Once More Around The Sun
(Teen | One Piece | Shanks/Mihawk; side Shanks+Mihawk & Red-Hair Pirates | 3.4k words)
Summary: Shanks wilted at that, his implication clear, but his pouting quickly morphed into something more serious, thoughtful. “What would be your ideal birthday, then?”
(Or: appreciating and celebrating another year alive through a shared birthday.)
A bit late, but I had to write something for Shanks and Mihawk's shared birthday! Technically takes place in my Wings of the Emperor AU, but that's irrelevant beyond "Mihawk's around for dueling often and knows the Red-Hair Pirates a bit more". Set around Shanks' 21st and Mihawk's 25th birthday. : )
Read below or on AO3!
Mihawk didn't celebrate his birthday. It was a choice made from disinterest, not dislike; the day merely served as a reminder that he had survived for one more cycle than before. Nothing more, nothing less. It wasn’t a secret, but no one of any importance knew — people hardly asked for one's birthday during a duel, after all.
He knew it was approaching, faintly, but he had hardly given it any thought. The day would pass just as any other.
His plan, or lack thereof, however, was done in twofold: by sheer coincidence, and by the changing of plans that the Red-Hair Pirates always seemed to bring wherever they went.
He had arrived to challenge Shanks to a duel the morning after Hongo's first birthday aboard, he quickly discovered. Shanks had, apparently, been determined to make it a worthy — and abundant — celebration. He seemed to have succeeded quite spectacularly, if the state of the crew was anything to go by, sprawled around and half-passed out on the beach's shores.
Even the man himself was barely in any condition that morning to be out and about, only peeking out onto the deck for the briefest of moments. “Sorry, Hawkeyes, right now isn’t — hic — good for a duel… Gimme a couple of hours?” he mumbled, before disappearing to his cabin once more.
Usually, Mihawk wouldn’t wait; there was no guarantee Shanks would actually be in fighting condition by the afternoon, and waiting around near a beach filled with hungover crew members was far from an ideal day in his eyes. But there was little to do: no one of notable challenge in the area, no Marines to hunt down, and no notable islands to visit. (He ignored the nudge at the back of his mind that mentioned the influence of how they’d barely seen each other in the last few weeks on his decision.)
He had taken to a secluded spot on the deck of the anchored boat, still almost entire empty from the night before. A few crew members had returned aboard; one being Beckman, quietly maintaining his guns.
“Wouldn’t be a birthday celebration if the crew was functional the day after…” he sighed as Mihawk reclined on a nearby crate.
Mihawk offered no comment, only humming in agreement. Adding a quip every time the Red-Hair Pirates did something unwise or unhealthy would be too much, even for him.
“Y’know, speaking of… When’s your birthday, Hawkeyes?”
“March 9th,” he said, short. It wasn’t a secret, simply something not worth bringing up unprompted, nor worth hiding from simple curiosity.
Mihawk expected the conversation to end there, the deck falling back into silence, his tidbit of information shared without further fanfare.
So when loud, unrestrained laughter suddenly rang out across the deck, Mihawk glanced up sharply in surprise.
Beckman’s usual more serious expression had completely dissipated. The man was bent over his makeshift workspace, clutching the side of the table as his laughter continued, only growing as he locked eyes with the swordsman before doubling over again.
“I don’t see what’s so funny,” Mihawk said flatly.
The man tried to respond but simply ended up laughing once more, to Mihawk's exasperation. Beckman’s laughter finally began to trail off after far too long, but a wide smile remained. “It seems you and Captain have one more thing in common.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Mihawk saw his own expression flicker in surprise, reflected in Yoru’s surface. “Are you implying…?”
“Yep. Captain’s birthday is also March 9th. That’s either one hell of a coincidence or the weirdest fate I’ve ever heard of,” he continued on. “Captain’s reaction is sure going to be something…”
Mihawk’s hand stuttered, the quiet sounds of polishing stopping abruptly. “Ah.”
Beckman’s remaining stray chuckles quickly petered out, his jovial mood sobering. "I take that to mean you're not planning on telling him," he sighed.
His focus remained on his blade, more pointedly than before, even as he felt Beckman’s stare press into him.
With the redhead, sometimes giving him an inch led to him taking a mile. Or more. Telling Shanks would certainly make it a big deal — one it currently wasn’t and could easily remain that way.
“I don’t see the need.”
