I miss you, I’m sorry

by ylc

Summary:

You can’t die of a broken heart.
Unless you’re Kuja, that is.

Notes:

What is this? A new fic? Indeed it is! :p
This little plot bunny had been biting at my ankles ever since chapter 1156 of the manga was released and I started playing with it whenever inspiration for my other WIPs refused to come :p As usual, canon will never be my forte, so please ignore anything that contradicts it too badly! I hope you’ll enjoy it all the same!
And title comes from Gracie Abrams song.

Chapter 1: You said, "Forever, " in the end I fought it (Please be honest, are we better for it?)

The pain is what wakes him up.

Buggy gasps, sitting up, trying to force air into his lungs. It feels like something very heavy is crushing his chest, making every breath tortuous, every attempt to drag more air in making him feel like he’s being stabbed from the inside; like his ribs have been shattered and are now painfully digging into the organs they’re supposed to protect.

Sitting up provides some measure of relief, but just barely. He continues breathing, because there’s nothing else to do, and slowly the pain eases somewhat, or maybe he just gets used to it.

His skin feels clammy and he’s sweating profusely, but if he has a fever, he doesn’t know it. All he feels is the freezing cold, his body slowly growing numb, the cold so sharp that it feels like he’ll never be warm again, frozen needles traveling through his veins, stealing the heat from his body.

He pulls the covers closer to him, but he already knows it won’t help one bit. He’s been feeling like this for days, the pain only getting worse with each passing day. He shivers violently and he can feel tears pooling in his eyes, the pain slowly becoming more focused. It feels like his chest has been hollowed out, his heartbeat slowing to the point of it being concerning, the pain growing more acute.

It feels like punishment somehow. Perhaps it is: gods know he deserves it. After everything-- 

Don’t think about him! He chides himself, but it’s too late, Shanks’s memory coming to the forefront of his mind. The pain flares, as if someone had reached into his chest and was viciously squeezing his heart, sharp nails digging into the soft tissue.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

The memories start playing inside his head, like a carousel, showing some of their best moments. He feels like he can remember every smile, every laugh, every shy kiss. A smile comes unbidden to his lips, the memories tasting bittersweet: he had been so happy once, if only--

His stomach turns and he ends up emptying it next to the bed. He groans dramatically, looking down at the mess, knowing he needs to get up and clean, but his body feels heavy. The pain, once so sharp, has receded somewhat, but it’s not gone, not completely.

He forces himself out of the bed, going to get a mop and a bucket. It’s not the first time he’s been sick these last few days, so he’s made a point of keeping one close by, but once he’s done he has to go wash it out, lest it starts stinking of vomit. He waddles down the corridor, holding onto the walls for support, feeling lighthearted and once he reaches the stairs, he seriously considers leaving it all for tomorrow him: this is a problem he doesn’t feel like dealing with tonight.

But if the sickness continues to progress as it has, he doesn’t have many expectations for tomorrow.

Once he emerges above deck, he’s greeted by darkness, the waxing moon providing very little light thanks to the heavy clouds. The sea breeze blows lazily, barely ruffling his loose hair and so providing little comfort for his heavy body.

He looks upwards, staring at the stars distractedly. He can't remember the last time he lied down on deck just to watch them and a wave of longing threatens to drown him.

What is he doing, really?

He thinks back to Captain's execution, in his mind eye he can see the swords coming down, can feel the ghost of Shanks’s warmth at his side. The pain returns and he sighs: he shouldn't have left the other teen behind.

But what else could he possibly have done? After Shanks said… what he said , what hope was there for them? If he could turn his back on something as huge, why wouldn't he do the same to Buggy later?

You’ve got to leave before you get left, he tells himself, but with each passing day, he believes it less and less.

He wonders, not for the first time, if his mysterious illness is punishment for his crimes. He ran away, leaving the other teen practically stranded on an island swarming with Marines and other dangerous pirates. Between the two of them, Shanks has always been the strongest, but against what other enemies might be out there--

Well.

He's fine, he tells himself as the pain seizes him once more, making him double over before he falls onto his knees, fighting for breath. He needs to worry about himself, he has no time to worry about that idiot.

But as he sinks on his knees, the world getting darker as consciousness slips away, he can't help wishing Shanks was here.

---

Some days are better than others, but he knows this isn't sustainable. He needs to find a cure for whatever odd illness he's contracted: sailing on his own was never going to be easy, but sailing while he's just a moment away from fainting…

Well. That's just suicidal.

He's been looking for a doctor, really. Every island he’s stopped at for provisions, he's made sure to visit the local doctor, but so far none of them have managed to provide any answers, just shaking their heads sadly and suggesting he tries his luck at a bigger island.

Bigger islands come with more dangers though and he’s in no state to put on any semblance of a fight. But even if he was willing to risk it, he fears he might not find a cure anyway: whatever is happening to him, it's nothing like any other sickness he's ever even heard of. His best shoot might be looking in the Grand Line, but--

He shivers just thinking about it. The Grand Line is no place for the likes of him.

He sits on deck and forces himself to breathe as another cold spell takes over him. He hugs his legs close for comfort, crying softly to himself as his body is wrecked with the pain of a thousand frozen needles piercing through his every limb.

He’s scared and in pain and alone. Not for the first time, he wishes Captain had never given that gods-forsaken order, that he still had his family , that there was someone to hold him and tell him everything is going to be fine .

(He wishes Shanks wasn’t a fucking liar . So much for his promises of always being by his side.)

---

The trip up the Reverse Mountain is as hellish as he remembered it. Made worse, perhaps, by the fact that a) he’s the one manning the ship on his own and b) his small ship is barely a step above a dingy, nowhere near as sturdy as the Oro and therefore far easier to topple over, which would be bad enough for any expert swimmer, but it’s twice as bad for a devil fruit user like himself.

But the ice that has settled underneath his bones is far worse. He doesn’t want to die, but if death is the only way to escape this torment… well, then it’s not much of a choice, is it? He’ll either be dead or wishing for death soon , and if there’s one thing Buggy learned while sailing with Roger was to never accept his fate lying on his back, to always put on a fight.

(Even if, you know, he was a liar too . Because the man that was executed in Loungetown certainly hadn’t put on a fight.)

Lady Luck is a fickle mistress, but she likes Buggy well enough and so, against all odds, she delivers him safely to the Grand Line. His eyes water up at the sight of the peaceful waters of Paradise (or well, what passes as peaceful in the Grand Line) and he takes a deep breath, willing himself to soldier on.

It’s gonna be fine , he tells himself as the icy needles dig themselves into his very bones, his chest caving in, stealing his breath. He’ll find a doctor who can tell him what the fuck is wrong with him and then he’ll get a cure.

(He doesn’t really believe that. But maybe if he repeats it enough times, he will. )

 

Drum Island is well known for having some of the best doctors in the world. Buggy was never a fan of winter islands, but it’s even worse now: with the cold that has settled in his bones, the island’s weather makes his whole body ache, every breath making pain shoot up his spine.

If he doesn’t find a cure here…

Well. He supposes he’s as good as dead, then. He knows he can not continue sailing, knows his body won’t hold much longer. The pain flares at random intervals, following no discernible pattern, the intensity varying: sometimes it’s just a mild annoyance, sometimes so terrible that it makes him puke or lose consciousness. He feels weakened, feverish, empty inside.

(It reminds him how alone he is)

---

Drum’s doctors might be the very best, but they are as out of answers as any other ones he saw before. To go looking for the witch , as the locals call her, is a desperate move on his part, his body protesting with every step he takes up the bloody mountain and as he stands outside the woman’s house, he wonders if, perhaps, he should just accept his fate and go lie down.

