Chapter Text
Life went on, after he left her.
Makino wasn’t surprised that it did—was too practical to wallow in self-pity for long, and even missing him didn’t change the fact that she had a business to run, and things to do besides waiting. She’d made the decision to stay, after all, and even if he’d promised her to come back, to ask her again, ten years didn’t pass in the blink of an eye, and she wasn’t going to waste them being miserable.
The ache of longing still remained, feeling his absence, fiercely now that she knew what her life was like with him in it, and even if she did her best to live it, some days were hard, waking without him, and going to sleep without him, missing his laughter and his humour and the way he’d loved her.
It was anything but easy, learning to be alone again, and without the assurance that he’d be coming back in a few weeks, and so to occupy her mind and her heart both, Makino did everything she could think of to keep her hands busy. She repainted the common room, and reorganised her pantry. She read the books he’d left her, cover to cover, then read them again. She started visiting Dadan more often, now that Garp had brought Luffy to stay there permanently, and stitched and patched every torn shirt and shorts and rogue sock that she could get her hands on, which was a considerable amount, with three growing boys who didn’t know how to sit still.
But it worked. Between her customers and her routines, the friends who visited and who kept her company, and the three boys who filled the rest of her time, the ache lessened, bit by bit, until she wasn’t thinking about him with every single breath, or counting the days in her head without meaning to.
And she kept herself so distracted from thinking about him, it took her weeks to realise that something was wrong.
She woke before the sun, bolting for the bathroom, her body reacting even before her mind could catch up with it, and she’d just managed to scramble for the toilet bowl before she was heaving into it.
It didn’t last long—not like the time she’d eaten bad shellfish when she was younger and had spent three whole days being sick—but barely out of sleep and with vomit in her hair, it was anything but a gentle awakening, and the shivering groan that left her lamented as much, where she slumped against the toilet on the cold tiles.
It took her a few breaths to gather herself, to wipe her mouth and wash the residue vomit out of her hair, and by the time she was done and certain she wasn’t facing a cheerful reprise, she was fully awake. And not seeing the point of lounging about in bed, she got dressed and went downstairs, and when she’d readied her bar to open, three hours early, did whatever weekly chores were left, until every glass and bottle and jar on her shelf was polished, and she had nothing to do but to wait for her earliest customers; the ones who stopped by for breakfast, regular as clockwork.
And it was a small relief after the morning she’d had to lose herself to the work she loved. She didn’t even think about the odd bout of nausea that had dragged her out of bed. Not until she was shouldering her way out of the kitchen, two plates of eggs and bacon in her hands, did she think about it, the reminder seizing her whole body where she halted in her tracks, panic reaching her half a second before the need to be violently sick, and she’d barely had time to put the plates down and reach for the waste bin behind the counter before she was emptying her stomach loudly into it.
“Makino-san!”
There were several people gathered by the bar when she rose back up, discreetly wiping her mouth on her sleeve, and she felt the flush of embarrassment where it scalded her skin, taking in the concern on their faces.
“Are you feeling alright?”
“Do you need to sit down?”
“You look a little flushed—is it the bug that’s been going around?”
She waved them off mildly, reaching for what she hoped was a disarming laugh. “I’m fine,” she promised. “I must have eaten something, is all.”
Their worry persisted, endearing if unnecessary, and it took some more convincing just to get them back in their seats, but by the time things had settled down, there wasn’t so much as a stirring of nausea left, and she resumed her work with her usual vigour, which was more convincing that whatever verbal assurances she might have offered, allowing her to go about her business in peace.
But there was no reason for them to worry. She didn’t feel sick, and it would be silly to close the bar just because she’d eaten something that disagreed with her. She’d finish her shift and get a good night’s sleep, and it would all be forgotten by morning.
—
But the next day greeted her in the same fashion, and the one after that, although she still didn’t feel sick, exactly. There was no fever, or anything resembling an illness, at least not beyond the occasional dizzy spell and the fact that she couldn’t seem to keep food down.
She wrote it off as a persistent stomach bug, and resolved not to worry about it. She still felt fine, and fully capable of completing her usual work, although she kept it in her mind now, and when she felt the need to step out and throw up, she did so discreetly.
She didn’t even consider the fact that it might be something else; something very specific. Not until one morning when she was getting dressed and she couldn’t pull the zipper of her skirt closed.
“What?” she murmured, pulling at the waist, only to find it wouldn’t close—couldn’t, on account of being too tight.
Makino blinked down at it, palming the zipper and the soft blue fabric. It was a few weeks since she’d worn this particular skirt, but that it shouldn’t fit her seemed a bit odd. She knew her own measurements in her sleep; she'd sewn it herself.
She considered her reflection in the mirror, her embroidered blouse unbuttoned and her skirt hanging off her hips; observed the small body beneath, not as foreign to her now as it had been once, and comfortable with looking at it in a way she hadn’t been—not until Shanks, and the kisses that had sought to know every nook, and every stretch of skin, and which still warmed her cheeks, remembering.
She hadn’t changed much in the three months that had passed since he'd left. Her hair was a little longer, the tips reaching beneath her jawline now, but otherwise she looked the same as she always had, although—
Brushing her fingers over her stomach, she saw in the mirror as her frown deepened. She’d put on a little weight. Not much, and only around her waist, enough for her skirts and dresses to feel a bit tight, although she hadn’t thought much about it, until now. And it was strange that she should be gaining weight, when she’d been throwing up so much—
Her breath shuddered out, and her hand dropped from her stomach. And she knew then, what was wrong with her—knew what connected all the little oddities that had sprouted up, like tiny, unexpected weeds in her orderly life.
“Oh,” Makino said, very softly.
—
She had it confirmed the same morning. The local physician, who upon hearing her symptoms had taken one long, knowing look at her, and whose expression had said enough about her diagnosis even before she’d completed her physical.
Still. “Pregnant?”
She didn’t know for whose sake she was saying it, or if she was just speaking it out loud to make it feel more real—didn’t even know why it came out sounding like a question, when she’d already suspected it to be the case.
The little clinic felt suddenly stifling, even with the open window and the dewy morning air wetting the glass with tiny little pearls. She felt hyper aware of her own body, sitting there on the bed, her hands laced loosely around the slight bump that now had a very real, very good explanation.