Beckman put his rifle down, fully turning towards him, hands still stained with gunpowder. “That’s purposefully obtuse, even for you.” His tone was remarkably unimpressed. “Never said you had to. If you don’t, I won’t tell him — but you know how much of a headache he’ll be if he finds out he missed your birthday. Especially if you were here celebrating his that same day.”
He bristled at, but didn’t reject, Beckman’s assumption that he’d be around for it. He had no desire to stay for the entirety of such a chaotic night, but to skip it entirely now that he knew of it seemed... remiss.
They did fall into silence after that; however, Beckman’s words remained at the front of his mind for the rest of the day. He was sure the man would keep his word, and with that, he had no need to tell Shanks of their shared milestone. It wouldn’t be a lie, just an omission.
(For some reason, the thought of that set oddly in his stomach, an unease he wasn’t used to. For more than just Beckman’s likely apt description of how Shanks would react if he knew — though that didn’t settle well on its own, either.)
It didn’t leave even through Shanks’ and his — eventual and very delayed — duel, though with the limited room, it was more of a set of training spars than anything else. Perhaps for the best, with how his attention kept drifting — unnoticeable to anyone else, but enough for the thought to get under his skin.
As Mihawk prepared to depart, the sun just barely beginning to dip beneath the horizon, Shanks laid on the deck, eyes following him intently.
“Coming back for my birthday at least, Hawkeyes?” The teasing note to his voice was clear, but Mihawk didn’t miss the genuine question underneath it. “It’s on—”
(He could still pretend he didn't know.
...He didn't.)
“The 9th. Your first mate informed me of such.” He huffed. “As he seemed to find great humor in us sharing a birthday.”
Shanks froze as the words hit him. “Wait— What?! Did I hear that right?”
Beckman called from the other side of the deck — far too obviously listening in — leaning against the railing with a purposeful, lackadaisical stance. One that appeared far too smug on the man. “Oh yeah, didn’t you know, Captain?”
Shanks’ head snapped back towards his first mate, disbelief clear on his face. “You knew?! And you didn’t tell me?”
“You’re not the only one who talks to Hawkeyes, Captain." (Despite his annoyance, the resulting reactions from the redhead were amusing.) "And you would’ve known sooner if you weren’t so hungover. ‘S not like I’ve known forever; I just found out today.”
Shanks continued to sputter, jerkily looking back and forth between his first mate and the swordsman.“That’s— Still! I can’t believe we have the same birthday.”
“It's quite the coincidence," he hummed neutrally. It really was, certainly not one he ever would have guessed unprompted.
"Thank the seas Beck found out, or I’d never know," he grumbled, “Getting personal details out of you is impossible, sometimes.”
"I simply don't bring it up often. Neither did I know your birthday until today, either," he shot back.
Shanks acquiesced his statement with a muttered hum, clearly not appeased. “Well, now that we do know, we can celebrate together.”
He turned his head away, recollecting himself. He had no interest in a party of the Red-Hair Pirates’ likes — he would consider attending for a short while for Shanks’ birthday, but for his own? To be at the center of it the entire night? "Red-Hair, I am sure your idea of a birthday celebration and mine are vastly different," he said, his voice short.
Shanks wilted at that, his implication clear, but his pouting quickly morphed into something more serious, thoughtful. “What would be your ideal birthday, then?”
Mihawk went quiet at that. He knew what his ideal birthday was alone — barely a different day, at all. Providing an answer when one had no frame of reference was… difficult. He remained silent, long enough that anyone else would have long given up on the conversation.
But Shanks was stubborn, above all else.
“Well, that just makes it a challenge to get it right, then — and you know I’m a good challenger,” he grinned.
“Challenging, perhaps.”
The comment got a real belly laugh out of the other man, laying back against the deck from the force of it, arms behind his head and grinning that very dangerous smile.
“Just you wait and see, Hawkeyes.”
—————
Shanks had been beyond tight-lipped over the last few weeks, not breathing even a word about their birthday beyond the mention of when to arrive. Not even the crew would whisper a hair about it — for a group that couldn’t hold a meager secret while drunk, they could also hold information deemed important impossibly tight.
The scrap of Shanks' vivre card in Mihawk's possession meant the Red-Hair Pirates were never too difficult to find, even across the Grand Line. Shanks had made it clear to arrive early that morning, and so he did, the early morning fog still curling over the sides of Hitsugibune. In the distance, the Red-Hair Pirates had already docked on a quiet outcropping, obscure even by Grand Line standards. Their ship sat docked nearly out of view, around the side of the island, barely anything more than a hazy silhouette.