The pain in his chest certainly suggests that’s the wisest course of action.

Dr. Kureha examines him with painstakingly thoroughness, not saying a word. After describing his symptoms and answering her questions, the woman had looked properly intrigued and as she checks him over, her eyes are alight with morbid curiosity. She isn’t gentle and she has no bedmanner, but honestly, Buggy is in no state to care about those ridiculous things, so he endures the woman’s examination in silence, only complaining every time the pain flares up.

“Most intriguing,” Dr. Kureha says, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “If you had to pick one place where the pain seems stronger, what would you say?”

It’s a stupid question, honestly. The answer is everywhere.

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t give me that, kid. Focus: where it hurts worst?”

Buggy scowls, but complies. If he had to pick one place-- “The chest,” he replies finally and Dr. Kureha nods, as if she had known all along. Perhaps she had and that gives Buggy hope.

She presses one finger in between his sternum. It doesn’t hurt, despite the force behind the touch which is… odd. Shouldn’t that make the pain flare up?  “Does it feel like your chest has caved in? As if there was a hole in it?”

Buggy nods eagerly, hope creeping in, because if she knows what he has… surely she can offer a cure?

Dr. Kureha pulls away, lips turned downward briefly before she quickly recovers her detached manner. “ Huh . I wasn’t aware men could contract it,” she muses to herself as she goes looking for something in the shelves. “Then again, they’re not even supposed to exist, so…”

“What?” he asks, sitting up, a mighty frown on his face. The locals had warned him Dr. Kureha was odd , perhaps a tad nut s, but they assured him she was one of the bests, so--

“What do you know about your parents?” she asks, ignoring his own question and Buggy’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest, making him wince. “I thought as much,” she says, nodding to herself. “Abandoned?”

Buggy nods curtly, looking away. “What does that have to do with this?”

Dr. Kureha hands him a vial and he takes it gingerly. Normally, he’d be wary of any drink a stranger offers, but just then pain shoots across his chest, making him double over and so he hurries to shallow it up as soon as the pain recedes enough for him to sit back again. “Kujas are notoriously cage-y about their culture and customs,” Dr. Kureha says, leaning against the wall. “Amazon Lily is an island of women, but since children can be found and they have survived for centuries, logic says they must reproduce somehow. Now, some animal species have developed clever methods for conception that do not require males, but as far as the medical community has been allowed to study them, Kujas are like your average woman, just prettier.” Buggy hums, uncertain of where this is going, but it’s clear Dr. Kureha can not be rushed and trying to press for answers will only earn him her ill will. “So, conception must happen the regular way. But then a new question arises: how can you ensure only daughters will be conceived? Men are the ones who carry the chromosomes that assign sex at birth and while-- debatable-- there are ways to increase the odds of conception of a son or a daughter, there’s no real guarantee. Now, it is possible that Kujas have developed some genetic oddity that allow their bodies to destroy any sperm carrying the “Y” chromosome but--”

“Can you get to the point?” Buggy asks, because honestly, he has no idea, nor any interest in whatever the woman is babbling about. He had helped Crocus at the infirmary from time to time, but that was mostly because he was angry at, and therefore avoiding , Shanks, rather than because he had any interest in medical matters.

The pain in his chest is worse this time around and he gasps for breath as his chest seems to collapse into itself. He had thought Dr. Kureha’s medicine had provided some measure of relief, but clearly his few moments of peace were just a fluke. 

“You’ve just thought of someone,” Dr. Kureha states and Buggy pursues his lips unhappily. The doctor huffs, amused, shaking her head. “As I was saying… if selective conception isn’t the answer, that only leaves us with one possible answer to our little conundrum: it’s not that Kujas don’t birth boys, they just don’t raise them.”

Buggy blinks, processing the implications. “Are you suggesting my mother was Kuja?”

Dr. Kureha hums. “I suppose it’s possible your father was the one with Kuja’s blood, but you’ve just told me you don’t know anything about your parents,” she says, matter-of-factly. “So yes, if I was a gambler-- and I’m not-- my money would be in your mother.”

Fucking hell. He has no idea how to feel about that. For many years he wondered about his parentage, but-- “Wait. You arrived at this conclusion… how?”

Dr. Kureha sighs, picking the bottle she had discarded earlier on her desk, her earlier enthusiasm while discussing reproductive habits somewhat dimmed. “Your sickness,” she replies and Buggy’s stomach clenches. “I suspect it’s love sickness.”

“That’s impossible,” Buggy replies, because he is familiar with the condition: he had seen the way Shakky had seemed to waste away as she and Rayleigh--

No. It’s just not possible.

“We don’t know how the sickness works,” Dr. Kureha says matter-of-factly. “As I said, Kujas are notoriously closed off to the world and, as far as I know, no one has gotten to study the aliment up close.”

“There’s no cure,” Buggy says, suddenly terrified.

The doctor sighs. “From what we know, nothing other than reciprocated affection. What I gave you earlier… It'll help with the pain, but it’s palliative. If you live, you’ll be forever in pain.”

Buggy scoffs. “If I live,” he hisses sarcastically. “Love sickness is deadly.”

Dr. Kureha offers him a rueful smile and Buggy groans, burying his face in his hands. He’s not Kuja, his mother had left him behind with no clue of who she was… but she gave him her blood and with it, the curse of her people.

Just his luck.

---

Love sickness.

Of all the things in this world, of all the deadly things that could have killed him, it has to be something as stupid as love. He almost wishes Dr. Kureha had left him as in the dark as every other doctor before her had; he can’t decide if knowing for sure that he’s going to die is any better than the uncertainty of not knowing what was going on with him.

Before, at least, he had had hope. Now--

Dr. Kureha is right, there’s not much information out there about love sickness , all he has to go by are stories and rumors and what he himself had seen of Shakky and Rayleigh’s “relationship”, which isn’t much honestly: they had run into the former Empress a few times while sailing with Roger, but it’s not like he witnessed firsthand how things worked between them, had just heard all the whispered tales from their crewmates. He honestly hadn’t cared overly much; all that romance business seemed boring , but now he’s kinda wishing he had: perhaps Shakky’s story would have given him some clues on what to do now.

Still, he knows what he ought to do. He knows what course of action would provide some measure of hope at least: he needs to find Shanks.

But the mere thought makes him sick in his stomach and despite the pain in his chest, he refuses to subject himself to the humiliation of begging for affection. Shanks doesn’t want him, that’s a fact , and he won’t embarrass himself like that, nor will he place his former best friend into the position of forcing himself to love him in an effort to save his life. He’ll have to find another way.

And that means--

It’s time to make a call.

---

As it turns out, it’s not Rayleigh the one who answers the Den Den Mushi.

Considering he didn’t actually provide Buggy with his number and he had copied it from Crocus’s notes, he hadn’t had much hope he would talk to him, but since Shakky is the one who actually picks it up, it works out for the better really.

“I’m lovesick,” are the first words out of his mouth as soon as Shakky greets him and the following silence has him regretting all his life choices. Finally Shakky sighs sadly, asks him where he is and after telling her he’s in Drum, she informs him she’ll see him in a fortnight.

She arrives in ten days.

By then, the pain has gotten so bad that he barely eats and spends most of his day lying in bed. Dr. Kureha has been a good-ish host so far, offering him food and a place to stay when she could have simply sent him away after figuring out she couldn’t be of help. It’s partly because she’s curious about the sickness and this is a unique opportunity to witness how it progresses firsthand and partly guilt no doubt, but beggars can’t be choosers and all that.