She should have realised it sooner. She’d been late, but she’d been so busy trying to keep herself busy, she’d barely offered the fact a second thought.
The woman sitting across from her hadn’t spoken since confirming her fears, but her expression softened a bit with understanding now, and Makino didn’t have to wonder if she knew who the father was. Everyone knew everyone’s business in Fuschia, and it wasn’t like her affair with the charming captain of a frequently visiting crew of pirates had gone by unnoticed. Everyone knew.
“Physically, you’re in good health,” she said. Her name was Yara; Makino had known her all her life, which only made this a little bit worse than if she’d been a complete stranger. Unfortunately, there were none of those in Fuschia, least of all any who practiced medicine. “Just take it easy, and go about your day as you'd normally do.” Her smile quirked, looking suddenly fond. “I knew your mother well, and I’ve known you since you were little. I’m familiar with your particular work ethic and I know it doesn’t include a lot of sick days, but you’re responsible for more than just yourself now. Be sure to pace yourself.”
You’re responsible for more than just yourself now.
Makino nodded absently, and was only vaguely paying attention to what Yara was saying as she packed up her equipment, and was barely aware of herself as she took her leave, a warm hand squeezing her shoulder reassuringly, and sending her off with a promise to come back for another check-up in a few weeks.
She walked home as the sun rose up, feeling adrift.
She didn’t know what to do. Did she tell him? Should she? How would she even get in touch with him, halfway across the world or more? They would have reached the Grand Line by now, and she knew nothing of that sea other than the fact that few people were said to ever return from it; that even the Government hadn’t charted every island and territory on it. Shanks could be anywhere. She wouldn’t even know where to begin looking, or how.
The questions tossed and turned in her head, like a restless sea, making her dizzy. It didn’t help that she had to bend over the side of the street to vomit, the reminder seeming particularly spiteful after the morning she'd had, as though to say how could you have missed this? A whole week?
Thankfully, it was too early for anyone to be around to witness her uncontrolled retching, and suddenly certain they’d all know her secret the moment they laid eyes on her, Makino picked up her feet, desperate for a moment of privacy, if only to collect herself from the morning’s ordeals.
But stepping through the doors of her bar, she came to a stop, considering the empty establishment, and herself, feeling smaller than she had in months—like she hadn’t felt since that very first day, when Shanks had first walked through her doorway.
The thought of him prompted another, and her breath felt suddenly like it required effort, looking down at her stomach, curving gently under her loose sundress, the only thing in her wardrobe that hadn’t seemed to broadcast her weight gain, and the truth it all but shouted to the world.
Her first customers would be arriving soon. And all the chores were done, courtesy of restless hands as she’d waited for Yara to open her clinic, but for the life of her, Makino couldn’t muster the will to do it. Not today, when she couldn’t stop thinking about it; the one thing even work wouldn't let her forget, now that she knew.
Pregnant. Pregnant.
It didn’t matter how many times she turned the word over in her head; it still didn’t feel real. And with every new question came another. How would she even manage, raising a child and running her business, all on her own? She had no experience to draw from. She didn’t have any siblings, and beyond watching Luffy from time to time, knew nothing about raising a child. And Shanks—
It kept coming back to him, no matter which direction her thoughts ventured. She still had no idea how she’d even tell him, but prodding at that thought made her wonder what would happen when she did, until she was left with questions she didn’t even know if she wanted to know the answer to.
Would he even want to know? Would it change anything if he did?
For the first time since she’d started running it, barring the weeks right after Shanks’ amputation, Makino put up the rarely-used sign announcing her bar closed for business. And she didn’t pause to consider her empty establishment as she walked upstairs, toeing off her shoes, even as she didn’t have the strength to remove anything else as she crawled under the covers.
She lay there as the morning passed, looking out the window as the sun crawled up to the roof of the sky, listening to the seagulls and worrying the silver anchor around her neck, the fingers of her other hand splayed over the curve of her stomach under her dress. She traced it restlessly, over and over, her thoughts following the same circular paths, round and round.
A child. She was going to have a child. She was twenty years old and she was going to have a child.
Shanks’ child, she thought then, her fingers tightening over her stomach as her breath rushed out, along with a dry sob.
Turning over on her back, Makino considered the ceiling of her bedroom, and the sunlight slanting across it. She tried to think about the last time she’d lain there with him, his laughter drowsy and pressed into the sheets, his skin sun-dark and scarred and his hair redder than anything, and his body warm and reaching for her as he kissed her out of breath, but when she looked over on the left, there was nothing, just empty sheets. The pillow didn’t even smell like him anymore.
It hurt, remembering that joy—remembering him, and everything he’d been to her, and still was.
And he had loved her. He’d told her that, and that meant something, something more than ten years, and more than any other promise that might have gone unspoken between them.
She had to tell him. Regardless of anything else, he at least deserved to know.
The only problem was that he’d left her with no way to get in touch with him—no number to call, or any method to get so much as a note to him. It would be easier that way, they’d both agreed. They’d live their separate lives, on their separate seas, until he came back for her, like he’d promised. A clean break was easier than trying to be both apart and together at the same time.
Except that their lives weren’t separate anymore. This—this new little life, the one she still couldn’t quite believe existed—changed everything.
She didn’t know how he’d react, but she knew Shanks; knew his good heart, the one that had loved her, and knew that he’d want to know—that he deserved to know, if nothing else. And so telling him would have to be her first step. Whatever happened after that, whatever Shanks did with the information…she’d deal with it then. They both would.
And so she resolved to reach out to the one person she knew who might know of a way to contact him.
—
“Pregnant?”
The undercurrent of fury didn’t let itself be missed, the deep rumble of his voice unwavering as he parroted the word back to her, except it was a deceptive calm; a foreboding roll of thunder that had a shiver shooting down her back.
Setting her jaw, Makino refused to cower. “Garp,” she said, carefully. She’d thought long and hard about how she’d go about having this conversation. So far, it was going exactly how she’d thought it would.
“I swear, if I get my hands on that smarmy, slippery—”
“That’s why I’m calling,” she cut him off gently, and tried not to focus on how her heart jumped at the mention of him. Her hand curled, white-knuckled around the mouthpiece. “Could you get me in touch with him somehow?”
