for good. Admitting that their breakup, a breakup the whole world had felt, had been some sort of final straw that broke the man.

The sound like a clown and a drunk being strangled came through the line as Mihawk's eyes delicately narrowed. "Oh dear."

"He just started crying, didn't he," Crocodile huffed, puffing out a ring of smoke.

"Yes, I'm afraid they both have." Mihawk mused with a sigh. "poor men."

"Fucking hell," Crocodile grumbled. He picked up his drink and swirled it in his glass. "This is painful to listen to. Buggy I expected, but this is Red Haired Shanks? What the fuck has he been doing this whole time?"

"Falling apart," Mihawk reached for another glass of wine. He needed it desperately.

"Apparently!" Crocodile barked, knocking back his brandy. "Wish we had known fucking sooner. Who the hell could get close to him though? Thrice damned emperor with his mysterious bullshit and his anti-social fucking crew."

Mihawk poured himself another glass, filled to the brim.

"It was one of the reasons we fell apart. Yes… the government drove a wedge from my end… but his insular crew and mysterious 'purpose' and that untouchable status…" He shook his head. "add that to the clear loss of real drive after he came back injured, I couldn't allow myself to try getting closer to a wall. But now…"

He gestured to the crying. "The wall's certainly crumbling."

Crocodile grimaced at the transponder. "It sure fucking is. Should we bust in on 'em, or let this play out?"

"......do you think Buggy will throw a fit if we burst in? He may need the backup."

"Hell if it were me I'd want backup," Crocodile growled. "Lover you haven't seen in years starts crying in your lap first conversation? If that had been me and you I would have been signalling for Daz so fucking fast, Hawk. Not that it could have been. But what do you do in that situation? We gotta at least get 'em out of the lounge."

Classic Crocodile. Mihawk tilted his head against him. What would he do in that situation indeed? If it had been Crocodile crying on him… or Shanks, if he'd gotten the plan to confront him first… he wasn't so sure.

Still, he had to answer. "Draw Yoru and challenge him to a duel."

Crocodile glanced at the transponder again. Shanks and Buggy were still crying.

"Yeah I don't think that's gonna help in this case, Hawky."

As Crocodile marched with Mihawk through the ship's corridor a couple of doors down to the lounge where Buggy and Shanks were, he reflected on how fucking surreal this entire episode felt. Not only had Shanks— fucking Shanks!--- been brought low in combat (apparently twice in as many days, Crocodile still wasn't clear on that) but now he was a sobbing mess in Buggy's lap.

What a fucking day. He glanced at Mihawk, hoping that the man was holding it together as well as he seemed to be and worrying (justifiably, he felt) that it was probably not the case. Hopefully they could get all this shit sorted out and come out stronger for it.

"Ready?" he murmured to Mihawk, hand on the door.

Mihawk seemed as calm as ever… though there was that look in his eyes. The bubbling intensity that spoke to the inner turmoil he never really let out.

"I am ready, yes."

Crocodile was going to have to have a talk with him about that, sometime. It couldn't be healthy, keeping bottled up all the time like that. What if he ended up like Shanks was now?

But now wasn't the time.

Now he pushed the door open and swaggered in, a bottle of wine dangling in his free hand.

"Pardon me, gentlemen."

Buggy was openly sobbing with his arms around Shanks' head, having drawn him into his chest as the two of them sprawled dangerously in their chairs.

Mihawk stared for a long moment before he whispered. "We should have brought something stronger than wine."

Crocodile grimaced, and nodded subtly.

"We'll fix that," he whispered back. This was a fucking mess. He cleared his throat. "Gentlemen?"

He heard Shanks choke back a sob into Buggy's chest and sit straight up, alert like a guard dog was alert, which made his bedraggled appearance all the sadder.

"Crocodile," Shanks greeted roughly, "... Mihawk."

Buggy's head snapped up, and out came a sharp yelp and a flail— he fell out of his chair "Crocodile? Hawk—EEEK!" "

Mihawk winced almost imperceptibly. "Hello, Shanks."

"A little birdy told me you might be in need of another bottle," Crocodile said, trying not to grimace at the spectacle either. "And maybe a change of venue."

Shanks wiped his arm with his sleeve, and reached down to try to help Buggy up. "A little bird, huh? Sorry, I didn't turn out to be very hungry."

Buggy wiped his eyes with a sniff, grabbing his hand and standing with less difficulty than a normal man might due to his powers.