“Poor little fish,” Shakky says when he wakes up and finds her sitting next to the bed, running a hand through his hair gently. “I hadn’t thought men could get love sickness.”

There are many ways in which Buggy could reply to that, some more cutting than others, but honestly, he finds it’s no use: what would be the point of arguing with traditions that have been going on for millennia? “Did you know?” he asks, because, honestly, that’s the one question that keeps doing rounds inside his head. He has resigned himself to his fate (more or less), but he’d want to make peace with it too.

Shakky hums. “For what it's worth, Ray always wanted to tell you,” she says gently. “I kept telling him there was little point: if anything, the knowledge would only bring you pain.”

She’s not wrong about that. Still-- “Did you-- did you know my mother?”

“I brought you to Roger and his crew,” she replies, which isn’t the answer to his question, not quite. “Don’t pursue this line of questioning, little fish.”

Buggy bites his lip. He wants to know, but at the same time, he supposes he doesn’t . “Why did you come?” he asks instead and Shakky offers him a small sad smile.

“Why did you call?” Answering a question with another is rude , a fact Rayleigh would often remind them of, accompanied by a bump in the head. Buggy scowls and Shakky laughs goodnaturedly, but she still doesn’t reply, only waits for him to answer her own question.

Ugh. Adults . “I don’t wanna die,” Buggy confesses quietly, staring at his hands linked over his lap. He feels stupid and ridiculous, childish for wishing for the impossible, but-- 

Shakky’s smile is full of fondness, wistful as she reaches out to brush a lock of hair behind his ear. “Then don’t,” she tells him and Buggy scoffs, looking away slightly annoyed. “There are two ways to cure love sickness,” she continues and Buggy looks back to her, heart in his throat. “To have your love reciprocated,” she says and he resists the urge to scream, because really? he knew that one already. “Or for your beloved to die.”

Buggy blinks, processing and a second later a wave of nausea makes him heave, although nothing comes up, seeing he hasn’t eaten in the last couple of days. Still, bile burns his throat on its way up, leaving a nasty aftertaste in his mouth.

“No,” he says, shaking his head furiously, the mere thought bringing tears to his eyes. No, no, not that! How could that even help, when the mere idea of Shanks dead makes his chest squeeze painfully, makes it hard to breathe? How could he ever survive that?

Shakky shrugs non committedly and it occurs to him he said the last part out loud. “Love sickness is the breaking of the heart,” she replies with another shrug. “Hard for someone to break your heart when they’re dead.”

Buggy pulls his legs closer to himself, hugging them in an effort to comfort himself. “So death is my only option.”

Shakky tilts her head to the side, considering. “You said you didn’t want to die.”

“I’m not killing Shanks!” he screams. You might have gotten him killed, a voice whispers viciously in his ear, but he dismisses it: he’s not dead, he’d know it if he was. 

Shakky hums, leaning back on her seat. “I knew there was no way I could take Ray down,” she mumbles, pulling out a cigarette from her jacket’s pocket. “I figured that if I played it dirty, I might succeed, but then Roger would hunt me down, so I’d be dead anyway,” she shrugs, pulling out her lighter, but not bringing it close, just toying with it for a beat.

Buggy makes a face. It’s not… he couldn’t take Shanks down either, of course, but that’s not what he meant. It’s not-- even if he could find a way to, he’d never--

You left him alone on an island full of enemies , the voice from earlier informs him and he shakes his head once again. He did , but it wasn’t his intention, he’d never-- he wouldn’t--

Shanks is fine , he tells himself with determination. He refuses to entertain any other scenario. 

Shakky hums, bringing his attention back to the present and making him look in her direction once more. “I suppose your reluctance to harm him makes sense,” she says, finally lighting up her cigarette. “I also imagine that’s why you’re wasting away so quickly too: the deeper the emotion runs, the quicker the sickness spreads.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, wary, his age old insecurities springing forward. His strength (or lack of it) has always been a sore spot and--

Shakky takes a drag of her cigarette, holding the smoke in as she carefully considers her answer. “When I meet Ray… I had been sailing for almost a good decade with my sisters,” she says, which, again, is not an answer , but he suspects he’s better off not pointing it out. “I was drawn to his handsome looks and brutish strength and of course, the fact that he was an excellent lover helped too.” She laughs as Buggy winces in disgust: there are things he really really doesn’t want to know about his old mentor. “He was… an oddity . I had gotten used to men throwing themselves at my feet the minute they spotted me, readily handing over whatever I asked of them for something as simple as a smile,” she continues, a small amused smile playing on her lips. “Ray was much too levelheaded for that nonsense and much too busy keeping his Captain alive to be overly concerned with me. I liked that. It intrigued me .” She stands up, starting to pace the room. “Is that love, little fish? Curiosity? The desire to know someone better, to understand what goes inside their heads?”

She pauses, as if waiting for an answer and so Buggy gives it some thought. What is love, really? Does he know?

He thinks of Shanks and that bright grin he’d throw his way, making his heart speed up for no reason. He thinks of endless afternoons sitting together, talking about everything and nothing, easy laughter and shared secrets. His chest caves in, but he’s well used to the feeling by now and so he ignores the pain.

When he looks up once more, he finds Shakky giving him a soft smile. “For most of us, our love comes way past our teenage years and without that much of a build up,” she tells him, no longer waiting for his answer. “But yours, little fish, had years in the making. You grew up together and the feeling grew along with you.”

Memories spring forward then, of childish games and childish hurts. The good, the bad, the boring and the exciting. His heart squeezes in his chest, but it’s not painful, just full of longing.

Buggy rubs his chest absentmindedly. He still doesn’t want to die, but he supposes… it’s not as bad. At least, for a time, he knew happiness and honestly, what right does he have to want more?

(But he is a pirate at heart and he’s greedy . Good as the last decade has been, it’s not enough, could never possibly be enough.)

“There are only two ways to cure love sickness,” Shakky repeats and Buggy looks at her once more, frowning a bit at her tone. “But you can survive it, if you’re willing to put in the work.”

Oh. “What do I have to do?”

Shakky smiles ruefully. “It’s very simple, little fish,” she says, taking his hand in hers. “You need to want to live, more than you want him. You need to love life more than you love him .”

Well. That might be tricky.

---

I want… Buggy thinks and interrupts himself as he watches the sun sink behind the mountains. He’s cold, colder than what’s humanly possible, even bundled underneath the heavy rabbit fur Dr. Kureha lent him to use as a blanket, but the cold from the outside helps to distract him from the cold inside.

I want… he thinks again, watching how the sun paints the sky in shades of fiery red and orange. The answer comes easily: it’s obvious really. He wants the same thing he’s always wanted, but he needs to figure out a new one: he can’t have what he wants, so he must search for something else .

I want… treasure beyond my wildest imaginations. Gold, jewels, invaluable objects. I want… power and strength and recognition.

I want… (love).

It’s a start, he imagines. Not a very good one, but a start nonetheless. He can survive, he knows he can , because he really doesn’t want to die. He will not let his life get cut short by that idiot; he’s cost him plenty already, he won’t let him cost him his life too.

Shanks doesn’t want him, fine . He doesn’t need him.

He’ll survive this.

---

When he comes back in, Dr. Kureha is sitting in front of the fire, staring at the dancing flames, lost in thought. He tries to slide in unnoticed, but the woman looks up just then, giving him a quick once over before she scoffs, amused. “All these years of training and they do nothing, but a bit of positive thinking and voila! good as new.”

He scoffs, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “Hardly,” he protests quietly. “I’m still freezing.”