The line was dead silent, but she knew he hadn’t hung up, from the furious glare the Den Den Mushi was directing at her. Makino felt a flicker of affection at the sight, recognising that the anger wasn’t hers, but for her.
“Please, Garp,” she said, and knew it would do the trick, even before she heard the breath loosed from the other end. It sounded like it took physical effort. “I need to tell him.”
“Why?”
Her look softened, considering the snail, still with that frightening expression. “You know why,” she said, softly. “He deserves to know.”
“He’s a goddamn pirate, Makino.”
“He is,” she agreed, ignoring how her insides knotted at the reminder, spurring forth the fear she’d tried to keep at bay—that he’d rather not know about it. She tried instead to remind herself of another fact, and one that was more important than either of them, or their chosen professions. “But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s also his child.”
Garp fell silent, and it was a terrible silence. Makino wondered what he was thinking—if he thought she was naive for asking; for wanting to do this, or for just believing it was the right thing to do.
Or perhaps, deep down in that big, righteous heart, the one that remembered the Pirate King differently than the rest of the world, the man he’d been rather than the pirate everyone else were quick to condemn, Garp agreed with her.
“You think it’ll change anything?” he asked then. “Between you and Red-Hair?”
She tried not to flinch at the question, or to demonstrate so vividly that, however firm her conviction that she should tell Shanks about the baby, she still had no idea how he’d react to the news. And it didn’t matter that she’d been asking herself the same thing for weeks; she still wasn’t close to finding an answer.
“I don’t know,” she said, honestly. “But even if it does or doesn’t, he should know. It’s—it’s the right thing to do. Then once he does, he can decide if he wants to be involved or not.”
“He better damn well be involved,” Garp snapped, his voice suddenly loud where it lashed out from the snail. “Whether he likes it or—”
“No,” Makino said, gently but firmly, and knew her expression conveyed the same, from how quickly Garp fell quiet. “Only if he wants to. I’m not making any demands. It will be up to him.”
“Makino—”
“Garp,” she said, and was glad when her voice didn’t waver, even as her hand shook around the mouthpiece. “I’ve already made up my mind. I don’t want him to feel like he has a responsibility to come back, or to—to have anything to do with this child.” With me, she didn’t dare say, but thought he still heard it. She paused, and swallowed. “I want him to be involved, but not under duress.”
When Garp still didn’t speak, she pressed her lips together. “Is that what you’d want for me?” she asked.
She could see his reluctance reflected on the snail’s face, in deep furrows and grooves, its mouth downturned at the corners, but it wasn’t petulance she heard when Garp spoke next. “I wanted everything for you,” he said, and her heart seized painfully at the roughness in his voice. “Not this. Not raising a kid on your own, with a pirate for a father. And this pirate in particular.”
Her lower lip trembled, and she tucked it between her teeth. And her voice did waver now, was thick with the tears she was trying her hardest to hold back. “But that’s the reality. I’ve accepted that, and I’m trying to do what’s best—what’s right. For my child. Please, can’t—can’t you just try to do the same? For me?”
Then, before Garp could answer, and before her courage could leave her, “And I’d rather it be his child than anyone else’s,” Makino said, fiercely.
A sigh fell, heavier than she’d ever heard it. “Fine,” Garp grumbled. “I’ll get the crook’s whereabouts somehow. Shouldn’t be hard to track him down—his crew’s not exactly subtle.”
The casual mention had her heart constricting, thinking about them—her crew that it took effort to remind herself was even hers; that they'd called themselves that. Ben and Yasopp. Doc, and Lucky Roo.
She wondered how they’d react to the news.
A thought gripped her then, with a sudden panic. “Promise me you won’t say anything to him?” she asked. “About the baby. I want—I want him to hear it from me.”
Garp didn’t answer, and it wasn’t fear that found her now but something else, and, “Garp,” Makino said, and was glad when her voice sounded firm, almost warning.
A reluctant mutter sounded, and she almost smiled. “I won’t say anything,” Garp acquiesced. “But what the hell do you want me to tell him, then?”
Makino fiddled with the mouthpiece, considering the question. She tried to imagine the scenario, how it would play out, Garp having tracked them down somewhere on the Grand Line to deliver her message, but found herself coming up short. She thought she might have found the prospect funny, had the circumstances been different.
“Tell him,” she said then, worrying her lip between her teeth. “Tell him that I need to talk to him. That it’s important. That I wouldn’t be asking unless it was.”
She had the feeling that a message like that would tell him enough—that he’d know already before she’d get the chance to speak to him, but if Shanks figured it out for himself, then he did, and how he chose to handle his suspicions would be up to him. Either he called her to have it confirmed, and to talk, or…he didn’t, and she’d have all the answers she needed.
She felt how her heart hurt, just considering that possibility, but she couldn’t ignore it—she wasn’t that naive, even if she knew love sometimes made you blind. But she didn’t think she’d been so blind that she’d imagined how he’d been; how he’d loved her.
“Thank you, Garp,” Makino said then, and hoped that he couldn’t tell how nervous she was, although she knew it was a futile hope, for the man who’d known her since she was a baby. “It means the world that you’d do this for me.”
Another grumble reached her over the line, but it left a wavering smile on her mouth, recognising his acceptance for what it was. And she did trust him with this, unquestionably; the man who was the closest thing she had to a father.
“Garp,” she said then, quietly. Her tears were falling now, but she couldn’t help them, or the smile. “You’ll be a grandpa again.”
She heard the laugh—the rough, startled sound of it, and her wavering smile settled, firm on her mouth, because for all his grunts and grumbles about her choices, she didn’t for a second doubt that he’d be there for her, and for her child, no matter their father. Garp was, after all, hers.
“God help me,” Garp sighed, but the words were too fond to be convincingly deprecating, and this time when she laughed it felt like something lifted off her chest with the sound, the mouthpiece steady in the cup of her palm and her other curved over the bump, and the little life she was slowly, surely coming to accept into her own.
—
After their call, she didn’t hear from Garp for several weeks.