"You were listenin' in, weren't you?"

Crocodile rolled his eyes. Of course Buggy had to ask him directly. "I wasn't going to leave you alone with an unstable ex who might try to kill you, Bug. But it seems pretty safe now, so. Change of venue."

He watched as Shanks grimaced, leaning on Buggy. But the lack of more dramatic reaction led Crocodile to believe he'd already assumed they were being listened in on, or just couldn't bring himself to care in that state.

Mihawk gave him a thin smile. "We're glad you're both safe…but we figured you could use something more to drink."

"Yeah uh, I wasn't able to reach the transponder snail. Shanks latched himself on me like a limpet." Buggy protested weakly.

To his credit, Shanks did try to look at least a little more dignified, despite still being a sniffling mess. He pushed his hand through his hair, leaning on Buggy. "We've had a lot to catch up on, that's all."

"So it seems," Crocodile agreed. "Do you two want a private bedroom for a while, or do you want some company?"

Buggy had already introduced the situation to him, so there was no harm in asking directly instead of trying to suss out if the clown wanted backup by signals alone.

"Guhhhhhhhghh…." Buggy made a low, sick noise, before he held his hands up. "I— I don't mind company if Shanks don't…I mean, he's the one who's injured here."

Mihawk smirked slightly, before he nodded. "I understand if he doesn't wish to see me at the moment."

Shanks looked between the lot of them, looking utterly exhausted and wrung out— maybe more so than when he'd been unconscious fresh out of the sea, if only because he could make an expression now.

"Might as well," he croaked out. "Otherwise it seems like I'm just gonna have to repeat myself three times. Unless you have the next room bugged, too."

This poor, sad bastard.

Crocodile heaved a long-suffering sigh. "C'mon. Let's get you to the quarters and get a little more booze in you."

Mihawk nodded with a subtle smile. "I think that'll help you feel a little more settled, Shanks. I imagine the doctor's been keeping you rather deprived."

"Hasn't let me have a sip in two days," Shanks rasped. "Pretty sure he's trying to kill me."

Crocodile led the bunch out into the hall like a bunch of miserable baby ducks. At least it wasn't far to walk. And hey, at least it sounded like Shanks still had his terrible sense of humor.

Damn, that was probably why he liked the clown, wasn't it?

For all that Shanks had talked about 'having to repeat himself' there wasn't much conversation. They got straight to drinking, and it was one of the most miserable, awkward drinking parties Crocodile had ever had the misfortune of being party to.

Luckily, perhaps, for all of them, Shanks passed out on top of Buggy almost straight away.

The poor, sad bastard, was all Crocodile could think.

"What the hell happened to him?" he growled after a tense few minutes of the three of them passing the bottle back and forth, wondering if their guest was going to wake up.

Buggy hissed low through his teeth "I mean, he's kinda been like this for years, Croc. Back at Roger's execution we had a big fight when he basically told me he was givin' up on everything we ever dreamed of together."

Mihawk glanced down at him, taking a long sip from the bottle with a huff. "Ssomething shook the worldview he'd stuck to since I lost my respect for him. Something big."

"I can see that, for sure," Crocodile muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Well, looks like we're not going to find out until morning. But I'm gonna need one or both of you to stay with him tonight. If only to make sure he doesn't get up and fucking pitch himself over the rail."

He looked between Mihawk and Buggy. There was no way Crocodile was going to be able to sleep in his own bed tonight. He'd just lay awake thinking about the whole…. Mess.

Buggy grimaced, holding his hands up. "I dunno, what if he goes ballistic when he wakes up?"

"He won't, he's too beaten for that." Mihawk sounded certain, his piercing eyes on the sleeping man as he frowned a little deeper.

"You want me to chain him up, Bug?" Crocodile drawled. He highly doubted Shanks was going to go ballistic, not after the way he'd been sobbing on Buggy when they came in. Unless he was completely insane, which Crocodile thought would be even more of a huge fucking nuisance than whatever the hell this was.

"No! I mean…" He looked down at Shanks with a sigh. "Man. Croccy…" he put his hand on the sleeping man's head. "I'll stay with him I guess. I'll try not to smother him, promise."

Crocodile pinched the bridge of his nose again. Stupid fucking clown. Caring about him made Crocodile want to slam his head into a brick wall. "Fine, Buggy. We'll all stay, alright?"

Mihawk chuckled under his breath. "Infuriating, isn't he?"