“The cold will never leave,” Shakky says, walking into the room, carrying a whisky bottle with her, making Dr. Kureha raise an eyebrow. “I hope you don’t mind doctor, but few things warm the soul quite like whisky.”

Dr. Kureha snorts, gesturing for her to help herself and Buggy hesitates for a beat when she passes him a tumbler: Rayleigh would let them drink beer and pretend not to see when they stole some rum, but whiskey--

But hey, he might die soon, so what’s the harm? He takes the glass gingerly and takes the smallest of sips, a fact for which he’s grateful as soon as he swallows. The whisky burns all the way down, setting his stomach on fire in a most unpleasant manner.

Shakky’s smile is full of mirth, making Buggy scowl. He takes a bigger sip then, only to be contrary, but he can’t help the face he makes, which makes the woman laugh good naturedly. “As I said, whisky is good for warming up.”

“It tastes awful,” Buggy protests, placing the tumbler down. He frowns, considering her words. “Doesn’t it, really?” he asks, pulling the blanket tighter, hugging himself, feeling childish, but needing the comfort.

“No,” Shakky replies, serious and sad as she takes a sip of her own drink. “Closeness helps, but it’s always there,” she continues, swirling her glass distractedly. “You learn to live with it.”

Buggy sighs, going to sit with his back to the fire, letting it warm him up as much as possible. Dr. Kureha is watching him closely, lips pressed tightly, evidently unhappy and she startles a little when Shakky offers her a drink. The doctor huffs, taking the glass and raising it in a silent toast that Shakky returns.

For his part, Buggy buries himself deeper under his blanket. He’s never been good with the cold and to think it’ll never leave him now--

Gods, how he hates that bastard.

(And yet, how he wishes he was here.)

---

Buggy shivers, the cold in his bones overruling the warmth from the fire. Shakky hums, pulling him tighter against her chest, humming softly as she runs her fingers through his hair, in the most motherly gesture he’s ever seen from her. “It’ll come and go,” she tells him, scratching the nape of his neck. “You learn to live with it,” she repeats.

Buggy hums; his eyelids feel heavy, but sleep eludes him. It’s nice to be held like this though: Roger and Rayleigh had been affectionate in their own ways, but never cuddly. Buggy always craved a warm embrace, but never quite learned how to ask for it, not without feeling weak and pathetic for wanting .

He doesn’t know if Shanks ever figured it out or if he was just touchy by nature, but he’d often reach for him, throw an arm around his shoulders and pull him flushed against his side. At night, he’d insist on climbing in Buggy’s bed, claiming he slept better like that, since it was warmer, always waking up draped like an octopus around Buggy’s frame.

He shakes from the cold and burying himself against Shakky helps little. The woman holds him tighter, rubbing his back comfortingly. “There, there, little fish. Don’t think about him.”

By now he’s figured that thinking about Shanks triggers the pain and the cold, but not thinking about him is easier said than done. For so long he was such a big part of his life, it’s hard to think of anything of his past that doesn’t involve him in one way or another. “Why do you call me that?” he asks, hoping for a distraction.

Shakky’s lips curve upwards wistfully and she throws a quick glance in the direction Dr. Kureha disappeared an hour or so ago. The older woman had many questions about Kujas and the love sickness and while Shakky had answered most, she had kept her answers short and vague until the doctor scoffed and, figuring she wasn’t getting any more intel, had simply stayed to drink in silence.

Kujas are notoriously closed off about their ways and culture, so he’s not surprised by Shakky’s secrecy. He imagines that whatever she’s about to say pertains to their tribe, although Buggy isn’t sure if he has any right to claim them as his . His mother’s blood is what has cursed him to this awful torment, but-- “Kujas have two mothers; the one who carries us in their wombs and the ocean. We have our births in the water, so the babies can be introduced to their other mother; it’s considered unlucky otherwise,” she explains and her lips twist briefly at this, but she quickly recovers, shaking her head. “Swimming comes naturally to most babies, most can at least float somewhat, but you… you were blessed, little fish. You weren’t one of us, but your mother blessed you all the same.” She runs her fingers through his hair, wistfully staring at the blue strands. “She’ll never drown you.”

Buggy laughs bitterly. He certainly avoids giving her the chance now. “I’m a devil fruit user. I get into the water, I sink like a dead weight.”

“She won’t drown you,” Shakky repeats stubbornly, smiling a bit more and Buggy huffs, but lets it go. It’s not like it matters, he imagines. “The elders didn’t know what to do about you: you were evidently blessed by our mother, but you weren’t one of us, not in the traditional sense,” she continues, still playing with his hair. “I thought sending you with Ray made the most sense: that way I could keep an eye on you in case… in case there was something we hadn’t seen.”

Buggy hums. He grew up just fine, he thinks, he had a family who loved him the best they could, even if sometimes he felt like he didn’t belong. Still, he had never truly missed his mother, not exactly: he had just felt unwanted. In some ways he imagines he was, but at least now he understands why .

It’s a bit of an empty consolation.

---

The sun is starting to set by the time he finally makes it to the shore.

His breath catches in his throat as he stares at the way the sun paints the water red, like blood. He’s always been a bit poetically inclined, even if he’d never say any of the things he thinks out loud, but whenever he and Shanks were apart for whatever reason, he liked to watch the setting sun because it reminded him of the idiot.

His heart clenches and the pain flares, but it doesn’t make him double over and he considers that progress.

He steps closer to the shore carefully, letting the water lick his feet. He can feel the strength draining out of him right away, but he can keep walking for a little longer, until the water reaches knee high. He thinks of what Shakky told him and he does not believe the ocean will spare him, not really, but he doubts he can drown like this. He kneels down, letting the water reach higher and while his body feels heavy, moving slowly as if he was half asleep, the water doesn’t pull him under.

He used to love to swim so much, the ocean was the one embrace he could always count on, loving and comforting as a mother’s. The thought almost makes him laugh out loud now, but the way the cold has started to settle underneath his bones again steals what little joy he can find.

He stares as the sun continues its way down, giving room for the moon to come up. Once, in a small town somewhere, he overheard a group of young women trying to cheer up one of them, telling her you don’t die of a broken heart. It hurts like hell, sure, but you eventually move on.

Except, Kujas don’t .

It’s unfair, really. To think he’ll never love again, that his heart will never race at the sight of someone, that his stomach won’t flutter with a million butterflies. He’ll never experience the joy of being in love and knowing it, of enjoying the warmth of the closeness of his beloved.

To think, he loved Shanks and never knew it and now that he’s lost him for good…

He’s crying, he realizes with a start. Shame makes him want to wipe the tears straight away, but he lets them fall. He’s alone and he’s mourning, not only his recent loss, but the loss of the future. He mourns for what it was, yes, but he also mourns for what will now never be.

And that, somehow, it’s worse.

Chapter 2: Nothin' happened in the way I wanted (Every corner of this house is haunted)

Summary:

Summary: how do a emotiona constipated first mate and his Captain raise a couple of emotionally stable boys?
It's simple really:
They don't.

Notes:

I’m a dirty liar who lies. Who was I kidding when I said I wasn’t going to write more? :p So here I am once again, although I keep telling myself we’re going to keep this short (but again, I’m a dirty liar who lies, so…)
Full disclosure, this chapter isn’t heavy on the shuggy, but I need to give you guys context :p Also, the manga chapters keep giving me feelings, so…
Enjoy!

“Please tell me you’re not saying what I think you’re saying.”

Shakky narrows her eyes at him, evidently displeased. Rayleigh is vaguely aware it might be rude of him to question her centuries old traditions, but-- “It’s our culture,” she replies icily, shoulders pushed back, voice steady and dripping venom. “We’re the daughters of Amazon Lily.”