It was impossible not to fret, thinking about it, and so she didn’t try to keep herself from doing it, allowing it instead to come in small bursts, so it wouldn’t overwhelm her completely. And she didn’t know what she was worried about, exactly. It wasn’t as though Garp would be telling him. He’d respect her wishes, she was certain of that, but if he did find a way for her to contact him, and she got the chance to tell Shanks…
She didn’t know where to begin, or what to even tell him. Did she tell him outright, without preamble? Or did she lead with a disclaimer, to soften the blow? And then there were the things she was desperate to tell him—the little things, like her stomach getting bigger, and the flutters within. The fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about whether they’d have his hair, or his laugh, or his smile.
But she couldn’t exactly lead with that. She’d had weeks to come to terms with it, and to grow used to the idea of a child, enough that she could imagine all those things without trouble. Shanks didn’t have that luxury, and she wouldn’t let her burgeoning excitement influence his decision. If he wanted to stay in touch, to be part of their child’s life, then that was his choice to make, and if he didn’t…
Part of her couldn’t imagine that he wouldn’t want to. Not the man she knew, that she loved more than anyone, save perhaps the little heart growing beneath hers. But it would still be difficult, his way of life taken into consideration, and the things he’d set out to do. The freedom of the open sea that he treasured so deeply.
She didn’t like to admit that she was afraid to discover how she featured into it, if he had to make the choice. She hated that she hoped her feelings weren’t wrong; hated that she couldn’t help but hope he really would put her first, if asked. It didn’t come naturally to her, that kind of wilful self-centredness, but as the flutters under her hands grew stronger and she felt just how easy the choice was, to give up everything for her unborn child, she couldn’t help but hope he’d feel the same.
Six months along now, her condition was glaringly obvious, but then she’d stopped making a conscious effort to hide it. It wasn’t like she could have managed for much longer, anyway; there were few secrets to be kept in a place as small and tight-knit as Fuschia, and it hadn’t taken long before the whole village knew.
Not many were surprised, although that itself hadn’t surprised Makino, but she’d been relieved to discover that their response was to be supportive rather than to pass judgement, even as she didn’t doubt there were a handful who had opinions on the subject, but even they were kind enough to discuss it well out of earshot.
And, of course, there were those whose delight she didn’t have to question, knowing without a doubt that it was genuine.
“It’s inside?”
Makino watched as the little hand moved across her belly, before Luffy bent down to press his ear to it. He was almost out of his chair where he’d pulled it up next to hers, and she felt his little weight where he'd pressed his body against her stomach, listening.
She saw his features where they drew together in a frown, before he raised his head to look up at her. “How did it get there?”
“Oh boy,” Ace sighed. Beside him, Sabo was grinning.
Her laugh was tender as she threaded her fingers through his hair. Shanks’ straw hat was resting against his back, attached to a string around his neck. Makino tried not to look at it. “One day, I’ll tell you,” she said, tapping his nose lightly.
It scrunched up under her fingertip, and his pout was endearingly earnest. She felt his hands against her stomach, his fingers worrying her apron. “Why not today?”
“Come on, Luffy,” Sabo said, tugging at his arm. “We said we’d help her clean the tables. She’s supposed to take it easy.”
“But why? She looks fine. Her stomach’s just bigger.”
Sabo herded him away, evading his relentless questions (“can the baby hear us?”, “is it a boy or a girl?”, “how is it gonna get out of there?”, “are you sure it’s a baby? maybe she just ate something, and that’s why she’s so big”), leaving Makino sitting at the table with Ace, who didn’t seem to be in a hurry to join them.
He was looking at her, seeming to consider her where she sat. He hadn’t said much since she’d told them she was going to have a baby, but the expression on his face looked curiously shrewd for a ten-year-old.
He raised his eyes from her belly, meeting hers. “It’s Red-Hair’s, isn’t it?”
Makino laced her fingers together over her stomach, hoping to still their shaking. And had the question come from any other child his age, she would have been surprised, but there were many ways in which Ace hadn’t been allowed to be a child. The kind of happy innocence Luffy flaunted without a care wasn’t given the chance to flourish when the world insisted on treating you like you were anything but innocent.
No, she wasn’t surprised Ace had put the pieces together, and so, “Yeah,” she said at length.
He continued looking at her for a long time, before his gaze shifted back to her stomach, large and round under her palms. The baby kicked, and she stroked her fingers tenderly over the curve. “He’s not here," Ace said.
Her heart constricted, recognising where that comment came from. “No,” she agreed, quietly. “He’s not.”
His brows furrowed a bit. “Does he know?”
“Not yet.”
Her answer implied another, and so he didn’t ask her if she was going to tell him. And she didn’t know what he felt about it, his expression suddenly unreadable as he continued to watch her belly in silence, as though he could figure it out if he stared at it hard enough.
He hadn’t touched it yet, seeming curiously reticent, even as both Sabo and Luffy had been eager to feel the kicks. But she watched as he reached for it now, hesitantly.
Makino didn’t move, just watched his thoughts play out across his face, but she shifted her hands, making room for his; the suggestion silent but clear.
Ace didn’t respond immediately, those small fingers twitching, an inch away from her belly, and Makino had the sudden impulse to quip that it wasn’t dangerous, but swallowed the playful urge, smiling.
Then, still with that mighty frown, his decision made with a breath for courage, he put his hand to her stomach.
It looked tiny in comparison, his knuckles covered with a thick smattering of freckles and a big, colourful band-aid wrapped around one of his fingers, dirt under his fingernails and little nicks and scars covering his skin; the kind that invoked the outdoors, untrod paths and tree-climbing and hauling fish out of the river, and every other little trouble three cheeky boys might get into in a single day.
And she thought then, looking at that little hand and feeling suddenly short of breath, that she wanted that kind of life for her own child. That kind of wild, reckless freedom.
Ace's expression remained terribly serious, but she saw when he felt the baby moving by the way his brows shot up, his features cleared of the pensive weight of his thoughts, leaving only honest surprise, and something curiously vulnerable.
He didn’t look at her, that dark, wide-eyed gaze locked on her stomach now, and the baby moving under his hand. For a moment, Makino didn’t think he was breathing.
“Here,” she said then, reaching to take his hand, to move it a little to the left, towards her hip. When he glanced at her, startled, she smiled, as though sharing a secret. “The kicking is stronger on this side. Do you feel that?" She pressed his fingers down gently. "That’s a tiny little foot.”