"Hey!" Buggy huffed sharply. "...but thanks, Hawkie, Croccy. Not like any of us are gonna feel great sleeping tonight, right?"

Crocodile shook his head. He stood, and wandered over to grab a cigar from the box on the table. "Sure fucking aren't. But thems the breaks, eh? Hey, congrats, jester, pretty sure this counts as bringing down a fellow emperor."

Buggy flushed under his makeup as he flashed a lopsided grin. "Well damn…yeah, the papers might pick up on that. He's gonna be pissed, I know it."

"Or start crying again," Mihawk murmured. "Or laughing. He's in a very strange place right now."

"I'll fucking say," Crocodile grumbled as he lit a fresh cigar. "You two know him a lot better than me. Would you ever have expected this?"

Crocodile's head was swimming, even though he hadn't had that much to drink. He simply didn't know how the hell to handle this situation. Mihawk and Buggy may have known Shanks well, but he'd only ever known him as a rather dangerous and intriguing enemy. One who had risen, and risen, where Crocodile himself had fallen.

And here Shanks was, curled into a timid little ball sleeping the sleep of the unhappily drunk on his bed after apparently getting his shit wrecked by first Straw Hat and then by Teach.

Fucking Teach bringing down Shanks. Crocodile could never have guessed that would happen.

"Not really, no. Even when we fell apart, when he became half the man he used to be, he'd always seemed like he would stay steadfast on that mysterious goal of his."

Buggy sniffed. "I didn't think fucking Blackbeard woulda been the one to take him down. Straw Hat, I'd believe… Luffy's a monster if you ain't on his good side. And Shanks seems to have gotten on his bad side real fast. But Blackbeared…eughh."

Straw Hat– Crocodile absolutely believed that he could take down Shanks. Crocodile was starting to believe Straw Hat could take down anybody.

"Guess Straw Hat softened him up," he said, setting his jaw. "So which one of you wants to try to pull his teeth to find out why this happened tomorrow? Maybe finally hear about this mystery goal of his?"

"He hasn't listened to me since I was a mini-Buggy," the clown grumbled under his breath, though Mihawk tilted his head towards him.

"You're still a force of personality, clown. Not only that, but your history with him could prove to be an asset."

"So you don't wanna talk to him either, eh, Hawky?" Crocodile puffed on his cigar. Not that surprising, and he couldn't blame him. The way he understood it, Mihawk had been avoiding Shanks for years.

Crocodile had had a couple of trysts with Shanks, back in the day, back before he was cautious enough to avoid having sex with his enemies. But none of it had given him any more of an understanding of the man.

He was starting to wonder if anyone understood him.

"I…do." Mihawk murmured. "I just have the concern that I won't break through his barriers."

Crocodile sucked in a breath of smoke and held it in his mouth, letting the familiar sensation sooth him. He softly blew out the smoke.

"Talk to him anyway," Crocodile said. "If you can't get through, maybe you can soften him up. While you do I'll get Buggy some fresh air. Poor clown seems like he needs it, eh?"

He sneered over at Buggy. It was earnestly meant as much as it was a jab. Buggy looked almost as lost as Shanks, and Crocodile understood why. You build up a rivalry in your mind for 20 years and this is how it ends?

As confusing and sad as it was pathetic.

There had to be something going on.

They'd get to the bottom of it.

Mihawk laughed sharply, one of his rare moments of audible amusement. "Fine. I'll talk to him. If it means you can wipe some of that pathetic expression off the clown's face, I'll do it."

The clown shrank under his sneer, frowning almost cartoonishly. "So what if I need a little air? Everyone needs air. You'd die without it, idiot."

"Eventually," Crocodile purred, leaning over toward him, and putting on a wide smile. "Some day we'll see how long you can do without."

It wasn't a night for messing around, but he hoped the flirting at least would lift the clown's flagging spirits a little.

Buggy flushed deeply, and he jolted enough to jostle Shanks as he sputtered and looked off to the side.

Somehow–he looked more relaxed. "You're a real bastard, Croc."

Crocodile kept an eye on Shanks, who murmured, but didn't wake. Once Croc saw he was settled, he smirked at Buggy. He was feeling more relaxed himself. "You know I am."

Yeah. It was going to be a bad night. But he'd lived through worse.