Rayleigh sighs, looking at the young boy clutching at the former Empress’s skirts, and he smiles at him, hoping to help him relax. The boy however hurries to hide behind the woman, although he keeps peeking from behind her curiously, blue eyes endless pools of wonderment. He can’t be a day above three, which makes Rayleigh wonder just how exactly this whole business works: based on what Shakky has just told him, he’d have thought the Kujas got rid of their boys as soon as they were born, but--“Well, he’s certainly as pretty as any of your lot,” he says, aiming to defuse the tension in the air, ignoring his misgivings and Shakky offers him a rueful smile. “I’m sure he’ll break as many hearts as any Kuja.”

Shakky looks down at the kid, placing a hand on his back and gently encouraging him to step forward. “One can only hope it’s not the other way around,” she agrees softly and Rayleigh wants to kick himself for saying something so bloody cruel. Has he learned nothing?

The woman however is no longer paying attention to him and if she’s hurt by his careless words, she certainly doesn’t show it. She has managed to get the boy to step forward and she’s now leaning down, so she’s at the boy’s eyelevel. “Now Buggy, you’ll be good, won’t you?” she asks him, pushing his long blue locks behind his ears.

The child’s gaze flickers to Rayleigh briefly and then to Shakky, evidently scared, but he slowly nods his head, letting go of the fabric of her skirt. “Bye bye, auntie,” he says, voice a barely audible mumble, but clear as water. He looks at Rayleigh once more, clutching the lion plushie he’s carrying closer to himself.

“Bye bye, little fish,” she tells him with a fond, almost wistful smile, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and the boy bites his lip harshly, doing his best effort to not start crying. Rayleigh makes a face, unhappy but knowing there’s nothing he can do: if anything, taking the boy with him is the only kindness he can offer.

“Come on kiddo,” he says, offering his hand, which the boy takes gingerly. His hand is smaller than Shanks’s, he notices and he really really hopes the other boy won’t throw a tantrum about the crew’s newest addition: poor child is having a hard time already, having to leave everything he knows, he wouldn’t want to add to his pain.

Buggy’s steps are wobbly as they exit the inn under the watchful eye of the former Kuja Empress. Rayleigh looks at Shakky once more before exiting the place and while he fancies there’s something in her gaze that might be regret, she simply offers him a nod when their gazes meet, before looking away.

Rayleigh sighs.

So there’s that.

***

“Ray!” Roger exclaims cheerfully as soon as he sees him approach. “I was beginning to worry you had left us for greener pastures,” he says with an easy grin, throwing an arm around him once he’s made his way up the plank, pulling him flushed against his side, not noticing the kid trailing after. “I feared you might have finally succumbed to our dearest Empress’s charms.”

“She’s no longer an empress,” Rayleigh argues, placing a hand on Buggy’s back to encourage him to step from behind him, so he can properly meet Roger. “And she was merely doing a delivery.”

Roger’s gaze drops to the child, eyes going round with surprise, although his smile never wavers. “And who’s this little stowaway?” he asks, crunching down so he’s face to face with the boy. “Is he yours?”

Rayleigh throws him a look, slightly annoyed: he’ll never understand Roger’s obsession with his relationship with Shakky. “No,” he replies simply.

“Are you quite sure?” Roger insists, looking between him and the child, as if looking for similarities, although the smile pulling at his lips tells him he’s mostly trying to annoy him. “Why else would Shakky drop a kid with you?”

Rayleigh huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “If you must know, I’ve never slept with her.”

Roger blinks, looking up at him, surprised. “Really? Never?” Rayleigh shakes his head and Roger whistles. “I know more than one man who’d give an arm for such a chance, myself included! And you’re telling me--?”

The first mate glares. “Given her feelings, it seemed unwise, not to mention cruel,” he explains, looking down at the kid once more. “One of her sisters is his mother.”

Roger hums, watching the boy closely, offering him a friendly smile that hides the many concerned thoughts running through his mind. Rayleigh doubts there's any real danger to be found in the poor Kuja boy, but one never knows. After all, their other little orphan--

As if summoned by his thoughts, Shanks comes running, peering over Roger’s shoulder at the newcomer. “Who's this?” he asks, way too loud and enthusiastic. Buggy, who had stayed quiet and very still while the adults talked, immediately fidgets, scared but not wanting to show it, peering at the other boy from underneath his long lashes.

“Shanks, this is Buggy,” Rayleigh introduces them and he realizes he hadn't told Roger the boy’s name. “He's gonna stay with us from now on. You’ll share a room.”

He expects Shanks to throw a temper tantrum: after all, toddlers never take change easily and Shanks is especially prone to possessiveness, not liking sharing people's attention or his things. But the boy only nods once, his gaze on his new companion the whole time. “Alright,” he agrees easily with a bright grin, taking Buggy’s small hand in his. “Come, let's play!” he says and a second later he's running off with the blue haired boy in tow.

“Huh,” Roger mumbles, standing up and watching them go. “Do you imagine the infamous Kuja charm starts manifesting so soon?” And he's teasing, Rayleigh knows, his playful smile tells him as much, but--

Well. Who knows?

***

Will the wonders never end?

Shanks has spent all day in his best behavior, showing Buggy around the ship and introducing him to the adults, not once complaining about being tired or-- god forbid-- bored, which is pretty uncommon. He even allowed Roger to put him down for a nap after lunch without a fuss and had actually finished “his chores” without being prompted. Even if he had some help in the form of their newest addition, Rayleigh can't help but be surprised by the fact that when bedtime rolls around, Shanks has finished all his tasks without uttering a single word of complaint. Moreover, he’s not running wildly around the ship, claiming not to be tired and being a general menace, but instead he's curled underneath the covers, waiting patiently for the Captain’s bedstory.

The only thing is that he's not in his own comfortable bed, but in Buggy’s improvised one, clutching the other boy as if was a plushie.

Rayleigh sighs. “Shanks, go to your bed.”

The boy shakes his head, squeezing Buggy tighter. “Don't wanna,” he argues. “Warmer like this,” he mumbles, burying his nose in Buggy's neck, as if to prove a point.

“Are you okay with this?” he asks Buggy, hoping that Shanks will be moved by the other boy’s comfort, but surprisingly Buggy nods at once, even hugging Shanks back, which of course only makes the other boy beam.

Goddess, he just knows he’s going to regret this. He’s not sure how or when, but he will.

Roger is no help of course, only offering him a bright grin when he looks at him and Rayleigh sighs, resigned. It’s been a long day and Buggy can probably use the comfort of his new friend, he imagines. He’s not sure what’s up with Shanks, because he’s certainly not this friendly usually, but you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all that.

“Then you both get in the bed,” he orders, because if they’re going to be crammed together anyway, they may at least not sleep on the floor. The boys hurry to comply and Rayleigh pinches the bridge of his nose as he watches them clamber onto the bed, pushing each other around in their attempt to fit on the tiny bed, but while they squabble, there’s obviously no ill-will in it, so he lets it pass.

As the children settle down and Roger starts with his story, Rayleigh can’t help the fond smile that comes unbidden to his lips and he dares to think things will work out alright. He’s still not happy about the whole mess, but overall he figures the outcome is not that terrible:

after all, the little Kuja boy might have lost his mother and kin, but he’s gained a new friend and a family.

That should count for something.