Ace watched, mesmerised, and when the baby gave another kick, followed the movement with his fingers.
“Does it hurt?”
She blinked, but when she found his eyes, saw the concern behind the question, and felt the warmth of affection that expanded behind her breast—along with the certainty that, whatever else the world wanted to tell him he was, he was still just a ten-year-old, easily amazed by new things.
“No,” she said, her laughter softened with warmth. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s a little weird, but I’ve grown used to it. I like it.” She winked. “It’s like they’re saying ‘hello’.”
He swallowed. "Did you—" He stopped, and for a moment, didn't look like he knew what he was asking, before he murmured, "Did you want it?"
Her smile fell, taking in the look on his face, vulnerable for a whole other reason now. And she wondered what he'd heard—if the comparison had been made to him, cruel as it was.
But she didn't have to think about the answer, and, "Yes," Makino said, honestly. "More than anything." Even if they hadn't planned for it, it didn't change the fact that their child had been conceived with love; didn't change the fact that it was loved, and wanted. That she'd wanted it, before she'd even known she did.
She thought about it, sometimes—that she hadn't wanted to let him go; that she'd been greedy, those last, desperate days before Shanks had left her, when they'd barely moved from his bunk, and she'd wanted as much of him as she could get, his laughter tender and rough in the hollow of her throat and the feel of him inside her, driven so deep it still stole her breath, thinking about it. She wondered if it had truly been an accident, or if there was more to it; if the sea had answered some unspoken wish, or if that was just her penchant for fancy and fairy tales.
For a moment, Ace seemed to consider her words, and the baby in her belly. Then, his mouth firming, “I’ll protect it,” he said, the words suddenly fierce, and Makino’s eyes widened, as he raised his own to meet them. “Red-Hair doesn’t have to be here.” He looked at Luffy and Sabo across the room, the wash bucket between them, and a single rag, the delegation of which was apparently being debated. “We are.”
Her throat had closed up, and she felt dangerously close to bursting into tears, her smile trembling as she reached out to cup his cheek. “Thank you, Ace," she said, and heard how rough her voice sounded, but couldn't be bothered. "I really appreciate that.”
“Ace!” Luffy shouted, sounding put-out, a familiar whine scarping along his vowels. “How come you’re not helping?" He stuck his tongue out. "Lazy.”
“I’m keeping our new baby brother or sister company,” Ace threw back, matter-of-fact, even as he stole a glance at Makino, as though for confirmation that he wasn't out of line in saying it.
Before she could answer, or at least swallow the lump in her throat so she could find her voice to do so, Luffy’s eyes lit up, and then he was shoving Ace out of the way, to reach for her stomach.
"Oi, Luffy," Ace snapped. "You've already had your turn!"
Ignoring him, Luffy's eyes were wide where they sought hers, and his voice when he spoke sounded almost too quiet for his usual volume, small and wondering as he asked her, “We get to be its brothers?”
Makino felt as her smile widened, no longer wavering as she took in them all, having flocked around her stomach again, their earlier offer of assistance happily forgotten with a new, more exciting prospect before them. “I’d be very happy if you would,” she said. She rubbed her hand over her belly; felt out that little foot. “I think this little one would be, too.”
Luffy’s grin stretched across his whole face. “That means I get to be a big brother!” He grinned up at her. “And that makes us family, too, Ma-chan!”
This time the tears came, regardless of her stubborn attempts at holding them back. “Yeah,” she said, her laughter soft and thick. “I guess it does.”
“You’ll be the mom,” Luffy declared, seeming pleased at this realisation. “Dadan can, too, I guess.” He placed his hands on her stomach again, pressing down gently, before a frown dipped between his brows, and he raised his eyes to hers, as though he’d suddenly thought of something. “Wait—who’s the dad?”
Ace flicked the straw hat around his neck. “Who do you think?”
It took him a second, before he looked at Makino, his eyes as round as she’d ever seen them go. “Shanks?” She didn’t know if he sounded shocked or delighted. Possibly both. “But how?” he asked, looking at her stomach. “Did he put it there?”
Makino coughed, startled, but, “We’ll tell you later,” Sabo said, smile a little bashful when she pursed her mouth in tender warning.
Luffy pouted. “Why can’t you just tell me now? Why is it a secret?”
“We’re not going to tell you anything if you keep nagging, Luffy," Ace said, and punctuated the remark with a headlock, but Luffy only scrambled out of his grip, the subject anything but dropped.
“But how come you both know? Who told you? Was it Dadan? That’s not fair!”
“It’s an older brother thing," Sabo said, wisely. "You’ll get it once it’s your turn.”
Their bickering continued, an ever-welcome sound, hearing the laughter in it—the good-natured teasing that warmed her heart; that made it easy to imagine another little shape among them, and three pairs of hands reaching, to steady and lift and and carry, and eager voices encouraging forth a laugh, or little feet to walk.
She looked out across her bar; at the empty tables and chairs surrounding her. Quiet didn’t sit comfortably in her establishment anymore, hadn’t done so since Shanks had left it. Even now it rebelled against it, the room seeming to greedily swallow up the boys’ voices, relishing in the unabashed loudness of it.
She curved her hand over the bump, the little shape within quiet but for the flutters rising to meet her touch, but it wouldn’t be that way for long. In a few months there’d be noise; an entirely new and unique sort, different than anything she’d ever known, but when she thought about it, Makino thought it couldn’t come soon enough—felt suddenly desperate with the need to know it, and the little heart who’d make it.
And it wouldn’t be the worst thing, she thought, a small smile finding her, imagining quick little feet running after her across the floor, and tiny hands gripping her skirt, requesting her attention. A loud little laugh, and that wide, wonderful smile she was trying so hard to hold on to in her memory. Even if it changed nothing—even if he couldn’t come back yet or at all, it wouldn’t be the worst thing, having a small part of him. A child that was his—that was theirs, as hard it still was to believe, even feeling the gentle movements within her.
And she knew then, watching the three boys squabbling over who got to touch her belly next, and who’d be the best older brother, that however many uncertainties she still had regarding her future, and Shanks, she knew one thing with staggering certainty.
That their child would be loved, and fiercely.