Buggy had had a bad night. Terrible night. The drinking party was a bust. He thought 'if anything is gonna get Shanks to cheer up, loosen up and stop miserably trying to pitch himself off a cliff it's booze', only for that to blow right up in his face.

All the way back in Loguetown he could tell Shanks had lost his drive, his ambition, but thought at least he'd picked something up to fill the hole. Now he didn't even have that, did he? That big , stupid mission of his, that 'purpose' that he never felt like sharing with Buggy…all up in smoke.

He'd wriggled himself out from under him, letting Mihawk take up Shanks pillow duties, as he and Crocodile headed up to the deck for a gasp of fresh sea air. Anything— anything to get out of the stifling stench of booze and regret.

Crocodile slapped him roughly on the back with the back of his hook as they came up on deck. his other had was occupied with the thermos of coffee they'd hastily grabbed from the galley on their way up. Neither of them had slept more than a few minutes at a time. It was bad sleep even for men who were used to operating on an hour or two in a pinch.

Dawn was grey, and the deck was quiet aside from the moaning of the boards and the rush of the waves, and the call of early morning sea birds. Daz was busy up at the helm, the only one awake on deck aside from their lookout, and gave them a nod of acknowledgement before going back to his navigation.

Buggy watched the water churn and ripple for miles and miles all around them, his hand floating over a cup of coffee as he squinted into the early morning light.

He waved to Daz, letting himself stew in sleepy memories for a moment more.

Shanks. Fucking Red Haired Shanks. He remembered the boy on Roger's ship, full of hope and aspiration. He remembered the scowling young man in Loguetown, turning his back on their shared dream and offering him a place as one of his aimless lackeys on some 'oh so important mission' of his own. He remembered the mighty and deadly emperor who was said to be one of the fiercest forces in Paradise.

So who the hell was Shanks now? Which of those men, if any, was the man sleeping on Mihawk down in the crew's quarters?

Crocodile leaned against the mast, and held the thermos against his chest with his hook as he unscrewed it, taking a long drink of the warm, bitter liquid before he handed it to Buggy without a word. There were dark circles under his eyes, just over the long scar that crossed his face like a high water mark.

Buggy raised it to him with a weak smile before taking a long sip himself. Croc looked like a mess. He knew he looked worse, though. Dark circles, smudged and missing face paint… exhaustion and bloodshot eyes.

Like he'd seen a ghost and it'd cried on him for hours.

Which admittedly, was basically what had happened.

"Tell me about you and Shanks," Crocodile said quietly. He ran his fingers through his limp, oily hair, shoulders sagging. "You've ranted about him plenty, but you never actually told me anything about how it was between you. Before it went bad."

"Before it went bad?" Buggy laughed tensely. "I was a fuckin' kid— but sure."

He ran his hand through his long and teal hair, mirroring Croc's gesture anxiously. "He was my best friend. We were cabin boys together on Gol's ship."

Crocodile smiled a sour little smile and grabbed the thermos back, taking another swig of coffee.

"The good old days," he huffed, with wry bitterness thick in his voice. Sometimes it was hard to remember, but Buggy was suddenly struck by the fact that Croc was only a couple of years older than him and Shanks.

"The good ol' days," Buggy leaned against him with a quiet grumble. The man was only a little older…a little. While he was a cabin boy, Crocodile was only a couple years older than him, trying to stand up to his old man.

Things weren't always good, but the days on Roger's ship at least had something special to them. Hope— excitement. He was always second best, but at least he was in the running. He was always sure Shanks would stick by his side no matter what.

"So once there was this island inhabited by a school of mermaids, right?" he began.

Mihawk watched as Shanks drank down water like a fish desperate to breathe, washing down the tablets of pain medication kept on hand for this very purpose. Dehydration led to a hangover, a hangover Shanks was now suffering from.

He imagined it wasn't an unfamiliar sensation, the way he'd seen him drink the last handful of years.

He didn't say a word, simply staring him down with his intense glare.

Shanks took a few desperate breaths and then downed more water before putting the empty pitcher aside. He leaned back on the headboard, and glanced up at Mihawk from under his lank red bangs. His own stare had lost most of its intensity, filled instead with doubt and haunted by something Mihawk didn't understand.

Mihawk studied it for a long moment. There was once a fire he respected in Red Haired Shanks' stare. He was an expert swordsman, with or without his good arm. He was ambitious and vicious as they came.

But he was half the man he used to be, and he didn't just mean the missing arm. He'd lost something that day in his shrouded mystery of a past and it wasn't just flesh and bone.