---

---

“We’d have noticed, don't you think?” Roger asks, a bit apropos nothing, making Rayleigh frown in confusion. They’re standing at the quarterdeck, watching the crew load the supplies and just then Gaban looks up, meeting Rayleigh’s gaze and the first mate throws him a cocky smile that has the other man making a rude gesture with his hand, a fact for which he quickly gets reproached by the rest of the crew, since the kids are currently trailing after him.

“Buggy’s looks,” Roger clarifies, bringing him back to the Captain's words. “If he got them from his mother, we’d remember her, wouldn't we? I mean, I was plenty distracted by Shakky, but a nose like that--”

“Careful there,” Rayleigh warns, making sure the boy is far away enough that he won't accidentally overhear them. When Shakky had presented him with the young boy, he had thought the big red nose was the result of some bug’s sting, but it seems it’s really just like that. It's… attention grabbing to be honest; people will stare at it entirely too often and so it's a source of constant teasing, which in turn has given the boy a bit of a complex.

Roger chuckles good naturedly. “Personally, I think it's unique,” he says with a bright grin. “I wouldn't mind having something so distinctive,” he continues, twirling the edges of his long mustache thoughtfully.

Rayleigh rolls his eyes fondly. “Kids can be merciless,” he says, watching as the boy starts bickering with Shanks. This far away he can't hear what the argument is about, but he has no doubt it's something stupid. “They can be cruel to those who are different.” Shanks will tease him all day, but he doesn’t mock him and he’s quick to come to Buggy’s defense when other kids (or the crew) do, but--

Roger hums. “It might turn out to be a good thing. I wouldn't want to need to worry about chasing away potential suitors.”

Rayleigh snorts. “He's eight Roger,” he says. “I doubt you need to worry about that anytime soon.”

“Perhaps,” the Captain agrees thoughtfully. “But those Kuja genes might manifest in weird ways: you’ve noticed how nice he smells?”

Yes, but he's also noticed how picky he’s about his hygiene, taking every chance given to have a bath, unlike their other, half feral child. Then again, Kujas are known for smelling nice, no matter what, so--

Still, Rayleigh doubts there's anything they need to worry about. In any case, if the day comes in which they need to actually worry about stuff like that, Rayleigh knows neither he nor Roger will be the ones chasing off any potential suitors.

After Buggy came abroad, Rayleigh had thought Shanks had outgrown his possessive streak, since he was all too happy to share everything with his new playmate and, as he grew older, he was all too happy to gift him whatever random trinket he got that grabbed the other boy’s attention. But while he’ll share about everything with his fellow apprentice, he certainly won’t share Buggy with others, monopolizing the kid’s time and attention, throwing epic tantrums when the other boy is otherwise occupied or sulking dramatically if Buggy happens to not want to spend time with him for whatever reason.

But again, they’re eight, so he might still outgrow that possessive streak. Or he might get distracted by other boys or girls his own age, but they’ll cross that bridge when they get there.

For the time being however, they’re just a pair of children without a care in the world. So Rayleigh smiles, watching as the apprentices continue to bicker, their voices getting louder as they come closer, arguing about fish of all things. They seem keen on deciding which type tastes better and Rayleigh rolls his eyes fondly because honestly, they’ll pick the stupidest arguments, never failing to bring a smile to everyone’s lips until they get so loud it just becomes annoying and then Rayleigh has to intervene.

For the time being though… he’ll let them be.

---

---

“Ah, my favorite pirates!” Shakky exclaims cheerfully as soon as the bar’s door opens, admitting them in. “Where are my favorite boys? My best assistants?” With a twin groan, Shanks and Buggy approach the woman dutifully, letting her pull them into a hug as she exaggeratedly kisses their cheeks, making them groan once more. “Now, now. You’ve got any idea how many men would kill for a kiss of mine?” she asks jokingly, pinching Shanks’s cheek and making the boy squeak.

“I know I would!” Roger declares promptly and Shakky giggles as the boys roll their eyes dramatically. 

“There,” Shakky declares, stepping closer and pressing a short kiss to the Captain’s cheek and he swoons theatrically, much to the amusement of the bar’s patrons. “Now, you’re gonna help around too?”

Roger nods eagerly, taking the apron Shakky has produced from behind the bar with great care, as if she had handed him some precious treasure. Shanks and Buggy mumble their complaints, but they take their own aprons and go help around the bar, by now well used to becoming Shakky’s chore boys while they’re at her bar.

Roger, of course, is no help at all, basically standing around and being more of a hindrance than any help, although he does keep bringing drinks around for the crew. Rayleigh settles at the table, ignoring his Captain’s theatrics but keeping his gaze on him, eagerly accepting every drink that’s pushed in his direction by the rest of the crew, largely ignoring their comments and teasing remarks.

He can feel Shakky’s eyes on him from time to time, but by now he’s well used to ignoring them. He likes her, wants her even (as anyone who is even mildly attracted to women would) but he can’t give her what she wants and he’s not cruel enough to pretend otherwise.

So he lets his Captain act the fool and ignores his own pesky feelings.

***

“--such a horrible man!” Roger exclaims, way too loudly, especially considering they’re the only patrons left in the bar. Shakky huffs, amused, her gaze flickering to Rayleigh briefly before she turns her attention back to Roger. “Oh, Shakky, why did you have to fall for such a horrible man?! I’d have made you so happy!”

She huffs once more, pushing her long hair back, standing up straighter. “Would you?” she asks, sarcastic. “Would you have dropped everything and come to me when I asked?” she continues, running one delicate finger down Roger’s jaw, playful and seductive and Rayleigh pursues his lips. They rescued her from a terrible fate but while he has no doubt she’s thankful for it, she certainly hasn’t forgiven him for tossing her love away both before and afterwards that event and never misses the chance to make some sarcastic comment about it.

Sometimes, when he sees her smile, wide and unburdened, he thinks he could love her like she wants him to. Most of the time however, he knows he can’t: his place will always be at Roger’s side and nothing and no one will make him walk away from him, so--

“Well, no,” Roger admits and both him and Shakky scoff. “But I’d take you with us! Come on, don’t you miss the sea?”

The former Empress's eyes go glassy as she stares into the distance, a wistful smile on her lips. “A Kuja never stops hearing the sea calling,” she whispers sadly. “But my place is not out there anymore,” she tells him, expression carefully controlled now.

Roger makes a face, evidently missing Shakky’s tone, not hearing what’s left unspoken. “Fine, I wouldn’t take you with us then. But I’d keep coming back to you,” he says and Rayleigh wonders just how much has he been drinking, to speak so candidly, especially with Rayleigh right here. His chest feels tight and he feels vaguely annoyed, but certainly not enough to speak against his Captain.

“You’d make a horrible husband, Roger,” Shakky says, voice full of good humor.

“I wouldn’t!” he protests, reaching for her hands. “Won’t you give me a chance, Shakky? Forget all about Rayleigh and love me instead!”

Rayleigh throws him a glare, but Roger isn’t looking at him, his whole attention on Shakky. The woman chuckles quietly, sadly. “I’m afraid that’s not how it works,” she says softly, remorseful. “We can not choose who we fall in love with. And once given, a heart can never be recovered.” Her gaze flickers back to Rayleigh and stays there, holding his stare. “No matter how much it pains me, I’m afraid I’ll love him till the end of my days.”

Rayleigh’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest. “Shakky--”

“Don’t,” she interrupts him gently. “I have no use for your pity or your excuses,” she tells him, freeing herself from Roger’s grip and turning around, heading for the kitchen. “Now, where are my assistants? I have a special treat for them!”

Shanks and Buggy appear, as if summoned by magic and Rayleigh watches her interact with the kids, his heart heavy. Roger places a hand on his shoulder in silent support and he’d glare at him once more, if he thought it’d help at all.