—
Dadan stopped by the next day.
“Heard from Luffy that he’s going to be a big brother,” she said, easing her weight onto one of the barstools. It wasn’t with surprise that she said it, but then Makino had already shared the news with her some time ago, long before her pregnancy had become common knowledge around the village. “Ace and Sabo, too. I hope you’re prepared to commit to this, because I doubt they’re ever going to let it go.”
Makino smiled, already reaching for the bottle of brandy she kept under the bar for Dadan’s visits, more frequent now than they had been. “I am,” she said, settling her hand over the bump as she put the bottle on the counter. “It’s nice that they’re excited. And I’ll appreciate the company when the time comes.”
She didn't say that she was lonely; didn't like admitting it out loud, even as she feared it was evident on her face, as bright as all her other feelings.
At the mention, Dadan dropped her eyes to her belly, lingering there a moment, before she raised them back to hers. “You told Red-Hair yet?”
Makino considered the bottle of brandy, worrying the label where a corner had pulled loose, the glue old and faded. “No,” she said, as she made to pour it into a glass. She observed the colour, a deep, reddish brown, and thought of his hair. She very pointedly didn't reach for the anchor resting in the dip of her throat. “I’m still waiting to hear back from Garp.”
Dadan snorted. “You sure he won’t just kill him on the spot? That he hasn’t already? Maybe that's why you haven't heard anything.”
Despite the nature of her thoughts, her smile was quick, startled, although she refrained from pointing out that the thought had in fact crossed her mind, before she'd dismissed it as ridiculous. “I’m hoping he’ll show some restraint.”
“This is Garp, you realise.” At her enduring look, Dadan grunted. “Then again, it’s you. If anyone could convince that man to show restraint, it’d be you.”
Makino felt as her smile softened, hearing the things the remark implied. And she felt the same, every time her baby kicked; the unshakeable certainty that she’d do anything for that little life.
“Makino,” Dadan said then. She shifted her weight on the barstool, and Makino thought she looked a little awkward. And she still had her gaze fixed on her stomach, and Makino wondered for a moment how she looked—if pregnant was the only thing that people thought when they saw her now, or if there was something else to be found in their looks; something that wasn’t immediately pity.
“I’m not good with kids,” Dadan continued, gruffly. “You’d think I would be by now, but I’m still at a loss, most days. I’m winging it with those boys, to be honest. But if you need anything—” She stopped, and cleared her throat. “You'll let me know.”
There was something in her voice as she said it, something rough but starkly earnest, not a trace of awkwardness in the offer despite her earlier fidgeting, and Makino smiled, and had to sob around a laugh when the tears came, spilling over her cheeks before she could reach to wipe them away. “Oh, damn it.”
It didn't do much good, and through the blur she found Dadan grinning. “Cussing now? That part of the pregnancy gig?”
Makino grinned, but didn’t bother to try wiping the tears, letting them fall freely instead. “Maybe. Or it might just be the fact that I burst into tears at nothing these days. It's getting a little old.” But even saying it, her smile persisted. And she didn’t mind the tears, not really. She didn’t mind any of it, the aches and discomforts or the odd cravings, happy to experience it now that she’d rooted her heart in her new future, whatever it brought. She had people around her, people who cared for her, who wanted to help rather than judge her for her decisions. She had a family.
And it wasn’t the first time that she found herself thinking, with a strange weight of certainty, that she could do this.
“Thank you, Dadan,” she said then, and hoped her gratitude conveyed, her hand splayed over her belly where the baby kicked, seeming eager to announce its presence, as though to not be forgotten, although she thought, with that fierce, breathless conviction that still took her by surprise, that she couldn’t imagine even the possibility of doing that, her life forever changed but better for it. She believed that more than anything. All her love for her unborn child, and for its father…Makino didn’t think she could forget it for even a second; that she'd ever want to.
“Refill?” she asked, holding up the bottle.
Dadan’s mouth tugged upwards, as she held out her glass. “Kinda wishing you could have one yourself?” she asked, and Makino laughed.
“Oh, you have no idea how much.”
—
Another week passed, and she still hadn’t heard anything from Garp, although at the end of her sixth month now, Makino was beginning to worry the words she’d have to tell Shanks weren’t 'you’re going to be a father', but 'you are a father. Surprise!'
Okay, so maybe not exactly like that, but her worry these days revolved less around delivering the news, and more around delivering their child before she'd even had the chance to tell him about it.
"Relax," Suzume said, when Makino voiced her concerns. She'd taken the news of her pregnancy in stride—had taken one look at her and shrugged, saying 'it happens'. All things considered (Woop Slap hadn't spoken to her for a full twenty minutes after she'd broken the news to him, opting instead to glare her into submission, which hadn't exactly succeeded—she wasn't as meek as she'd been once), it had been one of the better reactions, but Makino wasn't about to tell her that.
"It's not like Red would make it back for the birth, anyway," she added. "Maybe it's better this way. There won't be any uncertainty when you tell him. Kid's already popped, he's a father, child support will be accepted in treasure or booze, preferably the latter. What?" she asked, catching Makino's look. "It's Red."
Makino didn't like admitting that she had a point—at least about one of those things. And maybe it was better, waiting until after the fact, except that she couldn't quite convince herself.
She wondered sometimes how Shanks would have been, had he known about it, or if he'd been there with her through it all—if he would have loved her changes as she did, and kissed her growing stomach; if he would have been excited, or worried, an anchor when she needed one, or maybe she'd be his.
She fiddled with the one around her neck, feeling out the shape as her thoughts circled back around to where she'd begun.
She decided then, that if she hadn’t heard anything in another week, she’d call Garp and ask. And maybe that was selfish, when she’d already asked the world of him, but with every day that passed and every new little thing she learned about her child, that she couldn’t imagine not knowing about, she felt the growing need to tell him—a genuine desire to do it now, more than something she felt she had to do. He deserved to know, all those little things, however mundane they might seem to anyone else; the way their baby slept, and moved, and felt. She thought, suddenly certain of the fact, of how she remembered him, that Shanks was the kind of man who’d want to know those things.
One week, she decided. She would ask this of Garp, when she'd never asked for anything else.
—
But it would be more than a week before she talked to either of them again.