As soon as he stepped on the island, Mihawk could feel the tug of Shanks’ presence near the center of the island, eager and impatient. He was nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet by the time he arrived, a wide smile blooming as soon as their eyes met.
“Thought your favorite thing would be a good way to start the day off,” he grinned. “Especially since we haven’t gotten to really go at it recently.”
It was true; their time for duels had been more limited than usual for the last few months. Even when they did get a change, they were often at sea, where both of their powers had to be contained in an effort to not destroy the ship — both of them — or knock out the crew — Shanks.
The island was uninhabited, more sand and gravely soil than anything else, though still covered in sparse greenery and some shade. No island villages were even remotely nearby, and Shanks’ crew was far enough out of range to not be endangered by Shanks’ haki.
It was a perfect place for them to truly duel without restraint.
They stood opposite one another, Shanks idly shifting from one foot to the other while Mihawk finished his final stretches. "Maybe you can get an extra present out of beating me!" Shanks taunted.
Mihawk raised an eyebrow, straightening up and unsheathing Yoru from her harness. "Is it really a present if it's the outcome of every one of our duels?"
Shanks laughed, loud and bright, and without another word, the flurry of metal on metal had begun.
(Mihawk’s own smirk hadn’t dulled at all by the first hit.)
The first few rounds had been intense, potent, sheer might and skill going against one another. They constantly traded parries and blows, yet neither gave up their ground. Mihawk was acutely reminded of how Shanks’ skill and strength had grown, been honed — how their skills had honed one another.
It was a rush, a true challenge, the one that always itched under his skin but rarely came even close to being scratched. Shanks’ wild laughter filled the air, shouting with exertion, unrestrained, and Mihawk’s own smirks — and once or twice, smiles — joined him.
But eventually, it became experimental. Almost playful. Trying techniques they hadn't gotten to put into practice yet, seeing what worked and what didn't. Shanks laughed when one of Mihawk's charged strikes did more damage to a tree than him, raining leaves down onto the brim of his straw hat. A chuckle escaped Mihawk when Shanks attempted to use Yoru's leverage to flip backwards and instead fell face-first into the sand.
Finally, with the afternoon sun high in the sky, their back-and-forth finally petered out. It hasn’t been a proper duel in hours, but it was satisfying. Exhausting. Fun.
Both stood gulping down their flasks of water, and with an dramatic huff, the redhead flopped down onto a small, shaded patch of sand, still grinning beneath his exhaustion. “C’mon, Hawkeyes, scared of a little sand in your coat?”
(He wasn’t; at least he managed to properly get the sand out of his clothing, unlike a certain redhead.)
His boots, swiftly unlaced, hit the ground with a quiet thump, and his coat quickly followed. Shanks’ eyes barely cracked open again with a sated smile as he settled into the cool ground.
It was still. Shanks’ usually ceaseless talking had all but vanished, replaced by quiet breaths, waves, and rustling of leaves.
Mihawk almost thought the other man had dozed off — something not uncommon after their duels, his hat tipped over his face — until he spoke once more.
“Another year, huh.”
The flat, resigned note to his voice was— unusual, yet not, when Mihawk gave it a second thought. He had seen enough of the other man to know there was more beneath the surface than his cheerful demeanor showed, but it wasn’t often so blatant.
For once, he was the one with the more positive outlook.
The previous year had been… interesting. Monotonous in many ways as nearly every year was, a cycle of dueling and challengers he was slowly, slowly beginning to wonder if it would ever change. If there was any point beyond it.
But his increasing encounters with Shanks and the Red-Hair Pirates were anything but that, and for the first time in a long while, he was truly interested in seeing what the next year would look like. Not just its duels.
“Indeed. Though—” He turned his head, yellow eyes finally catching gray as he continued, “The next on is looking to be far more promising than years past.”
He could practically see the gears turning behind Shanks’ eyes, flickering through a broad spectrum of emotions before, finally, settling on something far closer to the warmth usually there. “Yeah. Yeah, it is."
Mihawk let himself drift after that. When he opened his eyes once more, the sun had begun to set, tinging the sand and water alike in oranges and pinks. Shanks’ usual, warm smile was back in full force as he stretched and stood, holding a hand down to him. “I’ve still got one thing left for us today. C’mon."
As they left the clearing, he braced himself for the full force of one of the Red-Hair Pirates’ celebrations — loud, raucous, and overwhelming. Survivable for short periods in normal circumstances, but beyond unpleasant when at the epicenter of it. Something that a birthday would inevitably cause.