"Still thirsty, are you?"

Shanks shrugged. "I can't drink enough wine to fix my head, and I can't drink enough water to fix the wine. You know how it is."

He closed his eyes and there was something like a smile on his face, but it was hollow, and joyless.

"I suppose I'm familiar with the conundrum, yes." Mihawk's eyes traced his lips. The miserable smile of the walking damned. "...such a smile doesn't suit you, you know."

"No? Guess there's not a smile left that does suit me, Hawk-eyes." He heaved a sigh and his expression melted into more obvious melancholy.

"There was one, once." Mihawk shifted in his chair to tent his fingers and watch him more intensely. "And yet it's been wiped away— and I think perhaps it may have been a long while ago."

"Yeah? You've known me a long time. How long ago do you think it was?"

Mihawk laughed sharply. "It's been a while, Red Hair. Since we were young man clashing on the open sea. Once, I thought you made a motivating rival."

"That was more than ten years ago now, huh? Feels like yesterday." Shanks opened his eyes, only to stare up at the ceiling instead of meeting Mhawk's gaze again. "Mostly because of how much of a blur everything afterward feels like."

A blur. For Mihawk none of his own time was a blur. It was a slow march. A crawl from Marine Hunter, to Crocodile's First Mate, to Warlord of the Sea, to freedom from that self made prison and a return to form in Cross Guild.

For Mihawk it was a drawn out dirge punctuated with wine and blood.

Somehow, though. Somehow it didn't surprise him that Shanks was so lost in the fog of drink and duty that the days flew by.

"More than ten years. Yes."

Shanks knocked the back of his head against the headboard and winced. "What a fucking waste of a dozen years, huh? Or is that just me?"

A dozen years ago everything had already fallen apart for Mihawk. Ten years ago already he'd been a government dog— a warlord— separated from his captain by a gulf greater than mere distance. His rivalry with Shanks had been a bright spot in that time– until ten years ago when that too had dissolved somehow. When Shanks had lost his arm.

When he'd lost his arm, something else was missing. There was that hollowness in his smile after that, and the start of yet another gulf between that one bright spot and himself. Another gulf to separate Mihawk from the few things that brought him any measure of joy.

Shanks was no longer a rival, nor was he a worthy opponent. Not with whatever plagued him since then.

"It has had its bright spots," Mihawk admitted. "I met a promising young man, and an amusing young woman. They gave me some measure of interest. And now here we stand, reformed into something like our old selves with Cross Guild. But otherwise, it has been a bit of a waste, yes."

Shanks laughed hollowly, more like an empty breath of air. "Glad your last couple of years were better than mine."

"Makes a man wonder just what made it so miserable, Shanks," Mihawk said slowly as he leaned forward with his fingers clutched together. "You've changed a lot. And have changed ever since that day, too."

"Sorry I'm not at my best for our little reunion," Shanks huffed. "I know you were looking forward to finally skewering me down the middle. I made it no fun though, huh? A man's not exactly at his best when he finds out everything he's been doing with his life was for nothing."

"You did make it dreadfully unfun, yes. I'm displeased with that," MIhawk said dryly. "...the thing is I don't understand exactly what you've been doing for 'nothing', aside from making a nuisance of yourself in the New World."

"Making a nuisance of myself." He chuckled and there was almost some good humor in it. "Believe me, that was the only fun part. What have I been doing? That's what I've been asking myself. I can tell you what I thought I was doing."

Mihawk tilted his head, birdlike and curious. He was curious, after all. What was so important that Shanks would sever every tie he'd made save for his own crew?

"I'm listening."

He hung his head and his red hair covered up most of his face. "I thought I was helping save the fucking world."

What a thing to say.

Mihawk snorted softly. "You. A pirate emperor. Saving the world? Laughable."

"Isn't it? Figured it was the best position for the job. Whole reason that I clawed my way up. Well, that and to make myself a nuisance."

"Best position for the job of…saving the world," Mihawk said slowly.

Making himself a nuisance he understood. Shanks was always— impish, was perhaps the right word. But 'saving the world' as one of the world's strongest pirates was an absolutely mad thing to say.

Even pirates who claimed to help others, who owned territory, were still pirates. The Sun Pirates saved the enslaved, but they still pillaged and raided like the rest. Whitebeard was a fool. Big Mom's nation of equality was a nation of utter control.

