Everything hurt.
The smell of tangy copper seemed to cling to him like an obstinate lover; he couldn't even open his right eye anymore, the lashes crusted together with blood. Out of the two of them, after having tried and failed several times to teach him knife juggling in their youth, he had always assumed that Shanks would be the one to end up having to wear an eyepatch.
It had been years since they had last seen each other. The memories of their last meeting flooded back — all of them too much to bear. Buggy stared at Shanks as if in a daze, as if he was afraid that he would vanish if he blinked, his good eye glistening with unshed tears. He tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. All of the words he wanted to say were lost in a sea of emotions that threatened to drown him.
Tears welled up in Buggy's eyes as he slumped forward, his legs suddenly weak beneath him. He couldn't believe that Shanks was now here, right in front of him, after so many nights begging the sea to bring his sails to their shores.
At the gentle touch of his hand to his cheek, Buggy's resolve crumbled, and he began to cry. All of the pain, the hurt, the betrayal that he had been holding inside for so long — it all came pouring out. Tears flowed down his face, and his body shook with sobs that seemed to come from the depths of his soul. “H-Hi,” he finally managed to choke out, chest constricting with even more sobs as he buried his head against his shoulder, clinging onto him as if for dear life. { from indomiitas ♡ }
The speed of the Red Force was something he’d once prided himself on, but more and more lately she had disappointed him. His fingers ran along the fine wood as he paced along the deck. She had carried him throughout the world for over six years now and knew he was being harsh.
A ship could only move so fast through the waters.
His crew bustled around him and pushed her to her limits at the order of their Captain. He’d expressed the urgency, and privately, the fear that coursed through him. If some of the officer’s distaste of Buggy hindered their work, Shanks would never know it. He eyed Beckman from across the deck, but the man seemed preoccupied with his conversation with Marcell: the pair discussing how far the ship could be pushed before it became dangerous to her and those aboard.
News of the Cross Guild had spread quickly. All three men had made names for themselves over the years, but them banding together had come as a shock to most–Shanks included. It felt all too much–a slap in the face, a punch to the gut–and that afternoon he’d drank until he couldn’t stand.
He’d asked Buggy to come with him after the events at Marineford, hadn’t he? He’d offered protection and friendship and for things to be like they once were. Roger’s boys, together again.
Their days of being carefree cabin boys had been left behind years ago.
Shanks disembarked from the ship before they’d brought her to the dock, following the paper with a harsh and fixated expression. They’d blasted their way through Marine vessels with ease during their journey here and Shanks cursed the tiny paper in his hand, better, but still small and horribly damaged, for not moving fast enough. His Haki ebbed and flowed, knocking out most of those nearby and keeping those further away clear from his path.
He senses Mihawk long before the man comes into view, but Shanks breezes past him (unaware of the damage done) and shoots him with an icy stare.
Nothing seemed out of place. No battle seems to have happened–Shanks first worry was that the Marines had again chosen to attack. When he’d heard of the dissolution of the Warlords Shanks had been too far to step in. He would have. He should have. Buggy’s instinct for self-preservation had always been good–better than most in the world they lived in. Surely with Mihawk and Crocodile, Buggy would be safe. But it hadn’t been the first time that Shanks had assumed wrong.
Finally–finally–he pushed open a door, and the vivre card floated to its owner, looking beaten and battered. For a moment, Shanks froze, shock holding him securely in place–and Buggy stared back.
He moved forward urgently once Buggy fell forward and crouched down beside him, fingers running gingerly along Buggy’s face, examining and soothing all in one motion. Rage boiled within him as the realization began to sink in–his Haki flared protectively–and the wood in the room began to crack beneath the pressure. The other wept, falling into his arms, and Shanks softened, and he undid the cloak from his shoulders in one motion and swept it around Buggy’s shoulders in another.
“Hi,” he responds after a moment, forcing himself to sound calmer than he felt. Here, in a little room, with his scared companion, Shanks felt reminiscent of their first meeting, and the memory alone gave him enough will to give a small smile.
“I’m here now.”
His hand runs along Buggy’s cheek and when he pulls away, he lifts Buggy’s face to get a good look at the damage that was done and feels a knife twist. Buggy’s eye was worse off than his own. Again, Shanks’ anger grows and, somewhere, more wood splinters.
Leaning forward, Shanks presses his lips to Buggy’s forehead and lingers there, staring off into the space behind him before he pulls away.
“Sail with me,” he says. The words, though a demand, were mangled and nearly lost within the desperation in his voice.
“Be with me, Buggy. Please.”
None of this would have happened if Shanks had only put his foot down. If he hadn’t given Buggy a choice. And to think he had faith that he would be safe.
Slowly, Shanks retracts his hand and stands. His eyes, filled with love and concern, don't match the harsh expression on his face.
“I’ll kill them,” he says simply, backing away with slow steps. His hand moves to Gryphon and Shanks draws the blade from his hip. His Haki flares once more and, for Buggy, surely it feels nothing more than a protective and warm embrace, but for others–for those it does not immediately push into unconsciousness, it reads as a warning. Kill or be killed.
“Wait for me.”
[ unprompted but from here / @indomiitas ]