She’s right. We do not choose who we fall in love with.

The heart wants what it wants.

---

---

“I told you those Kuja genes were going to be a problem in the long run,” Roger tells him as he takes another swing from his tankard. Rayleigh scoffs, taking a sip from his own drink, eyes focused on the scene developing in front of him, ready to intervene should the need arise.

The kids need to learn to fight their own battles, but--

“Ah, I should have known you mama bears would have noticed already,” Gaban says with a grin as he takes a seat next to them by the bar. “The boy’s got game, no doubt.”

“I do not believe he knows what he’s doing, so I don’t think it counts,” Roger argues, eyes narrowed. “Also, he’s thirteen.”

Gaban scoffs. “What were you doing at thirteen?” he asks and Roger’s cheeks go bright red while Rayleigh rolls his eyes. That’s beyond the point really, this is one of their boys they’re talking about and it’d be one thing if Buggy was actively flirting back with any of his swarm of admirers, but since he looks more intimidated than interested…

Well. He’s not about to intervene just yet, but he’s ready to.

Now that puberty has hit the kids, he fears Roger’s fears of a few years ago weren’t as unfounded as he had thought. Kujas are renowned for their beauty, although most of them aren’t attractive in the conventional sense, but they all have a certain air of grace and charm that draws in people like honey does flies. Buggy seems to have inherited this weird kind of allure, possessing a kind of beauty that seems to confuse as much as it attracts the boys and makes the girls a rare mix of jealous and interested, drawing far more looks than a teen his age should.

And the thing is, the boy doesn’t even seem to realize it, childish insecurities running deep. The nose is as red and as big as it’s always been, but he’s growing into it, making it more of an interesting feature than a source of mockery, although he can not be convinced of this and so whenever he’s approached by a boy or a girl with heart eyes, he seems to panic, acting wary and being louder and ruder than usual. That’s not enough to discourage his most ardent admirers though and so Rayleigh makes sure to keep an eye on him, just to make sure he’s safe.

One of his most insistent admirers, a young man that seems like he has a couple of years on him and all the arrogant confidence that comes with experience, wraps a hand around Buggy's wrist, pulling him closer. Buggy startles, too surprised to do much more than stare and while Rayleigh is out of his seat a second later, Buggy's constant shadow has stepped in first.

Shanks appears as if out of thin air, throwing an arm around his friend's shoulders, easily detangling him from the other teen's grasp. A growth spurt hit him earlier this year and so he stands 3 whole inches taller than Buggy, which coincidentally also gives him some height advantage over this particular overly confident teen. Considering how quickly he grew, his muscles haven't had the time to grow around his frame, so he's all long gangly limbs and no real bulk, but the strength is there and his newly awakened Conqueror Haki is nothing to scoff at, so he has no trouble dealing with any unwanted advances his best friend suffers.

“Aren't you glad they’re a matched set?” Gaban jokes, grin wide and gleeful. “I thought we were supposed to be celebrating? Stop worrying, you motherhens and let's get properly drunk!”

Rayleigh scoffs as Roger cheers, calling for the bartender. The first mate's gaze lingers for a beat on the teens now sitting in the corner, lost in their own world, talking in hushed whispers among themselves.

Time has a tendency to slip through your fingers when you’re not looking and this is especially true when children are involved. It seems like just yesterday Rayleigh was bringing aboard a little boy, worrying about how his other little boy was going to react and now they’re both teens, causing him many more headaches than he’d care to suffer through, bickering among themselves half of the time, but thick as thieves all the same, constantly causing trouble and getting on Rayleigh’s nerves.

(And yet, he wouldn’t change them for the world.)

---

---

Hormones are treacherous things and cooped up in the same ship as they are, Rayleigh should not be surprised that the teens take to… experiment with one another. It's perfectly normal and not something he’d give a second thought most of the time, but having run into them heavily making out in the pantry…

Well. Maybe it's time for a little talk.

“Who would have thought the danger would come from within our own walls?” Roger jokes when Rayleigh shares the news with him. He throws the Captain a glare, earning himself a loud fond chuckle and an arm thrown around his shoulders and so of course he quickly forgets all about his annoyance.

“Can’t you take anything seriously?” he asks, playfully shoving the other man away. “I’m concerned.”

“About what?” Roger asks, still sounding amused. “It’s all part of growing up. They’ll grow out of it eventually and it’s not like we have to worry about little ones becoming part of the equation.” He laughs some more as Rayleigh makes a face, patting his back with way too much strength. 

Rayleigh sighs, leaning against the ship’s rail as he considers. Roger is right, of course; it’s not uncommon for crewmates to come up with arrangements while at the sea, it comes with staying in a ship for long periods of time, with little access to land. Why, he and Roger used to have a bit of an arrangement, until--

Until what, exactly? Now that he thinks about it, he’s not entirely sure why they stopped, they just sort of did.

“If you’re really concerned though,” Roger continues, a bit more serious. “Perhaps we can have Crocus give them the talk? You know, just to make sure they’re safe and they don’t end up doing something incredibly stupid.”

Rayleigh hums. He feels like Crocus won’t be happy with the task and perhaps that sort of conversation is one he (or Roger) should have with the kids, it feels like the sort of thing a parental figure ought to do.

He scrunches his nose. He never wanted kids for himself, but look at him: he ended up raising two, one of them at the bequest of a woman he has hurt in irreparable ways and so it felt like the least he could do and the other--

Well. Roger asked, so how could he say no?

He looks at the Captain once more, frowning a little as he considers. He can not honestly remember the last time they slept together; it must have been over a decade ago, perhaps even two. It’s not important, he imagines: It’s not like he’s going to share with the kids that particular bit of information and it was ages ago, so whatever reason he (or Roger) had to stop their rendezvous is probably water under the bridge; perhaps it was some silly argument or another that got them at odds with each other for a while and by the time they forgave each other--

(Or maybe… The memory of heated kisses springs onto him, his chest aching for some reason and so he hurries to shove the thought away.) 

It doesn’t matter, really.

(But why can’t he stop thinking about it now?)

***

The conversation goes well-ish, all things considered. It’s a bit awkward and he suspects the boys weren’t paying him all that much attention, way too embarrassed of having been caught red handed to really focus, but he doesn’t run into them making out again (in the pantry or elsewhere), so he imagines they either learned to be more discreet or they figured it wasn’t worth the embarrassment.

All for the best, probably. 

---

---

“And that’s the end of an era,” Gaban tells him, his hand landing on Rayleigh’s shoulder in silent reassurance, both too proud to admit how affected they are by the circumstances.

The crew (what’s left of it) is saying their goodbyes at the dock, hugging each other and shedding manly tears as they recall happier days among themselves.

Behind them, the Oro burns up, painting the sky in shades of red and orange: a ship so fine deserves a proper goodbye, although it’s a pity to destroy it.

And a little farther away, their two young apprentices watch in silence. Shanks has his arm thrown around Buggy’s shoulders and while they’re both trying to act unaffected, there are big fat tears running down their cheeks.

“The end of an era,” Rayleigh agrees, watching the kids, his heart aching. It pains him to leave them like this: still so young and immature, nowhere near ready to fly on their own. And yet he also knows that’s how it must be: they need to fly on their own now or they never will.

“Gonna miss everyone,” Gaban musses. “The kids too, even if their arguments drove me insane half of the time.”

Rayleigh chuckles good naturedly, ignoring the way his chest constricts: Roger instructions were clear, they’re to disband and never reunite, but he’s gonna miss the crew and Roger’s last order feels impossibly cruel.