The World Government was worse, by and large. Hypocritical sycophants to the Celestial Dragons, one and all.

But still.

"I know what you're thinking," Shanks said, pointing a finger at him. "You're thinking how's a pirate supposed to save the world, right? But that's the thing. I thought all I had to do was line up one right shot. The rest was screwing around. Killing time. And I had something like 20 years to kill."

His brow furrowed slightly as his eyes bored into Shanks.

One shot to save the world…one shot that being an emperor afforded him, and he was killing time.

"After all that, I missed the shot, too." He closed his eyes again. "Thought I could fix it, but now I find out, either I completely fucked the one chance anybody had to save the world— or it was all pointless to start with and nothing I did ever had any meaning."

"And just how were you supposed to save the world, Shanks? Killing the Four Elders? Or was this something more…" Irritating, perhaps. …"obscure?"

"Obscure," he snorted. "I'll say. How was I supposed to save the world? There was this devil fruit. And I was going to give it to the right person. That's how I was going to save the world."

Shanks' voice was rough with regret and shot through with a wry, self-reproachful humor. Like he was telling a joke and it was on himself.

"You are kidding me." MIhawk said with distaste on his tongue. He respected devil fruit users. They were an interesting method of combat, another skill to be honed like a blade. Crocodile and even Buggy and all the others he'd met. They were all skilled fighters.

But a devil fruit couldn't save the world from anything. Not any more than a keen blade could, or a silver tongue. It was a tool like any other. The nuanced and many problems of their great blue seas couldn't be solved by a devil fruit in any one man's hands.

"It sounds like a joke, doesn't it? It's the sort of thing to make you laugh, isn't it?" That got a laugh out of Shanks, too, dry and hollow and panicked. "But no, I'm not kidding. See some of these devil fruits, they're mythical. The power inside them isn't just any power, it's the power of a spirit. The power of a god. And there's one that the World Government's afraid of."

"The world government is afraid of a fruit," Mihawk murmured dubiously.

"Yep." Shanks suddenly sat up and crawled his way from the headboard down to the bottom of the bed, much closer to Mihawk. He sat up, bare feet on the floor, and leaned toward him. "So afraid they changed the name of the fruit in all the books just to hide it. To make sure anyone who had it wouldn't know what they had."

Mihawk looked him in the eyes. "And what 'god' lived in this fruit? What god do they fear more than the powerful men who are marshaling to squeeze the life out of their aged throats?"

"Nika. The sun god. Joyboy." Now Shanks met his eyes, seeming to search them for recognition, or reaction.

Mihawk slowly blinked. He recognized the name, dimly. Jinbei may have mentioned it once at a Warlord meeting, he'd heard it here and there on his time prowling the seas for someone to either kill, or kill him. Whispered like some great secret.

"Joyboy. Yes, I've heard the name."

Shanks held his hands up as if in defeat. "Well. That's the god. That's the fruit. The mythical zoan fruit, model Nika. Only like I said. They renamed it to hide it."

"...because they fear this Nika, due to its power." Mihawk reached out and patted his shoulder. "...I'm not a man who adheres to faiths, Shanks. I believe in the power of men, but you do have my ear."

Ironic, perhaps. He wore the iconography of a long forgotten faith of his home island. But it stood as a reminder of death as opposed to any god.

"I know you've never been a man to believe in that kind of thing," Shanks said. Mihawk felt him flinch slightly under his touch, but after that, he leaned toward him. "Right now, I envy you for that. Do you want to know, Mihawk? What the government renamed the fruit?"

"I'm going to take a shot in the dark and say the gum-gum fruit, given you had a bit of a tiff with Luffy and his crew." he mused, voice deadpan and tired.

Shanks raised his hands, and let them fall to his knees. "What can I say, Mihawk? Maybe you should have been the world's greatest detective instead of the world's greatest swordsman."

"If I'm ever defeated and my vanquisher fails to kill me, I suppose I'll retire from the position and take up investigation." Mihawk said dryly. "So that's it, hm? Luffy is the 'god fruit wielder' who the Celestial Dragons fear."

"That's right," Shanks nodded. "And I just got done telling him about it."

Mihawk smiled thinly. "and he took it about as well as I might have if you told me my accomplishments were due to the grace of god, hmm?"

"No, Mihawk, I think you would have been a better sport about it."

Mihawk rubbed his chin with a sly edge to his smile. "A frightening prospect indeed, Shanks."

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