—
She’d grown accustomed to being woken in the middle of the night, either from her morning sickness, the sudden and acute need to use the bathroom, or by a small, cheeky kick against her hipbone, stirring her from sleep. But it wasn’t her own body that roused her this time, but a sound—a blood-curdling scream, reaching under the surface to drag her out of sleep.
At first she didn’t understand what had done it—couldn’t wrap her sleep-addled mind around what it was she was even hearing, and it took her a moment to resurface fully, and to come awake enough to realise that it was the middle of the night, and then, the next realisation quick in following, that somewhere outside, there were people screaming.
She was alert within seconds, her heart lurching into her throat as the sound continued, ripe with terror, and she realised with a start that she smelled something burning, the scent drifting to her on the cold sea breeze from her half-open window. Was there a fire?
Scrambling for the edge of her bed, she was mindful of her stomach as she made for the door to her bedroom, barefoot and in nothing but her nightdress but without the mind to think about locating shoes, or anything else, acutely aware of the very real danger a fire posed in a village of mostly wooden houses.
The screams hadn’t stopped, seeming only to grow louder as she moved gingerly down the stairs, and fully awake now, Makino realised what was bothering her—that among the familiar presences she could feel, the village she’d grown up in, that she knew, every heart and soul in it, there were some she didn’t recognise, even as she recognised their intent, their feelings bared to her searching, so loud they might as well have screamed them—greed and arrogance. Violence, so pungent she was surprised she couldn't smell it on the air with the smoke.
And she knew then, that it wasn’t just a regular fire; suspected even before she reached the bottom of the steps and caught a glimpse of the street outside, the people running past, just what else it might be, finding all the warnings she’d been raised on coming back to her, and with a vengeance.
Pirate raid.
Her heart thundered in her throat; Makino felt it in her mouth, and she nearly stumbled the last step, her hands shaking where they gripped the banister. She forced herself to breathe through her nose, to stay calm and to not let her fears run away with her, not before she knew what she was up against. She'd been here before; had felt these feelings, had thought these thoughts, even if the situation had been different, and the crew, who'd only brought laughter into her bar and her life.
She thought of Shanks then, desperately—thought of the protective warmth of his presence that had seemed to always welcome her to hide in it, but he was too long gone to protect her now, or their child, and Makino didn't know if she grasped the memory for comfort or for strength, but it helped unfreeze her knees from where they'd locked together, pushing her forward.
She’d just reached the bottom of the stairs when the bat-wing doors swung open, admitting a pair of men—none of whom she recognised, not by their appearances or their presences, and she watched as they halted in their tracks at the sight of her.
There was a moment where they just stared at her, standing by the bar where her heels had rooted themselves to the floor, before the younger of the two grinned, the sight sending a chill down her back, even before his eyes swept across her once, appreciatively, and he said, “Looks like this stop wasn’t a complete waste, after all.”
“No,” his partner mused. He was older, his greying hair drawn back in a sleek ponytail, and his expression didn’t reveal as much as his companion's did. His eyes did the same, assessing sweep, lingering only a little longer on her pregnant stomach, and Makino realised belatedly that she was in only her nightdress, and didn’t need to read everything in the look on his face to know what he was probably thinking.
In her panic, she glanced towards the bar, and the pistol hidden there; the one Yasopp had given her. And she realised her mistake a second too late, from the way the older man followed her gaze.
He’d intercepted her before she could make a lunge towards it, reaching for her hands, and with panic shoving up her throat, making her reckless, she forgot to think as she scrambled to evade his grip, to not let him touch her, stumbling back as he made to pull her forward, and with her ankle folding beneath her she didn’t even have a chance reach for purchase as she fell.
She knocked her head on the bar so hard she saw stars, and the dark claimed her between breaths.
—
She woke, painfully, to voices.
“Careful so you don't drop her,” someone snapped. She couldn’t pinpoint where the voice was coming from, but had the uncomfortable sense that she was being moved, a jarring sensation that sent a blinding pain shooting through her head with every step. “She’s pregnant. You know what that means? She’s worth a fucking fortune.”
“Why, though?” asked another voice, sounding much nearer. “Wouldn’t it just put someone off buying her if she’s got a kid in tow?”
“Idiot. You clearly haven’t been in this business long if you think they’d let her keep it. It’s the kid who’s the real prize. Rich nobles who can’t reproduce on their own, they’ll pay good bucks for a healthy brat.”
“Christ, that’s messed up.”
Laughter, cold and hard. “Right? But it pays like nothing else. Come on—we’re putting her in the hold with the others. I’ll send the doctor down to have a look at her, make sure she’s in good health. No use wasting cargo space for a sick brat, even if the mother’s pretty. The best this village had to offer by a long shot. Worst case, we’ll keep her and toss the kid overboard once it’s born. So get moving while I round up the others, and see if there’s anyone else worth bringing. And if you drop her, I’m coming for your ass!”
“R-roger that, Boss!”
Boss, she thought, detached. Something about the title struck a chord, even through her disorientation. Somehow, she wanted to latch on to it, to remember where she'd heard it, but before she could, she was lost.
—
The next time she woke, she’d forgotten the first.
Blinking her eyes heavily, there was a long moment where she could do nothing but stare up at the ceiling as she slowly came to, although even as she did, something felt off, but she couldn’t put her finger on what.
There was a sound of something creaking—wood? A slow groan rolled through the floor, the walls, and she had the uncanny feeling that the room was swaying. She smelled saltwater, and something worse than that, something the brine couldn’t mask completely, and she wrinkled her nose, and had to keep from gagging.
Turning her head to locate the source of the smell, she winced, a pained sound escaping as her head protested the movement.
“Makino,” said a voice, somewhere above her head. She felt a hand touching hers and started, and when she lifted her eyes she found a woman looking at her, her brows furrowed with concern. She looked familiar, although she couldn’t place where she’d seen her before.
“Is she awake?” someone else asked; another woman’s voice, with a gently lilting accent. She tried to remember where she’d heard that kind of accent before, but couldn’t. It took effort just to think, and it hurt her head so much she had to close her eyes.
“She seems to be drifting in and out,” said the first voice. “She opened her eyes, but I don’t think she recognised me.”