The sight that greeted him on the distant shore did match his expectations, with drinks abound and many a crew member already well into their cups. It appeared just as Mihawk had pictured Hongo’s own party before its aftermath. Oddly, though, there was no sign of any of the senior commanders, even with his particularly good vision.
“Don’t worry, this isn’t where we’re going,” Shanks laughed, certainly predicting Mihawk’s own hesitation as he continued along.
Mihawk’s curiosity continued to mount as Shanks led them away from the party and back to the boat, not saying another word, even as they boarded. Even without his observation haki, it was impossible to miss Shanks nearly vibrating with excitement. Voices once more filled the air as the rear of the ship came into view.
The back deck had been transformed. A few tables had been pulled together, chairs all around and a variety of food and drinks covering their surfaces. All of the senior commanders were already sat and talking amongst themselves, leaving two empty chairs side by side.
It was quite the setup, but it was… contained. Happy, but by far subdued compared to the beach. Cozy, almost.
Building Snake spotted them first, waving them over. “He’s finally back aboard!”
“Hey, I said we’d be back by sunset,” Shanks laughed as he nudged Mihawk forward.
“Thought you two were going to duel through the whole night, at this rate,” Beckman’s eyebrow was raised, but his expression was fond as he pulled his captain into a hug.
Lucky looked quite pleased with himself as he gestured toward the table. "Can't have a birthday without a birthday meal, right?"
Mihawk found himself being dragged forward by his arm, the redhead pulling him already happily greeting the rest of his commanders and nearly shoving him into his seat.
The dinner was louder than any of his own ever were, filled with the energy that never seemed to leave Shanks' crew, but it was... refreshing. A bottle of one of his favorite vintages sat near his seat, and the food was rich and warm. Shanks was as lively as ever, jumping in and out of conversations all across the table. Mihawk didn't do the same, but the more subdued conversations he had with Beckman and Hongo were engaging and an appreciated reprieve.
The sun had slowly fallen down the sky and below the shoreline, and by the time the dinner had reached its natural, comfortable conclusion, only the last bright, burning embers of the sunset remained. While Mihawk’s attention had been wrapped up in a murmured discussion with Shanks about a recent island the man and his crew had visited, the senior commanders had made their way back below deck.
In a lull, Beckman interrupted them. "Grabbing stuff for drinks and cards inside, Captain. We’ll be back in a bit."
Mihawk knew it didn't take that long — or all of them — to obtain so few items, but said nothing. Their execution may have been questionable, but it was clear their intentions for their captain were from a good place.
“Happy birthday, Captain,” he said, his voice low and warm, "And happy birthday, Hawkeyes," he said. With a nod, he slipped inside and closed the door behind him.
“So? Was it a good birthday?”
Shanks was genuine, calm, but he was earnest.
“It was.”
Shanks seemed comfortable to bask in his victory, but a question had been pressing at the back of Mihawk’s mind, one that had slowly built over the whole day.
“You asked what my ideal birthday would be. What would it be? For you?”
“It would be… I’m not really sure, actually. I think it’d be this.” Shanks’ expression had twisted once more. “I, uh… actually didn’t celebrate my birthday for a while, either.” The words left him in a rush; his voice was strained, exposed. “Only started doing it again because Beck insisted during our first year sailing, and… it was nice. Still not entirely used to celebrating it, really.”
"Oh." He... hadn't expected that. Suddenly, little bits of their previous interactions were illuminated in a new light.
“The big party is way more for the crew than me. I’m not going to turn down a party,” he laughed, but it didn’t come out quite right, “but it was just a party. Not a birthday. Today was different. I got to spend the day with my crew — and this time, with you. That’s more than enough.” Shanks turned back to him, and the smile on his face made Mihawk’s breath hitch. “This one was the best.”
The sunset illuminated his figure, dancing across his hair as if it was real fire. His smile was just as bright, maybe more.
“I would have to agree,” Mihawk hummed. “Perhaps it is one more thing we should continue to share.”
Shanks’ shoulder was warm against his own, the cool evening air unable to chill him with the warmth seeping into his side. “Happy birthday, Mihawk.”
(A flicker of haki revealed all of the senior commanders clustered behind the door, arguing in hushed half-whispers about how long was long enough to wait.
Hopefully, they’d have at least a few more minutes to themselves. Something that was looking likely with Beckman’s wrangling.)
He leaned back against the railing, a rare, small smile on his face as he turned to the other man.
“Happy birthday, Shanks.”