“What are you gonna do now?” Gaban questions, gentle, almost too gentle. “Is it time to finally settle down? Tie yourself down?”

He thinks of Shakky and her bar on Saboday. His heart flutters briefly; it’s not a bad plan, not at all. It’s not what he’d prefer, for sure, but what he’d want is no longer an option,so-- “Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “I think it’s time I do.”

Buggy yells and Shanks’s laughter rings bright and loud, making Rayleigh look in the teens’s direction once more, a smile coming unbidden to his lips. They’ll be fine, he thinks: they’re losing their family today, but at least they have each other.

That’s good enough.

***

Shakky welcomes him in, although there’s no denying the sadness in her gaze, her quiet resignation. He doesn’t understand it: he thought she’d be happy or at least satisfied with his decision.

“Oh, I am,” she assures him gently, cupping his face between her hands, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I just wish things were different,” she tells him softly, rubbing her thumb over his cheek with infinite gentleness.

He does too, to be honest. He wishes he could love her like she deserves, that this life could be enough. That he could want this, really want it and not just resign himself to it.

But it feels like a cruel thing to say.

---

---

Roger’s dead.

He had known it was coming, had known it all along. He never shared his plan with him, but he had known. And yet, now that it has happened--

How is he supposed to live, with this hole in his chest? Who could ever survive this kind of pain? Drunk as he is, he has no qualms about posing the question to Shakky, unconcerned with the sadness lurking in her gaze. She offers him a bitter smile and presses a kiss to the top of his head, before going to fetch another bottle for him.

He just keeps on drinking.

---

---

“Oh, you’re back!” Rayleigh exclaims cheerfully when he walks into the bar and finds Shakky behind the counter, cleaning some glasses. He’s taken to sailing around for short periods of time, getting caught in small adventures of one kind or another and then coming home back to his woman, who’s always patiently waiting for him. A week ago however, he had come to an empty home and for a while, he had felt true fear:

(If Shakky left him, what would he have left?)

“I am,” she agrees quietly, continuing with her task without turning to look at him, her voice full of sadness.

“Everything alright?” Rayleigh asks, approaching her slowly, almost warily. He places a hand on her arm gently and Shakky sighs, leaning back into him, eyes closed and he feels himself relaxing: if she still welcomes his touch, she’s probably not upset with him. “Where did you go?”

“Drum,” she replies quietly and Rayeligh frowns when she offers no follow up.

“What’s in Drum?” he asks, rubbing her arms gently, providing what little comfort he can. She’s cold, almost deadly so and he wonders what happened: Drum is a winter island, true, but it’s far away from Saboday, she has had enough time to warm up.

“Who,” she corrects gently. “I went to visit the little fish.”

Rayleigh’s stomach sinks and he turns her around, perhaps a little too forcefully, but he can’t help his concern. “Is he alright? What happened?” he asks, fearful. He had told himself he had to let the kids fly on their own, but if they’ve run into trouble--

“He’s lovesick,” Shakky explains, holding his gaze and there’s an accusation in her eyes. Rayleigh blinks, processing, his stomach sinking further.

“I thought--” he begins, biting his lip midsentence, looking away, trying to get his thoughts in order. His first and foremost concern is Buggy, but love sickness is not a subject he wishes to discuss with Shakky, not ever, and yet-- “I didn’t think men could get it.”

Shakky shrugs. “There are no documented cases, but then again, it’s not like we keep track of the boys,” she replies, pulling away from him, hugging herself, gaze dropped low. “It’s definitely love sickness, though.”

Rayleigh frowns, considering. Only one answer comes readily and he doesn’t think he likes it. “Shanks?”

She hums. “It seems they parted ways at Lougetown,” she tells him and Rayleigh curses quietly. I told you those Kuja genes were going to give us trouble, Roger’s voice whispers in his mind, half playful, half accusing. 

Damn it all! He hadn’t thought--

He meets Shakky’s eyes, sees the pity and the pain reflected there. He finds himself thinking of what she told him a lifetime ago, when she first brought the kid to him, when he joked about all the hearts he would break one day.

He had, even if he doubts he ever noticed. But-- One can only hope it’s not the other way around, Shakky had said then. 

Damn it all. 

***

Shakky comes to find him later that day, holding a pair of coffee cups like a peace offering. Looking at her closely, he can see she looks a little sick herself and the smile she offers him looks strained, almost painful to look at.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles quietly, taking the cup from her, making room on the rock he’s sitting on for her. It’s a tight fit, but they manage, sides pressed closely together and she leans her head against his shoulder without a word, not quite accepting his apology, but not refusing it either. “Is he--? Well, not alright obviously, but…”

“He’ll live,” she replies, her voice gentle, comforting him despite it all. “He’ll forever be in pain, but he’ll learn to live with it,” she adds, holding her cup between her hands, as if to warm herself.

Are you always in pain? he wants to ask, but it feels poor taste. There’s nothing he can do about it, anyway. “I didn’t think men could get love sick,” he repeats and Shakky hums questioningly. “I just-- I didn’t think we could love like that.”

Shakky lets out a bitter laugh, turning to face him fully. “You think you can't love like that?” she asks him, voice full of hurt and it pains Rayleigh, but he really can’t. He’s tried, but-- “Oh, dearest. How little you understand your own heart,” she tells him, waving a hand dismissively when he opens his mouth to apologize once again. 

They sit in silence for a while, watching the moon hanging high in the sky and drinking their coffee. “I’m sorry,” he repeats when the silence becomes oppressive and Shakky hums in acknowledgement. “I just-- I don’t think I’m wired that way.”

Shakky looks at him, gaze full of sympathy. “You really don’t know, do you?” she asks, shaking her head and dropping her eyes to her now empty cup. “It might be kinder to let you believe that, but I’m not feeling particularly generous today,” she tells him with a cruel smirk that seems to be the only thing keeping tears at bay. “I figured very early on your heart could never be mine, although I liked to pretend otherwise. But the thing is, once given, a heart can not be taken back. And you, my love, gave yours a long time ago.” She sighs, standing up and taking his empty cup from him. “For Kujas, death of our beloved cures us from love sickness. I had hoped, now that you’re free…” she trails off, shaking her head in despair. “But Buggy told me the mere idea of Shanks dying hurt a hundred times worse and so I understood: he might be dead now, but you won’t be getting your heart back.”

The words feel like a stab and Rayleigh finds himself without words, although Shakky clearly wasn’t expecting any, for she has turned on her heel and has gone back to the house, leaving him alone with his thoughts, the weight of the revelation threatening to crush him.

Too late, he finally understands.

But he wishes he didn’t. 

Notes:

So, thoughts anyone?
Originally, this chapter only existed as the first and second to last scene, only to give us a little outsider’s POV. But then the manga chapters gave me all the feels, Ray & Shakky’s relationship got more layers and next thing I knew, this was getting longer and longer :p Also, I wanted to provide more context for Rayleigh’s actions going forward: as you’ve already seen, he’s a little oblivious himself :p
Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!

Notes:

So, thoughts anyone?
Here’s the thing: I don’t really subscribe to the idea that there’s only one true love for us out there and that if you miss your chance, you’re screwed. That being said… well. It does work rather wonderfully for these two, doesn’t it? :p
(And of course it’s not actually unrequited love, they’re just both idiots).
Lore is all made up, of course. Some inspiration was taken from Wonder Woman lore (a bit I read on tumblr, don’t ask me about where it’s said). I had developed Shakky and Rayleigh’s very complex relationship a bit more in my head, but I didn’t find a way to write it down without feeling like info dump, so…
I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!