“Did they give her something? Is that why she’s so out of it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I’ll ask when they send their physician down next.”
She tried to murmur something, but didn’t know what she was asking, and felt too tired to enunciate the words properly, feeling how they slurred on her tongue.
The hand in hers left it, splaying over her stomach, before it lifted to touch her brow, the weight of it suddenly comforting. She allowed it to push her under, and offered no resistance when it did, letting go of the throbbing pain in her head with a sigh as she sank back into blissful nothingness.
—
It was a dream that woke her next, jerking her awake, and her body halfway off the bunk she’d been sleeping on.
Her heart was hammering in her chest, and her shift was soaked through with sweat, clinging to her back as she bent forward to catch her breath. And she couldn’t place her whereabouts at once, still coming out of the dream, although she was losing her grip on it by the second. A room full of crowded tables, and a hundred voices raised in song, a single laugh rising louder than the din, and strong arms around her—
“Hey,” murmured a voice beside her, and she felt someone touching her back through her wet shift. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”
She did, filling her lungs until they ached, before pushing it out slowly through her mouth. It helped calm her a bit, her shoulders losing some of their tension as she bent forward, until her brow nearly touched her knees where she’d pulled them up, although it felt difficult for some reason, bending her body that way.
“Makino-san?” the voice asked then, but whoever they were addressing, they didn’t respond. She was becoming increasingly aware of the number of people around her. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel them, somehow; could count them. Five—no, ten. Twenty. Thirty-two, altogether. Who were all these people?
Touching her fingers to her stomach, she paused, opening her eyes as she looked down, and took in the size of it where it swelled, round and heavy under her thin shift.
She stared at it for several seconds, uncomprehending.
“Makino-san?”
That name again. Were they talking to her?
“Who?” she asked, momentarily distracted from the sight of her stomach, and the realisation of what it implied.
She looked at the woman who’d been speaking to her, kneeling by the bunk she was sitting on, her hand resting on her back. “That’s what she called you,” she said. She was young, not even thirty. Her clothes looked worn and filthy, like she hadn’t changed them in weeks, her brown hair matted and greasy where she’d pulled it back from her face, although her eyes were bright and alert; a clear, piercing blue where they bore into hers.
“The woman they brought aboard with you,” she explained. Her expression turned suddenly pained, like it hurt her to speak the words. “They came to take her away, yesterday. Said something about easing the weight of the cargo.”
Cargo? She didn’t understand what she was saying, and couldn’t seem to keep her focus long enough to examine her own confusion. Every time she tried, it slipped between her fingers.
Her head hurt, a persistent throbbing that squeezed against her skull, as though there wasn’t enough room for the pain. Fumbling for the back of her neck through her hair, she felt the bump there, the touch causing her to suck a sharp hiss through her teeth. She must have hit it at some point. Maybe that was why something felt off, and why she couldn’t seem to get a good grasp of her surroundings, or what was happening.
There were more people talking now, murmuring between themselves, and she was uncomfortably aware of how many there were, and that she didn’t recognise any of them. They seemed to crowd her mind, filling it even as she felt like she didn’t have any more room. She barely had space to think.
Blinking her eyes against the dim light, she peered up into a cramped cabin, and she might have mistaken it for any other room, if it hadn’t been for how it swayed.
She was aboard a ship.
And she noticed then, frowning, that there were several compartments within what looked to be a sizeable hold, filled with people, observing her through what she saw were rows upon rows of metal bars, separating them into groups, like cattle tucked into snug little slots.
She realised suddenly that she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten there, or where she was even going.
And fully awake and aware now, she realised something else, something that wiped the remnants of disorientation clean from her mind, even as it left something far worse, and that had a startled keen leaving her, as she scrambled for an answer but came up distressingly short.
Who was she?
—
Garp considered the map before him, and the sheaf of paper with the coordinates, trapped under an empty tumbler. His third drink since he’d been given the note, although it hadn’t helped make things any easier.
He’d tracked down Red-Hair’s crew in Paradise. It had taken some effort, at least without alerting his superiors to what he was up to, but now that he had a course set and a destination in mind, he found himself hesitating.
He didn’t know how to even approach the man. Not when he had to continually fight down the recurring and violent urge to wring his neck. And he hadn’t the faintest idea of how he’d go about arranging this, at least not without revealing the one thing he’d promised Makino he wouldn’t let slip.
He looked at the map again. Less than a day’s voyage, if he could count on them to stay put long enough for him to reach them. All he needed was one word with Red-Hair. What he chose to do after that was up to him, although Garp hoped for Red-Hair's sake that he’d make the right decision—for Makino’s, too, given that she wanted him alive. The brat should only count his luck that that was the case.
But in considering what Red-Hair would do, Garp remembered Roger; the damp prison cell and the pride that had defied it, bright as the grin on his face, and I’m going to be a father, Garp. And he remembered Makino, just a few months ago, her decision made and her chin raised as she told him, resolute, I love him.
He needed another drink.
One of the Den Den Mushi on his desk brought him out of his thoughts, springing awake with a loud chirrup, and Garp frowned at it. It was his private line. Only one person used that, and Makino didn’t call him often. Not unless it was important, anyhow, and Garp remembered her last call well enough.
He felt a flicker of sudden worry, recognising that in her condition there were a number of things that could go wrong, that would require she call and tell him. Then again, it had been several weeks since they’d last talked. Maybe she was simply calling to check if he really was going to do as he’d promised, although that kind of impatience seemed out of character for her, enduring to a fault, and never one to demand anything, least of all from those who deserved it.
Finally, he answered the call, and hoped his voice didn’t sound as wary as he felt. “Yeah?”
There was a long beat. Then, “Garp,” came Dadan’s voice, and Garp blinked, caught off guard, not just by the caller but the sharpness of her voice, and the grief that grated along it, sounding hoarser than her usual smoker’s rasp.
“Dadan?” And suddenly, there was a whole number of possibilities presenting themselves, each one worse than the last; things that could have gone wrong, that would make Dadan sound like that. Something with Ace, or Luffy—
Dadan’s silence was damning, and it didn’t help the sudden dread he felt, looking at the Den Den Mushi, and the wrought, furious expression staring back at him, as Dadan told him, gravely,
“You need to sit down for this.”